#I ALSO LOVE THE STARK RED N BLUE IN THE FIRST SCENE

[luck-of-the-drawings]

IT COULD HAVE BEEN A DREAM YOU WOULDNT REMEMBER. NOW ITS A NIGHTMARE YOULL NEVER FORGET. 3 DIFFERENT SCENES!!! EACH MORE TERRIFYING THAN THE LAST. VERY PROUD OF WILLIAM, HE HAS A PLAN IN MIND AND HES ENACTING IT SO SO SO WELL! JUST AS LONG AS WILLIAM CAN TRUST WHO HES WORKING WITH, HE CAN DO ANYTHING! I DREW THIS ENTIRELY WITH PEN AND COLORED PENCIL. I FIXED MISTAKES BY GLUING PAPER OVER THINGS. YOU CAN PROBABLY SEE THAT. DID YOU KNOW THAT SOME PENS ARE SHINY IN A REALLY ANNOYING WAY THAT CATCHES THE LIGHT TERRIBLY. CLOSE UPS UNDER THE CUT. THIS TOOK WEEKS AND A MONTH LONG BREAK.

LOOK AT MY BLOOD LOOK AT MY BLOOD. I WAS WINGING THIS AND USING ALOT OF RLY SHITTY PENS. ITS THREE DIFFERENT SCENES. IF YOU KNOW EM YOU KNOW EM WELL.

[theconstantsidekick]

Captain America: Civil War ft. Static (7) | s.r

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Stark!Reader, Tony Stark x Stark!Reader (siblings), Bucky Barnes x Stark!Reader (future)

Genre: Angsty city babyy!

Summary: The Avengers have a reunion... in Germany... at the airport... with a few new members.

(These scenes incorporate y/n, codename—Static, into the pre-existing story as a character without making drastic changes to the plot or mythos. All the major plot points from the MCU remain in place with the addition of the reader as Static, who is not only a Stark but also enhanced. Whatever events from the canon aren’t mentioned, take place without much change.)

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Past Trauma, Canon Typical Violence

a/n: this was so hard to write wtf?

Captain America: Civil War ft. Static (6) | Captain America: Civil War ft. Static (8) | Series Masterlist | Age of Ultron (Static Origin Story) | The Avengers (ft. Static) | Captain America: The Winter Soldier (ft. Static) | Static Verse Masterlist

As soon as she and Steve have the grounded chopper in sight, An electro-disabler slams onto the chopper, frying the systems and rendering it useless. Steve and Y/n look up. 

She watches with burning annoyance as Tony and Rhodey descend.

“Wow!” Tony fakes surprise looking at Rhodey, “It's so weird how you run into people at the airport. Don't you think that's weird?”

“Definitely weird,” Rhodey answers.

“Hear me out, Tony,” Steve pleads. It almost seems genuine. “That doctor, the psychiatrist, he's behind all of this.”

T'Challa leaps over a truck, “Captain.” 

“Your Highness,” Steve replies.

“Anyway” Tony begins, as he walks around, “Ross gave me 36 hours to bring you in. That was 24 hours ago. Can you help a brother out?”

“You're after the wrong guy.”

“Your judgment is askew.” She’s seldom seen her brother this fucking furious, but then again, maybe it’s cause it’s Steve.  “Your old war buddy killed innocent people yesterday.”

“And there are five more super soldiers just like him,” Steve argues. “I can't let the doctor find them first, Tony. I can't.”

And then, 

“Steve—you know what's about to happen,” Natasha chimes in joining the growing confrontation. “Do you really wanna punch your way out of this one?”

No one’s addressed her since this entire thing—

“Why are you being so uncharacteristically fucking quiet!?” Tony screams at her.

Taken aback a bit, she straightens up. “What’s left to say?”

“Are you seriously going along with this? You know how this ends, way better than him,” Natasha tries to reason with her.

She shrugs. “I don’t—Frankly, I don’t care about any of this. I just want to go home.” She says it simple and sweet. Because it’s true. She understands that there is a threat looming but she’s sure Steve can handle it. If you asked her two weeks ago, she would have been enthusiastic about the whole thing, a mission to take down the last vestiges of HYDRA, of her nightmare—what’s not to love? 

But that was then and this is now, and now she has to fight her way through her friends to fight with some villain and that just—call her selfish but that just seems unnecessarily tedious. She just wants this all to be over. Part of her wishes things could just go back to that party at the Tower before Ultron attacked. Everything was… It was all so easy then. She misses it.

“Then let’s go home!” Tony urges.

And all she can do is let out a laugh in disbelief. “I said I wanna go home… Not a fucking prison cell.” 

Tony clenches his jaw. “ All right, I've run out of patience.” He cups his hands around his mouth and yells out, “Underoos!”

And suddenly, there is liquid spilling out onto tying up her and Steve’s hands. A person in tight fitted red and blue suit flips over and snatches the shield. He lands on top of a truck, joining the ensemble.

FUCK TONY! She thinks. What did you do?

“Nice job, kid,” Tony compliments with a smile.

“Thanks. Well, I could've stuck the landing a little better. It's just the new suit—Wait! It's nothing, Mr. Stark. It's--it's perfect. Thank you.”

“Yeah, we don't really need to start a conversation,” Tony comments.

“Okay. Cap… Captain,” Spider-Man nods. “Big fan, I'm Spider-Man.” If he weren’t wearing a mask, Y/n is sure he’d be smiling.

“Yeah, we'll talk about it later. Just—” He waves his hands dismissively. “—Good job.”

“Hey, everyone,” Spider-Man greets.

“You've been busy.” Steve notes, there is a blatant hint of disapproval in his words.

“And you’ve been a complete idiot!” Tony counters, pissed. “Dragging in Clint. ‘Rescuing’ Wanda from a place she doesn’t even want to leave—a safe space.”

“How are you any fucking different, Stark?!” Y/n bites back. She’s pissed too. If she hasn’t made it clear yet, she would like for it to be put on record that she is outraged, beyond outraged that she has to fight the tiny little family she has been able to piece together over something as heinous as her fear of being imprisoned again. She hates every second of it but this?

This is a new level of stupid on Tony’s part.

“What the fuck were you thinking? Why would you bring him here?” She asks, pointing at Spider-Man. She’s well aware of who he is. It is her job to know. Which means she knows, that he’s just a fucking kid!

Y/n is about to blow a fucking gasket.

Tony just runs a hand over his face, looking exhausted. “I did what I had to do. You’re not giving me a lot of options here.”

“Fuck off, Tony!” She throws back because that is nowhere near a valid excuse to bring the kid into this. 

“I'm trying to keep—” He sighs. “I'm trying to keep you from tearing the Avengers apart,” Tony urges.

“You did that when you signed,” Steve answers. 

That might be the only thing that she and Steve agree on.

“Alright, We're done,” Tony announces. “You're gonna turn Barnes over, you're gonna come with us. NOW! Because it's us! Or a squad of J-SOC guys—with no compunction about being impolite.” He pauses for a second, and then a final plea, “Come on.”. 

Sam’s voice rings out over the comms, “We found it. Their Quinjet’s in hanger five, north runway.”

Instantly both she and Steve hold their hands up and Clint shoots the web off.

Tony’s helmet goes up as he turns to look at the source of the arrow.

“Alright, Lang,” Steve signals Lang to get to it.

And Lang does not disappoint. 

“Hey, guys, something—” Spider-Man is cut off by Lang sizing back up from Cap’s shield and retrieving it.

“Whoa. What--what the hell was that?” Rhodey asks aloud, confused as fuck.

Lang hands the shield back to Steve, “I believe this is yours, Captain America.”

“Oh, great. Alright, there's two on the parking deck. One of them's Maximoff, I'm gonna grab her.” Tony announces all their locations. “Rhodey, you want to take Cap?” He asks before flying off.

“Got two in the terminal, Wilson and Barnes,” Rhodey calls out, as he begins to take flight.

Steve launches his shield, aiming for the chest of Rhodey’s suit, temporarily incapacitating him. 

“Barnes is mine!” T’Challa runs off and Steve swiftly follows behind.

Spider-Man swings away upon receiving whatever order he receives from Tony.

“I’m gonna—” Lang points over to Rhodey, to which Y/n just nods in response.

“Guess that just leaves you and me,” Natasha notes.

Y/n smiles a little, “In any other circumstance I would’ve enjoyed that more.”

Natasha smiles too, before she lunges at her. 

Y/n easily dodges every attack that Natasha throws at her. Nat’s trained. She’s amazing, agile and utterly formidable… But Y/n is better. Looking at her, it’s easy to forget that while she’s damn near ancient at this point. But she is. She has done this a lot longer than any other member of her team.

“You’re not fighting me,” Natasha notes.

Dodging another punch, “I don’t want to,” Y/n answers.

“How do you plan on fixing this?” She asks.

Taking a step back, with furrowed brows, “Why am I supposed to solve it?”

“Well, it was supposed to be us—you and I, together. But then you decided to leave with Steve.” Natasha counters. Her attacks are getting more intrusive, it’s taking a lot more work to dodge them.

“I left cause of Sergant Barnes, Steve cannot handle him alone and you know it,” Y/n reasoned.

“And you can?” 

“I’m not alone, am I?” Y/n’s getting a little annoyed.

“That doesn’t feel like a betrayal at all,” Natasha bites back, kicking her hard in the side.

“Fuck!” Y/n curses. Clicking her tongue, she swallows a groan while holding her side. “Yeah, like you didn’t fucking betray me signing that goddamn document.”

“These boys are demarcating the playground, claiming a side of their own.” Natasha lands another blow on her chest, making her stumble back sputtering. “They can’t clean up after themselves. They are too headstrong, too naive to see sense. We have to fix this!”

Y/n has had enough. When Natasha carges at her again, she stops her. Blocking with one hand, she knees Nat in the side. “It’s not my fucking responsibility!” Pushing her back, she counters Nat’s attacks easily. “I never wanted to be a part of this shit show. I didn’t want it then, I don’t want it now. This is not my fucking mess!” Y/n throws a punch. ”I just want to go home.”

Natasha blocks her. And then… then she fucking smiles.

It’s not a cunning one. It’s not mocking either. It’s something like sympathy. 

“You’re fighting me,” Natasha notes. And belatedly, Y/n realises, that yeah… yeah she is. “You’re always going to be a better fighter than me, Y/n. But this,” she taps at Y/n’s chest, right above her heart, “you let this loose way too easily. You make it too damn easy for me to do this.” Natasha manouvers herself around Y/n and pins her to the floor, trapped between fucking her legs. Fuck me, Y/n thinks. With a crippling elbow punch to the gut, Natasha gets up on her feet, leaving Y/n coughing on the floor.

“Just say what you want to say,” Y/n asks from where she’s lying flat on her ass.

“You cannot keep claiming Switzerland. You don’t want to pick a side? Don’t. Be on your own side, but don’t keep pretending to be uninvolved. Look around you, Y/n… you already are involved.”

With that, Natasha is off too, leaving Y/n to gather up her leftover dignity.

The fight, or well should she call it the fights—cause there are multiple—the fights continue. Vision enters the arena and draws a literal line in the sand. 

“Captain Rogers,” he says, levitating above them, “I know you believe what you're doing is right. But for the collective good you must surrender now.”

As politely as it’s worded, it still remains a warning. Warning Steve to stop, but come on. Has that ever fucking worked with Steve ‘Bullheaded’ Rogers? 

Both teams charge at each other and Y/n just hates all of it. It feels absurd to fight against the people she has fought shoulder to shoulder, but in the moment, it feels like she just doesn’t have a choice… Does she?

She loses track of everyone she faces off, but rest assured it’s everyone but the Spider-Man. She tries her best to avoid using her powers, bringing up her armour only as defence. The powers—her attacks are meant to harm. These aren’t the people she would ever wish harm upon.

Eventually she stumbles upon Spider-Man, barely holding up what once must have been a gangway. Manifesting the armour onto her arms and then curling her hand around the hilt of her sword as it’s forming into existence from her dimension, she glitches in just above him and free falls to the ground, cutting the whole thing down.

She lands on her knee. 

“Miss Stark!” Spider-Man yells out in excitement, dropping the halved gangway with ease. “It is so great to meet you! I am a huge fan, especially of your—”

She cuts him off, her sword disassembling out of existence, “Who did that?” she asks, pointing at the completely unrecognizable gangway.

“Captain America,” he answers easily. “Aren’t you on his team?”

“I don’t know which fucking team I’m on!” Y/n answers, throwing her arms up in utter frustration. 

The kid for his part remains calm, giving her a moment to compose herself again. 

Sighing, she looks up at him, “Do you make it a habit of willing following men dressed like stop signs to Germany, or is this one off thing?”

“Mr. Stark said he needed help… How could I say no?” 

There so much fucking ernestness in his words it burns Y/n from within.

“Go home, kid,” she tells him. “Tony—he…” She shakes her head. “All this is way too bigger than you…”

“I can handle it,” he replies, sounding almost desperate. 

“I don’t doubt it,” She answers, because she doesn’t. “But you’re better at being the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man.” With that she begins to walk away.

The kid, however, has other ideas. He shoots a web at her and instantly her sword manifests once again, cutting it down before it can stick to her. “Don’t be dumb, kid,” she scolds gently, glitching a few meters away. “Go home!” She yells out and glitches out of his sight.

As it goes on, at some point, a realization strikes them all.

“We gotta go,” Barnes’ voice rings out over the comms. She’s not sure she’ll ever get used to having that voice in her ear speaking anything but crude monosyllabic words in German. “That guy's probably in Siberia by now.”

“We gotta draw out the flyers. I'll take Tony. You get to the jet,” Steve replies. “Y/n, think you can take on Vision?”

“You bet you star-spangled ass—” She’s cut off before she can verbally assault Steve for questioning her at all.

“No, you get to the jet! All three of you!” Sam reasons, sounding a little strained. When she spots him in the air, Rhodey hot on his trail. “The rest of us aren't getting out of here.”

She wants to cut in, but before she gets the chance to, T’Challa throat punches her, pissing her off. Her focus shifts to handling the King of Wakanda.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, if we're gonna win this one, some of us might have to lose it,” Clint chimes in.

“This isn't the real fight, Steve,” Sam urges softly.

“Alright, Sam,” Steve acquieces. “What's the play?”

“We need a diversion, something big,” Sam says.

“I got something kind of big, but I can't hold it very long,” Scott answers instantly over the comms. “On my signal, run like hell. And if I tear myself in half—don't come back for me.”

“He's gonna tear himself in half?” Barnes questions, sounding just as confused as she feels.

“You're sure about this, Scott?” Steve asks him.

“I do it all the time. I mean once…in a lab,” Scott answers.

“And then what happened?” Y/n asks, finally being able to find her voice, having pinned T’Challa on the ground with her thighs roped around his neck.

“Then I passed out,” Scott answers.

“Awesome,” Y/n remarks before, T’Challa lands a blow on her side, making her losen her grip. Both are quickly on their feet again. 

“You’ve gotten better, your majesty,” She tells him. T’Challa has always been a great fighter—trained by the Dora Malaje, of course she expects no less. “It feels like it was yesterday when I saw your father teaching you how to wield a staff.”

He charges at her with so much anger. “How dare you talk about my father when you choose to protect his murder!”

“T’Challa—” She tries but he’s not in a listening mood. He’s in an attacking mood; he keeps coming at her relentlessly. She dodges every strike.

“After all the kindness he showed you, you protect Barnes!? You are a traitor!”

“He didn’t kill your father, T’Challa! You have to know that,” Y/n tries to reason but clearly it has no affect. In the end she realizes she is not left with much of a choice. 

Before she can react on her realization, however, Scott fucking Lang decides to grow to the size of fucking building. 

“Mother of whore-loving motherfucker,” Y/n is damn near astounded.

“I guess that’s the signal,” Sam’s voice comes in from the comms.

As soon as the shock fades, T’Challa charges at her again and she does the same. Running at him, she uses the momentum kneeing him in the chest. He stumbles back a little, she takes that moment to kick him in the back of calve, disbalancing him to make him fall and as he falls, she strikes him in the chest. 

With that, she glitches away.

“Y/n, you coming?” Steve asks over the comms.

“I don’t know,” she answers honestly, spotting Vision who’s eyes are set on Steve and Bucky who are running towards the quinjet.

She’s glitching in and out. Popping out of her dimension to attack Vision and then popping back in to stop herself from falling. It’s a fucking taxing thing, fighting an super-enhanced android with weird magic powers in the air, especially when you can’t fly.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Sam asks her on the radio.

“It means I’m fucking thinking about it!” She bites back.

“What’s there to think about?” Clink asks.

“I don’t know!” She glitches into her dimension. “Fuck” She says to herself, then glitches out. “Something about my responsibility in all this—I don’t fucking know!”

And then Vision decides to shoot a beam at her with the mindstone. Her armour deflects but the force throws her to the ground. 

The fall hurts, it aches. It makes her ache in places she hasn’t ached since HYDRA had her. It’s all very fucking meloncholy if you ask her. So, you cannot blame her when she lies on her ass for a couple seconds, trying to recuperate. 

Meanwhile, Vision uses his beam to cut the control tower in half. It begins to collapse over the entrance to the hanger the quinjet is in. Wanda tries to hold off the debris from crumbling to the ground, keeping the way clear for Steve and Barnes who are fast approaching on foot. However, Rhodey intervenes, blasting her with a sonic boom, making her loose control. 

All of that is for naught, though, because Steve and Bucky do make it in. 

“Need a hand?” A gold-titanium allow hand, painted bright red is extended to her.

She takes the hand, letting it help her stand on her feet. “Thanks,” she tells him. “Shouldn’t you be spending this time stopping them?” She asks, pointing at the scene unfolding behind them.

“I’m trying to stop you,” Tony says evenly. And then, before she can even tell him she’s not sure if he needs to, if what she really wants to do is stick around and fix it—she doesn’t know how exactly but she wants to try, if any of this is necessary, she hears a sound. It’s a sound that has become almost ambient to her, a sound that used to bring her comfort, a sound that used to mean there was someone watching her back—the sound of Tony’s repulsors being activated. 

She feels the hit before he even aims for it.

“Don’t make me stop you, Stark,” Tony says sofly, his eyes are welling up but so are hers. She has categorically avoided him the entire time, knowing full well that faced with him, she’d just surrender and find a way to escape at a later point. But this… This fucking hurts.

It burns her. It burns her from within. 

The man doesn’t even have to take the shot to make her bleed. 

But his arms come up to aim the repulsors at her anyway.

“Really?” She asks him.

“I don’t want to do this,” he begs.

It doesn’t matter though, it doesn’t fucking matter because he is doing it. He’s aiming at her. Her baby brother is aiming his weapons at her, hesitantly but he’s aiming nonetheless. It fucking breaks her her. 

Her hands clench into fists. A tear escapes her eyes. And a single word slips out of her lips “Traitor.” 

She glitches away. 

When she glitches out, she’s facing Natasha. 

As their eyes meet, Natasha fires a widow bite from her wrist. Y/n waits for the hit but it never comes, turning back she met with T’Challa, who’s being incapacitated by the low voltage shocks from the widow bite.

“Oh,” Y/n notes, turning back at Natasha.

Her brows forrow at that reaction. “What?” When all Y/n does is point at T’Challa behind him, Nat continues, “What are you waiting for? Go!” 

“I—I’m not going…” she answers, dumbly. “I came here to stop you from stopping—” her eyes fly to Barnes and Steve who are already inside the jet. “—them…”

“Not going?” Natasha asks, with a smile.

Clenching her jaw, Y/n replies, “Not yet.”

Natasha just nods at her.

As the two super soldiers take off, T’Challa frees himself and tries to grab onto the jet but fails inevitably, landing easily on the ground.

He comes to face Natasha and even with the mask on Y/n can practically see how pissed off he is.

“I said I'd help you find him, not catch him. There's a difference,” Natasha tells him with a somewhat false sense of confidence, knowing very well herself that she’s lying. 

This is awkward, is all Y/n can think as she stands between the two of them.

As the three of them make their way out, she watches as Lang is going down in all his (Gi)Ant-Man might, Spider-Man’s webbing tied around his legs. Tony and Rhodey punch him out of the sky and Y/n can see the last vestiges of her ‘side’ crumbling.

In front of her, a few meters ahead, Vision has Wanda in her grasp, holding onto her and protecting her gently. 

While the jet flies off, Rhodey and Tony both take off after it, Sam is hot on their trails. Either of the two iron-men must call out an order because then Vision looks up at them in the sky. He uses the mind stone again, shooting off a beam. She’s sure it’s meant for Sam, but he folds away his wings, dropping altitude so the beam misses him entire, hitting Rhodey instead.

For the next minute or so, everything happens in slow-motion. 

Rhodey begins to fall. He begins falling from the sky.

Her confusion over his inaction only lasts a second but the moment its clear that the beam hit Rhodey’s core, shutting the suit down, Y/n runs into action. 

She begins glitching in and out, trying to get higher and closer to Rhodey, coming out only to calculate how much farther he is from her reach.

Glitch, need to be higher.

Glitch, need to be closer.

Glitch, need to be further.

Glitch, need to be faster.

She can reach him. She’s sure.

But…

But the ground is creeping in and Rhodey’s been falling for way too long.

She needs to slow his speed or he’ll—

No time to think. 

No time for anything but action.

The next time she glitches out, she grabs Rhodey.

“Y/n!” He yells out, afraid and lost.

“I got you,” she tells him. “I got you, Rhodey.”

She glitches him into her dimension, trying to decrease his speed. 

“FUCK!”

It’s not easy. 

Fuck it’s damn near impossible for her. 

She’s not good enough.

Especially not good enough at controlling her dimension when he’s been freefalling from the sky, in an impeccably heavy suit of weapons, and machine and metal. He’d been falling too long, with too much weight.

She holds onto him, making her dimension denser, not enough but still, denser. 

Manouvering herself under him, she extends her armour from her arms to span across her back. If she can’t slow him to a halt, she can cushion his fall.

When they glitch out of the dimension, the change in force hits them hard, slowing them down a little bit more. But the wind does not cooperate. The wind is a fucking bitch. Y/n cannot completely sustain the suits weight on her, but she tries her best.

As they brace themselves for what will undoubtedly be a rough fucking landing, the last thing she sees is Tony flying towards them.

They crash. 

The impact creates a fucking pit in the ground.

Before she can try helpless to move Rhodey off of her to check on him, Tony lands next to them and does it. 

He pulls off Rhodey’s face plate, and asks F.R.I.D.A.Y. to check his vitals.

“Heartbeat detected. Emergency medical is on its way,” F.R.I.D.A.Y. replies.

His eyes fly over to Y/n then. Hand on her chest in an instant, He says, “ F.R.I.D.A.Y. assess damage.”

“I’m fine,” Y/n tries, pushing him off of her but the blood she coughs out makes it seem like an act.

“Six broken ribs and heavy internal bleeding, sir. But her hearbeat holding steady. Miss Stark will be fine till the emergency medical arrives.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. tells him.

Y/n doesn’t care, she tries to get up but struggles somewhat hopelessly. Tony’s hands come to help her and she manages to get onto her knees to look at Rhodey. 

He’s bleeding, she notes, from his nose. 

Her jaw clenches, eyes watering up.

Somewhere behind them, Sam lands on his feet and apologizes. Tony blasts him with his repulsors but Y/n can’t bring herself to give a damn.

Both siblings wait there—lost and scared, each with a hand on the chest of their best friend, and prayers on their lips to a God they stopped believing in, waiting for help to arrive.

Find the next part here. Find the series masterlist here. Find other Static Verse works here.

tag list : @aryksworld @freeflyingphoenix @arikarapli @just-anotherstan @justab-eautifulmess @ceo-of-daichi @roxannejblack @liketearsintherainn @paintballkid711 @starkleila @heyitsmereading @fairlygothparents @euphoria-svt @sidepartskinnyjeans @mini-kunoichi @third-broparcelicito @siwiecola @haleybutnotthecomet @mvaldez7821 @rockybutmakeitlame @romanoffswoman @ashpeace888 @hopeofwinter @percabethfangirl987 @lilfuturescars @hailqueenconquer

hit me up if you wanna be added to the tag list.

[bl00dgutsgl0ry]

Since your requests are open i shall throw my brain rot at you <3

Slightly mean(bc he is a tease and is having the time of his life bc of the current scene in front of him) Kaeya that watches his virgin s/o try to fit him inside but she fails ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

And finally after some time he agrees to help out.

(uh also if u are accepting anons, may i be the ⚠️ anon?)

Pairing - Kaeya x Fem!Reader

Warnings - Degradation kink, praise kink?, very slight dollification

Word count - 1.7k

Other comments - Dude your Kaeya brainrot is always welcome here I love him. You’re so smart, mean kaeya is next level. And of course everyone welcome ⚠️ anon! Also this one is a little shorter, i just wasnt in the mood to write the build up i just wanted s e x

Your body was hypersensitive with nerves. It was your first time so of course you would be anxious about this whole situation. What wasn’t helping was your boyfriend's relentless teasing. It was aggravating and embarrassing, but part of your body was getting off to it as well; your body getting even more sensitive as time passed.

Right now, you were trying desperately to ride Kaeya, but he was just way too big and you didn’t know what you were doing so nothing was going well on your end. Kaeya on the other hand was having the time of his life watching you struggle.

“God if you hadn’t told me you were a virgin, I’d have never known seeing as how you're whining like a little slut right now cause you can’t ride me.” You shot your boyfriend a glare. God you just wanted to shut him up.

“Watching you struggle like this is quite amusing my dear… Maybe I’ll just sit here and force you to keep trying. You're destined to get it right at some point hm?” You heard him chuckle as you groaned out. There was a feeling that was beginning to bloom deep within you. You couldn’t quite name the feeling but all you knew was that you needed Kaeya’s help and you needed it now.

“Please Kaeya. This is driving me crazy. I need you Kaeya.” There was a needy rasp in your voice that made his only exposed pupil blow wide. There was a low rumble in his chest that only made this feeling intensify. You didn’t know what you had done, but you knew you weren’t going to regret it.

In less than a second there was a punishing grip on your hips, Kaeya’s long slender fingers holding so much strength in the iron grasp he had on you. Effortlessly Kaeya had you hovering over his pulsing cock. You whimpered in anticipation.

“Such a pathetic useless slut, always in need of my assistance. Hold yourself up like this so I can line myself up. You’re competent to be able to do as simple of a task as that right?” You nodded quickly, biting your lower lip instinctively out of mild anxiety. Once again, despite it all, this is still your first time. Your position did not waiver when Kaeya pulled away one of his hands. You could still feel the imprint of where it was on your hip.

“You’re okay right (y/n)? We’ll take this first part slow so as to not hurt you too much. This isn’t going to be amazing at first but just trust me it’ll get better. Then we can get back to having real fun.” The change in Kaeya’s whole tone and demeanor gave you whiplash; a stark contrast to the dark look he held only moments ago when degrading you. Instead he held a warm, almost concerned and genuine look on his face.

You took this moment to really admire him. The way his dark blue hair fell over him, shining in the pale light of your lamps next to the bed. Your breath never ceased to be taken away when you looked at him like this, cherishing the way his tanned skin contrasted the shining pale blue eye he had exposed. You guessed you had been staring at him for a little too long, with the way his expression started leaning more towards concern than anything.

“I always trust you Kaeya, this time is no different than the others.” A gentle smile formed on both of your faces. There were no words for how much you guys trusted each other, having this unexplainable bond. Somehow you both knew more about each other than yourselves.

Kaeya nodded before he nudged the hand that was still on your hip down, signaling for you to start lowering yourself. There was still an unease in the pit of your stomach, but it was much less noticeable now. You jumped slightly when you felt the tip of Kaeya’s dick intrude, causing him to chuckle quietly and begin rubbing comforting circles into your hip. You continued down, wincing as you felt yourself begin the stretch around him. It ached, and Kaeya was right, this certainly did not feel amazing, but you trusted him. After a few more painstakingly long moments of lowering yourself, you were fully seated on his lap. You could feel every pulse and twitch of his cock, and slowly the pain began to fade; leaving a burned need to feel more in its wake.

You squirmed on his lap, not trusting yourself to talk at the moment, in fear of saying or making some abhorrent noise. Kaeya’s punishing grip returned, holding you still on his lap.

“That didn’t take very long. Are you sure this is your first time? You’re really acting like a slut now.” The antagonizing tone returned to Kaeya’s voice, and it was really affecting you now. You desperately needed him to move. You let out a whimper as you futilely tried wiggling around in his grasp. A dark smirk graced his face as he tightened his grip even more.

“What was that my slut? What do you need? How am I possibly to know what you need if you don’t tell me. I’m not a mind reader darling.” You groaned, your face lighting up red with embarrassment with the knowledge that you were indeed going to have to beg this man to move.

“Kaeya…. I need you….to move please. I need to feel you in me. Please Kaeya help me.” You saw that familiar darkening on Kaeya’s face that made you melt, and an ache began deep within you.

“Your wish is my command, my beloved.” Before anything else could be exchanged, Kaeya hoisted you up until only the tip was still inside you then almost dropped you back down. You repeated this motion over and over and you let out loud moans and cries.

“That’s right. You’re my whore. I’m the only one that ever gets to see you this way or make you this way. Let everyone know who you belong to. Who exactly is making you whine like a bitch.” You cried out at a particularly hard and direct thrust into that one special spot that made you see stars.

“Say my name you little whore, say it out loud so we can all know whos fucking you this well.” You cried out once again, your moans being interrupted with the loud gasps of his name on your lips. You chanted his name like a prayer to the Archons above. In this moment, he was your archon, your divine being who you followed with unwavering devotion. What else were you to think when he was bringing you such pleasure.

“That’s it my darling. Even though your only use is being my fucktoy you are such a good one. You just keep sucking me in so well, this feeling is addicting.” You moaned out louder at the words he was throwing at you. Only moments later your legs began getting very tired from the constant up and down. You placed your hands on his toned chest as you began slumping over, not being lifted up quite as easily.

Suddenly you felt yourself being tipped over before Kaeya quickly pulled out, rolled you onto your back and caged you in with his strong arms on either side of your head. Without warning he thrusted himself in again, much easier this time.

“We haven’t even been doing this for very long and you already seemed so fucked out. Of course I shouldn’t be very surprised seeing how pathetic you are.” You could feel tears beginning to fall from your eyes from the pleasure that was wracking through your body. The tears only egged Kaeya on, as his thrusts became even harder. You could sense how sore you were going to be, you might have to stay home tomorrow. Kaeya began to let out strained grunts and groans, gritting his teeth in pleasure. He could feel the way you were squeezing him, and how you were about to fall over the edge any second now. He needed to ruin you.

The tears began to fall faster the closer you got to the end, a huge knot threatening to break in your core. After only two more targeted thrusted your back arched off the bed, smashing into Kaeya’s torso above you as you screamed out his name along with a few other profanities. Your vision flashed white as the feeling of your orgasm crashed over you like unrelenting waves in the sea.

Your cries quieted down as you slumped down onto the bed trembling, tears staining your deep crimson cheeks. Kaeya had grown much louder over those few moments and before long we was shoving his throbbing cock as far as he could get it and cumming. His orgasm took him by storm, nothing ever feeling that incredible before. The noise he made as his body shook above you and his sweaty forehead fell into the crook of your neck only made you tremble more. Before too long Kaeya gently pulled his softening dick out of you and slumped down onto the bed next to you. You were immediately pulled into him as he wrapped his arms tightly around you. This skin to skin contact filled you with the fuzziest feeling in the world as you snuggled as deep as you could into him.

You guys stayed in silence, the only sound being the rhythmic breathing of the two of you. You were both tangled in each other’s bodies before you quietly heard Kaeya mumble a soft ‘I love you’. You smiled and kissed his chest, not having the energy or willpower to speak. Not long after the two of you were lulled into the deepest, most peaceful sleep of your lives.

[javisjeanjacket]

The Knights in the North (robb stark x female knight! oc)

PART ONE

A/N: if there are any Robb Stark fans left in the world-hello :) I’m watching GOT for the first time (I’m currently on S5, E3 so pls don’t spoil it!!) and ofc I fell in love with Robb and have the unquenchable need to be a knight now lol enjoy

This is also my very first OC character and the photo below is her faceclaim! 

Warnings: friends to lovers trope but neither of them know it yet, swords are used, brief descriptions of a duel, kind of yearn-y but not super intense

Word count: 2.1K

Years had passed here under the weirwood tree. Or so it seemed.

Scenes from the past filtered through my mind, dancing before my eyes and over the small pond just ahead. I looked back down to my sword, it’s hilt decorated with vines and blossoming wildflowers, and remembered when I had played here as a child. Jon and Robb at my side, all three of us with wild eyes and mussed hair. Dirt underneath our fingernails and the face in the white bark of the tree watching over the three of us solemnly. Cleaning the blade carefully, I smiled and began to ponder my time here in Winterfell. Growing up alongside the Stark children and their ward, Theon Greyjoy, was as idyllic as one might have guessed, but, as I was reminded constantly, I was not really a part of the family. 

After the death of my family on the Sapphire Isle, all save for my beloved sister, Brienne, I did the only thing I could and fled to the North. Taking father’s coin, his sword, his ringmail wrapped in a cloth, and a block of sourdough, I ventured to the edge of Tarth and journeyed across the Narrow Sea. Finding the Starks had been all but coincidence, but now, looking back, I couldn’t imagine a life without them.

My sword was finally clean and I stood from the marbled bench. The stark white tree and her dripping red leaves watched me as I sheathed my sword and tucked the cleaning rag into my belt. 

My heart skipped a beat in my chest as I stole a glance to my left and looked upon the tree Robb had hacked away at on the day of his father’s death. It still bore the marks of his wrath.

I could picture his face when I found him there, still feel his hands clenching at my shoulders. His wails pulsed in my ears and his inflamed words rang out in my mind, 

‘I’m gonna kill him!’  The venom with which he had said them had given me chills then, and did now. 

I thought back to the feeling of my hands on his chiseled face. His bright blue eyes looked down into mine and I thought for a moment they each donned swords of their own; as they had pierced through my armor with such ease. I had told him then that I would be the devil for him, if that meant he would stay with his family. He was the heir to Winterfell, and he needed to remain with his family. If that meant I dueled with an angry king looking for revenge-so be it.

Robb had taken me into his arms and pulled me against his chest, his breath was hot and catching against my neck and his nose pressed into my shoulder. I didn’t know what else to do, so I wrapped my arms around the young wolf, holding his trembling body until he caught his breath again. 

But that was years ago. Robb was older now and so was I. Both used to the heavy weight of grief and loss, the even heavier weight of responsibilty. For a glorious moment, I had hoped the gentle hug and my words to him would have sparked an opening of deeper friendship between us, but it didn’t seem that had been the case, as he had chosen to bury his grief under the skirts of some of the most eligible women in Winterfell. 

With a heavy sigh, I looked from the tree and back down to my boots.

‘They need a wash.’ I said to myself before walking out of the courtyard and into the training grounds. 

~~~~~~~~~~

Robb pulled tightly on the reins as he and his brothers turned the corner into the gates of his capitol city. 

His horse slowed and Jon and Theon’s did the same. The trio moved through the city, slain deer strapped to the backs of their animals. Robb pulled his horse to a stop and tied it on the post nearest to the knight training grounds. As he dismounted, his intense blue eyes looked over his brood of knights while they sparred. 

Robb would never let me know it, but his eyes always sought me out. Always. He knew my form better than his own and dreamed about it when he slept at night. But, as the king, it was imperative he marry a lady, as his mother instructed. She talked very highly of Walder Frey’s women, but Robb knew better than to strike a deal with a snake.

“Can’t believe the boys haven’t killed her yet.” Jon said with a sheepish smile as he moved to stand beside Robb. Jon readjusted the game he had flung over his shoulder as Theon approached, his bounty of rabbits dangling from his neck. 

“I’m surprised Alise hadn’t killed all of them.” Theon smirked, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword.

“She could, couldn’t she?” Robb said softly, more to himself than to his company. 

~~~~~~~~

My dark brown braid hung down my back as I gave my sword another playful spin. I chuckled as I walked in a taunting circle, moving as my opponent moved, my sword quick and agile and ready in my hand. I caught sight of Robb, Jon, and Theon as we circled and I shouted out to Landor, the knight opposite, “What’s wrong, Lan? You don’t want to lose to a girl now that the king is watching?” My eyes flicked up to Robb’s and found them piercing through me.I just caught a hint of a smile on his face before Landor roared and lunged towards me.

His teeth grit and his eyes were set as he made his attack. He striked at me and I lifted my blade to block it. The whine of metal against metal made my smirk falter. I made an attack of my own, twisting to the right and slashing before twisting to the left and blocking his jab. We danced like this, right, left, right, left; my body forcing his back and back and back until Landor grew frustrated and drew his sword up above his head. 

~~~~~~~~

“I’m not lugging your game in for you, Robb, come on!” Jon clapped his hand on Robb’s shoulder, trying to shake his half brother from the trance the knight’s sparring had put him in. 

Robb stood transfixed on the battle, his eyes studying Alise’s form as she blocked then jabbed. 

Jon smirked. 

Robb had had a crush on her since they were children, he’d just never had the sense, or the backbone, to tell her. 

“Just let me watch the end of this.” He said, his eyes focused on the battle but his hand reaching out towards the deer strapped to his horse’s rump.

~~~~~~~~~~

I brought my sword up to block Landor’s blow and grimaced under the weight of his swing. With a loud groan, I twisted both swords and brought my blade around our heads and then downwards, forcing Landor to drop the blade into the mud below our feet. 

The older man grumbled, held his hand up in surrender, and then bent to pick up the blunt edged sword.

I smiled and brushed an errant lock of hair back behind my ear. I held my hand out to Landor as he rose, “You were a formidable opponent.”

“You’re a woman; doesn’t take much to be a formidable opponent to you.” He huffed as he turned his back to me.

I sighed heavily and ran my tongue along the backs of my teeth. I followed quickly in step behind him. “I may be a woman, but I still bested you, old man.”

Landor turned back towards me, his teeth bared and a growl in his throat, “Watch your tongue, bitch, or someone will cut it out for you.”

My features darkened and turned stony. Before I could reply, a hand yanked hard on my braid, throwing me back and into the mud.

~~~~~~~~~~

Robb could see the offense before it happened-Landor’s reddened cheeks and the way the men rallied around him. Robb’s chest puffed and his breath quickened as he watched on. He could almost make out the hairs on the back of my neck bristling when Landor threatened me. I landed in the mud and Robb began his march over to the lot of us, all his kingly justice burning bright in his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~

The men chuckled as I struggled in the mire, wiping the filth from my eyes and spitting it out of my mouth. 

Robb almost growled as his hand gripped the knight’s pauldron. He pushed into the group and forced the man backwards. Robb’s chest was pounding and he spoke to the man quietly, with words dripping in venom, “Who are you to make a mockery of my knight?”

“Your Grace, we were just having a bit of fun; it’s friendly competition, that’s all.” The man held his hands up in surrender and hung his head.

Robb’s nostrils flared and a muscle in his jaw twitched. “You would lie to your king, Ser Arton?”

“No…no, your grace.” The man stuttered. 

Robb’s attention shifted to Landor. “Is that what this is, Landor? Friendly?”

Landor swallowed and looked down at his boots. “No…no, my lord. It wasn’t.”

The king made an exaggerated look of enlightenment and turned from one knight to the other. “You two are to go to the stables and clean out the horse’s stalls. Now.”

“But, my king, we were just about to head in for supper…” Arton protested, widening his eyes and looking at Robb with as much of a pouty lip as his poor thin ones could manage.

“Oh, were you?” Robb chuckled. “Then take that into the stables with you, I’m sure the horses will enjoy your potatoes.”

Both men stood with their mouths parted, tension and offense simmering hot in the air. A moment passed, wherein Robb had to remind them there was work to be done, “Off you go then.”

After the agitators had gone and the rest of the knights had retired to the castle for supper and ale, Robb turned back towards me.

I was back on my feet and brushing as much debris as I could from my tunic. My heart thundered in my throat and I kept my gaze locked on his boots. “I apologize, my lord, for you having to interfere. It was nothing, I assure you.”

Robb stood in front of me and let out a deep sigh. “Alise.”

I dared to look up into the tantalizing blue of his eyes. As he’d grown older, Robb’s jaw had grown more pronounced, the soft curve of his Adam's apple more bold and the scruff on his jaw long and a dark red brown color. For a moment, it was all I could do to hold back from reaching out and placing my hand on his cheek. 

“You can be honest with me,” He said. “we’re friends. You’re safe with me.” 

I nodded and took a deep breath. “I am not afraid of an old man who is scared because I am stronger than him.”

Robb smiled softly. “But are you afraid of his counterparts?”

My eyes flitted from Robb, to a horse and cart passing behind him, then back again. “Any knight who harms a woman is not a knight at all, and I don’t believe they will jeopardize their livelihoods on my account.”

The smile on Robb’s cheeks widened and I couldn’t help but to soften at it. 

“I think you’re right.” He answered, quirking an eyebrow upwards. A moment of reflection passed as Robb and I turned to walk towards the castle. “You have grown very skilled with the sword.” He said.

My cheeks filled and I smiled broadly. I bent my head down to try and keep it out of his line of sight. “It was all those hours we spent practicing under the weirwood when we were children.”

Robb chuckled and nodded in response, “Those were very good lessons.”

“You thought they were at least.” I teased.

He gasped dramatically and retorted, “They were! You would never have mastered the ‘Stick and Poke’ if we hadn’t!” His gasp turned to a flirtatious smirk and his eyes glittered with excitement.

I wanted to set up camp right there on the footpath into the castle, to keep his face looking at me like that, to keep his eyes filled with adoration. I laughed aloud, my voice flitting up through the stone walls and over the trees. 

Robb thought his heart might beat out of his chest at the sound of it. 

“That’s not a real attack, you just made it up!” I chided him, the grin on my face spreading wide and my cheeks growing hot.

Robb laughed aloud now, his shoulder brushing against mine as he walked. “One day the ‘Stick and Poke’ is going to save your ass and you’re going to have me to thank for it.” That smirk was so close to me now, his eyes looking into mine intently and the smell of him, like leather and pine, overwhelmed my senses. 

I fought to keep from grabbing his cloak and pulling him into a kiss right then and there. “When that day comes, I’ll send you dozens and dozens of flowers in thanks, my lord.” 

Robb tilted his chin upwards and looked down at me in a smug expression. “I look forward to it.”

~~~~~~~~~~

We were still laughing and reminiscing as we walked into Winterfell’s great hall, big green banners hung along it’s rafters, each emblazoned with the direwolf symbol I knew and loved. The sound of men laughing and plates clattering and ale sloshing in horns filled the air. The warmth from the big hearth greeted us happily. 

Robb turned back to me, “Enjoy your dinner, Alise.” His features were touched with melancholy, but his eyes like honey-sticky and overwhelming and warm in my chest.

Before I could say my farewell, Jon Snow interrupted us.

Happy from the ale, I guessed, he clapped a big hand on my shoulder and sent me stumbling forward towards Robb.

The king held a hand out in case I fell.

I blushed, but looked up at Jon.

“Alise,” Jon bowed his head at me and then, “Brother.” he bowed again.

We both nodded back to him and Jon smiled as he looked over Robb’s broad shoulders.

“You forget something?” He teased, his dark eyes sparkling and his eyebrows high on his angular face.

“Ah! The deer!” Robb cursed. 

Wasn't sure who would want a tag for this!! Lol 😅

[kaiparker-avengerssmut]

Their Doll 17

He loves you

B.Barnes x Stark!Reader, S.Rogers x Stark!Reader

series synopsis:  y/n Stark, all records of her non existent, and yet Hydra still find her. When she is kidnapped by a certain super-soldier and no one believes her, she finds herself searching for unexpected familiarity in her not-so-distant past.

Series Warnings: smut, violence, torture, swearing

Chapter Summary: you and Bucky stay in bed for a while. Y/n meets Sam

Warnings: fluff, kissing, implied smut, there’s probably some swearing somewhere

A/n: The timeline in this has been altered, as there I things I wanted to include but I also wanted this fic to follow the storyline/timeline of Winter Soldier and Civil war.So for purposes of this fanfic, Peter Parker was discovered by Tony at a much younger age - when he was bitten - and has been an intern with him since, almost like a protégée.(For the purposes of this story Peter was bitten much younger too - more like when he was 9 or ten rather than 14/15)

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Layers of pale sunlight streaked through the thin, flimsy white curtains, forming a rich sheen of dull yellow light across the room. The encroaching stream of gold cast over y/n's face blinked her awake, her heavy eyelids fluttering and her mouth opening in a sinfully beautiful yawn. Or at least Bucky thought so, but he thought everything about y/n was beautiful.

Bucky had been laying there for a near hour now, blue eyes gazing over his girl's features as she looked blissfully peaceful immersed in a deep sleep. Last night's events must've really fired her out. Y/n's small hand was splayed against his bare chest, chin tucked into the crook of his neck and body embraced by his warm, flesh arm. His fingers danced in small swirls against her back, drawing small figurines ever-so-lightly against she sunlit-skin.

A soft smile had found his lips, tugging them upwards into almost a grin at the sight of y/n in his arms. Her leg was still thrown over his waist haphazardly, his shirt ridden up to around her ribs, panties doing little to conceal what the shirt had revealed.

Y/n's head lifted slowly, his soft smile contagious in the way it curled upon her lips, too.

"Morning, soldier." She mumbled, raspy and broken with a mixture of the strain and sleep. He pulled the girl into him further, his small smile growing when he felt her nuzzle into his warmth. Her disjointed voice was cute, Bucky thought, a reminder to him that he wasn't the only one still struggling to fit in.

He'd spent nearly five months in Bruce's lab, on ice once again as the man and Tony both tried to figure out how to rid him of his winter soldier side. They'd recovered him the first mission they'd gone on, the one without Steve. And not even Steve new Bucky was back until a week ago, although the soldier was only released from the lab yesterday.

Bruce had offered to take Bucky to the party with him, but the super soldier had politely - albeit quickly - declined his offer, knowing almost off instinct that the party scene wasn't one for him. Instead, he'd asked for directions to y/n's room, where he had waited for probably close to an hour before y/n had come storming in.

"You sound like you've been gargling glass." Bucky teased, unable to keep a deadpan expression as the words formed on his lips. Y/n's mouth opened in shock, and she used one arm to prop herself up whilst smacking Bucky's chest with the other. He chuckled, grabbing the hand she'd used to hit him before lifting it to his lips. Bucky kissed each of her fingertips in-turn, before bringing it to cup his face and holding her warmth against his skin. He turned his mouth towards her palm, plump lips fluttering against it as y/n looked in with pure...adoration in her eyes.

"I love you." The words tumbled from her lips like a simple thank you before she could think it through, Bucky's lips stilled against the palm of her hand, his eyes searching hers as if he was trying to find a hint as to why she just said that. It took her a moment to realise that he could be confused, after all, she blurted the words rather quickly and even she wasn't sure that she would've heard them had they come from someone else's mouth. "I love you." She said slower, as if she was hand picking each word before she said it. "I'm totally and completely in love with you." She murmured, eyes captured by the awe struck across Bucky's face.

"W-why?" He finally mustered the courage to say, dropping her hand back to his chest. Y/n took a deep breath, closing her eyes as she did so as if to prepare herself for what she was about to say.

"Because, you were my calm after the storm. Everything bad that seemed to happen, you were there to pick up the pieces after." She explained, moving the hand that'd been dropped to his chest to rest over Bucky's heart. It was racing.

"But all I did was...look at you. Sometimes I was the problem." Bucky argued, almost with himself. It was like he didn't believe what y/n he said, like he thought she was trickling him.

"But your eyes...they quelled the anger, the frustration, the hurt and the pain," y/n continued on, "it's like the real you - not the winter soldier - was always waiting, like you were simply hiding in the sidelines." She confessed, a slither of a tear making its way across her waterline. She opened her mouth to say more, but she found her lips already pressed against his.

Bucky rolled them over, his frame hovering above y/n's as he covered her face in small, affectionate kisses.

"I love you too." He whispered against her ear, giving the lobe a playful nip that made y/n squeal and giggle, a sound that had Bucky grinning boyishly and tickling her sides with his slender fingers, relishing in the cute sound she made.

"Please!" She gasped, face red and tears of laughter streaking her face, "please, h-have mercy!" She pleaded with him.

"Only if you say it again." Bucky smirked, straddling her hips and tickling his fingers against her sides.

"Say what?" Y/n breathed, her small form writhing beneath his as he kept up him ministrations.

"You know exactly what." Bucky mumbled as he leant over y/n, beginning to kiss and suck her neck too.

"I love you." She said softly, voice not as crackly now that she'd spoken a little bit more. Bucky's fingers halted for a moment, his nose brushing against hers and their breaths mingled as his stared deeply into her eyes.

"I know." He whispered, pecking the tip of her nose before beginning to tickle the poor girl again, a wolfish grin playing against his lips.

"You promised!" Y/n gasped, trying desperately to get out his grip.

"Oops." Bucky mumbled against her lips, connecting them once again.

...

We had stayed in bed most of the morning, desperate to avoid Steve and my dad for as long as we possibly could. But at noon Bucky ushered me out of bed, claiming he was to meet with a friend and that it was bad for us to spend all day in bed.

I had sighed, getting out of bed with a huff before he was pulling me into his lap, back against his chest and his lips kissing my neck softly. His warm skin against mine made me relax, his hand on my cheek tilting my head back to meet his in a sweet kiss all the convincing I needed.

Sweaty, hot, and flustered, I panted as I climbed the stairs to the floor my apartment was on in the tower. I swiped my forehead, grimacing at the sticky feel of my sweat covering the back of my hand.

To blow off some steam and the manifesting stress of yesterday, I'd decided to go on a short run. That had turned into five bloody miles. So naturally, I was a knackered, panting mess with hair clinging to my face and sweat forming dark patches under my armpits.

I conquered the last flight of stairs - too stubborn to take the elevator as I was more likely to bump into Steve or Tony that way - and dragged my feet the whole way to my room.

I pushed the door open, a hundred-percent ready to flop onto either my bed or my sofa and die. But when I walked in, I was greeted by the sight of Bucky and some guy I'd never met sat at the small breakfast bar in the kitchen of my apartment, two coffee mugs resting in front of them.

The sound of the door opening had caught both mens' attention, both facing me. I offered a weak smile, shoulder slumped with her tiredness. I was mentally cursing, embarrassed that Bucky's friend was seeing me like this the first time we's met.

"Hey, doll." Bucky smiled, clearing his throat when I looked at him questioningly. "This is Sam. I hope you're okay with us using your room." Bucky said sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck and giving me an apologetic smile, "Steve was meant to show me to mine last night. Obviously that's not going to happen now." He said, met with a chuckle from Sam.

"You must be y/n. It's great to finally meet you." Sam smiled kindly, his face soft and he seemed to not be affected by my state, or if he was he didn't show it. I smiled back, slightly wider this time.

"Yeah. It's nice to meet you to, although Bucky's never mentioned you before." I commented, trying to keep my tone civil, the ache in me to just collapse to the floor growing. He chuckled, so did Bucky.

"I, uh, I met him a while back. Six months ago maybe? Of course, he was trying to kill me at the time." Sam said comically, slapping a hand onto Bucky's shoulder a Bucky looked down at his drink, pearly whites shown as he laughed.

"Oh." Was all I said, instantly connecting the dots. That's when I was with HYDRA, I realised. The second time. Sam stood slowly, grabbing his jacket from the back of the barstool before turning to me.

"Well, it was wonderful meeting you."

"You too." I smiled.

"And thank you for the coffee." He finished, directing it at Bucky this time. The soldier smiled and waved at Sam as he left, standing from his own seat to deposit the used mugs in the little sink. Sam's exit was announced bu the thud of the door as it swung shut.

"At least give a girl some warning, next time." I instantly chided, shoulder slumping at Bucky sauntered over to me. He was amusedly smiling, teeth on show as her hooked arm arm around my shoulders and pulled me into his chest.

"Sorry." He mumbled, placing a chaste kiss into my hair. "Now go have a shower, you need it." He said, pushing me away and turning me towards the bathroom.

"Hey!" I complained, yelping as I felt his hand connect with my ass as I began to walk away.

[spideytingle616]

Five Months [5]

Part 4 / Masterlist

*based on the five stages of grief*

Pairing: Peter Parker x Female Reader

Warnings: angst, death, mentions of anxiety/panic, possible implications of sexual activity, blood/injury, swearing

Summary: The first time you touch your soulmate, you’re able to see a glimpse into your future. What happens if your future is also your end?

Word Count: 12.7k wow wow (bold and italics are thoughts, scenes following a +++ are a flashback)

A/N: Thank you all who have read this story! I have had this planed for almost a year, and I’m so happy it actually became a thing, though I apologize for taking so damn long with this part. I hope you enjoy. This chapter features a lot of flashbacks, so buckle up.

Chapter Description: Maybe the universe isn’t so bad…

Month Five, Acceptance: Love, and Never Forget

A new day. A new month. A new semester.

The subway ride feels extra bumpy today, most likely due to the large pit in your stomach. Going to school is never something you looked forward to, but when you got there, someone was usually waiting for you.

Someone that made the grueling day a little easier.

You sigh and slump into your seat. How does a train full of people make you feel so alone?

A completely different person could be seen in your window reflection. Or maybe you were just so numb at this point, your body was nothing but luggage you were simply dragging along.

Fuck, you were exhausted. Beyond the undereye bags and the dry hair, your frame looked like it was ready to buckle down and rest. It was already curling in, prepared to do so when given the chance. Your eyes shut tight as you clenched your fists, trying your best to quiet the anxiety that flowed through your body.

When you open your eyes, you look at your reflection one more time, ignoring the cold stare that met your own. The world keeps going, and so should you.

Everything was more or less the same at Midtown. People were alert after their long break, but they still dreaded the upcoming classes. Friends were reuniting with one another and chatting, and everything seemed normal.

But it wasn’t, at least not for you.

You close your locker, and as you turned away from the wall you were met with familiar faces coming your way. The two friends kept looking at one another as they walked toward you, and it was clear that they felt unsure about approaching.

It wasn’t like you were purposely avoiding them, so to speak. But their worried texts were plentiful, and with everything that has happened, you pushed away from their coddling. Your responses were short, usually, something along the lines of “I’m fine” and “doing good”. Whether or not they trusted that you weren’t sure, but it kept them off your tail long enough for the time being.

Fake it till you make it, right?

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” you joke, opening your arms wide. “Come here.”

MJ and Ned smile at the gesture, quickly accepting the hug. It was definitely something all of you needed. You buried your face into their shoulders, happy to be with them again. Guilt pooled in your chest.

“I missed you guys… and I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting” you sigh.

MJ tightens her grip on you, snuggling her face closer to yours. “It’s okay. We get it. We were just worried is all.”

“Still, it was selfish of me to do.” You pull away, looking between the two. “This whole thing is not just about me. I should have been there for you guys too instead of pushing myself away.”

“Well, we’re here now. Whenever you’re ready, to talk or hang out, we’ll be there.” Ned offers, and a smile reaches your face.

God, your friends were amazing. You couldn’t bear to hurt them even more with your doom and gloom. They deserved someone that would be there for them and listen to their concerns, instead of hiding in their own pool of guilt.

You quickly shake your head before speaking. “Thanks, I think I’m gonna be okay, though. If you guys need more time that’s totally fine, but I’m good. Nothing has to be weird between all of us, we can just hang out like old times, you know?”

Your friends glance at one another, their eyebrows pulled slightly tighter.

“Well, if that’s how you feel, then I’m glad,” Ned says, looking back at MJ for reassurance. “But you know, it’s totally cool if you still need time. After all, it’s been a rough month.”

You bite your tongue back from replying, your jaw suddenly tense.

Yeah, no shit…

+++

He’s gone.

Oh my god he’s gone.

He’s actually dead.

If someone came and ripped your heart out of your chest, it would be painless compared to how you felt now. You continued to stare at Peter even after his eyes closed. If you continued to look at him, maybe you could still pretend that he was alive.

When the police showed, everything was a daze. The flashes of red and blue sirens drew a queasiness deep in your stomach. As the officers forced you to let go of the boy, their voices muddled into the air. You felt completely disassociated from the scene in front of you, and all you wanted to be held in Peter’s arms. There, you could pretend that everything was okay.

“They’re still breathing!”

The shout draws you back into current time, their words shooting a current throughout your body. It couldn’t be…

“Airways are clear, but his respiratory rate is dropping. Get him on the stretcher now. Don’t let him go into shock.”

Were you hearing all this right? Too many things were happening right now, and no one bothered to tell you anything. The police were pushing you away from the scene as if you were a random pedestrian, and you were ready to grab them by the throat and scream at them. When you see Peter getting lifted into the ambulance, his suit now more red than blue, that was the last straw.

You push your way through toward the paramedics. If they were taking him, you were going too. You were right behind the red and white doors before a hard shove comes to your chest, stopping you from coming any closer.

“Excuse me miss, this is private business,” what looked like an EMT said. “Stark Industries does not want anyone seeing this. I’m going to have to ask you to go back with the crowd.”

You stare dumbfounded; at least Ned was able to get a hold of him, but the fact that they were acting as if you weren’t a witness and Peter’s friend angered you even more. “No, you don’t get it, that’s my friend in there. I- I need to be with him if he’s still alive. Please I-“

“Look, as much as I’d like to believe that we were not told anything about other parties being involved. So, to keep this under wraps, we cannot let you ride with us. If you actually do know the patient, you can follow us and figure out your clearance there,” they finalize before walking away and jumping into the vehicle. You don’t even get a chance to breathe before they’re gone, and the only remnant of Peter was the stain on the street.

The EMT did have a point. If you wanted to keep Spider-Man’s identity a secret, you couldn’t draw attention to yourself. Slipping under the newly posted yellow tape, you’re swallowed into the shadows before the police even notice.

Now here you were, in a dirty subway car at ten in the evening. Being a teenage girl, this situation would normally terrify you (Seriously guys, no means no. Why are you even near us to begin with?), but luckily the murder scene on your dress and the hollow glare in your eyes drove most passengers away from you.

Staring into space, your brain tries to process everything that just happened in the past hour. You sprinted across the city to find your dying soulmate, only to find out he isn’t dead? Or at least, not yet. Based on his current state, it could still go either way.

Shouldn’t you be feeling hopeful? Or at least some sort of relief knowing that Peter has a chance? Your body internally cringes at the idea. Getting your hopes up wasn’t great; part of you always hoped for a happy ending with Peter and look where that got you.

All you could feel was dread, and it wasn’t much better than the heartbreak prior.

The car slows down as the rest of the passengers stand and walk toward the doors, but not without giving you a worrisome stare. You ignore their eyes as they pass by; you couldn’t care less about what they thought.

You look down at your hands and focus on blood caked under your nails, trying to rub the residue away. Some looked like it came off, but the red-brown still pigmented your skin. Chest tightening, you lean back in your seat and let your head knock back.

Peter’s blood was on your hands, both figuratively and literally.

---

A chill travels through your spine, bile working its way upward.

Was that really only a month ago?

The bell sounds, its ringing bringing you more despair than usual. Your conversation was brought to an end, MJ and Ned giving you a nod to signal their departure. They forced a smile your way, and you keep your calm composure even after they turn away.

Pulling the straps of your backpack closer, you take a deep breath before walking to class.

---

“First order of business: team captain. Miss Allan’s parting was unfortunate, but both she and I believe this team will do amazing at the international competition this summer. We just need a new captain.”

“Mr. Harrington, I’m honored-“

“Not you, Flash.”

You and Ned snicker under your breaths, earning your partner an elbow from Betty. MJ rolls her eyes at the two of you, but her smile gave away her amusement.

Decathlon was supposed to be done for the school year, but your team’s win at D.C. earned Midtown a spot at its international competition in Paris. You didn’t expect the school board to approve the trip, especially with the large expenses it ensued. But apparently, they found an anonymous donor.  

Though no one could figure out who would willingly spend tens of thousands of dollars for a kids’ trip to Europe, no one was complaining either, especially when they were paying to include an actual vacation with it. As ecstatic as everyone was about the opportunity, it also meant that you would soon be back to frequent practices. And as much as you enjoy this club, more work is never fun.

“After careful consideration of each of your prior performances, I’m happy to announce that our new captain will be none other than Michelle Jones.”

Harrington continued his announcements, but you already stopped paying attention. You nudge MJ after the scattered applause, mouth still agape.

“You didn’t tell me you were gonna be captain. Congrats!” you whispered.

“Well, to be honest, I didn’t know until just now. But I would have been pissed if I wasn’t.”

“And I would’ve had to listen to you complain about it, so it’s a win-win… can your first order be to rearrange the seating? I love Cindy, but sometimes she smells after gym.”

MJ scoffs. “Done, but it’s your fault if this all goes to my head.”

“Oh, I think it already has,”

“Yeah yeah, whatever. Just be quiet so I can listen.”

You roll your eyes as you let her turn away from you, grabbing your phone in the process.

You: Guess who the new captain is…

Liz: It better be MJ, I put in a good word for her and everything

You: It is lol. Good choice by the way, she’ll probably be a better captain than you

Liz: whatever 🙄

In the past month since she moved, the two of you found comfort in one another. Both of you fell in the direct line of fire, and as brutal as that was, it also meant that you weren’t alone.

+++

Lately, it seemed that your timing was nothing if not impeccable.

You speed walk to the cafeteria, breath getting heavier with each step. You’re usually one of the first in there, trying your best to beat the rush of students, but you just had to go to the bathroom beforehand. Amateur move, honestly…

Once you turn the corner, you stop in your tracks. Just ahead was Liz and her mom, both with boxes in hand. Her mom takes a right, most likely heading toward the office. All that was left was you and her, and the ten feet of tile in between.

“Hey,” you call out, gaining her attention. A tint of regret coats the air around you as you walk closer.

Where do you start, after everything that has happened?

“Liz, hey. What’s up?”

“Oh, hey. Nothing much, I’m just packing things from my locker and whatnot. My mom’s grabbing my file from the office, and after that we should be good, or whatever.” She sighs, looking down at her things.

“Wait, packing? Are you… are you going somewhere?”

“Yeah, my dad doesn’t want us to see him in trial. We’re moving all the way to Oregon tomorrow. My mom has family there… nice area apparently, or whatever,” She purses her lips. “New York allows prisoners to call as often as they want, so no worries there, plus I’m all set for college so I can more or less breeze through senior year.”

You nod. Though you suppose the situation could have been worse, it was evident that Liz was hiding all the struggles she just got handed. Maybe if you were closer, you’d be able to comfort her, or tell her what she needed to hear.

“Liz, you’ve probably gotten this a lot, but I’m really sorry about what went down. I can’t even imagine what that’s like.”

There’s a pause before she finds your face again. “I think you do though. Maybe not exactly the same as me, but you were part of this too.”

You tilt your head, confused at her words. Setting her things down, she slings her backpack around to her front, unzipping it to find what she was looking for. “Peter left this in my dad’s car, but something tells me it was meant for someone else. It’s a little wilted now, but I still think it looks nice.”

In her hand was the rose that Peter had the night of the homecoming dance. You were so annoyed when you saw it. However, this time was different. You were not sure what you felt, but you were grateful nonetheless.

You take the flower from her, admiring the purple-red petals. Underneath, a card was tied around:

A rose for a rose.

You might not be my date, but can I SWING BY for a dance?

You let out a quiet scoff. If the pun didn’t give it away, the web doodles might have.

“You think I would’ve figured it out sooner,” Liz shrugged.

“If it’s any consolation, I didn’t realize until it was right in front of my face," you joked back, earning a smile.

“I won’t tell anyone, by the way. He was just trying to do the right thing, and it’s not my secret to tell anyways.”

You nod at the gesture, relieved that things were not getting any messier. Not as much as they could, at least.

“I’m sorry too by the way…” she starts. “if I got in the way of you and Peter.”

You shake your head. “No no, it’s fine. Really. That was Peter’s choice to do that. I even told you we weren’t soulmates, so…“

“Yeah, well, I could tell that wasn’t the whole truth. Or at least, I couldn’t believe that it was the truth.” When you don’t reply, she continues on. “Obviously, I don’t know the whole story, or maybe even half of it, but almost everyone thought you two were soulmates before you even said anything. That’s gotta mean something, right?”

You pause for a moment. For someone who was only two years older, she was a lot wiser than you imagined. “Yeah, maybe it does… I don’t know, it’s just so complicated, you know?”

“I can only imagine.” She offers a smile. “But assuming he’s okay, wherever he is, I think it’d be a lot less complicated if you were in it together.”

With that, the conversation seemed to be over. You both knew that you weren’t really friends, but there was still a connection there. What happened homecoming night created a bond between you, a burning ember in a pile of ash. Everything died down, but there are still remnants that continued to burn.

If you guys chose to, you could let that memory die with the rest of the fire. But you could also choose to keep it alive and learn something from it.

Liz clears her throat, breaking the silence. “Looks like my mom’s ready, so I should go catch up. Thanks for saying goodbye.”

“Well, thanks for the mini therapy session. Hopefully, Oregon treats you better. If you wanna, you can text me once you’re all settled. We can talk, or whatever you want, really. Doesn’t even have to be about this.”

Her eyes light up at the offer, surprised at the generosity. “Yeah. I’d really like that. Thanks.”

You watch as she grabs her stuff from the floor and walk down the hall. The two of you send each other one last wave before parting ways, but you don’t move from your spot. Not until she was fully out of sight.

When she’s completely gone, you think about her words again. Maybe it would be easier.

Or maybe it’s just a faster route to trouble.

---

“You, me, Catacombs of Paris. It’s been on my list for years, and we are not missing out on that.” MJ declares, interrupting your daze. You didn’t even realize the meeting was over, most of the group already filing out of the library. “Jeez, how deep was your conversation with your pen pal? You look like you just woke up.”

You huff as you stood up from your seat. “How do you even know it’s her? Could’ve been my mom checking up on me.”

“Well, whenever you and Liz text, which is pretty regularly now, you get that weird crease between your eyebrows, and something tells me you’re not thinking that hard when you’re answering, ‘how are you’ from your parents.”

“You know, I think someone’s a little jealous that I have other girl friends to talk to.” You joke, checking her shoulder. “Any other creepy spots you’re forcing me to go to?”

Your friend’s face lights up, relishing at the opportunity to talk about her interests. You knew she had hours' worth of knowledge on the subject, and it gave you the chance to avoid talking about yourself. It wasn’t easy to distract MJ, but you had your ways.

It was easy to distract yourself from your current situation with Liz. After all, she was more or less doing the same thing. Your relationship was symbiotic; One of you would talk about your problems so the other could take their focus away from theirs, and vice versa. Mutual therapy, as you both called it.

The bonding made you feel safe. You made a friend and found someone that would need time to heal too.

At least, that’s what you thought.

For the last few conversations or so, the tone has taken a rather lighthearted turn. Liz started her new semester at Oregon a week earlier than Midtown, and she was already coming for the title of Ms. Popular. Though, with her being a hot, new senior, you shouldn’t have been surprised.

She was using her mom’s name for more privacy and was basically starting fresh. Liz even said she could still go to NYU if things died down after the trial. You were ecstatic for her, of course. She was incredibly strong for taking her life into her own hands and making the best of what happened, yet deep down you still couldn’t help but feel frustrated. In the end, even the people that have it worse still find ways to turn it around.

Your stomach turns. Maybe it wasn’t time that was the issue.

Maybe it was you.

---

Life’s kind of funny. Less than a year ago, you thought meeting the Avengers would be impossible. The only time you ever saw them was on the news or some badly edited PSA. For you, they seemed more fictional rather than real.

Now here you were, in the same car that Tony freaking Stark uses, being driven to the one and only Avengers Facility.

Despite the news about the Sokovia Accords, and the infamous “Civil War”, as they coined it, the building continued to stand tall and proud. The squeaky-clean windows and trimmed hedges were simply another reminder of how this lifestyle was beyond you.

Peter has been staying here for the past few weeks so the doctors could track his progress in private. With his mutated DNA and dangerous alien technology, they wanted to make sure there was not any permanent damage to his systems. Though this caused him to miss the rest of the semester, he knew it was for the best.

Despite taking a nasty hit, his super healing got him back on his feet, more or less. Just a few hours of physical therapy and some tests were enough to get Peter back to full mobility. However, he was still advised by the doctors to take things slow. Just because he could move doesn’t mean he should so soon.

This was the fourth or so trip here, yet every visit still felt like the first. All of this was so overwhelming, but you try not to let it show as you walk through the glass door. When you couldn’t find Peter in his room, your panic started to become visible.

Finding one guy in a 300,000 square foot building? How hard could it be?

Answer: not impossible, but still rather embarrassing.

After a few wrong turns here and there, you eventually made it to what seemed to be your destination. You wound up in a gym twice the size of your school’s. It had every piece of equipment one could need to train for a life-or-death mission, and you were struck with awe once again.

Your attention quickly focuses on the sounds of leather on leather. Across the gym was a boxing ring, holding none other than Tony Stark and your best friend.

The two didn’t notice you yet, so you took your time heading closer. Peter was in deep focus, his grey shirt tightening around him every time he threw a punch. Sweat covered the top half of the fabric as his curls brushed his forehead, and you could feel your throat drying up at his appearance.

You would have shown up earlier all those other times if you meant you got to see this…

“Y/N! Hey!” Peter greets when he finally sees you. “Sorry, I should’ve texted you that I was still in here. Guess I lost track of time.”

You wave it off. “Don’t worry about it. Looked like you were doing some good work.”

“Yeah, I sure hope so. Did you know the only fighting knowledge he had before this was from movies?” Tony interrupted, pointing a glove at the guilty party.

“Hey c’mon, Rocky is a solid resource,” He defended. “You ever seen it?”

The billionaire paused, mentally going through the five stages of grief. “Yeah kid, I think we’re done here. He’s all yours.”

“Sounds good,” You respond, turning back to Peter. “Something tells me you might need to freshen up before we start studying, so I’ll just meet you in your room. If I can find it, that is…”

The boy nods, feeling extra gross and sticky now that you brought it up. You send the two a small wave before walking out of the gym, trying your best to retrace your steps. Peter watches you until you vanish, to which Tony raises an eyebrow.

Maybe it was just him, but the spiderling was rather obvious with his emotions.

“Normally I’d say, ‘don’t do anything I wouldn’t do’, but clearly you don’t listen to that,” He says, snapping Peter back into reality. “Just keep it in your room, alright? Last thing I need is to spray this whole place with disinfectant.”

Peter’s mouth parts, slightly uncomfortable at his mentor’s words. “What? No, it’s not like that at all. She’s just helping me with all the schoolwork I’ve missed.”

Tony immediately stops, punching pads half on. “That- that’s it? You get a second chance at life, and all you’re doing is studying?”

He shrugs. “Well, you know, I haven’t taken my finals yet-“

“Finals that you can pass if you just study the night before like a normal kid.” He walks closer to Peter. “You escape the jaws of death and the one thing you want to do is study? What happened to you teenagers and wanting to ‘live a little’?” He mumbles the last part, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t use this experience as an excuse to shy away. I’m not saying go off and be reckless, but at least have a little fun, yeah? Do what you want.”

From one man who had a near-death experience (or several) to another, maybe he had a point. But then again, if you try to sacrifice yourself multiple times, you must be more than okay with the thought of leaving this world and the people you care about.

Tony finally finishes packing up, while Peter was still in the ring, contemplating.

“She’s a good one,” he shouts to the boy, getting his attention. “Might even like her more than you.” He pauses, realizing how that sounded. “No offense, of course.”

The boy’s face sours as Tony keeps walking. “Some taken… oh and hey! I know it was you that paid for the Europe trip!”

“Nope! Wrong billionaire!” He swings the door open, turning around to look at Peter. “But uh, I think there’s a light festival the same weekend you’re in Prague. You should check it out.”

“Uh-huh…” he grins, playing along.

+++

Thanks to his powers, Peter’s hands always got extra sticky when he was nervous. So, when Mr. Stark called him to come to his office a week or so after the incident, he tried his best to keep his hands to himself.

“Hey, Mr. Stark. You wanted to see me or something?” he asked, awkwardly shuffling through the door.

Tony looks up from his phone and nods at Peter. “Kid, hey. How you feelin’?”

“Oh, well I’m actually doing pretty goo-“

“That’s great,” Tony interrupts. “Anyways, here you go.”

He slides a paper bag toward the boy, to which Peter responds by checking his surroundings. Was this a test? Because there are some major drug deal vibes happening right now.

“What the heck are you doing, kid? Just take the damn bag.”

Peter snaps back to the man and quickly snatches it off the desk. He peeks inside and is shocked when he sees the bright red and blue suit. He clutches the bag closer, afraid it would be stripped away from him a second time.

“You- you’re giving it back to me?” Peter grins.

“Well, it didn’t really teach you anything when I took it away, so I might as well just give it back. Plus, your other one looks ridiculous compared to this.”

His smile falls a little, and Tony quickly backtracks for clarification.

“What I mean is that you did good work. I didn’t believe in you after the ferry incident, but you were determined. You followed your heart and ended up catching the guy. However, you also ended up getting shish kabobbed and almost died, which isn’t as good.” Stark mumbles the last part, getting a little off track. “I told you before that if something happened to you, that it would be on me. But if you won’t listen to me then… I guess I have to mentor you, and make sure you know what you’re doing.”

Peter’s eyes widen. “As in…”

“Training every morning. We can practice using all your suit’s abilities along with combat in case you’re stuck without it. We’ll track your health and progress to make sure you’re not pushing it. Last thing we need is you showing off and hurting yourself.”

“Yeah, got it.” He replies, mouth agape. “I- thank you, Mr. Stark.”

He couldn’t believe it. This was all happening so fast. A few days ago, he thought he was supposed to be dead on the sidewalk. Now, everything seemed to be going well. Maybe too well? How was Mr. Stark so calm about it?

“Well, to be honest, you shouldn’t be thanking me. It was your girlfriend that pretty much convinced me to do this. Y/N or something?”

He cocks his head. “Wait, Y/N? What do you mean?”

“We met at the hospital when you were under surgery.” He shrugs. “Kept telling me how you were a good kid who was going to help the city at all costs, that you were soulmates and this was doomed to happen, you should get another chance, etcetera etcetera,” He dismisses with his hands. “It was pretty moving, really. She really believes in you, so I thought I should do the same.”

Peter tries to keep a neutral face, but this information made his mind go even faster than before. You never mentioned that you met Mr. Stark, much less had an actual conversation with him. With all the crap he’s pulled on you, you still said all that. And to an Avenger, no less.

He doesn’t comment about Mr. Stark’s confession, only giving him another thanks followed with a goodbye. From the looks of it, Tony was rather done with the conversation anyways. He leaves as awkwardly as he came in.

As Peter walks back to his room, he notices the air around him feels lighter. Fresher, even. He smiles at the thought.

For the first time, in a very long time, Peter was optimistic for the future.

---

Never mind, maybe he should have died that night.

Studying was a far worse punishment.

Peter groans and buries his face deeper into his pillow, a string of obscenities following shortly after. You turn and frown at the sight. Sure, you weren’t any better during finals week, but this was just sad.

“C’mon dude,” you said as you shook his shoulder. “Get up. We’re almost done with this.”

He groans louder at your comment. “Too much work. Math isn’t even real.”

You shake your head in amusement. “Yeah okay. Tell that to Gonzales, I’m sure you’ll keep your number two spot after that.” You snort, not registering Peter’s shock as he propped himself up.

“Two? Don’t you mean one?”

Shit. “I mean, not exactly. Finals week happened a little bit ago. Grades change, you know?”

“Okay…” He gives you a look. “Well, then who scored high enough to beat me?”

Your lips tighten, but your silence, in turn, answers his question.

“No…” Peter realizes. “You- no….”

“Pete-“

“You’re first now? You took my freaking spot?”

Your mouth hangs open trying to think of a proper response and your friend scoffs. “Wow,” he says, shaking his head. “After all this time, I didn’t realize my best friend would become my enemy. Now I actually have to try.”

“Ouch. A nice congrats or something would have been nice, you know,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “Whatever, at least I’m being nice and trying to help.”

“Help? Or sabotage?” Peter smirks, sitting up. Stiff from his previous meltdown position, he clasps his hands together and stretches his arms upward. He doesn’t get very far before he flinches back down, hands now gripping his side as he quietly whimpers.

You immediately assume the worst as you turn closer to Peter, but he shakes his head, a sign telling you it’s nothing serious. He takes a few more deep breaths before looking at you, now sheepish.

“Sorry bout that. I think I overdid today,” he explained, gently rubbing his abdomen.

“Peter…” you pout. “Thought the whole point of you being here was so that you wouldn’t overdo it.”

“Yeah yeah, I know. I didn’t think a late-night workout would cause too much trouble,” he says, and your eyebrows furrow, disappointment evident. Peter slumps further down, throwing his hands up. “I won’t do it again, okay? It’s my last weekend here, anyways. I’ll take it easy for the next few days. Promise.” He then offers his pinkie to you, and you accept it with a sigh.

Your eyes wander down his chest, stopping at the top of his waist. You’ve never actually seen it, the wound and the scar that it left. At least, not since the incident. Your chest tightens at the thought. It was so bloody, and dirty, and just plain gross.

It was supposed to be the end of him, the end of everything you had. And now here he was, studying for a calculus test.

How was all that a month ago?

“Does it always hurt?” you ask before you could stop yourself. Peter follows your stare before looking at you again.

“Nah, just sometimes,” he starts with a small shrug. “It’s usually a dull ache every now and then, but it hurts more right now, cause, you know…” He looks away in shame. “Speaking of, I need to put this cream stuff on before I forget, supposed to keep it clean and help with the healing. I forgot to put it on after training.” He leans forward to grab the tube off his desk, and you could tell the easy motion was rather painful.

“I could do it if you want,” you offer, eyes widening immediately afterward. The two of you have been keeping physical distance between one another, and now here you were, basically asking to caress him. “I mean- if you think it would be easier.”

He takes a moment to think before giving a small nod, not saying anything as he hands you the cream. You both seem unsure of this, but you slowly grab the tube anyways. You take your time unscrewing the cap, giving Peter a chance to change his mind. When you look back up, he’s already staring at you, waiting for your next move.

You scooch closer toward Peter, and the air starts to get thicker. Tense. One wrong move could ruin this whole thing. You cringe at the thought. It’s not that deep, you tried to rationalize.

But this was Peter. Every small action meant something more.

Fisting the bottom of his t-shirt, you bring it to his chest to reveal the scar. You let out a shaky breath, looking at the newly exposed skin. It was the same as the last time you saw it: You could still see the tinges of pink under the lights, and his chest was still firm. But now all that was blemished with a horrid red line on his right.

That fucking scar. If looks could kill, your stare could probably reopen the wound that was once there. It makes you so frustrated to know the memory still stains his body. Peter once mentioned that his powers speed up his healing process, but marks like these last a lifetime for normal people, so you imagined that if it were to go away, it wouldn’t be for years.

You shake the thoughts from your head as you squeeze the cream onto your fingers, using your thumb to warm it up. Shifting your weight forward, you lean in even closer to him and gently touch Peter’s skin. The contact causes him to tense at first, but he eventually softens under your touch as you massage in the substance.

Peter doesn’t take his eyes off you. He watches how softly your fingers graze his scar, and how his skin was burning at the contact. It reminds him of that weekend: The hungry kisses, the skin on skin after you took your shirts off. Even when you were pulling him for more, you were never rough. You let him dip his toes first, making sure he was doing what he wanted.

Mr. Stark’s words come back to him. Live a little… have some fun… do what you want…

And right now, Peter thinks he wants more.

He sits up straighter (or at least as much as he could) and brings his hand up toward you, tracing your jaw with his fingertips. His thumb rubs the center of your cheek, bringing your focus away from his scar. You don’t realize how close the two of you are until you face him again. Peter’s stare flickers between your eyes and mouth, and you swallow hard. Though his touch was warm, your mind was frozen.

Were you supposed to do something? What did Peter want? Your questions were soon answered as he started to close the distance between you, ever so slowly. And though a part of you wanted to meet him halfway, memories cloud your head.

Blood.

Rubble.

Tears.

Peter holding on for dear life.

Fear shooting through your veins.

With a sharp inhale, you put your weight on your palms and back away. Peter stays where he is, his body a few seconds behind. After a few seconds, he lowers his hand down as concern floods his eyes.

“I- I should go,” you announce. Pushing yourself off the bed, you quickly pack your stuff away, not bothering to check if you got everything.

“I thought we were going to study more-“

“Just look up some practice problems online and you should be good. The curve helps a lot too.” You zip your backpack. “You’ll be fine without me.”

Peter fumbles for an excuse. “Well, it’s getting late, though. Wouldn’t you rather spend the night like last weekend?”

“No, it’s cool. Happy said they always have a driver on call just in case. Might as well put use them,” you shrug. “Anyways, bye!”

You quickly slam the door behind you, and Peter cringes at the sound. What the hell just happened? He brings his palms to his eyes with a heavy sigh. The last thing he wanted was for things to be awkward, yet he still managed to drive you out of his room and onto a two-hour car ride instead. Did he misread the situation that bad?

Meanwhile, you were still on the other side of the door, eyes wide. Did you really just do that? You were always so upset when Peter didn’t communicate with you, but now you were no better. You turn back to face the door, hand on the doorknob, yet the turn never came. Eventually, you let go and back away, and pull out your phone before turning the corner and out of the hallway.

At that same moment, Peter decided to stand up and follow you. Even if you wanted to leave, he didn’t want all his feelings to go unsaid. He pushes through the soreness and reaches the door, yanking it open.

He sticks his head out into the hall, but he doesn’t see you. Peter’s frame shrinks. A big part of him wanted to chase you, to see if he could catch up before you had the chance to go, but if you were already so far gone, it must be for a reason. With a frown, he slowly shuts his door, hoping that maybe you’ll come back before the click.

You never do.

Sleep never comes to you that night, thoughts about a brown-haired superhero circling your head. You knew that leaving was not the best idea. And not turning back when you had the chance was also not the greatest call. But at that moment, the idea of confronting your fears and worries seemed so much worse.

Grabbing your pillow, you smother yourself as you let out a quiet scream. By the time you uncover your face, you can already see the sun.

---

Neither of you mentions that night. Not that you were purposely avoiding the topic. In fact, you wanted to apologize for your abrupt exit, and maybe talk about what was going on between you two, but there was never a good time to do so.

Peter’s reappearance was not going as smooth as you thought it would. No offense to the boy, but you didn’t think many people would notice he was gone. But with the lack of Spider-Man sightings, and all the chaos surrounding homecoming weekend, people were chatty.

The first day he came back to school, Flash kept asking what happened to the friendly neighborhood hero. Poor Peter tried his best to blubber an excuse about him having a mission out of the country, but that just confused his classmates even more.

Others were asking why he missed all those weeks of school, which caused him to create an elaborate lie about having an extended family in Europe. It took everything for MJ not to outright laugh at the scene, which you later scolded her about.

Combine that and all the work he needs to catch up on, you thought it would be best to wait a little longer.

Eventually, Friday rolls around and all of you have survived another week. You, Peter, Ned, and MJ were talking around your locker before school when Ned claps his hands together, a lightbulb turning on in his head.

“Oh, dude! Now that we’re all here, we should all play some D&D!” He grins, getting giddier by the second. “We finally have a good amount of people, plus it’ll be a good way to have Betty get to know you all better as a group. I got this new book for Christmas and I’ve been planning a campaign for weeks. Spoiler alert: it’s awesome!” He quickly spits out, looking toward the group for a response.

Turns out Betty and Ned were soulmates, though no one knew until recently. Except for MJ, of course. When she gossiped about it homecoming night, Ned spilled all the beans.

They found out a few weeks after D.C., but though the two of them were pleased with the pairing, Betty didn’t feel ready to go into a relationship. Ned was accepting of this, being the sweetie he is, and the two of them are slowly building a friendship, though they are quite affectionate with one another. It was adorable, and slightly jealousy-inducing all at once.

MJ crinkles her nose. “I suppose I could try it. No promises that I’ll enjoy it, though.”

Ned, Peter, and you all stare at one another before bursting into laughter. Your amusement confuses MJ, but she doesn’t interrupt the moment.

“Oh Michelle,” you begin, grabbing her by the shoulder. “You are in for a world of fun.”

“Does that mean you’re in?” Ned points to you.

“Of course, dude! You’re the best Dungeon Master around. That, and your mom always has tons of snacks for us whenever we play.”

“I’ll take what I can get, I guess,” he scoffs. “Should we plan for tomorrow or something? I need to add a few more details and Betty should be free then too.”

“I’m good.”

“Same here.”

“Actually, I can’t. I’m busy.”

The three of you turn to Peter, who shrinks down in size and offers a shy smile.

“C’mon Pete. I get you have a lot of catching up to do but I’m sure a small game break wouldn’t kill you,” you said.

“No no, I get that.” He shakes his head. “It’s just that I was gonna start patrolling this weekend… “ he explains, and your blood runs cold. “But you guys go on and play without me, I promise to join next time.”

Ned nods, the three of them continuing to talk like normal, but you stay silent, keeping your eyes in Peter’s direction. Patrolling? How come he never told you about this?

It’s five minutes before class when MJ and Ned decide to leave, heading to their first period history together. Peter decides to go to class too, but you grab his arm before he gets the chance to turn away.

“Are you seriously going out? What happened to taking it easy?” you hissed. Though your tone was rather snippy, deep down you were terrified for Peter. Sure, he was fine now, maybe even better with all his training, but was he ready to go back out?

Were you ready for him to go back out?

“I’ve been taking it easy for a week, and people are starting to get suspicious. I don’t know if I can make it through another one of Flash’s confrontations without getting caught,” he sighs. “Look, can we just talk about this later? Class is about to start.”

You scoff. “You’re just trying to avoid the subject.”

“No, I’m not. I just don’t want to hear you lecture me when I’m already heading to one. And besides, I already know what you’re gonna say so what does it matter?”

“You literally just described ‘avoiding the subject’,” you bite back, concern turning into frustration. “Nothing good happens when we don’t talk, Pete.”

“Oh really? Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah dude, I’m pretty sure. That’s kinda how a friendship works.”

“Right. Friendship…” A pause. Peter’s face hardens as he looks at you. “Fine, let’s talk: why didn’t you kiss me?” he asks, jaw clenched.

Your hand lets go of his arm and falls slack. When you said you wanted to bring up the almost-kiss, you didn’t mean now. Why was he turning this on you?

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, if I can’t avoid the subject, then you can’t either.”

You shake your head. This was not the time to talk about this. He takes your silence as an answer and moves a step back.

“I’m going out. Tonight,” he announces. “I’m not waiting around.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to reply before he turns around and walks away. The action surprises you; Peter was never the one to walk away. If he was, it was because there was a danger that he needed to tend to.

This time, he willingly chose to.

You mull over what he said before he left. I’m not waiting around. He said it with such conviction. It almost sounded like he wasn’t talking about Spider-Man.

He was talking about you.

+++

You didn’t realize the Avengers had their own private hospital section, but considering their job description, you shouldn’t be surprised.

The stale, air-conditioned air of the hospital welcomed you the minute you entered. Goosebumps prickled your exposed arms as the atmosphere around you shifted.

Yeah, you really didn’t like hospitals. Especially now.

The nurses didn’t know anything of you or your involvement either, so they couldn’t let you go past the designated waiting room, leaving you all alone in a stuffy room. You’ve been staring at the fish tank for the last five minutes, waiting for someone to at least come in and talk to you.

Ugh, fuck this.

You texted MJ and Ned the news about Peter, which was a rather chaotic conversation. You promised you would let them know the whole story soon, but now didn’t feel like the time. Not when your other half may or may not be alive.

When you left the school, Ned spammed Stark Industries with emergency messages, which finally got Tony Stark’s attention. You overheard some nurses at the desk talking, and apparently, he was somewhere in the building, talking down a woman. You had no doubt that it was May.

God, if you thought you’ve been through it, you couldn’t imagine how she felt. To find out your nephew, who was basically your son, is a crime-fighting superhero is one thing. To find out he was almost killed and is currently fighting for his life all in one night is another. You were surprised her head didn’t explode right then and there.

Another ten minutes pass by before May comes out from the patient area, eyes red and completely distraught. Tony Stark was close behind her, holding the door open as May’s crouched figure passes through.

You stare at the two of them and accidentally make eye contact with the billionaire. He sends you a nod before heading back to the hospital rooms, like it was the only safe thing to do. The anger from before quickly disappeared; at least you weren’t the only one in shock.

“Oh, Y/N,” May says when she spots you. “I didn’t know you’d be here. It’s super late, I think it’s safer if you went back home. I don’t want your parents to worry. Do you need me to call and talk to them? I can take you home if you need me to.”

“May, you don’t-“

“I mean it’s probably best if I go do something. I don’t think I can sit here for very long without pulling my hair out.”

“May-“

“This is all just hitting me so hard. I mean, how did I not even realize this? I feel so stupid. God, the nerve of Tony to pull this. I should have never trusted him-“

“It’s my fault, May.” You snap, ceasing her rambles. “I did this… I fucking caused all of this. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what to do and one thing led to another and… I killed him. I killed Peter. I am so sorry, May. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

May doesn’t respond right away, still processing everything you said. Her shoulders slump down slightly as she cocks her head. Out of all the news she got tonight, this one confused her the most. But as she focused on you and your shivering body, she realized she wasn’t the only one that had a rough night.

She takes your hands. “Let’s talk, alright?”

The next fifteen minutes were spent by you blubbering about everything. The soulmate memory, his Spider-Man secret, how you tried to keep apart, and how you found him downtown. You skip over the rather intimate parts, knowing it was probably not going to help May. Your face is red and splotchy by the end of it, and a handful of tissues covered the small table next to you.

May doesn’t say a word until you’re done. Though a nice gesture, her silence was more due to her complete shock.

“I am so fucking sorry, May,” you whisper at the end. “I should have told you, or someone, at least. It’s just that, it was Peter’s life on the line. I didn’t want to do anything and hurt him. I thought it was best if he made the call, but look where that got us.” You wipe your eyes and look away. The guilt was unbearable. May was nothing but caring to you, and you repay her by killing her nephew.

“God... I knew Peter was having a rough time, I always heard him at weird hours of the night, but I thought it was just school or something. I’ve always checked on him, but he would always say he’s busy.” She shakes her head. “I don’t blame you, though. I mean, I’m not exactly happy this all went down the way it did, but I can’t be mad at you for at least trying to save him, even when it hurt to.”

You sniffle at her words, trying to suppress any more tears. “He still got hurt, though. Peter being my soulmate cost him his life…” you whisper the last word.

May offers a sympathetic smile as she smooths your hair. “You know, people say the reason for soulmates is to be with someone you love forever, but it never takes into account some people’s forever is shorter than others,” she explains. “When Ben died… I was so angry at the world. Why give me this amazing person if I only got them for a short time? Sure, the world can give me another soulmate or something, but it almost defeats the purpose… makes it seem that I had to have this one soulmate before I had to a ‘real’ soulmate. Even after all this time, part of me will always want him…

“But even if Ben isn’t with me forever, I was with him for his forever, and I found a way to be okay with that. I gave him all the love I possibly could have, and I have no doubt in my head that it was worth it.”

You smile and nod at her words, but she could tell you weren’t completely getting the point. “You and Peter are great together, friendship or more. There’s no way he regrets spending his time with you, and I don’t think you do either. The two of you always had something special. Don’t push away from that, even if it might seem easier.”

You find May’s hands and give a firm squeeze, a silent way of saying thanks. For months, you have been trying to go for easy: less drama, fewer risks… but it was still a whole lot of pain. And for what? Never getting to be with your best friend in the way you truly wanted? May made it seem like the choice was obvious, and you wondered if it actually was.

A few quiet minutes pass until Tony Stark steps into the waiting room and approaches the two of you. You and May quickly stand up, waiting for the worst. You already experienced Peter’s “death”, you didn’t need to go through it again, especially if it’s real this time.

“Is he going to be okay?” May quickly asks, hands close to her chest, protecting herself from any hidden blows.

Tony’s mouth tightens before answering. “More or less…” he starts, looking down before continuing. “The wound was deep, and if he couldn’t heal as fast as he could, this would be a different story. However, it was still caused by dangerous, alien hybrid technology and he was already in a rough state prior to the… stab.” He cringes at the word. “Scrapes and bruises, a broken rib, some significant brain injury… Dr. Cho is doing the best she can, but as of right now, he’s in a comatose state.”

You gulp at the news. “So, what does that mean? When will he wake up?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“But- but he will wake up, right?” you clarify.

A pause. Tony’s jaw ticks. His eyes quickly leave you before blinking and meeting yours again, but you notice it. The doubt behind them.

“I don’t know…”

---

It’s almost midnight, which means you’ve spent the whole night worrying.

You were out on the fire escape freezing your ass off. It would only take ten steps maximum to grab something warm, but the bite of the wind kept you alert.

You weren’t going to leave until you knew Peter was safe.

He barely talked to you since this morning. He sat near Ned at lunch instead of you and took different routes to class. You texted him a few times throughout the day, but he never replied.

So, when you sent a message checking in on him with no response back, you weren’t sure if it was him ignoring you or that he was in danger. You let out a sigh of worry as your breath dissolved into the night.

You never realized how nice your view was. The most use your window got was when Peter came in, but that hasn’t happened for months. It’s crazy that you consider that a simpler time in your relationship.

Your ears focus on the sounds of the city. The bustling noises often brought you comfort, knowing that there were thousands of people going through the motions of life. Tonight, however, it sent a feeling of loneliness to your veins. New York kept going on while you were wallowing and worrying. It didn’t need you, even though you needed them.

A sudden urge to cry makes your throat tightens. You really hope that Peter was alright.

When you check the time again, you saw that a new day began. You decide to shove your phone back in your pocket. Watching the clock every ten seconds wasn’t going to help.

You sigh, maybe you’ll feel different today. Maybe you’ll feel warmer because holy shit is it cold outside. At what temperature does hypothermia kick in? That seems like a question to Google, not experiment.

You’re about to turn back when you hear a soft thwip, and a Peter hanging outside down on the stairs. You weren’t too sure how he was feeling at the moment, his covered eyes not giving any hints, but you send a soft smile nonetheless.

“I’m not a damsel in distress if that’s what you’re thinking,” you break the ice.

Peter turns himself right side up, taking a seat on the railing next to you. He pulls his mask off and drops it in his lap, and you can see his face isn’t as icy as this morning. But his mouth was pulled tight, unsure how to go about this.

“I’d consider frostbite to be a crime,” he shrugs. Luckily, you had your window open this whole time. With a quick webshot, Peter sticks and catches the sweater hanging on your chair before offering it to you. “Especially if Spider-Man can stop it.”

You bite your cheek. Part of you didn’t want to give in, but there was no way you could last another minute out here. Slowly, you grabbed your sweater, your fingers grazing the fabric of his suit. A way of saying thank you.

“Slow day?” you ask, pulling the sweater over your head. The extra layer was already warming you up, and your body relaxes a little.

“Well, considering the biggest thing I did today was helping tourists find their way to the subway, I’ll let you figure that out,” he laughs. “Though I suppose some good work is better than no work at all. At least the city knows I’m back.”

Peter realizes that the last sentence wasn’t a good idea, your face slightly dropping at his words. He tries to keep talking in hopes of distracting you. “So uh, any reason why you’re out here tonight?”

“I was waiting for you. Couldn’t sleep until I knew you were safe, I guess.” you sigh, looking back at the skyline. “I also wanted to apologize, for how I reacted. Even if I didn’t agree with you, I could have at least listened to you.”

Peter awkwardly nods, guilt surfacing at your confession. “I mean, I could have done the same thing too. I was so focused on the dumb rumors I let Flash get into my head. That was my first mistake,” he jokes, causing you to snort. “I’m not trying to get into myself into any death matches anytime soon, but I still want to help out, you know?”

“Always the hero… I learned that back in D.C.,” you sigh. “I guess I’m still trying to figure things out. Everything just feels weird right now, and I don’t think I’m making it any easier.”

He doesn’t say anything and faces back toward the city. He takes a breath of the city, smelling the mix of laundry detergent from your apartment basement and the exhaust from the streets.

For all his life, Peter was dedicated to New York. He loved going to the museums with May and Ben; he always tried to pay street performers with whatever spare change he had in his pocket; he rolled his eyes every time someone brought up New Jersey; most importantly, he wouldn’t take off the suit until he knew his home was safe, even if it was almost morning.

He’s done everything he could to protect his neighborhood and the people who need it most, yet he feels… almost distant from it all. As if Peter was trying to find something more to it. A faint memory passes through his head- what did Ben use to say all those years ago? Something like, “home isn’t a place, it’s a feeling”?

Peter’s brain sticks to the thought.

Suddenly, the last month hits him.

“I thought of you,” he starts, still looking out into the night. “When it happened, all I could think about was you.”

Your face softens as the beating of your heart becomes audible.

“I was so… angry about it all. I was so pissed off at myself. Even if I knew that was gonna happen, even if I knew or thought I guess, that that was the end, I was an idiot for not spending my time with you. I should’ve used whatever time I had trying to be something more to you, instead of pushing away what we already had. At least if I did die, I would be at peace with everything,” he chokes up a little at the end. “You’re my best friend, and one that somehow gets me. This place is my home and I’d do anything for it.” He turns his head closer. “But it’s nothing without you. Life feels complicated, it’s always been complicated… but I think it’d be easier if we were in it together.”

You bite your lip and pick at the skin. They’ve been chapped since you came out, but it didn’t stop you from using it to cope with your nerves. Peter was laying it all out on the table, and you were the one left silent.

“You don’t have to tell me why we didn’t kiss, it’s completely understandable if you rather just let it go. I’ve pushed you away too many times, it’s only fair you get to do the same at least once. But I want you to know this.” His eyes were bright under the moonlight.

The last hurrah.

“I would keep you in any possible way I could. I told myself that I need to be able to do what I want, and I want you, for however long I can get you,” he sighs. “If you’re not ready for that, okay. If you never want that- fuck – that’s okay too. I love you. I will always love you,” he says, passion dripping from his words and into your heart. “If you could wait for me, I can wait for you too. Whenever you’re ready, just say when. I don’t care what I’m doing, or where I am, I’m always going to be here with you. Even if you don’t want me, I’ll be here.”

I’ll be here…

+++

It took five days for Peter to wake up.

Five days of nonstop worrying and utter stress. Five days of you traveling to the hospital first thing after school until your parents texted you to come home. Five days of you not sleeping because you were waiting for the call, and you had no idea what to expect when it did.

The first day was somewhat bearable. May and you slept in the waiting room that night, and when you woke up, which was about four hours later, she took you home. Sitting in a sticky, vinyl chair was not helping you, and if May had to wait there for another minute, she was afraid she’d have another meltdown.

You were still a little numb from it all by the time you got back. It wasn’t until almost midnight that you started to realize, oh shit, you don’t know when Peter will wake up. If… he’ll ever wake up.

That first night you cried in your bed until the morning. Your face was swollen for the rest of the day, and when your parents came back on the second day, they were panicking that you had an allergic reaction.

You told May not to tell them. They didn’t need to know, and they didn’t need to coddle and worry about you. May, who didn’t exactly think it was a good idea, reluctantly agreed anyways. So, when your parents were fussing about your appearance, you laughed it off and told them you watched The Notebook the night before with some friends.

It was just easier that way.

The second day was spent with you wallowing in your room, waiting by your phone for something. May told you she would keep you updated and that you shouldn’t worry, which both of you knew was just empty advice. Hearing nothing was just as bad as hearing something.

Later that day, MJ sent a few news articles about the Vulture and his arrest. Apparently, his suit gave out not too long after he left the scene, causing him to suffer some internal injuries and harsh burns. He got caught by Stark Industries and was arrested quickly after, and is currently awaiting trial. It was likely that Adrian Toomes would be under bars for a while, and that brought you both relief and guilt as you tried to sleep.

The third day sent you to school, and at least gave you something to focus on. The tension between you and your friends was palpable, but no one bothered to address it, not sure where to even go. The only mention of that night was with Liz in the hallway before she left, and that was enough for you.

You went back to the hospital on the third day (after telling your parents you were staying at school for newspaper), and though there was nothing new about Peter’s condition, you still wanted to be there just in case. May was too busy with work to come in unless there was an emergency, and you hope that brought her more relief than stress.

You spent your visiting hours watching Peter sleep, or whatever people did when they were in a coma. You at least liked to pretend he was just sleeping, it made you feel better about his chances of waking up.

His face was so pale and frail under the fluorescents, and you wished he could wake up just long enough to get some actual food in him. You hoped he was at least somewhat at peace right now and resting away all of the stress he’s put himself under. The stress that you were also a cause of.

“I’m sorry, Peter. For everything,” you whisper. Even if he could hear you right now, you’re not sure you want him to. You slowly stand up from your chair and step closer to the boy, brushing his curls back. Gently, you lean forward and press a kiss to the top of his head, brushing the area with your thumb afterward. “I hope you’re doing okay…”

The fourth day is mostly the same. After school, you lied to your parents and went straight to the hospital. You quietly worked on homework while sitting next to Peter, glancing at him from time to time and sending his hand a reassuring squeeze every now and then. He looks the same as yesterday, and you’re not too sure if that’s good or not.

“You know he’s not going anywhere,” you hear from the doorway. Their voice was instantly recognizable. “Dr. Cho says he’s doing alright, though. Still don’t know when he’ll wake up, but he’s alright for now.” Tony Stark says.

You scoff. “No offense, but that ‘for now’ part doesn’t seem so reassuring.”

“Fair enough,” he shrugs, taking a seat next to you. “But considering this is probably my fault, I’ll take that over nothing.”

You shake your head. “It’s not your fault. It was bound to happen either way, no matter what you did, it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“Yeah, that’s what everyone says, isn’t it?” he mumbles.

“Trust me, I actually mean it. If we’re going to put blame on anyone it should be on me… or the universe or whatever.”

Tony tilts his head. “Universe as in…”

“-soulmates, yeah,” you answer. “In our future, we saw each other after the incident, and I thought he died… now here we are.”

“Right, here we are…” he repeats. “They told me someone else was there at the scene when I got to the hospital, but I wasn’t sure who they were referring to until I saw you afterward. Nice to meet officially meet you…”

“Y/N,” you introduce yourself.

Tony nods. “I’m sorry about how all that went down though. I knew the kid wants his identity to be a secret so I tried to keep everything under wraps as much I could.”

“No hard feelings,” you smile. “I was definitely upset at the time, but I could tell you were just as worried as I was. You wanted to protect him… I do too.” You turn and look at Peter, watching his chest go up and down with his breath. “I’d do anything for him.”

You don’t notice Tony’s faint smile as he watches you and Peter. Young love was beyond him, and watching it happen right in front of his eyes was both sweet and nauseating.

“I should be heading back, I only came here for a quick check-in. Still have some loose ends to tie up regarding press, but nothing to worry about.” He stands up, straightening his jacket. “Glad we got a chance to chat.”

“Me too.” You watch as he walks away, words still at the tip of your tongue. “For what it’s worth Mr. Stark,” you begin, gaining his attention again. “Peter is the type of person who would do anything to save people. He looks out for his family, his friends, me… I can’t imagine someone who’s more of a hero than him, and that includes the Avengers. No offense,” you half-joke. “Whatever you decide to do with him, I hope you give him another chance. He’s really amazing- powers or not.”

He nods, impressed at your words. Tony doesn’t say anything, choosing to offer you a smile before turning away, leaving you and Peter alone. You don’t stay much longer after he leaves, and you follow yesterday’s routine of kissing Peter’s head before heading out.

The fifth day is rainy, perfect to match your somber mood. School decided that today would be a great day to kick your ass and give you tons of homework, even though finals week was already fast approaching. You also forgot an umbrella this morning, and your clothes were still damp from your walk from the subway station. For the cherry on top, no one has had any updates on Peter since he went under, and your hope was starting to falter.

Without thinking, you took Peter’s hands in yours and started to fidget around with his fingers. The cuts on his knuckles were turning pink and gradually healing, while the calluses on his palms were still evident. Much of the skin around his joints were rough, but it meshed so well with the smoothness around it. You were never touchy with other people, but you desperately wanted Peter to squeeze your hands back. At least show some indication that everything was going to be okay.

When you actually felt a squeeze, you almost couldn’t believe it.

You straighten in your chair and turn your head up. A slow flutter of the eyes and a twitch of the lips make your body tense in anticipation. Is he…?

“Peter?” you whisper.

A quiet groan escapes his mouth as Peter’s eyes gently open, taking in the bright lights. You sigh in relief and blink away at the tears trying to come. This better not be a dream.

“Y/N?” he asks, voice dry and scratchy.

“Oh jeez, maybe don’t talk yet. I’ll go grab you some water and tell the nurses you’re up, okay?” you loosen your grip on Peter’s hands, but he squeezes again.

His head does the tiniest shake as he stares down, watching where your fingers touch his. “Stay. They’ll figure it out.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Fine,” you give in. You’ll be out of here soon enough when they find out, and you wanted to spend time with the boy who came back from the dead. “If I get in trouble though, you cannot play the ‘sick patient’ card.”

Peter lets out a gravelly laugh, his body still trying to figure out how to be awake. “I’ll try my best…” he mumbles.

“You’ll try your best? Seriously?” you scoff. “You finally wake up and your first words are some half-ass promise?”

He takes a deep inhale, both humored and annoyed at your teasing. “Fine. I promise I won’t… as long as you promise to be here.”

You smile at his quiet words, taking his knuckle and forcing his pinkie finger up. You gently wrap yours around it, looking him dead in his tired eyes. “I promise I’ll be here,” you whisper.

”I’ll always be here…”

---

A month ago, you promised Peter that exact same thing, and it feels like you already broke that promise. The world has offered you a second chance, and you were doing the same thing Peter did the first time: pushing away out of fear. Could you really waste another five months doing that again?

Could your heart handle that?

“Sorry if I made you uncomfortable or something,” Peter stammers. “If you need some time alone, that’s cool,” he offers, fumbling to put his mask back on.

“-Peter, wait.”

He immediately freezes, looking at you with wide eyes. The wind was starting to pick up, and his curls gently blew in the breeze. The dry air irritates his lips as he picks at it, waiting for your next response.

You move closer to him, inch by inch on the railing; your hands are almost touching, your pinkie desperately wanting to link with his gloved one. You take a deep breath and let it trap in your chest as you stare at the boy in front of you.

Peter Parker.

Spider-Man.

Your soulmate.

But most importantly, your best friend.

The wind moves through your hair and chills your body, yet it jumpstarts every nerve in your system. Peter was alive; you were alive; and fuck, was it a good feeling.

You wanted more, so you leaned in. Your nose touched Peter’s and your mouths closed the gap. A small, innocent kiss to tell him you want more, and that it was his call to keep going. When you stop, and Peter realizes that yes, you did just kiss him, he comes back for more. And he’s not looking to stop anytime soon.

His hand lets go of the railing and wraps around the small of your back, keeping you close and balanced. He keeps the other one gripped tight to the metal; he doesn’t trust himself to not get dizzy from you.

You cradle Peter’s face and deepen yourself into his presence. Your heart is hammering against your chest and you love it. It makes your body heat up and radiates the air around you. You hum against his mouth as you suck on his bottom lip, making Peter whine at the feeling. Your sweater rides up as you press yourself closer, and his thumb draws circles on the exposed skin. The small action makes you smile; you were only half-sure you weren’t crying at the amount of love that was running through your veins.

It seems like forever until you two are pulling away, absolutely blissed out and breathless. Neither of you go that far, faces still just a space or two away.

You look into Peter’s glassy eyes. If something were to happen to him, if you had to say goodbye to him in the worst way possible, if you had to grieve for a lifetime in order to move on, if you had to spend every day thinking of him and crying until your face was red and dry…

It was worth it. You were grateful to be loved by Peter Parker.

You catch your breath and take a slow inhale. It smells like cedarwood. Home.

You lean forward again and Peter meets you halfway. Your lips are just touching when you whisper into his mouth his new favorite word.

“When.”

Part 4 / Masterlist

Taglist: @eridanuswave @spideylovin @mktravelbuggie​  @bintfalastin8​ @runway-to-my-aid​ @selfcarecap @peterbenjiparker​

[moonvyx]

Mini Maximoff - Harry Potter

Tw: none

PIETRO LIVES CAUSE WHY NOT

YES

I LOVE YOU PIETRO

MY FAST BLUE NOT SONIC BABY

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

AND STAN WANDA SHE IS AMAZING

Ginny and Harry aren't dating here and you and Peter are around Harry' sage, 17-18 :>

Tony is the Maximoff's father figure here, so they would call him pa or any dad name.

After the war, Harry, the Weasley's and Hermione decided to take a break from England and visit New York city.

As soon as they group got there, they went to a restaurant and ate a lot of delicious food, especially chicken.

After that, they went to look for a hotel and found one next to a very tall building and began to rest.

The next day they were separated into groups to explore the amazing yet crowded city.

The trio were grouped with Ginny and Bill while Molly and Arthur went with Percy, George and Charlie.

The first group went to a cute cafe and chilled there for a while before leaving again.

As they were going back to their hotel to get some money, a big piece of block came crashing down with a loud noise.

A few seconds after the huge object crashed down, the group were slightly tempted to take out their wands and defend themselves. But it was no longer needed because a few hero looking people came flying, swinging, and running to the scene.

"I told you it was a bad idea to test the gun." A man with a gold and red mask said. Then a girl with f/c (but purple, green or red suits it better but it's up to you) and black dress (knee length or longer) replied, "You never know til you try, pa." Then, a man who was wearing all red and blue laughed at them, so did a girl with red hair.

They all looked- amazing and mystic. But the girl who wore f/c and black caught Harry's eye.

"Oh, I think we have some guests." The girl with red hair said, making the other three's head turn to them.

"Not to be rude or anything- but who are you and where did you come from? I've never seen you guys before." Asked the other girl.

Harry snapped out of his daydream, "Oh uh- I'm Harry, and this is Hermione and the redheads are Ginny, Bill and Ron. We just came here yesterday and decided to roam around and here we are." He shyly smiled when the h/c girl smiled at him.

"Cool, cool, I'm Tony Stark, I'm also known as Iron Man as you see-"

"I'm sure they've heard about you, Tony." The girl with red hair cuts off "Tony".

Tony scoffs, "Whatever, these two idiots," He tilted his head at the h/c girl and boy who was wearing all red and blue. "Are h/n (heroname) and Spiderman. And our savage badazz red head friend here is Natasha, Black Widow." He finished.

The group nodded but Hermione decided to ask, "Excuse me, Iron Man. But is there a reason why you couldn't reveal the other two's names?" Tony nodded his head at her question.

"Well, they can't tell other people their identities. They're still too young. So that's why they go by the name h/n and Spider boy." He said. "Mr. Stark, it's Spider-Man." Said Spider-Man. "Meh, whatever." Tony said and turned back to the group. "You better leave or one of you will get injured. See ya!" He said again before leaving with his group.

[bitchin-beskar]

Honorable Intentions

Rating: M 

Word Count: 14.2k holy shit

A/N: Damn. So, this started out as a fun little plot idea and then turned into this absolute monster of a piece. I promise the next thing I work on will be the next chapter in the I See Starlight Series, but this little plot bunny just would not leave me alone. So, here it is, my 14 thousand word one-shot about Oberyn... can I even call it a one-shot? I think it’s at, like, novelette length... 

Anyways, I hope you enjoy!!

This story is rated M for a rather lengthy sex scene, please only read if 18+

Sighing, you look out at the arena, already bored and the jousts haven’t even started. It isn’t proper for a lady to seem bored however, so you keep your face carefully blank. You glance to your right to see your sister, Lyanna, eagerly awaiting the beginning of the event. She’s always appreciated these events more than you. Lyanna favoured stories of chivalrous knights and charming princes, fantasizing being swept off her feet by the handsome man of her dreams.

You, on the other hand, tended to be more down-to-earth. Yes, you enjoyed stories of knights and princes just as much as any other lady, but you also knew that real life was rarely like the stories. You knew the likelihood of both Lyanna and yourself being married off to your father’s bannermen was high. If you were lucky, you’d be married to lords who weren’t too much older than yourselves, but there were no sureties. 

Your twin was especially excited for this particular event, you knew. Prince Rhaegar would be competing, and Lyanna was entranced by him. Ever since coming to Harrenhal, she’d watched every event he’d completed in, and in your rooms at night, she would talk for hours about him, wondering what he was like. You’d constantly tell her that the Prince was already married, to Princess Elia of Dorne, with a daughter no less, but your words fell on deaf ears. 

Neither of your elder brothers were seated with you. Brandon was recovering from the previous event, and Ned was speaking with some of the sons from Houses Karstark, Hornwood, and Mormont. So, you were left with the ladies from the noble houses of the North and your sister, all of whom were extremely excited for the joust. 

Instead of joining in with the tittering and gossip, you surveyed the arena, taking note of the other Houses present for the joust. You took note of the royals box, with Queen Rhaella and Princess Elia in attendance. King Aerys was nowhere to be seen, and from what you’ve overheard from the maids, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Princess Elia didn’t look pleased to be here, and you supposed you couldn’t blame her. All eyes would be on her if her husband lost the joust, and you didn’t envy her that pressure. 

House Lannister was also in attendance, and you saw the way Cersei Lannister surveyed the stands, much the same as you, although her countenance suggested she felt as though everyone here was beneath her. You were honestly surprised she’d come, especially after being so publicly rejected by Prince Rhaegar previously.

Your eyes skipped over a few other Houses, Baratheon, Tully, Tyrell and Greyjoy, and focused on one particular house. House Martell was seated almost directly across from you, and the box held Prince Doran and Prince Oberyn of Dorne, Princess Elia’s older brothers. You’d first noticed them a few days previously, as your sister’s handmaid had pointed out how attractive Prince Doran was.

While you couldn’t disagree, you however, found your eyes constantly drawn to Prince Oberyn. He was two-and-six, not that much older than your one-and-eight. His beard was neat and trimmed, and his eyes were dark, glittering orbs that seemed to captivate anyone caught in their depths. Despite the warm weather, the Prince wore a rather heavy cloak, and you supposed it must be true, the rumors of the intense heat in the Dornish capital. 

Being from the North, where snow fell no matter the season, the mere thought of a place with no snow or rain was baffling. It was said there were dunes of sand, and much like snow, they stretched on for miles, a solid expanse of singular color. 

As your eyes fell on the box that housed House Martell, Prince Oberyn happened to raise his own gaze, and your eyes connected across the arena. He held your gaze, raising an eyebrow as you refused to duck your head in embarrassment or shame, a sly grin stretching across his lips. You bit one of your own, and found yourself captivated, as you’d often seen others fall victim to the same stare you were now being subjected. 

The sound of the horn signaling the beginning of the joust startled you some, and you reluctantly tore your eyes from the Princes’, looking to the tents where the jousters would emerge from.

“Is everything alright, sister?” 

You looked over at Lyanna, a question clear upon your face. “You’re flushed. Is something wrong?” You raised your hand to your cheek, surprised to feel the skin heated underneath your fingertips. 

“I’m quite alright Lyanna, I suppose I’m just anxious for the jousts to start.”

With a suspicious hum, Lyann turned away from you, focusing her eyes on the tents just as the knights began to emerge. You fought to stop yourself from rolling your eyes as Lyanna and the other ladies began to whisper excitedly when Prince Rhaegar stepped forward. 

You watched, disinterested, as the competitors mounted their horses. The Prince made a grand show of mounting his snow white steed, and you wanted to groan when your twin practically swooned. The Prince led his steed around the arena in a trot, and the ladies in your box titered as he rode by. 

The other competitors in the joust were all Kingsguard, and while you were sure they were perfectly competent, you knew the Prince would be winning this competition. Even if he wasn’t an extremely skilled jouster–which you would admit, reluctantly, that he was–it would be suicidal for any of the Kingsguard to win, what with the King’s fragile sanity. 

You didn’t want to imagine what would happen if one of the Kingsguard managed to best Prince Rhaegar, and clearly they didn’t either, for the first of the four went down quickly after the first charge against the Prince. 

Wincing as he hit the ground, you watched as another took his place, only for the same fate to befall him. And again, to the third man. This competition is much shorter than all the others, but even then, you find it exceedingly dull, especially with your sister practically salivating next to you.

Finally, it is the turn of the fourth Kingsguard. The crowd seems to be sitting in anticipation, but you find no such anxieties when the outcome is all but assured. And, sure enough, the final Kingsguard is unseated, and the crowd roars. The Prince gallops around the arena, a show of misplaced pride, and you glance at the Princess Elia, only to see her looking just as unamused as yourself.

“Prince Rhaegar will now present the crown of blue winter roses to his Queen of Love and Beauty!” The voice of the announcer boomed out from his place beneath the royal box, and it seemed as though everyone held their breath, the loud cheers ceasing at once, as the Prince was handed the crown. 

You watched in stunned silence and absolute horror as the Prince rode past the royal box, past his wife, to stop in front of your own box. He reached out, placing the crown on Lyanna’s lap, and you watched, mute, as he gave a stunning smile to your twin sister, which she returned, blushing furiously. 

She held the crown in her lap for a moment, before placing it among her curls, grinning as Prince Rhaegar rode away from the box. Suddenly, the arena burst into noise, members of all the houses shouting over one another at what had just occurred. You watched as Lyanna continued to blush a brilliant red, a smile dancing on her lips, a smile that died as she turned and saw your look of horror. 

Before she could open her mouth, you stood from your seat, leaving the box in a rush. You descended the steps and walked furiously towards the woods behind the arena, sure that if you spoke to your sister, you would be unable to control your temper, and praying to the gods old and new that she would not follow. Unfortunately, the gods did not grant your wish, and you heard Lyanna run after you, stopping you with a hand on your arm.

“Sister! Why did you storm off so? What has gotten into you?”

You spun around to face her. “Me? What’s gotten into me? Lyanna have you lost all sense? Have you gone as mad as the king?” Your voice was an angry whisper, words sharp and biting as her eyes widened. “What in the name of the gods possessed you to accept that crown?” You gestured to the blue winter roses atop her head. 

“Prince Rhaegar named me his Queen of Love and Beauty! Why should I not accept?” Her voice was petulant and whiny, and for a moment, you wondered how it was possible the two of you were the same age, let alone related. 

“Prince Rhaegar is married, Lyanna! He is married to a Princess of Dorne! She has already given him a daughter! You are the daughter of Lord Stark, Warden of the North! You cannot possibly be so foolish as to not understand the consequences of this!” Your voice rose louder and louder until you were practically yelling. “For the Prince to name anyone else other than his wife his Queen of Love and Beauty is a grave insult, for him to so name the daughter of a Great House different than the one he married into is an insult even more so! I would not be surprised if Dorne does not take offence to his actions, and refuse trade with the North!”

Lyanna didn’t look repentant however. “So? We do not need Dorne! We are perfectly fine trading with the other kingdoms, we don’t need them!” You wanted to grab your sister around the shoulders and shake her. 

“We have trade agreements with Dorne, Lyanna! They provide most of the exotic trades for all of fucking Westeros! To destroy the alliance between our houses would be unforgivable, and quite frankly, terrible for our people!” You saw your brothers quickly moving towards the two of you, and you sighed heavily. “You should return the damn crown, and we should leave Harrenhal, and hope that you have not just single-handedly destroyed one of the North’s alliances!” 

You stormed away, and as Brandon tried to stop you, you shrugged him off. “If I continue to speak to my sister, I may smack her. I suggest you attempt to talk some sense into her.” Your words were curt and sharp, and the word sister was spat with contempt and disgust. You continued to storm away, only to see Princess Elia ahead of you, walking with her ladies-in-waiting. 

You sped up slightly, approaching her. “My lady, if I could speak with you for a moment?” Her handmaids eyed you distrustfully, but Princess Elia surprisingly waved them on. She waited until they were out of earshot before turning to you. 

“What can I do for you, Lady Stark?” Her words were perfectly polite, but cold and unemotional. If you hadn’t been looking into her eyes, you would have thought she’d been completely unaffected by what had just occurred. 

“I wanted to offer my sincerest apologies for the stupidity and arrogance my sister displayed at the end of the joust, my lady.” It was clear that was not what the Princess was expecting you to say, and her cold, indifferent mask cracked. 

“Oh?”

You sighed, suddenly feeling much older than one-and-eight. “I will not lie to you my lady. My sister has been rather infatuated with your husband since the beginning of the tourney. I have attempted to talk to her on multiple occasions, but she refuses to listen to my council. I am truly very sorry for the pain this may have caused.” You didn’t want to presume any hurt on the part of Princess Elia, but neither were you willing to just let this go unaddressed. “I never could have imagined anything such as this happening, and if there is anything I can do…?” You trailed off once more, once again not wanting to presume anything on her part.

To your surprise, Princess Elia smiled softly. “Your words bring me some comfort Lady Stark. I thank you for the kindness you have shown me. You did not need to speak to me, but you have, and I greatly appreciate it.” 

You shook your head slowly. “I did need to speak with you, my lady. My honor would demand nothing less. I am only sorry my sister seems to possess none.” 

Princess Elia let out a soft laugh at your words, and you briefly found yourself wondering at how Prince Rhaegar could have named anyone but his wife his Queen of Love and Beauty. “Your honesty is refreshing, Lady Stark. Would you care to dine with me this evening? Ladies of your character are few and far between in court it would seem, and I would not be opposed to another friend.” 

Stunned, it took you a moment before you nodded. “Of course, my lady. I only insist that you call me by my name. It seems rather rude to insist upon a friend referring to myself as Lady Stark.” You gave her your name, and she smiled once more. 

“Of course. But I fear I must insist for you to call me Elia.” 

You agreed, and Elia told you that she would have someone stop by your rooms to escort you to her private chambers. You watched as she rejoined her handmaids and continued towards the castle. Hearing the raised voices of your sister and brothers, you sighed, turning back to rejoin the familial argument, your eyes missing the slightly hidden figure observing you. 

***

Later that evening, you were in your rooms awaiting whoever the Princess–Elia–sent to escort you. Brandon had argued fiercely with you, wanting to leave Harrenhal immediately, but you’d argued that if you had the chance to try and repair at least some of the friendship between House Martell and House Stark, you should take it. 

Ned had been quiet, like always, only giving his opinion once directly asked, but surprisingly he agreed with you. Lyanna refused to make comment, sitting forlornly at one of the windows in the solar, glaring at you every so often. She was convinced Prince Rhaegar had fallen in love with her, and it infuriated you beyond belief. You had no idea your twin could be this dense, and it was only made worse when Brandon informed the two of you that your father had decided just before Harrenhal to sign a betrothal between House Stark and House Baratheon. Specifically, between Lyanna and Robert. 

Oh how Lyanna had raged, screaming one second and then crying the next, swearing to the gods that she would never marry that “whoring and uncouth oaf of a man” and that her destiny was to be with Prince Rhaegar. While you understood her desire to not marry Baratheon–you had seen the many, many comings and goings of serving girls from his tents and quarters at inappropriate hours–you knew it was not up to her to decide. Your lord father had always made clear that the two of you were going to be used to strengthen alliances, and you’d thought Lyanna had understood that.

Clearly not. 

A sharp knock resonated from the door to your chambers, and Brandon looked up at you as you moved to answer. “Are you sure–” He barely got the words out before you turned to him in a huff.

“Yes Bran, I’m sure. I have nothing to fear from Princess Elia, she’s been perfectly cordial, and I am looking forward to dining with her.” You pinned your brother to his seat with a glare, and turned to open the door.

Your eyes widened somewhat when you saw who awaited you. 

“Prince Oberyn,” you greeted, dropping into a small curtsey. You heard your brother’s sharp intakes of breath at your words, and you tried very hard not to smirk. It had always amused you how cautious they were around the famed Red Viper of Dorne. It wasn’t that you didn’t believe the stories, oh no, you were quite sure a good many of them were true, you just weren’t afraid of him. Your brothers on the other hand had always been convinced that if you spent more than a few seconds in the Prince’s presence, you’d lose your life. Or your virtue. You weren’t sure which they considered to be worse.

“My lady.” His voice was low and smooth, and fit him perfectly. It took all you had to not react, especially when he raised your hand to his lips, brushing them against your knuckles. His eyes were just as intense as earlier during the tournament, and up close, the strong line of his jaw and the sliver of bare skin on his chest were quite distracting. You hardly noticed when Brandon appeared behind you.

Prince Oberyn gently dropped your hand before greeting your brother. “Lord Stark,” he began, bowing his head briefly. “My sister, Princess Elia, has sent me to escort Lady Stark to her chambers for the evening meal.” 

Brandon nodded jerkily, his distrusting eyes focused on the Prince’s face. “Very well.” His words were forced, as though he spoke through clenched teeth, and oh you wanted to laugh.

Prince Oberyn offered his arm to you, and you tucked your hand into the crook of his elbow. With a smirking nod at your brother, he began to lead you down the hallway. You flinched somewhat at the loud bang of your door as it closed, and you fought back a grin.

“It seems, my lady,” Prince Oberyn began. “That your brother is rather displeased that I am to be escorting you.” You could hear the underlying question in his words, and you chuckled softly.

“Indeed.” You peered up at him, and his eyes bored into yours. “My brothers are quite convinced I will become your victim, although from poison or licentiousness they can’t seem to decide.” The Prince let out a startled laugh at your words, looking away from your gaze.

“My sister seemed quite eager to dine with you. I promise you are at no risk of any poisons from me this evening.” You raised your eyebrow at what was very clearly not said. 

“And your licentious nature? Am I not also safe in that regard?” You knew it was dangerous to prod a viper, and doubly so to prod this particular Viper. You looked ahead down the hall, even when you could feel his gaze upon you. 

You tried to not show your reaction as his head lowered next to yours, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered to you. “I am afraid I can make no promises to you in that regard, Lady Stark.” Before you could retort, you’d arrived at Princess Elia’s chambers. “This is where I leave you, Lady Stark.” Prince Oberyn once more took your hand in his own, pressing a lingering kiss against it. “I will escort you back to your chambers once you’ve finished.”

“Thank you, my lord,” your voice was soft, and you could practically taste the tension in the air. He pressed one more kiss to your knuckles before he turned on his heel and left. You secretly pressed the back of your hand to your mouth, where his lips had just been, and imagined you could still feel the warmth he left behind.

You turned and knocked on the door, almost surprised at how quickly it opened. One of Princess Elia’s handmaids stood to the side, and you entered the room.

You’d spent entirely too long in Elia’s rooms, but you found it hard to care. The Princess was wonderful company, despite being older than you. She had an innocence about her, an innocence that even marriage and a child could not dull. You’d once more expressed your regret at your sister’s actions, and your rage over Prince Rhaegar’s, and Elia spent much of the evening speaking to you of her frustrations with Rhaegar, as she finally found someone just as aggrieved as herself.

You’d been shocked to learn just how hard Rhaegar was pushing for Elia to have more children, despite her daughter having been born not many moons prior. She told you of the prophecy King Aerys was obsessed with, and her fears that she would be unable to provide the third child called for in the prophecy, as she was already pregnant with her second babe. 

You were sworn to secrecy, as no one knew yet of the second pregnancy. The maesters had advised against another child so quickly, but Elia hadn’t had a choice. You listened to her fears, and comforted her as best as you were able. She apologized for burdening you, but you waved her off. You’d found a friend in Elia, one who seemed to truly understand you, and it was no burden at all to support her. 

“When are you to leave Harrenhal?” 

You sighed, setting down the glass of dornish red after taking a sip. “Likely soon. I know my brothers do not wish to stay for long, and with my sister’s actions... “ your voice trailed off. “I fear it would be best for House Stark to go back to the North sooner rather than wait.” 

Elia sighed sadly. “I will miss your presence,” she admitted, turning to look at you. “I know we’ve just met, but you’ve already become such a dear friend. Would you write to me?” You nodded, smiling widely.

“Aye,” you agreed. “Only if you promise to write back.” Giggling, Elia nodded her acquiescence, and she was still giggling when there was a knock at her chamber’s door. 

“Tis likely my brother, here to escort you back,” her words were plain, but the look in her eyes was mischievous. “I hope he didn’t make you uncomfortable on the way here?” 

Flushing brightly, you shook your head. “No, Elia. He didn’t do anything of the sort.” She grinned, as though knowing you were lying to her, but she didn’t press. “I’ll take my leave now, my lady.” Your words were cheeky, and Elia grinned, unrepentant, as she stood to offer you a brief hug. 

You left the rooms, and true to her words, found Prince Oberyn standing at the door, waiting for you. “May I escort you, Lady Stark?” His grin was just as mischievous as his sister’s and you were sure your cheeks were still red, and not from the wine. 

“I would appreciate it, my lord,” your voice was soft, and you allowed him to tuck your arm into the crook of his elbow once more, leading you out into the hallway. “I greatly enjoyed my time with your sister.”

You didn’t see the way Prince Oberyn looked down at you with a fond smile. “I am glad, my lady,” he murmured. “Elia has precious few friends in Westeros, and I am glad she has found one as fierce as you.” 

His words caused you to look up at him in confusion, only for him to smirk. “Your argument with your sister was rather loud, and I will admit, it drew my attention.” He paused in front of one of the windows lining the halls, looking at you with an intensity you couldn’t hope to match. “I was rather furious with your House, you see, when Elia was slighted at the joust.” A shadow crossed your face, and he grinned darkly. “I was… pleased to see that at least one member of House Stark also took great offence.”

You flushed, tearing your eyes away from his and stepping away for a moment, looking out the window. “My family likes to pride ourselves on our honor,” you whispered, and the Prince moved closer to hear you. “I could not stand by as my sister acted so dishonorably at the tourney. Mine own honor wouldn’t stand for it.” 

You were surprised to feel his arm wrapping securely around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. His lips were next to your ear, and his words caused a heat to rush through your veins. “Indeed, my little shewolf,” his voice was a low growl, and desire pooled in your belly. “And it only makes me want you more.” His lips attacked your neck, sucking directly over your pulse point. Letting out a soft gasp, you sag in the Prince’s arms, one hand over his on your ribs, the other reaching up to tangle in his dark locks of hair. 

He bit at your pulse harshly, before soothing the sting with his tongue. Your legs felt weak from his ministrations, and though you knew he would leave marks upon your skin, you could not bring yourself to care. You gasped suddenly as he spun you around, pressing your back against the cold stone of the palace walls, his hands bringing your wrists up to cross them above your head, leaving you on display for him. He pinned your wrists with one hand, the other tangling in your tresses as he tilted your head up and claimed your lips for his own.

His taste was intoxicating, luxurious and heavenly all at once. His tongue begged your lips for entrance, and once granted, he tilted your head and devoured you. His tongue fought with your own, but his experience was far greater than yours, and he won the duel for domination easily. Pressing the length of his body against yours, you moaned into his mouth, wanton and lascivious and licentious and downright whorish as he took and took and took what he wanted from you. 

You felt as though you couldn’t breath, tearing your mouth from his for a few gasping lungfuls of air, but he dived back in immediately, stealing that air right back. You were breathless, panting as the Prince ground himself into you, unable to do much more than just accept his advances, although you were certainly not going to complain. His lips sought to own yours, and you gladly gave control to him. 

Finally he pulled back, just barely, and his breath ghosted across your spit-slicked lips. “Sweet suffering gods, woman,” he whispered, and you felt a flush of pleasure as you realized what you–you–had reduced the Red Viper of Dorne to. You craned your neck, inviting his lips to touch yours once more, and he gave in with a groan.

You’re not sure how long Prince Oberyn had you pinned against the wall, ravishing your lips like you were a common brothel whore, but you loved every second. You’d kissed a few boys back home in Winterfell, but nothing could ever compare to this. Prince Oberyn was no boy, he was a man, and oh it showed. Your tongues tangled together in an intimate dance, leaving you breathless and gasping for more all the same. 

His hand stayed buried in your hair, anchoring you to him, and you weren’t sure you could escape, even if you wanted to. He finally pulled away, although it seemed to cause him great pain to do so. He was panting softly, his eyes darker than you’d ever seen, dark with a desire you only barely recognized.

“As much as I’d like to continue, little shewolf,” he practically growled at you. “Your lord brothers will be missing you, and I rather think they would be quite cross with us if they found me ravishing you in a palace alcove.” You flushed at his words, blinking up dazedly at the Prince as your heart raced in your chest. 

He groaned softly as you looked up at him, the near-perfect picture of innocence, if not for your swollen lips and flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. He released your wrists, and you slowly brought your arms down, only to clutch at the front of his tunic. His hand cupped your cheek, rubbing his thumb over your lower lip, his eyes darkening as you wrapped your tongue around the digit, pulling it into your mouth and slowly sucking. 

You twirled your tongue around his thumb, delighting at the way his features twisted in pleasure as you were sure he was imagining your mouth on other parts of him. You released him with a wet pop, watching his face as his eyes followed his hand as he trailed it down your chest, before cupping your breast, brushing his still spit covered thumb against your nipple. You whined, the noise high in your throat as he squeezed gently, and if your brothers had come around the corner at that very moment, you weren’t sure you could have stopped, even if you’d wanted to.

But they didn’t, and you panted as the Prince fondled you through the thin gown you wore, watching as he smirked at you before leaning down and taking your breast into his mouth, sucking over the fabric. Your hands flew to his hair, gasping at the sensation. It was unlike anything you’d ever felt, and you never wanted him to stop.

Alas, he pulled away, eying the darkened fabric around your breast with a dark smirk. You whimpered at the loss, and he leaned down to press one, two, three quick kisses to your still swollen lips. 

He stood up straight, offering his arm to you once more, and you took it, flushing. As you continued down the hall, you prayed that you wouldn’t run into any servants, or–gods forbid–nobles. You were sure you looked a right sight, disheveled and thoroughly ravished by the Red Viper. You knew what your brothers would assume if they saw you, so you were very pleased when you arrived at your rooms, and found them to be absent. 

You went to let go of the Prince’s arm and go into your rooms, but he spun you suddenly and pressed you hard against the wood, his thigh wedged between your own. His eyes were still dark with lust, and you felt every inch the prey, nothing like the predator of your family’s House. 

“How irresponsible,” Prince Oberyn tsked as he looked down at you, “of your lord brothers to leave your rooms empty, without so much as a guard. Anyone could be waiting, lurking in the shadows.” His voice was low, and he practically hissed at you, very much reminiscent of the viper for which he was so named. “There could be dangerous men, hiding out, waiting to take the virtue of a young maiden such as yourself.”

You bit your lip, debating with yourself, before letting the words slip from between your lips. “I think there’s only one man here who wants to take my virtue this night, my prince,” you whispered, watching as Prince Oberyn’s jaw clenched tight. You stood on your tiptoes, bringing your lips close to his ear. “And I am inclined to let him.”

The Prince’s reaction was swift, striking at you before you could blink. His arm wrapped around your waist, bringing you flush against his chest before bending you back, his hand tangling in your hair and yanking your head back even farther as his lips claimed yours. You clutched desperately at his shoulders, sure you were falling, but his hold was too tight to prevent such a thing.

You could feel his desire for you, in the way his hands gripped you, the way his lips moved over yours. You pulled back to try to speak, but his mouth chased yours, causing you to speak in broken gasps. 

“M–My… my… my room!” Your hand frantically grasping at the door handle, it swung open, and Prince Oberyn allowed you to straighten only briefly as he shoved you inside, shutting the door and pushing you against it once more. “Y–you… you seem to–to have… a–a passion…” you gasped, moaning brokenly as his hand gripped your hip tightly. “F–For pushing m–me… against things…” 

Prince Oberyn nipped at your bottom lip, sucking it into his mouth as you tried to speak. His lips trailed across your cheek, pressing fluttering kisses against your skin until he could suck at your ear. You moaned, uncaring if you could be heard, focused only on the pleasure this Prince was willingly providing you. 

His fingers danced among the laces of your dress, toying with the ties. “Indeed,” he muttered, voice deeper than you’d ever heard it. “It’s not often a viper has a shewolf willing to submit to him.” With a sharp tug, the ties come undone, and your dress begins to fall, stopped only by the press of the Prince’s body against yours. 

His head pulls back, eyes locked onto yours as he looks for permission to continue. Taking matters into your own hands, you push onto his chest, causing him to step back, allowing your dress to pool on the floor, leaving you bare except for your smallclothes. You’re flushed at your boldness, but the way Prince Oberyn’s eyes rove over your figure more than makes up for your brief flash of uncertainty. 

He’s well within distance to be able to touch you, and touch you he does, his fingers ghosting over your bare side, trailing up until they run across the fabric of the band covering your breasts. He steps forward until your chests are nearly pressed together, but not quite. 

“May I?” His voice is a whisper, breathy with want as his fingers trace the clasps. His other hand gently brushes against the small patch of wet fabric from his earlier ministrations in the hallways, and your whole body shudders. 

With your nod, he releases the clasp holding the binding together, and gently unwinds the fabric from around your chest. His hands leave your skin long enough to drop the fabric to the floor, but not a second longer, rough fingers coming back to brush against the skin of your breasts, drawing tantalizing shapes and teasing your tender flesh until your nipples harden into peaks. 

You’re unable to stop yourself from gasping at the sensation. Until this very moment the only hands to touch you there were your own, and oh gods the sensations are so, so very different. One of his hands reluctantly leaves your breast, grasping at your hip as he pulls you around, moving you towards the bed. You go willingly, allowing the Prince to move your body as you focus on his fingers, brushing gently over your breast, over and over and–

The air whooshes out of your lungs as you fall back onto the bed, hair fanning out onto the sheets beneath you as your Prince hovers above you, dark eyes trained on yours, watching for any signs of discomfort. But you’re comfortable, more comfortable than you think you’ve ever been before, comfortable laying under this man, being touched by hands you knew had killed, because you knew those hands would show you nothing but adoration. 

He must see something in your eyes, acceptance or some other encouragement, because he dips forward until he can take a nipple into his mouth, suckling, not unlike a babe. Crying out at the sensation, your back arches, pushing your breast into his mouth, and he suckles harder. It feels as though he is trying to draw your very soul out of your body through your breast, but you couldn’t care less. The feeling is heavenly, and the desire that has been simmering in your belly since he first escorted you to Elia’s rooms increases, threatening to overwhelm you with forbidden pleasure. 

Gods, if only your brothers could see you now, writhing underneath the Red Viper, a shewolf willingly submitting to a man not her husband, not even her betrothed, and loving it. Your hands are tangled in his hair, tugging this way and that, and with a particularly harsh yank, the Viper above you moans. 

His voice sends streaks of desire racing through your veins, and by the gods, you want to hear that again. You yank once more on his strands, and he actually releases your skin as a groan escapes his throat. Suddenly ravenous, you pull him up to your lips once more, slotting your mouth against his own, and kissing him with a fervor you’ve never experienced before. 

As you moan into his mouth, your hands are busy, tugging at his own tunic, desperate to feel his bare skin against your own. Dornish fashion certainly had the benefit of being able to disrobe quickly, as with one tug of the belt around his waist, his long tunic came apart, and you pushed it off his shoulders, greedily running your hands across the bare expanse of his chest. 

His skin is bare, unlike many of the men of your household. Northmen often grew hair on their chest, but Prince Oberyn’s skin is smooth, unmarred. You rake your nails down his chest and he growls against your lips, fingers gripping the sheets tightly, refraining from touching you as you explore his body. Trailing your fingers down, you find that the Prince is not completely free of hair, as there is a small trail just underneath his navel, leading down into his breeches. 

You run your fingers through the fine hairs, scratching gently, and you can feel the Prince’s muscles tense at your actions. He grabs your wrist and pins it above your head, and you blink up at him innocently. His chest is heaving, and you can see the conflict in his eyes. Using your free hand, you guide his lips back to yours, and at the same time, you wrap one leg around his waist, pulling his hips flush to yours.

Moaning into his mouth, you encourage him to grind into you, and Prince Oberyn does so, gladly. His tongue dances with yours, and you can feel the heat of him between your legs, so close, flesh only separated by a few layers of cloth. Breaking away with a gasp, he releases your wrist, only to grasp your smallclothes with both hands, ripping them away from you, the soft fabric tearing at the seams. 

You cry out in shock, not expecting the sudden, violent act, but it does nothing to dampen your desire. The Prince easily lifts you further up the bed, his hands running over your bared skin before clasping the insides of your thighs, holding them apart. He moves down your body, and you’re confused for a moment, unsure of his intentions–

Oh gods.

You can’t even think, not when his tongue is there, not when he’s licking at you like you’re the last source of water on this continent, oh–

“F–Fuck!” 

The curse forces itself from your lips as Prince Oberyn takes your clit between his own lips and sucks. Your back arches, and he quickly winds an arm around your waist to keep you anchored to the bed, to stop you from moving as he laves between your legs. You don’t even try to keep quiet, even though your brothers or your sister could come back at any time, you can’t keep quiet, Prince Oberyn’s tongue feels like nothing you’ve ever done to yourself, it feels incredible–

Your groan pierces the air just as Prince Oberyn’s finger pierces you, and you throw a hand over your mouth to try and stifle your gasps and moans of pleasure. It’s clear the Prince disapproves of your intentions however, as he begins to pump his finger in and out, setting a brutal pace that just gets more and more intense. Just as you think it can’t possibly feel any better, with his tongue on your clit and his finger in your cunt, he adds a second one, and you’re pretty sure you screamed. 

The Prince chuckles, and the vibrations against your clit only increase your pleasure, the coil in your belly tightening beyond what you thought possible, but it’s when he adds a third finger that the coil snaps. Your hands are clenched in his hair, your hips undulating as much as his iron grip will allow, moans and gasps escaping your lips as the wave of pleasure crashes over you. Your muscles all tense with the release, and he never stops moving his fingers, doesn’t halt the movement of his tongue until you collapse back onto the bed, panting. He slowly removes his lips from you, but his fingers continue to pump lazily. He looks up at your face, taking in the way your eyes are closed in bliss, your lips parted as little puffs of air escape, desperately trying to catch your breath.

He pulls himself up with one hand, and watches as your eyes open to look at his face, his lips and chin smeared and glistening with your release. He looks so utterly pleased with himself that you can’t help but pull him down, crashing his lips to yours, tasting yourself on him. It turns you on more than you’d thought it might. 

You lazily exchange kisses, tongues slowly tangling together as he continues to gently massage your inner walls with his fingers. His slow movements have only been stoking the fire, not extinguishing it, and you find yourself wanting that release again. You push on his shoulder, and he detaches from your lips with a small frown. He tries to ask you what’s wrong, but you don’t want to talk, so you take control, flipping your Prince over til he’s on his back, and you’re straddling his waist. His fingers are forced from your cunt and you whimper at the loss, but the promise of something more spurns you on. 

You tug at the laces on his breeches as he watches with hooded eyes, hissing as you yank the cloth down his legs and take him into your hands. He’s big, a lot bigger than you were expecting, but the sight excites you. You watch your Prince’s face carefully as you dip your fingers between your legs, moaning as you brush against your sensitive folds, before wrapping your slick fingers around his length. 

Prince Oberyn’s mouth falls open at the sight, his hands clenched so tight on your hips that he’s likely to leave bruises. Oh gods, you want him to leave bruises. You want to be able to feel where his hands clutched at your skin days from now. You slowly stroke him, biting your lip as you wonder if he’ll fit. He barely fits in your hand, and he’s supposed to fit inside you?

You’re distracted out of your musings as he brushes a thumb gently over your hip bone. You look back at him to see his eyes peering up at you, strangely tender despite the desire still lingering. “We don’t have to do this, my shewolf.” His words are a comfort, but you have no intentions of stopping this night.

“I don’t want to stop,” you whisper, watching as his jaw clenches when you run your thumb over the head of his cock. “I want you to fuck me, my prince.” You flick your eyes back up to his, watching as he groans when you curse. “I want your cock in my cunt,” you have no idea where the words are coming from, but you feel so, so powerful as you speak. “My lord father is likely planning my betrothal to some loyal bannerman as we speak.” The Prince watches you, trying to keep his attention on your words and not on your hand wrapped around his cock. “Likely some old widower, who cares not for me or my desires.” You shuffle up the bed, guiding his cock to brush against your cunt. “I do not wish to spend my life never knowing the pleasures of sex, my lord. I know that I will be a vessel for heirs, that is all they will wish of my body.” You slowly begin to sink down, biting back a whine as the Prince’s cock nearly splits you in half. “Even if it is only once, I want a man to fuck me.” 

Prince Oberyn watched you, his jaw slack as you slowly sank onto his cock. He watched your face for signs of pain, but you hid your discomfort well. His eyes flickered down, and the sight of his cock disappearing into your cunt, combined with the intense tightness and heat enveloping him, nearly caused him to spill his seed inside of you prematurely, and you could feel the way he clenched his fists in an effort to hold back. 

Finally, your hips were flush with his own, and you gasped for breath at the absolutely overwhelming feeling of being full. You closed your eyes, biting your lip as you adjusted to the sheer size of the Prince. Suddenly, you feel fingers gently brushing against your lower stomach and you open your eyes, only to see the Prince staring at you, stunned.

“W–What?” Your voice is quiet, worried something is wrong, but he’s quick to reassure you. 

“Look at you.” 

It’s all he says, the words reverent and awe-struck, and when you finally look down, you see why. His fingers are brushing over your abdomen, where you can actually see the bump of his cock deep inside you. You gasp, your hand covering his as he presses gently, and you feel pleasure shooting down your spine. 

You clench, on accident from the sudden pressure of your hands, and the Prince groans, low and deep as he feels you squeeze around him. “Oh seven hells,” he breathes, head thrown back. “Fuck, you’re so tight.”

You let out a breathless laugh. “I think it is less a matter of me being tight, my prince, and more that you are just big.” His hand, the one not resting on your belly, comes up to cradle your breast, thumb brushing over the nipple. 

“Whatever the cause, you feel divine, sweet girl.” 

You flush at his praise, eyes bright as you look at the powerful man resting between your thighs. You’d never imagined that coming to Harrenhal could lead to this, and you find yourself in awe that the Viper could allow himself to be ridden in such a manner. Most men would not deign to give control over to their women, in any manner, and yet this man has given you more power over him than you’ve ever imagined possible. It’s intoxicating, truly. 

You’d always imagined going to your marriage bed a blushing maid, even though you’d technically lost your maidenhead while riding when you were younger. But this, this act of rebellion–for that’s what it was, a rebellion against all the plans your father had or would ever decide for you–was the one thing you truly had control over, and it delighted you. 

Slowly, you begin to raise your hips, until just the head of your Prince’s cock rests inside you. Pausing, you lean forward and place your hands on his chest for leverage, before slowly lowering your body back down. You both moan at the feeling of once again being fully joined, and thus begins the slow rhythm, the gentle rocking back and forth as you work your inner muscles against his cock. 

You can feel the coil simmering, still tense from your previous release, slowly beginning to tighten again, but slower than you wish. Your Prince must see the frustrations on your face, for he speaks. “You’re doing so beautifully, my shewolf. But I must ask,” his voice is low, dripping with desire. “Do you want more?” 

You suck in a breath, nodding slowly. He searches your eyes, perhaps making sure that this is what you want, before he begins to take control. He plants his feet on the bed, hands gripping your waist tight, and just as you’re about to lower yourself back onto his cock, he surges up, slamming his hips into yours, burying his cock inside you swiftly. 

A silent scream leaves your lips as you throw your head back at the sudden intrusion. You’d thought yourself adjusted to his size, but as he sets a relentless pace, you realize you were not adjusted at all. The wet sounds of skin hitting skin fills the room, punctuated by your pants and moans as your Prince takes you from below. 

He suddenly and abruptly flips the two of you over, and you squeak when your back hits the bed. Yet, his cock never leaves you, and you barely have time to get settled before he restarts his brutal pace, pounding into you. You throw your arms around his neck, raking your nails down his back as he mouths at your breast, his hips never faltering. 

“O–Oh, oh gods, f–fuck.” Your whimpering voice is nearly inaudible, the air in your lungs punched out with every thrust, your words senseless as your mind goes nearly blank from the pleasure. The coil is tightening faster than before, and you feel as though you’ll reach your peak any second.

When the coil snapped for a second time, you dug your nails into the Prince’s shoulders, crying out as he continued to fuck you through your peak. But, to your surprise, he didn’t stop. It took you a moment to realize he was still hard, that he hadn’t spilled yet, and this revelation, along with his relentless movements didn’t allow for your body to come down from the high you’d just achieved. 

“O–Oh, oh, m–my p–prince, I–I can’t,” you were practically sobbing as he slammed his hips against you, over and over, and you feel as though his cock is in your womb he’s so deep inside you. 

But he does not heed your words, does not slow his pace as he chases his own release. “I’m going to ruin you, my little shewolf,” he hisses in your ear, teeth nipping at your skin. “You’ll never be able to take another cock without thinking of me.” He punctuated each word with a brutal thrust. “When you lay in your marriage bed, and your lord husband takes you, he’s going to know that I was here first. That your sweet little cunt belongs to me, only me.” He circles your clit with rough fingers, and that’s the final push you need to fall over the edge. You come apart, legs shaking with the intensity, crying out into Prince Oberyn’s mouth as his lips take yours. He pulls away, thrusts beginning to falter. “W–Where, sweet girl?” His plea is desperate. “Tell me where.”

“I–Inside!” You gasp, and as he looks at you in shock, you repeat yourself. “Inside, please Oberyn, please!” 

He comes with a violent growl, biting harshly at the skin of your shoulder as he pumps his hips once, twice, before he finally grows still. Despite feeling him grow softer inside you, the feeling of fullness remains. He does not pull out like you would expect, but falls to the side and pulls your sweaty body against his, hand stroking through your hair and down your bare back. 

You lay your hands against his chest, feeling his heartbeat against your palm, racing, but slowing as you lay together. His arms around you are warm and sturdy, and you wish that the two of you could lay here for the rest of your lives. 

Unfortunately, you knew he had to leave before your brothers or sister come back. Brandon and Ned would likely kill the Prince if they thought he’d shamed you in any way, although, could it really be shameful if you wanted it?

You could feel the rise and fall of his chest as Prince Oberyn breathed deeply. “I wish I could stay here with you, my love.” His hands toyed with your hair, admiring the way it slid through his fingers. “I am not in the habit of leaving a woman’s bed in the middle of the night,” he admitted softly. “If I could, I would wait til morning comes.”

You pressed your lips against his collarbone, feeling the warmth of his skin and the rush of his pulse. “I know, I wish you could stay, but I will not ask it of you. It would be too dangerous.” You whisper your words against his skin, closing your eyes tightly against the traitorous tears, but it is no use.

Oberyn must feel your tears against his skin, because he tilts your chin up to press a gentle kiss against your lips. When he draws away, he brushes his thumb against your cheek, wiping away your tears. “Please, do not cry, my shewolf. I do not wish to cause you pain.” 

You laugh, throat tightening up as you try to stop the flow of tears. “I know this cannot last,” you say softly. “But I wish it did not have to end so soon.” Your Prince’s eyes are sorrowful as they look at you, but the both of you know there is nothing you can do. Your father would never agree to allow you to marry so far south, even for a prince. 

The two of you lay in bed for a few minutes more, pressing gentle kisses upon each other’s skin, trying to memorize as much as you can before Oberyn must leave. 

Before he leaves, he helps you clean up with a wet rag, watching as you pull your shift over your head, eyes dark as he sees the numerous marks littering your skin. He feels a vicious pleasure at seeing the imprint of his fingers at your hips, the bite marks across your chest and thighs. You will hopefully remember his touch for many weeks after this. 

He dresses slowly, allowing you to sit on your bed and watch as inch after inch of bronzed skin is covered up by his tunic and breeches. He’s about to leave, when he turns suddenly, and marches back to where you sit, his hands resting on your neck as he tilts your head up and claims your lips one last time. 

This kiss is different from all the others. The hard press of his lips conveys his sorrow and regret at leaving you like this, his fingers tightening on your skin to keep you still underneath him. Your mouth is pliant under his, letting him lead you in one last dance of passion and desire. When he breaks away, there are tears in his eyes, and you cup his cheek. 

“I will never forget you, my Viper of Dorne.” 

“Nor I you, my Shewolf of Winterfell.”

***

You were such a fool.

You’d woken up the next morning when Brandon had burst into your room, demanding to know if you’d seen Lyanna. He’d blushed when he’d seen you were still abed, but the worry clear on his face caused you to ignore the fact that he’d entered your private chambers without permission. When you’d told him that you hadn’t seen her since you’d left for Princess Elia’s chambers, he stormed out of your room, causing you to grab a dressing gown and rush out after him.

You found Ned, sitting in a chair, head in his hands, and Brandon was pacing frantically back and forth. When you demanded to know what was going on, Ned looked at you, and you were shocked to see tears in his eyes. You rushed forward, falling to your knees before your brother, taking his hands in yours and begging to know what happened. 

“Lyanna’s been kidnapped.”

Eyes wide, you stared at Ned, mind blank as you tried to understand the words he’d said. You whipped your head around to look at Brandon, and the desolate look on his face told you all you needed to know. “Who? Who took her?” 

Ned’s sorrow turned to anger. “The Silver Prince,” he spat. “Rhaegar Targaryen stole away with her in the night.” You couldn’t help the scoff that escaped your lips, and both of your brothers stared at you, confused. 

“This isn’t a jape, a servant saw Rhaegar riding away with Lyanna on his steed, this is an act of war!” Brandon yelled, and you laughed bitterly, standing and turning to face him.

“Trust me on this, brother.” Your voice was cold, your previous panic and concern gone. “Prince Rhaegar committed no crime. Lyanna went with him willingly.” Your brothers both began to protest, but you held up your hand. “She has been smitten with him since we arrived. I told you that you should have dealt with her obsession, but you didn’t listen.” You sighed, dropping into a chair. “She was furious when you told her of her betrothal to Robert Baratheon. There is no doubt in my mind that she went with him willingly.” 

Brandon sighed deeply. “It won’t matter if she went with him or if he kidnapped her. House Baratheon will not take this lying down. Robert has already declared that he will gather his men to march on the capitol.” You covered your mouth in shock.

“He didn’t ever speak with her and he’s willing to attack the Mad King, just to get Lyanna back? Is he insane?” You weren’t surprised, if you were being honest with yourself. You’d seen the lusty gaze of Robert on both you and Lyanna throughout the tourney.

Ned winced. “He loves her,” he protested, but the words sounded hollow, and you could tell he thought so too. You knew Robert didn’t love Lyanna. He lusted after her, there was no doubt, but it wasn’t love. But now that she was gone, he felt slighted, and wanted revenge. Sometimes she hated that she’d been born a girl, destined for men to sell her like cattle. She didn’t doubt that there would be war, and that her family would be right in the middle of it all. 

Brandon stood, and she could see the tension throughout his frame. “Pack your bags, sister. You’ll leave with Ned for Winterfell as soon as possible. I need to write father, as I’ll be staying here, rallying the Houses in our alliance.” Ned began to protest, but Bran cut him off. “No, Ned, I need you to go to Winterfell, you have to protect her,” your brother’s voice was quiet, but you could hear it break as he looked at you. Standing, you rushed into his arms, burying your face in his chest as Brandon wrapped his arms around you, his shoulders shaking as he buried his face in your hair. 

You’d never seen your brother this scared, and it silenced any and all protests you might’ve had. You’d dressed quickly, and as soon as your things were packed, you were on your way back to Winterfell. The trip took just under two days, and by the time you arrived, your father was just about to leave. He explained that Brandon had arrived in King’s Landing, only for King Aerys to take him hostage when he demanded Rhaegar return Lyanna. Lord Stark was going to King’s Landing to get his son and heir back, and that meant that Ned would be the acting Warden of the North.

Rickard Stark ordered you to stay inside, terrified that you would be taken next. You tried to argue, but your heart wasn’t in it. You knew how it looked, the Prince of Westeros kidnapping the daughter of the Warden of the North and the betrothed of Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. The North and the Stormlands would not let this insult go without punishment. But with the King’s madness, you were terrified for the safety of your father and eldest brother. You watched him leave, a pit in your stomach as you felt with a grim certainty that this would be the last time you saw your father.

When word arrived that Lord Rickard Stark and Lord Brandon Stark had been put to death by the Mad King, you were in Ned’s solar with him. You collapsed in shock and horror as the maester read the missive sent by King Aerys, demanding Ned and yourself present at King’s Landing, along with Robert Baratheon. You clutched at Ned as he cradled you in his arms, sobbing as he promised you that he’d never let the Mad King touch you, that he would get revenge for your family. You begged and pleaded with him to not go, but he told you that he didn’t have a choice. Jon Arryn was calling the bannermen to arms, and they were going to march on King’s Landing. 

For the first two moons of fighting, you moved through Winterfell as a ghost. You spoke little, rarely leaving your rooms, and the only one you spoke to on any regular basis was your little brother, Benjen. You knew there must always be a Stark in Winterfell, and you tried to help run the household as best you could, but your mind constantly wandered, worrying about your brother, and the attacks. You even worried about Lyanna, despite your anger at her. 

You wrote somewhat regularly with Princess Elia, who told you of how she was being held in King’s Landing by King Aerys, to force Dorne to fight for the crown. Queen Rhaella protected her as best as possible, but now that she was showing, the King demanded she be kept guarded at all times. Your letters were disguised as being those written by a lady in the court in Sunspear, so that Elia couldn’t be accused of aiding the enemy. 

At the start of the third moon after the beginning of what they were calling Robert’s Rebellion, you noticed that you were feeling sick with alarming regularity. You had a hard time keeping food down, and you were tired often. You wrote of your sickness in your letters to Elia, and all she could tell you was that your sickness sounded similar to how she felt when she was pregnant with Rhaenys. 

And that’s when it hit you.

You hadn’t drunk moon tea after your night with Oberyn. 

You wanted to hit yourself. You knew that he had a history of lying with women for a night, only for them to get with child. Gods, he had three bastards that he’d claimed, and who knew how many others could possibly be out there across Westeros and Essos. You lay a hand against your stomach, and noticed it felt firmer, hardened. You stared at the letter from Elia, the words seeming to float off the page. You were with child, Oberyn’s child. 

You’d never imagined that any child of yours would be a bastard. You parents had told you often while growing up that you would marry some lord, to strengthen one alliance or another. You knew you’d be required to provide heirs. You’d thought about your future children with little fondness, knowing that you’d never love their father, and that they’d either be heirs or sold to other lords to forge yet more alliances. 

But now that you were with child? A bastard child no less? You knew how Ned would react. He would be furious. You found yourself with a small sense of relief that Ned was off fighting, so that you might have time to figure out what to do. You knew if you asked the maester, he would give you a medicine to remove the child from your womb, but you didn’t want that. You couldn’t deny the excitement you felt at the idea of having a child with equal parts of you and Oberyn. 

You decided to keep the child a secret as long as possible. The fewer who knew of your condition, the safer your babe would be. 

***

The Mad King was dead. Prince Rhaegar was dead. Robert Baratheon was victorious over the armies of King’s Landing. You’d been summoned to the capitol, and Ned had sent word that he would be on his way as well, from the Tower of Joy. You were confused as to why your brother had been in Dorne, but didn’t press for answers. His letters had been getting shorter and shorter as of late, and you didn’t know why. 

You didn’t know how, but you’d managed to keep the fact that you were with child a secret throughout the entirety of your pregnancy. You hardly showed, and you knew it had to be a sign from the gods, that you had done the right thing in not telling anyone. Your sickness had been easily explained away, and your tiredness was blamed on the loss of your father and brother.

But you were scared. As you arrived at the capitol, you knew you could give birth any day now, and giving birth in King’s Landing would be extremely dangerous. Robert Baratheon held no love for the Dornish, like most of Westeros, but the fact that Rhaegar had been rumored to have fled to Dorne with Lyanna ignited Robert’s temper.

As you walked into the throne room, you were shocked to see Elia, kneeling and in chains in front of the Iron Throne. Little Rhaenys was chained as well, and baby Aegon, not even half a year old, was in his crib, with a Kingsguard standing over him, weapon drawn. Robert was sitting on the throne, anger making his cheeks turn a ruddy color, and Ned stood next to him, looking exceedingly uncomfortable.

Running forward, you fell to your knees by Elia, ignoring the shouts of the men around you as you drew Rhaenys into your arms, shielding her as best you could. Elia looked shocked to see you, and you could see the tear tracks on her cheeks. 

Whipping your head around, you glared viciously at Robert and your brother. “What is the meaning of this?” Your voice carried around the room, the tone as cold as a Northern winter. Robert and Ned looked at you, stunned. “I said, what is the meaning of this?!” You yelled, watching as your brother flinched.

But it wasn’t him who spoke. “The former princess and her children have been charged with crimes against House Stark and House Baratheon.” Jon Arryn swallowed harshly as you turned your glare on him. “They are to be put to death.”

You gasped, and Elia let out a sob next to you. You looked wildly from Robert to Ned and back to Robert. “What crimes could they have possibly committed? I was under the impression that hostages of war are not held accountable for the actions of their captors!” Your brother tried to speak but you would not let him. “You won the fucking war! Let it end! Peace has been brought back to Westeros, do not start this new era with the death of an innocent woman, a small child and a babe!” 

“INNOCENT?” Robert roared, standing from the throne. “YOU WOULD CALL THEM INNOCENT? THEY’RE THE FAMILY OF THAT SILVER HAIRED BASTARD!” You saw your brother trying to frantically shush Robert, but he would not be quieted. “THE SAME BASTARD WHO KILLED YOUR TWIN SISTER! YOU DARE CALL THEM INNOCENT?”

Robert stood, chest heaving as he looked around the room. When his eyes landed on you, he took a step back. You were still kneeling, a look of shock on your face, tears in your eyes. 

Fuck.

You hadn’t known.

Ned hadn’t told you of Lyanna’s death.

Faintly you heard Elia speaking to you, whispering frantically, apologizing over and over, swearing to the gods Old and New that she hadn’t known, that she’d had no idea Rhaegar had killed her, that she was so, so very sorry–

You cut her off with a hug, clinging to her dirty gown as you shook silently. Only Elia had known all of the emotions you’d run through during Lyanna’s disappearance. Only Elia had known that no matter how much you were mad at her, that you couldn’t hate your sister. That even though she’d been the catalyst to throw Westeros into war, you loved her still.

“You didn’t know.”

Robert’s voice was quiet, and you slowly pulled away from Elia to look at him. You were sure you looked a sight, tears in your eyes, an angry scowl upon your face. “No, Lord Robert, I did not know of my sister’s demise. Thank you, for informing me.” Your voice was thick with sarcasm, and you could see both men wince at your tone. “But if you think for one second that I would ever blame Elia and her babies for Lyanna’s death then you are as mad as King Aerys was!” 

Ned’s eyes widened, and Robert stumbled back, sitting heavily on the throne as he stared at you. You were wrapped protectively around Rhaenys, glaring at the new king and your brother. You knew that your words could spark another conflict, but you would not sit back while Elia and her children burned for Rhaegar’s mistakes. You couldn’t. 

“Exile.” 

You looked at your brother, surprised. He looked surprised at himself, but when Robert made a confused noise, he continued. “Exile Elia and her children to Dorne. If her children swear to abdicate any right to the Iron Throne, they will be no threat to your rule. My sister is right, Robert.” Elia began sobbing anew at Ned’s words, but they were tears of hope. “Do not start your rule by executing a woman and her children for the crimes of her husband. Lyanna wouldn’t want that.” 

It was Ned’s final sentence that seemed to break Robert out of his stupor. “Y–Yes, your right, as always Ned,” he muttered, and you dared hold your breath in hope. “Exile. They will be put on the first ship to Dorne. Elia Martell, you will forfeit on behalf of your children their right to the Iron Throne, and when they each reach the age of one-and-ten, they will reaffirm their forfeiture of the Iron Throne.” 

It took Elia a moment to be able to speak, her voice breaking. “I so swear it, my lord,” she said, bowing her body, her nose almost touching the floor. “My children forfeit their right to the throne, and we will remain in Dorne for the rest of our days, my lord.” 

There was a clanking as little Rhaenys tugged on your dress, trying to get your attention. You looked down at her, not noticing as the room fell silent around the two of you. 

“I don’ want it,” the little girl’s voice was quiet, and she looked up at you with tears in her eyes. “‘M sorry, I don’ want the.. the…” She trailed off, little brow scrunching up as she tried to finish her sentence. 

“Throne? You don’t want the throne, sweetheart? Is that it?” She nodded vigorously, and the rattling of the chains around her wrists as she shook in your arms made you flinch. “See, your highness? Rhaenys has declared she doesn’t want the Iron Throne. Is that enough for you?” Robert nodded weakly, gesturing for one of the Kingsguard to unchain Elia and Rhaenys. You hovered protectively, glaring at the guard, you thought it might have been Jaimie Lannister, when he was too rough in the handling of the former princesses. 

As soon as Elia was unchained, she scooped Aegon into her arms, cradling him protectively to her breast. She bowed low, still shaking with fear, before Robert ordered one of the Kingsguard to escort her and her children to the docks. Ser Barristan Selmy stepped forward, gently laying a hand against Elia’s back as he began to lead her out. You went to follow, still hovering by Rhaenys, when Robert called for you to stay behind. You stopped, and Elia turned, nodding at your worried glance, telling you to stay behind. You nudged Rhaenys forward, before turning back to your brother and Robert.Robert looked uncomfortable as you continued to glare at him, and you finally turned to Ned for answers as to why you’d been asked to stay back. 

“It was suggested…” Your brother looked just as uncomfortable as Robert. “That since Lyanna is… gone, the best way to show our support of Robert’s reign would be to join the two of you in marriage.” 

You raised your eyebrows, looking back and forth between the two men as neither of them would meet your eyes. As your eyes fell on Jon Arryn, you realized that he must have been the one to suggest it, as neither your brother, nor Robert would have come up with marriage being the best way to join your houses. He didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed at plotting the marriage between the new king and the twin sister of his newly-dead betrothed. 

“Absolutely not.” Your eyes bored holes into Jon Arryn’s, refusing to back down, as would have been proper for a lady of your station. “I will not marry Robert Baratheon, now or ever. House Stark has lost more to this rebellion than any other of your allies, we have given enough. Now if you excuse me, I am going to say goodbye to Elia, as I will likely never see her again.” 

You turned abruptly, storming from the throne room, and almost immediately, you ran into Lord Howland Reed. He was standing outside the throne room, holding a bundle in his arms. You stopped, surprised, and before he was able to hide the bundle, you saw what he was holding. 

A babe. 

A babe that looked like Lyanna. 

Eyes wide, you grasped him by the arm and began to drag him with you as you continued out of the keep. “Lord Reed, whose babe is that?” You asked, almost afraid of the answer. He glanced at you cautiously, and you gripped his arm tighter. “Whose. Babe. Is. That?” 

He sighed, looking around before leaning in to whisper in your ear. “When we found Lyanna, she had just given birth to Rhaegar’s child. She died soon after, but not before making Lord Stark promise to protect him.” 

You stumbled. Lyanna? Pregnant? You clasped a hand over your mouth, and you feared you were going to be sick. And the fact that Rhaegar was the father? If Robert had wanted to kill Rhaenys and Aegon, just for being Rhaegar’s children, what would he do to this babe? You knew Robert would never accept that Lyanna had gone with Rhaegar willingly, and if he thought Rhaegar had raped her? He would kill this babe. You knew it. 

“How does Ned expect to explain him to Robert?” 

Lord Reed sighed. “Lord Stark plans to tell the King that the babe is his bastard–” You cut him off with a laugh. 

“Ned? With a bastard? My brother must be insane,” you muttered. “The whole realm knows of the honor of House Stark, my brother the most of all. No one will believe he broke his marriage vows and sired a bastard.” You stopped, and held your arms out, gesturing for Lord Reed to give you the babe. “I will take him.” 

Lord Reed looked at you, confused. “My lady, no one will believe him to be yours, I–” you cut him off once more, mind racing as you thought through your half-baked plan. 

“People will more readily believe I gave birth to two bastards than Ned having just the one.” Lord Reed’s eyes widened, and they flickered down to your stomach before he flushed in embarrassment. “I will ride with Elia to Dorne. They are more accepting of bastards there, and while I will miss Ned and Benjen, it is difficult to stay in Winterfell when the rest of my family has perished. Please, give me the babe.”

Lord Reed handed you the child, and you looked down at the sleeping babe, his features thankfully purely Lyanna. “What’s his name?” Lord Reed winced.

“Lyanna named him Aegon.” 

You frowned, anger coursing through you. How dare she? How dare your sister name her bastard the same name as Rhaegar’s trueborn son? You were sad at her passing, but the more you learned about what she’d done, the angrier you became. “Please explain to Ned what I’ve done. Tell him I will send a raven once I’ve reached Dorne. I do not wish to have contact with him until then.” At Lord Reed’s questioning glance, you sighed heavily. “His part in this war has angered me greatly. I need some time before I am able to speak to him rationally.” 

Lord Reed nodded, and proceeded to escort you the rest of the way to the docks. When you reached them, you saw Ser Barristan, and quickly asked him which ship Elia was on. As he pointed it out to you, you curtsied to the men quickly, before rushing to the gangplank.

Elia was standing on the deck, and as she saw you approach, she rushed to meet you. When she saw the child in your arms, her confusion only grew, but you begged her to allow the ship to leave before you explained.

***

“What is going on? Why did you come with me? And where did the babe come from?”

Elia had been patient, explaining to the captain the change in circumstances, and waiting until nightfall to interrogate you. But now that the two of you were alone, with Rhaenys, Aegon, and Lyanna’s babe sleeping next door, she wanted answers. 

“They wanted me to marry Robert, Elia. I couldn’t marry him, I refused.” Elia nodded in understanding. She wouldn’t want to be married to him either. “As for the babe? I’m so sorry, but he’s Lyanna’s son.” 

Elia looked confused for a moment before she realized what you meant. Gasping, she threw her hands over her mouth, shock in her eyes. “H–He’s… he’s Rhaegar’s son, isn’t he?” You nodded, and she let out a small sob. “I–I never thought…” 

“I didn’t think either of them capable of it either, Elia. I’m so sorry. I’m going to raise him as my son, as my own bastard.” 

Elia shook her head frantically. “No! No, you can’t! That will ruin you, I know how they view bastards in Westeros. Your honor–” You smiled sadly. 

“My honor will be besmirched any day now, Elia,” you told her softly, grasping her wrist and bringing her hand to rest against your stomach. “I will raise Lyanna’s son as my own, as a twin to my own bastard, and no one will know the difference. Besides,” You watched as her eyes widened when she felt your babe kick. “Mine own babe’s father is in Dorne.” 

It took her a moment to realize what you had said, but you could tell when she did. She gasped loudly, eyes flying between your own and your stomach, before she swore. “Oh seven hells,” she groaned, and you laughed softly. “It’s my brother’s, isn’t it? It’s Oberyn’s.” When you nodded, she groaned again. “I should have known, especially when you wrote about being sick! Oh, I’m going to kill that man!” 

“Please don’t!” You replied, laughing. “I rather like him, as it turns out.” You blushed as Elia smirked at you. 

“I should force him to marry you,” she replied, looking at you critically. “I’d rather like having a sister, and it’s the honorable thing for him to do.” 

You shook your head. “I don’t care about marriage. So long as he is willing to love his son or daughter, I will be happy,” you paused, thinking for a moment. “I do not expect him to love Lyanna’s babe, but as long as he respects my decision to raise him as my own, I think I can live with that.”

Elia looked pensieve. “I think he will be willing to overlook the babe’s parents. And if he doesn’t, well I can always smack him around.” The two of you laughed, giggling on the bed like a pair of young maidens, and everything was right with the world, just for a moment. “What will you name him? Lyanna’s son, I mean?” 

You looked at her thoughtfully. “Jon. Jon Snow will be his name.”

***

You had hoped to arrive in Dorne before you gave birth, but the gods had other plans. Your water had broken one night, and Elia had called for the maester immediately. She’d stayed by your side the entire night, and after you gave birth, she was the one who handed your daughter to you. You looked down at her, and you could already tell that she was a perfect blend of your features and Oberyn’s. Her little eyes were scrunched shut, but when you held her against your breast, she latched on, clearly hungry. You had decided that you wanted to nurse your babe early on in your pregnancy, and when Jon had come into your life, you decided to nurse him as well. 

As your daughter gently suckled at your breast, Elia came over, carrying Jon. You looked up at her, tired and sweaty, but overjoyed to finally be holding your daughter in your arms. 

“What will you name her?” 

You barely even had to think, as you had picked a name moons prior, and looking at your daughter, you knew it was perfect. “Sarella. Sarella Snow.” Elia cooed softly, stroking the soft hair on her head as she drank from your breast.

“A beautiful name. But are you sure she should be a Snow and not a Sand?” 

You shook your head. “I want her to have a connection to the North, no matter how small. She is my daughter, and I am still a direwolf of House Stark, no matter where I reside.” Elia nodded in agreement, taking Sarella from you as she finished feeding, placing both babes on the bed next to you.

“We’ll be arriving in Dorne in a few days. I sent a letter ahead to Doran and Oberyn, so they know to meet us, but they do not know you are with me.” You looked at Elia, and she continued. “I figured my brother does not know of his daughter, and I assumed you wanted to be the one to tell him.”

You nodded. “Indeed. Thank you, Elia.” She left to allow you to get some rest, and you closed your eyes, knowing that your children were safe next to you.

***

You stood on the deck of the ship, watching as Sunspear came into view. Elia had come to get you a few minutes prior, telling you that you would be docking soon. You held both your children in your arms, Elia held Aegon, and Rhaenys stood between the two of you. As you got closer to shore, you could feel your pulse beginning to speed up, especially when you noticed the two Princes of Dorne standing on the docks, awaiting your arrival.

Elia lay a hand upon your arm. “Are you nervous?”

You laughed shakily. “Of course. I’d be mad if I wasn’t, I should think.” Elia squeezed your arm gently, and you smiled at her, thankful. 

You could tell the minute Oberyn recognized you on board. You were close enough to see him physically react, grasping at his brother’s arm. You smiled, hoping he could see. You watched him as the ship pulled into port, gasping when he didn’t wait for the gangplank, instead he jumped, grabbing onto the ladder on the side of the ship. You stepped back, watching as he rose over the side of the ship, jumping over the railing and striding towards you, only to fall short as he realized what you were holding. 

He stood in front of you staring intently at the babes in your arms, before his eyes raised to yours, the question clear. You took a small step forward, face deadly serious as you watched his reactions to your words. “This,” you said, gesturing as best you could, “is your daughter, Sarella.” You allowed him to slowly take Sarella from you, watching as he looked down at her, an expression of adoration clear on his features. 

“And this,” you continued, drawing his eyes to the other babe in your arms. “Is my son, Jon.” You could tell he was confused, and you took a deep breath. “He is mine, in name and heart, and even partially in blood. My twin may have given him life, but he is mine son, and I will not allow anyone to take him from me.” 

You waited with bated breath, for Oberyn’s reaction. You watched the emotions flicker across his face, confusion, understanding, then anger, and finally, acceptance. He raised Sarella up, pressing his lips against her forehead, before striding towards you, his hand not currently holding your daughter coming up to rest against Jon’s back, looking down at him. He pressed a gentle kiss to Jon’s forehead as well, and tears sprang to your eyes. 

Oberyn looked at you intently, and you couldn’t look away. 

“I think you must be confused, my love,” he began, his voice soft. “This is our son, Jon. He is our son, in name and heart and blood. You have given me two beautiful children, my shewolf. And I would take you for my wife, if you’ll have me.”

You gasped softly, somehow surprised, despite Elia’s reassurances that Oberyn would not reject you or Jon. Nodding, you smiled at your prince, the father of your children, and as he pressed his lips against yours, you felt peace for the first time in a long time.

Tagging, as promised: @din-damn-djarin, and @chibi-liz05​! (And @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa​!!)

[aquillis-main]

The First Meeting -- Sonic the Hedgehog Fanfic

After @darklightheart asked me if I would do a ‘first meeting’ for Sonic and Ovi in general, I decided to write this out for the Gamesverse in general (as I do plan on doing a version for the Pack AU in comic form, and I kind of don’t want to spoil that). However, I do wish to mention that the Pack AU may be linked back to the Gamesverse I’ve got in my head, so there will be mentioning of this in time.

Anyways, the fic in general.

I wanted to try a ‘second-person’ perspective, so there’s a liberal amount of ‘you’ throughout all of this. Just letting you know that the ‘you’ is referring to Ovi in this experience, and is not necessarily a ‘you’re part of the story’ like most y/n fanfics. Also, there’s a lot of self-loathing in general, so keep in mind of that.

Here’s the fic!

The wanderlust was kicking in again.

It was the same thing every time you thought about the circus’ offer lately – their offer to adopt you into their family. It was something that you wanted, ever since escaping the cage that your former home had turned into – one where love was as existent as the presence your father and your mother had been--

You need to remind yourself that it’s not ‘father’ and ‘mother’ anymore. It’s Harold and Marian now.

Your thoughts turn back to the wanderlust, the yearning to run again. You hate thinking about the things that make you sad.

It’s why you’ve never been open about yourself to the troupe in the first place.

You love the feeling they give to you – from the Greyone acrobat’s own affectionate fondness over you, the strongman’s love of dressing you up in beautiful dresses from his mother, the care of the knife throwers when you got nicked on one of their knives, to the ringleader himself when you broke your arm and couldn’t preform for a month. But since your powers activated after breaking your arm, the wanderlust has been building. Every time Yuna Grayone dotted over you like a mother to her child, your mind drifted over to mom – Marian doing the same when you were still bright eyed and thought Harold and Marian could do no wrong. Every time Jacob Greyone touched your shoulder to congratulate you, you couldn’t help but drift back to when Harold did that when you won that Matheletes competition. You hated that yearning to run back to the cold, dark place that became your prison, and you didn’t understand why you were wanting to go back.

You looked yourself in the mirror again – the accursed orange hair that signified your status as a Chaos being was still prominent on your head. You glared at your now red eyes – which had once been a pretty teal before your change – in disgust. Your canines were, sadly, still long as ever – a mockery of a human face with animalistic features –

No, stop that. You don’t need to put your genetics down like that. You’re not part of the Rich Fops anymore.

Yet the more you glared at your reflection, the more it sunk in that the raven-haired boy with wide blue eyes wasn’t coming back.

You hid better without looking like a scene kid.

“Ovi? Are you alright?” A soft, yet gentle voice came from behind you, taking you out of your malicious thoughts. You turn to find a sweet squirrel anthron staring with a sombre expression. Her bushy tail flickered left to right as her stark red glistened in the sunlight. She smiled as you came down to her level, giving her the respect you think she deserves. She smiles sadly, giving you a hug before kissing you on the cheek. “You know you don’t have to leave. You have a home here, with us.”

“I know.” You say, voice dripped with an emotion you can’t identify. Your heart screams that you need to go, but it wouldn’t be right to just… rush off without stating at least part of the reason to the one that helped you out. “My body’s just yearning for me to see the world, though… I really do want to stay…” You look to the anthron that had felt more like a mother to you than Marian had ever been. “I wish I never had gotten my powers…”

Your mother-figure gave you a glare that told you to stop wallowing that instant. “Ovi the Marvelous, you do not berate the gift that saved you. If it hadn’t activated when it did… I don’t think…” there were tears appearing on your mother’s face, obscuring her vision immediately from you. Now, that just would not do. You should be the one being upset, not her. How dare you.

You wiped the tears from her eyes gently, carefully bring her into a hug while you whispered multiple apologies into her fuzzy ears. No matter how much you did this, it always felt like you needed to step back and berate yourself for letting someone cry, no matter how often you felt like it wasn’t your fault. Soon, soft sobs turned to hiccups, and words became more clearer as she regained her senses.

“We may not be blood-related, but I still think of you as my son.” Mother – Yuna Greyone said gently, wiping what little tears were left after her wallow in the what-if. “I had hoped to meet someone as Marvelous as you are, and had hoped that person would see me as a mother.” She combed through your awful, disgusting free of knots hair, tracing the godawful K-shape that reminded you of the jail you once lived in –

“Ovi, I wish you stopped putting yourself down like that.” Mother said, snapping you out of your spiral of self-loathing. She explained when you looked at her curiously “You get scowly when you berate yourself, Ovi. Don’t think I don’t know my own son.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.” You wanted to say, but instead keep your trap shut. You don’t want to dump all the things that you’ve been through onto your mother – especially not before your last performance with the circus. You nod instead, hiding your want to speak behind a smile. Your mother smiled as well, tilting your head to meet her eyes.

“Perfect. Why don’t you come to practice with us?” Mother said, changing the topic completely. “We all would like to have some time with you before you leave us, and it’s good to keep your skills sharp.” She pulls out of your grip, walking out of the caravan to join the others practicing. As much as you want to leave right now, you know it would be bad for the circus to lose one of it’s stars tonight – you’re up and centre in all of the posters, after all.

You decide it’s better to not go, instead joining your family during their practice. It’s a lot of tough work – making sure the routines are fully memorized, keeping the tools they needed sharp and useable, replacing the ones that weren’t. You were told off a few times practicing your special art, but you couldn’t help but keep that sharp. You’ve got it now, not like when you broke your arm…

The day passes, and the more time whittles away from the day, the more you feel horrible about the wanderlust controlling you – every time Yuna and Jacob look at you with misery, the way the strongman is trying not to cry as you perform, how the ringleader tilts his hat to hide the tears on his face, the looks the knife thrower and his partner give each other whenever they look your way…

You can’t help but feel like the monster you think you are.

The day turns to afternoon, afternoon turns to night, and you need a break before the big event. You sit outside of the circus perimeter, leaning your back against one of the poles marking the area. You look to the sky, seeing the two moons up in the sky with the stars. If you tilted your head right, you’d be able to see the two moons in your peripheral vision. But you’re more attentive to the stars, hoping to see a speck of Little Planet over the horizon…

“Hey.” A confident, cool-sounding voice appeared as swiftly as the sudden wind chill around you, causing you to shiver immediately. The guy suddenly vanishes, before appearing two seconds later with your jacket from the caravan. You look at him – a blue hedgehog with quills sharper than the knives you’ve seen in the knife-thrower’s collection. With shoes as red as your eyes, and gloves as white as the moon above you two, you can’t help but stare into the green that surrounded his pupils. The hedgehog chuckled, startling you out of your thoughts.

“Sorry, couldn’t help but notice that you seem troubled.” The hedgehog said, sitting down alongside you. The wanderlust grew erratic as the hedgehog sat down, crossing his legs under him. You somehow relax a little, leaning away from the pole. “Noticed you’re the one that’s front and centre on the posters here.” He made small talk, yet it didn’t feel like the tiptoeing you’re used to. You nod at the rhetorical question, not caring if it wasn’t meant to be answered. “I’ve been meaning to watch you in your performance. Seems like I keep managing to catch the last one.”

He seems lazy in his speech, yet also lively that you couldn’t help but snort a little. The hedgehog turned his head, a quizzing expression on his face as he looked at you. You smiled, trying not to show your teeth in the night. “You sound sleepy, yet you’ve got boundless energy in you.” You cleared up, with the hedgehog smiling at that. You two sit in silence for a while, just enjoying the stars without mentioning anything else.

You notice, without realizing, that you don’t feel as… disordered as you have been the past while. The wanderlust feels satisfied as you stay near this hedgehog, and you wonder if you’re sensing something that you’ve haven’t noticed. Realization occurs when you remember the sudden gust of wind that appeared with the hedgehog, and the two seconds it took for the hedgehog to get your jacket from the caravan. You’ve heard stories of towns being saved from the notorious Dr. Eggman by gusts of wind, destroying robots with a flare that only some acrobats would do. You look at the hedgehog, and you recall seeing him at some cities your troupe has visited. Many anthrons were in awe of the mysterious wind, yet here he was – sitting beside you like you were his friend, enjoying the stars without really talking to you. You settle back into silence, wondering why a measly runaway gets the pleasure to have the famous Sonic the Hedgehog in their presence.

At that point, the circus starts lighting up, taking the star’s light away from the night. It’s the one thing you never liked about the circus – it’s ability to take the natural glow of the stars away. You groan loudly, knowing that it was nearly time for the performance to start. No matter how much you love seeing the people smile at your performance, you still feared the eventual freak-out of them noticing your teeth up close…

“Hey, I think you’ll do good.” The hedgehog stated, confusing your groan to be stage fright. You shake your head at that as you stand up.

“It’s not the performance I’m terrified of, it’s more the introduction to the performance.” You state, getting up and showcasing that you’re not terrified of your last show. Harold’s words of ‘Show nothing but exuberating confidence’ crosses through your mind, and you inwardly roll your eyes that it managed to stick in your head. “I don’t… I don’t have the best looks…”

“Well, I dunno. You look pretty handsome.” The hedgehog stated suddenly, crashing everything in your head. All thoughts stopped in your mind, trying to comprehend what he had just said. You blush harder than Yuna’s red fur, looking at the hedgehog with a look of disbelief. He chuckled at your reaction, not realizing what he’s done to you. “Not used to being called that?” He asked carefully, restarting your brain and allowing you to make a good comment.

“Well, it’s more…” You realize that you can’t think of anything but the truth, and you note your brain’s crashed still in the ‘snark’ department. “…Yeah.” You lamely say instead, crossing your arms and pulling the jacket around you like a blanket. The hedgehog smiles, standing up and bringing his arms over his head.

“Ah, sorry.” The hedgehog apologizes, waving his hand in your direction. “Didn’t think before acting again, bit of an issue I have.” He seemed to not really be bothered by his ‘issue’, smile as lazy as it was when he was sitting with you earlier. You can’t help but smile as well, not bothering to hide your teeth this time.

“Nah. I… like it.” You decide to say, putting the hedgehog in a spot like yours. You couldn’t help but laugh as he faltered a bit, his physical flailing reminding how your mental flailing felt to you. “I haven’t had someone tell me that in a while.”

“Really?” The hedgehog recovered at your statement, looking into your eyes in disbelief. It felt… kind of strange, having someone sincerely complement you without a hint of snark or having you see the disgust on their faces. A bubbling feeling came into your heart, touched by the kind-felt words. You were about to reply to that, but then a grey squirrel come running up to you, panting a bit as he leaned on your leg.

“Ovi… There you are, ol’ boy!” Your father huffed out, his glittering costume reminding you immediately what brought him to look for you. You smile sheepishly as his dark-chocolate eyes glared at you while he recovered. “You’re sitting out here, not getting ready for your last show! That’s not –”

“What a Professional Performer does, I know.” You finish off, taking a moment to scratch the side of your skull. “Sorry, it’s just – it’s my last day, and –”

“I understand. We’re not hiding our sadness well, aren’t we?” Jacobs stated, getting to his tiptoes to look into your eyes. You somberly nod, scrunching down to his level so he doesn’t have to strain too much. Jacobs relaxed a bit, returning to the balls of his feet as he slapped his hand onto your shoulder. “All of us are sad to see you go, Ovi.  Most of us don’t understand this Chaos thing, but we do understand that some people just don’t fit in the circus.” He squeezed your shoulder, smiling softly despite his eyes betraying the sadness in them. You bit your tongue, not wanting to correct him that you didn’t want to go – after all, what is wanderlust but yearning to travel?

You turned, hoping to see the hedgehog again, but empty space greeted your eyes instead. Part of you felt upset that you couldn’t say goodbye, but then you couldn’t help but smile. “He’s going to be in the crowd, anyways.” You tell yourself, immediately turning back to your father-figure and smiling. “We should get going.” You suggest to Jacobs, whom smiles along with you as you get up. “I need to get dressed for my last performance. Why don’t you and Yuna go ahead?” You state, rushing off before your father-figure could comment on you ordering him around.

As you stated to Jacobs, you immediately got dressed into a wonderful blue leotard, with black lines going down your legs and sequins decorating the front of your chest like bird feathers in the afternoon sun. To complete the look, you brought out a cape that shined gold in the bright light. You couldn’t help but smile excitedly, rushing back toward the circus tent once you got everything together. Your act wouldn’t come on for a little while, as your act is the last one in the lineup. You decide to watch from the entrance, eating popcorn that you got from the vendor earlier. While you knew everyone’s routines from top to bottom, you couldn’t help but agree with the crowd when impressive feats happened.  You couldn’t help but laugh as the knife-thrower ‘missed’ his shot at the strongman, even though it wasn’t going to hurt at all if he didn’t. You stared, starry-eyed, when your father-figure and your mother-figure soared through the sky on the trapeze. And you couldn’t help but join in when the strongman lifted the entire troupe.

This would be the thing you’d miss the most about the troupe.

Eventually, your turn came around, and now you decide to show off your acrobatics. At first, it seemed that your routine is similar to the Greyone’s, you end up switching it suddenly – pulling off obscene tricks that even the most skilled of acrobats would give pause to try. You pulled flips while flying without a net, held on the trapeze with a single hand – all the while balancing your body on top of it while it was moving. You’ve stopped the trapeze in the middle of the act, then pulled out the silk trapeze and tied it to the handle. Making sure that it was tight, you gripped onto the silk and jumped.

Long as you’ve been alive, you’ve considered yourself a daredevil. You’ve jumped off of tall buildings when trying to learn parkour without thinking a few times, gone rock-climbing without a harness, and tried to convince Harold once to try paragliding in the mountains. Even now, the shock from the crowd excites you as you use your momentum to dance in the air. Making sure to keep a grip on the silk, you’ve dipped and glided throughout the act, showing off your control and elegance at once. The crowd was awed at your performance, mesmerized by the control you’re keeping. You then flip on over and – there, in your peripheral, you spot him.

Sonic the Hedgehog.

You note that he had two others with him – a yellow fox with two tails and a pink hedgehog sitting beside him – yet you were too focused on the hedgehog to even notice their expressions. The expression that the hedgehog had shocked you enough to falter a little in your performance, shocking the crowd and your former troupe at the same time.

He was bored.

He was bored.

He was bored.

H̷̨̠͌̐͜͝E̷͚̰͌͗͝ ̵̛͎̲̤͂̂̓͑W̵̮̠͋̄́̾̌͋̉̍̕͠Ą̷̲̝͚̲͎̜̀̋S̶̱̯̹̮̬̪͌͆̅̓̕̚ ̴̨̳̹̦̫̗͒̾̅͌̚B̷̯̣̦͔̫̣̫̽̊͂̾͒̾͊͘̕͝O̷̤̝̞̙̳͒̀́̽̏̾͌̚Ṛ̶̡͎̥̩͚̰̑͋͗͑̓̿̚͝͠ͅḚ̸̢̛͍̖ͅD̵̟̖̘͍͇͙̦̼̒̾̾̿́̿.

He had the typical expression of someone that wanted the whole thing to end, his head resting on his knuckles. Eyes half-lidded, it seemed he was more interested in sleeping than he was in watching in the performance, and it. Pissed. You. OFF.

(In hindsight, you don’t know why it pissed you off so much, as Sonic and you had only just met that night. And Sonic did admit that it was his only performance he got to see you in. All you know what happened was that you saw red immediately – and couldn’t stop yourself from what you’ll do next.)

You decided to switch up your plans right then and there, abandoning the slower, calmer bits with the more frantic, high-energy stunts you were told not to do. Throwing yourself back up to the trapeze (and amazing the crowd with just being able to do that), you rock the trapeze back and forth, keeping a hold on the silk trapeze as you do so. Once the trapeze starts rocking enough, you jump off the trapeze and glided along the silk. You flipped off that and caught the bar trapeze a few times, making sure to count the number of flips you did as you repeated the action. Finally, on the fourth, you decide to cut the silk trapeze off, letting it fall straight down to the ground.

Building a bit of momentum before you started this last bit, you smirked as you looked over, watching Sonic’s expression. You can tell he’s paying attention now, and you can’t wait to hear his excitement along with the others. Suddenly, you felt your powers bubbling inside you, your stomach burbling in excitement. You nearly panic, but quickly realize how nice it would be to use them in this final act. Your smirk increased.

As soon as the trapeze was near enough to the platform on the other side, you jumped off, allowing the momentum to take you to the platform. As you did that, you flipped once, twice, three times, four times before landing feet first onto the platform. Then you fell off the platform, shocking the crowd as you did the quadruple backflip as you transformed into a bird. You flapped your wings, saving yourself before you hit the ground. As soon as you’ve done that, you transformed back, turning back into your human form and taking a bow to the crowd.

The crowd roared with excitement, and all your thoughts before about your abilities washed away from you.

You think you’ll miss the crowd the most.

 --

 To be honest, you don’t think you’ll ever be as full of self-worth and love as you had been in the circus.

You don’t feel like a freak when you perform, nor did you ever feel like you stood out. You just were under the spotlight, never once feeling like you didn’t belong. The crowd never seemed to care when you transformed in front of them, thinking it was part of the act.

Your acrobatic parent-figures always warned you of trying the quadruple flip when you were younger, which you never really learnt to listen to. It was the reason why you got your powers in the first place. Your neck still pops when you stretch it along your broken arm. Even today, a whiff of you hoping to do that quadruple flip would get you into a lecture of them telling you to ‘not do that again’… Which you often nod and agree with, but never really consider.

Like the Chaos that runs through your veins, you can’t seem to stop yourself from wanting to try it.

The night turned into day, and now you’ve gotten your things packed. You’re wearing your less flashy leotard underneath your jacket, having just gotten another lecture on using the quadruple backflip. You listened intently, understanding crossing your face as you finally said goodbye to them. You hugged each one of them – the knife-thrower and his assistant, the strongman, the ringleader, and your parental-figures – trying not to show that you want to stay with them.

Their tears as you turned away was harder to keep away from.

You kept going forward, keeping the cash you got on hand. The money you took from Harold still lingers in your wallet, some of it having been used by a friend that helped you how to survive on the streets.

Their influence still sticks with you, even now.

Suddenly, a gust of wind brushed past you, causing you to turn toward where you know the hedgehog was waiting for you. You looked to his confident smirk, though you can tell that he seemed confused about your decision.

“You don’t look impulsive, Mr. Marvelous.” He stated, and some part of you felt that was wrong of him to say. ‘Marvelous’ was your stage name, not your actual last name.

“My Chaos tells me I needed to go.” You simply stated, keeping your face neutral. He already knew this wasn’t what you wanted, but you didn’t think it would be wise to reveal anything about yourself. You started to walk again, passing by the hedgehog and trying to avoid the inevitable questions that the hedgehog wanted to ask.

“If you want, you can join me if you feel like it.” Sonic’s voice caught you before you completely shut him out, making you pause. You turned toward him, bemusement gracing your features. The hedgehog shrugged, closing his eyes as he stopped leaning on the tree you passed. “I think you’d like Tails and Amy. They were really impressed with your show last night.”

You suspect that the two were the two people that were with Sonic last night, yet you also feel that he’s trying to make it seem like he was less impressed than he really was. You did see him gasp with the rest of the crowd when you fell, after all.

“Don’t lie, you were gripping the edge of your seat, too.” You winked at him, seeing him pause completely in his mind. Sonic smirked at that moment, tapping his foot as he sassily put his knuckles onto his hips.

“You. I like you.” He simply stated.

You couldn’t help but smile at that.

[dustofbrokenheart]

The Covenant: I’m With the Bassist

Reid Garwin x Female Reader

Word Count: 2,631

Warning:  contains physical intimacy and mature language

Summary: Your band is popular on the local music scene and one fan in particular has managed to catch your eye. One night, you take him back to the dressing room after a show and things get heated. 

Colored stage lights bore down of the band, illuminating them for the crowd’s sake but the heat had long since taken its toll. Even the crowd appeared damper than when the show first started.

Your cloth bracelets were glued to your skin and chaffed uncomfortably against your wrist with every stroke you played. The choice to wear a black top was a good one because it hid the patches of sweat well even though you felt soaked.

There was no such luck with your face—a trail of constant sweat had been trailing down the side of your face for the past hour and you suspected that the precise eyeliner you walked on stage was smudged. Hopefully, it was more of an artistic smear and not a case of you looking like a racoon, but there was no way to be certain.

Your singer’s voice trailed off as the song faded out and you strummed one last chord on the bass before ending. The crowd writhed in electric frenzy, riding a concert high and expressed their delight in different ways, most directing their energy into cheering but there were a few who opted to throw things on stage. Empty red solo cups and an assortment of men’s and women’s underthings, mainly.

The singer grabbed the mic and walked to the edge of the small bar stage. “Whoo! How’s everyone doing!?” Screams rang out in answer.

Your band was small-time only performing on the local circuit two to three times a week, but the fan base had been growing and there were always loyal faces that the venue being played on a given night.

Blue eyes in the front of the crowd caught your gaze for a second as you looked over the crowd.

Then the singer spoke again, pulling your attention back to the band. “Thanks for coming out, we love you. Honest! See you guys next week!”

The main lights turned on lighting up the inside of the bar with its usual dingy, yellow bulbs. Applause and cheers rang out once more from the fans as the band readied to exit.

Purposefully ignoring the audience, more specifically the front rows, you turned back to talk to the drummer while sliding your bass strap over your head to take the weight of the instrument off of your shoulders. The band threw quick waves to the fans, and the guitarist stopped to pick up a particularly silky pair of men’s boxer briefs with a coy smile, and then you all bustled to get to the dressing room.

Performing on stage for people was an addicting rush, for sure, but you liked having down time in the dressing room to come off of the adrenaline and go about your business privately.

First thing you did was get yourself to a mirror so you could clean up the mess around your eyes. Luckily, that night’s smeared make-up looked tastefully done and not like a clown rendition. Next, you redid your eyes so that they returned to their glory from the start of the show; a nice, sultry bass player look. A dash of lip color followed, but nothing so obvious that the rest of the band would notice that something was afoot.

You took your sweet time in the dressing room and one by one the other members left, until you were the last one in the room. A few minutes passed until you peeked out into the hall. Everyone was used to you taking your sweet time after shows so it wasn’t weird that you were still in the dressing room. Sneaking someone in was though, and you didn’t want to get caught in the act.

He saw you signal him from his position up the hall near the bathrooms and grinned, sauntering slowly towards you until he was within reach, at which point you hauled him into the room and slammed the door shut. The lock engaged with a click and you turned to scowl at him. “Could you have dragged your feet any slower? Someone could’ve seen you!”

“Are you really that embarrassed of me?” he pouted. “You’re gonna give me complex, babe.”

“You know that’s not true. It’s more like… I’m just trying to spare myself the roasting for as long as possible. They’ve never seen me with someone and they’re going to rag on me no matter who it is.”

“Even if it’s a fine specimen such as myself?” He puffed out his chest and pursed his lips in comical exaggeration.

“You’re lucky I like you so much Reid.”

Reid Gawrin, or ‘groupie guy’ as you had initially referred to him as, was a big fan of the band and had been coming to every show for three months straight. It was hard to miss him with that blond hair contrasting with his black beanie and intriguing tattoos that showed when he rolled up his sleeves or wore a loose collared shirt. And those blue eyes… it was easy to yourself in them.

He’d always made sure to stick around after shows so that he could chat you up and at first you figured he was just a groupie looking to score with a band member, hence his moniker ‘groupie guy.’ Not wanting to come off as rude you indulged him in conversation, but always kept your distance.

It wasn’t uncommon for people to try and sleep with the band, and to be honest, the band did end up in bed with some of them. Take your guitarist: she always managed to pick up the hottest women and men. It worked great for her but you wanted something more and weren’t going to take a chance on the guy, even if he was cute, if he was just looking for a hook-up.

And, who knows, maybe it had started out as purely physical attraction on his part, but the two of you had grown emotionally attached after a while too. It was the emotional side that had led to the current situation. Not officially dating, but no longer musician and groupie either. And that lack of a label wouldn’t stop you from finally getting intimate that night.

Reid picked you up with ease and you wrapped your legs around his waist, his hands gripping your fleshly thighs as he pressed you between the hard brick wall and his body.

“You were incredible tonight,” he murmured, pressing soft kisses onto the hollow of your neck. Your head titled back and hit the wall with a thud as he trailed upward with his nose so that he could kiss the soft underside of your chin.

“Yeah?” you panted with excitement. You knew what was coming next.

He nodded and finally kissed you on the lips, his tongue quickly gliding inside of your mouth with strong, measured licks. “Bassists are always hot.” Your eyelids drifted shut and you lost yourself to his ministrations, a warm cloud of pressure weighed down your muscles.

As soon as you moaned, Reid wasted no time in grinding his pelvis against yours, the friction from his belt buckle rubbing you just the right way to fire up a reaction in your core. You pulled back, panting and he chuckled at you trying to catch your breath. “You like that?”

He was obviously fishing for an answer but you weren’t so gone that you’d give into him just yet. You merely nodded your head and bit your lip at a particularly delicious thrust.

“Tell me you like it,” he pressed.

Still, you refused him and he took it as a challenge to get you to use words. He relaxed his hold your thighs so that you slid down the wall and ended up resting high on the leg he inserted in between yours. Now you were not only stimulated by his grinding, but also rode his leg whenever your hips, the added pressure making it harder to not give in.

Your will hung by a thread, ready to give at any moment. Then he upped the ante by reaching down the waistline of your bottoms into your underwear, his fingers skipping past teasing to directly touching you in your most sensitive place.

“Tell me. Tell me you like it.”

“I like it,” you whined, your mind filled with pleasure.  

“There, that wasn’t so hard, was it? You’re a good girl.”

His wandering nail-polish covered fingers reached down lower to cup your slit more fully and Reid purred when he felt a gush of wetness flow from you. “You liked that, huh? You like being my good girl.”

A nod. You weren’t used to this kind of dirty talk. Most guys are not good at it but Reid was. He didn’t give a shit what he said as long as it produced results and produced results it did.

“So wet,” he grinned as he slid a finger into you experimentally. “See, went right in you, just like that.”

A single black nail tipped finger soon turned into two and he was eager to caress your silky inner walls, scissoring his fingers into a v that stretched you nicely. “Shit, Y/N. Look how tight you are, you don’t wanna let my fingers go.”

You gasped, goosebumps raising on your arms. It was a good thing you were against the brick wall because you didn’t have the strength to support your head on your own. As it was, your head was still lulled to the side.

It took Reid capturing your chin in one hand to get you to straighten out. The other hand was removed from your pants and used to circle one of your wrists so that you were unable to turn away. He pressed his lips gently against yours, a stark contrast from the lewd things he had done a second ago.

He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes wild with adoration and desire. “Does my good girl want more?”

“Please,” you begged.  

“Do you need it?”

“Please!”

With a parting kiss, he dropped down to his knees and pulled down your pants and underwear with a single tug. Your shaking hands grasped his hair as he placed his mouth over you, the blonde strands wrapped around your fingers. His breath was warm and, unlike when he was kissing your mouth, his tongue was relentless against the bundle of nerves between your legs. Circling, laving, sucking. It all blurred together and you realized that you were in trouble. If it was this good with just tongue, how would it be when he actually put his cock in you?

You moaned just thinking about it. Your legs squeezed together in reaction to his excellent skills but he didn’t seem to mind being stuck down there. Time lost meaning; it was felt like it was passing too slowly and too quickly simultaneously.

Eventually, his mouth left you with a wet pop and he stood at his full height. Making direct eye contact, he popped the top button on his jeans open and kicked them off, his shirt and beanie following suit. He stepped forward and hooked one of your legs around his waist to make more space.

You settled your hands flat against his chest and that damn tattoo that’s been teasing you for the past couple of months is now completely exposed for your gaze. It vaguely registers that the boy is ripped. Like, six pack ripped, but it’s the tattoo that you couldn’t stop looking at. It sloped at the base of his neck and extended past his collar bone; it was mesmerizing.

“You like that one, don’t you?” he cooed, noticing your heated stare.

Blue eyes held yours as he rolled on a condom. He entered you in one sharp thrust, your core feeling stretched and full. A sound that you didn’t know you were capable of making poured out from your throat and you immediately raised hid your face.  

Logically, you knew pleasure was nothing to be embarrassed about, but you couldn’t help feeling like you needed to reign yourself in.

Reid pried your hands away from your face and kissed you while he continued to drive in and out.

“Don’t be shy, baby,” he cooed. “I like your noises.”

Almost like his voice had control over your body, another whine left you. “Reid. I-I nee- I need…”

“What? Be a good girl and tell me.”

“More,” you cried out. “I need more.”

He picked you up entirely, both legs circling his waist and walked you over to the couch. Honestly, all of the furniture in the room was probably suspect given that all the bands used it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to focus on it during that moment.

Your back hit the couch cushions and then Reid was back to swiveling his hips, his cock hitting just right. This new angle with you on your back, your legs hanging over his broad shoulders, had your cries rising in pitch and frequency.

The euphoria was suddenly interrupted with a sharp knock. Panic ensued you snapped to look at the door. Thankfully, it was still locked which meant that you wouldn’t get caught in a comprising position, but there was still the matter getting rid of whoever it was.

“Yo, Y/N. You still in there?”

You were about to answer when Reid cupped your right breast and bucked into you hard. Shocked, you looked up in disbelief, your mouth wide open with no sound coming out. He merely winked and did it again.

The second time a whine escaped you and another knock rang out. “Y/N, you good?”

Reid leaned down to whisper conspiratorially in your ear. “Better answer them, Y/N.”

You swallowed. Risk wasn’t something you considered yourself to be into, but was a lie to say you didn’t feel yourself getting wetter at the thought.

Hoping and praying that you would pull it off, you tried to talk but nothing came out but a croak. Clearing your throat, you tried again. “H-hey. I’m still here.”

“You good? Why’s the door locked?”

In an attempt to keep your voice steady, you closed your eyes and clung on tight to Reid’s shoulders. “Just changing. Locked it to be s-safe.”

That was the right thing to say cause the voice at the door immediately backed off with an apology and left the two of you alone.

“Good save,” he acknowledged. He slowed his hips slightly and reached down to circle your clit with his thumb. “I think you deserve a reward.”

“Oh my—Reid.”

The ceiling came in and out of focus as Reid coaxed you to the edge at last. “Come on, Y/N. Say my name.” One well pressured flick to the small bundle of nerves did the trick and sent you flying, bucking like a high wire cable flailing wildly in the wind and chanting his name in a desperate prayer.

Your core clamping down on him sent him tumbling right after you with a drawn-out groan as he held himself deep inside you.

He dropped next to you on the couch, out of breath. “Shit.” He took a moment to compose himself and repeated his words. “Shit.”

You rolled your head to pin him with a teasing stare. “Cat got your tongue?”

“Oh, there was definitely a pussy involved.”

A weak slap landed on his chest. “Don’t use that word, you sound ridiculous.” Your favorite tattoo was within petting range and you kept your hand there, stroking it gently. The two of you settled into quiet bliss, content to cuddle into one another.

“That was a good one,” Reid finally remarked, stroking your arm. Exhausted, all you can do is nod against his toned chest. He hummed and you waited patiently for him gather his thoughts. “Think we can get another round in?”

_______________

Forgive me, for I have sinned 😂. Is it even good? I’m not sure but thanks to those who read it. Partly inspired by a conversation with @rpwithjayn​ but I made Reid the groupie instead of the rocker. Hopefully I did him justice for all of the Reid fans out there. 

[duskholland]

Breaking Windows (Peter Parker)

Summary: You’re Thor’s daughter and may have a teeny tiny crush on your classmate and fellow Avenger, Peter Parker.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: Action and fluff! There’s a fight scene and a minor injury, but it’s nothing too gruesome. Also like one swear word? Otherwise just fluff.

A/N: This is my first piece of writing in...a year and a half? Ish? I’m nervous to post it but I really like how it turned out! It was requested and I love the concept and had a great time writing it, so thank you anon! I hope you like it too :D

“Please, Y/N, I’m begging… There are ways to escape a building that don’t involve leaping from the fifty-third floor.” 

You scoff loudly. “Peter, I can fly,” you remind him. You stretch your hands above your head and let out a muffled groan as your muscles tense and flex, the tension of the previous battle draining away as you walk into the Avengers compound, your companion following just behind.

“And?” Peter squeaks. You glance to your friend and feel a little bad when you see the concern in his eyes. “You could still get hurt.” His eyes narrow. “Look- you still have glass in your hair!” 

You bat clumsily at your head, hands scraping through your messy locks. “Got it?” 

“Nope.” 

You pause abruptly, irritation causing you to furrow your eyebrows. “Stupid glass,” you mutter. You’d already spent several minutes picking shards from your hair, and several hours more regretting your choice to dive through that window. Not that you’d ever admit that to Peter. 

“Do you want me to get it?” Peter asks, voice gentle. He’s eyeing a spot just above your left temple.

You sigh, deflated and defeated. “Yeah, please.” You bow your head.

Peter shifts a little closer, and for the first time you become truly aware of the circumstances.

Now seventeen, Peter’s shoulders have filled out and he stands full and stocky, the worn reds and blues of his spidey suit clinging to the definition of his arms and chest. When you move your gaze up, you see ashy black lines clinging to his jaw, and a bit of soot nestled up against his ear. The wildness of his brown hair as it sticks up in all directions really adds to the whole just-escaped-from-battle look he has going on. 

You smile quietly as you feel his fingers knock through your hair, and remain silently still as he works his magic. 

Maybe you have a tiny crush on Peter. Maybe. But you’re both seniors at Midtown, and you’re both also superheroes who have to work together, so it’s complicated. Far too complicated. 

But that doesn’t mean you can’t admire him.

“Got it,” Peter says. He’s part way through bringing his hands back from your hair when there’s a sudden burst of noise, and from around the corner comes two all-too-familiar figures.

“Oh- what do we have here?” You can practically hear the smirk in Tony Stark’s voice as he swaggers forward.

Peter quickly snatches his hands back, jumping away from you as if he’s just been caught doing something incredibly sinful. 

“I told you,” Thor’s voice bellows. “Two young ones like these. Keep them together enough and… Well, I told you.” His eyes flick to you, a loose grin on his face. 

“Shut up, dad,” you mutter. Embarrassment flames the apples of your cheeks as you scowl at Thor. 

“Oi.” Tony and Thor are in front of you now, and Thor’s got his arms crossed. “I’m just saying.” You receive an affectionate scruff of your head from your father. 

“No canoodling on official Avengers business,” Tony chimes in, voice lilted with tease. “Don’t tell me I’m going to have to start separating you both now.”

You groan, exasperated beyond belief. You’re tired, sore, and dirty from spending the last two hours fighting off New York’s newest threat, and now you’re dealing with this. “Goodbye,” you say, and grab Peter’s arm before he can complain. You drag him away from Thor and Tony and across to your room, slamming the door behind you as pointedly as possible. “They are so annoying!” You groan, resting your forehead against the cool wood. 

“They call us immature.” 

Your and Peter’s laughs mingle in the air, and you turn to meet his tired gaze. His cheeks are flushed and his lips a cherry red, and you find yourself momentarily losing your breath as you take in just how cute he is. 

“I should go shower,” you say, after a moment of looking. Peter nods his head.

“Yeah, me too.” He scratches at his arm, looking down at his feet. “See you in class tomorrow?” 

You nod, moving away from the door so he can shuffle past you. “Definitely.”

Peter’s hand rests on the doorknob for a moment of indecision, before he blurts- “No more spontaneous jumping out of windows, yeah? You’ll give me a heart attack.” 

You grin. “But it makes my cape look cool!” You protest.

“I don’t care!” Peter’s laughing, but he’s still frowning. “You’re my partner- you- you have to be safe.” 

You feel your heart melt. His eyes are round and soft and flooded with concern, and he’s staring at you bashfully. “I’ll be safe,” you promise. You’re starting to feel a little guilty now. “Besides, if ever I’m not safe, I’m pretty sure I know someone who’ll be near that can save me.”

Peter tilts his head to the side. “Who, Thor?”

“No, silly.” You reach out and push his shoulder, rolling your eyes. “You!”

His cheeks flame. “Oh…” 

“Unless you don’t want to save me?” You tease, rocking back on your heels. He looks frazzled, and you can’t help but swoon slightly as he runs a frustrated hand through his hair.

“No, no. I’ll save you.” Peter finally twists the doorknob and steps aside, preparing to head out. He looks up to you, a mischievous grin on his face. “My life would be pretty boring if you weren’t around to keep it interesting.” He raises a hand in a friendly wave as he walks away. “See ya tomorrow!” 

“Bye!”

You quickly shut your door and immediately press your back against the wood, sliding down until you’re resting on the floor with your knees pulled to your chest. You groan quietly, hands fisting your hair as you try to calm your racing heart. 

“God damnit,” you mutter. You close your eyes and all you see is Peter and his stupidly cute lopsided smile floating behind your eyelids. You sigh, and open your eyes to instead stare up at the ceiling. 

Maybe your crush is growing a little out of control. 

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

It’s the following week when it happens again. 

One moment you’re sat in maths class, mindlessly scrawling the answers to the pop quiz (turns out Midtown is a breeze compared to the education you got on Asgard), and the next the hairs on the back of your neck are standing on end as a cold feeling of dread sweeps through you. Your eyes dart up, finding Peter’s from two rows of desks away, and a moment later the both of you leave the room without a word.

“What is it?” You ask him, digging through your bag as the two of you walk quickly down the corridor of the school. Luckily no one’s around to gawk as you pull out your sword and quickly change out your jumper for your cape.

“Looks like it’s those Chitauri scrappers again.” 

You’re at the end of the corridor now, and you peer out of the window to see Peter’s right: in the distance you recognise the same glowing purple light from the battle the week before. You eye the staircase to your right, and realise you’re on the fourth floor of the school.

“Race you?” You offer, hands already on the window sill. You jerk up the glass panes and feel the cool afternoon breeze rush onto you. The feeling of the wind on your skin is like no other - being the daughter of Thor, the God of Thunder, certainly has its perks. 

Peter grabs your shoulder just before you’re ready to launch out into the city. He’s traded his clothes for his suit, but his face is still there, a deep worried line between his eyebrows, his mouth pursed with worry. “Be safe.” 

His hand is on your shoulder, and he’s looking at you with such care and adoration that you just can’t help yourself. As if you’re two opposing magnets, suddenly his arms are around you and your mouth is on his, your lips connecting in a hot kiss. You melt into his body as you grab at his hair, his mouth feeling so good against yours. It feels like it lasts a blissful, wonderful infinity, but you know it’s only a few stolen seconds before you pull away. There’s a moment of silence, of you looking at him, and him looking at you, his head tilted a little to the side, and you know that a line in your friendship has been crossed. But is that such a bad thing?

“Last one there is a loser,” you say, after a moment. There’s a smile fixed to your face so strongly that you doubt you could drop it, even if you tried. You reach up and ruffle his hair before turning your back on him and launching yourself out of the window. 

Wind rushes past your face as you soar across the city, happy laughter escaping your mouth. Your sword hangs off your belt as you do a few spins through the air, just because you can, and you have to concentrate extremely hard in order to calm down from your unbelievable high as you approach the dangerous scrappers. The last time you’d had a run in with them, they’d scarpered before you and Peter could apprehend them, taking with them several thousands of dollars worth of alien weapons. Today, you can’t afford to let them get away. 

When you’re nearer the action zone, things pull into focus. It doesn’t look good. There are around twenty scrappers spread down the busy high street, but unlike last time, they are now equipped with the dangerous Chituari technology that they’d stolen from Tony’s lab. They have blasters of all shapes and sizes, and you can already see scorches on the side of buildings and rubble littering the streets. Though some of the Avenger team have already arrived, the civilians haven’t yet been cleared, and you feel your heart sink as you notice how near some of them are to the danger.

The communication device you’ve got shoved in your ear buzzes to life now you’re in the vicinity of the team, and it’s only a moment later that you get your instruction. “Y/N, clear the street with Peter. We’ve got this for now,” comes the stressed bark of Ironman. You mutter an affirmative agreement and quickly swoop down, landing on the street with a loud thump.

You begin scattering the crowd, using your sword to offer a barrier from any flying debris and laser beams that might harm the screaming people. After about a minute of your work, Peter shows up, swinging from between the towering buildings of the city before landing next to you. You hear him get similar instructions and look to him, flashing him a quick smile.

“I beat you,” you yell, voice rising above the noise. You continue to usher the civilians out of the street.

Peter scoffs, his voice static through your earpiece as he swings around, roping back the bricks and scaffolding that threaten to topple onto the street. “Barely,” he responds, breathless. 

The both of you work together until the street is cleared and all that remains is around ten of the scrappers. They’ve made some considerable damage, even with the Avenger team slowly taking them down. You survey the scene before shooting up into the sky and stretching out your hands. Time to do some real work.

Closing your eyes, you concentrate for a moment on the sky, imagining the power seeping from the clouds into your hands, building, building, building, until…

With a crack of thunder, you blast a large pile of their weaponry with a lightning bolt, causing a few of the scrappers to fly through the air, crashing into the ground where they remain motionless. You hear a few whoops in your earpiece and smile, but only for a moment, because a second later, you’re being shot at by four remaining canons, their dangerous purple strikes skimming uncomfortably close to you.

“Shit,” you mutter, zipping away. They seem intent to pull you from the sky, and with each second, you feel the strikes getting nearer to your skin. As you’re forced to concentrate on dodging them, getting in only the occasional blast at the ground, you hear the static voice of Tony in your ear again.

“You alright being our live bait up there?” He asks. “We have a game plan. Distract them.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” you say, pausing to curse as you feel a blast graze your side. “Just hurry.” They’re getting angry now, and you watch as the scrappers focus in on you, seemingly oblivious to the rest of your team on the ground who are slowly approaching them and picking off the weaker outer members.

You continue to pirouette in the sky, doing your best to be a distracting force. After a few minutes alone, you feel the air shift and look behind you to see you’ve been joined by your father. “I can do this by myself,” you say, not unkindly. You watch him shrug.

“Looked like fun up here. Finally some challenge.”

And you work back to back, combining your strength as Gods of the Sky to pinpoint the few remaining scrappers on the ground, just as the ground team swing into action. Before you know it, there’s only one guy left, and he’s glaring up at you with such piercing hatred in his eyes that you feel a little scared. He has one final shot with his canon before he’s webbed up by Peter, but much to your horror, the blinding purple light of his weapon pierces into your leg and you tumble from the sky, pain ricocheting through your body as you curse. Too blinded by agony, you wait for the inevitable collision with the dusty concrete, eyes screwed shut. 

It never comes.

Instead, you feel chords of tight stringy material wrap around your body, and swing away from the ground. A moment later, you’re gently lowered to the road, and meet it with a soft oomph. You pry your eyes open and see layers of white sticky spider web wrapped around your entire body, and let out a watery laugh between the tears of pain. 

“This- This is gonna take me so long to get off,” you whine, clenching and unclenching your fists as you’re surrounded by the rest of the team. Your head lulls to the side, and your eyes find Peter, who’s now crouching by your head. At your feet, you see Tony, and feel a cold pressure on your leg as one of his machines gets to work stitching you up. Wincing bravely through the pain, you look pleadingly to Peter.

“I can help you,” he says, face white with worry. He keeps glancing to your leg. “Uh- that- that was really impressive,” he mutters, forcing his gaze to your eyes. Grasping the importance for distraction, he clears his throat. “Until the point where you got blasted out the sky, that is,” he adds. 

You laugh, the noise slightly strangled but still alight with appreciation. “It was epic,” you agree. “Did you get them all?” 

Peter nods, his fluffy hair shifting in the wind. “Yep. Got all the weapons too. They’re taking them all into custody now.” You look back and see Thor roughly shoving the remaining conscious men into the back of a van. 

“That’s your leg bandaged,” Tony announces. You look down and see him looking at you, arms crossed. “Try to stay off it for a few days. I know how you Asgardians are, so please, make sure to rest-”

Before he’s finished talking, you’re already on your feet, shaking out your leg as you marvel at his handiwork. It feels like brand new, the pain now just a distant throb. 

“Thanks,” you say, beaming.

“Rest it,” he threatens, shaking his finger at you before moving off to help the others.

And then it’s just you and Peter, alone in the middle of the carnage of the street, a pocket of serenity amidst the chaos. 

“Thanks for saving me,” you say, a little shy, now. You would’ve been fine if you’d crashed straight into the hard concrete, but you’re feeling particularly smitten now as you look at Peter, his face still pinched with an element of stress, but more relaxed now you’re up and about. 

“‘S okay. Said I’d save you, didn’t I?” He replies. He reaches out and pulls at some of the stringy web that still covers your body, and winces. “This might take a bit of work, though.”

You laugh, and stretch your hand out to where his is resting on your side. Your fingers wrap around his and you slowly intertwine them, a tentative movement until he pushes in against you, connecting your palms and squeezing your hand warmly.

“We make a pretty good team,” you say, swallowing nervously. You meet his eyes, his brown eyes warm and inviting, and feel your heart pulse in your chest.

“We do,” he agrees. He steps a little closer, cheeks blooming with a rosy pink. “Maybe we should work together again sometime.” 

You nod. He’s directly in front of you now, your hands still laced together. After a moment of just looking, you lean in and press a soft kiss to his waiting lips, your bodies slotting together gently, perfectly. It’s just a small kiss, but in the seconds that span out afterwards, your foreheads press together, and his breath fans out across your face. Your eyes are closed, and for a moment, you feel everything slotting together. 

“Oi!” There’s a holler from the end of the street, and you peel back from Peter to see your dad glaring at you. “Stop that.”

You laugh lightly. “Go away!” You respond, and quickly tug Peter in the opposite direction. “They’re going to be so annoying about this, aren’t they?” You mutter, jerking your head back in the direction of the team, whose eyes burn into your backs as you and Peter hurry away.

“Yep.” Peter rolls his eyes. “Guess we’ll just have to deal with it.”

You nod your head slowly, your heart feeling lighter than ever before. “I guess we will.” 

And what follows may or may not have involved a secluded alley and lots of kissing, but you’d never tell. 

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

any feedback? I would love to hear any thoughts you have on this!

masterlist

[rodeoxqueen]

DEVIL MAY GRIND

(I)- Can You Touch This?

Dante/ GN!Reader

Series Summary:  From a surprise rendezvous to a male strip club on your birthday to a private dance, you end up seeing eye-to-eye rather than eye-to-groin with a cowboy stripper named Dante Sparda.

Work Summary: A shy and short homebody celebrating your birthday with friends, you end up somewhere you’d never expect: a male strip club. And what you’d also never expect is a certain red-devil/cowboy stripper to lay his special treatment on you.

Tags/Warnings: 18+, Gender-Neutral! Reader, Stripper!AU, Minors Do Not Try It, Wholesome Filth

Rodeo’s Two-Pieces: The rest of the series will likely be gender-neutral until the erotica in which I will include a gender-neutral sex scene.

You were never one for large crowds, alcohol, loud music, and nudity. So what a mess you were in, your friends dragging you into a strip club.

It wasn’t your fault, they promised you were all going for a quiet dinner at your favorite restaurant. No loud noises, no crowds, and especially, you didn’t even know why you had to specify, no naked guys! That’s what happened at first. You went and blew out your candles on your cake at a nice place, but then things got weird. Your friends had got you thoughtful gifts, except one of them who promised to give it to you after another “surprise.”

They practically herded you to their car, blindfolding and ear-muffing you while giggling. After driving in some unfamiliar directions, you were pulled into a strange building.

So when you couldn’t hear your thoughts due to the overbearing bass in the room you were in, you realized you should’ve known better. The blindfold and earmuffs were taken off and you opened your eyes to a neon-lit room with the most hard-cut abs right in your face.

“A strip club?! W-why would you think I’d want to go to a strip club?”

“Okay, first of all (Y/N). It’s a male strip club. Second, come on! I know you want to touch some diamond abs!” One of your friends exclaimed as they threw bills at one very tan and very oiled-up man named Diego. The box from before landed on your lap, and you unwrapped it to find a giant stack of dollar bills.

“Now stuff them bills down some hottie’s pants!”

The orange thong-wearing male with the most defined quads you had ever glanced at winked at your friend and opted to dance on someone else. Clutching your drink, you swallowed thickly as other males who went to the gym every other hour thrust their hips proactively at you.

Your friends had called ahead and bought the lot of you a table to the stage, much to your chagrin.

Luckily, your ability to disappear in a room, with your meek personality and small stature, came in handy in these situations. The tall and buff guys your friends screamed over seemed to prefer the company of the more extroverted and thirsty. While other tables farther from the stage had easy contact with the not-themed strippers, you were all confronted with the stage floor dancers.

“My god, how many themes do these guys dress in?” You squeaked as an entertainer dressed like James Bond (minus the clothes except for the bowtie and gun holster) ground on the stage floor.

“Not enough! Now make it rain, (Y/N).” Another friend demanded as she took another shot.

You made a noise as your hand was forcibly placed onto an eight-pack. You quickly threw a wad of bills at the man and ran off to the bar.

“I gotta go!” You panicked, speed-walking to the bar. Stomach quivering, you put a few bills down and asked for a stronger drink. Maybe you could pass out on the table and your friends would feel bad and take you home.

You sighed as you watched your friends have the time of their lives, although they noted your absence.

“First time?” The bartender asked, sliding your fruity drink to you. You fiddled with the napkin. A woman posed in the corner with the logo “Devil May Cry” to the side of her, all lined in neon pink.

“Oh!... Yeah, it is.” You mumbled shyly. You blushed at his blue-eyed stare. Luckily, he wore a collared white shirt so you could look at him without bleeding out of your nose. He was very handsome, with rugged features and slight facial hair. His stark white hair shined even in the dim lighting.

“Ah, could tell. Watched you get dragged in here.” He chuckled.

“I-I was tricked, first of all!” You exclaimed, tucking some hair behind your ear.

“It’s alright. Your next rounds on me if you stay a lil longer.” He winked, wiping a glass. A few other people came and went, requesting all sorts of raunchy-titled drinks. Despite that, he leaned on the table where you sat, making idle conversation.

“I’m Dante.”

“Nice to meet you, Dante. I’m (Y/N).” You impulsively stuck your hand out to shake and stilled at his strong and warm grip.

He whistled.

“Nice name for a nice person. It’s your birthday right?” You nodded.

“What did you wish for?”

“Peace and quiet.” He laughed at that, gesturing to your friends who screamed and clapped at a dark-skinned stripper who ripped off his pants.

“With those friends?” He chuckled.

“They’re a lot more restrained. This is an exception.” You whined.

The conversation grew longer. You learned that Dante worked here with his twin brother Vergil. He loved pizza and strawberry ice cream, along with nice motorcycles. A total manly man, if you asked yourself.

You found a safe space talking to him since you didn’t have to look at nude guys with your back turned.

You were hoping to talk the night away until a similarly white-haired male with a serious glare rounded the corner.

Swiping back a few stray hairs, the esteemed brother Vergil knocked the smile off his twin’s face.

“You fool! Your shift has been over for some time now.” He snapped. Dante rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, this is old douchebag.” You giggled at his comment, quickly stopping when meeting eyes with the frigid twin.

“Have you been speaking ill of me? I will-” Dante threw a towel at his brother’s face before leaving the bartending station. By leaving, he jumped over the counter.

“Hey, (Y/N), nice talking to you. I’ll see you later.” The white-haired man left to the employee’s room.

“Alright-” You muttered. You’d sit, but Vergil’s cold glare prompted you to leave and rejoin your friends.

“Where were you? Chatting up the bartender?”

“Look at you. Being social in a strip club.” They teased.

After a few more dancers, you couldn’t help but miss the blue-eyed bartender with his quips and casual flirtiness.

Suddenly, the music and lights went off. The crowd stirred. Your friend grabbed your arm.

“Oh lord they’re gonna need a mop after this.”

“Ew!” You cried out. Your friends sang that one horribly sexual song from the radio. Something about parking a truck in a garage and about wet-

A shirtless DJ grabbed the mic.

“And now, for our next entertainer, we have the Legendary Lady Killer. Hold onto your panties and your wedding rings, you’re all in for the ride of your life.”

The lights were turned back on from back to front. On stage, stood a muscular man with a cowboy hat and shawl. His legs were perfectly framed by black leather chaps and boots. You turned as red as his shawl as you could see his formidable bulge from yards across.

His spurs clinked on the floor as people began to cheer at his physique. Your jaw dropped in shock.

White hair.

“I got some questions for y’all.” He drawled, lowering his hat.

“Yes! I’m single!” Someone yelled from the back. He chuckled as others screamed with agreement.

“That’s nice ma’am. But really, I got three questions.” He made his way down the stage, his shadow covering your table.

He palmed his chest and abs, showing white chest hairs and slicked-down muscles.

“Can you touch this?” Everyone screamed for yes. He tutted.

“No, no, no.” He waggled his finger. He spun and exposed his lush tush. He was packing it front and back and you blushed while putting your face in your hands.

His hands groped his butt. Even with his giant hands, he still had more ass to spare.

“Can you touch this?” The screams grew louder. He waggled his finger again, wiggling his butt.

“No, no, no.” The crowd awed. He turned back around, a cocky grin on his face.

“Now,” He pointed to the crowd.

His palms groped the leather that concealed his huge package.

“Can you touch this?” Your friend threw a wad of cash at him, hitting him in the nipple. He stood unflinching.

“No, no, no.” He drew out each word.

“These are my laws.” Putting his hands on his hips, he rocked left to right, clicking his spurs.

“But I see a hell of a lot of lawbreakers here tonight.”

He shifted to walk around the chair placed behind him. He sat on it backward, legs spread to place his groin in the spotlight.

“And I don’t see a cop in sight.” He pointed at the DJ.

“Hit it!” Music blaring, he did his number. And boy, was the DJ right to warn you. Dante practically made sweet love to the chair, flipping his head back.

Hips circling and then pistoning the air, sweat trailed down his pecs.

You ended up throwing a few bills, hoping to avoid eye contact. It failed as he slid to his knees to the edge of the stage and crawled off the ledge onto your table. Like a preying tiger, he made his way over to you.

Thank god you had health insurance, your blood pressure was going off the charts.

Your friends lost their heads, throwing bills and screaming like banshees. But he wasn’t interested in them. His eyes preyed after your own, baby blues on an absolute beast.

“Wanna save a horse and ride a cowboy, good lookin’?” He purred as he traced your jaw. Your skin jumped as you internally imploded. This was was too sensual and people were watching, for goodness sake!

“(Y/N), if you don’t agree I will cancel your Barnes and Noble membership.” Your friend threatened.

“Come on, spare this outlaw some sugar?” You didn’t have a moment to think. Dante threw his hat on your head and carried you onto the table and to the stage.

“Oh my god! Oh my god!” You shrieked.

He ran hot. So hot. Your skin burned at contact with him, pressed up against his chest as he stood you in front of the chair he practically humped.

“Take a seat.” You blushed at his sensual persona, not sure where the kind bartender and the suave cowboy started and ended.

Obediently, you turned the chair around and sat with your ankles crossed. Dante tutted in disapproval.

His hands lingered by your legs.

“May I?” He asked. You shook your head slowly, feeling his callused hands on your thighs. He firmly spread your legs and stood over you on the chair.

As if that wasn’t enough, his arm muscles bulged and twitched as he ripped off his leather chaps. He ripped the chaps. There were no zippers or velcro straps. That was all him!

Your face a hair’s width from his abs, he gently took your hands and traced his pecs with them. He growled and winked at you.

Despite the one-in-a-million situation you were in, you shrank at the many peering eyes of the other women and bar patrons. Your anxiety was seen by Dante, who tilted your head up.

“Hey, it’s alright. Just focus on me. If you’re nervous, just give me a purple nurple or something, alright?” You laughed at his idea of a safe word and nodded.

“Okay, Dante.”

And like that, it was like you pulled a trigger. Dante grinded on your form and explored his peak-conditioned skin with your own hands.

You gasped as he led your hands down his front to his leather shorts. You couldn’t stop looking with widened eyes at his crotch. You had read erotica before, describing the male member in the throes of passion, yet this was the first time you had been this close to anything like those erotic novels.

It was obscene! Why did it seem to get larger? How was he allowed to carry that thing around without a license?!

“Hey, eyes up here.” He teased as you snapped your head up.

“O-oh! Sorry.” You whispered. Your blood had rushed to your head and you had grown deaf to your friends’ yells of validation.

“Grab him by the buns!” One of your friends yelled. Dante turned around to make eye contact with her.

With a grin, he slid your hands to the back. What he didn’t expect was you to squeeze.

“Whoa now, kitty.” He purred. You gave a watery smile.

Suddenly, a water bottle was thrown at his head. With lightning reflexes, he caught it after it bounced off of him.

“Hey! Stage times’ over, you fucking show pony.” A short-haired woman with mismatching eyes called out. Dante scoffed.

“Just givin’ a smokeshow some lovin’.” He argued.

“No, get off the stage, Dante.”

“Five more minutes?”

“NOW.” He sighed. Getting off of your lap, he kissed your hand that was resting on his thigh. Lord, if you died right now, that’d be fine.

“Glad to have this dance.” He flirted.

“Y-you too.” Taking your hand, he took you for another surprise and swept you off your feet. You squeaked as he handed you to another dancer on the ground. The club-goers cheered as dancers arrived, dressed like businessmen with briefcases.

You were promptly seated, head dizzy from everything that just happened. You watched as he took his leave as if he didn’t just cause you to get feverish from how hot he was. Your friend hugged you.

“Nice work! You were so lucky!” Another friend plucked the hat off your head.

“Ah! He left his hat!” You exclaimed as you took it from her hands.

“A souvenir.”

For the rest of the night, you held onto the hat and traced the red stitching. You never saw Dante for the rest of the night, his brother in charge of the bar service.

Finally, before the last round of dancers, you were tapped on the shoulder. You found yourself staring into much harsher blue eyes.

One of your friends threw money at him, which he growled at.

“I am not an entertainer. Well, not right now.” He explained. He handed you a drink with a napkin on the bottom.

“My buffoon of a brother said to keep the hat. Although, I’m not sure why you would.”

“I-”

“The drink is on the house. Good evening with you all.”

He walked off, and you took your drink. You realized it was the same one you ordered when you got to the bar.

“Hey girlie, take a look.” A well-manicured nail pointed to the napkin. You saw in red pen an arrow pointed to the folded corner.

You shakily opened it to reveal a series of numbers and words, along with a card that flitted onto the table.

Tonight was fun, wanna do it again? The card’s for a private dance, just call and ask for Dante Sparda. No crowds, only you and me. No Lady barking up my tree for appreciating beauty either - DS

A little heart with an arrow through its center was scrawled in a corner. You picked up the laminated card and saw it was for a free private dance. Your heart beat out of your chest.

Your friends laughed as you immediately stuck it in your bag, along with the note. The club closed and you were all ushered out. The night was pitch black when you emerged from the debauchery that was the Devil May Cry strip club.

As your other wasted companions were stuffed into the car, you sat shotgun to the sober and designated driver.

You were silent the car ride home, laying your head against the window. You thought about that white-haired flirt’s remarks and how gentle he was to you.

Waving and embracing your wonderful friends, you left for your apartment with all your gifts. However, the little slips of paper in your bag weighed the heaviest on your mind.

With your keys in your hand, you climbed up the stairs home.

After closing the door, you slid down the wall and let out a pleased sigh.

“Best birthday ever!” You said to no one in particular.

[dany-is-my-queen]

Born To Be Yours | Part VII

Sansa Stark x Fem! Baratheon! Reader (Daenerys Targaryen x Fem! Baratheon! Reader eventually)

Season 1-8

Word Count: 1,496

Note: If you’re enjoying the story leave a comment, it means so much! <3

Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4 Pt.5 Pt.6 Pt.8 Pt.9

It was a lovely day. And you chose to spend it with your best friend. At least you can keep each other company without anyone disturbing you.

“Let’s have a walk in the gardens.” You invited Sansa after knocking her door. She opened it revealing her divine hair done in a southerner style.

“Why such a beautiful princess would want to waste her time with someone like me? I mean... of course I’ll go-“ she bit her lip and flushed. You giggled.

“Not a waste at all.” She shyly smiled.

“This flower... is gorgeous!” It doesn’t compare to your beauty. “I’ve never seen one like it. They don’t grow in the North.”

“Yes, they are rare yet special. They are called The Middlemist Red. Actually, there’s only two of these left in the world, as far as I know. The other one is on Highgarden.” You commented gazing at her.

“You also have vast knowledge in botany.”

“I am familiar with the topic. I have friends who live there. They taught me.”

“Ser Loras?”

“Indeed. He is one of my best. Now he’s with my uncle Renly, they have always been closer, I can’t blame him. His sister is married to him.”

“Do you want to marry a handsome lord?”

“Sure. Just not now. Or anytime soon. First I want to travel. Meet people. Have adventures. So when I’m old and grey I have a lot of memories.”

“Arya wanted that too. Robb and you would have made a good match.” Sansa’s stomach twisted at her own words. She didn’t know why.

“He was a gentleman. I respect him and I understand his position. He wants justice. I know the last thing you desire in the world is to marry my brother.”

“I was so stupid... a stupid girl with a stupid dream of marrying a handsome prince.

He turned out to be my worst nightmare.”

“Hey hey, you are not stupid. Every girl would dream that. The circumstances didn’t play in your favor. But daylight will always come. It’s not your fault. Nothing’s gonna hold you down for long.” You sympathetically reassured.

“Thank you, Y/N. You are so good with words.” You resumed your steps and continued talking about the flowers.

“I want to introduce you to someone. Dear Y/N. This is Shae.” Tyrion said. The young woman clumsy bowed.

“It’s a pleasure, Princess Y/N. Your uncle always speaks about you.” Her accent sounded foreign.

“Nice to meet you, Shae.”

“I was planning to make her your new handmaid but since you don’t really need handmaidens I’ll be giving her to your beloved friend Sansa Stark.”

“I’m sure she’ll be pleased with your service, my lady.” Shae left. “Are you in love with her?” You playfully inquired once you were alone.

“Shae is special.” He looked quite smitten to her, the way he looked at her gave him away.

“If she makes you happy then I’m happy for you, uncle.”

“I intend to keep her safe. If your mother, my father, or someone finds out it’ll be a mess. Just Varys knows and now you.”

“I won’t breathe a word.” You crossed your heart. And you would never betray his confidence, he was the one to comfort you when your mother and Joffrey were unkind.

What a consideration of Cersei to host a dinner for your two younger siblings, the northern girl and you. You tried to keep a good face so your mother wouldn’t be scolding you for her own falseness. You seated next to Sansa. Myrcella and Tommen in front of you and Cersei at the top of the table. The room was awkward and quiet.

“When will Joffrey and Sansa be married?” Myrcella suddenly asked.

“Soon, darling, when the war is over.” Cersei answered.

“Mother says I’ll have a new gown for the ceremony and another for the feast. But yours will be ivory since you are the bride.” She joyfully announced but the tall girl didn’t reply back.

“The Princess just spoke to you.” The lioness peered at Myr and then at Sansa.

“Pardon, your grace. I’m sure your dress will be beautiful, Myrcella. I’m counting the days until the fight is done and I can pledge my love to the King in the sight of the gods.” She staged a very pitiful smile.

“Is Joffrey going to kill Sansa’s brother?” Now the little prince asked.

“He might.” Sansa took a big sip of her cup, hiding her fear and pain. “Would you like that?” He frowned.

“No. I don’t think so.”

“Even if he does, Sansa will do her duty. Won’t you, little dove?” You bit your tongue. Seeing her like that broke your heart. She was on the brink of tears.

“We can’t be certain of anything. The food was delicious.” Changing the topic was the first thing that came to your mind.

“It’s a pretty ring, where did you get it, little dove?” Cersei glare landed suspiciously at her finger. She opened her mouth but didn’t utter a single word. You put your hand on Sansa’s to calm her anxiety.

“I gave it to her so she can remember her home, mother.”

“The home of traitors.” She bitterly laughed.

“I lost my appetite. Excuse us.” You gestured Sansa to stand up and left the place. “May I escort you to your chambers, my lady?” She nodded lowering her head.

“Your brother and your sister are just as friendly as you, Y/N.”

“They like you. I apologize for my mother’s behavior. Have a lovely night.” You bid her goodnight, she gave you a quick hug and then you couldn’t help but kissed swiftly her cheek, the torches were burning low so you didn’t quite see her reaction. You hoped you didn’t make her feel uncomfortable.

The following day you chatted with uncle Tyrion. He told you some news you weren’t expecting.

“Your sister must go. She will be promised to Prince Trystane of Dorne. I tell you before you learn from your mother.”

“She won’t like that. She’s so young, uncle... I don’t know.” It was true, giving her to strangers and people who despise your family didn’t sound like a good idea.

“She’ll be safer there if the city falls when one of the self-proclaimed Kings come.” He had a point.

“You are right.” Still, you feared for Myrcella.

You walked to the throne room just to find the King humiliating the Stark girl and shouting things at her with all the lords and ladies contemplating the scene. She was on her knees, with her garments all ripped out.

“If we want Robb Stark to hear us we’re going to have to speak louder!” Ser Meryn was ready to strike her.

“Stop it! What do you think you’re doing?” You furiously yelled.

“Are you crazy? What kind of knight beats a helpless girl?” Tyrion intervened.

“The kind who serves his king, Imp.” Meryn responded.

“Careful now. We don’t want to get blood all over your pretty white cloak.” Bronn added looking at him, a hand on his sword.

“Here, my lady.” You took off your cape. Luckily you were wearing one today. “What did I told you about treating her like this? She did nothing wrong. Have you no regard for her honor, brother? She is going to be your queen!”

“I’m punishing her.” He complained.

“For what crimes? She did not fight her brother’s battle, you half-wit.” The youngest Lannister repressed him.

“You can’t talk to me like that. The king does as he likes!” Joffrey whined.

“The Mad King did as he liked. Has your uncle Jaime ever told you what happened to him?”

“No one threatens his grace on the presence of the kingsguard.” The awful knight spoke.

“I’m not. I’m just educating my nephew. Bronn, next time Ser Meryn speaks, kill him. That was a threat. See the difference?”

“Come.” You helped Sansa got up.

“Tell us the truth. Do you want an end to this engagement?” The throne room followed you with their glances.

“I am loyal to King Joffrey. My one true love.” You shook your head to the short man. Sansa walked out just as if nothing had happened. You knew too well she had to keep pretending, the wrong people might hear if she said what she really wanted to say.

Late at night you found yourself staring at the ceiling of your room. You were thinking about Sansa, oh how hard you were falling for that smile and those blue eyes... she was perfect, but of course she’ll never feel the same way, considering the possibility was silly. She deserved to be loved, you could love her, would she let you do it? No, you were also a girl. Being around her was enough, protecting her and keeping the promise you made to Lady Catelyn. Your little sister is going off to some strange land, gods, life is getting harder...

[fluffy-lee]

Summer's All in Bloom

Part 4 of the series "Vacation."

This is a TICKLE fic. If you're not into that, you don't have to read.

PLATONIC Avengers x reader

Warnings: Angst, teenage party with alcohol, PDA, and sexy dancing.

Summary: This summer, Y/n has started to feel the urge for more independence, but navigating the trials of growing up can be confusing. That doesn't stop her from having fun, especially with a certain web-slinger.

“Y/n… Y/n, wake up!” whispered your dad, Bucky, as he shook you awake. 

Your eyes opened and you looked up into his blue ones.

  “What is it?” You asked. 

  “You’ll see. Just get up and get ready. Meet me on the back porch in ten.” He said and left the room.

You sighed and rolled out of bed. Normally, you’d turn over and go back to sleep this early, but you were too curious as to what he was up to. 

  You got ready for the day, and went downstairs and out to the back porch where Bucky was waiting, drinking his coffee. 

  “Look who finally made it!” Bucky teased. 

You rolled your eyes and smiled. 

  “Come on, you’re gonna love this.” He said, taking your hand. 

You walked down the trail together toward the lake, and he led you over to a little canoe. You smiled excitedly and looked up at him. 

  “Haha come on, get in!” Bucky laughed.

You got in, and Bucky pushed it into the water and got in himself. You rowed all the way out to the middle of the lake. It was the first time you both had gotten to do something like this, just the two of you. You both really loved making up for lost time.

  “Here I got it, you can just relax.” Bucky said, suggesting you let him do the rowing. 

  “Is it because I keep leading us in the wrong direction by accident?” You asked with a grin. 

  “Whaaat? Nooo. You’re doing great, sweetie!” He replied sarcastically. You both laughed.

The two of you spent quite a while out on the lake and you loved it. It was so quiet and peaceful. The wildlife was celebrating the morning. You saw all different kinds of birds, and even a few really cool hawks. You also saw a few deer along the shore run into the woods. Your favorite animals you saw, however, was a group of otters playing together. They were so close, you could hear them. You had such a great time, it was so worth getting up early for. 

  “We have to do this more while we are here.” You told your dad.

  “Okay, I’d love that.” He said with a sweet smile. 

Bucky rowed back to shore after being out on the water for nearly an hour, which didn’t feel long enough, and the two of you made your way up the trail back to the cabin. Steve smiled to himself as he watched the two of you together from the kitchen window.

  When you got back inside, a few more people had woken and were enjoying coffee. Tony, Pepper, Natasha, and Steve were spread out around the kitchen. You began telling them all what you had seen and how much fun you had. You all had been at the cabin for a few days now, spending every day you’d been there at the lake and swimming, so when Tony told you today would be different, you were really excited. 

  Peter came into the kitchen looking all tired, but he still had a smile on his face. He sat next to you, and laid his head down on the table. 

  “Good mornin’ guys.” He said groggily. 

  “Y/n, Pete, what do you want for breakfast?” Tony asked. 

  “I’m just gonna make cereal.” You said. 

  “Me too.” Peter mumbled. 

  “I’ll make you a bowl, sleepy head.” You said, ruffling Peter’s hair. 

  “Thaaank you!” Peter replied, waking up a bit more.

You went to the cabinet for the cereal, only to find it up pretty high, so you stood on your tip toes and began to reach as high as you could, when suddenly, you felt a very tickly poke to your side. You squeaked and shot your arms down. 

  “Tonyyyy!” You whined. 

He just raised an eyebrow and smiled. You began to reach again when you felt a squeeze to your other side. 

  “Nahahahat! Noooo!” You said with the biggest smile on your face. 

  “Sorry, I couldn’t miss the opportunity.” She said with a sly smirk. 

You rolled your eyes and waited until no one was around to quickly reach up again, when suddenly, you were snatched up into someone’s arms and being viciously tickled all over your tummy. 

  “Dahahaddy! Stahahaaap!” You shrieked as Bucky tickled you. 

  “Awww why? I just wanna tickle my little Y/n!” He teased and you immediately turned red. 

It tickled so much you couldn’t speak, just laugh and bat at his hands. Bucky stopped and reached up to grab your “Cap’n Ameri-Crunch,” handed it to you, and set you down. You walked toward the fridge for some milk as you blushed. You looked over at Peter to see he had been giggling at the scene. 

  “What’s so funny, Spidey?” Tony asked.

Peter’s eyes went wide and he tensed.

Tony began massaging his shoulders and neck in a purposefully ticklish way. “Do you need some morning tickles too?”

  “N-Nohoho. I’m good! I’m gohohooood!” Peter cracked up as he squeezed his shoulders towards his neck where Tony was now straight up tickling him. 

  “Are you sure?” Tony teased some more.

 “YES! Yeheheheesss! I got plenty the other nihihihght!” Peter cackled. 

You smiled to yourself as you poured the milk into the bowls, remembering the events of two nights ago. 

 Flashback to Two Nights Prior

  Everyone was chilling in the living room after a long day at the lake, talking and having a good time. It was one of the most relaxing parts of the day, after dinner, before bed. There were candles lit around the cabin and you could hear the crickets outside. Summer nights would always hold a special place in your heart. 

  You sat next to Peter as he scrolled through Instagram, watching funny videos, reading conspiracy theories, etc., but he also spent quite a lot of time checking the news on things happening in Queens and the rest of NYC while he has been gone.

  You were both lost in his phone, and honestly not paying attention to what the adults were talking about. Being the same age, you and Peter were spending the most time together on this vacation, and sometimes you talked about how it would be fun to have other people your age to hangout with and relate to, but you were still having fun nonetheless. 

 Tony noticed how much Peter had been on his phone, and he really felt that it would be better for the kid to not be on it so much, worrying about the news in Queens, and to just get the most out of the vacation as possible. Peter needed it, and that was a big reason he and Pepper decided to take this vacation. 

  “Pete, I really think you need to, you know, take a break from the phone. Be present.” Tony said for the hundredth time on the trip. 

  “It’s fine, Mr. Stark! I got it under control. You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine. I’m relaxed!” 

Tony sucked in his cheek as Peter looked back at his phone, scrolling. 

You curled up to Peter and whispered to him. “I think he may be right, Peter.”

“It’s okay. I’m good, Y/n.” Peter attempted to reassure you with a smile. You didn’t really believe him. 

 Peter, in his own thoughts, knew Tony was right. He couldn’t stop worrying about Queens and he hadn’t been away from there this long since he was bit. He felt responsible for the whole city.

Peter refreshed the news page and still nothing new popped up. 

   “Alright, kid. I guess you haven’t learned your lesson.” Tony said, approaching Peter. 

   “Wait! What do you mean?’ Peter asked nervously as he dropped his phone next to him on the couch. 

You knew what was about to happen and scooted over a bit to avoid being in the way. 

   “I think you need to start listening to me, Peter.” Tony said, raising an eyebrow, towering over Peter. 

  “Nonono I do listen! I do!” Peter protested, raising his hands up in defense. 

  “Do you now?” 

 “Y-Yes!”

 “I don’t think so!” Tony teased as he wiggled his fingers toward Peter.

 “NOHOHOHOHOHOOO!” Peter scream-laughed as Tony’s fingers wiggled into his ribs. 

You giggled as you watched Tony reduce Peter to a ticklish puddle. Peter silent-laughed as Tony began to shake his ribs. 

 “Does that tickle, Parker? Huh?” Tony asked as Peter turned bright red. 

 “Yehehessss! I’m sohohohrry! I’ll stahahaap!” Peter pleaded through his hysterical laughter. 

 “Alright, good!” Tony said as he stopped tickling Peter. “So we got a deal?”

 “Yes.. yes, deal!” Peter answered as he caught his breath. 

 “That’s great! But I think I’m going to keep tickling you anyway. It’s too much fun.” Tony decided, as he dug into Peter’s extremely ticklish tummy, sending him back into hysterics. Tony then crawled his fingers up into Peter’s deathly ticklish armpits and Peter thrashed around like a fish out of water, hilarious laughter spilling out of his mouth. He toppled over on his side next to you. You scooted over just in time so you wouldn’t be trapped under him. Tony took this opportunity to get on the couch and straddle Peter’s waist, continuing to tickle under his arms. Peter’s laughter turned hiccupy, and his eyes were squeezed shut, revealing his handsome “crow’s feet” and bright smile spread across his face. Tony couldn’t help but chuckle at this, and you, of course, were giggling at the sight. Peter finally caught his breath.

  “I CAN’T! Ihihihihi cahahahan’t!” He shouted. 

Tony slipped his hands out from under his arms. Even that motion tickled Peter. He then began squeezing Peter’s hips and Peter’s rare belly laughter poured out of him. You couldn’t help but blush, knowing how much it tickles when Tony does that. This went on for a while, until Tony knew Peter couldn’t take much more, and he ceased his tickling, while Peter turned on his side, recovering. 

  “Have you learned your lesson, kid?” Tony asked Peter. 

  “Yes. Definitely!” Peter replied, followed by a few remaining giggles. 

You were still giggling yourself when Tony shot a look at you, causing you to shut your mouth, eyes widening. 

  “This lesson goes for you too, missy.” Tony warned, a playful glint in his eyes. 

You nodded with a sheepish smile, slowly grabbing a pillow to cover your torso. Tony leaned toward you slowly, before surprising you by snatching the pillow away from you and digging both of his “claws” into your tummy, causing you to shriek with adorably high pitched laughter. Tony was leaned down close to your face, smiling at you, and that made it tickle so much more. He then moved down to squeezing your hips, like he did to Peter, and you threw your head back in laughter. You were bright red from laughter, and being super flustered. 

  Peter, who had recovered from his attack, was now giggling at Tony tickling you. You squealed as you trapped Tony’s hands in your very ticklish armpits, as Tony repeatedly said “tickle tickle tickle!” You thought you might die then and there, only for it to get worse when Peter spoke up. 

  “Since you found me getting tickled so funny, and did nothing to help, I guess that leaves me no choice.” Peter said in an evil tone. He grabbed your left foot, which was oddly more ticklish than your right, and began scribbling all over the bottom of it. You screamed until your laughter fell silent when Tony began blowing raspberries on your jaw and neck, still tickling your under arms. Peter then decided to scritch at your toes and you couldn’t take it anymore. 

  “STAHAHAHPPP!” You yelled out. Tony and Peter both laughed, but granted your request.   “Ohohoh my gohohohosh.” You giggled flusteredly, as you turned over on your belly and hid your face in the couch. 

  “Awwww!” Tony and Peter both sang as they began to tickle lightly all over your back. You let out adorable bubbly giggles, and squirmed around a bit. You actually liked these back tickles, though you’d never admit it. After a while, they let up and you and Peter were definitely more present with everyone else. 

…

 You brought Peter his cereal and sat next to him. Everyone else had come down for breakfast, ready to start the day. Thor sat down next to you, a bright smile on his face. 

  “Good morning, princess!” He said sweetly. 

  “Good morning, god of thunder, king, alien.” You replied. Thor chuckled at your comment. 

  “What is on the agenda today, Tony?” Thor asked. 

  “We’re going to rent ATVs and take them to some ATV trails. It will be really fun!” Tony announced.

You and Peter looked at each other very excitedly. “AWESOME.”

  “What is an ATV?” Thor asked. “I thought that was an ATV.” He pointed at the TV in the living room. 

 “You’ll see.” 

  You all had finally arrived at the ATV trails, and everyone was ready. You were a little salty though, because everyone had their own four wheeler, or bike, except you. Peter was currently teaching Thor how to drive and Thor caught on quite quickly and was having a blast. 

  “Whhhhy can’t I have my own?!” You whined to Bucky and Steve. Tony wanted to get you your own, but Bucky and Steve weren’t allowing it. 

   “Because you have never drove one before, and you need to learn first!” Steve scolded. 

   “Stop whining, Y/n.” Bucky said sternly. 

   “We are just trying to keep you safe.” Steve added. 

   “But I have ridden many times before! I know how it works!” You argued. 

   “We are not trying to baby you. We just want to teach you first, okay?” Bucky said. 

You rolled your eyes. You felt like a baby. Even Peter got his own, even though you understood where they were coming from. You were just independent, and wanted to feel grown for once. 

  “You want to ride with me or Bucky?” Steve asked. You crossed your arms, a little annoyed with both of them. You didn’t want either of them at the moment. Just then, Tony pulled up next to the three of you. 

  “Hop on, Y/n. I’m going to teach you, AND we’re going to have fun!” Tony said smoothly. 

You smirked, and climbed onto the four wheeler, sitting in front of Tony as he began to show you the gas and breaks.

Steve and Bucky chuckled. “She needs a helmet.” They both ordered. 

  “Of course!” Tony said cooly, and pulled out the Iron Man helmet and placed it on your head. 

  “HECK YEAH!” You shouted as the notification popped up all around you and your eyes adjusted to the helmet. Tony chuckled. 

  “Biometric scan complete.” FRIDAY said. 

  “BYE!” You yelled, throwing up the peace sign, and took off down the trail with Tony. 

  “WOOOO HOOOO!”

  After driving for a while and having a blast, you pulled over. 

   “See, I told you I could drive!” You told Tony.

   “I knew you could! Do you want me to get you your own?” Tony asked.

   “No, I’d rather stay with you.” You smiled. Tony smiled back. 

   “Well then you better hang on tight!” Tony said, speeding back down the trail as you laughed with glee. 

  After hours of fun on the ATV trails, it was currently sunset and you were all back at the cabin. Some were making dinner and others were swimming. You, Peter, and Thor were currently in the pool playing mermaids like a bunch of children, except Thor kept throwing you across the pool, because he was playing the mermaid villain.

  “Dinner everyone!” Vision called from the back door. Everyone rushed out of the pool, but you and Peter stayed behind, because you were both having a lot of fun swimming. 

  “We’ll be in in a minute!” Peter called. 

You both finally got out of the pool after a minute or so and were drying off, wrapped in your towels, when something caught Peter’s eye. 

  “Y/n, look on the trail, in the woods.” He said, pointing toward little blinking lights. They were lightning bugs, and you got really excited. 

  “Let’s follow them!” You said. You both slipped on your flip flops and went to the trail. 

It was twilight and very beautiful out. The lightning bugs were everywhere and it was probably one of the most stunning moments of your life. You and Peter had made it pretty far up the trail, following the lightning bugs. One even landed in Peter’s hand and he held it out for you both to observe up close. The little bug blinked it’s yellowish green light and you both gasped. It flew away into the woods and you and Peter watched it join the others. You could barely see the lights of the cabin anymore, and expected to turn around, when Peter spoke. 

  “I’m picking up on something.” Peter whispered, tilting his head. 

  “What is it?” You asked, a little nervous that it was something bad. 

  “I’m hearing music...and laughter. That way.” Peter said, pointing toward the left into the woods. 

You grinned. “Peter, let’s go check it out! Maybe… it’ll be fun.” You suggested. 

  “What about, you know, everyone back at the cabin. Shouldn’t we tell them?” Peter asked with a little smirk. 

  “NO. They have been kind of babying me. You know? I just want to do something fun. Without needing permission or everyone having to know.” You admitted. 

  “Oh, so you wanna be a little rebellious, huh?” Peter teased, wiggling his eyebrows at you. 

  “Ugh yes, you dork!” You said, playfully hitting his chest. 

Peter shrugged. “Sounds like it could be fun.” He crossed his wrists, activating his web shooters, and picked you up, resting you on his hip. You held onto him as he leapt off the ground swinging through the trees. 

  After a while of swinging, you finally started to hear what Peter had been hearing: music. It became clearer as Peter got you guys closer. 

 “Perfect.” Peter said as he saw a platform in the trees, like a little tree house. He landed on it and set you down. You still held onto him since you were pretty high up. You could hear everything now, but all you could see were some lights. 

  “We need to get on the ground.” Peter said, picking you up again. You both decided to leave your towels in the tree house, so they wouldn’t be in the way. He jumped from the tree house, and before you knew it, you guys were back on the trail, walking toward the sound and lights. 

  “Hey Johnny, what are you-” someone said, trailing off. “Oh sorry you’re not Johnny you’re… I don’t know you.” A tall teenage boy said. He stepped closer to you two. “I don’t know you either. Who are you guys?” The guy asked. He had fluffy brown hair, blue eyes, and what looked like a lot of freckles. 

  “Oh hi, I’m Peter, and this is Y/n. We are staying in a cabin with our friends and family, and we heard the music and wanted to check it out.” Peter explained.

  “Nice to meet you, I’m Max, and that’s actually great. A lot of us spend our summer’s here with our families, but we want to spend time with other teenagers and young adults, you know?” Max said, cooly. It was now that you noticed his southern accent. “I’ll show you. You’re more than welcome to come hangout.” 

  You both walked by Max down the trail to reveal a big swimming hole, with lights streamed in the trees, and lanterns lit everywhere. It was gorgeous. There were a lot of people that looked to be you and Peter’s age, and a bit older. They were swinging from a rope swing into the swimming hold, dancing in the grass with each other to the music, and there was food and drinks, a few alcoholic, even. You were mixed with nerves and excitement. You had always wanted to go to a party like this, but never had, since Peter was pretty much your only friend your age.

  “This is awesome, man!” Peter exclaimed. You could see him clearly now that you were in the light, and Max. You even thought Max was pretty cute, but standing next to Peter, who had his arms crossed, shirtless, and observing the party, you couldn’t help but admit to yourself, that next to Peter, Max didn’t compare.

  You were only in your swimsuit yourself, which was appropriate for the setting, because everyone else was, but you noticed Max looking you up and down. You’d never been checked out before. Peter stepped in front of you a bit to block Max’s view. You saw Peter’s jaw clench. He became a bit protective over you and butterflies began to swarm in your stomach.

  “Do you wanna go back to the cabin, or stay? Peter asked, leaning down to you a bit, after pulling you aside. 

  “Peter, this is like so awesome! We have to stay and have fun!” You insisted. 

  “They might be worried about us.” Peter added.

  “You are SPIDER-MAN!” You whispered to Peter, causing him to look around cautiously.   “They’d have to be stupid to be worried about us. I’m safe with you… and we can be ourselves here. You don’t even have to...to hide your.. body.” You prodded.

Peter blushed a bit, as he noticed you looking  at him. “Okay… okay. Let’s party!” Peter nodded, pulling you toward the party. 

Everyone was really friendly, and you and Peter fit right in for once. 

  “So you wanna swim, or dance?” Peter asked you, shouting over the music. 

 “Oh well I uh- I can’t really dance.” You shouted back. You never really danced, except when Tony, Steve, or Bucky were playing around with you back home, but you’d always stand on their feet, but other than that, you never really had experience with dancing. Especially the way people were dancing here. It was not slow dancing. Couples were dancing quite close to each other, and the music was up beat. It looked fun, honestly, but Peter probably would never dance with you like... that. Especially not with you, you thought. 

Peter noticed you watching, and smirked. “You… You want to, don’t you.”

You went a little red. Curse him for knowing you too well. “Well I- I’ve never- I can’t dance so uh let’s just- let’s just swim.” You rambled nervously. You wanted to dance with Peter, but for the life of you, you couldn’t admit it. You were scared of what he’d think or say. 

  “I’m sorry, but what’s got you all nervous?” Peter questioned. 

  “The party! First party.” You answered way too quickly. 

  “Really? Because you were all excited and rebellious a second ago.” Peter teased. He wasn’t convinced you were being fully honest. 

  “I still am!” You lied. 

 Peter gasped. “Ooooh! You like Max! That’s why you’re nervous!” Peter declared.

  “No!” You shot back. “I mean… he’s cute, but... I don’t like him like that. Plus, it looks like he’s taken.” You insisted, pointing at Max who was kissing what looked to be like his boyfriend.  

  “Then what has you so nervous?” Peter asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

You were silently freaking out inside your head. Peter is your best friend. You have never felt this way about anyone before, except a few celebrities on TV, but this was too real. It was the first time you had ever let your guard down and went off and been a real teenager, but it came with some other new feelings you must have been hiding for some time. 

Peter stared down at you, and realization hit him. His heart pounded a bit. 

  “Am I… Am I making you nervous?” Peter asked, hesitantly.

Butterflies swarmed in your stomach. You refused to make eye contact.

  “Peter, the dancing is making me nervous. I don’t want to make a fool of myself in front of everyone.” 

  “Oh…” He replied awkwardly. Then, a smirk appeared on his face. “Lucky for you, I’ve become a pretty good dancer.”

This was true. Peter had been to quite a few more parties in the past year, and he really loved to dance.

 Peter pulled you to the grass with everyone else who was dancing. You looked around nervously. 

 “Don’t worry about them, just follow my lead.” Peter instructed, throwing your arms around his neck as he held your waist. He pulled you close to him, and he began swaying pretty fast, and you struggled to keep up with his rhythm at first. “Blinding Lights” by the Weeknd was blasting and it felt great to dance to, even though you were still a little tense. 

  “Just let go.” Peter urged, trying to help guide you, as you felt his hips rolling. There were those butterflies again.

You finally just let go and allowed yourself to have fun, after all you had been keeping down. You were having so much fun, and so was Peter. You felt safe with him, and liked being this close to him. Neither of you worried about anything. You were both just being free and happy and young. You kept laughing, especially when Peter would twirl you really fast, dip you, or pick you up and spin you. You were both in pure summer bliss. 

…

Back at the cabin, everyone had finished eating dinner and were sitting around the table. 

  “Uh where are the kids?” Sam asked. 

  “I think they’re STILL swimming.” Wanda said. 

  “Yeah they should come eat, or their food is going to be cold.” Pepper said, getting up from the table. She peeked outside, and saw the pool was empty. She stepped outside and looked around. There was no one. “They are not in the pool. I don’t see them anywhere.” 

Bucky and Steve simultaneously shot up from their seats and rushed to the back door. They called your names and searched the yard, but there was no answer, no one. 

  “Tony, we gotta find them.” Bucky stressed. “What if something bad happened?”

  “Hey it’s probably fine! They are old enough to go for a walk or something.” Tony said, even though he was a little worried deep down.

  “Uh without telling anybody?” Steve snapped. 

  “It is unlike them.” Natasha added.

  “I trust Peter. Immensely. Y/n as well.” Tony argued. 

  “They could be in trouble!” Steve fought. 

  “He’s Spider-Man!” Tony retaliated. 

  “SO?” Bucky yelled. He was furious. 

  “Two teenagers… going off alone… after swimming? Sounds fishy to me.” Sam shrugged. 

  “Oh my God. My little girl… I think I might faint.” Bucky said, collapsing to a chair. 

“Oh they aren’t! Geez! Don’t think that.” Nat scoffed.

  “I AM GOING TO SEARCH FOR THEM IMMEDIATELY.” Thor growled, heading towards the door. 

  “WAIT! Wait.” Tony called, causing everyone to stop. Peter and I have a device in his web shooters. He has them on. I know for a fact. If he was in any danger, I’d be notified immediately. See?” Tony said, holding up his phone, confirming that Peter had his web shooters and was alright.  “The only thing I don’t have on him is a GPS. I decided to give him more freedom than that.”

 Everyone relaxed. 

  “Okay. Okay, so they just ran off. Probably to go in the canoe or something. Everything is fine.” Steve sighed of relief. Bucky seemed to calm down too. 

  “I trust her. I do.” Bucky reassured everyone, and himself.

Tony looked at Peter’s vitals though, and his heart dropped. 

  “Um… the only thing I’m seeing that is kind of… um. Weird-” Tony spoke up. 

  “WHAT.” Thor demanded. 

  “Peter’s heart rate is really, really high.” Tony announced. 

  “Oh God… I think I’m gonna be sick. My baby.” Bucky said dramatically as Steve crashed down in the chair next to him, his head in his hands. 

  “We’ll just wait for them to return.” 

…

  You and Peter had danced to several songs and now you were in the grass, tickling the snot out of Peter, after you both sat down at the party to chill and drink water. You both were NOT going to drink alcohol. That would just give you a reason to be in trouble.

  “PLEHEHEHEASE! Y/N! I’m soohohorry!” Peter screamed through his laughter as you tickled all over his tummy and sides for sticking an ice cube down the back of your swimsuit top. “IHIHIHI CAHAHAN’T BREHEHEHATHE!” He cried as you cackled at him. 

 “Serves you right, doesn’t it? Huh?” You teased as you tickled his upper ribs, and he rolled all over the grass in ticklish agony. 

 “YEHEHEHES! I’M SOHOHOHO SOHOHORRY!” He shouted through his laughter. 

You decided to have mercy on him, and he sat up catching his breath.

  “Ohohoho my goodness. I can literally feel my heart.. beating out of my chest.” 

You giggled at him. “Wanna swim before we head back to the cabin?” You asked him.

  “Definitely!” Peter said, getting to his feet, followed by you. 

You noticed a group of people were jumping off a cliff into the water. They were laughing and having fun. 

  “Peter, look! I wanna do that!” You said, pointing to more people jumping off the cliff. 

  “Um… you sure?” He asked. He knew he could do it no problem, but was worried about you.

  “YES! They are doing it and they are fine!” You exclaimed, dragging him to the cliff. 

When you arrived, you were next to jump. Peter attempted to pick you up, but you stopped him.     

  “No! I want to do it myself, Peter.” You said. 

  “Oh um okay, just make sure when you hit the water, you bring your legs up towards your chest, alright? It’s not very deep.” Peter explained. 

  “Got it.” You said, and on the count of three, you both jumped. The drop was so exciting, but when you hit the water, your attempt to raise your legs failed, and a shooting pain was sent through your right leg. You were in shock and felt as if the air was knocked out of you. You were too far to the right on the cliff, and when you jumped, you landed on a large rock that was only about three feet under the surface of the water. 

 Peter came up out of the water, laughing and you fake laughed. You were a bit embarrassed with what just happened and didn’t want to make a scene, but as you started to swim to the shore, tears started to flow down your face, as the pain worsened. 

  “Pete. Help.” You choked out from behind him, as you tried to swim. 

Peter turned around and the expression on his face was pure worry. He pulled you out of the water onto the grass and observed your leg. It was red, swollen, and bleeding quite a bit in a few spots. 

  “I landed on a rock.” You said. 

 “Do you think it’s broken?” He asked.

 “I can’t tell.” 

Peter scooped you up in his arms, and took off towards the cabin as fast and carefully as he could. 

  Peter stumbled in the back door with you in his arms. He had a guilty expression gracing his face. Bucky snatched you away from him. 

  “Bring her up to Pepper and I’s bathroom.” Tony ordered. 

Bucky carried you up the stairs. “You okay, baby?” He asked worriedly. 

 “Just sore.” You said. 

Peter tried to follow you up the stairs, but was blocked by an angry Steve. 

  “Couch. Now.” He ordered. 

Peter sighed and went to the living room where everyone else was. 

…

You were sitting on the bathroom counter, now in your pajamas.

 “Well no breaks or sprains. Just busted it up pretty good. Should be normal in a few days, just bruises and scars.” Tony concluded as he wrapped bandages on your leg. 

  “Thank you, Tony.” You said quietly.  

  “This shouldn’t have happened.” Bucky said to you. He didn’t seem angry, just upset. 

  “It was just a stupid accident. No one’s fault but mine.” You countered. 

  “Peter should’ve taken better care of you.” Bucky replied. 

 “THAT. That is my problem! Care of me? I’m not a baby! I just wanted to have fun, and be my age. But you and Steve are overbearing!” You shouted, frustrated. 

Just as you were saying these things, Steve entered the bathroom, having heard it all from Peter, and now you. 

  “Steve! You’re the one who has pushed me to be more independent, but when I am, you freak out.” You seethed, but were now lowering your voice and calming down. 

  “You know she’s right.” Tony added, putting away the first aid kit. 

  “You are right.” Steve admitted. “But you can’t just expect us to let you be reckless.” 

You were quiet for a moment and tears started to form back in your eyes. You had been reckless, and disrespectful, you realized. This whole growing up thing was hard to navigate, but they didn’t deserve this, and you didn’t mean to hurt anyone.

  “I’m... sorry.” you said, shaking your head as if you just came out of a rebellious trance. 

  “Y/n. You gotta tell us when you go somewhere. You gotta let us make sure you can operate a dangerous vehicle.” Bucky scolded in a stern, yet soft tone. 

You looked over at Tony. 

  “He’s also right.” Tony told you, nodding toward Bucky. 

  “I’m still new at this parenting thing, but I just want you to know I really care about you, and want to help you make good choices. You know, we were really scared about you just disappearing with Peter tonight. That could mean a lot of different things. Even if it is Peter.” Bucky explained. 

  “I should’ve told you what was going on. I really hope you can still trust me after tonight… but I still had fun, and I took care of myself.” You said, but then smiled. “Well until I jumped off a cliff into shallow water.” 

Steve, Bucky, and Tony all chuckled and you joined them, and soon you were all laughing hysterically. After laughing for quite a while, you hugged Bucky. 

  “I really am sorry, Dad.” You said, seriously. 

Bucky gave you a forgiving smile. Steve too. 

  “Rock on, Y/n/n. But seriously, make good choices, heh?!” Tony chirped as he left the bathroom, making you giggle. 

  “So are you gonna ground me or something?” You asked, looking up at Steve and Bucky nervously. 

 “That’s up to your dad.” Steve answered, gesturing toward Bucky. 

Bucky sighed. “I’ll tell you what, kid, I’m gonna let this one slide.”

You smiled excitedly and clapped your hands together, but your face fell when a very intimidating Bucky leaned close to you, his piercing blue eyes locked onto yours. 

 “But this is your warning. Cross me again, and you’ll regret it.” He warned through gritted teeth. 

You gulped. That sure was intense and you felt a real fear of him for the first time, but a good fear. A respectful fear. 

  “G-got it. You a-are the Alpha. White Wolf. L-leader.” You spluttered, pointing at his nose. 

His gritted teeth turned into a playful grin as his hands latched onto your sides, harshly tickling you, much to your surprise. Your smile spread across your face and you broke out into laughter. 

  “Still gonna teach ya a lesson.” Bucky said cooly, before lifting you up off the counter and carrying you to the bed. 

  “I have learned my lesson! I promise! Plehehehease!” You insisted, but Bucky ignored your pleads.

  “Wanna help me out, Steve?” He asked his fellow super soldier. 

  “Don’t mind if I do!” Steve grinned, cracking his knuckles as he slowly approached you as Bucky glared down at you playfully, pretending to be so angry that his eye was twitching. He held your hands to his chest.

Steve sat next to you on the bed as you giggled nervously. Steve started shaking your tummy and you laughed like crazy, bringing a smile to Steve and Bucky’s faces. Bucky tickled under your arms and your neck while Steve tortured your tummy, sides, and ribs. You squirmed and laughed, but were honestly loving this. You were afraid they wouldn’t still do this, or be playful anymore since you were growing up. You never wanted this to go away.

  Ever since you told Steve you liked being tickled, he was always happy to comply, but would never tell anyone else about it. It still made you blush that he knew, since you really didn’t mean for him to find out, but he was always really sweet about it. Bucky moved over as Steve was now tickling your ribs. 

  “Y/n still loves tickles even though she is growing up. She isn’t all big and bad after all, is she? Nope!” Steve teased as he shook your ribs. You blushed profusely, making him cackle, and you couldn’t help your famous belly laugh from pouring out of you. 

 Bucky listened to what Steve was saying and was a bit confused. 

  “Wait. Wait wait wait. Stop a second.” Bucky ordered. Steve quit and looked at Bucky. Your eyes went wide. Oh no. 

  “Is that true?! You like being tickled, Y/n?” Bucky asked as if it was the most adorable thing he had ever heard. 

  “Ohoho no. I’m sorry, Y/n.” Steve apologized sweetly as he didn’t mean to expose you like that. 

  “Maybe…” You answered with a sheepish smile. You couldn’t get any redder. 

  “YES? IS THAT A YES?” Bucky urged. 

  “Don’t tell a soul!” You whined, hiding your face in your hands. 

  “That is so CUTE!” Bucky beamed. 

  “I don’t know why. I just always have.” You admitted shyly. 

  “That actually explains a lot.” Bucky giggled, thinking back on all the evidence. “Tickle time!” He teased as he began to tickle your tummy and you had never been more flustered in your life, ever, but you were really glad he knew now. 

He tickled you some more until you had enough and were now really tired. He and Steve laid next to, as Bucky stroked your hair lovingly. Suddenly, Thor burst through the door. 

  “Princess, you are hereby sentenced to grounding for running off!” He declared. “Young Peter has also been banished. I locked him in the closet.” He joked, as he dramatically stormed toward you. 

  You burst out laughing at him as he snatched you up, making sure to be careful with your leg, and threw you over his shoulder while you giggled. Bucky and Steve giggled as well.

[epiphany-of-a-madwoman]

The Last Dragon | The Witcher & Game of Thrones

Chapter 9 | Toss a Coin to Your Witcher

Summary: Visenya Targaryen is the eldest and only surviving child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell. When Robert Baratheon’s rebellion was won, instead of being slaughtered by the Mountain like her mother and siblings, she was saved by Ned Stark and taken as his ward. Years later, after she’s killed at the Red Wedding, she wakes up outside Blaviken. Now she finds her destiny intertwined with the White Wolf on her quest to go back home.

Word Count: 4,339

Note: Click here to read the previous chapters ♡          

💕 Shout out to my Beta: @thisbreakableheaven​ , I always say it, but I’m going to say it again, thanks for listening to all my plot rambling as I try and piece together all my strange plot / chapter ideas! 💕

Visenya’s eyes shoot open. Her breathing is heavy and erratic with her heart beating rapidly against her chest. A cool sweat coats her forehead and brows with a slight tremble in her body, like a leaf shaking in the wind. Amber eyes dart from left to right, attempting to take in her surroundings. Everything is hazy and out of focus, like a thick fog hangs in the room, translucent enough to not be immediately noticeable, but still there. She’s in a bed, larger than the small lumpy ones in the inns she and Jaskier inhabit and certainly plusher than the hard floor she swears she fell asleep on last night. 

Heavy furs cover her body, keeping out any potential chill, the hairs on her body stand up straight due to the cold air. Directly across from her is a small table pushed up against the wall with a small mirror resting on top of it. The window to her right is shut firmly, and adorned with loosely hanging curtains made from a thick navy blue fabric. On the left side of the room, a long wardrobe crafted from dark wood, and beside it a dresser crafted from similar materials. Visenya pushes the heavy furs and sits up. Her back pops at the movement, her neck and shoulders stiff from a restless sleep. In the back of her mind something feels off, but for the life of her, Visenya can’t put her finger on it. A part of her that’s buried deep in her hazy thoughts is screaming at the top of its lungs, but she doesn’t know why. 

Winterfell, she’s in Winterfell. But she's always been here, so why does it seem so wrong?

She slips out of the bed, her left and then right foot touching the cold floor, it’s dark stone color matching with the rest of the room's decor. The cold air bites at her bare legs, the light nightgown doing nothing against the cold. Only silence fills the room, not even the sound of her feet lightly tapping against the stone floor is heard. For some reason, this unnerves Visenya, but once again she doesn’t know why. She approaches the vanity table, sitting in a wooden chair in front of it. the legs of the chair scrape against the ground, the sound echoing in Visenya’s mind. It’s the first noise she’s heard since she awoke. She sits in the chair, the wooden backing not soothing the stiffness she feels. 

Looking into the small mirror, she stares at her reflection. Tangled silver hair delicately frames her pale skin that nearly glows in the dark room. Purple eyes glimmer in the reflection, staring at Visenya with a hint of mirth she’s familiar with but also seems almost like a distant dream. For some reason it seems wrong, the reflection staring back at her, but Visenya can’t place why. Targaryens are known to have silver hair and purple eyes, so why do her own features feel foreign? Another shiver overcomes her body, the sensation mildly confusing. She outstretches a hand towards the mirror --.

Knock. Knock. 

The sound echoes around the room. Visenya turns her gaze to the heavy wooden door and her arm retracts. She stares at the source of the booming noise, not sure how to react. A moment passes and another knock, this time with a voice attached. 

“My lady, I’m here to make sure you’re awake,” a voice calls out, the soft voice barely registering in Visenya’s mind. She blankly stares at the door, before remembering how to speak. 

“Come in,” she replies, attempting to project her voice. A moment passes before it opens and a woman hardly younger than Visenya enters the room. Her hair is mousy brown, pulled into a tight bun without a strand out of place, a plain dress that’s as dark and dreary as the room limply hangs from her small body, the fabric drowning her. She nervously bows in Visenya’s direction before scurrying to the wardrobe. She flings open the doors and begins rifling through the dresses hanging inside. Visenya watches the woman, not sure what to make of the scene. She’s seen her before, that much she is sure of, so why doesn’t she know her name? 

She pulls out  a pale blue, with delicate embroidery near the bottom, a garment much more intricate than the one she is wearing herself, and yet she turns to Visenya with a satisfied expression on her otherwise somber face. The woman turns to Visenya, a satisfied expression on her otherwise somber face. The dress is familiar and evokes an emotional response, her eyes dampening, a sharp pain in her heart. And she’s confused, more so than before. 

“This dress Lady Sansa made for you will look lovely.” the woman remarks. She begins rifling through the drawers, pulling out various pieces of fabric. Visenya turns her gaze back to her mirror, staring at her reflection with a blank expression.

Flashes of Visenya in that dress, hair braided back as she stands in line with Theon and Jon, uncomfortably waiting for the King and Queen, along with their company to arrive. But that can’t be right, Robert Baratheon hasn’t been to Winterfell since she was eight years old.  

 The woman begins humming a soft tune under her breath. The sound amplifies in Visenya’s mind until the melody is all she can hear and it clouds her thoughts and further muffles the distant screaming in her head. It intoxicates her like a strong northern ale, pulling her further and further away from sober thoughts and into a dream-like state. Soon the humming turns into outright singing, the hauntingly sweet words dancing around Visenya’s mind and while the woman’s voice is lovely and soft, something about it’s grating, like scraping a knife against a plate.

Visenya continues to stare at her reflection, her expression unchanging and eyes unmoving as they stare into the mirror. All the while, the woman continues singing the eerily beautiful song while rifling through the drawers filled with clothes. Everything is unchanging in the room, feeling as though time itself is still until Visenya notices a few slight changes. The metal framing around the mirror begins to rust, the once bright metal turning dark. The mirror portion starts to discolor and is blotched with dark spots and the entirety of the mirror covered in a hazy fog, obscuring Visenya from her own reflection. The vanity table shows signs of aging as well, no longing feeling as sturdy as it was a moment ago with random parts of it looking rotted. But the most obvious change is the air. The crisp morning air that’s normal in the North turns stale, the cold in the air burning deep in Visenya’s bones rather than leaving her skin cold. But the woman continues singing, weaving her hands through Visenya hair like it’s threads of silver, either not noticing the sudden change or unbothered by it.

“You seem warm, My Lady. Shall I get a maester to check on your health?” the woman says, pausing her singing. 

“N-no I’m fine, just a bad dream is all,” Visenya says, staring at her reflection in the old mirror. 

“Did you dream of fire and dragons?” she asks. Visenya’s heart stops as all the thoughts in her mind cease. She whips around to face the woman, the hair she previously held pulling Visenya’s scalp. 

“Wha - what did you just say?” Visenya asks, her eyes piercing into the woman. She doesn’t look startled by Visenya’s sudden change in mood, in fact, her face is completely emotionless. Rather than a real, breathing, living person, she looks like a life-sized doll, eyes dull and dead, with nothing behind them.

“There’s no need to be afraid, my lady. The Lord of Light smiles down upon his chosen champions. From fire and ash you were reborn, to bring a world thrust into darkness into the light.” she says, speaking as if she were a dead person brought to life - monotone with no inflection - weaving her hands into the locks of Visenya hair, meticulously braiding each strand. 

“What are you talking about? I demand you tell me.” Visenya says, her voice getting louder with each word spoken as her temper begins to flare. She stands from the chair, pushing the woman’s hands away from her face. 

“Remember the words, remember what was said. With Fire and Blood.” the woman speaks, this time her tone has a sense of urgency in it, but for the life of her, Visenya can’t think why. But before she can question her further, the ground beneath Visenya is ripped away, and she feels herself free-falling in darkness, unable to make heads or tails of her surroundings. All she knows is it’s cold and dark. She tries to scream but nothing comes out, leaving her mouth open with silent screams. Her hair whips around her face and she watches the silver locks darkening until the shining silver is a dull brown.

Then she hits the ground. It’s sudden, unexpected, and very painful. But feeling solid ground around her is somewhat comforting. 

And when her eyes flutter open, apprehensive and scared of what she might see, she breathes out a sigh of relief. Tall trees, emerald leaves, a fire that’s been smothered, and a sleeping figure. She’s in the camp again, if she ever even left. She places a hand over her chest as she sits up, the other one reaching to wipe away the dampness on her face. Birds softly chirp high on the branches, singing in tune with the gentle breeze that rustles the forest. The sun is rising, the faint rays of morning light hitting the trees, the leaves fanning the light out below them, and with a final heavy breath, Visenya pushes her body up to stand.

Stumbling through the small camp, past the sleeping bard, she breaks into the thick of the forest. Her hand rests on one of her silver daggers, eyes keenly looking around the thick greenery for any movement. She crouches low to the ground in an attempt to obscure herself from future prey and stalks forward. To her left, she notices the tall grass shifting, and with the grace of a cat pouncing onto its prey, she pulls out her dagger and flings it. The dagger flies through the air but instead of striking her target, it embeds itself into the tree nearby. A moment later, a fat rabbit with beady black eyes rushes out of the grass and disappears into the forest. A frustrated groan leaves Visenya’s mouth and she trudges towards her dagger and pulls it out of the wood with just enough force.

Absentmindedly wandering through the forest, her thoughts return to the dream. It’s odd, she’s had dreams before but never so...life like. She’d felt every emotion, smell every scent, and feel every surface as she would’ve in reality. The phantom feeling of ash clinging to her skin is still there and she catches herself shaking her head, attempting to get the ash out before remembering it’s not actually there. Perhaps it’s merely her mind playing games, a trick the mind was playing on itself to coax out her best-kept and well hidden fears, even the ones that had been buried so deep that she'd forgotten about them. However, the chill in her body as she remembers the madness buried in the eyes of her reflection makes it difficult to convince herself. 

And that second...dream, if it was even that. The woman’s words echo in her head, on repeat over and over, growing louder each time she hears them again.

Fire and Blood. 

She knows the words well, the words of House Targaryen. The only comfort she had during her darkest nights. An assurance that even if she was physically by herself, isolated from her only chance of ever knowing her family, she was never truly alone. And some nights she’d even convince herself Queen Visenya I was with her, watching over her, guiding her every step of the way. That she was there, when Visenya first started training to fight, guiding her swings with the wooden sword, coaxing her into a  proper battle stance. And even though they were foolish tales and fantasies dreamed up by a small child too sad for her age, they were comforting as she maneuvered through this new strange world. 

With a huff, she sinks down to the ground, leaning her back against the tree. A hysterical laugh escapes her mouth, the sound dancing away in the mellow breeze rushing through the forest. 

“I’m going insane,” she mutters to herself, and she rests her forehead against the palms of her hands. Her thoughts wander as she absentmindedly scapes her hairline with the tips of her fingers. Her nails are unkempt and longer than preferred, strands of hair getting stuck in the corners of her nails. 

“There you are!” Jaskier’s voice breaks Visenya from her thoughts. Her head snaps up in his direction, watching as his form swiftly approaches her spot. He’s wearing the same ensemble from the night before and his floppy brown hair is as well managed as it can be on the road. Her face twists into a look of confusion, her eyes following his nonchalant movements. However, Jaskier doesn’t acknowledge her and instead opts to sit on her left, only part of his body resting against the tree. 

“Now I was going to leave you to do your…well whatever it is you were doing,” Jaskier continues waving his hand vaguely in Visenya direction. “But, then it sounded like you were having a real crisis. So I thought to myself ‘Oh better make sure she’s okay.’ You are my source of protection after all.” Jaskier muses, a lopsided grin resting on his face. The teasing tone in his voice is a stark contrast to the worry swirling in his eyes. A small grin creeps its way up onto Visenya's mouth, a warm feeling filling her chest. The harsh lines that were forming on her forehead immediately softened, the anxiety and hint of fear barely hidden behind her eyes swiftly disappearing. 

“I’m fine,” she replies. Jaskier raises his eyebrows at her response, clearly not buying the lie. “Well, I’m not fine, but I will be,” she corrects herself before Jaskier has a chance to verbalize his doubts. Seemingly satisfied, he nods once at her words but makes no move to stand. Instead, he wiggles towards Visenya until their legs are touching and leans his head closer towards hers so it’s resting against the tree. Always one for personal space, Visenya normally would’ve either physically or verbally lashed at him - demanding the bard keep his distance. However, the scathing remarks never come. Instead, Visenya moves over slightly to allow Jaskier more room, watching the leaves delicately blow in the wind, the faint sound of birds singing echoing in the distance.

“If you ever need to talk to someone...” Jaskier’s voice interrupts the quiet atmosphere surrounding them. Visenya turns to face him, raising a single brow with her lips tilted upwards. 

“You’ll be the first person who knows. Considering you’re the only person I talk to.” Visenya replies. At her reply the serious expression that Jaskier wore immediately dissipated. His eyes sparkling with mischief and his lips were pulling into an amused smirk. 

“And what about our mighty Witcher! How would our dastardly hero feel about not being included in this list?” Jaskier exclaims, dramatically emphasizes his words. Visenya simply rolls her eyes at him. 

Everything with him always comes back to Geralt. 

Jaskier then leans forward, eyebrows raised so high they nearly touch his hairline. When he quickly moistens his lips with his tongue, Jaskier more closely resembles a cat that got into the canary rather than a man. 

“Could it possibly be because you and Geralt don’t do much…” his eyes flit to the left and right before landing on Visenya again. “Talking?” he asks. Visenya brings a hand up and smacks Jaskier on his left shoulder. He immediately moves away from her, rubbing the spot she’d struck. “That’s not very nice!” he exclaims, moving until there is sufficient space in between them. 

“Play stupid games, win stupid prizes,” Visenya replies. She stands from her sitting position and holds a hand out for Jaskier to take. Always one for theatrics, Jaskier moves backward and throws one of his hands across his forehead. He leans his head back and closes his eyes, an exaggerated gasp escaping his mouth. 

“Time and time again, my fair maiden has abused and used me. When will this insanity end, giving me sweet release from her beguiling aura? I pray to the gods every night that it will change” Jaskier exclaims. After he finishes his words, he waits a moment and then opens one of his eyes only to quickly close it and sigh again, louder than the first time and far more dramatic. 

“Ha ha ha, very funny. Now let's go before the sun is gone, we’ve got places to go.” Visenya says, her expression hiding any amusement she got from his antics. A defeated sigh leaves Jaskier's mouth, and a moment later he places his hand in Visenya’s as she pulls his body from the ground. 

“As my lady commands,” he says. And with a single bump against his shoulder from Visenya, the two of them begin walking back to camp. 

                                                  o0o0o0o0o

“When are you going to finally admit that you enjoy those novels more than you let on?” Jaskier asks, pulling out one of his quills, scratching it against a piece of parchment. Two tankards full of ale rest in front of them, neither of them drunk from. The ale here is watery and weak, yet still managing to taste worse than rotting fungus. 

Flick, the thin parchment page of the book nearly rips from how quickly it’s flipped. Visenya glances at him out of the corner of her eyes, raising a single brow at him before returning her gaze to the trashy romance novel. It’s sickeningly sweet, the dialogue almost as unrealistic as the premise of the book itself, but it’s something to read when she needs to stave off boredom.  

“Do you want me to hit you? Because I will hit you.”

Flick, another page. The heroine of the story finally meets up with the main love interest, practically throwing herself into his arms, that the author took time to describe every detail of. Visenya's face crunches up into a grimace, quickly turning the page. 

“I’d rather you didn’t, if you don’t mind. I think I’m still bruised from where you hit me when we first met.” He runs his hand over the spot on his abdomen she elbowed him all those months ago, after the whole situation with elves resolved itself. And she can’t help the small self satisfied smirk that slowly creeps onto her face. 

Flick. 

 The soft sun rays of dawn creep through the windows, the thick layer of dirt and grime that covers them dispersing the light. The rays shoot through the tavern, randomly choosing the next victim to blind with their radiance. The room is loud with town folk who gather around the old creaky tables, with drinks in hand, muttering quietly amongst themselves. Tension is thick in the air, everyone seemingly on edge, and it has nothing to do with the newcomers. This tension is different, almost like the whole village is slowly sinking into their fears with only the tops of their heads above the water. 

“Why can’t you be nice to me, Jane? I really thought after our conversation around the fire three nights ago we were growing closer?” Jaskier asks, feigning offense in his tone, placing his hand over his heart with eyes wide and innocent looking.

Visenya snorts. 

“Maybe you should try--”

The front door swings open, silencing any noise in the room. A figure rushes through them, it’s an older man, chubbier than most with a short beard and balding hair. His clothes are nicer than most other people in the room, besides the putrid smelling goo that clings to it, seemingly a mixture of blood and black ooze. His whole body is trembling like a leaf in a storm, clutching a fabric hat in his hands as he rushes towards the center of the tavern.

“Eustace, what is this?” the barkeep calls out, scrunching his nose as he passes. 

“I-I saw it!” he exclaims as he drops his hat on a table, the room gasping at his proclamation. Visenya glances at him for a second before looking back to her book, scanning the words with mild interest. It seems the author is still going on and on about the hero’s rippling muscles. 

Like a swarm of rats skittering towards their next meal, the entirety of the room gravitates towards him and by association, Visenya and Jaskier, since he stands closest to their table. Jaskier flips his journal to a blank page, eagerly waiting for his next grand tale. 

“I tell you no lie, it swallowed the whole village it did. Not a bone to be found,” he starts, making sure his uneven and shaky voice carries throughout the entire room. 

“Oh don’t give me that look, shitling. That’s why we had to call him…” he pauses, allowing the words to ring in the air before continuing, “The White Wolf.” Everyone around them dramatically gasps, completely enraptured by the story. Visenya eyes flick up from the book in her hand, leveling a hard stare at Jaskier, her gaze enough to turn him into stone if he dares to look in her direction. Noticeably, he does everything to not look at her. 

The White Wolf, of course Geralt is here. No wonder Jaskier was so eager to settle in this tavern for the day.

“And he stood in the middle of that frozen lake like he knew it was coming for him. The ice cracked open and a selkimore shot out! Oh you’ve never seen one, but it’d take down a ship with its cavernous mouth full of devil's teeth!” the man exclaims, waving his arms around like a mad man. “And it… swallowed… that Witcher...whole!” he finishes. 

Visenya’s head shoots up like a bolt of lightning, narrowing her eyes at the man. 

‘No, there’s no way Geralt’s dead, he wouldn’t just...let himself get eaten like that.’

The words do little to comfort the small bit of anxiety inside her. Witchers hunt monsters and monsters are deadly, tearing apart people and destroying their homes as easily as Visenya breathes air. But Geralt isn’t normal, this is what he’s trained to do. She dares to glance at Jaskier out of the corner of her eyes, seeing him nonchalantly scribbling away and that does more to quell her worries than any half assed words she could concoct. 

“Oh, this is brilliant!” Jaskier says, quickly diffusing the tight and tense atmosphere that surrounds the inn. In perfect synch, the patrons snap their attention towards Jaskier, staring at him in disbelief, as an amused smirk plays on Visenya’s face. Feeling a million glares piercing his skin like knives, Jaskier looks up from his writings, eyes wide and his mouth open. “Oh sorry. It’s just Geralt is usually so stingy with the details.”

“For good reason,” Visenya mutters under her breath. 

Flick. Now the hero is dueling his rival so he can marry the heroine.  

“Uh- and then what happened?” Jaskier asks. 

“He died.” 

“Eh...he’s fine.” Jaskier replies, his voice nonchalant and relaxed.

“Look, I was there. I know what I saw with my own--” heat builds in his voice, face as red as a ripe tomato, aggressively shoving a pudgy finger towards Jaskier. Visenya slowly rises from the chair, hand ghosting over the pommel of the dagger strapped to her leg, eyes in slits as they level a glare on the man. 

Before he gets the chance to escalate the situation and force Visenya to end it entirely, the door slams open, metal handle clashing against the wooden walls. 

In walks a hulking figure that is drenched head to toe in the same grotesque smelling foreign goo the pudgy man is coated in. Everyone’s attention turns towards the door, frantically covering their noses as the stench is stronger and fouler than what the rounder man emanates. With his sword in hand, Geralt walks towards Jaskier and Visenya, eyes set on the man before them and the people part, granting him a wide berth.

“See,” Jaskier says, nonchalantly writing in his book.  

“What’s that stench?” the man asks Geralt as he approaches the table. 

“Selkimore guts. Had to get it from the inside. I’ll take what I’m owed.” Geralt says, his voice rougher than it usually is. Jaskier immediately jumps up, quill still in hand and begins singing that gods awful song.

“Toss a coin to your Witcher oh valley of plenty oh oh oh.” The man tosses a coin pouch as the entire tavern begins singing along, hesitantly at first, but as the song continues, people grow more enthusiastic. Geralt side steps the crowd and moves straight for the bar, bag of gold in hand. Jaskier rushes after him, rambling on about one thing or another. A sigh of exasperation and mild relief leaves Visenya's mouth as she thumbs through the book again, despite having completely lost interest in it by this point.

‘It keeps my muse fresh and exciting!’ Jaskier always says about his large collection of frilly books, but to Visenya they’re just dead weight only useful to pass the time. But it doesn’t even do that.

“Food, woman, and wine, Geralt!” Visenya hears Jaskier exclaim. She looks up to find Geralt a few steps away from their table, still covered in guts with no drink in hand. 

Wordlessly, Visenya grabs her waterskin that’s filled with Cintran ale and tosses it to Geralt. She then returns her attention back to the romance novel. 

“The drinks here are shit,” she said.

                                                 o0o0o0o0o

Tags: If your name is crossed out, it means I wasn’t able to tag you. Also I’m not 100% sure if most of y’all still want to be tagged, since it’s been so long since I posted a new chapter, so feel free to message me if you no longer want to be!

@1967-chevy-impala-called-roscoe | @historicallydysfunctional | @stuckupstucky | @aknerdchick |  @c-a-v-a-l-r-y | @kholl101 | @itskatrinahere​ | @locht3ssmonster​ | @alwayshave-faith​ | @im-catching-feelings​ | @magic-inthe-stars​ | @sunlithours  | @thors-hair-extensions​ | @majesticdiscodeaky​ | @seninjakitey​ | @nevaeh-eden-morningstar​ | @marvel-baby | @ayamenimthiriel​ | @losers-club6​ | @queenmendes​ | @madamwhisper​ | @deadlydemon​ | @power-of-words23​ | @demigoddesofchimichangagod​ | @howlongtillidie​ | @helloitsmeaime203  | @notatallfriendly​ | @i-have-arrived-bitch​ | @moonlights27​ | @xxperfectionisdeadlyxx​ | @why-do-i-even-study-japanese​ | @possiblyafangirl​ | @alatairion​ | @teamcap0221​ | @rangotangomango​ | @goprincessclaire | @mikariell95​ | @rubyliquor​ | @whatlifereallyabout | @my-not-so-perfect-reality​ | @kamrynzam​ | @aroyaldarknessblr​ | @kohsongbird​ | @napoleonisrad​ | @loushirley​ | @winter-moons  | @toribentleyva​​ | @comicbeginning | @naughty-koala07 | @im-a-muggleborn | @belgiantrash | @hyperfixation-is-love ; @lizliz3107 | @simsvetements | @scarletmeii​ | @trashforwinchesters |

[volantium]

december blues (aka soft and sad bois decorating the christmas tree together also on archiveofourown)

a/n merry crisis parkner fandom, here’s my gift to y’all 😌 shout out to my girlfriend for reading this and calling it wonderful, hope y’all enjoy it as much as she did 🎄

 tw references to dissociation

The rain beats a steady rhythm against the windowpane; the glass is chilled where Harley presses his forehead against it. It’s grey and stormy outside, and it’s also Christmas, so at least one thing is going right.

He doesn’t mean the holiday.

Christmas for Harley has kind of always been less of a reason to celebrate and more of an ordeal to survive. He barely remembers the few years before Abby was born. A quiet affair, the lights on the Christmas tree twinkling in the background. His mom in the kitchen, hot cocoa on the stove. His dad somewhere in the house, followed by the soft sound of carols on the radio. An easy, simpler time.

Things start going downhill right after that, though.

There are few things Harley is certain of. The fact that the earth is round and circles the sun. The fact that he is inexplicably and irreverently in love with Peter Parker. The fact that the tide is pulled ethereally by the moon. The fact that their father never wanted another child. Never wanted Abby. Which is a ludicrous, ridiculous thought, because Abby is what’s right in this world.  

That first Christmas she was born—their last together as a family of four—sticks out in Harley’s memory with painful clarity. But that’s a memory for a different day, when the weather is a true thunderstorm rolling across the sky in dark waves and lightning forking it’s way bright and electric in between the clouds.

The weather is still fitting, of course. Harley hates December.

But this is the first Christmas in his and Peter’s new apartment. That counts for at least something. 

Harley’s been trying hard to be festive. There’s tinsel wound around their dodgy staircase railing; a string of Christmas cards from their coworkers at Stark hanging along the kitchen wall; Peter’s been nonstop begging Harley to make his mom’s famous holiday cookies and Harley’s caved twice already to those brown puppy eyes. It’s already more festive than what he’s usually comfortable with.

The only thing stopping him from full blown deck-the-halls holiday fever is the Christmas tree.

The Christmas tree. It stands barren in the corner of their living room slash kitchen, tucked between the window and dangerously close to the radiator. The green pine appeared mysteriously between classes a couple of Tuesdays ago, way back at the start of the month. Harley knows it was Peter, because who else would it have been? No one else lives in this apartment with them. Harley’s just glad his boyfriend has super strength, because there was no way he was getting that up the three flights of stairs to their apartment alone.

The thing that gets Harley though—Peter hasn’t said so much as a word. Harley knows how much Christmas means to him. Christmas to Peter is the exact opposite of what it is to Harley; a time for joy, to cherish family and your loved ones. To be happy. Except he’d just stuck the tree in their apartment and just—hadn’t touched it. Hadn’t pulled the box of mis-matched and inherited decorations out from where Harley knows it’s hidden in the depths of their spare room closet. Hadn’t even acknowledged it’s existence outside of asking Harley if it was even okay to get one the week before it appeared. And that gets to Harley.

Because he remembers the night he told Peter. All about how December’s always been awful. How decorating the Christmas tree had always been a Harley-and-Daddy thing. Not Harley-and-Ma-and-Daddy but Harley-and-Daddy. His dad wrapping the fairy lights around and around until Harley got dizzy. The both of them carefully putting those blown glass ornaments on each stem. Harley on his dad’s shoulders placing the star at the very top. How that first Christmas with Abby—that first Christmas—his dad for the first time in seven years hadn’t so much as lifted a finger to help Harley, not even when he tripped over the tinsel and smashed his nose against the floor. How after his dad left, his mom didn’t know what the holidays even were anymore, and Harley was left to pick up the pieces.

So, Harley hates Christmas, and Peter loves it—Harley loves Peter—and Peter got them a Christmas tree and hasn’t touched it, so something just isn’t adding up.

Harley’s sat on their couch, his laptop poised precariously on his knees, staring at the empty tree when he hears Peter’s key turning in the door, the tell-tale catch against the floor, and finally footsteps in their entryway.

“Hey, sweet,” he calls out, when the footsteps get closer, eyes not leaving the tree. “Let’s decorate the tree.”

Peter’s voice comes from dangerously close behind him, but Harley doesn’t flinch. “You sure?”

Harley nods, once. “Certain.”

Peter hums an agreeing sound, hand dragging along the back of the couch and tangling in Harley’s hair. Harley’s eyes drop close at the first brush of a kiss across his cheek. It’s always been easy like this. Even before they were together. Peter’s the sun and Harley is helplessly drawn into his orbit. It was terrifying, at first, Harley’s always been on to keep his cards close to his chest. Closed off, even. Sure, he’s all southern hospitality and charm on the outside, but he’s never been one to let people in without a fight. Or at all, for that matter. But there’s something about Peter—maybe the way they just clicked in a way Harley’s never done with anyone else before or since that makes this decision so uncomplicated.

His boyfriend disappears into the apartment without a word. Off to get the decorations box, no doubt. Harley unfolds himself off the couch, long limbs half asleep, pins and needles shaking static through his bones. It’s probably been too long since he moved away from the window to sit down, but he loses track of time when he gets lost in his head like that.

Peter reappears from the hallway with the box—comically large for someone of his small stature to realistically be carrying—and drops it with a solid thunk beside the coffee table.

“Alright,” he says, swinging those brown eyes in Harley’s direction. “Game plan?”

Harley takes a deliberate step forward. Picks at the peeling tap closing the box until it’s tearing away from the cardboard with a loud rip.  He can feel Peter watching him, as he picks up the one glass ornament he took with him from Rose Hill and spins it around in his hands.

It’s clear glass with a nativity scene painted on it in bright reds and golds. The reason why he brought it with him is purple along the side in child-like scrawl; Abby. His sister has it’s pair, the one with Harley written in bright blue. The paint is worn from near a decade of existence, but Harley’s never loved it more. He remembers Ma setting them down at the kitchen table, paints all carefully laid out, a few years after their dad left and it sits out in Harley’s mind as the Christmas where thing’s started feeling normal for the first time since that first-last Christmas forever ago.

He hopes this year that maybe—just maybe—it’ll start feeling like a holiday again.

Harley starts when Peter’s fingers close around his, the ornament trapped between them.

“You wanna hang this one first?”

This is yet another Parker tradition, Harley knows, that Peter’s giving to him. “Do you mind?” 

Peter just shakes his head in wordless answer. Before he can pull away, Harley leans forward to kiss him softly, a silent thank you and I love you all in one. Peter’s eyes are the warmest, sweetest thing Harley’s seen, when he turns back from hanging the ornament on the tree, right near the top.

“C’mon, baby,” Peter says, reaching for more decorations, as the sun breaks through the clouds to spill beams of light across the room. “I’ve got you.”