#I believe he has always wanted her to die since the day she set foot inside his mansion

[m0nsterqzzz]

Something Small

pairing: wanda maximoff x gn!reader

summary: you and wanda celebrate your one year anniversary, and she makes you cry. Happy tears of course.

warnings: tiny mention of death of a loved one, wanda making reader happy cry? literally just fluff

a/n: so this one means a lot to me as when I was a kid, my dad always used to play the guitar for me before I'd go to bed the same way his mother did for him. When his mom died, he stopped doing it. i was a kid so i didn't understand how much it hurt for him to even hear the sound of a guitar, but now that I'm older i understand it much more. I understand it even more now that's he's been deployed for over a year and half and even the sound of guitar makes me sad. He facetimed me the other day and played for me when he learned I was having a hard time sleeping, and i instantly burst into tears. My mom hasn't always been the best, but my dad has. So this one goes out to him even though I would rather die then show him my tumbler account. also, just rewatched the nanny diaries because scarlett johansson, and i remember how much i fucking love that movie so if you havent seen it, watch it.

song used as one dad sings because its the song my dad always sung for me: "Sweet Pea" by Amos Lee

The day you told Wanda about your childhood was the day she realized she loved you. It was weird timing but it was the way your eyes shimmered as you talked about your parents and siblings that made something inside her change. It was a look of far gone happiness, one that she wanted to make come back. You’d been dating for six months at the time, and she had recently told you about her brother and parents. “They sound like amazing people.” You’d told her, and she appreciated the way you didnt add a, “they were”. It's strange, but something breaks inside her every time someone reminds her they're dead. 

You told her you felt the same way as you told her about your father, and she’d replied with, “It’s because you love him. No matter where he is, no matter what changes in your life, that’ll never change.” She understood it in a way nobody else in your life did, the same way you understand her.

She’s never really believed in soulmates, but if they did exist, she's sure your hers. When she told you that one night as you guys were getting ready for bed, you just smiled and kissed her. You’ve known she was yours since the very beginning.

She was recently sent on a week-long mission, and she’ll be back just in time for your one year anniversary. You both agreed on getting something small for each other, so you bought her a few books she's been talking about recently and some new rings. She’s not a big jewelry person, but rings are something she cannot leave the house without putting on.

The sound of the front door opening takes your eyes away from the TV screen, and you jump up from the couch to run to her. “Wanda!” “моя любовь!” She catches you as you jump into her arms, holding you up with two arms and closing the door with her foot. You move back a bit to look her in the eyes, and it’s silent as you stare at each other with admiration. She has a small cut above her eyebrow, and a bit of dirt on her. Other than that, she seems fine.

She doesn’t drop you as she leans in to give you a kiss, but she does gently set you down as she takes off her shoes and tells you, “I missed you.” 

“I missed you too witchy.” You say. You guys stand there in the entryway for what feels like forever, embracing each other in silence before she decides to go take a shower.

When she comes back, she practically forces you to sit down and relax so she can serve the food even though you tell her she should after a mission. Wanda’s always been like that. Caring, even when she really just needs to be cared for.

You guys eat dinner while you talk, the previously silent room being filled with laughs and sighs of contentment. She doesn’t talk about the mission, as she always says she doesn’t like talking about work during her moments with you. She always tells you about them as you guy’s get ready for bed, and you listen to every word no matter how tired.

You guys always split the duty of dishes. She washes, and you dry and put away. It’s a boring process, but doing it with her always makes it worth it. The redhead then leads you to the living room as she uses her powers to turn on your favorite movie. She goes to grab something from behind the couch, probably a present, and you immediately stop her, “Can I go first? Please?” She nods without hesitation, almost like she's relieved she doesn’t have to go first.

Sprinting to your guys bedroom and then back, you join her on the couch and hand her the back. It’s sparkly green- her favorite color, even though everyone thinks it’s red- with white tissue paper. She basically throws the tissue paper behind her with a smile, which turns into a full on grin when she reads the titles of the books you got her. One thing about the witch is that she's easy to shop for. When you first started dating, a list of the books she currently wanted was placed on the fridge right next to the grocery list. You had simply laughed it off, but she continues to update it over time and it's become increasingly helpful.

Then she sees the rings, ones she had pointed out in a thrift store a few weeks ago. She slips on her fingers, and it takes everything in you to not make a comment about how hot her hands are. One is made up of tiny fake pearls, and that one goes on her pointer finger. Then a skeleton bone one, which goes on her ring finger, a small gold one with a red stone on it. That one goes on her pinky. Then a white one with a gold line going through the middle, which goes on the pointer finger of her other hand. She seems happy, and that makes you happy.

She gives you a small kiss and then mumbles against your lips, “Thank you my love.” The redhead sits up straight again, giving you a nervous smile and reaching behind the couch to grab something. She brings out an acoustic guitar, one similar to the one that your dad would use every night when he would play you a lullaby. In fact, right down to the tiny spot of blue paint marker your brother put on the side of it when he was five, it's the exact replica.

“So I um…..I tracked down your aunt.” Your girlfriend begins, not quite meeting your eyes as she fiddles gently with the strings. When you were a teenager and your father first died and your aunt came to pick up his things as she said you and your brother couldn't keep any of his stuff, you wanted to scream at her and rip the instrument out of her hands when she grabbed it. You don’t feel that way about Wanda holding it.

“After a polite conversation and a little bit of threatening, she handed over the guitar.” You giggle, bringing a small smile to her face. “Then I went to Clint and Laura, who spent a very long time teaching me how to play.” Your smile grows and she begins playing a familiar tune. The one your dad played. “They got very frustrated with me very quickly but they said since it was for you, they’d help me learn the song your dad made you. So I went to your aunt again and kind of stole the sheet music. I’m not very sure if that woman likes me.” “That’s okay honey. She doesn’t like anyone.”

You both quietly laugh before she clears her throat and says, “So I’m going to play it for you. I just hope you don’t hate it.” You don’t have time to tell her that you could never hate a gift from her before she's playing the chords. She messes up a few times, but it’d really be no obvious to someone how did not grow up hearing the song. Her honey-like voice fills your ears and it's like you're right back there, laying in bed with your favorite stuffed animal and watching as your dad easily moves his fingers over the frets.

“Sweet pea, apple of my eye. 

Don't know when and I don't know why.

You're the only reason I keep on coming home.”

Her voice is different from your dads, but that only makes it ten times better. You can quickly feel tears begin to form in your eyes.

“Sweet pea, what's all of this about?

Don’t get your way, all you do is fuss and pout.

You’re the only reason I keep on coming home.

I'm like the Rock of Gibraltar, I always seem to falter

And the words just get in the way

Oh, I know I'm gonna crumble and I'm trying to stay humble

But I never think before I say”

A few weeks ago, Wanda had laid with you in the dark and quietly asked as she was falling asleep, “What the hell is the Rock of Gibraltar?” You had tiredly told her what it was even as confused as you were, and it makes a lot more sense now.

“Sweet pea, keeper of my soul

I know sometimes I'm out of control

You're the only reason I keep on coming”

She is out of control sometimes, but you know how to bring her back. Actually, you’re one of the only people in her life that can.

“You're the only reason I keep on coming, yeah

You're the only reason I keep on coming home”

She lets the tune ring out into the silence as she concludes the song, and she doesn’t meet your eyes until she hears you sniffle. You have tears streaming down your face, and she instantly panics. “Why are you crying my love? Oh god. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you cry. Was it that bad?”

You send her a smile despite the tears and shake your head. “No. Happy tears Wands.” She sighs in relief, wiping your tears with her sleeves as you take a deep breath. “That was beautiful.” You lean into her touch as she caresses your cheek. “When my dad died……i hated the sound of music. I wondered how something so amazing could exist  if something as great as him couldn’t.” She nods in understanding. “My siblings would try to play for me, and I literally broke a piano once because of how much I hated the sound of instruments. As I got older, I got more used to hearing music, but I didn’t exactly enjoy it. It was mine and my dads thing. He would go to work for a long time and I’d barely see him but I knew that at the end of the day, every single day, he’d be there to sing to me. So many things changed over time but that never did. Until….well until it did.”

She listens as you talk, humming everyone in a while to show she's listening but also stays silent so you can talk. You run your fingers gently over the wood of the guitar as if it’ll break if you touch too hard. “But when I met you……you played music everywhere. In the car? Music was playing. Making dinner? Music was playing. Hell you get in trouble constantly for wearing earbuds on missions so you can listen to music. And at first, I struggled with it. I wasn’t going to admit it because I knew how much you loved it and I’m happy I did it. Because now, I don’t associate music with how mad I am at the universe for taking my dad, but with you. My favorite person.” Her eyes sparkle in a way that makes you want to wrap her in bubble wrap and protect her from anything and everything.

“You’re my favorite person too.” She says as she leans in to hug you, burying her head in your neck. “And I love you.” Your girlfriend adds as she places a gentle kiss on the side of your neck. “I love you to Wands.” You mumble.

You don’t see it, but she lets one arm release you and places it in her hoodie pocket, squeezing the black ring box tightly. If she wasn’t sure before, she is now.

[coppoladelrey]

The Pretender - Chapter l

A/N: So Aemond inspired me to write again, hope you guys like it and please let me know if I should do more of this story. Feedback is greatly appreciated, even if it’s to say that it sucks LOL.

Summary: You are the spitting image of a Lady of the Reach, when she framed you for a crime you did not commit you become her and marry her betrothed, Prince Aemond Targaryen.

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Violence, let me know if there’s anything else.

Tag List: @aemonds-war-crime

The Pretender Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Life at your grandparents’ farm wasn’t easy, but it was all you knew. Waking up before the sun, milking the cows, taking take of the sheep, making sure the crops were growing properly, cleaning the chicken coop, everything that your grandparents couldn’t do. There was one thing that you loved more than anything, and that was horses, your family didn't have the money for one, so you tried to find wild horses, they were fearless and dangerous but you were able taim most of them.

A horse that hasn’t left your side since you were only thirteen was a black horse, he was a beauty, he always found you, having a domestic side but always wild at heart. You named him Arrow, due to the fact that he’s so quick, always has been. Arrow always found his way back to you, and he loved you and you loved him, you didn't have enough money for a saddle, so you rode him bareback.

After your chores you went to find Arrow, it was a freeing feeling being able to ride on his back, being tired didn't matter, worrying about what to do after your grandparents die, being tired after a long day at the farm, none of that matters when you’re with Arrow.

You were whistling, looking for Arrow in a field the grass was tall the sun was almost setting and you saw him, he was eating. You approached him, and he looked at you, the bond was strong between the two of you.

“I’ve missed you, Arrow.” You put your head on his, and he neighed you’d like to think that he missed you as well. “Let’s ride.” You jumped on his back, you tried to care for him, brushing his hair but he always came back more wild than before.

You always let Arrow decide where to take you, he knew the Reach quite well and took you to so many different and exciting places. You held on tight to his hair and he went. You closed your eyes, and the wind on your face was incredible, sometimes you wished to be like Arrow, being attached to nowhere.

Arrow stopped by a river, and you came off of him and started drinking water off the river. The sun was setting so you started thinking about coming back home. You started touching Arrow, you wished that he would come home with you but you loved him too much to sentence him to such a cruel fate, he was free. You heard hustling from the trees, you decided to leave. But it was too late, a couple appeared from the forest.

The man had to be a knight, and the woman was wearing an incredible purple dress, she looked absolutely amazing. The man looked angry, drawing his sword.

“Who are you?” He screamed, his sword was pointed at you. Arrow was getting scared, but you were able to calm him down.

“My love, she’s simply a farmer girl. She has no idea who we are.” You were avoiding looking at them, you wanted no trouble with the noble people.

The Lady approached you, you took a step back. She did not like that, she grabbed your jaw rather forcefully. You looked at her, you couldn’t believe it she looked exactly like you and she had a surprised face, the same as you.

“By the gods, you look exactly like me. If you weren’t so dirty and a peasant, you could be a pretender.” The Lady finally released your jaw, it hurt so much. “Have you lost your voice, peasant?” She was rude, and you did not like her one bit.

“I do, you haven’t asked anything before, m’lady.” She hit you, hard. You knew there would a bruise tomorrow, why did she do this? You almost fell, but you got your footing before that.

“Do not talk back, peasant.” Her words held so much venom, you hated the royals so much. “I simply had the most extraordinary idea. I will go to Braavos with William and you shall marry the one-eyed monstrosity in Kings Landing.” The knight, William you assumed finally approached the two of you. Your face held nothing but confusion, you pretending to be her?

“That would never work, this peasant doesn’t know how to behave, how to read.” William held contempt for you, but his voice had a tinge of pity.

“It will work, we will teach her everything. She shall become a Lady of House Oxwell, she shall become me.” You knew that name, her family was the richest in all of Westeros, richer than the Lannisters, they say.

“No.” You simply stated, you didn't want to become her, you wanted to be truly free like Arrow, you wanted nothing in your name, you craved freedom, you craved being away from the farm, you craved peace, you craved the wind on your hair.

“No, how dare you…” William started drawing his sword again, but the Lady stopped him.

“Most peasants would kill for an opportunity such as this, why do you refuse? Being adorned with the finest jewellery, touching only the finest silk, eating only the best meats? What do you truly desire?” Her line of questioning was uncomfortable, she wanted you to say things that you never told anyone before, of the deepest desire within your soul.

“I wish to be free, I wish to take my horse and ride him through the seven Kingdoms.” You uttered the words, finally. A weight has been lifted off your shoulders.

“Do you have a name?” It was as if she completely ignored your words.

“Y/N.” You wished that you could take back your words, those people didn't deserve to know of your heart’s desires.

“My name is Shaera Oxwell.” You’ve heard of her, the only daughter of Lord Lewis Oxwell. She could do no wrong in her father’s eyes, whispers around the town are told of her being a whore, entertaining knights and Lords, going to whore houses, and laying with men and women alike. You didn't know if there were any truths to those rumours, but she was unaccompanied by a man that certainly wasn’t her husband. “Do you have a family?” She queries, her curiosity was harmless, you thought.

“I live with my grandparents on a farm, not far from here.” You pointed in the direction where your farm was.

“I apologize for my antics, you must be impatient to go home.” Shiera allowed you to go back to your horse, you passed her and William. You mounted Arrow and you went back home.

The interaction with the Lady felt like an unusual dream, you put it past you. You would never see her again. Arrow took back to the farm and left, opening the door you realized your grandparents were asleep, you simply laid on your bed, sleep wasn’t far behind.

You woke up before your grandparents and you started work again, one more day. The encounter with Lady Shiera was long forgotten, you had many things to occupy your mind with.

“Y/N, come quick.” Your grandfather shouted, you could hear the panic in his voice. You ran towards him, he was close to the sheep.

“What’s wrong, grandfather?” He looked to be deep in thought, looking at the sheep.

“We are missing a sheep, it must’ve escaped last night.” Your grandfather was quite attached to the sheep, he has been taking care of sheep since he was a boy.

Your grandfather worked for a small Lord, not far from where you live now. That’s how he got enough money to buy your farm, the Lord taught your grandfather how to read and your grandfather taught you as well. You knew how lucky you were to be able to count and read, it was impossible for anyone to take advantage of you when you went to the city with your grandmother to sell your goods.

“I will go find it.” You hugged your grandfather in hopes to calm him, and you ran to where the sheep usually got stuck.

You must’ve been walking for five minutes when you heard the sheep. It had a paw stuck in a hole, you gently removed the paw from the whole and carried the sheep. You knew the sheep wouldn't go too far, especially with all the holes around this rocky area. Commotion on the farm was heard, things being thrown and screams. You started to run towards the farm, you saw guards thrashing your home.

“What is this?” You screamed to the guards, the sheep was still in your arms. Your grandfather and grandmother were crying, you had no idea what was happening.

“One of you stole the necklace of Lady Shiera Oxwell and I will find it and take the hand of whoever did it.” The guard screamed in your face, the sheep was scared you tried to calm her down before the poor thing had a heart attack.

This woman probably lost the necklace in the forest, you thought. But why are they here, a voice whispered in your head. Your grandfather came to you and took the sheep from your arms.

“I’ll take her away.” He whispered to you, kissed your cheek and left to put the sheep where she belonged.

That’s when you heard a really over top fake crying, it was her. William was consoling her, always going for big theatrics. She approached the guards, you realized that they had her House Crest on their chest.

“Have you found it? Please, it was papa’s gift.” The main guard was rushing the other ones, how could no one notice that there were no tears in her eyes?

“We will find it, my Lady. Do not fret.” The guard assured her, you felt as if this wasn’t really happening.

“What makes you so sure that it is here?” You question Shiera, and the guard has no reservations about slapping you with the back of his hand you fell onto the floor and from your pocket, fell the necklace, it was a blue diamond, not that you would know.

“My necklace!” Shaera exclaimed, you had no idea how it was in your pocket.

“Well, well, well. We have a little thief in our hands!” The guard grabbed you from the floor with no care. “You must lose your hand for this, even better your life.” The guard seemed so pleased with himself, he was a person that loved to inflict pain on others.

“It was me, it was me!” Your grandfather shouted, he couldn’t allow his beloved granddaughter to die for a crime she did not commit.

“Very well then, you shall be hanged at dusk tomorrow.” The main guard signalled to the other guards to take your grandfather away, your grandmother a mute was crying in the corner.

“Stop! I’ll do anything, do not kill my grandfather!” Tears were running down your face, you couldn’t let your grandfather be killed for this.

“Ser Wilbert, I will not allow tragedy to be struck in this family. I shall take the girl to work for me and her grandfather shall be free of charge of such crime.” At that moment you knew, she owned you, she just bought you for the price of your grandfather’s life.

“You are too forgiving, my Lady.” He bowed to her and looked at you with such venom. He kept looking at you, this time really taking in your features. Lady Shaera realized what he was doing and took his attention from you.

“That is nothing, Ser Wilbert. Take the girl to my carriage.” He started to drag you to the carriage, your grandfather was crying but the other guards were stopping him from getting any closer, you were kicking and crying but Ser Wilbert was much stronger than he appeared. Before you were put in the carriage, you saw Arrow. He was running away from the farm, you would never see your family or Arrow again. You would never be free, you would never be like Arrow.

He threw you in the carriage and closed the door. You broke down, you could hear the faint voice of your grandfather. Being in this carriage made you realize that people could never see you being weak again, she would never break your spirit, and she would never win.

The carriage door was opened and Ser William helped her get in, she sat down in front of you. The carriage was so spacious, it was almost the same size as your house.

“By the gods, you reek of manure.” You didn't understand the words that she said, but you realized that it was something about your smell because of the way she was holding her nose.

“If it bothers you so much, let me go.” Shaera was with her hand in your jaw in an instant.

“You are not going anywhere, you are my freedom. You shall do exactly as I say otherwise I’ll kill your useless family, starting with your mute grandmother, I wonder if she can scream. And after you watch Ser Wilbert killing your family, he’ll cut your hands, and feet and gauge your eyes out with a hot spoon. I own you now, and then you will become me.” She was looking for fear in your eyes, she found it despite you trying to hide as much as possible.

The carriage started and you decided to say nothing, it was going to be a long journey.

_______________________________________

It was evening when you arrived at the castle, you hadn't slept while Shaera slept the whole way through. Everything was quiet, you assumed that everyone was asleep. You wondered how your grandparents were, how they were going to survive without you. Shaera handed you a cloak.

“Put this on, otherwise people will see how much you look like me.” You quickly put on the cloak and you started following her, the castle was enormous, unlike anything you’d ever seen in your life. If it was in any other circumstances, you’d be excited to see something so grand.

The three of you ran towards the Lady’s chambers, the castle felt like a maze. It was intimidating, would you need to learn where everything was in the castle?

“This is my wing of the castle, no one shall disturb us. We must start with the lessons first thing in the morning. Go.” Shaera motioned to a room, whilst she and Ser William went to another.

You opened the door and the room was huge, you went to the bed, and the furs and sheets were incredibly soft. That’s how clouds must feel like, you thought. Laying on the bed, was the softest thing you’ve ever felt sleep came in more easily than ever before.

Waking up the sun hasn’t risen yet, so you decided to look around the bedroom. It was the first time you’d ever seen a mirror, you picked up the brush and started brushing your hair, the brush was soft it was easy to untangle your wild hair. After finishing your hair, you could see how much you look like Lady Shaera. It felt absolutely disgusting, how can you look like someone so vile? After that you started looking at the dresses that Lady Shaera had in the bedroom, they looked uncomfortable but so pretty.

_______________________________________

Hours passed and there was no sign of her or Ser William, you started hearing commotion outside the bedroom, things being moved around you decided not to come out it probably wasn’t Lady Shaera. You were right, you put your ear in the door and you heard the servants talking amongst themselves. Water was being dropped somewhere, she dismissed the servants and the noise stopped. The doors were opened and there was Lady Shaera, she had a white dress, you assumed that’s how she slept.

“Aren’t you an early riser? Come, I must try to remove the grime off of you.” She ushered you away from the bedroom, you saw the bathtub, it was made out of wood. You touched the water and it was warm, it had a nice smell and rose petals on the water. “Remove this disgusting dress and get in the water.” No one has ever seen you naked since you became a woman, not even your grandmother. “By the gods, do not make me wait!” She grabbed a knife and ripped the dress off your body.

You’ve never felt so violated, you felt cheap and vulnerable. She motioned for you to get in the bathtub and you did. Shaera grabbed a rag and started rubbing off the dirt from your body, she was forceful you could tell that she wasn’t affectionate or nurturing in any way. You were trying to hide but she was having none of it, always getting your arms out of her way. Getting scrubbed by her made you feel like cattle as if your privacy and modesty didn't matter. Shaera gave you a towel and you started to dry yourself.

“We now must dress you, we shall see if you actually resemble me.” She started dressing you, first with the undergarments, then the corsets and finally the dress. It was extremely heavy and uncomfortable but so lovely. The dress was purple, the House’s colours were purple and white, and the aminal on the crest was a horse. She started preparing your hair the same way she uses hers, your hair was longer than hers but it did not matter.

“By the gods, it’s almost as if I am looking in a mirror.” You heard a knock at the door, she looked at you excited. “It’s Ser William, he will be the hardest one to deceive but nothing better than passing throught the worst first.” She was smirking, and went to hide in the bedroom you were in.

“Come in.” You said, and it was in fact Ser William.

“Where is the peasant?” He inquired, you could do this you thought to yourself, Your grandfather’s life was in danger also yours.

“Still asleep.” You rolled your eyes, Shaera has done it plenty of times.

“Good, that means we have time for yourselves.” He approached you, and that’s when you flinched away from him. That’s when he noticed. “You’re not Shaera, are you?” He seemed to doubt himself, did you look like that much like this woman?

The door was opened and Shaera seemed really pleased with herself, you were able to fool her lover, for a few seconds but you did.

“I’ve done the most marvellous job.” They shared a passionate kiss, you looked away physical displays of affection are foreign to you. “What gave it away?” She was so excited, she finally saw that it would work.

“She flinched away when I approached her.” He simply stated.

“Well, if that was the only thing…by the gods, she’ll be able to become me.” You knew that was dangerous, if anyone found out you’ll be killed so you had to play the part, for your grandfather’s sake.

“We shall begin now, I am supposed to leave for Kings Landing to marry the one-eyed monstrosity in three months.” This was the second time she said this, you were curious.

“Who are you talking about?”

“He is the younger Prince, his name is Aemond. He had his eye gouged out by his nephew, and he’s a cruel man. Some say that he kills animals for fun, some say he brutalizes peasants in his free time.” Both she and Ser Willliam started snickering at your terrified expression. “We shall begin.”

___________________________________________

Shaera spoke five languages, played a few instruments and was very well-read. She was teaching you the languages whilst teaching you how to behave, and every time you got something wrong she would beat you with a cane. You realized that you were smarter than you thought, picking up the languages rather quickly. What you were struggling with was how to use the cutlery, and how to mimic Shaera’s handwriting.

“Wrong.” She beat you with a cane again, you had bruises all over your body due to her beatings.

“Will you please stop hitting me?” You shouldn’t have said that, she beat you again.

“I’ll stop once you get it right.” She sneered, you got her handwriting well but her signature was an issue. “Gaomagon ao shifang nyke?” (Do you understand me?) Her cane was raised again, she was doing that quite often, speaking with you in many different languages, and today was High Valyrian.

“Kessa.” (Yes) You replied, and her cane was lowered.

“Sȳz.” (Good) She was proud of you, impressing this woman was no small feat.

You did get it right eventually, she told you all the stories of her life. Shaera would question you about everything, history and philosophy.

“Who were Viserys l’s parents?” Her cane was raised, you couldn’t take this anymore.

“Baelon and Alyssa.” You knew everything, five months had passed and you didn't leave her chambers.

“Handwriting?” You handed her the paper, and she smiled.

“It appears that my cane is no longer necessary, you shall sleep in your bed tonight, Lady Shaera.” She smirked and left you alone, you were happy for some reason but you were dreading meeting Prince Aemond, would he mistreat you, would he kill you? Only time would tell.

The servants undressed you and you fell asleep, wondering what else Shaera and Ser William would teach you.

__________________________________________

When you woke up the servants were already in your chambers, Shaera was adamant on you mistreating the servants and being rude to everyone else, but that’s not what you would do.

“Your father demands to speak with you, m’lady.” The servant spoke softly.

“Thank you, help me get dressed please.” The servant was stunned but complied, she never heard you say any of those words before, no one ever has.

After you were dressed the servant left and you opened the other bedroom but there was nothing there, only a letter on the bed, and the blue diamond necklace.

“Dearest Shaera,

We shall never see each other again, I am to be happy in Braavos with the love of my life.

Be happy, be ruthless.

Y/N.”

Why wouldn’t she say something yesterday? You were angry at her, for putting you in this situation, for not giving a warning so you could mentally prepare. You’ve never met your father before. You put the necklace, you left your chambers since the first time you came here, you needed to have the courage to become Shaera, you were her. The doors of the Great Hall were opened and for the first time, you’ve seen the reactions to you, snickers, eye rolls or simply anger.

“My precious daughter, you have been hiding from this old man. Must I suffer this much?” You heard the pure love coming from your father, but you’ve never met yours, your grandfather never spoke of your parents. You ran towards him and you hugged him tightly.

“I apologise, father. Would ever be able to forgive me?” You had tears in your eyes, the rush of emotions was too much and everyone was shocked, by the display of affection and kind words uttered by you.

“Of course, I simply wanted to inform you that Ser Criston Cole is arriving in a fortnight to escort you to Kings Landing.” Your blood ran cold, you were so scared of Prince Aemond but you had to do this.

“Then I must prepare, thank you, father.” You hugged him again, and Lewis was giving you so much love, so much care, he was incredible.

The days went by really quickly, you knew of Ser Criston Cole the trusted Kingsguard of Queen Alicent. Today was the day that you were leaving for Kings Landing and you were afraid, of being discovered, of being hurt by Prince Aemond.

“Are you excited, daughter?” You could see that your father was excited, he wanted what was best for you so you smiled at him.

“Yes, but I am afraid of not being enough, father.” Your father scoffed at you and hugged you.

“It’s the other way around, they won’t be enough for you.” He kissed the top of your head, and the castle’s doors were being opened.

That’s when you saw him, Ser Criston Cole he looked angry, your reputation reached Kings Landing you thought. It would take some time to repair that, he got off his horse and approached you and your father.

“Ser Criston, welcome to our humble home. This is my daughter, Lady Shaera Oxwell.” Your father motioned towards you, Ser Criston looked nervous.

“It is known that Lady Shaera can’t control her tongue, be aware.” Ser Criston reminded himself of the Queen’s words, he was expecting a rude comment or even hurtful.

“Ser Criston, I was told that you are the Queen’s most trusted knight?” You approached him carefully, you didn't want to antagonize the man.

“That I am, my Lady.” He curtsied you tightly.

“Then I shall be at peace knowing that the King and Queen sent their best fighter to accompany me.” That caught Criston off guard, he was expecting an insult not a compliment.

“Thank you, my Lady.” After this interaction, he knew one thing: The rumours of Lady Shaera Oxwell were that, only rumours.

[dreamingsushi]

Eternal Love - Episode 27

So the love story between Yehua and Susu now came to an end, since Susu jumped into the Zhuxian Platform. It is believed that her soul was shattered. But we know that she broke off the seal Qingcang put on her and returned home. However, even if he’s out of danger now, there’s no way to know when Yehua will wake up again, so Donghua suggested they use an artifact that Sujin provides without any back thoughts, right?

Bai Qian decides to forget everything about Susu, because she feels her fate with Yehua was just bad fate. Then Yehua opens his eyes, thanks to the Jipo Light. The Emperor regrets having been so harsh on him since he was young. And Lian Song is like... yeah, he had a shitty life. You were mean dad, but you know that’s life.

Zhe Yan, Bai Zhen and Bai Qian’s parents agree to keep the truth concealed from her, since she doesn’t want to remember. They’ll tell her she slept after sealing Qingcang and that she was born with a latent disease to her eyes, which explains why she can’t see the light anymore, even though Zheyan healed her eyes. Bai Zhen is really a handsome man and I really love how Zheyan always teases him.

Yehua’s mom got a potion to make him forget about Susu, but he doesn’t want to forget about her.

Susu finally wakes up and Bai Zhen gives her a cloth to hide her eyes and protect them from bright light. Then she worries about her master and she rushes to see him only to notice that even without her blood he’s still alright. So Zheyan thinks he’s going to wake up soon. Then she goes to take care of the broken hearted Fengjiu.

On his wedding day with Sujin, which he totally forgot about on purpose, he goes to visit Fengjiu. He wants to find Siyin, because he was Mo Yuan’s favourite disciple, so if he didn’t let him be buried properly, it means he wanted to go against the Heavens and revive him. He wants to know how he did it, so he could revive Susu too. When he asks Fengjiu, obviously she lies and doesn’t say a thing about what she knows. Back at his place, Yehua properly welcomes his new wife. Which is by stabbing her and not wasting one word on her. Unfortunately, she won’t die of such a little injury.

While he’s looking at it, the Yuqi Kunlun fan vanishes: it was called by its master, Bai Qian. Ye Hua rushes to Kunlun to try and see if he can find Si Yin. Bai Qian’s there too, but they don’t cross paths. He gets scolded for not taking in Sujin. He says she may live in his palace, but his room and Susu’s room is where she should never set foot. Then Sujin’s maid begs Yehua to meet with Sujin, because she says she has a way to revive Susu. Big liar.

But we will have plenty of opportunities to yell at Sujin next episode as this is the end of this one. She’s a wicked lady, we all know, so let’s not put our hopes up for her. See you around!

[jeweled-blue-eyes]

you ever think about how fucked up it is that Derrick knew Penelope’s maid was poisoning her, yet he told no one about it and even defended the maid and would have killed Penelope if she had not begged on her knees for forgiveness when he KNEW she was the victim here?

[jackrrabbit]

Adversary /// Overhaul x f!Reader (18+)

Summary: You make a deal with the devil to save your life, but it turns out Overhaul’s not interested in your soul.

A/N: Remember when I said I was going to do a fantasy collab and then dipped for like 9 months? Hahaha…anyway…

@pleasantanathema @ present-mel @shadowworks—if it’s not too late, here’s my part for the Pleasant & Strider Fantasy AU Writing Collab from a million years ago. Go check out the masterlist and gorge yourself on these amazing pieces!!

Tags/Warnings: dubcon, demon fuckery & occult things, big heresy/sacrilege/perversion of religion, sex in a church ft. Catholic sex guilt, other than that it’s not that bad lol, inexperienced reader, mild degradation, shameless camp and demon-fucking clichés, Overhaul calls you “little girl” 👉👈

He doesn’t look like a demon.

Not that you really know what demons are supposed to look like. But…red skin, right? Fangs and claws and swirling masses of bad energy. Maybe cloven hooves for feet. Yes, that’s the Disney version—but even if you didn’t expect a cartoon personification of evil, you didn’t expect this.

He looks like a doctor, you think. Lab coat hanging open, surgery mask pushed down under his jaw, stethoscope draped over his shoulders. No, he’s a little young to really look like a doctor…an intern, you amend, shifting back in your hospital bed. He looks like he fits right in here, not a hair out of place. Except for, you know, the polished black horns curling out of the sides of his skull.

Overhaul. It was written in the book. That’s the only thing you have to call him in your head.

He’s standing in the center of the sigil you drew at the foot of your bed before midnight, surveying the room critically without meeting your gaze. He looks annoyed—that’s not a good sign, is it?—but then again, of course he’s annoyed. You’d be annoyed too if you got summoned out of your cozy hell dimension in the middle of the night. According to the book, you’re lucky he even showed up…although ‘lucky’ isn’t really how you’d describe yourself most days.

“So,” Overhaul says after a long moment of silence in which you question every choice you’ve made in your relatively short life. “You’re dying.”

You nod.

“And you don’t want to be.”

You nod again, wondering if you’re supposed to be contributing more to this conversation. It’s a bit difficult when your mouth is so dry it feels like you’ve been eating dirt, but you suppose being in the presence of an unholy servant of Satan will do that to a person.

“Fine.” He sighs, frowns, and then finally lowers his gaze onto yours—and you shiver.

Those eyes. No human has eyes like that.

“Make me an offer,” Overhaul tells you, and through his open mouth you catch a flash of sharp white teeth.

Okay. Okay. The chirping of the heart monitor speeds up (as if it weren’t obvious enough that you’re terrified) and you fold your knees up to your chest and fidget with your ring and think. He’s giving you a chance to establish parameters. You’re supposed to start with his end of the deal, the thing you want from him. That’s what it said to do in the grimoire, aka the 19th century demonology volume your creepy cousin brought back from her pagan anthropology research trip in rural France. The one you keep hidden under your bed because your mother would burn it if she knew you were reading about summoning demons.

Offer nothing to a hell creature without first telling him your price. You know the words by heart, both the winding calligraphy of the original French from the grimoire and the rushed scrawl of the English translation your cousin left for you in sheets of lined paper layered between the pages of the book for you to read. Really, this is her fault. She was the one who slipped you the book, who told you that it worked, who snuck you the ingredients for the summoning. She was the one who left a bookmark at the chapter on this particular demon, one that specializes in ‘Contrat pour Remédier au Déséquilibre des Quatre Humeurs’, which she said meant a contract to cure any illness. Even his ‘name’ is translated in her hand, practically an afterthought in the margins of the page.

‘Le Malin qui Ravage et Rebâtit’— Overhaul?

You looked up the literal meaning of this phrase on your own. It did not reassure you.

“Girl.” His voice is cold, irate. Your eyes snap back up to his and it feels like that burning gaze is laser-beaming into your skull. “Do not test me. My time is limited…as is yours.”

You swallow. “How long do I have left?”

“Less than a single human year,” he tells you without a trace of sympathy. “Seven months, twelve days, three hours. Or so. You’ll be too exhausted to leave this bed in four months, and the pain will become intolerable in six… By the end, you’ll wish—“

“Stop,” you breathe out. The heart monitor is beeping wildly and you squeeze your knees into your chest, trying to calm down your breathing. “Stop, I—I want to live.”

“Of course you do.” Overhaul’s lip curls. “How very predictable.”

Be specific, you remind yourself, doing your best to ignore the stifling disapproval from the man—the demon—in front of you. Something about him (maybe how clean-cut he looks, maybe the indisputable authority in his demeanor) makes you want to impress him. But you didn’t turn your back on your religion—you didn’t draw pagan symbols on the floor in chalk, fill silver cups with various questionable substances (including your own virgin blood), and turn the crucifix your mother hung over your bed upside-down so you could let a demon make you feel guilty for wanting to survive. “I want to be cured. I’m okay with whatever natural death I have instead when I’m older, I just don’t want to die of this illness. I want you to make me healthy.”

“Simple enough. What else?”

‘Simple’? Your heart surges with something you’ve felt very little of since your initial diagnosis—hope. “T-That’s it. Just the cure.”

Overhaul glares at you. “Humans… Every vice in the world available to you, and you limit yourselves to the basest priority of survival.”

“But you can do it? You can cure me?” you persist.

Overhaul steps forward (quiet, so quiet you wonder if he really moved) and holds a hand out to you past the foot of your bed—you hesitate, and a second later you can see the muscles in his hand flex, stretching the latex of his plastic gloves tight over his knuckles.

Just do it. You give him your hand. Carefully. Like you’re scared the contact will burn you. It doesn’t (although his skin feels warmer than yours), but after a moment his grip tightens, sliding down past your hand to circle the fragile bones of your wrist and squeeze.

“Ow?” You wince.

The demon’s eyes flicker closed for a second, lips moving silently like he’s talking to himself—and then he drops your hand unceremoniously back onto your lap. “You could be cured before the sun rises this morning. I doubt your stay in the hospital will extend past the end of the week.”

He sounds bored, voice as flat and passionless as it was earlier, but your heart is soaring. Cured. You’ve lived with this illness for so many years, you can’t remember the last time someone told you you could be cured. And getting out of the hospital that soon? You can just imagine taking down all the decorations from the walls of your room here and setting them up in your old bedroom at home. You could see friends on the weekend and not take an oxygen bag, you could get a job or—or apply to college, you could have a life—

“That is…assuming you have something to offer me in exchange for the cure.”

Your stomach drops. You’d almost forgotten about the other half of the deal.

“Don’t tell me I came all this way for nothing.” Overhaul steps back, and the orange light of the candles you set sends strange shadows over his arrogant face. The fires look brighter now, and you find yourself tracing the lines of those shining black horns. In an odd way, they look natural—so organically framing his temples that you can’t imagine him without them.

“N-No, of course not. I have some money—I mean, my mom has some, and I can get it for you…” Which is half the truth. If you know anything, it’s that your mother’s spent most of her savings on your treatment and care. You probably have more debt than you have money in the bank right now—you’d try to get rid of that, too, if you hadn’t read in the book how important it is to keep your request as simple and straightforward as possible.

…Although it’s apparently not enough. Overhaul’s eyes narrow, molten gold irises carved into slits. “Even if I had a use for human money, do you really believe your life is worth so little?”

“No—no,” you say quickly. “I just thought—in case you were interested—”

The air crackles with energy, the candle flames spark bright blood-red, and the hair on your arms stands straight up. “I am not.”

“Okay! I get it.” You wave your hands back and forth, pulling your IV line from side to side with the motion. The book was very clear about staying calm and rational while you work out the terms of the deal, but that’s easier said than done when you have a real live (live?) hell creature in front of you. You always knew this was going to be the hard part—all the stories say there’s only one thing that a demon would be interested in, and no matter how inviting the prospect of living past this illness is, you know you’d rather die than sell your immortal soul to the devil. “I’ll give you anything except my soul! And—and don’t hurt anyone I care about, or— just don’t hurt anyone, okay? Other than that, if there’s anything I can give you, I will.”

Overhaul’s lip curls, baring a thin strip of those unnaturally sharp canines. “And is your soul really so valuable?”

This throws you for a loop. Isn’t that the standard deal? A soul for a wish? That’s how it’s supposed to work—at least in this twisted version of reality where you can summon a demon to perform unholy miracles for you. But if you think about it, it doesn’t really make sense, does it? Why would your soul be valuable to him? You can’t form an argument, especially since you’re not willing to barter it away in the first place.

Your mouth is pursed open as you search for a response, but Overhaul doesn’t seem willing to wait. A gloved hand wraps its way around the railing at the side of your bed, and he leans in closer. “Little girl…what makes you think you possess anything I desire?”

Little girl. You’re not a little girl, you’re a grown woman—and yet there’s no untruth in the statement. In front of him you feel insignificant, immature, weak. You have nothing real to offer, and something tells you that you’re not going to get rid of the demon you summoned without a sacrifice you’re not willing to make.

You twist your ring around your finger—the nervous habit you haven’t bothered to break because you’ve always had more important things to worry about—and the glint of silver in the candlelight must catch Overhaul’s eye because before you even notice him moving, your delicate hand is trapped in his larger one to give him a better view of the tiny piece of jewelry. “What is this?”

“It’s—um, a ring. A purity ring.” Has he never seen one before? Well…actually, that makes sense.

Overhaul turns your hand over in his without touching the band of silver. He’s looking at it closely, inspecting the lovingly engraved cross in the design and the inscription on the other side. “Matthew 5:8,” he reads out.

“…Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God,” you recite cautiously. It feels wrong to speak the words in front of him, but somehow you can’t help yourself.

Overhaul’s hand doesn’t leave yours. “This ring is important to you.”

“It’s a symbol of a—a promise I made to God. To save myself for my future husband.”

“To ‘save yourself’? To save what?”

You can’t believe you’re explaining this to a literal demon. You close your eyes and inhale slowly and taste smoke. “My…virginity. It’s a promise that I won’t have sex until I enter into a biblical marriage.”

At this, Overhaul is quiet. You give him a moment to answer, half expecting him to question why you think God cares about your sexual status (honestly, you’d be lying if you said you haven’t wondered this yourself), but he stays quiet until you peek up at him to try and gauge the look on his coldly handsome face.

He’s still staring at the ring. He hasn’t touched it—maybe he can’t, because of the cross?—and through the latex, his skin feels hotter than a human’s is supposed to be.

“Is there…” you start, but you trail off when you realize you have nothing to ask. You give a little tug to try and take your hand away and you’re surprised when your wrist actually slides out of his grip to fall back on the nest of sheets in your lap. You didn’t think he’d let you go so easily.

Overhaul turns his head to the side, eyes drilling into you so you feel like you should lower your gaze. The candlelight flickers in strange shadows over his horns. “This will do,” he says quietly.

“What?”

“In exchange for your cure.” The demon taps his own left ring finger, the place where the purity ring sits on your hand, and your heart soars. He actually wants that? It’s just a simple silver band, not worth much, but you’re not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it has some special significance because of the religious connotation. Your mother will be angry you’ve lost it, but you’re happy to cope with that if it means living to actually get married!

“Yes!” you blurt out before he has a chance to rethink his offer. Sure, you’ll miss the purity ring—you’ve had it since you were a kid, after all—but there’s no question you’re getting the better end of this deal. At least in your opinion.

Something flashes through his yellow eyes, something you don’t even want to try and identify. “The contract, then.”

You barely have time to notice that his voice has gentled, that it’s practically silken in comparison to before, when the candlelight flickers again and suddenly the contract is everywhere. Everywhere. Writing appears on every surface in the room, covering the walls, stretching over the ceiling, coiling around the sides of the hospital equipment and decorating your bedsheets until you and Overhaul are the only untouched surfaces in sight. The characters are inscribed in red, dark red like—don’t think about that, you tell yourself squeamishly. You can make out some of the letters, even a word here or there—French, you recognize, mixed with what looks like Latin and interspersed with what you can only guess are runes.

“I can’t read this,” you tell him, fidgeting with your ring for what you now realize will be the last time.

“I only need your name,” he purrs, and then you feel a fragile weight in your hand: a feather, pearl-black and glossy and too large to belong to any bird you can think of, its angled tip glistening with wet ink. There’s an empty space in the writing before you, and Overhaul’s gloved hand comes to yours again to guide you into place.

This feels wrong…then again, of course it does. Even if you’re getting off relatively easy and just losing your ring rather than your soul, you’re still making a deal with a demon. You sign your name, forcing yourself to think about the future you have ahead of you rather than a disapproving white-bearded caricature of The Man Upstairs wagging his finger at you for haggling with a literal servant of Satan. People have done worse things to survive, haven’t they? It’s just a ring.

You set the feather down and Overhaul sighs, thick black eyelashes obscuring his intense gaze for a moment—and then the contract is gone, leaving your hospital room as blank and sterile as it’s supposed to be (well, aside from the candles and all the other ritual stuff you threw together to summon a demon in the first place).

“Are you going to cure—heal me now?” you ask.

“…Patience, little girl.” He’s pulling his glove off, peeling it down his fingers to bare the pale skin of his hand. You catch your breath and wonder what this is going to feel like, and then the tips of his fingers meet your cheek and—

you stop breathing.

It doesn’t hurt.

Or if it does, you don’t remember the pain a second later when breath floods back into your lungs. What you do feel is energy. Strength in your muscles, blood pumping through your veins, every inhale and exhale as light as a bird and freer. You feel healthy. You’re surprised you even remember what health feels like but you do: it’s like you’ve only been half alive, and now life is surging into you and through you and around you, bubbling up in your core like a spring overflowing. You blink rapidly, thinking you might cry from the sheer pleasure of it, but when you open your mouth it’s laughter that comes out. You’re healthy. You’re alive. You barely notice the IV line literally falling off of your skin because the hole where it entered your vein is sealed shut and healed perfectly.

No more needles. No more hospitals. Even without all the monitors beeping out your heart rate and measuring your vitals, there’s not a shred of doubt in your mind that you’re cured.

“Thank you!” you laugh, looking up at Overhaul and for the first time, not caring that he’s evil incarnate. “I feel—I’m okay! It worked!”

“Of course it did.” His expression is inscrutable, but he lets you have a few moments to enjoy your newfound health.

You roll your shoulders back, flex each muscle you can isolate one by one to test, make fists with your fingers and then run them over your hair, which is already thicker and shinier than it was a moment ago. Your body thrums with energy—you want to run, to feel the ground against your bare feet and the cold night air on your face, and you think you could do it! Your legs are already swinging over the side of your cot, ready to run barefoot out of the hospital if that’s what it takes, but before you can stand up Overhaul’s pushing you back down onto the bed.

“Have you forgotten your end of the bargain already?”

Honestly you did forget, but only for a second, only because you were so excited to just be outside again. “Oh, yeah. Of course.” Your hand goes to your left ring finger, ready to slip the ring off and hand it over, but Overhaul shakes his head.

“Not here.”

“What—?”

You’re falling. Your hospital room is disappearing, the image of your walls and your window and your bed disintegrating into yawning black, and you’re falling through it into nothing, into emptiness, and Overhaul’s still-bare hand in yours is the only anchor you have so you clutch onto it and squeeze your eyes shut. You want to scream—that’s the sane thing to do when you’re falling through miles and miles of empty space, right?—but when you open your throat the sound is swallowed up just like the light was…

Overhaul’s hand burns into yours, an improbable lifeline that you pull closer more out of terror than conscious thought. The slick, empty air rushes around you and you think I am going to die like this and then, incredibly, as soon as you’ve accepted your imminent demise, you feel your back mold onto a chilled, flat surface, vertebra by vertebra up to the back of your head, as if you’ve been lain down onto it.

Your heart thuds in your ears and you brace for an impact because your body hasn’t quite accepted yet that it’s not falling anymore—but at the same time, you know you’re lying down on something. You pry your fingers away from their vice-grip on Overhaul’s arm and feel around blindly for what’s underneath you, and when it seems reasonably tangible you let yourself open your eyes.

Way above, vaulted dozens of feet over your head, is a ceiling studded with gilt-edged frescoes and stained glass. It’s raining (even though it wasn’t in the hospital, you think) but through the massive panes of colored glass there’s enough oily blue light to make out that you’re in a church.

You’re in a church, with a demon. Isn’t that against the rules?

You sit up stiffly and look over at Overhaul, who’s standing at your side and looking down at you…which is how you realize the soft, cold surface you’ve been deposited onto is the blanket on top of the altar in the sanctuary. “Where...did you take me?”

“You should know this place.”

And you do, when you look around. It’s empty now and you’ve never been here at night, but this is a church your mother would bring you to when you were little, back before the disease got so bad you couldn’t risk traveling to it anymore. This is where you took your purity vow…the ring feels heavy on your hand. “Why—why—“

“I can’t stand human hospitals. Filthy places… How that reek of illness and death doesn’t bother your kind, I’ll never understand.” Overhaul pulls his latex glove back on. He’s dressed differently now, no longer impersonating a doctor—black shirt, black pants, and a…bird mask in red leather and gold. So are you, as a matter of fact. Instead of your hospital gown, you’re in a gauzy white dress that’s already been pushed up to pool around the tops of your thighs.

The slip is too thin for the cold, and you can feel your nipples standing up under the cloth so you fold your arms over your chest and hug yourself. “Why did you take me here?” The sound of your voice echoes off the walls eerily and you wish you hadn’t spoken so loudly. The reflection of your words sounds girlish, nervous.

“I told you. Your side of our contract.” Even in this dark, the angular features of his face are clearly concentrating—on you. “Are you already having second thoughts? Such a fickle little thing…”

“You mean the ring?” You reach for it again, ready to tear it off and throw it at him if that’s what it takes to see your deal through, but Overhaul snatches your hand away, pinning it above you.

“Not the ring,” he says. “The promise.”

The…promise?

A chill makes its way down your spine despite the heat radiating off the demon’s body and onto yours. “I don’t understand.”

“The promise,” Overhaul repeats—and you hear a sound almost like wings flapping and then he’s on the altar with you, knees straddling your hips as a single hand holds both your wrists above your head. “To remain a virgin until marriage. Your promise to God.”

A streak of lightning cracks down on the other side of the stained glass window behind the altar, illuminating the room briefly in spectacular pits of red and orange and yellow…and then it’s dark again, and the only color you can make out is the gold in Overhaul’s eyes.

“I’m going to break it,” he murmurs, lowering his head toward your ear right as the answering thunder rolls through the sanctuary, up through the altar, up into you.

///

Méfiez-vous de son piège, the grimoire said. Beware of the catch.

Of course it wasn’t just a ring.

Overhaul’s fingers are in—inside you, his middle and ring finger pumping through the length of your cunt like they belong there, like you were made to be touched this way. A mixture of your juices and your own spit cling to the latex because he made you suck his fingers before he put them in you and he hasn’t bothered to take his gloves off—not that you asked. You’ve been too busy biting your lip to try and muffle the moans that he keeps forcing out of you. He’s bracing himself on top of you with one hand and fingering you with the other, so your own hands are free to push into your eyes and hide your face…until he yanks your arm back and stops.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes are screwed shut and you shake your head back and forth, the movement shuddering your whole body right down to your pussy wrapped around Overhaul’s fingers. He slows the movement and kneels back, pushing one of your thighs up into your chest as he does it.

“Look at me.”

And you’re not sure whether it’s some unearthly power he has over you or the plain old deterioration of your willpower, but you can’t refuse him. You crack your eyes open and he’s glaring down at you, skin pale as ice in the blue light. Once he’s satisfied that you’re watching, the demon leans back in to fuck your cunt with his fingers, slowly at first and then quicker when he hits something inside of you—a spot, a place on the inner wall of your pussy that makes you feel like you’ve been shocked— heat blooms through you like blood in water and you gasp and he curls his fingers up to pet over that spot again.

“Wait—wait, that’s—it feels—weird!” You’ve never felt like this before. You’re not supposed to feel like this, it’s wrong.

“I understand you’ve never touched yourself, but don’t pretend you don’t like it.” Overhaul says, voice as indifferent and calm as ever even though your cunt is dripping clear sticky liquid over the plastic of his glove.

He pushes back in and grinds his palm over the little button on the top of your pussy—your clit?—and you want to scream. “No, I—I don’t—nnhh...”

Do you like it? The demon’s body is so hot next to yours, like he’s running a fever except you’re the one going out of your mind… You’ve heard metaphors for sexual pleasure before (that it’s like having something to drink when you’re dying of thirst; or that it’s the ultimate act of intimacy, love in physical form) but all of that’s a fucking lie. There’s nothing to compare it to, no reference that makes sense, because it doesn’t make sense—you don’t even want him to keep going, do you? You’re only doing this because you signed your name on a devil’s contract, because you don’t want to die and there’s no alternative…but that doesn’t explain why you feel so warm from the inside out, why you’re squirming and your hips are rocking involuntarily no matter how much you try to keep still. This isn’t right. You feel like you’ve been lied to.

A good girl wouldn’t like this.

Overhaul isn’t going to let you close your eyes, so you don’t—but the sounds coming out of your mouth are so…indecent (and how can you think these things about yourself? the word feels like someone else is saying it when you hear it in your head) that your hand is drifting up to your mouth before you can stop yourself, trying to stifle all of it…

“Let your voice out. I want you to hear yourself moan.”

Long fingers slide their way out of your pussy and then move up to rub quick little circles around your clit and you moan, like a whore, like a girl getting her cunt rubbed by a demon— “Oh, uhhhn—something, it’s—coming—“ There’s something building up in your core—a peak, a climax, something that makes you fist your hands in the nightgown he put you in (so tight you’re surprised the thin fabric hasn’t torn) and tilt your hips up into him, begging without words because you don’t have any to express what your body is asking for…

But he doesn’t give it to you. Overhaul takes his hand away from your pussy and the shock of the cool air after his too-hot touch is almost enough to send you over that edge—almost. Not quite. And without it, you’re left shivering and quaking, thighs twitching as your baser instincts beg you to just put your hand between your legs for once and hump your fingers to completion if the demon won’t do it.

You’re not going to risk that, though. Not when Overhaul’s dragging your body closer, bunching up the blanket on the altar under your spine, so your pelvis is angled to his… He’s already shirtless and you hear him unzipping his pants but you can’t bring yourself to actually look at him, even when you feel something hard and hot nudging up against your inner thigh and then aligning to your sticky wet slit.

“This will hurt a bit, but I want you to look,” he says, and you don’t even understand at first until you make yourself feel it—his cock, pushing up against your tight cunt to finish this, this perversion of what your first time was supposed to be…

And what was it supposed to be? Roses and candles and soft kisses? A nameless, faceless husband unzipping your wedding dress and making love to you with the lights off? The way the demon touches you should be cruel in comparison but it isn’t, it’s lighting fires under your skin and turning your brains to mush, so how is your body supposed to tell the difference?

It’ll hurt, you know that, you’ve heard enough about sex to know that it always hurts the first time for girls…women. It was already a stretch to fit his fingers in your virgin pussy, so of course his cock is going to hurt. You turn your head toward the window at your side and try on look out at the rain drawing rivulets like veins over the glass, something to focus on instead of him.

“I said look,” the demon hisses, and his hips push forward a bit and you bite off a whimper of pain. “Watch me take your virginity…look at your tight little cunt swallowing me up just like it was made to.”

“N-No—“ you whine, even though it’s not like you can ignore it. “Don’t make me, don’t make me look, I can’t—“

“Then look at me.”

It’s what he wants, some kind of wicked satisfaction he gets off on, but you’re lucky enough to even get an option so you choose that one, shifting your gaze up into his face instead of the place where his cock is pressing deeper and deeper inside you. Overhaul’s eyes are half-lidded and it’s hard to tell from behind the mask but the look on his face is…pleasure? No, that would be too human. Restraint, at least. He could just thrust up into your body in one stroke, but he wants you to feel it for some reason.

Maybe because it’s a worse betrayal of your chastity if you want to get fucked.

Lucky for you, though, you can barely feel anything aside from the pain. The heat you felt building earlier is draining out of you even as Overhaul tilts deeper, layering his chest over yours. You’re almost grateful for the modest barrier the dress provides between your torso and the solid muscle of his abdomen. His cock in your pussy feels like it’s too big too deep too much and it’s the first time you’ve felt like your body wasn’t created specifically for this purpose so you hold it tight.

“Does it hurt?”

A second of clarity makes you want to snarl (of course it fucking hurts, I’m losing my virginity to a demon I summoned from hell) and you dig your fingernails into your palms to stop yourself from saying it out loud. Overhaul pulls out a fraction of an inch and then pushes back in and you feel like the breath’s being pushed out of your lungs. “Yes! Yes, it—it hurts—“

“I can make you enjoy it…for a price,” he sighs, settling into a slow rocking motion of his hips pushing into yours.

And you want to, every sore muscle in your cunt is telling you to give in and give up, give him what he wants so you can enjoy it like he says—but you’d rather hate every second of this than make another deal. You shake your head quickly and because you’re still too afraid to look away from him, you don’t miss the look of surprise that flits across his face before he tamps it down. “I don’t—I don’t want to—like it,” you gasp out between thrusts. “It’s better if—if it h-hurts…”

This time it’s obvious—his eyes really do widen, and you feel some petty triumph at having caught him off guard like this. Who’s predictable now? you think—and then he’s lifting one hand off the altar at the side of your head and tugging his glove off with his teeth, and you don’t even have time to be afraid of what he’s going to do to you because it’s too late, his bare fingers are already stroking over your mound and onto your core, massaging into the flesh of your stomach so he can feel his own cock sliding in and out of you—

and it doesn’t hurt anymore?

You only have a second to try and understand—he cured you, he healed the pain from your first time just like he healed your illness?—before he hooks his grip under your thigh and folds your legs into your chest so he can fuck into you harder than before. His cock slaps into your pussy and you can hear it, hear how wet your filthy little cunt is, smeared through with your juices. It’s sick—the sound of skin against skin, and the moaning you can’t hold back, you sound like a woman in a porno and you wish the pain would come back just so you could keep hating what he’s doing to you. “What—what did you do—“

The demon ignores you. “It feels good, doesn’t it.”

“Nn—“ It’s deeper like this…deeper and rougher and you can feel it. Now that the pain’s been reduced to the dull ache of a stretched muscle, you can feel everything—his cock sliding against that same spot in your cunt that makes you want to squeal, the friction of his body moving against your clit, all of it, everything you wanted to block out— he pumps into you and you hear your breath sobbing out a moan a second out of rhythm, the sounds of you bouncing on demon cock echoing over the walls. “Please—ah, ahhh…”

“‘Please?’ Are you begging—me, little girl?” Overhaul pushes your thigh up and drags his cock through you, excruciatingly slow, forcing you to feel the thick head slide over every gummy wall in your slick pussy.

You shake your head, mewl, try to force your hips to stop rocking back into his and grinding your clit against him. But you can’t. You’re a—you were a virgin, for fuck’s sake! Overhaul’s immortal. Probably thousands of years of experience on how to make you feel like you want this, like you’re only alive in the places he touches you… You’re at his mercy, if he has any. You never stood a chance.

“Then are you begging your god?” His body lowers directly onto yours and like you’re being controlled by puppet strings your arms fold around him and rake your fingernails uselessly into the smooth skin of his back. You can feel the vibration of his mirthless laughter through his chest. “It must hurt terribly…to know he isn’t listening.”

“Don’t—stop, please,” you sob. “Don’t say—don’t stop—please!”

“Listen to yourself, girl—“ Overhaul’s breath is faster now, but you don’t have time to question it because you feel your peak coming again, the tension rising up through your cunt and your abdomen, harsher and crueler than when his fingers were in you but you want it just as much. More. “Has he ever answered your prayers? Has he...ahh, fuck—who’s the one giving you what you need?”

“No— please, please just let me let me, please—“ You’re talking nonsense now, begging for the release—at least then it’ll be over, and you need it, you need it so badly you feel your muscles locking up, cramping, your ankles crossing each other behind Overhaul’s back.

“Good girl,” the demon breathes, and then he lifts off you so he’s kneeling upright with the two of you still connected, his thick, heavy cock still speared in your pussy, and his fingers come down again to rub at your clit. Everything’s so wet you can hear the motion of his fingers slicking themselves through your juices, sliding up and down the little button over and over and it feels so good that a tiny part of you almost wants to drag it out, to savor it, but the rest of your body is going to die, is going to go crazy if the demon doesn’t let you cum right now, right now, right now!

And he does. Praise the Lord. The pads of Overhaul’s fingers pass over your clit one last time and your head rolls back, your throat moves but you can’t even make a sound, your legs shake and you cum.

You didn’t know it was like this.

Your cunt squeezes down on his cock, throbbing and pulsing and your toes literally curl (you didn’t think that was a real thing!) and your vision goes black for a moment and—oh fuck oh fuck i want this i want more how is it possible that i’ve never felt like this—you understand, more intimately than ever, why sex is wrong:

because nothing that makes you feel this good could possibly come without a cost, could it?

///

It must take longer than you thought for you to come back to your senses, because when you regain awareness of your body you’re in your hospital bed. You’re clean, too, and you wonder for a second if Overhaul bothered to clean you up? Or no…he probably just snapped his fingers and transported you back to your room. You’re not really sure how it works.

What you are sure of, however, is that you just got fucked by a demon. You’re sore in places that you didn’t know it was possible to be sore, and there are already bruises forming on the flesh of your thighs from how tight he was holding you. You don’t really have time to inspect these, though, because apparently your…ordeal (if you can call it that) isn’t over.

Overhaul’s still here.

He’s facing the hints of sunrise through the east window, dressed again in the immaculate lab coat and surgeon’s mask. “You’re awake,” he says without looking at you.

You nod hesitantly. You’re not really sure what the protocol is in this situation, but at least you’ve finally held up your side of the contract, right? And so has he. Despite having been up all night doing sinful things, you’re still itching to get out of this bed and test the limits of your healthy body. “You’re…going to leave, right?”

“Yes—”

At that, you sigh in relief and settle back into your starched bedsheets.

“But there’s one more thing you owe me.”

“Goddamnit,” you swear for the very first time in your life. After what you just did, taking the Lord’s name in vain seems like a relatively minor sin.

Overhaul’s mildly irritated expression doesn’t change, but he holds his hand out to you, palm up, the way you imagine someone would if they were helping you out of a car or requesting a dance at an old-fashioned ball. And really, you want all of this to be over—you want to get out of this hospital, you want to taste what the air outside is like, you want to distract yourself from what you just gave up in exchange for a future. At this point you’re just going to have to hope God isn’t as picky about the whole premarital sex thing as you grew up believing.

So you put your hand in Overhaul’s.

Slowly, carefully, like he’s afraid it’ll burn him, he slides your purity ring down your finger and balances it in the palm of his bare hand. It sizzles when he touches it, glowing orange until it eventually burns down into a ash-black circle in the center of his palm. Once he’s satisfied that your pretty little ring has been reduced to nothing more than a scorch mark, he closes his hand around yours and you feel something sharp, painfully hot, etching onto your finger.

It’s over in a second, but you still yelp and yank your hand away from him as soon as he lets you. “Ah—ow, what was that?”

He burned you, he literally burned you! He’s already healed it, but there’s still a thin, pale scar, an intentional one left wrapping around the skin at the base of your left ring finger. Like a wedding ring.

When you look close, you can make out a symbol on the back of your finger where the cross used to sit—and even though your conscious mind doesn’t recognize it, the sight of it rings out something inside your ribcage, deeper and truer than flesh and blood. It’s the devil’s mark, you think. It’s his.

“…A promise,” Overhaul says softly, and even though it’s a chilly morning, you can feel the heat of his hands on yours a long time after he vanishes back into the dark.

[everyonewasabird]

For Luck

for barricade day, 2022. AO3 version here.

The white-haired fellow looks harmless enough, sitting alone with his rifle at the foot of the barricade. But Bossuet has never seen good luck quite like what the old man has.

And this is an odd place for a lucky man.

“He is a man who saves others,” Combeferre said with a shrug when Bossuet asked. "He's a man who does good by gunshots."

It's not that Bossuet suspects him. Marius vouched for him; moreover, police spies, well, spy. The man only stares at the ground, looking sad.

And maybe there's nothing to be done. The cure for all the ills of the heart is coming soon enough, if Enjolras is to be believed.

(An image flashes through his mind, of sunlight through the window this morning and two dark heads asleep on the pillows beside him, breathing softly while he drowsed in the warm tangle of their limbs. He sets it carefully aside.)

The fact is, the next piece of bad luck is always coming. There's almost always time for conversation first.

"Nice shot," he says, sitting beside the man. The man's eyes slide off him, hardly registering.

Bossuet fishes in his breast pocket for a flask. Contraband, of course; Enjolras is rationing brandy. But under the Republic, commands are more like guidelines, probably.

"For luck." He offers it; the man ignores him. "It's the good stuff, from way back in old man Hucheloup's time. Been saving it for a rainy day." He nods at the brilliant blue sky, free of grape since the man placed the mattress to dampen the ricochet. "Would've been rainier without you."

The man nods absently, as if saving their lives was nothing.

Bossuet swallows a slug of brandy. It burns his throat and reminds him of nights when they had something worth celebrating. Last night was not a celebration--but it was joyful all the same. Somewhere on the far side of the barricade enclosure, he hears Joly sneeze. He doesn't look.

"I don't suppose your trick for walking between bullets is teachable? I wouldn't say no to a lesson, if you had time today. I fear I'm busy tomorrow--positively buried, in fact. I'm on something of a deadline."

The man continues staring at the ground.

"But if you don't have such a trick... maybe don't try that more often than you have to, all right?"

"I will not get shot, monsieur."

His voice is flat, like the matter doesn't interest him. Bossuet takes a swallow of brandy to hide his shiver.

There are men who come to barricades to die. This fellow may be another one.

He hates it. It feels too much like the slow coalescing of bad luck--not from these men themselves, but the way he can do nothing for them. He wants to argue sense into this fellow and Marius and Grantaire and send them all home.

But nobody is getting out now.

"Speaking of exploits with mattresses," he says conversationally, "do you have anyone waiting at home for you?"

His audacity kindles for just an instant a frown baleful enough to raise gooseflesh on his arms. Good.

"Forgive a fool his foolish questions," he says, laughing. "Me, my only regret is my mistress doesn't have another man in her sights these days. Or rather, the other fellow in her sights is in theirs too, more's the pity." He nods towards the barricade and the legions of soldiers massed a gunshot's length beyond it. If he listens, he can hear sabers rattling and rifles being adjusted. "She'll land on her feet, though. She always does."

It seems to shake something loose in the old man. He frowns around at the embattled barricade, the hunkered men, the locked doors. He gives them a long look before returning his gaze to the ground.

"There is someone," Bossuet guesses.

A long pause.

"A daughter," the man says.

The commotion beyond the barricade is growing. Enjolras stands erect and alert, though he has not yet signaled.

Bossuet holds out the flask again, and the man actually takes it. He only wets his lips with it, and even that makes him cough.

"Me and mine," Bossuet says, "we stayed up till dawn last night. One last good night, in case. You know."

The old man's eyes, now that he is really looking at Bossuet, have an eerie intensity. "You are younger than I thought."

"The outside of my skull adopted a mature gravity to prevent the inside from having to."

"What is your name?"

"Lesgle, L'aigle, or Legle. Bossuet, if you've a sense of humor."

"Lesgle," the man repeats, which answers that.

Gunfire rings out. Enjolras is shouting orders. Bossuet jumps up. His place beside Courfeyrac is waiting.

"Take it," he says to the old man, thrusting the flask into his hand. "Wear it in your breast pocket; with luck, it may stop a bullet. Drink my health with your daughter tomorrow."

"What about you, monsieur?"

"Don't worry," Bossuet calls back, laughing, "I've never had that kind of luck."

[ragingbookdragon]

The Start of Something Great

Outlaws x Tamaranean!Reader

Word Count: 2.5K Warnings: Explicit Language, Mentions of Violence and Past Abuse

Author's Note: So this is technically the start of all those One-Shots with the T!Reader. In order, they are the one you're reading right now, then this one, this one, and this one. Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

She watched the group socialize from her position in the corner; she’d never been out and open like Kori was. She’d always preferred to watch in silence, to observe…the years she spent captive, formed her mindset of watching and waiting for moments of weakness. Speaking of Kori, she watched her step into the room with Dick; their hands tightly clasped together.

Fighting a laugh, she glanced out the window, turning her attention to the waves as they crashed against the rocks below the tower. She wondered why she was here. She wasn’t a part of the Titans…not really. Her animosity towards leniency on justice put her at odds with just about everyone within the group, and especially the Justice League. Well, except for Diana; the Amazon was the only one who truly understood her reasoning.

But as for letting criminals go free? It didn’t happen. Rarely ever, did (Y/N) allow a criminal to walk away from her, and her mind drifted to the memory of her first mission with the Titans.

***

She stepped out of the smoldering hole in the warehouse wall and strode to the criminal crawling from her. Placing her foot square between his pelvis and spine, she stepped down with all her strength and listened to his spine crack under the strain. He let out a bloodcurdling scream and she rolled him over with her foot, glaring down at him, watching as he begged.

“Please!”

A white hot star-bolt formed in her hand and she raised it, speaking coldly. “The women you assaulted and killed did not want to die either.”

The man began to cry as she flung the bolt, watching his body incinerate, and turn to ash; she turned and began walking away, ignoring the concerned look from her sister, and the angry looks from her teammates.

They hadn’t even gotten five feet into the tower when Dick was on her like a beast to a fresh kill. “What the hell was that, (Y/N)?”

She glowered, warning him darkly, “Watch how you speak to me, Richard. I am not Kori. And you should believe me when I tell you that what I feel for you is nothing short of loathing. And loathing is quick to turn deadly should I be pushed.” (Y/N) turned to leave when he moved in front of her again.

“It doesn’t matter what you feel! You owe us an explanation!” He shot back.

She barked a cold laugh. “I owe you nothing, least of all an explanation.”

“You murdered him!”

(Y/N) narrowed her gaze. “And the point you are trying to make is?”

Dick threw his hands into the air. “It was wrong!”

“Was what he did to those innocent women also wrong?” she countered and he all but recoiled.

“Of course! But that doesn’t—”

“But nothing. He was a despicable criminal, and he deserved to die for his crimes.” (Y/N) turned around and began walking to the door.

“We aren’t executioners, Kiyahnd’r.” Dick admonished.

She froze in her spot and glanced over her shoulder, her eyes frosty towards them. “Perhaps not you, Richard. But you were not raped and beaten repeatedly as a young child.” Her gaze narrowed. “My justice is absolute in the face people who do the same thing that was done to me and my sisters. Never forget that.”

***

(Y/N) blinked, dragging herself from the memory; it hadn’t been long after that, that she found herself tangled in combat with the Justice League. Apparently, she had held out against them far longer than anyone ever had, managing to overpower The Flash and Martian Manhunter. She had almost defeated Batman when Wonder Woman and Superman intervened, subduing her. That was a fun day for (Y/N), and she remembered how Batman had made her concede killing people…mostly anyway.

The years had been decent to her and she came to terms with her life, even branching out into modeling like Kori did. They ruled the runways. But the “lone wolf” style she’d developed while in captivity still ruled her, and she found it increasingly hard to keep continuing the team. They had all gathered in the room, and she rose from her seat.

Immediately, the talking stopped as everyone turned to stare at her; Dick smiled at her from his seat, Kori perched herself across his thighs. “You alright, (Y/N)?” She met his eyes before moving to the table and setting down a small metal piece. It clinked and their eyes moved to it, as Dick questioned, “What’s that?”

“You know what it is, Richard.”

He glanced over, looking at the item, and took in the realization of what it was. “Your key to the tower?”

(Y/N) nodded. “As of now, I formally relinquish my role as a Titan.” Ignoring the shocked gasps and stares, she continued. “I will be leaving at dusk.” (Y/N) made her way to the door. “Thank you…and goodbye.” She didn’t wait for their replies, moving to her bedroom.

She closed the door and sat beside the window, occasionally glancing at her packed bag. (Y/N) had money saved up over the years, from odd jobs to her professional modeling career worldwide and she still had big money rolling into her bank account from other various sources. She would be alright; she just needed to find a place to live on her own and thrive.

A knock tore her from her thoughts, and she turned to the door. “Enter.” In walked Kori and Dick, and she sighed knowingly. “Delivering the parting words?”

“Kiyahnd’r…are you sure you want to leave?”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “Very.”

They sat down on her bed, a couple feet away, and Dick leaned forward. “You don’t have to leave, (Y/N).”

“I am aware,” she noted. “but this is something that I want to do.”

“Why Kiyahnd’r?”

(Y/N)’s eyes flitted to Kori. “Because this is not where I belong.”

“Don’t say that, (Y/N). You—”

She raised a hand. “Do not try and cushion the blow, Richard.” She rose and stared out the window. “It has been plain to see all these years that you all will never trust me.” (Y/N) glanced at Dick. “Or accept me onto your team.”

Dick went silent, and Kori nudged him. “Say something.”

“What do you want me to say? She’s kinda right.”

“Dick!”

(Y/N) stopped Kori. “Do not be angry at him, Koriand’r. Richard is right.” She paused. “I am not you Koriand’r…I allow my past to define how I live my life.” Her eyes moved to her sister’s, and a hint of sorrow crossed her tone. “I cannot let go of our pasts. It will haunt me forever, and I need to find my own path…away from this place.”

The two of them went silent, then Dick said, “If you don’t have anywhere to go…Jason’s been in need of a partner lately.”

(Y/N) scoffed. “That moronic imbecile? Certainly not.”

Dick snickered as Kori sighed. “Jason is not stupid, sister.”

“Truly? There have been a few times where he has fooled me.”

Kori sighed again, as Dick rose from the bed, moving to (Y/N). “Look…I know you think I don’t like you—”

“You do not like me.”

Dick rolled his eyes and corrected, “Wrong, Miss Know-It-All. I happen to like you very much. In fact—”

(Y/N) cut him off, turning to Kori. “Be cautious sister, you apparently have competition for Richard’s affections.” Kori and (Y/N) giggled as Dick raised his hands in exasperation.

He marched to the door with them still raised. “I give up! I came in here to wish you goodbye and good luck, and this is what I receive!” He was almost out the door when (Y/N) pulled him back, spinning him around to pull him in for a brief but heartfelt hug.

She pulled away and glanced at him. “For all you have done for me…and for all the times you have tried to help me…thank you, Richard.”

He grinned up at her and squeezed her round her middle. “See…you love me after all.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes and picked up her bags. “Do not push it Dick. You still anger me.”

“You aren’t the first person to tell me that.” Dick shrugged.

She snorted and moved to the door, stopping and glancing at them. “And I most certainly will not be the last.”

***

The flight to Gotham City was quiet, and she remembered the first time she arrived.

***

The portal opened and she fell through it, still fighting off the Psions who followed her. They crash-landed into a building, and the rubble was lit up like the sun as she threw star-bolts at them. The fighting lasted for a few minutes, and in the end, she stood victorious among the scattered body parts. Her mind raced as she tried to remember where her sister had gone, and the next thing she realized, a Psion was on her back.

She cursed in her native tongue as it clawed at her, and gathered energy into her palm to kill it when it flew off her, landing a good distance away. She rolled to her side and coughed; a hand appeared in her vision, and she looked up to see a man in black standing over her.

His lips moved, and she knew words were coming out, but it sounded like gibberish. The hand extended towards her more, and she took it, allowing him to help her stand. He kept speaking and she rolled her eyes, reaching out and grabbing his face; she brought their lips together, and words and languages flowed through her mind.

She released him and he simply gaped at her, too stunned to move; she snorted. “Apologies. My race learns by psychophysically connecting with one another. The most effective way is through oral contact.”

“…You just learned to speak English from kissing me?”

She nodded. “Is that what you call it? English? What a strange name it is.” The corner of his mouth rose, and she stood up straight. “I am Kiyahnd’r of…well…it does not matter.” She paused. “My name is Kiyahnd’r.”

He nodded. “I’m Batman.”

***

(Y/N) felt the corners of her mouth raise at the memory; it had been a very long time since she’d thought about it, and it reminded her of how lucky she’d been to learn the languages from Bruce. Kori only received a small amount from Dick; (Y/N) had received twenty-three different dialects, all fluently. The fleeting memories lasted only so long, and the plane began to ascend, signaling her arrival.

She stepped off of the plane and made her way to the baggage claim, picking up her bag and moving to the doors when she saw a familiar man. (Y/N) stared as he walked towards her.

He stopped in front of her and smirked. “Need a ride, doll?”

She rolled her eyes. “Dick called you then.”

“Called a few hours ago saying you were leaving the Titans and coming to find me and Roy.”

(Y/N) scoffed. “I was coming to Gotham. I was not coming to see the both of you.” She glared at him.

“Sticks and stones, (Y/N).”

“Go crawl into a bush, Jason.”

His hand curled around the handle of her suitcase and he lifted it, nodding his head to the door. “Car’s outside.” Jason moved forward, and (Y/N) was left with no choice but to follow him. She watched as he put her suitcase in the trunk, then turned to her. “You hungry?”

“Are you going to cook?”

Jason paused as he was getting in the driver’s door; he looked at her, an eyebrow raised. “Do you want me to cook?”

She moved to sit in the passenger seat. “So long as you make something good.”

He grinned as he sat in the seat, starting the car. “I always make good food.”

(Y/N) let out a ‘hmpf’. “We shall see.”

***

The drive to his apartment was slow and when they arrived, the sun was setting low beyond the skyline. They climbed the stairs and entered his apartment; (Y/N) hummed. “I wasn’t sure that your apartment would be as tidy as it is. It is rather shocking.”

Jason grunted as he moved into the kitchen, pulling out pans from the cabinets. “Sorry doll, the role of messy Robin is Tim.” He paused and glanced at her. “And sometimes, Dick…but mostly Timmy.”

(Y/N) snorted and motioned to her bag. “Where should I put my things?”

Jason nodded down the hallway. “Second door on your right. I changed the sheets and cleaned it, so you should be happy.”

She said nothing and walked to the bedroom. It was a little dull for her tastes, but nothing she couldn’t fix with a trip to the department store and IKEA. She walked back out and sat at the bar, watching Jason cook for them. When he was finished, they sat out on the balcony sharing a bottle of wine.

(Y/N) swallowed it, gagging, “Earth wine is disgusting.”

“Wine’s a peculiar taste,” he snorted, taking a sip. “You have to get used to it.”

She grunted and replied, “I do not want to be used to it. It tastes like…I do not even know what it tastes like. All I know is that it is disgusting.”

“You’re just a Debbie-Downer, aren’t you, (Y/N)?”

“I do not know what that is but I can tell it is not positive.”

“Nevermind.” Jason chuckled and they lapsed into a comfortable silence, eating their dinner, and when they were finished, they climbed to the roof and watched the stars; Jason leaned over. “So, why did you leave the Titans?”

(Y/N) sighed quietly, murmuring, “I did not want to be within their company any longer.”

He eyed her. “And?”

“And I did not want to be ostracized anymore.” (Y/N) inhaled. “I am not Kori. She was accepted easily within the Titans because she is kind and sweet. But I? No…I was never one to be accepted. My attitude and stance on how I deal with criminals was not something the Titans were too keen on keeping.”

Jason listened silently, then tipped his head. “Dick told you to come find me then?”

She shrugged. “More or less.” (Y/N) glanced at him. “I assume he had an inkling that because we are so similar in our mindsets on criminals that we would get along and be able to work together.”

“Red Hood, Arsenal, and Supernova,” Jason grinned. “It’s got a great ring to it.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “I regret this decision already.”

He scooted closer and slung an arm around her shoulders, ignoring the way she growled low in her throat. “Don’t be like that, doll…we’re gonna make a kick-ass team.”

(Y/N) opened her mouth to retort when a light shone in the sky; she glanced at Jason, tipping her head to it. “Well…let us go and show what a team we will make.” She rose, holding out a hand. “Shall we, Red Hood?”

Jason glanced at her hand before taking it, smirking. “Hell yeah.”

[loving-all-for-loki]

Can you write one where the Rogers is assigning a new recruit to each avenger for training? Loki gets the new girl and he’s irritated thinking she’s just some normal human that hasn’t a clue how to fight properly because of her petite size. When it comes time for them to spar, she gives him hell. She fights with swords and is very skilled in the art. He says something to piss her off and she ends up blasting him away with powers she never told anyone about. Loki realizes what she is since he knows the magic she used. She’s part light elf but being half human she was abandoned and left to die just like Loki was. They end up bonding and work together on the team.

A/N: I hope you like it! I didn't focus a whole ton of them working together, but I feel like you get the point. It's a bit longer than my other one shots.

The Moon And Her Darkness

Summary: Y/N, the newest avenger, starts her first day of training. An unimpressed Loki’s doubts are proved to be wrong when she reveals herself to be stronger than he knew.

Word count: 2744

Warnings: angst, dick Loki

Forever Tags: @mm2305

-

Your blood pumps fast through your body as you stare at the raven haired god. Ever since you joined the team, he’s been giving you dirty looks and eye rolls. You tried to not pay attention to it since you know of his past (and have been warned by Tony), but as the newest Avenger trying to prove herself, you find yourself longing for his approval.

It has been a week since Nicky Fury showed up at your home, extracting you from it, and throwing you into the lion's den you called the Avengers. You never signed up for it, but given that you were on the government’s radar for a long time, you’re not surprised. A couple mishaps here and there made them take you on their own terms. They’ve decided that having super powers is not something to be normalized and that you couldn’t live like a normal civilian.

Although you want to be home, the Avengers have already shown to be a great family. Nat and Wanda have already taken you shopping while Steve gave you a tour of the tower. As far as the others, they have been out of sight. Bucky avoids everyone, Sam with him because they’re glued to the hip, and Tony is somewhere else working on new technology with Bruce. Clint? Thor? Who even knows. You’ve been thankful for the attention they have given you.

Except for Loki.

You remember the attack in New York and you won’t lie when saying that approaching the god is intimidating. He stands with great pride and power, it’s hard not to feel small, but when he stares at you the way he does, it’s harder. He doesn’t stop looking at you as if you were a rat he found in a sandwich. Disposable. Replaceable. Disgusting. You don’t expect much from the God being that he’s only staying here out of punishment for the attacks, but you had hoped for a little something more. Even a prank or two.

When Steve told you that you were going to start training, you expected hand to hand combat like the rest, not whatever involves Loki being in the gym at the same time as the two of you. He hasn’t said a word, but just stared at you as Steve goes over some basic disabling techniques and defense. Most of it is already burned in your brain from your childhood, being a warrior and all, but you still manage to learn some new things.

But learning as to why Loki is there, that still remains unclear. Everytime you throw a punch or try to block one of Steve’s, Loki scoffs at you and rolls his eyes. He looks completely relaxed on a bench in the room, yet he could not be looking at you with a more tense gaze. He looks worried, as if you’re going to get beaten to a pulp.

“Okay, what’s wrong?” You yell at him.

Panting, you block Steve’s last hit and turn to the younger Odinson.

“Sorry?”

“Oh, don’t sorry me. Cut the crap, Loki. What’s up?”

“I believe the sky is.”

You grab a knife off the wall and aim it in his direction, startling him slightly but not even shocking Steve.

“You stare at me with daggers in your eyes and judge my every move. You have yet to even talk to me since I joined the team. What do you have against me, you ass?”

“Y/N-”

“Shut it, Steve!” You yell, quickly aiming the dagger at him before returning to Loki, “You. Talk.”

“It’s just pathetic, that’s all.”

“Pathetic? You’re calling me pathetic?”

You start to charge at Loki, but Steve quickly wraps his arm around your waist, holding you back from gutting the god.

“Y/N, I wanted you to spar with him after me,” he cuts in.

“And why would I do that?”

“Because he's a skilled fighter who matches your level.”

“Oh, so I spar with the tricker who decides I’m too pathetic to fight. He’s going to teleport or some shit and stab me like he does with Thor.” Loki’s eyebrows raise at the mention of Thor getting stabbed. “Yes, I’ve heard the stories. I’m not that naive, Steve.”

“I won’t leave you alone with him. I’ll be here to watch and guide.”

“What do you know about fighting with me? I have magic beyond belief” Loki asks the both of you.

“I know more than you think,” I spit, turning back to Steve, “Can we do something else?”

“Well, you coud-”

“I am not sparing with Loki.”

“Okay, then how about weapons? Whatever one you want to start with?”

Loki scoffs again at the mention of you fighting any other way than hand to hand combat. He’s lucky you’re on the same team as him or else you would have decapitated him by now just because of annoyance. How can a man so attractive be so obnoxious?

You walk over to the wall of weapons were Steve and quietly discuss which ones you’ll practice with. He recommends knives so you can spar with Natasha when he’s gone, but the swords are more up your alley. They remind you of your childhood, the weapon of your people. Some days, you miss them, but you know they are fighting their own battle that is too dangerous for you.

Picking up the swords, Steve warns you he is not good which makes Loki laugh again. He has the right to this time because how do you practice with a man who doesn’t know what he’s doing. You can’t last ten minutes with Cap before you’re tired of his flailing. He’s really not good.

“Loki, you wouldn’t happen to know how to use swords would you?”

“I have some experience. Asgard knights and Valkyrie used them, we were forced to learn.”

He stands and takes Steve’s sword from him. Turning to you, he smirks, taking you in. Your frame looks so small compared to his, nothing but a mortal. He’s never admit it, but he finds you slightly adorable, in a helpless baby sort of way. You take proper stance and stare at Loki dead in the eye, determined to prove him wrong.

The two of you run at each other, swinging at any unblocked area you can, yet never hitting. He blocks your swing, pushing you back but not down. Looking up at him, you scream and run, thrusting your sword towards his neck and legs. He blocks you again, but not without stumbling. Before he’s able to get up, you land a blow right to his chest, knocking the air out of him. He hooks his foot around your leg and flips the two of you over so he hovers above you, sword to throat.

“I’ll admit it, you are good, but not great,” he laughs.

He stands up and walks off, setting the swords back on their holder on the wall. You gradually stand up, fury in your bones for the way he speaks to you.

“You… are irritable!” You yell.

Right before Loki gets to the door, he turns to face you. Steve rushes to your side.

“Y/N, stop. He’s not worth it.”

“Oh, he’s not worth it, alright,” you mutter to Steve, “He’s not worth the pride. The praise. Whatever the ‘glorious purpose’ he thinks he has. He’s just an insecure little boy who needs to prove himself over others, make them feel small so he feels superior. Just a bully.”

“I’d watch your tongue,” Loki warns.

“Or else what? You’ll challenge me to a words competition? See who has the best insults or can sound like the biggest douche because I think we all know who would win! Another check mark for your book of things you’re better at than ‘midgardians’ or ‘mortals’ or whatever degrading nickname you think of next.”

Loki’s chest heaves in anger. You’ve never seen someone so angry or heard anyone yelling at you with concern like Steve. Nothing he says registers in your head as Loki’s daring looks fill your mind. You’d almost be scared if you didn’t know he’s full of empty threats. Just a scared little god boy.

“You imbecile, think you can scare me?”

“Actually, I think anything can.”

“I can take words from someone who does not know me, but to be called a coward is not something I take lightly.”

“So what are you going to do about it? Huh?”

“Nothing, I don’t waste my time on people like you.”

“Oh, people like me? Because the great Frost Giant Asgardian is sooo superior.”

“Don’t you ever say that.”

Loki rushes to your side, grabbing you by the throat and lifting you up against the wall.

“Loki, stop it!” Steve yells.

“This is not about you, Rodgers. I suggest you leave before getting in the crossfire.”

“I can’t do that. The safety of this team-”

“Is your priority. I know you are honorable, but I highly suggest you leave.”

Steve hesitates at the sound of you gasping for air. You cling onto Loki’s hand, tightly wound around your throat. His veins pop out of his hand like a dehydrated man. Steve looks back at you, eyes now closed to focus on your breathing.

“Put her down first,” Steve orders.

“Fine, always have to be the hero.”

Loki sets you down and your body goes numb. Everything hurts, your throat swelling. You gasp for all the air you can, feeling it go down your throat and enter your lungs. It’s fresh, comforting, healing. Leaning your head back against the wall, you barely open your eyes to see Steve by your side.

“Are you okay?”

Not energized enough to speak yet, you nod your head and place your hand on his shoulder. Steve looks over at you with worry before turning back to Loki.

“Leave, now.”

“Gladly.”

Loki turns to walk away, but doesn’t. He stands there to listen to you and Steve. At this point, neither of you care. You’re too focused on not dying.

“Can you breathe?” Steve asks.

You nod your head.

“I can get you help. We have a hospital room.”

“No,” you choke, “I’m fine. I just need a moment.”

Steve nods, but doesn’t listen. He gets up and leaves the room, rushing down the hallways to get a nurse, leaving you alone with Loki.

“Why haven’t you left?”

“No reason.”

“Please, just go. I’m tired of fighting. You’ve done enough.”

Loki turns to look at you. You look weak, but actually weak this time. The purple tint to your skin is fading as your lungs self regenerate as you keep breathing. Gripping onto the wall behind you, you stand up. Your knees are weak, making you wobble as you do. You’re not lying. You’re tired of Loki. You’ve barely spoken to the man and he’s made two attempts on your life in ten minutes. Sure, you teased him, but doesn’t he deserve it for being an ass.

“Weak.” He mutters.

That was the last straw. You look up at him. He stares at you as if the devil himself has entered you and your eyes glow bright red, but you know what is wrong. Holding out your hand towards Loki. A glow erupts from behind you, bright yet dark. It’s dark blue like the night sky and Loki watches it in awe. In seconds, Loki’s body is flung through the training room doors, blasting him into the wall of the hallways. He feels his rib breaking, his head hitting the wall. He yells out in pain as you slowly approach him, the anger seeping through.

“Never call me weak.”

Loki flips his head up to look at you, shock running through his body. At the sound of his body collapsing, the other Avengers come running forward. They look upon the sight of you towering over the trickster god with a look they’ve never seen before. Ethereal. Godly. You look as if you’re a queen staring at her peasant handmaid. Anger. Controlling. Power.

“What the-” Bucky mutters.

“You,” Loki gasps.

He struggles to stand as the team tries to help but he refuses. You two locked eyes but nothing was said. “You’re an elf.”

Everyone looks back at you with confused faces, but you don’t say anything. Your body goes hot at the mention of the word ‘elf’. The fire inside you fades out as anxiety places it, waiting for Loki to continue.

“I knew if someone was here to figure it out it’d be you,” you whisper.

“Light elf yes?”

“Yes, moon elf to be exact.”

“How are you here? Aren’t the-”

“Yes, they’re away. I was left to die. Our town got ransacked, everyone fled. No one stopped for me.”

“Then how are you here?”

“The Air elves. They got word of what happened and came. Found me. Took me back, but-”

“You weren’t suited. They found out.”

“Yes.”

There’s a moment of silence between you and the god. His eyes shine with sadness, tears coming to the corners. He looks at you with great pity as the wall inside you breaks.

“Can someone explain what’s happening?” Steve asks.

“Can you tell?” You ask Loki.

He nods, “Yes. Y/N is a moon elf, a tribe of light elves. They’re as high up as Asgard in the nine realms, powerful warriors. They’ve been at the center of every creature out there. People have been after them for their weapons, gems, and wealth. A landmark for every thief and warrior in the universe.”

“My town was destroyed when I was a little girl. Nobody wanted me because I was a child. I was a burden to them.”

“She was left for dead to be found by the Air Elves. Another tribe. Not as powerful. But they didn’t want her and there’s only one reason why they wouldn’t want a moon elf. She’s a half-breed.”

“Moon elves are the only ones who tolerate them. Half human, half elf. Considering many of them come from moon elves, they’re not despised, but Air Elves.”

“They dropped you off on Midgard to be picked up by someone else. I assume you hid your powers?” “I had to. I acted out once when I was little and my parents freaked out. They sent me away. I lived in a orphanage before some group took me, trained me, helped me hone in my powers. They saved me.”

“Until you got to old and left.”

“Didn’t know where to go. I became a waitress at some back alley bar, lived above it in an apartment with my manager. Lived paycheck to paycheck.”

“Then?”

“Nicky Fury came to me. I was on SHIELD’s radar and they wanted me on the Avengers.”

The room goes silent. Throughout your talking you missed the way Loki got considerably closer to you. You practically stand right under his nose. Loki raises his hands and places them on your shoulders, getting your attention. You two look each other in the eye for a long moment.

“I am… so sorry.”

You feel the tears forming in your eyes as Loki pulls you into his chest, holding you by your waist. The team watches in awe as the closed off god embraces you. Slowly, everyone leaves you two in the hallway. An hour goes by as you cry in Loki’s eyes.

Eventually, Loki picks you up bridal style and brings you to your bedroom. He helps you get dressed for the night and settled in bed before you grab his hand, making him turn back to face you. His eyes are no longer riddled with anger or hatred, but kindness and pity. He looks at you like you’re a little lamb to be protected.

“Yes, darling?”

“Stay with me?”

He nods before undressing and getting in bed with you. He pulls you close, your head leaning on his chest, and places an arm around your waist.

Every night goes on like this. No matter what happened in the day, even if you two got into an argument, Loki always found his way back by your side in your bed. You would have never expect it from how he treated you at first, but after the last few months since you met him, you find yourself growing closer to the god.

Loki slips into your bed for what feels like the 1482nd time. Resting your head on his chest, Loki pulls you close to his body.

“Goodnight, darling.”

[duskholland]

Cuddle Buddies | Peter Parker

summary ↠ you’re touch-starved, Peter’s your best friend, and there’s a whole lot of unresolved romantic tension between you; friends to lovers.

word count ↠ 3.4k

warnings ↠ uh oh.... there’s only one bed..? additionally maybe two swear words? also copious amounts of fluff lmao

a/n ↠ so apparently I really wanna cuddle Peter Parker. wbk. this is very cute and made me so soft when I wrote it. I hope you enjoy it! please let me know if you have any thoughts :D

“God damn, MJ, I think I’m actually going to die if I don’t get a hug soon.”

You’re rambling, your voice full of heavy frustration. Your hair is unkempt and messy from all the times you’ve run your fingers through it, and you stare at Michelle with a wild look in your eyes that makes her press a hand to her hips and laugh lightly.

“Has anyone told you that you’re really good at being dramatic, Y/N?” She replies casually, causing you to mock an outraged gasp. You sit down at the lunch table together, setting down your trays in front of you.

You manage a glare at your friend. “You’re so mean to me,” you whine. “You don’t understand how desperate I am.”

MJ narrows her eyes. “I don’t think it’s possible to die from lack of human contact,” she chimes.

“Who’s dying?”

You startle as a third, familiar voice joins the conversation, and crane your neck to see Peter slipping into the open seat beside you. He gives you an easy smile that stretches all the way to his soft, lovely brown eyes, and you feel your heart ache.

“No one’s dying,” Michelle replies. When Peter shoots her an inquisitive look, she adds, “Y/N thinks she’s going to perish if she doesn’t find someone to hug.”

You scowl at MJ, biting the inside of your cheek as you try not to let the embarrassment show on your face. It’s one thing to have this conversation with MJ - your close friend and number one confidant - but Peter? It’s an entirely different story. He may be your best friend, but your feelings are far more than simply platonic when it comes to him.

“Oh…” Peter looks at you curiously, his eager eyes darting over your face. He leans his elbows on the table and rests his chin in his hands, looking utterly adorable with his face pulled into a cute smile. His grin widens as you meet his gaze, and he nods knowingly. “Hugs are nice.”

You nod in appreciative agreement. “Exactly!”

MJ just rolls her eyes. “You guys are so weird.”

Ned joins the table and begins talking to MJ about a chemistry project, and Peter turns to you properly.

“Hey, so, are we still on for that study session later?” He asks you, his teeth briefly gliding across his lower lip. You try not to focus too much on the curve of his mouth, but it’s very difficult.

“Um, yeah,” you squeak, feeling your cheeks heat up a little as you remember the arrangement you’d made with Peter earlier in the week. “Mine or yours?”

“Yours?” Peter suggests.

“Okay. My parents are still away on business, so it’ll just be us. Is that okay?”

Your friend nods his head, his fluffy brown curls shifting around his face. “Sounds great.” Peter gives you a nervous smile, and it sets your heart racing. “I can’t wait.”

-----

Peter turns up a little after 7pm, a box of pizza in his hands. You spend a while chatting and watching Star Wars, and then eventually pull yourselves around to studying. You opt for your bedroom, with its very comfortable fluffy carpet, and you spread out all of your notebooks and pens around you before lying on your stomach and lazily flicking through your notes. But you can’t quite focus because something is amiss.

Peter is acting very oddly tonight. And he’s normally a little hyperactive, but it’s as if he’s on another level entirely. He keeps glancing up to you, then looking away the moment you bring your eyes up to meet his, and he hasn’t stopped drumming his fingers over the front of his maths textbook all night. You’re already nervous enough being around him, alone and within such close proximity to him, and his antics aren’t helping you at all.

You might have a teeny tiny crush on Peter Parker. Possibly. But you’d never tell him that.

“Pete,” you say, reaching breaking point when you catch him staring at your face for the fifth time in one minute. You sit up and turn to look at him, meeting his guilty, rose-tinted face. “What’s going on? You seem so unsettled. Are you okay?”

Peter opens and closes his mouth a few times, his eyes meeting yours nervously. His voice is more a squeak than anything else as he says, suddenly, “Do you want to cuddle me?”

You blink, totally blindsided by the change in topic.

“Uh, cuddle you?”

“Um, I mean, sorry, that’s such a weird thing to just come out and say, I- I just remembered earlier, with MJ, what she was saying, and I was wondering if you’d want to hug me, if you- if you want a hug so badly.” Peter breaks off, a disgruntled groan coming up his throat as he buries his flushed face in his hands. “I’m sorry, Y/N, shit, that was such a weird thing to ask. Can we just pretend I never said anything?”

You chuckle, your lips pulling into a wide smile. “You would let me hug you?” You ask gently. Peter parts his fingers and looks at you through the gaps, nodding slightly. “I’d like that, Peter.”

He looks so shocked by your statement that it brings another quiet laugh from your mouth. “O-Okay.” Peter clumsily opens his arms. “Um, here?”

It’s painfully awkward at first. He’s sitting at the foot of your bed, his back resting up against the mattress, so you have to do a weird sort of crawl over to him, feeling his wide, anxious eyes pressing onto your figure the whole way. It doesn’t help that you’re practically shaking from nerves now.

You’ve known Peter since the start of high school, but you’ve not really hugged him before. The most you’ve shared is a brief celebratory high-five after acing a biology presentation together, and even that contact had lingered in your mind for days after. The concept of crawling up to and hugging your crush makes your palms sweaty and your mind a numb anxious mess, but you do it, because it’s Peter, and the opportunity to cuddle up next to him is so enticing you think you’d do anything just to feel his arms around your body.

The angle is difficult, but Peter spreads his legs out across the carpet and pats his thighs, and you realise he wants you to straddle his lap, so you clamber into his hold gently. He’s sturdy beneath you, with a pair of dark denim jeans stretched over his firm thighs, and he’s quick to wrap his arms around your waist and pull you in. You let your hands find his sides, and then you settle into a very close, very intimate hug with your best friend.

It’s lovely.

He smells of soft bubbles and peppermint, and you bury your face in the crook of his neck, partly because it’s comfortable, but mostly because you don’t want him to see the massive, embarrassing grin fixed to your mouth. Your heartbeat’s going crazy - you can feel it pressing against your ribs almost painfully, and it only doubles in speed as Peter’s hands move slowly across your back, rubbing large, soothing circles over your hoodie. You savour the moment, your eyes closed as you enjoy just being held by your best friend.

“Is this okay?” Peter asks, after a few moments.

You hum against his neck, squeezing his torso softly. He’s wearing one of Midtown’s navy hoodies, and it feels particularly soft against your forehead. “Thanks, Pete,” you mumble, enjoying the moment entirely too much. “You’re really good at hugs, you know that?”

“You’re also a very nice hugger,” Peter replies. You swallow deeply as you feel him tighten his grip on your sides and pull you even closer.

“Sometimes it’s just nice to be held,” you find yourself saying. You’re starting to feel really comfortable now, and find yourself relaxing and shifting further into him.

“Definitely.” His voice is still ringing at a higher pitch than you’re used to, but you put it down to the late evening hour. “Um, Y/N?”

“Hm?”

“If you, uh, ever need another hug, you can always text me.”

You’re so glad you have your face buried in Peter’s warm neck because the grin latched to your lips is so large you think you’d die from embarrassment if your friend could see how giddy his words make you feel.

“Okay,” you say. “Thanks, Pete.” You pause for a moment, and take stock of the way he seems to be clinging to you just as tightly as you are to him. “You can always text me too, if you ever want a hug. Or anything, really.” You manage to collapse your smile so it’s more of a weak grin, and you pull back to look at Peter. His hands fall down to loosely grasp at your hips, and you find him looking at you with warm, attentive eyes and a wide smile hanging from his pink lips.

He looks so cute, and relaxed, and perfect, and you really can’t believe your luck that you’re sitting holed up in his arms just now.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he mumbles shyly, eyes flittering across every part of your face. “You’re a great friend.”

You deserve an Oscar for maintaining the smile on your face, despite the way his words stab painfully at your heart.

“You too, Pete,” you mutter. “The best friend ever.”

The air between you holds just a little too much tension, so you shift and push your face back into his shoulder, hugging him again. Peter’s arms tighten around your waist, and you sigh softly, revelling in rare the feeling of him so close to you, even if it isn’t under the circumstances you crave. You’d take anything Peter could offer you, even if it makes your heart ache.

------

It easily becomes a habit.

Soon enough, it’s been three months, and you’re spending almost every evening with Peter. The more you meet up, the more natural folding into his arms becomes, and soon you find that your favourite parts of the day are the moments you share curled up together.

Sharing affection with Peter is easy, but it comes at a cost - it ties your heart up in knots to spend so much time pressed up against his chest, acting so intimately with him, but then to pull back and go back about your day like nothing really happened. Every second you spend hugging him hurts you because your heart yearns so deeply to have more, but you just can’t bring yourself to tell him how you feel. You value your friendship with Peter too much to risk ruining it all because of a stupid crush, and you’re not ready to stop your evening shenanigans, so you decide to just put up with it and suffer in silence.

A few months into your arrangement, you find yourself at Peter’s when the power across the city goes out in the middle of a thunderstorm.

“Holy shit,” you mutter, shivering as you glance outside and see a flash of sharp lightning cut across the city. The rain pelts down against the pavements so loudly that you can hear it through the gap in the window. You turn and look at Peter, wide-eyed. “Bet you’re glad the Stark internship let you leave earlier than usual today. I’m not looking forward to walking back in that later.”

“Y/N, you can’t go home in the middle of a thunderstorm, especially if the power is out,” Peter tells you firmly, his arms crossing over his chest. He looks so cute with his eyebrows scrunched into a caring scowl that you can’t stop yourself from smiling. “Stay here tonight. May’s out of town, but I can sleep on the sofa. I don’t want you to go across the city by yourself at the moment.”

You bite your lower lip, eyeing the slants of rain that pour over Queens. “It does look pretty horrible out there,” you admit. Your expression shifts into guilt as you eye Peter closely. “You can’t sleep on the sofa, though. I will.”

“No, I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

“Peter, it’s your apartment, I’m not about to kick you out of your own bed.”

“Then join me.”

“In your bed? With you?”

“Yes.” Peter’s face is a bright red as he flusters, “Um, only if you’re comfortable with that though, Y/N. You don’t have to. I just thought that- because, y’know, we’re kinda… close now, you might want to. But you don’t-”

“I want to,” you say, the words tumbling out before you can think them through properly. You’re rendered utterly incapable of sensible thought, because Peter’s looking at you so intently that it whips the breath straight out of your lungs. “Really, Pete, that would be nice, if you’re sure you don’t mind..?”

“No! I want to,” he replies. Peter runs his delicate fingers through his brown waves, pushing his strands away from his face easily. His smile is gentle, and it grows as you return it shyly. “I’ll go get you some clothes.”

You make light conversation as you both get ready for bed together. Peter even finds you a spare toothbrush in the cabinet beneath the sink, and you pull faces at him in the mirror as you brush your teeth together side by side. It feels so domestic, but also incredibly comfortable and normal, and you decide that you feel more at home by Peter’s side than you do anywhere else in the world. You realise that maybe you’d just been deluding yourself each time you’d dismissed your feelings for him as simply a crush. Maybe, your feelings run a lot deeper for your friend - far deeper than you’d ever intended for them to grow. Because you realise, as Peter laughs loudly when you pull a face at him in the mirror, that your feelings for the boy have taken firm root in your heart, and you’re absolutely fucking in love with him.

“So, um, I normally sleep on the left side, but I can swap if you want that side,” Peter tells you. The power has finally come back on and the weather has cleared up, but neither of you comment on it as he closes his bedroom door behind you and gestures at his nice, gingham-patterned bedspread.

“I can go on the right side,” you offer.

Peter turns off the light and you both shuffle to your respective sides of his bed. You’ve been in his room a thousand times before, but you’ve never ventured beneath his lovely soft covers, and you find yourself sighing slightly as you shuffle beneath the duvet. His pillows are light and feathery, and your head sinks into them easily.

He seems intent to stay as far away from you as possible, and he clings to the far edge of the mattress. It brings a frown to your mouth, but you let him be; if that’s where he has to be in order to feel comfortable, then you’ll let him stay there. Just because you feel something else fluttering about in your heart for him, does not mean he feels the same way - even if you were sure he’d been hugging you a little closer, recently, and staring at your lips more than he used to. But maybe that was all in your head.

“Do you need anything?” Peter asks slowly. You stare up at his ceiling, your eyes taking in the dark curves of his smooth roof.

“No,” you reply. “Your bed is very comfortable.”

You hear the sheets ruffle as Peter slowly turns over. You fold over onto your side and find yourself facing him, his bright eyes twinkling slightly beneath the light that streams in from the city outside. He looks very cute, with the duvet bunched up beneath his chin and his fluffy hair all messy and waved out across his forehead, and it makes you happy to see him so relaxed and free. Sometimes it feels as though Peter carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, and you’d give anything to see him gentle and carefree like this. It makes you feel a surge of pride to know you can give him just a little bit of peace.

“Yeah, I dunno where May got the mattress but it’s amazing.” Peter breaks off, shifting around a little, and you freeze up when you feel his hand brush against yours beneath the covers. “Oh, uh, sorry,” he mutters, immediately jerking his hand back. You can just about make out the dark flush of his cheeks.

“‘S okay,” you murmur, biting your lower lip. A beat passes, and then you add, “We hug all the time, Peter. You can touch me, y’know.”

He takes it as an invitation, and he tenderly reaches out. His warm hand finds the curve of your waist, and you stay remarkably still as he slowly shuffles a little closer.

“Is this okay?” Peter whispers into the air.

“Yeah.”

Finally you unstick, your heart beating rapidly in your chest. You shift towards him, as if magnetised, and your hand goes up to rest on his side, too. His t-shirt feels soft beneath your hold, and you find your mind reeling as you take in his warmth, his scent, his touch.

Peter’s face is very near you now. Your legs are tangled together. Your head shifts onto his pillow, and suddenly he’s holding you flush against him, your noses almost touching.

“Y/N,” he says slowly. His eyes are wide and nervous, and they keep dipping down to settle on the curve of your lips.

“Pete,” you respond, your voice fragile. You can hardly keep still, for how nervous you’re feeling now. He’s pulled you right against him, and for the first time, you question whether your feelings are actually one sided. His warm fingers burn against your side, tracing delicate circles over the material of your borrowed shirt. “You’re really close.”

“Do you want me to move?” You’ve never heard him like this before: all warm, and gentle, and inviting. It ignites a whirlwind of butterflies inside your chest, and you really can’t stop yourself from saying, quietly,

“I want you to kiss me.”

Peter’s lips are on yours before you know it. Soft, at first, and a little bit bumpy and awkward. But he loosens up as you reach up and wrap your fingers around his hair, and you kiss him back with all that you have. Peter pulls you closer as you kiss him deeply, savouring the feeling of his warm, pillowy lips and enjoying the way your heart blooms in your chest as your best friend kisses you back. He releases a small noise of enjoyment into your mouth as you nibble over his bottom lip, and then he’s pushing his tongue into your mouth, and you’re making out, your figures lazily intertwined.

It feels so right to be kissing Peter that you briefly wonder why you’ve never tried this out before.

“I, um, I really like you, Y/N,” Peter whispers against you, when you finally pull back. Your lips tingle as you giggle into the air, your fingertips trailing through the soft strands of his chestnut hair. “In fact, I… I’ve been in love with you for months.”

Your mouth runs dry, and all you can really do to stop the tears of relief from slipping out of your eyes is lean in and kiss him again, hard. You kiss him like you’ve been dreaming about for months: slowly, passionately and lovingly - growing in tempo as you fervently try to convey everything you’ve kept hidden away inside your heart.

When you break away, you keep your lips nuzzled against his and breathe out a deep, “I love you too, Peter.”

You giggle together, and you feel so overcome with adoration for the boy that you simply have to kiss him again.

“D’you want to go on a date with me?” Peter asks gently, between gaps in your soft kisses. You finally move away from his lips and settle nearer, your forehead finding his chest as his arms encircle your waist and he holds you close in a warm, consuming cuddle.

“I would love to go on a date with you, Peter,” you mumble against his front. You smile softly as you feel his lips trail across your forehead, and your heart stirs happily in your chest.

“Okay,” he says, sounding immediately relieved. “I’m excited.”

You hum sleepily into his chest, your fingers curling around his strong back. “Me too,” you mumble.

“Night night, Y/N,” he says, his voice already being carried away as you drift further into dreamland. “I love you.”

“Love you too, Pete,” you reply. You know nothing else will compare to the feeling of being holed up in your best friends arms, with his lips scattering a dusting of kisses across your forehead, and you try to cling desperately to every single moment and sensation. “Sweet dreams.”

Peter leaves a final kiss on your forehead, and then you drift off to sleep with him, your figures entangled, and, for the first time, your hearts beating together as one.

------------

any feedback?

masterlist

[clintbartonruinedmylife]

Can we get a crossover with The Old Guard? And Clint is one of them, just undercover within SHIELD to keep them away from the team? And yes, he's old enough to be Robin Hood!!

Nile looked up from her cereals when Andy folded the newspaper with a smile and threw it onto the table. Since they had left Booker behind she had demanded to buy the “Daily Mail” every day and every day she read it and seemed frustrated. 

“He’s finally seen it,” she said. 

“Where do we meet?” Joe asked, who just came in, too. He took a sip from his mug and reached for the newspaper. 

“Hamburg, Germany,” Andy said and Nicky snorted. 

“He still refuses to come back to the UK?” he asked. 

“You know him and his grudge. He said he wouldn’t set foot on British soil as long as the Windsors are sitting on the Throne,” Andy shrugged and Nile followed the dialogue without the slightest clue whom they were talking about. 

“Who are we talking about?” she finally wanted to know. It wasn’t Booker. Booker was banished for a hundred years and he has set foot on British soil just a few weeks ago.

“Remember when you told us about your dreams, sorellina?” Nicky asked. “The woman who drowned…” 

“Quynh,” Nile nodded and Nicky continued.

“... and the man with the bow. We’re meeting him. He’s our brother and it’s about time you get to know him.” 

“And… does he have a name?” Nile asked now and looked at the three other immortals. 

“Robert,” Joe said. “Earl of Locksley.” 

“Former Earl of Locksley,” Nicky said and one of his tiny smiles appeared on his face. She had heard that name before but…

“We leave tomorrow,” Andy said. “Get your stuff packed.” 

                                                    ***

They left the cars behind, just packed their stuff and went on the train. They used the chunnel to Calais and from there a train to Hamburg and - of course - they had a safe house there. 

Andy was the first to enter, Nile followed close behind and Joe and Nicky just checked the area. She could smell coffee and Andy turned, a smile on her lips.

“He’s here already,” she said and right on cue a man came out of a door, a mug in his hand. 

“Andy!” he grinned, put his mug aside and hugged her so tight, he literally swept her off of her feet and whirled her around. 

“Bobby, stop!” Andy laughed and Nile loved how carefree and happy she sounded. When he let go of her he turned to Nile now and she could take him in properly. He was tall, very tall. At least two or three inches taller than Booker.

“Hi,” he said and smiled and the next moment he hugged Nile, too. “I’m Robert,” he said when he put her down. Nile was flushed and straightened her clothes. 

“Nile,” she said. “My name is Nile.” 

“Nice to meet you in person,” the man - Robert - said with a smile. 

“I… I know you,” Nile blurted when he turned around to take his mug. 

“Yeah,” he nodded. “That’s quite possible. Unfortunately I’ve been on TV a lot lately.”

“Bobby,” Andy sighed and the man shrugged. 

“Stark insisted,” he said and went to the kitchen to fill two more mugs. “Where are Booker, Joe and Nicky?” 

“Joe and Nicky are checking the perimeter,” Andy said.

“I already did that,” the guy said. 

“You know how they are,” Andy sighed. “And Booker… we have a lot to talk about. For now I wanted to introduce the two of you, you know.” 

That moment the door went open and Joe and Nicky came in. 

“Bobby!” Joe exclaimed and went to the man to hug him, just like he hugged Andy before. “Or do I have to call you Clint nowadays?” 

“No,” the man laughed. “Bobby is still okay. As long as you don’t use that other name.” 

“Which one?” Nicky asked innocently. “Robin?” 

The man groaned and slapped his hands over his face. 

“Wait!” Nile blurted. “Ro… Robert of Locksley? You… you’re Robin Hood?” 

The man winced. 

“But I thought you’re just a legend?” 

“Thank you, Nicky,” Robert sighed and Nicky winked and went to sit beside Joe. 

“Bobby always has a tendency to become famous,” Andy said. “Back then as the archer who stole from the rich and gave to the poor, nowadays he’s an Avenger.” 

“Fortunately we live long enough to turn his fame into legends,” Nicky said. “And one day the Avenger Hawkeye will be just a legend, too.” 

Robert nodded slowly. 

“Why are you with the Avengers?” Nile asked and Robert turned to her. 

“To keep them off of the team’s tracks,” he said. “We saw it as a chance when SHIELD took notice of me years ago. I just can’t keep it up much longer. They will get suspicious when I don’t age.” 

“I guess Hawkeye will have to die a hero's death soon,” Joe said. 

“Yeah,” Robert said. “According to their files I’m 44 and I look still 29,” he sighed. 

“And they won’t believe the ‘good genes’ excuse much longer?” Joe grinned. 

“Shut up, Yusuf,” Robert grumbled. “They already wondered if I’m a mutant.” 

Joe raised both his hands and Robert smiled at him.

“But that’s not why we’re here, right? You wanted to tell me about Nile and why Booker’s not here.” 

“Right,” Andy nodded slowly. “How much time do you have?” 

“I took a week off,” he said. 

“Good,” Andy said. “Then we can talk tomorrow. Tonight we’re going out!” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Robert agreed. 

“I want to hear everything about the Avengers!” Nile said. “I’m a huge fan and now I want the first-hand stuff!” 

Robert laughed and patted her shoulder. “Everything you want to know.” 

“Good,” Nile nodded and smiled. 

“But not tonight,” Robert said. “Not tonight. Tonight we celebrate.” 

[maki-s-wife]

Okay, hi, I love your writing and I’ve seen your post AND IM THIRSTY FOR MAKI X F!/GN!READER AND IDK, SIMPLY WRITE ANYTHING YOU WANT? I DIE FOR PINING??? SLOW BURN??? Gjwjfjdengjsj A little angsty??? They have feeling for each other but reader thinks she’s in love with Nobara sort of things?? Or something based on THE song SURRENDER?idk rlly, anyway you wa— OR BASED ON ANOTHER SONG: MERCURY BY SLEEPING AT LAST.

Okay I’m done. Thank you for coming to my tedtalk

Pairing: maki zenin x female!reader

Warnings: none

Word count: 2.4K

I loved this request and I love maki so this fit hand in hand😇 Sorry this took over a month to write it is very very long compared to anything else I’ve done but I still hope you enjoy❤️

It hadn’t been the first time. The first time you sat staring a Maki train with Nobara. Her moves were so swift, much has changed from you and her’s first year.

Panda and Toge sat across from you looking at your moody state, they’ve tried to nudge you to ask out Maki for months now. “y/n they’re just training there’s nothing more going on”, Panda said as you squinted took get a better look at the girls battling. You huffed, “Panda-“. “Bonito flakes”. Toge said with an annoyed look on his face. The two had been experiencing this constant back and forth pining with the both of you for almost a year now. Either they were trying to convince Maki to ask you out or You to ask out Maki.

In your first year Maki was always embarrassed around you. You were much stronger than her and if she was in trouble you were always the one to swoop into save her. She already had motivation to grow in strength but now she had more motivation. She didn’t like the embarrassment of being saved. It wasn’t your fault of course but she didn’t want you to view her as weak.

In your eyes weak was the opposite of what Maki was. To still want to be a sorcerer with her low cursed energy took courage. She was powerful, of someone couldn’t see that you’d threatened to beat that fact into their head.

Panda was about to speak again when there was a huge thump. Looking to where Maki and Kugisaki was training your jaw dropped at the image of Maki pining the first year to the ground. Her enamoring voice spoke her win of the match. Toge looked at you and giggled slightly. “What’s so funny” you said, your face glowing redder than a rose. “Salmon roe” he said. “I-I do not wish that was me you weirdo” you grumbled, the bright blush very apparent on your face. Standing up to chase him around Maki looked over at you. She had trained in front of you on purpose. She wanted you to see her, see how much she’s grown, see her abilities now. It was her way of trying to impress you. She didn’t think she could impress you with much else. Instead she saw you pulling at toges ears yelling into them about some nonsense she couldn’t hear. Maki sighed in defeat, the amount of attempts she had to get your attention always failed.

Panda looked between the two of you seeing Maki now carrying Nobara bridal style to shoko after seeing her leg was injured. You were still chasing Toge around when you looked up to see Maki carrying Kugisaki. You paused in your tracks. “Why was she carrying her, she never Carried me like that...” you mumbled words like these until you reached your room. Throwing yourself in your bed you looked to your side. On your nightstand there was a picture with you, Gojo, Yuuta, Panda, Toge, and Maki. Next to it was a Polaroid. A Polaroid of Maki and you on the day you almost confessed to her. You were hugging in the picture, your faces smushed next to each other, smiling and laughing from the event of the fun festival Gojo took everyone to.

Maki left Nobara with shoko and went to get ready to shower. Going through her dresser to grab products and such she picked up a Polaroid from the same day of the picture you had. In hers you were still close to each other laughing just a in a different area. That day she was so close to confessing to you.

The thing is neither of you remember why you didn’t go through with your plans. Nervousness, fear of rejection, was there another person? None of you could recall. It just didn’t happen and sent Panda and Toge into a grumpy state with Yuuta trying calm the two down.

You’d taken a nap while Maki showered. Groggily trudging through the hallways to find her. It wasn’t as though you’d ignore if she was dating Kugisaki. Simply you’d be jealous...for a very long time. But it would pass at some point...right?

You were snapped from your thoughts when you saw maki walking towards her door. Before you could even wave your hand and say her name she was pulled into her dorm by a hand you could only tell was Nobara’s. You paused for a moment and slowly pulled your hand down. Turning back to walk to your room you bumped into Megumi. “Sorry y/n” he said. You apologized as well but Megumi grabbed your arm. “I was actually supposed to get you, panda asked for you”. You sighed hoping it wasn’t training he was asking for.

When you arrived you saw panda,toge,itadori and now Megumi sitting in seats. “You humans and you complicated feelings” panda grumbled with his arms crossed. Toge following suit imitating him.

In Maki’s room Nobara sat her on her bed. “What’s wrong Nobara” Maki asked eager to go find you after what ever Nobara had to say. Nobara put her foot down. “You know that you have to do it soon, it’s obvious that she likes you back” “with all the spying you make me do it’s very clear”. Maki looked away. She wanted to believe it but it came off as weird that someone would find her attractive. Yes she was confident in herself but the only thing she couldn’t see was someone wanting a relationship with her. Especially you. Nobara huffed “Gojo wants to take us to a festival this year, I heard that happened last year to”. “Yes he did” Maki replied looking back at Nobara. “And you told me you had an elaborate plan last year to get y/n correct?”. Nobara had been Maki’s wing girl as soon as she realized Maki’s crush on you.

Maki hunched over, nodded and sighed. It would be a perfect time to try again but could she really pull it off? She wants to. She truly does. But the fear and embarrassment of rejection still lingers over her as it does you. “Fine I’ll do it but-“. “No buts y/n is head over heels for you and will say yes. She’ll be all-“ queue Nobara making lovey doves faces imitating you in a hysterical way.

Now here you were being pressured into re trying your plan to ask out Maki by the boys. Toge spewing nonsense with a grumpy face, Megumi sitting back not paying attention, itadori being enthusiastic about everything Toge and panda were saying.

“I don’t know...she might say no or worse hate me” you admitted. The fear of Maki hating you was a nightmare.

Finally Megumi stood up. “Y/n your just dragging it out. Do you want to date Maki or not?”. “of course I do” you mumbled. “Then THATS all it will take, Maki likes you and you can beat us all over the head if she somehow says no”. “Now gojo is taking everyone to some festival, that’s when you should do it”. He said before beginning to walk off. Everyone looked at him stunned. No one would have thought Megumi would contribute let alone put yourself in a confident mood ready to execute something you’ve been meaning to do for months.

It’s been a week since you and Maki decided to prepare to ask out the other. The week was fairly normal, Maki and you hung out and trained. Not a day went by without the two of you thinking about today, the day of the festival.

Everyone walked there considering panda couldn’t fit in the only car available (let’s pretend a panda walking and talking In public is normal here)

There were games, food, rides. Everyone was pretty scattered out. Gojo around the snack stands, The boys with you around the games minus Megumi who had decided to go eat in peace somewhere else, and Maki with Nobara by the gift shops”. You looked for Maki around everywhere as it was getting dark, you wanted to spend some normal time around her before the confession. Once you spotted her across the large area you waved and got her attention. Itadori and panda wishing you luck while Toge did the same but still stared holes into your head as you jogged over to Maki making sure you didn’t turn back.

Maki looked over to Nobara who had paid for her things. “Go, when the time is right you’ll know”. Nobara said putting her thumbs up with a large smile. Maki gave her a final hug before turning around to see you already there.

You rubbed the back of your neck awkwardly, starting to get nervous. A hug didn’t mean dating but people who do date usually hug-.

Trying to push down your nerves you greeted Maki and went off the play games and go on rides.

You almost completely forgot all your worries as you won prizes from games, got dizzy from rides, and ate various sweets with Maki. The entire time Maki was becoming more flushed in the face. Everything you did set her to look at you in awe. Often catching herself staring at you before you could see yourself.

The night was coming out and the both of you were reminded of your tasks.

Maki was about to speak when you did first. “Can we...go over there”. You pointed behind her. Maki looked back to see the vast area with many blossomed trees and grass. She nodded...but what could you want to go over there for?

You sat and patted next to you. She sat down next to you and you mumbled somethings he couldn’t hear. “Hm?”

“Can I ask you something maki?” You said more clearer. “Alright, about what” now Maki was concerned. Did you catch her staring at you? Did she freak you out? Did you know about her feelings and came her to let her down easy?

You waited a moment. “What is I-“ “are you and Kugisaki dating?”. You asked bringing your knees up to your face slowly squeezing them tighter. Maki looked at you shocked. “huh, What made you think that?” She said completely baffled. you perked up “wait so your not?” You asked your jaw now slack open. “No?? Seriously when did we ever seem that way”. You let out a huge sigh falling backwards onto the cold grass. Maki didn’t know what to say. How does she ask you out from here? All she could do was go for it.

“Y/n I think-“ “well the true reason I asked you here for was...” you took a deep breath it was now or wait months more to try again. “I have feelings for you, like romantic feelings”. You turned away from her as you said it. The silence was so loud until you heard small laughs coming from Maki.

Now she was laughing at you, great. “Um just ignore tha-“ you began as you started to get up ready to run off for a while out of humiliation. But before you could you felt Maki’s slender fingers softly grab your chin, pulling your face closer to hers in for a kiss. It last fir no longer than 5 seconds but when you pulled away for face could be compared to the reddest tomato known to man.

“I can’t believe you beat me to it...or really said it at all” Maki said laying her hands on yours. “You- wait...WHAT”. You blinked fast, was this a dream? A joke? Did you really just get to kiss the girl you’ve had feelings for almost since you met her.

“I planned to tell you the same news y/n, but I guess we both had the same plans”. Maki looked at you her blush very noticeable making you heat up more.

After a couple more minutes of explanation you were both in each other’s grasp laughing and continuing to talk about how this was supposed to happen long before today.

Spying on you from afar was the rest of the group who watched the whole thing go down even Megumi. Toge did dances with yuuji, panda clapping his hands (paws?), and Megumi with a slight smile on his face.

They were happy that the two of you were finally happy together now.

[heliads]

Forever Separated

Based on this request: “Reader is Luke’s girlfriend in the 90’s and is at the gig at the Orpheum and hit by a drunk driver and dies instantly. She and the boys come back as ghosts 25 years later. She’s there for everything that goes down with Julie, Willie, and Caleb.”

masterlist

Your fingers tap absentmindedly on the steering wheel as you careen through the streets. It’s late now, the beacons of headlights guiding you down the asphalt. There’s a grin on your face that won’t seem to go away- your boys are playing at the Orpheum tonight. The Orpheum. That’s been their dream for what feels like forever. It doesn’t even seem true.

By your boys, you mean Sunset Curve, of course. The motley collection of four teenage boys with dreams bigger than the world and the need for a chance to prove themselves. You stumbled across them at a small jazz club, at what had been one of their first performances. It hadn’t been long after that when you had become a friend of the bandmates, and an even shorter time before you fell in love with Luke. When you started dating, it felt like everything was finally falling into place.

You had always known that they would make it, even when they seemed to doubt it themselves. You knew they had gathered regrets over the years- Reggie with the fracturing of his family, Alex with his parents’ lack of acceptance of him, and Luke with the way he’d run out on his mother. You had seen it in their faces- if their band never got off of the ground, they would continue to doubt themselves for the rest of their lives. There had been times when you thought that it might be over for good, that they’d be done for before they even got the chance to get started. Yet here you are now, driving towards their gig at the Orpheum.

You’re only a couple of streets away. You’re practically shivering with anticipation at the thought of it- all of their dreams and hopes, finally come to fruition. You, however, are running a little late despite your best interests, and so your foot involuntarily presses down on the gas. You’re not speeding, always careful to follow traffic laws, just making sure you’re not going to be as late as you fear.

It only seems fitting that something would go wrong on this night of nights. Thinking back, you’re almost glad it happened to you and not someone else. You had this awful feeling that something was going to happen to ruin this gig, and maybe if it happened to you it would protect the boys and let their show run on uninterrupted. When you pass through the intersection, this thought may have protected you.

When you see the truck out of the corner of your eye, you continue driving. You know it will stop, it has to. Maybe it’s the way you’re eager to see your boys again, or the fact that the light has been green for a long time now and there’s no way the driver could miss the glaring red in front of him. Maybe it’s just because you feel sheltered by this bubble of hope that comes with seeing the boy you love play at the Orpheum. Regardless, there is nothing you can do to avoid the truck, and you keep expecting that it will stop until it is inches away from you. Then you finally realize that there’s no getting out of this, and it is only then that it is too late to act.

You’ve seen car crashes in the movies. They’re always a blazing whirl of headlights and screeching tires, a hailstorm of broken glass that reflects the light in the most beautiful arc around you. It will be slow, like time itself crawls to a stop, just in time for your head to fly back in a graceful motion. Then it will speed up again, and just like that it will be over.

This is nothing like that. It is over an instant, no beautifully devastating moments. You’re not a marionette to be hung delicately in the air, your strings are cut within seconds. You do not have time to see the poetry in your last moments, they’re already over. All you manage to see is a quick glimpse of a bottle resting in the driver’s hands, a tremendous impact like the very shaking of the earth, and then there is nothing at all. No orchestras reach a momentum, no lens flares pierce the night. There is everything, and then there is nothing. It is painfully ordinary.

There is one feeling that seems to surround it all. A pain, numb at first and then growing to a fever pitch. You don’t know when you wake up, only that it is much later. There’s someone dressed in a paramedic’s uniform standing over you, the piercing din of an ambulance somewhere behind you. You want to form words together and ask who it’s for, but the answer comes to you the second you realize you can’t move a muscle. It is for you. You are the one in need of saving.

The paramedic is standing over you, shouting something about a drunk driver and two casualties, the driver and the girl right here. You want to stand up, to shout to the world that you’re alive and fine. But for some reason, you can’t move at all. You can’t say anything except feel the last of your pulse die from your veins. Distantly, you feel a raw anguish creeping up in your throat. Luke and the others are still waiting for you at the Orpheum. Who will tell them that you’re gone?

It should have been over then. You died, certainly. You bled out on the streets and ceased to draw breath. Indeed, you had the classic fading of color and acceptance of the darkness just like everyone else. It appears that you will only have access to the clichés of the stories in death. It’s oddly fitting. Regardless of the beauty of it, you died. End of story.

Or at least, it should have been the end. Yet, you find yourself standing again, waiting at the back of a crowded room. You stare at your hands, at your body, which appears unharmed. Your eyes travel from yourself to the people in front of you. Your parents sit in chairs, their backs to you. They’re looking over a photo album, crying softly. “She was so young. She could have done so much more. I miss her, even though it’s been so long.”

You step forward, but the ground makes no sound underneath your feet. “Y/N wouldn’t want you to be sad. She would want you to remember her with happiness, not with tears, right?” Your mother nods sadly. “I can’t seem to help it, though.” An icy chill runs through your veins as you realize what’s happened. All you can think about is that you need to get away from here, somewhere where you won’t be surrounded by people mourning your death.

And then you’re gone. One minute you’re in your home, the next minute you’re standing on the sidewalk outside. Although you look around frantically, no one notices your sudden appearance. No one, that is, except one boy. He’s riding a skateboard, long dark hair tucked underneath a helmet. He stops suddenly, staring at you. “Hey, you just poofed here out of nowhere. You’re a ghost?”

You stare at him. “You can see me?” He nods. “You must be new to this ghost business if you’ve got questions. I’m Willie, by the way.” You smile weakly at him. “Y/N. I guess I would have to be a ghost if I died in the accident.” Willie winces. “Ooh, accidents. Those hurt. I died around the early 80s, a couple of decades ago, so I know what you mean.” You stare at him. “The 80s weren’t a couple of decades ago. They were recent.”

Willie shakes his head. “Sorry, man. You must have only been brought back as a ghost recently. It’s the 2020s right now.” You shake your head slowly. “That means it’s been 30 years since I died. How is that possible?” Willie places a hand on your shoulder, and for some reason the gesture is surprisingly comforting. “Hey, not a whole lot about the ghost stuff makes sense. If you want to talk about it, though, I’m here.” You smile at him. “I’d like that a lot, actually.”

Willie ends up becoming a fast friend. He explains everything there is to know about ghosts, and the two of you have fun messing around with your ghost abilities, whatever those are. It’s nice to have someone who understands about the ghost business, and you find that in leaps and bounds with Willie.

One day, you’re lying on a grassy hill admiring the clouds when Willie poofs into existence next to you. For some reason, he looks almost flushed with excitement, cheeks pink with thrill. “You won’t believe who I met. The cutest guy. He’s a new ghost, too.” You grin over at him. “Already making moves? You’re unreal.” Willie rolls his eyes. “I played it safe. We had a nice chat. He seems very cool, in a band or something. I think he plays the drums. Alex, was in a band called Sunset Curve. I think that’s a good name for a band, and I’ve heard a lot of bad ones.”

You sit up suddenly, all thoughts of the bright afternoon sun quickly abandoned. “What did you say? About Sunset Curve?” Willie frowns. “That’s the guy’s band. Or, it was until he died. He’s about our age, played in a band called Sunset Curve.” You shake your head slowly. “That makes no sense. They should have grown up a long time ago.” Willie still seems confused, so you clarify. “I know Alex,  and I know the rest of his bandmates. I was friends with them until I died.” You fix him with a sudden purposeful look. “I need you to bring me to meet these guys.”

Willie has to ask around, but eventually he finds Alex and discovers that they’re staying in their old studio, now inhabited by the Molina family. You thank him, setting off as soon as you can. As you stand outside the doors to the studio, you find yourself suddenly nervous. Will they want to see you? Will they understand what happened?

The faint sounds of music drifting out from the doors is what convinces you. It sounds just like them, like this is another afternoon from the 90s when you’re meeting up with Luke and the others. You gather your courage and knock twice on the doors, then push them open. You stand for a moment in the doorway, staring. The boys stare back at you. It’s funny- everyone looks the exact same, even though everything has changed.

Then there’s a voice from the back of the room. It’s quiet, as if he’s afraid to say anything lest the moment be fractured away into nothingness. “Y/N?” Luke steps forward, disbelief warring with hope in his eyes. You nod slowly. “Luke?” Luke stands still for a moment longer, then runs forward, wrapping you in his arms and pulling you close. You tuck your head into the space between his head and his shoulder, letting yourself relax once more.

After what could be ten seconds or ten minutes, Luke reluctantly pulls away. He cups your face in his hand, just staring with awe. “How are you here? We died- you weren’t at the Orpheum-” You laugh bitterly. “I died too. There was a drunk driver on the road, he hit me when I was just a couple of blocks away. I was so close, that was the worst part.” Luke nods slowly. “I remember hearing sirens. I didn’t know it was you.”

Something like guilt passes over his face, and you hurriedly shake your head. “It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known. I guess you died some time after that?” Luke nods. “Just before the show. We never got to play.” A sad sigh rips from his chest, and you pull him close again. It isn’t fair, not at all. He shouldn’t have died, you shouldn’t have died. He should not have been robbed of this chance to live the dream he always wanted.

There’s the sound of a throat clearing from across the room. “You know, we’re here too. Not just Luke.” You look up, laughing. “Sorry, Reggie, Alex. Love you guys too. I’m glad we can all be dead together.” Alex flashes you a thumbs up from across the room. “Me too, Y/N. Me too.” Luke laughs now, albeit reluctantly. You squeeze his hand one more time, then step into the room, greeting the other boys. 

Your gaze falls upon a figure you don’t recognize- a girl, about your age if not a year younger. She has dark, curly hair and a fascinated smile. “Hi, I’m Y/N.” The girl startles. “Julie. Julie Molina. It’s nice to meet you- you must be the girl Luke keeps talking about.” You toss a grin Luke’s way. “You’ve been talking about me?” Luke moves to deny this, but Reggie speaks up loudly. “So often. You have no idea. He’s been very sad.”

Luke glares at his friend, but you just grin, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Well, it’s nice to feel wanted.” Luke beams at you, still thrilled that you’re here again. “Trust me, you are. I can’t believe you get to stay with me.”

Neither can you, actually. Somehow, despite the fact that you died and came back again, Luke did the same, and you can be with him again. You’ve lost everything- your family, your future, your life, but you still have him. It feels impossible, but it’s true.

This isn’t to say that life is smooth sailing from here. It turns out Luke, Alex, and Reggie have gotten themselves tangled in the mess that is Caleb’s club, and they’ve got the stamps to prove it. You find yourself holding Luke close while he spasms from jolt after jolt, forcing smiles to pretend like it doesn’t kill you every time he’s in pain. You also have to defend Willie to the rest, as he’s been your friend for a while and would never knowingly betray them. You have a feeling that Alex is pretty happy to hear this.

At last, you find the way to save Luke and save the boys- another performance at the Orpheum, this time as their unfinished business. Standing outside the building, staring up at the blinking neon signs, you can’t help but feel some strange feeling in the pit of your stomach. This feels like a sick twist of deja vu. This is how you died- waiting for the boys’ performance at the Orpheum. Staying here now, in the same position but after you’ve died, feels somehow wrong.

You try to shake the thoughts from your head, slipping inside the building to go find Luke, Julie, and the others. This isn’t like that night, you can’t die twice. Everything is going to be fine. Yet when you walk in the dressing room and catch sight of a panicked Flynn trying to calm a visibly shaken Julie, you have a feeling that things aren’t exactly smooth sailing.

Julie looks up when she sees you appear in the room. “Y/N, it’s good to see you. Have you seen Luke and the boys?” You shake your head, a crease forming between your brows. “No, not since I left the studio to let you say your goodbyes. Have they not shown up?” Julie sinks back down in a chair, hands pressed to her temples. “Not at all.” You slump against a wall. This feels like history repeating itself again- you dead, the boys not showing up to their performance at the Orpheum. No matter how many times you tell a story, it tends to end the same way.

Distraught, you wander back through the building to attempt to find the boys, but your search is to no avail. They’re nowhere to be found. You stumble through the auditorium just to see Julie taking the stage. You have a brief, wild hope that she’s managed to find them, but then you see the red rims of her teary eyes and hear the goodbye she issues to the crowd. If they haven’t shown up, then that means-

You try to distract yourself by listening to Julie sing. It brings a smile to your face in spite of yourself. Julie is a bright firecracker of a girl, and it’s been wonderful to get to know her. At least you know you have her at the end of this. Yet when the beat drops, Alex appears in a flash of sparks. You stand up, pressing forward through the crowd as if your proximity will do anything more to bring them back. Yes- there goes Reggie, and there’s Luke struggling to flicker back into existence. You send out a silent plea: bring him back, please. You can’t do this without him. 

Then he’s back again, and you feel like your heart might burst. He flashes you a grin, as if to promise that nothing could separate you again. You smile back at him, finally letting yourself relax. He’s here, it’s okay. It’s all okay. When the song ends, you watch through joyful eyes as the boys stand next to Julie, clasping hands before taking a bow. There’s something wrong, though, something wrong when they disappear. Usually, you can loosely sense them when they poof away, but this time there’s nothing. Nothing at all. It’s like they’ve been erased away from the song of their lives.

There’s something pounding in the back of your heart, and you poof away to Julie’s rooms backstage. She appears there seconds later, as if she’s been expecting you. She runs over to you, stopping a few feet away as she remembers she can’t touch you or hug you as a ghost. “Tell me they’re still here. They didn’t just cross over.” You shake your head slowly. “I can’t feel them. They’re not in the building anymore. Julie, I think they’re gone.”

She nods slowly, fighting a losing battle to keep the tears at bay. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. So sorry. You just found Luke again, and now he’s gone.” You force a smile. “It’s alright. We’re just ghosts, remember? We’ve been running on borrowed time all along. I’ll meet you at the studio, alright? We can say our goodbyes.” Julie nods. “I’ll see you then.” You give her one last wave, then poof out.

You reappear outside the doors of the studio. You can’t quite bring yourself to go in, to face the empty stillness of the studio and know that the boy you love isn’t there. What are you supposed to do now? You have no idea what your unfinished business could possibly be. Most likely, you’re going to live out your endless days as a ghost, not noticed by anyone except Julie and Willie and whatever other ghosts you manage to find, forever haunted by the knowledge that the one person you’re looking for the most will never appear around the corner, never be waiting for you again. It’s like you’re back to that car crash, knowing you’ll be separated by death once more.

You hear the sound of a car pulling into the driveway and straighten up. Seconds later, Julie appears down the path, and you nod at her slowly. “Are you ready to do this?” She sighs. “It seems fitting to say goodbye, even if they aren’t here.” She pushes open the doors, letting the darkness wash over the two of you. She looks over at you. “I don’t know what to do.” You smile gently. “There’s no script. I have a feeling they’ll be able to hear you. Just say what you wish you got to say before they left.”

Julie nods. “I’m glad I got to meet you guys, and grateful to you for everything. You got me back into music, and I’ll never be able to let go of it again. I thought I’d never play after my mom, but you convinced me that I could. Thank you.” There’s a muffled voice from the back of the room, one that’s quickly shushed by two annoyed boys. “You’re welcome.” You stare. “Reggie?” You’d know him anywhere- you’ve heard that voice in band practices for the last couple of decades, even if it doesn’t feel that way.

Julie runs over to turn on the light, and your hand flies to your mouth as you see the boys crumpled in a heap on the floor, in obvious pain. “Did it not work? Did you not cross over?” Luke shakes his head, gently extricating himself from the heap of band members on the ground to stumble over to you. You catch him before he falls, holding him upright. “We won’t play with Caleb, that’s a promise. It’s not worth it like that.” You cup his face in your hands. “I don’t want to let you go. Not yet.”

Luke laughs quietly. “I’m not sure we had a choice. I love you, Y/N, no matter what. You know that, right?” You nod, letting your head fall against his shoulder. “I know.” You feel one last jolt rack his body, and somehow you know that this will be the last. This is it, the moment when he truly dies. You fling your arms around him, holding him close one last time. If you can’t have the future with him you had always planned, you can at least have this moment.

Your eyes are squeezed shut, waiting for the moment when he disappears from you forever. Yet it doesn’t come. You open your eyes carefully, then stare at him. “Luke, you’re- I think you’re glowing.” Sure enough, he’s surrounded by this golden haze of light. He smiles at you, chuckling slightly in awe. “I feel good. Strong, like I haven’t felt in a while.” Alex stands up too, as does Reggie. “Actually, I feel better too. I think you saved us. Both of you.”

You laugh incredulously. “Really? You’re not going away?” Luke presses a kiss to your cheek. “Never again. I’m not leaving you ever again.” You beam at him. “Good. I don’t intend to be with anyone else.” He laughs at that, pulling you in for a kiss. For once, you know that he’s here to stay.

[iam93percentstardust]

Stony, 18+, Steve just likes to fuck Tony is his fancy cars

Ta-da!

As always, everything I write is on ao3 too

~

If asked, Tony would say that there are many benefits to dating a billionaire.

He learned that from the people he’s dated: Tiberius, who was in it for the fame; Sunset for the money; Rumiko for the… well, Tony wasn’t actually sure what Rumiko got out of the deal but she must have gotten it because two days before their first anniversary, he’d found her with Tiberius of all people.

But then there was Steve. Steve, who was too good for him, who Tony had met at the opening of his first exhibit and fallen in love with after a single evening, who held him like he was something precious and not something that a thousand other people had used. Steve, who had been asked about the benefits of dating a billionaire and, after he’d punched the reporter, coolly informed her that the billionaire was the benefit.

Which.

Well.

No one said things like that.

But Steve did. And he believed it. He really truly felt that the best thing to come out of their relationship was Tony himself. Tony loved him for that. Well. He loved him for lots of reasons—his innate goodness and his big heart only two of them—but the fact that Steve loved Tony for Tony was pretty high up there.

It was a little difficult sometimes when Tony was used to throwing money at his partners to make up for his mistakes, used to paying for everything, used to wielding his power to get them what they wanted, and Steve would just turn all of that away instead of accepting the extravagant gifts and favors, but they made it work. Steve made him want to make it work, and Tony would do just about anything to keep them this way. He knew that Steve was the same way about him: willing to do whatever it takes to make Tony happy, to make them work.

Anyway—Steve’s opinion was that dating Tony was the best part about dating a billionaire, but if Tony had to pick one other thing that Steve enjoyed, it was the cars.

Steve’s preferred mode of transportation was the motorcycle his mom had gotten for him, of course, but he adored Tony’s garage of cars, particularly the ones that went fast. Tony had never met a speed demon like Steve before, and he loved taking him out to Highway 1 in the middle of the night, when no one else was on the road, and watching the look on Steve’s face as Steve pressed down on the accelerator and kept his foot there as they whipped around curves at twice the recommended speed.

It was the hottest thing Tony had ever seen, second to none. He never had a single problem with Steve screeching to a stop at one of the scenic outlooks, tossing Tony into the backseat, and fucking him until he screamed—because if there was one thing Steve loved more than the cars, it was Tony with the cars.

“Look how gorgeous you are,” Steve murmured, running a reverent hand down Tony’s heaving side.

Tony whined, hands twisting in the silk tie keeping him pinned to the door handle. He’d known when Steve had insisted on taking the Aston Martin out that the night was going to end like this. Steve only wanted the four-seaters when he wanted to fuck Tony in them. But this—tying Tony to the door handle while he fucked him just slow enough to keep him on the edge instead of tipping over—that was new. He hadn’t even taken Tony’s panties off, not that he’d needed to—they were designed for easy access and to look pretty and that was about it—but it was the principle of the thing.

“Steve,” Tony whined. “Move.”

Steve just chuckled darkly, bending down to bite a mark into Tony’s throat. Tony keened, arching his neck to give Steve greater access. “It’s cute that you think you can make me do what you want,” he said. And then he pulled out, that ass.

“No,” Tony gasped, hands straining in their bonds to reach for Steve, pull him back in so he has to fuck him. But he couldn’t. Steve was too good at knots for that, damned boy scout.

Steve knelt up as best as he could with the low ceiling, hand stroking his cock lazily. “Could get off right now,” he threatened. “Could spill all over that pretty red lace and leave you like that, all hard and aching for it.”

“You wouldn’t,” Tony replied, despite knowing that Steve absolutely would. Most of the time, Steve was the most generous lover in the world, seeing to Tony’s needs before his own, making sure that they both came at least twice, holding him as close as Tony wanted afterward. But then there were times like tonight, when Steve could be mean. Tony loved both sides of Steve equally, he really did, but he loved getting to come too.

Steve’s eyes gleamed dark and hard in the scant moonlight filtering in through the tinted windows. “Are you challenging me, sweetheart?” he asked, voice silky smooth. Tony shivered and then mewled when Steve palmed his cock through the lace. It scratched against his cock, catching on the sensitive skin and making him arch up into the touch.

“’s too much,” he cried. “Steve, baby, please.”

Steve’s hand was off of him in an instant, back to stroking himself as he stared down at Tony. “You sound so good, Tony,” he groaned, adding a twist at the end of each stroke. “Look so good too, all pretty as a picture spread out on those expensive seats, not even caring if you ruin them. Bet I could make you spill across all that fancy leather, tell you to clean it up with your tongue, and you’d do it too, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?”

Tony whined, the leg not pinned against the back of the seat coming up to hook around Steve’s leg in a futile attempt to tug him back down. He would do it, he knew. He’d do anything that Steve asked of him, even if he knew that this in particular was an empty threat. Steve wouldn’t make him lick anything if he didn’t know what else had touched it. But the thought, the picture Steve’s words painted of licking his own come off three-thousand dollar seats, had him arching again.

“Please,” he begged. “Please, Steve, fuck me, come inside me, please.”

“Is that what you want? Want me filling you up?” Steve shoved two fingers inside his empty hole, rubbing firmly against his prostate. Tony hissed, pushing back into them. His cock was leaking, so ready to spill if Steve would just—Steve pulled his fingers back out and Tony nearly sobbed.

“Your cock, baby. Want your cock.”

Steve’s face softened almost imperceptibly. He leaned down to brush a sweet kiss across Tony’s open, panting mouth. “Okay, sweetheart,” he said and pushed back in, drawing a long moan from Tony as Steve filled him all over again.

Steve set a punishing pace, hips slapping lewdly against Tony’s ass. The windows had long since fogged up, Tony noticed as he threw his head back, and he admired the droplets rolling down the glass for a moment before a hard thrust brought him back into the moment.

“Feel so good around me,” Steve grunted, licking a stripe up the side of Tony’s neck. Tony deliberately tightened around him, making him moan loudly. “Could be in you all day, coming inside you over and over again ‘til you’re as full as you want. You could take me, couldn’t you, sweetheart?”

Tony whined loudly, hands clenching on the tie. He would die, but if that was what Steve wanted, he would do it.

“That’s right,” Steve crooned, nuzzling his throat. “You’d take whatever I gave you, Tony. Feel so—ah!—sweetheart!”

His hips jerked against Tony twice more before he came with a shout. Tony could feel him coming inside his loose hole and he twisted, desperate to come as well. But Steve stilled him with a hand on his hip, petting him soothingly as Tony backed away from that edge again. He pulled out slowly, letting Tony feel every inch of his softening cock.

Tony could feel Steve’s come dripping out of him, sliding down to stain the leather seats and the back of his panties. He clenched, trying to hold it all inside him, but it was hard when Steve was still holding his legs apart so he could thumb at the rim of his hole. Steve made an approving noise and then leaned over him again to kiss him, lips sliding softly against Tony’s.

“You look so used, sweetheart,” Steve whispered. “All puffy and red, my come sliding out of you cause you’re just too tired to hold it in.”

Tony whispered back, “Empty.”

“I know. I’ve got something to help.” Steve reached over into the front seat, rummaging around for a moment before he made a triumphant sound and came back with something hidden in his hand. Tony got the barest glimpse of red and gold and he groaned, thinking about the plug Steve had to be holding. It was the perfect size to tease his prostate and it vibrated. He couldn’t imagine wearing it all the way back to the mansion, but he let Steve slide it in him anyway, not even bothering to put up a token protest.

“You still okay?” Steve asked, smoothing Tony’s sweaty hair away from his face. Tony turned his head just enough to kiss Steve’s palm and then nodded. “You want me to turn it on while we drive so you can come or do you want to wait until we’re back to the house so I can fuck you again?”

“Wait.” Tony knew he sounded exhausted—who wouldn’t when they had someone as incredible as Steve wearing them out?  Steve smiled and kissed him again.

“Okay, sweetheart.” Steve picked him up and slid him into the passenger seat, chuckling as Tony cried out when the plug jostled against his sensitive prostate. He pulled his own pants back up and got out, retrieving a blanket from the trunk to throw over Tony’s naked body before sliding into the driver’s seat. “You still sure about that?”

Tony weighed the benefits of coming now or waiting until Steve fucked him and nodded decisively. “Just don’t hit every pothole on the way home.”

Steve shot him a wicked grin and revved the engine. The vibrations shot straight up through the plug, thrumming through Tony’s body. Tony arched up out of his seat, sobbing at the feeling.

“Oh, Tony,” Steve murmured, pulling out of the overlook and back onto the highway. “I don’t need to hit every pothole.” He pressed the accelerator down to the floor and sped away.

[spencers-renaissance]

a touch that never hurts

Summary: a rewrite of the Tobias Hankel aftermath, in which Spencer gets plenty of cuddles and physical affection from his father figure

Tags: aftermath of torture, hurt/comfort, platonic cuddling, whump, protective hotch, dad hotch, fluff, angst TW: brief mention of the non-con drug use that occurs in the Hankel arc, as well as the physical torture Spencer underwent

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner & Spencer Reid; Platonic

Word Count: 1.7k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Happy bonus fic Thursday :) I wrote this because I noticed how gentle and kind Hotch always is to the victims he rescues, and I was in the mood for some good, mushy Dad Hotch fluff. Title from Charles Dickens' Hard Times: "Have a heart that never hardens, and a temper that never tires, and a touch that never hurts."

When Spencer Reid falls into Aaron Hotchner’s arms — his feet whipped and bleeding, his veins throbbing with dilaudid, his body bruised and aching — he decides that he never wants to let go.

He’s spent countless hours at the mercy of three different personalities, only one of them even close to resembling something kind, and all he could think while he was tied up in that chair was how much he ached to be held and comforted by the man he trusts most in this world.

So when Hotch saves him — and he does; he sent that message directly to him and it was heard loud and clear — he can’t help that he breaks down, that he cries into his shoulder in front of the entire rescue party, that he falls apart in the most painful way possible, until he’s not sure he can ever be put back together again. But when Hotch speaks soothingly into his ear, caressing his hair with the gentle touch of a father, he thinks that maybe he can be. Maybe he’ll somehow make it out of this in one piece.

He’s driven promptly to the hospital, of course. He’d anticipated an ambulance, but apparently it’s harder than you’d think to get an ambulance to a crime scene at 3am with absolutely no notice in deep, rural Georgia.

Derek drives, eyeing him anxiously in the rearview mirror, and Spencer sits glued to Hotch, refusing to be separated from him for even a second. He considers vaguely that he should probably be embarrassed of that fact, but he can’t find the energy. Not when Hotch is sitting just as closely; seemingly matching his need to be comforted with his own need to protect.

“It’s gonna be okay, Spencer,” Hotch murmurs, a little too quiet for Derek to hear over the noise of the car engine. “I promise.”

Spencer doesn’t say anything. He’s not entirely sure he believes him. Instead, he just burrows closer into Hotch and hides his face from the soft illumination of passing car lights and the sporadic street lights of rural Georgian roads.

He accepts the wheelchair Derek runs in to grab from the hospital because his feet are suddenly screaming in agony. When he’d had to stumble through the graveyard behind Tobias Hankel’s cabin, the adrenaline had prevented him from feeling the true extent of his injuries, but now, with the adrenaline seeping out of him like a river through a broken dam, he can feel every single fractured bone, bruised patch of skin, abused and broken tendon.

Panic immediately arises when he sits down in the chair, though. All of a sudden, he doesn’t have that connection he’s had to Hotch since he was rescued, and he’s almost instantly on the verge of hyperventilation until Hotch crouches down in front of him.

“Hey, Spence,” he says gently, patient and soothing in a way the team doesn’t often get to see. “I’m right here, okay? I’m not going anywhere. How about I hold your hand?”

Spencer nods, and Hotch smiles at him encouragingly before giving the nod for Derek to push the chair towards the Emergency entrance. Hotch’s hand clutches tightly at Spencer’s, and he squeezes his eyes closed against the panic, against the memories, against the fear of what’s to come, and focuses all his energy on the firm, unwavering connection he has to Hotch.

It makes the minutes that it takes them to cross the parking lot bearable, and he’s grateful for that much.

As soon as Hotch explains the situation to the ER doctor that greets them at the door, Spencer is rushed into an examination room.

“I’ll wait outside, Spence,” Derek promises. “I’ll be right here.”

Hotch doesn’t let go of his hand.

They examine his feet first, using a portable x-ray machine to find three broken bones overall. Spencer cries when he hears that. Knowing they’re broken doesn’t change how much they hurt or how scary the situation feels, but it is a tangible acknowledgement of the torture he’s just been put through, and he thinks that that’s probably enough to make most people cry.

“It’s alright, Spencer,” Hotch soothes him, laying his palm on his forehead and smoothing it over his hair gently, slowly. “I’m right here. The doctors are going to help you out.”

“The good news is that most of the fractures are fairly minor,” the doctor explains. “You’ll need a cast for your right foot since the damage to the metatarsal bones is much more significant, but most of the damage overall appears to be torn tendons and bruised muscles, which means plenty of rest and a simple brace or boot on the left foot should do the trick.”

She smiles encouragingly at him, but he barely reacts. He’s so tired. It feels like he’s not even in the room; the only tether to reality being the soothing hand in his hair and the occasional whispers of support.

They treat his feet before sending him off to a CT scanner to check that the rest of his injuries are minor enough to heal on their own, and rule out internal bleeding. Spencer cries the whole twenty two minutes, because this time Hotch can’t hold his hand. He’s stuck watching through the observation window, trying not to cry himself as he listens to Spencer’s sobs over the intercom.

Thankfully, he manages to stay still enough to ensure clear enough images of his body to confirm that rest and pain medication should take care of the rest of his injuries.

A specialist comes round to talk to him about withdrawal. He’s been moved to a room on the assessment ward, which is at least a little more comfortable than the bay in the Emergency Room, but it still feels foreign and frightening, and he’s had quite enough of that in the last few days, thank you very much. At least Derek’s been allowed to join them now. He feels safer with both of them as close to him as humanly possible.

“The good news,” the doctor starts — and God, Spencer wishes they would stop associating any of this with the word ‘good’ — “is that you haven’t taken enough doses to become truly dependent on the drug, which should make your withdrawal easier. I’m prescribing buprenorphine, clonidine, acetaminophen, and ondansetron, which when combined, should make your symptoms significantly more bearable. We do advise that you stay with somebody—”

“He’ll be staying with me,” Hotch interrupts firmly, both of his hands clasped warmly around Spencer’s as he eyes the doctor with an unwavering gaze.

“Well, that’s perfect, then,” the doctor says cheerily. It feels grossly misplaced. “You’ll need to prepare for the coming symptoms and ensure that he has no way to get his hands on more dilaudid.”

Spencer resents the doctor for saying that. He has no desire to inject more of that poison into his veins: it might have been a pleasant distraction when he was being whipped and beaten and forced to choose someone to die, but now that he’s back with his family, now that he’s safe, the last thing he wants is to keep reminding himself of that god-awful man in that god-awful cabin.

He doesn’t say anything, though. He just closes his eyes to try and smother the turbulent emotions threatening to show on his face.

“That won’t be a problem,” Hotch confirms.

They wait for an hour in relative silence, Spencer enjoying the solace of a safe, quiet room with the people he considers protectors both holding his hands and soothing him when panic threatens to overwhelm him, before the discharge doctor comes round. She checks him over one last time, before helping him into a wheelchair, handing him his medication, and wheeling him towards the entrance.

Derek goes ahead once they reach the airstrip where everybody’s been waiting to go home and herds them onto the jet first to give Spencer some privacy going up the stairs.

“Are you okay for me to carry you?” Hotch asks as he climbs out of the car first, speaking gently as he has done since he rescued him.

Spencer nods. Of course he is. It means he’s even closer to Hotch.

Hotch carries him the short distance between the parked jeep and the jet before ascending the stairs as carefully as possible, making sure Spencer’s feet don’t so much as brush the railing. He sets him down on the sofa, but Spencer clings to his hand, looking at him desperately as he tries to get him to understand what he needs. Thankfully, he’s obvious enough that Hotch simply smiles and sits down on the sofa with him.

They get settled in a horizontal position, Spencer resting his head on Hotch’s chest as he revels in the feeling of safety that having both of his arms wrapped around him provides. A gentle hand finds its way to Spencer’s hair again, and he closes his eyes against the relaxing feeling, exhaustion finally catching up to him.

He vaguely hears some quiet laughter in the background, and he’s been with the team long enough to predict the raised eyebrows and teasing expressions on their faces.

“You’ve gone soft,” Derek accuses warmly, making sure to keep his voice down, and the others chuckle in agreement.

“Wait until Penelope hears about this,” JJ teases quietly.

Hotch laughs, and Spencer feels the pleasant vibrations against his cheek. It makes him feel even warmer inside than he did before. “You wouldn’t dare.” Spencer imagines the smile on his face and burrows closer to him.

“It’s a good thing, Hotch,” Emily chimes in, her voice bright and easy. Spencer really likes her. “It’s nice to see this side of you.”

“Well, you’d better savour the moment because it won’t happen again.”

He must feel Spencer’s panicked tensing, the way his muscles go rigid and his breath hitches, because he rushes to add, “unless Spencer needs it of course.” His hands resume their gentle caresses of his back.

“I’d do anything if Spencer needed it,” he murmurs, and the team might hear, but the words aren’t for them.

Spencer hears them loud and clear, and somehow — when he thought only hours ago that he might never be put back together — he falls asleep feeling calm and safe, with a small, hopeful little smile on his face.

taglist: @criminalmindsvibez @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @hotchseyebrows @temily @enbyspencer @reidology @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @tobias-hankel @hotchscotchh @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @sbeno22 @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids @cmily @notevanbuckley (add yourself to my taglist here!)

[gryffindors-weasley]

A Sweeter Ending

Colin Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Summary: After a dreadful day, you have Colin to wipe your tears and make it better.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: bad day, crying, mentions of food, brief mentions of alcohol, insecurities, comfort, fluff, kissing

Disastrous. That was the best way you could have described your day—absolutely disastrous. It seemed as though a string of clumsy bad luck had wrapped around you from the very moment you woke up, weaving around everything you did and everything you will continue to do. You were certain there was nothing that could go right and you have yet to be proven wrong from that thought.

Presently, you sat in the quiet tension of the carriage, Colin’s blue velvet coat settled around your shoulders as his hand enveloped yours. Benedict sat across from you, Violet to his right, and you allowed yourself to do nothing more than to look out of the small window as tears spill silently over your heated cheeks, one after another. Your lip quivered pitifully from the weight of your frustrated emotions pressing heavily upon you, and it was far too quiet for you to allow yourself to sniffle. You hadn’t even wanted to wipe your cheeks; even that would be far too obvious an action. You were completely and utterly miserable, hopelessly exhausted.

It had started when you had woken up an hour later than you should have, thus making you ridiculously late for your final fitting at the Modiste. For the dress you were to wear at the ball that very evening. She was incredibly understanding as she always had been, but the embarrassment burning your cheeks a more than noticeable shade of pink as you stood on the platform to be fitted was obvious. To you, to her, to anyone in company at her shop. You felt rather rude for being late, a handful—a dozen apologies sputtering past your lips. It had set the tone for your day ahead.

Several little inconveniences had rained upon you since that morning, whether it may be the way you nearly tripped as you made your leave from your carriage. Or the way the drizzling rain had caused your hair to be needing fixed, the once beautiful style now dampened and dull. You felt horrible for the need to have it done again; it was not a simple task and you had already felt annoying from earlier that morning. It felt as though you couldn’t make it a mere five minutes without tripping over your feet or the skirt of your dress either, wanting nothing more than to let your frustrated tears spill over your cheeks. But you couldn’t, that would have to wait.

Then, as the day passed agonizingly into the dinner with the Bridgerton family before the grand ball that evening, the one the Queen would be in attendance to, matters had gotten far worse. All had been well as it always had when you were in their presence. They were a delightfully warm and welcoming family, one full of love and laughter. But your mood had quickly been soured when you accidentally spilled your wine on the front of your newly stitched dress. As if to make matters far worse, your hands instinctively reach to blot the mess, effectively staining your satin gloves a matching shade of deep and unforgiving crimson. You were positively sure your cheeks burned the same shade as the beverage spilled all over you and beaded across the delicate fabric.

Mrs. Bridgerton hadn’t minded the incident, of course not. You had been a family friend nearly the entirety of your life, and her son’s true love. She could never be bothered by such a trivial mishap, she knows she’s made quite a few herself. But you, you felt absolutely terrible. Not only were all eyes on you, not out of mocking in the slightest, but their joined gazes had the tears pressing further behind your eyes. Not to mention, the time and effort put into the making of that dress was now ruined by your blunder. To be completely and dramatically honest, you wanted the fancy intricacies of the floor beneath your feet to open up and swallow you whole.

The ballroom. That had been a disaster of its own. All was perfectly well and as it should be, your first dance of the night had gone perfectly until it tapered off into a myriad of misfortune. You had lost your footing more times than you had cared to even think about for more than a second, bumping into a couple dancing and easily throwing off their rhythm as the debutant in question sent you a rather rude stare. On a good day it wouldn’t have bothered you, you simply would have offered a polite nod in apology and moved on, but today was not a good day. The action paired with your earlier troubles had a small frown tugging at your lips, one Colin had been quick to change just with the softness of his smile and the kindness of his reassurance.

It was wishful thinking for you to believe the flurry of bad luck had ceased after that, but said luck has a funny way of presenting itself over and over. It had done just that. You would have been fine if it’d been left at your clumsy mistake, it would have been more than preferable. But you knew the moment the dreaded Lord Berbrooke had spilled his lemonade on you, on your new and fresh dress, you knew that had been it. Furthermore, Cressida Cowper’s taunting laughter had been more than enough reason to want a change of scenery. To want to go home. It simply was not an option to continue to subject yourself to further upset and embarrassment.

So now there you sat, in the confines of your carriage as you sulk in your own feelings yet you still try to keep them at bay all the same. Perhaps it wouldn’t have been quite so bad on a different day, one that had been more smooth sailing. Perhaps you were being dramatic, they were minor inconveniences after all. But the build up of one thing after another after the next had pushed you to your very limit no matter how minute and silly it may have been otherwise. Everything small had a large impact on your worsening mood, like the hair brushing stubbornly against your cheek or the back of your shoe rubbing against your heel.

You hated to feel this way, to be so overwhelmed when there wasn’t necessarily a reason to be so. It made you feel as though you were acting childish and difficult. It made it worse.

After a while you took a deep breath, shaky and upset, the hand in your own squeezing tighter ever so gently as his thumb brushed over your skin and you could feel his gaze on you. The small action had made your heart flutter, the affectionate kindness of it. You decided against risking a glance at your love, however, you knew you’d break in an instant if you allowed yourself to do so. It was then that you felt a nudge at your foot, shifting your stare to the brunette across from you.

“At least it smells lemony fresh in here, does it not, Y/n/n?” Benedict grins, immediately swatted harshly on the arm by his mother, sent a glare and a complaint from his brother.

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth and a soft laugh leaves your lips, however, a brief moment of humor breaking you from your misery if only just for a second. He’d seen the tears glimmering on your cheeks, he’d seen how upset you’d been ever since dinner, he knew he had to do something. And he’s glad his valiant attempt did not prove to be futile.

“I suppose you’re right,” you sigh in amusement, rolling your eyes.

You nudged his foot in return, sharing a mirrored look of scrunched noses and smiles. You appreciated the moment of lighthearted distraction, the tightness in your chest easing some as the soft laughter mingling in the small space began to dwindle and die down.

The rest of the ride had been quiet after that, the obvious tension having lessened considerably and your tears not quite as incessant as before. They still welled upon even the slightest thought of what had transpired that day, of the unsurprising cruelty always emanating from Miss Cowper. You knew better than to let her get to you, but a bad day will change such things.

—

When you arrive at the Bridgerton home, they bid you a loving farewell, Benedict sending you a pout of sympathy. He had even blown you a kiss before his mother had pulled him along by the wrist.

“Are you alright, my love?” Colin asks now that the company had since left, the carriage departing from his family home and towards your own shared estate. Despite the absence of an audience in the current moment, he still spoke softly, his gaze focused on you attentively as he awaited your response.

You nod, trying not to let the question get to you as much as it was trying to but the quiver in your lip had said otherwise. The soft tone he’d used was enough to make you burst into tears for that matter. His frown had gone unseen but his sigh not unheard, and soon you felt his lips press tenderly to your temple. They lingered before another was placed in the same spot as the first, and you finally allow yourself to rest your head on his shoulder.

You had hoped you weren’t being difficult to be around and you had hoped you weren’t being bratty towards anyone you encountered, but the dreadful day had taken its awful toll on you and it was becoming far more challenging to suppress its impact. Grateful seemed to be a vast understatement when it came to Colin Bridgerton. He was impossibly sweet and incredibly patient, and he bestowed upon you the utmost of love no matter the situation. So yes, you would have to say that grateful had been a rather large understatement.

“I love you,” you murmur, leaning up to press a chaste kiss to the scar just under his chin. “Very much.”

He looked down at you with a smile, kissing the tip of your nose. “Have I ever told you that I love you more?”

You laugh softly and let your eyes flutter closed, feeling his kiss on your and a squeeze to your hand.

“I believe you’ve done so today, more than once if my memory serves me correctly.”

He squeezes your hand lightly in playful retaliation at your jesting, exhaling a sigh that mingled with his laughter. “Well, it is only true. I love you more.”

—

You sigh softly upon finally entering the comfort of your bedroom, a place you so longed to return to, shrugging Colin’s coat from your shoulders in absolute defeat. You were desperate to rid yourself of your lemonade stained dress, the pale yellow splotch that splattered across the front only taunting you by that point. Your feet ached and you felt utterly drained.

It was a pitiful struggle to get it off in your terrible mood, one that required several huffs on your end and a chuckle or two from Colin just paces away. But you had done it, hastily draping it over the chair by your vanity and refusing to give it a second glance.

“Would it be so bad to ask for help sometimes?” Colin asks, smiling warmly as another soft laugh leaves his lips while he rolls up his sleeves. His vest lay in a heap on the chest at the foot of the bed, shirt half unbuttoned as he looked at you fondly despite the angry frown you held.

“At this point, yes, it would,” you state, sighing as you smooth down your nightdress, the tears welling once more. They had not been done with you just yet.

His dimpled smile fades only slightly, and he steps across the room to stand before you. He looks at you for a moment, taking your face in his hands. He was gentle as he wiped your tears; his thumbs swiping gingerly across your flushed cheeks, a kiss pressed to your rosy nose. His forehead rested on your own then, his hands sliding down your arms to grasp your hands securely.

“I know that today has been rather unlucky—far more than most,” he chuckles softly, his laugh puffing against your lips and his nose bumping yours. “But do you wish to know something, darling?”

You nod against him after a brief moment, lip still wobbly and eyes still very teary. His eyes fall closed as he smiles, one that goes unseen in the close proximity. “Do enlighten me.”

His lips press to yours before he speaks, tender and fleeting and coming in a flurry of affection. So lovingly sweet he’d just about forgotten what he was ready to say, what he was doing. But he quickly regains his train of thought when laugh softly.

“Even with wine and lemonade dousing your dresses, even with your hair being what you have deemed to be out of place or ruined, even with your teary eyes and reddened face—you are still and always will be the most radiant. It is perfectly well to cry, but you must know that I shall always be here to dry your tears.”

You lift your head, looking up at him fully. “Do you really mean that?”

Your voice was timid and your cheeks flushed softly, and you watched as the corner of his mouth had quirked up as he nodded. You smile, pressing your lips on his in a soft kiss. One that deepened while still remaining gentle and tender and all consuming in love. One full of soft brushes against the other’s lips, small smiles when your breath tickles the other’s skin, where noses bump and nudge affectionately.

He pulls away reluctantly, kissing you twice more before looking at you, sincerity painted across his expression as his smile widens and more so upon the reappearance of your own. In a matter of moments he lifts his hand, leaving you to raise your brow in curiosity though you knew just what he was up to. You always knew.

“What?” You ask anyway, a soft laugh falling from your lips.

“Would you care to offer me this dance?”

You bite your cheek to hide your smile at the thoughtfulness of the gesture, at the sheer amount of love held in a mere gaze. Love for you and all your clumsy mistakes. For your ups and downs. He offered you a dance, something he knew that never failed to set your mind at ease so long as it was just the two of you. With little thought and not a drop of hesitancy you take his hand, allowing him to pull you closer as your laughter follows at the sudden action.

He lifted you and spun once, your squeal eliciting the most delightful of laughs from the both of you as he brought you back down to the floor. You wrap your arms around his neck, pressing a flurry of kisses to his cheek before he too did the same.

“I must say, I believe this is the best dancing you have done all night,” he says, your playful glare having him tipping his head back to laugh. Soon he lifts your hand and twirls you, pulling you back to his chest and you collide with another fit of giggles. This was certainly not of proper dancing etiquette by any means, not even a little bit, but it was a dancing belonging entirely to the two of you.

You rest your hands on his chest, his heart bounding beneath your fingertips before you hug around his neck once more. Ruffled curls of brown had fallen over his forehead, nearly dipping over his deep blue stare as he gazed at you.

“I love you,” you say, swaying softly about the room as your fingers tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. “Tremendously, I love you.”

The dimples in his smile return as he kisses from your cheek to your jaw, from your jaw to your neck, to the corner of your mouth and most lovingly to your lips. “And I love you more. Tremendously, I love you more.”

The day might have been terribly disastrous from the start, but now, you had a sweeter ending.

—

Tags: @dreaming-about-fanfictions @awritingtree @writeroutoftime @elennox03

[najatheangel]

genre: fluff, drama, and comedy. high school au!

pairing: Choi San x Reader

author's note: apart of the Ateez Summer Collab hosted by @bangchan-fairy My first official posted collab please let me know what you guys think. Enjoy your summer! ✨

word count: 5.3k

summary: After slacking off junior year and struggling to juggle responsibilities, you're stuck retaking your math course in the summer. With your future on the line, you were stuck with San to work together with you so you both can pass this summer course as seniors. You two seem to have a hard time focusing on your studies. Is it because you don't understand the work or a certain someone that's distracting you

taglist: @purplepsycho03 @melonmochimoon @neptunehobi @soleilsuhh @dundun-baby @kpopsnowball (Send me a message if you want to be added or removed from the tag list.)

Your stepmom Maria seemed to be very disappointed in you once again for letting her down this year. She had planned so many family trips, vacations, and hangouts for the whole family to enjoy this summer, but thanks to my failing this dumb math class, I have to be stuck in this school until July.

“You better be lucky I can afford for you to retake this class. Your reckless behavior has gone on long enough.” Your mom walks beside you upstairs inside Walnut Hills Highschool making sure you don’t skip out on the first day of summer school.

“Mom, you know you don’t have to walk me to class. I know what I’m doing!” You groan at her as she links her arms with you in the hallway.

“Clearly you don’t! If you did you wouldn’t be stuck here retaking this class. Now we’re almost there so keep your head high and lose the tude.”

There it was class 2A once again. This class was an absolute nightmare. I took a deep breath and slid the door open slowly with my eyes halfway open anxious to see who was sitting in the classroom.

“Welcome back miss Y/LN! Good seeing you again.” Mr. Harris said with a smile. This sucker, you had a love-hate relationship with Mr. Harris. You loved the fact that he was super nice and helpful when he was your English tutor freshman year, but you hated how he had a crush on your mom and how weird teacher-parent conference meetings would get when they would sneak off with each other in his office.

“Good morning Mr. Harris. Good seeing you again.” Your mom blushed to try to contain her excitement, but it was too obvious. “Anyways I’ll be heading my way out. She’s all yours for the summer.” Your mom gave you one last hug and kiss on the cheek before she left.

You sighed, rolling your eyes, fanning yourself already sweating from the classroom’s lack of cold air blowing. You complained again by saying.“Mr. Harris, are we staying in this room all summer? I’m sweating like a fat pig.”

“Unfortunately, yes. The PCs in the computer lab have been shut down and the school plans on replacing them with apple PCs by august. So these are the cards we’ve been dealt with. Let’s get started shall we.”

All the students in the classroom sighed, taking sips of their water bottles as Mr. Harris took attendance.

“Let’s see...We have Angela, Oliver, Chris, Yui, Y/N...Who’s missing? Choi San?”

“Here.” San slams the door open, arriving 20 minutes late with his chocolate milk in one hand and a glazed donut in the other. “Sorry Mr. Harris, I’ve overslept.”

Mr. Harris sighs, shaking his head, chuckling to calm himself down. “As expected. Just glad that you’re here, please have a seat.”

There was only one seat left which was in the front next to you and that would of course be his assigned seat for the rest of the summer.

You never heard much of San except everyone saying that he dropped out sophomore year.

You remember having a crush on him during freshman orientation when you both were shadowed by this kid named Lee Know. The whole time you were quiet, but you remembered staring at the handsome devil strutting in his uniform the whole time.

So to see him once again took you and everyone by surprise.

“Class, make sure you remember your partner’s name sitting next to you for this summer because you will work together in order to pass this class.”

“Say what?” You look over at San, who was making origami at his desk. “Good seeing again kid.” He smirks at you leaving you speechless. “Want a donut?” He reached out, handing a piece to you.

You were slamming your head on the desk thinking to yourself. “Mom, I know I promised I would finish this class, but I don’t know if I can...”

Mr. Harris had you paired up in groups of two to complete a series of word problems and online on this website called Pearson. On the bright side, walnut hills provided MacBooks for students that didn’t have their laptop, but of course, if they tried to watch Netflix, facetime with their friends, or search for something inappropriate, their laptop will be shut down for 24 hours until further notice.

The first two weeks were pretty quiet between you and San because both of you aren’t necessarily the best conversation starters and whenever San would ask you something it would only just help him cheat on an assignment or help him make up an excuse to skip class. Up until the third week hit you had enough of his excuses trying to avoid doing the work.

The third week you were assigned to work on three hours of pre-cal on the computer and you had the option to locate to a different classroom of course if you couldn’t focus in a cramped room full of sweaty students. So you and san decided to work in the math lab across from class 2A and try to work out a plan.

“Listen San I know this class is our worst enemy, but I promised my mom I would graduate next year and If I have to restart my junior year again I would die of embarrassment. So please try a little harder.” San sighs nodding to your proposal looking deeply into your eyes.

“Fine. I guess I’m in the same boat. I figured retaking junior year would make my mom mad too.” He reaches his hand shaking it with yours smiling.

Your heart starts pounding pretty fast as you're exchanging the agreement with San and you gaze your eyes back at the computer again clearing your throat.

“So, all we have to do is remember the methods Mr. Harris taught us and we'll be alright. What section are we on?” San scrolls through his laptop trying to login into his Pearson account. “I believe it's section 3.A. 20 questions which are due this Friday?! Man, Mr. Harris won’t give us a break.”

You giggled at his surprised reaction. Sometimes he can be soft which makes you melt inside even more. It made you wonder why he was always hanging around with the rebels with no future at school. Maybe life at home was rough and he didn’t have a lot of friends. All these questions were running through your head, which made you not realize that San suddenly moved closer to you.

“You need help with that problem? You were staring blankly at the screen for the past 10 minutes. Here let me show you how to do this.” San wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer to writing the answer problem step by step to help you understand it better, but that wasn’t exactly helping.

All you were doing was admiring his beautiful face to face. It made you remember the first time you saw him with his glowing melon skin, sharp jawline, the way he can pull off a white collar and a striped tie it just seemed impossible.

On top of that his knowledge in math made him 10x more attractive, but you couldn’t understand why someone as brilliant and essential as him set himself up in the wrong crowd and stuck in this situation that cost him his high school diploma.

“So that’s how you get y= 18 + 15x. Any questions?” “Yeah, why the hell are you so fine. Forget Mr. Harris, you can be my tutor.” Would’ve sounded better in your head, but you accidentally said it out loud.

San looked at you with his eyes flashing open and then he burst out laughing. “Well Ms. Y/LN if I knew you were having this much fun, I would’ve signed up for this a long time ago.”

“Same here. You know I didn’t think math was your thing. How come you're so good at it?” He sighs, leaning looking up at the ceiling as his mood changes very quickly. “My dad is an entrepreneur and a CEO of his own company.

He’s very good at math so he taught me at an early age so someday I can take over his company someday. He’s never home at times either so I’m pretty much always helping my friends with their math homework as a side hustle.”

“That must be tiring. I know that must be a lot of pressure for a 17-year-old.” San nods his head in agreement and says “It is, but hey that’s what I’ve been dealing with all my life. We got to finish these questions so we can go home early.” With the both of you panicking you turn back to your computers finishing the last set of problems.

You were having so much fun at school with San that you forgot you had to make it to dinner on time with your wicked stepmother. Ever since you’ve started your sophomore year at Walnut Hills your father was keeping his dating life a secret until he unexpectedly announced that he wanted to marry Maria. Your dad was always the playboy so it always would irritate you whenever he brings another woman into the picture.

Your father planned on marrying Maria by the time you’ve graduated high school, but that all ended in tragedy when your father one day died in a car accident on the way to your volleyball game. This is why you quitted sports, fell out with your best friends, and flunked almost all your classes. Maria has always shown tough love even when your dad was around, but that’s because she never knew what it was like to raise children and she wanted to learn to become closer to your family, but your relationship with her was always rocky.

Arriving late at night you’ve run to your house sweating and panting to your angry stepmom in the kitchen tapping her foot.

“Y/N, do you know what time it is? School ended at 5. Why are you late for dinner? This better is good missy.” You caught your last breath and then rolled your eyes at Maria’s snarky comment. “Me and my partner in my class took longer than expected to finish our assignment. Sorry, okay?”

You’ve slammed your backpack on the back of your chair and grabbed a plate of yong chow rice to eat with your family. “Don’t you roll your eyes at me? I just asked a simple question. Don’t tell me your working with that Choi San guy?”

You shook your head as you started to feel yourself explode at the dinner table, but you let her finish. “I know that because Mr. Harris told me. Look all I’m saying is you better stay concentrated on getting out of summer school and don’t fool around with these boys. Got it?”

You’ve finally snapped and stood up slamming the table with your fists. “You know what, I don’t understand why you're nagging me about every little thing going on in my life. You can’t just be proud that I finished my assignments for this week. But, no you keep finding ways to complain to me about me not working hard enough or messing around. I’m getting really tired of it. That’s why I hate it here!”

“Y/N! Don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to you.” She followed you all the way upstairs until you closed the door and locked it in her face. You were too tired and frustrated to be dealing with her constant ranting so you’ve just sat in your room, put your AirPods on, and blocked her yelling from the background. “We’ll talk about this another day. Psh teenagers.”

For the rest of the night, you smush your face in your pillow crying yourself to sleep. You look back on the polaroids of your dad around your room and through your phone missing his presence in your home. “Dad, why did you leave me alone with her? If it was just the three of us, things would be so different. I miss you.”

Your partnership with San seemed to improve drastically which was surprising, to say the least. All the other kids in the class however didn’t seem to improve. Some were either cheating or missing the deadlines. Mr. Harris was not pleased by the results so he found other alternatives.

“You know what class, here’s what we’re about to do. To make this a lot more fun, how about we do class activities for extra credit. Since some of you are glued to your devices nowadays we can play games like Kahoot, Jenga, and Tetris to answer questions. I can even narrow down the questions on the assignments. How does that sound?” Everyone in class chants and cheers loving the idea which keeps them even more motivated to continue working.

“Alright everyone the games won’t start today, but next week. This is the last week of June and summer school so that means we’re halfway there from finishing. You cannot screw this up. Try acing this week’s quiz with 90% everyone or no games for those with below 70%. Got it?” “Yes, Mr. Harris!” You’ve become closer to the class since it was only nine of you, but your best friends are Angela, San, and Chris. The four of you stopped for ice cream after school to study for this week’s big math test that covered five sections.

“Gosh, Mr. Harris put 40 questions on the test! What the hell is he on crack?”

Everyone laughed at Chris complaining. He would always try to find shortcuts just so he can finish playing PubG, but he always ends up getting in trouble because he procrastinates too much. The only reason he’s somewhat doing well is because of his girlfriend Angela.

She was always a straight-A student and a bit of a geek at school, but outside of school, she was a baddie. She ended up having to retake pre-cal because she wanted to offer to help Chris with homework but ended up failing with him. “Oh hush it’s not even that bad. If you would’ve done those practice problems like you were told, you wouldn’t be complaining so much.” She slaps the back of Chris' head making him spat out his dip cone.

San looks at them admiring their silly dysfunctional relationship and then looks at you mesmerized. He leans in whispering in your ear saying “Why can’t we be more like them. They’re cute together.” You turned to him, slapping his shoulder softly giggling. “We shouldn’t. We agreed to only focus on school, remember?” He looks at you pouting “Does it have to be strictly about work? Like Mr. Harris said, we can have fun with it. We are partners after all.”

You look to the side trying to avoid his gaze as you take another spoonful of mint cocoa. With your sloppy spoonful of ice cream leftover on your face, San quickly grabbed a napkin from the table and whipped your face. “Be careful, you had a little mint chocolate on your face.” He kissed the side of your lips and smirked at you right afterward leaving everyone shocked.

“You guys are hot together.”

Chris with no filter shouted out leaving you a blushing mess. You quickly grabbed your ice cream and backpack as you heard your stepmom pulling up at the dairy parking lot. “You know what duty calls. I’ll meet you guys at the same time tomorrow at San’s place just like we planned. I gotta shave my legs. Later!” San wanted to grab your arm real quick to give you a proper goodbye, but you already beat him to it by sprinting to the car.

“Honey, why did you run in the car so fast? You would have finished your ice cream-”

“No time for that, just drive Mom.” Maria laughs looking at you covering your face with your cardigan and looking at San’s pouting face playing with his spoon he just ate from his ice cream. “Reminds me of the good old days when I was in high school.” Your stepmom cranked the engine and drove all the way home.

When you arrived home you flopped your body on your bed trying to focus on finishing studying for your test by yourself, but all your thinking about San’s kiss replaying in your head over and over again. “Ugh that San man, why did his lips have to be so soft? I'm supposed to be finding the formula for x, not the formula to get into San’s heart.” You’ve pulled out your laptop attempting to send an email to Mr. Harris said that you wanted to switch partners, but you prevent yourself from pressing send through your mouse.

“There’s no point. We only have four more weeks plus he would be upset if I do that. I just need to calm down.” You’ve closed out of your email tab and finished your homework sinking in your thoughts.

“Dad, hey it’s me again, I just wanted to leave a voicemail letting you know that later on today I’ll be bringing my friends over to work on studying for our big test. It would be nice for you to meet them, but of course, I know work is more important. Anyways please come visit again sometime soon. Love you, peace.” San sighs, hanging up the phone as he sets the table up getting ready for you, Angela, and Chris to come over. San has always learned to live basically on his own growing up.

His father is always running off on business trips, his mother left him at a young age to marry a wealthy man and his older brother was already out of the country to join the Navy. His brother was the only person he can count on for family events when it came to birthdays, Christmas, and even father’s day. At least his brother could attend and catch up with his crazy high school life.

Snapping out of his train of thoughts he opens the door as soon as he hears the doorbell ring. “Coming!” He fixed his Pikachu long sleeve and parted his hair before he opened the door. He was smiling so wide after seeing it was you, Angela and Chris.

“C'mon in you guys. Welcome to mi palacio. Let’s study in the living room.”

Everyone ran to the living room pleased with the smell of pina colada candles filling the house. You were shocked that San got to live in this huge nicely decorated home yet you seem to notice that his family is not present.

You see picture frames of him when he was younger in a monster inc sitting on the fountain at Disneyland.

There was also another cute family photo of San’s best friend named Wooyoung that he met since kindergarten, but sadly they ended up cutting ties since they went to different schools.

A picture that stood out from all of them was one of him sitting on his mom’s lap when he was five smiling super hard with his pretty white smile. You’ve never seen him smile that hard and you were always curious more about his past so the family photos have shown a nice glimpse into his past “Hey y/n cmon I made some ramen. We have to pull out the flashcards so we can study.” “W-wait, but your baby pictures I want!” “No time we can look at them later.”

He winks and gently holds your hand and walks downstairs with you.

“Here goes the love birds. We have to try San’s famous spicy ramen dish before it gets too cold.” Everyone sits down at the dinner table clasping their hands together ready to dig in until the door opens.

“Surprise brother! Sorry I’m late. Did I miss dinner?” San’s brother Jinhyuk walks in with veggie wraps and steak bulgogi in his hand. San runs up to his brother hugging him super tight happier to see that he finally made it home. “Guys this is my brother Jinhyuk. Jinhyuk this is Chris, Angela, and Y/N.”

Jinhyuk smiles at everyone greeting everyone. “So what’s been going on with you guys? I know you have been stuck in school together, but what have you guys been doing outside of school?” Angela started by saying “Well so far me and Chris have been seeing each other every day. We always go to the park or the carnival when we get the chance for dates. We have also been hanging out with these two right here.”

Chris joined in saying “Exactly right. You can say we’re like the Scooby-Doo gang of course without scooby.” San laughs adding on “No way you’re definitely Scooby. Angela is Velma, I’m Freddy, and Y/N is Daphne.” Everyone at the table laughed as they enjoyed San’s ramen catching up with each other.

Jinhyuk elbows you as he chats with you in the kitchen. “Hey, I noticed that you were sitting there staring at my brother. What’s going on with you two.” Your eyes flashed wide open as you were surprised by Jinhyk’s sudden question. You faced him scratching the back of your head not knowing how to answer his question. “Well, I honestly don’t know. I think he just likes teasing me. One minute he flirts with me, the next minute he treats me like one of the guys. My mom also doesn’t want me getting distracted so I’m trying to keep my distance.”

Jinhyuk laughs and then pets your head. “Well, you both already failed at keeping your distance. I think he likes you, but since you keep running away or avoiding him too much, he feels like he’s making you uncomfortable and that you strictly want to stay as friends. I wouldn’t give him the wrong idea to be upfront about how you feel about him. You got this kid.” He grabs your empty bowl for you and washes the dishes giving you that boost of confidence. “You know what you're right. Mama didn’t raise no punk. I’ll tell him after we finish studying. Thanks, Jinhyuk I owe you the next time you visit.” You give him a thumbs up and skip happily out the kitchen looking forward to seeing your friends.

After hours of studying flashcards, everyone finally studied feeling confident in themselves about the final test of the semester. Everyone packed their things and was ready to head home since their parents were outside. You were the only one that still felt confident about your process throughout the class so you’ve decided to stay an extra hour to study with San.

“Are you sure this is right?” You put the pencil down crossing your fingers as San checks your work. “Wow yes, that is correct. See you’re doing just fine. You only got 7 wrong out of the 40 questions. Just keep using that method I taught you and you’ll be just fine.” San smiles at you pinching your cheeks. “It’s 10:30 pm. Your mom is going to be worried about you. You should start heading home. I'll drop you off.” San started putting his notebook and laptop back on his desk getting ready to leave his room, but you pull on his sleeve bringing him back down on the couch with you.

“Wait, um why don’t we watch a movie or something. My mom is out with Mr. Harris anyways they won’t be back until the morning. I kind of told her I was spending the night at my cousin’s house.”

San smiles, shaking his head gulping, sitting back down next to you. “That sounds nice and all, but I don’t want to get you in trouble. Plus you do realize you’re staying over at a boy’s house at night.” You lean your head on his shoulder holding his hand yawning. “I know I trust you. You wouldn’t do anything unless I told you I wanted to. Just for tonight please San?” San sighs, lifting your chin patting the back of your head. “Fine, but next time let me meet your mom. I want to know everything there is about you okay?” You nod linking pinkies with him. “Deal. Now let’s watch Money Heist Shall we?”

The next morning you wake up in San’s arms as you share a blanket on the living room couch. You woke up fixing his messy black hair struck by his sleeping face. “Gosh you're even more dreamy when you're sleeping.” You checked the time on your phone and realized what time it was.

Pre-cal normally starts around 10, it was 11:20. “San gets up, we're late for class! We can’t miss this one Mr. Harris is giving us get extra credit today.” San woke right up alert as he wiped the drool from the side of his mouth.

“Dang, we gotta go. Here brush your teeth real fast, brush your hair and let’s roll.”

The two of you got ready as fast you could and hopped right on his motorcycle speeding through the traffic throughout the city.

You wrapped your arms around San the whole time scared you’ll fall on the motorcycle. San felt so happy whenever you depended on him for anything. “God I love this girl. I know they say I’m too young or going too fast, but I can’t help it.” He mumbled under his breath as he arrived at the school.

“Well well if it isn’t San and Y/N. You better be lucky you didn’t miss the test. We just got done playing Kahoot.” The two of you poured with your heads looking down feeling ashamed as you walked to your seats. The two of you took one last glimpse of each before Mr. Harris handed out the test.

This was it after everything you’ve been through this past month with San and your friends. The hard work was going to determine if you actually made it through or not. Mr. Harris gave you a whisper of encouragement you never heard in a long time except for your dad. “Y/N no matter what happens I’ll always be proud of you. Finish this strong.”

Mr. Harris' words almost moved you to tears as you smiled and nodded your head right back at him. Now you understand why Maria loved him so much he was always passionate about teaching and cared about your well-being.

You grabbed your pencil and your laptop as you started getting to work. The whole time you were nervous and a few questions caused you to slip up, but in the end, you remembered how to do most of the work. San seemed to be holding up just fine so you weren’t too worried about him, Angela would always double-check her work before turning it in and Chris was surprisingly focused the whole time.

As everyone finished their tests Mr. Harris checked everyone’s grades one by one slowly seeing their process.

He stands up taking off his glasses and says. “Class...congratulations on becoming seniors! Everyone has passed summer school. See you in the fall.”

Everyone screamed cheering as the paper was flying and everyone in the classroom cheered. “Yeah, you guys hang out at the carnival!” Chris screamed and everyone followed him out.

Before catching up with everyone you called your stepmom to tell her the good news with Mr. Harris next to you.

“Mom, I finally passed. Dad’s face right now you know he’s probably crying. It was all thanks to Mr. Harris too, he's the best teacher ever.”

You can hear your mom’s voice on the other end as she gets teary-eyed. “Your dad would definitely be so happy that you passed, but also pissed because he never wants you in summer school ever again.” The three of you laugh together as you share the happy news.

“I’m so sorry I doubted you and was super harsh y/n. I love you and just want you to succeed. Your my only banana muffin I got in this world so don’t pull off any dumb crap like this ever again.”

“Yes mom, you know I will. I made a promise to dad after all. I will graduate and stay close to you if it’s the last thing I do. Love you, I'm going to the carnival with my friends.”

Maria makes kissy noises back and says “I love you too. Don’t stay out too late. Matter of fact I’ll meet you there since me and Harris have a date anyways. See you there.” You hang up feeling emotional as you hug Mr. Harris.

Mr. Harris pats you on the back saying “Didn’t I tell you she’s very proud. Now I think you need to catch up with your friends before he leaves without you. I’ll meet you at the carnival.” Mr. Harris leaves the classroom giving you one last smile and heading out.

You walked in the hallway looking all around the school for San, luckily you found him in the science lab where he’s sitting by the window with a sad look on his face.

“San. We’ve gotta meet up with everyone at the carnival. Why are you here by yourself?”

San sighs, crossing his arms.

“There’s no point in celebrating. I tried reaching out to both of my parents to tell them about one of the biggest accomplishments in my life and as usual, they didn’t answer.” You sat right next to him at the window petting his head. “You know what, how dare they? Forget them.

You have a supportive big brother, an amazing group of friends, and the best teacher a school could ever ask for. You have a family right here and we’re proud of you.”

San lifts his head up as he sees your bright smile that always makes him helpless.

“You always know exactly what to say. What would I do without you?”

He links pinkies with you. “I really can’t wait for you to meet my stepmom. She gets on my nerves sometimes and we always tend to bump heads, but we always come right back together. Dad would’ve also loved you. He was always straight to the point and never held back. I loved that confidence he always had.”

“Oh yeah he did get into that accident last year, I’m so sorry about that.”

You shake your head “It’s alright, I’m still holding up just fine. I’m just happy to have you here with me plus I get to be seniors with you and everyone else.” San looks up at you one last time slowly leaning his face close to yours until your noses touch.

“Gosh, I wonder what would happen if I made out with Y/N in the science lab? The janitor would for sure catch us in the act.” You giggle flirting with him back.

“The only thing he would have to worry about cleaning up is the kiss marks that are going to be on your neck.”

“Wow, I didn’t know you were this playful. I love seeing this side of you.”

The two of you finally exchange a short yet sweet kiss in the orange sunset peeking against the window. It was going to last longer until Angela and Chris crashed the party with a loud knock on the door.

“Hurry up Freddy and Daphne the Scooby gang has to pull up at the carnival together. You guys can finish eating each other's faces off in the car. We can’t miss the flight of fear!”

The two of you looked at each other shrugging and walked together hand in hand out the classroom. “Well, I guess we will have to finish this on the carousel.” “Indeed, that sounds more romantic than making out while being surrounded by jars of disinfected frogs in the science lab.”

The two of you catch up with the rest of the seniors of class 2021 as you look forward to your last summer as juniors together. Today was going to be the day where you go all out and live like you're gonna die young.