#In Spiders case they will that is inevitable

[patheticblorbloscholar]

[owosa]

Ex Bishops & Caretakers

Once brought back to life and integrated into the cult, those who were once deities themselves have been reduced to mere mortals condemned to immortality. At their side, a caretaker in charge of keeping them in line, helping with their integration and, perhaps, a punishment in itself.

Hey, now there's the complete collection! I have plans for a comic that includes all of them, so I needed a reference of their looks.

I'll add a bit of info about them below.

**You can find info about Leshy, Heket and Narinder here.

The new additions, Kallamar & Shamura, "The Unwanted".

Kallamar causes a particular disdain in the False Prophet, so going to find him was not a priority until it became inevitable. The confrontation and recruitment of him did not improve that impression, really. He was assigned the clown suit to lower his ego and to work in the refineries. Choosing who would be in charge of him was the easiest, considering that the squid arrived directly to the infirmary.

Shamura is a very special case. There are two reasons why they weren't annihilated once they touch the cult's ground: their lack of memory and their siblings. The False Prophet didn't do much more than give them the golden skull necklace and left the rest to whoever wanted to take charge. It's hard to get a clear idea of what the leader really feels about the spider, but their silence and how they ignore their existence is something the cult tends to share in solidarity.

Camellia was assigned to take care of Leshy as a "guide cat." Prior to this, the False Prophet had had some problems with him since he was a somewhat violent drunk, so in part, this mission was his rehabilitation. Able to confront the worm's aggressiveness and keep his spirits high, they ended up having a good relationship where they were usually seen laughing while tending to the gardens and the harvest. His grave always has fresh flowers.

Mushu was assigned as Heket's interpreter, since she was the only one who was not intimidated by her and could understand her easily. Cordial and friendly, her personality allowed their relationship, although somewhat difficult at first, to end up being harmonious. Something similar to a shadow, the mushroom girl was there at all times to help the frog communicate. Thanks to her work, the cult learned approach the former bishop and future generations were teach how to understand and communicate with her.

Crystal, the head nurse at the time, was in charge of keeping the temperamental former bishop in line, with permission to use force if necessary. Hurt ego and justified fear aside, she was the only one who showed him sympathy apart from his siblings, so it wasn't strange to see Kallamar wandering around the infirmary even when she allowed him some freedom. Crystals decorate the infirmary to this day.

Aracnia was the only volunteer to help Shamura at the time, since despite their siblings' wishes, the ex bishops weren't able care for them all the time due to their own obligations in the cult. The False Prophet accepted his wish for what it was, simply wanting to help someone in need, so they provided him with whatever he wanted for this task. After his death, it's not strange to see some followers and even disciples take care of the spider on their own. The leader just remains silent.

**Info about the Lamb with Narinder here.

+ Bonus because I wanted to have a clear reference of all the clothes they have in game and yeah, I did an edit of the lamb with the closed outfit in game that I could use.

[madschiavelique]

Okay but picture this, Miguel getting jealous cause of another spiderperson flirting with you

Like he is doing a briefing with a lot of spider people and one of them keeps trying to get your attention and miguel gets jealous, sends everyone away and has a heavily make out on his platform in his office🫣

HIHIHI twirling hair kicking feet at this bestie

summary : miguel gets jealous of a random spiderperson flirting with you (not proofread)

content warnings : posessive!miguel, just jealous miguel, no use of Y/N, fem!reader word count : 1,9k

tag list : @fandom-ash

Miguel had invited a good group of spiderpersons who were still fairly new to the society, to bring them up to speed or simply to remind them of the procedures to follow on a mission.

You were there, just to supervise. Having been part of Miguel's elite group of spiders for some time now, you were perfectly familiar with all the criteria and stages of the anomaly hunt.

Nothing more than a quick briefing. The usual team was there, Hobie, Gwen, Pavitr, Peter B, Jess and you. You stood off to the side, leaning against a wall, arms folded as you watched Miguel give his speech a bit farther away.

"Hey, I've never seen you around before, do we know each other ?

Your eyes went to the person who had just spoken to you. It was an umpteenth Peter, blond-haired, not far from your age, and of course new.

Although you didn't appear everywhere all the time, most of the spiders knew what Miguel's group looked like. So you were a little surprised by his remark, but not enough for it to be too striking.

"You might've seen me on his team," you said, pointing with your chin at your boyfriend, who you hoped wasn't terrorising the newcomers too much.

You tried to refocus on Miguel's speech. Your relationship with him was not public; you had agreed that, for the time being, you would prefer to keep it a secret. There were several reasons for this, such as the fact that you might be seen as a spider with more privileges than the others - which wasn't the case - or the fact that you simply wanted to avoid trouble. This lack of information didn't stop Peter from coming back for a chat.

"So... what's your name ?"

You didn't even look at him, simply giving him your name and alias.

"And you're a new Peter," you sighed.

"You never get enough Peters, am I right?" he smiled, "although I'm obviously unique in my own way.

"Unique?" you smiled with a little chuckle, "how?", because Peters looked and acted the same, they were after all Peters, so you wondered how he would stand out.

"Like this," he approached you, tucking his fingers behind your ear and bringing his hand into your field of vision so that you could see a little flower between his fingers.

You gave a little laugh, taking the flower in your hand. It was soft, light and smelled wonderful.

"A Peter magician?" you pouted, shaking your head, "that's progress."

Miguel was going over the formalities of multidimensional cells when his gaze inevitably drifted to you. But he froze, tensing up as his eyes took in the little scene unfolding nearby.

You, against a wall, an ordinary Peter caressing your ear to perform a crummy magic trick and make a flower come out of it. Too close... he thought, he was too close to you. He didn't appreciate the proximity with which he approached you. Of course, the other team-mates in his squad could allow themselves to be close to you, whether you were in their arms or whatever, but for one of the countless Peters here to allow himself to be at your level? That he could not condone.

He saw a small smile forming on your face, his blood boiling. Wasn't he good enough for you? Was it because he didn't give you enough affection that you let any spider approach you? Or was it that he didn't do you enough favours, like performing magic tricks?

But Miguel was so good to you, it was almost impossible to get out of his arms when he hugged you. He gave you everything he could give you, even loving you to the point of giving you the last empanada left in the cafeteria if there was only one left, no matter how much he wanted it, and that's how passionate he was about you.

So maybe... you didn't realise that Peter was flirting with you?

Ah, maybe that was it, maybe you were just oblivious to what the nerd was trying to do?

And the Peter took another step.

That one step was too much.

"Well, you've got most of the information. We're going to cut this meeting short, you can all go." he warned, teeth clenched.

The elite team itself looked surprised as all the other Spiderpersons scattered to leave the room.

"Miguel? Is there something wrong ?" asked Peter B, concerned that perhaps the reason everyone had just been dismissed was because of something he had received from Lyla that was important.

But his eyes were riveted like arrows ready to be shot at the Peter who was still chatting to you.

"I just have to take care of a little problem," his eyebrows were furrowed, jaw tight.

Peter B's eyes drifted back to where his were, letting out a quiet "Oh" before calling the rest of the team and persuading them to come with him to... whatever it was for, as long as the elite were leaving too.

"And so you caught three anomalies in a single mission?" said Peter, absolutely amazed by the feats you were telling him about.

"Yes, it's becoming routine," you confirmed.

You noticed the room beginning to empty, and deduced that the meeting must have ended.

"I'm so happy that there are Spiderwomen around, and as competent as you are," continued Peter, chatting to you, "especially when I see that they're as beautiful as you are."

"That's very kind of you," you say simply, "the meeting's just finished, I think you'd better leave before you get your knuckles rapped."

Advice from someone with a very strict boyfriend on organisation, you thought.

"Could we meet again? How about the cafeteria?" he offered.

"That's very nice of you to suggest, but-" you bit the inside of your cheek as he cut you off.

"Oh, or maybe the park? I hear there's an ice-cream parlour that sells ice-creams in our likeness." he laughed softly.

"Would you look at that."

You swallow, his voice was strained and falsely interested, your eyes landing on Miguel who'd just arrived near you.

It's almost comical how tall Miguel was compared to him, towering over him in both mass and size to the point where he could crush him like a tin can.

"Oh Miguel O'Hara-" greeted Peter as if nothing had happened.

"I've never seen you here before," Miguel remarked, a vicious flash in his eyes.

He intended to take great pleasure in showing how much better he was than Peter, and above all in making sure he understood that you weren't interested in his advances.

"Oh yes sir, I'm Peter," he said.

"How original," said Miguel in a honeyed, falsely curious tone, glancing at you.

"The Peters must be the best for there to be so many of them," laughed Peter, and you felt like pinching the bridge of your nose.

"I see them more as a weed that hangs around," he said, looking into poor Peter's eyes, Miguel looming over him.

"Well, I think you should join the other Spiderpersons," you simply breathed with a polite smile.

"Yeah um," he swallowed, lowering his eyes from Miguel's to meet yours, he was appalled. "I'll see you sometime maybe ?"

"Never," Miguel decided.

Peter took a few steps backwards, unable to say anything else, and headed for the exit.

"You look upset, what's wrong?" you asked as Miguel headed for the control platform.

"I see you made a new friend?" asked Miguel, his eyes locking onto you with a dark gleam as he stepped onto the platform.

"Not really," you replied, your voice a little smaller as you in turn joined him on it, coming to sit on one of the desks.

"What did he want?" he asked, his tone insistent as he looked at you, standing and taking a step forward.

"Nothing special, he wanted to get acquainted," you said softly as he took a step forward, his eyes gleaming strangely.

"Just getting to know each other?" he said, arriving just in front of you and placing his two hands on either side of your thighs, tilting his head to the side, questioningly. "You're naive if you think he just wants to be your friend."

His face was close to yours, his whole body almost covering you, leaving you unable to move or get away. Your eyes locked with his a little more, and you understood, a small smile forming on your lips.

You put your hand on his cheek, and he pressed against your touch.

"Do I detect some jealousy there?"

He sighed, his jaw contracting slightly, his tongue creating a tent in his cheek. You raised an eyebrow - was Miguel jealous?

His hand came to brush against your thigh, his fingers moving up until they settled and gripped you, pulling you towards him with this simple grip until your noses touched.

"I didn't like very much how he was so close to you," he admitted, his lips brushing yours.

He came to kiss you, demanding, his lips pressing almost brutally against yours as his other hand came to rest on the small of your back, the latter pressing to bring you closer to him.

You tried to respond to his kiss, his lips and jaw so strong that you felt he was going to engulf you.

He came and kissed your neck, a small sigh of comfort coming from between your lips, which were puffed out and moistened by his kiss.

"You know," you said softly as your fingers ran through his hair, "he never stood a chance against... you right ?"

The statement made his ego swell, as if a huge weight had just been lifted from his shoulders and he felt so light. His lips tenderly kissed your neck, and you felt it.

He sucked at your skin, marking it delicately. He needed, needed the others to know that you had someone. And although you both wanted what you had to be private, he had a terrible desire for people to know that you belonged to him, and not just anyone. He came back to your lips.

"Say that you're mine."

He had to hear it, from your lips that were full of him. You moistened them with a flick of your tongue, his eyes attentive, dark.

"I'm yours," you affirmed softly.

He came to kiss you again, pulling away from your lips to let his fall on your cheek.

"Make me believe it," he said, drunk on your skin. "Say that again."

His kisses covered your skin, wanting to coat it entirely with his lips so that he didn't miss any part of it.

"I'm yours," you whispered, drowning in his adoration as your fingers caressed his cheek.

"Again," he whispered as his lips kissed your eyelid.

"I'm yours," you whispered, your other hand coming around his chest to bring him closer to you.

"Again..." his voice was barely audible, kissing the tip of your nose.

Of course you were his, everything already belonged to him. Did he want your heart? It was full of him. Did he want your thoughts? He had replaced every one of your ideas. Did he want all of you? He would only have a body and a soul that was already attached to him.

When his lips returned to yours, it was you who kissed him, and he melted under the sensation of your lips on his.

"I'm yours."

Your eyes gazed at each other, each living in the other, and he wrapped his arms around you, pressing you hard against him, closing his eyes to enjoy the moment.

He wouldn't let any weeds near his flower.

[greekceltic]

Hi, hello, I'm just dropping in to say I love Clickbait, and am very grateful you've chosen to share her with us. I know as a spider she will inevitably not be with us long, but sometimes those tiny blips in our lives can contain so much meaning and heart.

Anyway, I felt compelled to whip up a little doodle of her!

(Spider warning in the form of art ahead, in case people see this.)

AW! I adore this haha

I am very fond of Clickbait. I recently learned changing up your workspace can help manage stress. Having something to watch that isn't depending on me is a welcome distraction and I'm glad other people like her too.

[sapphire-writes]

Chapter 2: Curiosity Killed The Cat

main masterlist || series masterlist || previous chapter || next chapter

summary ~ You begin to adapt to the unusual events of Harrenhal and your mysterious host. An unexpected guest arrives.

warnings below the cut for your convenience

warnings ~ spooky ghostly stuff, spiders

note: and so begins our spooky adventure! I hope you enjoy it!

banner made by the fantastic @ewanmitchellcrumbs, ilysm ange!

You lay in bed, tossing and turning for several hours waiting for another scream to inevitably pierce through the now silent halls of Harrenhal house. 

Your eyes are too heavy, and you drift into a dreamless sleep. The belly full of tea must have helped soothe your nerves. Or perhaps it was more your time spent with the stoic head of the house. 

It is Maelor’s cry that wakes you the following morning, rather than his mother’s, through the baby monitor on your nightstand. You hear his small gurgles as he wakes, hungry for his morning bottle. Grabbing the monitor, you jump out of bed to head toward the nursery. 

As you walk down the hallway, the door opens and Jaehaera stands dressed in a pink dress, her hair done in two braids down the side of her head. 

“Beat you!” she says, grinning like the Cheshire cat. 

“How’d you get ready so quickly?” you comment, smile slightly faltering, “And how did you do your h--”

“Come on Miss Gevie, breakfast is my favorite meal of the day!” she sings, brushing past you and towards the hallway.

“Jaeha--- um--- I have to get Maelor!” you call, as she disappears around the corner her braids swinging behind her, “Okay….you head down!”

The day starts with a simple breakfast of oatmeal and eggs--Jaehaera is first to inform you that the only way to eat eggs is sunny side up. Aemond joins you but only for a cup of coffee. You notice he prefers it black. He doesn’t speak to you, listening intently to Jaehaera as she chatters away. Then Jaehaera begins her morning lessons when her tutor arrives promptly at nine. A kind older woman who awards you a tight smile when she introduces herself.

You hold Maelor against your hip as he babbles, walking through the main foyer and toward the library. Several workers have arrived, and you’ve seen Aemond directing them to different areas of the house throughout the morning. He’s present in the library, sitting at the oak desk when you enter.  

“Sleep well?” he asks, as he notices you enter the library. His eye flickers to Maelor in your arms. 

Rising from his seat, he closes a folder of papers before rounding the side of the desk. He walks closer to you, lifting his hand toward Maelor. The baby grabs Aemond’s forefinger with his pudgy fist.

“As well as I could. I was nervous during the night,” you admit, cheeks warming, “Just in case anything happened again.”

Aemond hums, still watching Maelor who holds his finger hostage. The baby brings it to his mouth, gnawing on it with his gums. 

“He’s teething,” Aemond comments, “Hopefully that won’t cause more late-night disturbances.”

“It’s alright. I know what I signed up for,” you assure him, as he pulls his hand away from Maelor, patting the baby on the head. 

“I’m afraid you’ll get more than you bargained for,” he says, eyes meeting yours, “This is…a lot.”

Your eyes search his face, trying to decipher the emotions he hides. Trying to find some cracks in the armor he wears during the day. You saw some last night, in the kitchen. The walls came down, if only for a moment.

“You need help,” you tell him, “You can’t manage this all on your own. The kids, Helaena, the house…I’m here to help.”

“The children,” he clarifies, “You’re here to help the children.”

“And you,” you offer, “I mean…if I can be of help with anything I’m happy to do so.”

Let me help you, you silently beg. Someone has to.

Aemond hums once more, “You’re very kind, Miss Y/L/N.”

“Just doing my job,” you assure him, but your face continues to warm at his compliment. 

You hold each other’s gaze for several moments before Aemond finally looks away. 

“I have some work to do,” he tells you, and you take it as a sign to leave him be. 

“Maelor is about ready for a nap,” you tell him, turning on your heel to go.

You shut the door behind you, neither speaking again.

“I’ll be gone for a few days,” Aemond tells you later in the week during one of your late-night chats. 

A cup of tea at midnight has become somewhat of a tradition for both of you. Helaena wakes nearly every night. It's always the same. Screaming for the son she lost. The green and purple cups are always waiting for you in the cabinet by the stove for your inevitable journey into the kitchen. 

“Just tying up some loose ends in King’s Landing,” he assures you, “Helaena should be alright. I’ve spoken with her doctor about increasing her nighttime medication.”

“And if she isn’t?” you ask, unable to hide your nervousness at the thought of him leaving.

Aemond watches you for a moment, humming softly to himself. It does little to soothe your nerves.

Things go smoother than expected while Aemond is away. You fall into a gentle routine with Jaehaera and Maelor. 

While Jaehaera is in her lessons you bring Maelor to Helaena. As Aemond had prepared you, Helaena refuses to hold him. She barely even looks at him. Her eyes instead are trained on your face, reading your microexpressions like the pages of a book. You and Helaena don’t talk much during these visits, though you attempt to engage her in conversation.

She always joins you for lunch, after you put Maelor down for his afternoon nap. Jaehaera comes fresh from High Valyrian and chats with her mother in their native tongue. 

Then it’s time for Jaehaera’s afternoon lessons and you get some time for yourself as Helaena returns to her room like a bird returning to its cage. 

Usually, you journey to the library, browsing through the collection of novels and trying not to snoop. Though you must admit, in an old house like this it's hard not to. 

Curiosity killed the cat.

Advice you should probably heed. You glance at a desk in the library strewn with papers. Aemond has a private office, he’d told you as much when you arrived. Still, your fingers skim the papers, and you pick up a manila folder examining its contents. 

Old documents, withered and yellowed nearly disintegrating from age. You can barely read the cursive ledger on the page. Squinting, you are able to make out the word Strong.

Satisfaction brought it back.

A loud thump causes you to drop the folder in surprise, sending pages scattering to the floor. 

“Shit,” you curse to yourself, dropping to your knees and picking up the pages, putting them back where they belong. 

You hurry over to the window, looking outside. A red Corvette is parked, its driver missing. The noise must have been the car door slamming shut. Dusting off your knees you hurry out of the library closing the door behind you. You quicken your pace down the hall and front steps as voices echo from the kitchen.

A man stands in front of the sink clad in a three-piece suit, holding his cell phone to his ear.

“Tell Corlys…dammit, I can’t hear you,” he snaps, holding his phone in front of him, “Hello?”

The call clearly drops and he sighs, “Bloody service.”

You clear your throat, alerting him of your presence. He turns slowly, still looking at his phone as though he couldn’t be bothered with you being there at all. A lock of silver hair falls into his eyes as he leans against the counter. A ring on his hand catches the light. Like you’d need to see the Targaryen sigil stamped on the back. You knew he was a relative the moment you saw him.

Targaryens don’t camouflage well. 

“Just a moment,” he comments, glancing up at you from his phone. He does a double-take, straightening up and slipping his phone into his back pocket, “Hello.”

“Sorry…I wasn’t expecting anyone,” you tell him, watching the corner of his mouth tick upwards in a smirk. 

Aemond does that too.

“And I wasn’t expecting a beautiful woman to greet me,” the stranger says, “So I suppose we’re both surprised.”

Warmth floods through you at his flirtatious tone. He’s older--much older-- and an air of confidence encircles him like a veil of smoke.

“Daemon,” he introduces, extending his hand for you to shake, “And you must be the au pair.” 

You place your hand in his, and he grasps it firmly. His palm is rough and warm; much larger than your own. Your lips part, you’re sure you haven’t taken a breath since he’s looked at you.

“Mhmm,” you answer, telling him your name.

Daemon releases your hand, shaking his head slightly as he chuckles to himself. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end.

“Something funny?” you ask, trying to keep the annoyance from your tone.

“No, nothing. I’ve found au pairs to be particularly helpful,” he comments, laughing under his breath as though he’d told a joke, “It just surprises me, is all.”

“Why is it surprising?”

“Aemond’s not usually the sort,” Daemon says, not clarifying any further. 

You understand what he is implying, your cheeks growing hotter.

“Aemond and I have a strictly professional relationship,” you tell him, causing him to chuckle more.

“I’m sure you do. Aemond does value his professional relationships, doesn’t he?” Daemon says with his smirk growing, “All this talk of my nephew and I’ve yet to see the man. Where is he?”

“He’s not here.”

Daemon’s eyebrows lift toward his hairline.

“Not here?”

“He’s away on business. Won’t be back for a few days.”

“And he left you, all alone?” Daemon asks, taking a step closer to you. He reaches up, brushing a stray strand of hair behind your ear. You can’t suppress the shiver that rolls through you. 

“I can take care of myself,” you insist. Daemon’s scent floods your senses; teakwood, smoke, cinnamon. Intoxicating; it makes your head spin. 

“I’m sure you can. My nephew wouldn’t have hired you if he had any doubts,” Daemon murmurs, dropping his hand, “It’s not the harmless nanny he needs to worry about.”

“What do you mean?”

Daemon watches you like a cat toying with a mouse. His lip curls slightly, enjoying your discomfort. 

“Are you aware of the history of this house?” Daemon asks.

“Yes,” you tell him.

“Well, there you have it,” Daemon says, walking by you, “Have Aemond call me when he’s returned.”

You can hear his steps echoing down the hall, followed by the slamming of a car door. You stand in the kitchen for several moments, trying to catch your bearings when Jaehaera runs in.

“Who was that?” she asks, throwing her arms around your waist. 

“Just…nothing,” you assure her, stroking her hair, “How were your lessons?”

As Jaehaera tells you about her day, you focus on calming your racing heartbeat. You can’t help but linger on what Daemon had said.

What exactly was he worried about?

Helaena Targaryen loves arachnids. 

This becomes apparent when a spider scurries across the floral picnic blanket you’d laid out for Jaehaera. 

Maelor sits with his thumb in his mouth rocking back and forth as though a gentle breeze may knock him onto his back. Sitting up is quite new to him. The afternoon had been going quite well before the eight-legged monster descended on the tea party.  

“Miss Gevie! Miss Gevie!” Jaehaera screeches, launching herself off of the blanket and into your arms. Her girlish scream echoes through the backyard and she trembles against you. 

The arachnid freezes at her movements, eight legs tensed and ready. Maelor stares at his sister, violet eyes wide before they drop to the blanket. Helaena is seated in a chair a few feet away, the large sun hat she wears partially obscuring her face. 

“The fresh air does her good,” Aemond had told you before he left.

Helaena dives off of her chair, knees crashing into the grass beside the picnic blanket. You comfort Jaehaera as Helaena dips her torso lower against the blanket letting her hand dance above the spider. She presses her cheek into the blanket as the spider curiously lifts two legs up toward her dancing fingers. 

“Don’t be afraid,” she murmurs, touching the tips of her fingers to the spider's outstretched legs. She stays like that for a moment, a small smile appearing on her face. 

Maelor watches his mother, his thumb falling from his mouth. 

“Kill it!” Jaehaera demands as her mother scoops the creature into her hand. 

Helaena rolls onto her back, the rim of her hat getting crushed beneath her. Her knees are stained green. Maelor claps his pudgy hands together letting out a gleeful squawk. 

“Why?” Helaena asked, looking at the creature in her palm with the fondness she no longer gives her children, “For simply being here?”

“He’s ugly and I hate him,” Jaehaera insists, “Make her kill it, please.”

Helaena only hums, letting the spider climb down her arm. She sounds like Aemond when she does that. Warmth bleeds down your cheeks and onto your neck. You’d been missing him. The nights have been rather empty without your late-night chats.

Helaena turns on her side, ignoring her daughter’s pleas and releasing the spider into the grass. Once free, it takes off lost from sight almost instantly. 

“There,” Helaena says happily, “No need for violence, byka jorrāelagon.”

“Kepus would’ve killed it,” Jaehaera says, with her lower lip jutted outwards in a pout. 

There is a shift in the energy between mother and daughter.

“Why don’t you ask him then?” Helaena says, rolling onto her back once more and closing her eyes. 

“Kepus!” Jaehaera says, pushing away from your arms and running toward the house. You watch her run, following her gaze up the stone steps until you meet Aemond’s eyes. 

He’s back.

She throws herself into Aemond’s arms much like she did your own, and he reaches down, scooping her up in his arms and holding her against his waist. There’s a swooping feeling in your stomach as he approaches, the heat returning to your cheeks. 

“How are my girls?” Aemond asks as he moves closer. 

You move to the other side of the blanket, scooping Maelor in your arms as he begins to bang his fists on Helaena’s hat.

“We’re having a tea party,” Jaehara tells him, “Muña saved a spider. I said she should kill it.” 

Aemond chuckles softly at her pointed tone. 

“Your mother would never,” he says, setting her down on the blanket, “And you?”

You glance up at him, surprised he addressed you, “Me?”

Aemond nods, holding your gaze, “How are you?”

You can hear the blood rushing in your ears as he continues to stare, piercing gaze never leaving your face. 

My girls.

“I’m well,” you answer.

Aemond joins you as you sit back on the blanket, the spider no longer disturbing your peace. Jaehaera dotes on him, she loves her uncle dearly you can tell. You return Maelor to the bassinet as his eyelids begin to droop, rocking it side to side with your hand as he begins to drift off to sleep. 

Jaehaera places a saucer on Helaena’s stomach before balancing a teacup on top of it. Helaena barely raises a brow as Jaehaera wedges a lemon cake onto the plate as well. Though she doesn’t thank her daughter, she brings a hand to the corner of the cake, tearing off a piece and placing it in her mouth.

Aemond sits straight up, balancing a teacup on his knee as Jaehaera stands behind him, combing her fingers through his long, platinum hair and twisting small braids throughout. You hadn’t realized how long he kept it, it’s usually in a bun when you see him, but now silver waves cascade down his shoulders to the middle of his back.

“We should head inside,” Aemond mutters, “The clouds are gathering.”

“A storm is coming tomorrow,” Helaena murmurs.

“How’d you know?” you ask and Helaena’s mouth ticks upwards. All Targaryens seem to have the same smirk.

“She always knows,” Aemond says, smiling softly as his elder sister.

In sleep, someone speaks to you. Whispers in your ear, breath hot like flames licking against your flesh words you do not understand. 

A scream pierces through the night and you awake with a start. An ache begins behind your eyes and you press the heel of your palm against your forehead. You catch your bearing, sitting up and blinking as your eyes adjust to the darkness. Realization washes over you.

Helaena.

She’d been taking a second dose of her sleeping medication ever since Aemond spoke with her psychiatrist. Had she missed a dose this evening? You quickly rise from your bed, not bothering to grab your robe and flinging open your door. 

The hallway is dark, and no moonlight spilling through the windows tonight. You reach out, holding onto the wall as a guide as you move further down the hallway. 

A shuffling noise behind you makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. Your breath hitches and you turn around, staring into the dark behind you. You can’t see anything, just pitch black. You should’ve left a light on in your room, something to anchor you. Your hands begin to tingle as adrenaline speeds the beating of your heart. 

There’s nothing but darkness, you assure yourself, the dark can’t hurt you.

But you can’t shake the feeling that as you look down the hallway, someone….or something…is looking back.

You release a shaky breath, turning back around. Something moves toward you, this time you’re certain. And suddenly a hand covers your mouth blocking the scream that rises in your throat and slamming you into the wall. It's not too hard, just enough for your shoulder blades to make a solid thump against the wood. 

Aemond catches your fist in his opposite hand as you attempt to strike him, pushing your wrist back against the wall above your head. Your eyes widen when you realize it's him, cheeks blazing with rage and embarrassment, your body sagging with relief. 

His hand remains on your mouth, though for a moment you’re sure it’s your scream tearing through the halls. Your stomach drops at the agonized wail and you squeeze your eyes shut. Aemond’s hand slides down until your chin rests in the space between his thumb and forefinger. His fingers are pressed so tightly against your throat you’re sure he must be able to feel your fluttering pulse. 

“Hela--,” you begin to speak but are cut off by the return of his hand over your mouth. 

“Shhh,” Aemond insists, as your eyebrows crease with confusion.

You mumble incoherently against his palm, lips pressing against the calloused flesh. Aemond presses closer, his tall slender frame towering over you. You cease trying to talk, your thoughts muddled as the warmth of his body presses against you. Aemond dips his head so his lips rest against the shell of your ear. 

“That’s not Helaena.”

It would be intimate, sensual even, if it weren’t for the words he spoke in that low whisper. A feeling of dread washes over you like a bucket of ice water. 

“Shh,” he says once more, his lips grazing your ear, “Close your eyes. Stay very, very still.”

You don’t dare move, you don’t dare speak; you simply do as you’re told, squeezing your eyes shut. Trembling against him your fingers dig into his arm while the other remains trapped in his grasp over your head. Fear burns in your belly, so hot it's as though someone is stoking a fire right in front of you.

Aemond presses closer, your breasts press against the hard planes of his chest, nipples hardening at the stimulation through the thin material of your tank top. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so frightened. Your heart is beating like a rabbit’s foot, and you try to listen to the sound of Aemond’s breathing in your ear as some way of grounding yourself. 

A groan echoes from down the hall. 

Your grip on him tightens.

“It’s alright,” Aemond murmurs, his voice barely audible, “We’ll just let them pass.”

Your breathing stops.

Let them? Let what? Let who?

The heat intensifies around you, colors bursting behind your eyelids as though someone is shining a light on the pair of you, though you don’t dare open your eyes. You cling to Aemond’s command like a life raft despite your morbid curiosity. 

You don’t know how long you stay like that before the light begins to fade, the warmth leached from your skin as whatever passed you moved on. The hall is silent, your ears are ringing and all you can hear is each shaky inhalation of your breath. It’s not enough. It feels like all the air has been sucked from the hall like you’ll never breathe again.

“Y/N.”

What was that?

“Open your eyes.”

His voice. Aemond’s voice. The only thing that makes sense.

You open your eyes.

The hall is dark and you blink, adjusting. Aemond releases your hand and your arm falls, slightly sore and tingling with pins and needles from being held above your head for so long. He uncovers your mouth as well, taking a step back.

“Are you alright?” he asks, the concern evident in his voice. 

You don’t answer, frozen. Aemond cups both of your cheeks in his hands, thumbs smoothing away tears that fall. You hadn’t realized you’d been crying. Aemond’s brows knit together and you bring your hands to his wrists. 

“What was that?” you whisper, voice hoarse.

Aemond’s expression is pained. 

“There are things I haven’t told you about Harrenhal,” he says softly, releasing your face.

“What kind of things?”

“Unpleasant ones,” he continues.

You hold his gaze. If there was ever a chance to run from the manor screaming, this was it. Aemond watches you as though he expects you to run, his hands clenched into fists at his side. You know him already, know that if you chose to leave he wouldn’t follow you. He’s used to doing things on his own. It’s all he’s ever known.

It’s your choice.

Aemond lifts his eyes to meet yours as you reach for his hand. His fingers release automatically at your touch and you weave them through your own, holding tightly, anchoring yourself to him.

“Let’s get some tea then,” you tell him, “I want to know everything.”

note: hope you enjoyed this chapter! as always, comments, likes, and reblogs are appreciated but never expected (though you will receive a forehead kiss from me if you do any of them).

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[myhaikyuuacademia]

Totally Fake | Ant Vaughn x reader (Heartbreak High) ||

This is officially a series haha, trying to make it slowburn-ish but let's see if i can hold myself back

Fake dating, fem!reader

@foxxyhun

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Thankfully you had managed to get Ant’s number by Friday, not so thankfully you spent all day chatting with him about stupid, irrelevant stuff and Not about what your gameplan was going to be. And if, IF, you were actually going to the party later this evening, he’d probably be too wasted to talk about it anyway.  Which means SLUTS was the last chance you had with him still sober and not hungover. Except you had no idea how to go about it, especially without drawing the attention of your friends who had been watching you like hawks all week. You were the first one in the classroom, anxiously ripping your notebook paper into tiny shreds while thinking about all the logistics. You didn’t get very far when you sensed someone sitting down next to you. “What did the poor paper do to deserve that?” Ant asked amusedly. “Wrong place, wrong time.” You grimaced and shrugged, immediately stopping and throwing all the paper shreds into your pencil case. “Oh no, don’t stop because of me, I’m sure it deserved it.” He joked before settling in his seat. “You don’t wanna sit next to your friends?” You asked, with a nod to the table they usually sat at. “Nah, I’d rather sit with my girlfriend.” He said casually. You didn’t feel very casual as you choked on your spit. God how embarrassing. It took you a minute to calm down, Ant worriedly asking if you were okay, and offering you some of his water, which you declined with a hand gesture as you were starting to calm down.  “Sorry, sorry, I’m fine.” You coughed out. “Actually, that’s what I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.” He looked at you, almost disappointed, “You’re backing out?” He assumed. “What? No!” You hurried to say. “I wanted to talk about lining up our stories and everything, ground rules and stuff, you know?” Relief flooded his face, “Ah, okay gotcha!” He seemed much happier. The class was slowly filling up and you were dreading the moment your friends would enter. “Well I already told pretty much everyone that you’re my girlfriend.” He added, catching you completely offguard as you watched the doorway waiting for the inevitable arrival of your friends. “Oh.” Surprised you turned your head to look at him. “Okay.” You added after a second. “What about your mom?”

“Nah, not her yet. But like, Spider and Dusty.” He clarified. Your face felt warm. “Did you tell them it was fake too?” You leaned in closer to whisper it, now that the class was almost full. “No.” He grinned at you conspiringly. You grinned back at him, his answer, and the way he looked at you, making your whole body tingle. “Oh. My. God.” Darrens dramatic voice came from opposite the table. “You two totally ARE together.” Amerie beside them looked satisfied with herself, while Quinni stimmed excitedly, jumping up and down and clapping her hands. They sat down at your table while Ant put an arm around your shoulder, “Yeah, so what?” He asked. Your face was burning, as was the parts where his arm touched you. Darrens mouth wide agape, while Quinni looked just as excited as before. “Oh my god, y/n, that’s so cute!! Congrats!” She said, happily, but after a second she looked a little less happy and a little more confused. Disappointed, even. “But why didn’t you tell us?” She asked. “Thrill of a secret relationship I bet.” Amerie added, feeling much cooler than she actually was. “But really, him?” Darren pointed at Ant. Wow rude. Your brows furrowed and you leaned into the boy next to you a little more without noticing. “What do you mean? You don’t think he's cute?” Trying to paddle back Darren stuttered out something a long the lines of, “No, that’s not what I mean, I just, I didn’t think he was your type is all.” “well, to be fair, we never knew what her type was.” Quinni added. “She never told us who she was crushing on, or what she liked in a guy, or girl.” You nodded, she was telling the truth, you usually kept things like that to yourself. “Well, I for one, am happy for you two, though I totally didn’t get any vibes when I was asking for a slap band earlier this week.” Amerie said, crossing her arms. She sounded accusing, like she was about to interrogate the two of you, when thankfully Miss Obah asked everyone to pay attention and started class. Ant didn’t take his arm off your shoulder the whole time.

When he finally did, after class ended, you couldn’t suppress your pout. Logically, you understood it was so both of you could pack your things, but this whole thing didn’t feel very logical, no matter how hard you tried. So instead, once both of you had finished, you grabbed his hand and threaded your fingers with his. Still slightly pouting. He looked down at you and laughed, “What now?” “I think she’s upset you took your arm off of her.” Darren, eagle-eyed gossip lover they are, supplied. “Oh, really?” Ant seemed surprised and looked at you for confirmation. “Yeah, kinda.” You mumbled embarrassed, avoiding his gaze. He chuckled before leaning in close and whispering in your ear. “I’ll touch you all you want at the party later.” Your face was beet red. “Ant!” You whisper shouted, scandalized and wide-eyed. He just tugged you along with him, towards the school exit. “They’re so cute together.” You overheard Quinni say to Amerie and Darren behind you. “Something’s fishy.” Both of them replied in unison. You ignored it, keeping going with Ant. “What now?” You asked once outside the school gate, still holding his hand. Refusing to be the one to let go, actually. “Well, I have some time before the party starts, which, you totally are going to right?” He asked in such a way that you felt a no would break his heart, so you just nodded. How come you are immune to peer-pressure when it was your friends but not when it was the guy you’ve been fake-dating for less than a week. “Great! Well, wanna hang out until then?” You smiled. “Sure!! Oh, we can talk about the logistics of it all, like when did we even start dating and what church do I go to? Or is that even something that’s important to your mother?” You dragged him along, totally rambling at this point about all the different things you had to decide on for the story to be foolproof. When you turned to look at him, waiting for him to say something, you noticed the way he was smiling at you. “Oh, what? Am I overthinking?” You questioned out loud. “No, no, it’s fine. I just don’t think I’ve ever heard you talk that much.” He still looked at you in a way you had trouble deciphering. “Oh. Well, I guess I don’t talk a lot. Usually. But also we haven’t really spoken before this week so…” You trailed off. “Hmmh, yeah, but we’ve been in the same year for a while now.” He said, before turning back to look at the way ahead. “You usually only talk when spoken to.” Oh. He had noticed that? He had noticed you? Before you ever talked to him? “Oh, um. I guess that’s right.” You squeezed his hand subconsciously. “I like hearing you talk.” He squeezed your hand back. “Plus, you’re so smart, I wouldn’t have thought about half of the things you mentioned. Maybe we should write it all down.” You nodded. “Yeah, good idea.”

“Woah, your room is awesome.”  Ant was currently walking through your room looking at all the little trinkets that were… everywhere frankly. Picking them up and putting them down again. “Haha, thanks.” You sat on the edge of your bed, not knowing what to do with yourself as you watched him. “Woah, you like Marvel?” He seemed genuinely surprised. “Uh yeah, I love it.” You laughed. He put the action figure down and turned around, very serious all of a sudden. “This calls for a movie night.” He explained. You grinned. “Sure, I’m always up for a movie.. But let’s talk business first.” You scooched to the side and patted the spot next to you. He groaned dramatically and walked over before sitting down. “Why does this feel like homework all of a sudden.” Your face scrunched up at that. “Sorry. But this is just so our story doesn’t fall apart.” He turned to look at you, head hanging to the side. “You really think it’s necessary?” “Well. Yeah.” You reply. “What if your mom asks us how we met, our what our first date was, and we say different things. Better to be prepared.” He pouts playfully, “Well, fine I guess.” In the end you agree on simple things, you met at school, duh, and worked a project together, after which you became friends, before Ant asked you on a date to the diner, and then a second date to the movies, before asking you to be his girlfriend. Easy enough. He said it was okay not to go to church as long as you were still acting Christian enough in front of his mom. Whatever that means. The reason he was only introducing you now was because you could disprove what was written on the map. You were scared of meeting his parents, so it had taken you a while to gather the courage, and he wanted to be sure before bringing a girlfriend home. Easy. Plausible. Good story. Boring, but believable. In the end you wrote it all down, twice, one copy for you and one for him, just in case you needed it. “Can we finally watch a movie?” He whined as you gave him his paper. “I don’t know, the party is soon, and I don’t know about you, but I definitely have to get ready. You think we can manage to squeeze a movie in?” He nodded, completely convinced. “How long can it take to get ready.” Not believing this was an issue. “Oh buddy…If only you knew.” You patted his shoulder before getting your remote and turning on the tv. It was difficult, at first, to concentrate on the movie, when he was so close and warm, shoulder against shoulder, and legs touching. Your body felt on fire. After a while he wrapped his arm around you too, pulling you ever so slightly closer, if that was even possible.

“Oh! I love this part.” He pointed towards the screen with the hand not resting on your hip. “What? No way, that’s my favorite part.” You looked up at him excitedly. “No way!” He turned to look at you too. You nodded emphatically. “You’re so cool.” He gave you a squeeze. He turned back towards the screen, and you did too, after staring at him for a little while longer. In the end, he ended up staying, watching you get ready, since there was no time for him to go home before Dusty’s band performed. “Whoa, wait, what is that?” You were about to put on your fake lashes, putting glue on the strip when Ant’s head popped up next to you, dangerously close to poking your lash with his finger. “My fake lashes.” You explained. “Your lashes are fake?” He turned to you, staring intensely into your eyes, inspecting your lashes. “No, well yes, sometimes. I have real lashes. The one you’re looking at right now.” You laughed. “But sometimes I put on fake lashes, which looks kinda-“ You  leaned towards the mirror to put your lashes on. “like this.” You said, leaning back to show him. “Oh my god that’s crazy.” He breathed out, totally stunned, which made you laugh even harder. After that he stayed next to you, watching you apply your makeup closely. “Hmmm..” You pursed your lips as you put the last thing in place. “I think that’s it.” You concluded.  Before you could even turn to the side to face him, his voice piped up as he asked: “Can you put some on me?” The request came unexpectedly, but you happily obliged. You opted for some chrome glimmery dark blue green ish, you didn’t really know how to describe it, glitter shadow to put on top of his eyelids. Dabbing it in softly, he leaned in closely and you could feel his breath on your skin. “Okay, try opening your eyes.” You requested softly, holding his chin in your hand and looking at him intensely, assessing your work. He opened his eyes hesitantly. Chewing on your lip you came to the conclusion that this look needed some black liner, so you added a line underneath his eyes on his waterline, dragging it out into a straight “wing”. A difficult job, with this being a sensitive area and Ant not used to having stuff put this close to his eyes. He kept squirming and blinking, but eventually you got the job done to your satisfaction. “This looks sick.” You say as you remove your hands from his face and lean back. Giving him time to admire himself in your mirror, you put away your brushes and powders and liners. “You want to do something to your hair too?” He turned to look at you at that. “Kinda.” You look on your phone to check the time, before grimacing. “Sorry, I don’t think we have time. Actually we really need to go if we wanna make it in time.” You stand up and hold your hand out to him, pulling him up from where he was sitting. Your friends were definitely going to give you shit about barely reaching out to them later.

[mayisgoingnuts]

If you’re open to fic prompts: maybe Angel finding out Husk is ticklish when he helps him preen his wings? Currently on HuskerDust brain rot :’)

A/N: It's been a long time since I've written anything like a fic so I'm sorry if it come out bad 💔💔

HOPE YOU ENJOY!!

PS: Reblogs and comments motivate writers; not forcing but just in case you're willing to support us :] /gen

————————————————————————

"Not that ticklish"

Ler!AngelDust, Lee!Husk

Warnings: Swearing, suggestive jokes, Huskerdust

————————————————————————

Husk had a thing for his demon body and he's 100% aware of that. He ignored it as much as possible, trying to live like if he's still fully human with just a few changes, but with time he realized that perhaps... it was inevitable. At some point he had to do things that people weren't supposed to do, such as brush his fur or take care of his wings.

However, nowadays at the hotel, Husk avoided doing any of those since he's not alone like he used to be. The guy REALLY refused to be caught doing any of those embarassing things (they are for him atleast), and with people like Angel Dust in this place, he would not be left alone. Not like peace was an option at the first place, but it would get worse.

One week with doing basic hygiene only. Brushing his teeth, taking baths, brushing the top of his head, maybe cleaning his ears too. Nothing else.

At some point the consequences would come, and for his unluck, his fur was the first of them. Just using his hand wasn't really enough to keep it in place; the obvious consequence, yet a big defeat for Husk. Well, if one humiliation was about to come, doing the rest wouldn't really change anything.

"Whiskers~" Angel Dust called, approaching the counter without even looking as he sits. "Can you give some attention for the little me while everyone is busy?" But, as he opened his eyes, nobody was there.

"Oh, that's new." The spider spoke to himself, letting out a sigh of disappointment as he get off his seat.

His smirk disappeared, finally relaxing his face and revealing the honest expression of his: tiredness. Everything that Angel wanted right now was to distract himself, so the sigh had way more than disappointment.

...but his sadness did not last.

"FUCKING BULLSHIT!"

Was the only thing he heard from upstairs, immediately recognizing the cat's voice. Angel would be lying if he said it didn't worry him, which was the same reason why he walked after Husk right away.

And also the reason why there was no knocks before a giant spider basically kicked the door open.

It made Husk jump right away, almost falling on his feet. "What the... what the hell? What was that for?!"

Aaand literally nothing is happening. A bit disappointing, but at the same time relieving.

Maybe nobody died, but something was different. Angel looked at him up and down with a raised eyebrow, silent.

One of Husk's wings was open, it seemed cleaner than the other and a few feathers were on the floor.

An awkward silence dominated the room for some good seconds until Angel finally interrupted it.

"You clean your wings??"

Husk pinched his nose almost instantely. "Preen." He replied with a frown, closing his wing once again.

"Yeah, yeah, whateva'. That's kinda adorable if you ask me..."

"Good thing I didn't. You leaving now?"

Angel closing the door was everything he needed to do as an answer, approaching Husk's bed with a smirk.

"C'mon, lemme help!"

It made Husk's eyes open a little more, creating some more inches of distance between them. "No way."

"And why not? It's not like you can do it all by yourself!" The raise of an eyebrow with a bored face was the answer he got; ignored completely, of course. "Ya' know I ain't leaving anyway."

He does know, he's just sure. This stubborn spider is one to talk about when it comes to not giving up over Husk.

"Mess up one single feather and I'm kicking you out. Permanently." He says, pointing at Angel directly in the face with a sharpened gaze. The other simply nodded, wearing a big playful grin. "Understood, Husky!"

As much it was nice to have some help, it also means teaching Angel how to take care of them, and he's for sure not the best example of a teacher. This, mixed with Angel's lack of knowledge about birds overall, really didn't help.

"—And then you pull it slowly." Husk finished, watching Angel do exactly what he was told to do. Despite anything, the guy seems to be actually trying. "Yeah, like that... uh, kind of. You don't need to take a whole day to do that."

"I'm just being careful, babe! Besides, I'm not gonna risk being banned from your room~"

Husk rolled his eyes. "Just go faster." As he couldn't lose the chance, Angel raised his eyebrows in a mocking yet flirtatious way before finally returning to what he was doing. I mean, he asked for that one!

Angel indeed began to take care of the wing faster, but it also meant making his fingers a bit less quiet too. It began to turn into a problem as soon as he used them to search for anything dirty, scratching lightly. Husk's unintentional movements got Angel's eyes.

'Does it hurt? No, I don't think he wouldn't complain if it did... huh. That's weird.' He thinks to himself, resting his hand there for a moment.

"What got ya' to be moving so much, Husky?" Asked, hiding his slight concern but not his curiosity.

"Nothing, it just... tickles. A little." Answered, a little embarassed but still honest. For some reason it was quite interesting... and cute. Won't lie.

"Didn't knew that wings could be ticklish. Or just... you."

"What do you mean?"

Angel chuckled at the question. "It's just surprising that our grumpy, annoyed and sexy bartender would be so ticklish!" Husk gave him a bad stare, afraid that he was being mocked; even tho it wasn't exactly the case.

"Now you're just making up things, I'm not that ticklish."

"Ohoho, really? Then how could you be all squirmy with only a few touches?"

"It's a... uh..." He looked around, trying to find a good excuse. "...wings, thing. You don't get it, you don't have 'em."

An awful excuse, and to be honest, not even if it was the perfect one it would trick Angel.

"If that's the case then lemme test it in another spot."

Not even ten seconds in, and Angel was already wiggling his fingers in the air, his huge grin expressing a 'dangerous' excitement over the situation.

"Don't you fucking dare..."

A pause between the two. Almost a staring contest by how intense they were looking at each other.

"...GOTCHA'!"

With the war cry yelled out, he jumped towards Husk, who would be able to escape if it wasn't for Angel's additional arms. Goddammit.

Husk tried to get something off his mouth, but literally nothing, not a single sentence was able to form. Just a bunch of gibberish, which entertained the spider quite a lot. However, he wasn't there just for the teasing.

The messed words were cut with a gasp as he felt fingers moving on his sides, already squirming to get out as a body's response. The cat-demon tried to resist, but failed miserably as his giggles dominated completely.

"Fuhuhuck- get off!"

"Hmm... I'll think about it, Whiskers." His fingers, despite fast, did not seem to put that much pressure over Husk's skin. "Just gimme a moment, okay?"

Angel used his free arms to put a hand over his chin, looking up playfully as if actually reflecting on his answer.

"F-FahahaHAHahah! That- that mohoment already passehehed!"

"Hey, you broke my line of thought! Now I gotta start it all over! Huh, what was the question again?"

Husk tried putting on a serious face, only for it to break instantely. "Du-Dumbahahahass!"

"That's not a question." Replied, keeping his teasy remarks in day.

It felt indeed a bit humiliating to be in a position like this, being tickled by the same guy who drives you nuts almot everyday. Unable to do pretty much anything but giggle, and squirm, and... just... not think about anything.

This isn't as bad as it looked like. Right, still embarassing, but not exactly the uncomfortable type of embarassing. It's such a mix of emotions, and at the same time he got nothing on his mind, his head was filled with this type of thing.

And once again, his own body betrayed him. As time passes, a soft purr can be heard between his laughter, not really under his control.

Angel raised his eyebrow almost right away.

"I can hear it..."

"You cahahan't! Shut uhuhup!"

"Pfft- not really using your brain now, are ya'?" He added, tilting his head and moving his hands to Husk's ribs now. "Not like you really caaaan~"

"S-SHIHIHIT!"

The volume of Husk's noises increasing got him startled for a moment, but it quickly went away as he saw some wings flapping lightly.

"C-CA- HAHEHEH- HOW ARE YOHOU DOING THAHAHAT?! STOHOHOP!"

"Me? I'm just really good with my fingers... and you're like, really ticklish. Duh."

Sadly, the fun would come to an end, as the lee's breath was already giving up on him along with the stamina. Now, pushing once more, he put actual effort on it, almost making Angel get thrown off the bed.

"OKAY, OKAHAY, ENOUGH! ENOHOUGH!!"

The energetic fingers finally lost its pace, giving his poor body full of fur some peace. Okay, maybe a last poke only for the tease, but then that's it.

"He-Hey!"

"Oopsie!~" He let out, along with a silly wink. "Sooo? Still not 'that ticklish'? Cuz I don't think I don't got sides and ribs..."

Husk couldn't help but chuckle. "You digged your own grave. Hope you know that, dickhead."

Angel Dust's teasy smile softened, blinking once before leaning back.

"Yeah, I do."

He really hoped they would continue with whatever they began.

[em-prentiss]

Currently thinking about Emily buying groceries for Hotch in the months after Haley dies. She gets them along with hers and silently drops them off in front of his door before ringing the bell and hurrying to the end of his hall before he opens the door. She buys snacks for Jack and sneaks in a Spider-Man toy or two, grabs a packet of chamomile tea to soothe the inevitable late nights. Lots of frozen foods and ready made meals. She writes down a list of her favorite low maintenance recipes and provides the ingredients for them, always things that can be cooked in a single pan and could last for days. Sometimes she orders them pizza and sends it to the apartment, already knowing Hotch’s order because of all the times they’d had to eat together on cases.

He knows it’s her. One time he saw her through his window, walking to her car and looking over her shoulder. He wants to thank her but he doesn’t know how; she never acknowledges it and he doesn’t know how to bring it up, feeling strangely shameful for having owed her so much. She doesn’t want him to thank her and she doesn’t want to acknowledge it, she just wants to know him and Jack are eating well.

One day she complains about wanting a snack and he buys her a bar of chocolate, but before she can thank him, he’s the one to say thank you. He’s quiet, he doesn’t really meet her eyes until she takes it, his suit too stuffy and his hands a little sweaty. When he finally looks up she smiles at him, makes a sort of joke about him thanking her when it should be the other way around, and for the first time in months, Hotch smiles at someone other than Jack.

[roses-r-rosie3]

Dancing With Your Ghost: Unexpected Reunion

Miguel O’Hara x M!Reader

[Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4]

(Btw credits to whoever drew that spider-man character)

Warnings: angst, spoilers for SpiderMan: Across the Spider-verse, and memory loss-ish

Summary: Miguel was in love with his version of y/n from his universe but that y/n dies bc that’s his cannon, and he meets an alternate version of y/n who is the Spider-Man of his universe, but isn’t in love with Miguel

Quote: “I'm sorry, but you're not ringing any bells"

✁ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Miguel is what some people what call “cold hearted” but he wasn’t always like this. He was happy once. He was in love with y/n l/n. He loved y/n so much. But because he was a Spider-Man, y/n died. He died when that universes’s goblin blew up a building, while y/n was inside of it. It hurts Miguel to think about it. The way he held y/n in his arms while he begged for y/n to stay with him. But Miguel couldn’t undo the inevitable, and y/n died in his arms while he cried for hours.

"Miguel" Jess said, snapping Miguel out of his thoughts.

"Are you okay?" she said.

"Yeah, yeah, just a little tired, what did you want to talk to me about?" Miguel said.

"I found a case where an alternate version of the goblin from another universe got transported to another universe, and is now having a tantrum"

Miguel's blood ran cold at the mention of 'The goblin', the bastard took one of the only people making him happy away from him.

"I know you have some issues with the goblin, but you need to remember that he isn't our goblin-"

"Yeah, whatever let's go" Miguel said, completely ignoring what Jess had to say.

skip to when Miguel is fighting the goblin b/c i'm lazy af

Miguel spent what felt like hours trying to land a single punch on the goblin, each attempt getting him more riled up. All of a sudden another spider-man swooped in and kicked the goblin in the face dead-on.

"I'll take it from here" The masked hero said cockily.

That voice... it sounded familiar, but Miguel couldn't quite put his finger on it. But Miguel had no time to play the guessing game, so he immediately swung over to help fight the goblin.

When Miguel finally caught up to the other spider-man, the goblin had already been defeated.

"How-"

"it's easy when you're as good as me" said the cocky super-hero, as he cut off Miguel.

"Oh great another narcissistic one" Miguel said as he rolled his eye under his mask.

"I wouldn't call it narcissistic, more like- wait- what do you mean another- oh whatever, who are you and what are you doing here" said that universe's spider-man.

skip to Miguel explaining the whole spider organization

"Does you telling me this mean that I'm apart of this organization now, or are you gonna pull a 'men in black' and erase this from my memory?"

"Yes, you can join" Miguel said in annoyance as he opened the portal.

"Holy shit, very cool.." The masked hero said before walking inside of it.

"Hey, scary boss guy, can i take off my mask, that portal thing is making me feel sick" said the hero.

"Yes" Miguel said as he turned to see what the cocky hero looked like under his mask.

When the spider-man unmasked himself, he was revealed to be y/n.

Miguel couldn't speak, his once dead lover was in front of him.

"Oh I didn't tell you my name did I? My name's-"

"Y/n" Miguel cut him off.

"How did you-"

Y/n was cut off by Miguel hugging the life out of him.

"I missed you so much" Miguel croaked.

"Woah, woah dude I don't even know you" y/n said pulling Miguel away.

Miguel took off his mask, hoping that universe's y/n would notice him.

"I'm sorry, but you're not ringing any bells" y/n said.

"Y/n please, we have to at least been acquainted in your universe" Miguel said with tears in his eyes.

"Uh- you're starting to creep me out" y/n said

"Oh, uh, sorry about him, you just look like someone he used to know" Jess interrupted

"Okay then..." y/n said as he walked past them to explore the place.

"Listen Miguel, I know you loved y/n and he loved you, but that's a different y/n, I don't want to sound harsh, but he probably didn't know you until now, okay? Just know that our y/n loved you." Jess said as the other y/n was out of eye-sight.

Miguel just broke down. The fact that, that y/n will probably never love him like his y/n, He felt like he was re-living the grief he felt when y/n died in his arms.

[fermented-writers-block]

Not gonna lie, with the Spot’s upcoming time mucking shenanigans as suggested by the flashes of the future in Miles’ vision, I would not be surprised if the dimensional collapsing theorized by Miguel to come from averting too many “Canon Events” will turn out to be a side effect of something the Spot will either do himself or set up to screw with Miles.

Particularly, with how much his origin monologue to Miles and Jeff centered around the idea that he made Spider-Man and vice versa, note how incredibly well that mentality would dovetail with Miguel and the Spider Society’s belief that the “Canon Events” are what made them Spider-Man.

@kindaorangey has a good post pointing out how the Spot’s mindset of “filling the hole with more holes” is a pretty apt metaphor for the way Miles, Gwen, and likely the other spider people diving into the identity of Spider-Man as a crutch for dealing with the isolation caused by said identity, but suffice to say, OP and @sir-adamus had these tags which I'd like to use as a jumping pad:

For this, we can analyze Miguel and Spot as two sides of the same coin, where Miguel’s side is about allowing canon events to play out through inaction, and Spot's side could potentially lead up to (as a side effect of his grudge against Miles) actively ensuring that only those canon events happen, with any deviations that don't fit into their views being cast aside.

The former position projects personal traumas as absolutely necessary and destined to happen onto others, the latter position rejects any possibility that things could go differently in a quite literal manner. But in the end, both ultimately are about "filling in the hole with more holes" and dictating what Miles "should" be like.

Miguel doesn’t think Miles is a real Spider-Man and that him becoming Spider-Man was a mistake that never should have happened, all from his obsessive mentality surrounding Canon Events. He and by extension the other Spider-Men stuck in their hole of guilt and fatalism, surrounding themselves with other Spider-Men stuck in their holes of trauma and grief to where they have formed an echo chamber that tells them Miles cannot save his father's life and that they cannot do anything to save people anymore.

And in the Spot's case, the metaphor already came from him, but it's all about obsessively centering his new, lonely existence around being not just A, but THE nemesis to Miles' Spider-Man. He lost everything and has nothing except his connection to Spider-Man. To fill that hole, he's not only only making himself a villain that Miles will actually respect. He's going to try his damnedest to make sure that Miles reaches his full potential as Spider-Man just like he talked about in Mumbattan, and fill the hole with more holes in Miles' life until Miles is devoid of everything except the Spot.

Given the flashes of future events in Miles’ vision, if and when the Spot inevitably hears about Miguel's theory of Canon Events, it would only be fitting if the Spot retroactively becomes responsible for all the previous dimensional destruction the Spider-Society dealt with. And thus, Miguel's theory obsession would be its own recursive creator.

A vicious cycle of telling themselves that things have to happen a certain way, of blaming uncontrollable circumstances on something they think they can and should control, and of refusing to let go of the spiral they've fallen into.

After all, Miles already had an Uncle Ben-type event and the Spot is trying to set up a Captain Stacy-type event. Since the logical conclusion to the themes of Miles choosing what kind of Spider-Man he wants to be and not allowing preventable tragedies to happen would be that Jeff lives, well…

It would only be narratively fitting for the Spot to try to set up a Gwen Stacy event later down the line.

Because if Miles being bit and the Spot getting caught up in the collider wasn't destiny, if the intersection of their lives was simply due to circumstances they had no control over, if the dimensional collapses weren't because preventing Canon Events is inherently destabilizing to reality in of itself, then Miguel and the Spot would have to look inwards and actually try to figure out how to fill the holes in their lives.

So Miguel tells himself that what he does has to be done, that only he is strong enough to do it, and that everyone should follow his lead and stop caring.

As for the Spot?

If he fails to kill Jeff and Gwen, and when it's proven to everyone else that Canon Events are not required lynchpins of reality like Gwen found, he might just decide to try to make them actual lynchpins across time and space.

Or at least, making it so that the only realities that can exist are ones where those events happen.

Aka trying to forcibly changing the multiverse so suffering huge tragedy becomes an inherently integral part of Spider-Man the concept, rather than a mere possibility. So many Spider-Men and their dimensions getting hurt in the crossfire, and all in the process of targeting Miles Morales specifically.

Truly, it would be quite resonant if and when the Spider-Society let and help Miles get to save his Captain and Gwen Stacy. Beating the Spot would no longer be about the concept of stopping a threat to the multiverse and their canon events, but about metaphorically ending the cycle of suffering and finding a way to move forwards beyond the guilt. They probably can’t actually change the past, but with this, they can fight to prevent it from happening to others.

[nilolol30]

Hi may I please have a mei x Sister!reader who is dealing with a crush on Redson Hc but if you can't do that then just some Mei x Sister!Reader Hc pls and thank u

Platonic Mei and Sister Reader

Being Meis sister she will definitely want to go to the arcade with you like nearly every week.

Depending if you can fight or not she will want to spar with you all the time, though your parents disapprove when it's inside the house.

When you tell her about your crush she will genuinely think you're joking.

Then stops laughing when you continued to just stare at her and she immediately sits up and stares at you in genuine shock.

"Wait you're serious serious?" "Yes" "Okay okay I can work with this...but you're sure?" "YES"

She will try to orchestrate you and Redson to meet or bump into eachother.

And eventually when she inevitably finds out the two of you are going on a date she grabs MK and sneak in to spy on the both of you.

"Hey uh I think my sister is..." "Oh please I already know...you won't mind if I get her and the noodle boy banned from this place right?" "Hmm maybe just for tonight"

She does like to poke fun at the two of you once you officially start dating, like mentioning it to her streams(if she already knows you two are public about dating) or making memes.

Still she's very happy you're happy.

She's very protective of her family and friends so she would be a protective sister.

With your consent she has a tracker on you just in case I mean the spider incident just proved we all need trackers.

Has beaten people up for you of course within reason like if they hurt you or was actively threatening you.

If Redson ever went to her for advice for gifts (after swallowing his pride) she will tease him for a bit but tell him all your interest shows you like, favorite flower, favorite foods, movies you hyper fixate on.

She's the best sister you can ask for and will always have your back no matter what.

[sopestvr]

♱⠀“SPIDEY SENSE.” :⠀BLLCK BOYS !

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ “NO.. FREAKING.. WAY.”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ †

⟣⠀IN WHICH .. sae itoshi’s beloved girlfriend is non other than spider woman herself; his unwanted, yet forced friends discovering the truth after ambushing the boy unannounced one friday evening.

⟣⠀GENRE .. boyfriend!sae xx spiderman!reader. established relationship. fluff. comedy. drabble (1.1k).

⟣⠀CONTENTS .. fem reader. fluff (sort of??). comedy reactions. spider-man universe.

✩⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“WHY ARE you guys even here? I never invited you over..” Sae inquired at the grouping of boys who cluttered by his front door, the red-head merely opening the door a slither so they couldn’t barge in.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“We just wanted to hang out. Is that so hard to believe” Oliver pestered the boy, his broad arms folding across his chest as his patience gradually grew thin.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Standing alongside the man were the only other boys at Blue Lock who could actually withstand to be around Sae. Stood opposite of the boy was Oliver, Isagi, Nagi, Bachira, Chigiri, and Rin; who, by unpopular demand, was dragged along by the others. He tried to refuse, but his mates were far stronger when working together.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Who is we? You damn idiots dragged me her-”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Anyways, C’mon man. We just got the new Spider-Woman documentary on dvd, I know you secretly like her. Everyone does!” Bachira chimed in, shoving his hands in Sae’s face to display the brand new dvd case.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The more the boys rambled on, the more Sae continuously checked his watch; keeping tabs on the time with his eyes wandering every few seconds. It was evident that the boy was antsy, he repeatedly fidgeted with the door knob and was lifting his wrist every so often.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The only one who took note of such actions was Rin Itoshi himself, knowing how his arrogant and stubborn brother got when he was doing something he knew he shouldn’t be. The dark-haired boy cocked an eyebrow at Sae’s gestures, attempting to get the guys to leave, yet he was pushed off with the boys pushing closer to Sae’s apartment door.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The time frame was becoming smaller by the millisecond, Sae’s annoyance tolerance off the charts with a vein protruding through his forehead.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“You guys need to leave. Now.” Sae’s once irritation-filled voice had become stern and filled with a slight authority.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Dude, c’mon we came all the way here just for yo-” Before Isagi could finish his dreadful speech, a vague, yet fairly close whistle was heard from afar.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀A striking chill spiraled up Sae’s spine, the boy instantly moving from the door and causing a few of the guys to stumble into the apartment. He hurriedly rushed across the common area, all of the boys utterly confused on seeing Sae in such a rush spontaneously.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Speeding towards the living room, the boy maneuvered around all the furniture that was in the room before stopping in front of a window on the far left corner of the room. His hands were hastily fiddling with the glass locks and flipping them up, reaching for the bottom and lifting the window open.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He made sure to step away instantly, once he saw webs being shot at the edges of the window. Zips and Wooshes were heard nearing the window once the cluster of boys entered the living room, Sae groaning at the fact that they were still at his place. He knew it was too late, the inevitable was bound to happen sooner or later.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Pinching the bridge of his nose, he stood alongside his couch; hearing the web slinging sounds get closer by the second. Before he could even acknowledge the guys, a body was shooting through the window with webs following right behind them. Sae didn’t even need to look up to know what his mates reactions were, he could just feel them.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The person who flew themself into Sae’s common room had flipped their body mid air and landed on their feet, their knees being bent so that they were crouched close to the ground; a hand placed on the floor to slow down their momentum.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Gasps were passed all throughout the living room from the guys, Sae sighing just after. He hated the fact he couldn’t keep the guys from leaving, his annoyance only skyrocketing.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀However, the person who flew into the apartment had paid no mind to any of the boys, completely oblivious to the fact that people were in their home aside from their boyfriend. Standing from their previous crouching position, they swiftly removed their mask that covered their entire head and shook their waist-long hair out a bit.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Holy shit, babe, today was literally so fucking crazy. Was trying to save people like every other day and these annoying ass paps were all in my damn face while i was literally in the middle of a fight. Did I web ‘em a bit? Maybe, pero don’t be mad, it was necessary, lo juro!” ( but / i swear ) The woman rambled on as she insensibly waltzed over to the kitchen and made her way around the island, setting her mask atop it.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀She was entirely unaware that a group of ultimate fanboys were standing in her primary room, Sae rolling his eyes at his girlfriends heedlessness.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀However, the moment after she grabbed a drink from the fridge and spun on her heels to alas face Sae, the woman’s heart dropped into the pits of her stomach; snapple tea spitting out everywhere whilst rough coughs and heaves of air filled the antagonizing silence.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Really, Y/N?” Sae sighed, continuing to face palm at his helpless girlfriend who could save an entire city just from a simple off-feeling, yet couldn’t tell when their living room was filled with annoying teenage boys.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ “Yo tengo asthma!” ( I have asthma ) the girl whined in between breaths, Sae walking over to her and handing her the inhaler she left on the side table in the living room.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀After taking a few hits at the medical tool, the girl dragged her hand down her face with an exasperated sigh exerting her lips just after.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“No..”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Freaking..”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Way..” Isagi started, Bachira interrupting the boy; along with Oliver finishing off the trios unanimous surprise.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀There was no use in [Y/N] putting her mask back on, so she simply accepted her fate of having a group of random guys discovering her secret.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Sae.. Why’re they here?” [Y/N] asked with a sigh filling her tone of voice.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ “I’m sorry, they just showed up unannounced and walked in.” Sae sighed, glaring daggers at the boys who simply avoided eye contact with the pair.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Well, in our defense, we just wanted to watch your new documentary with him!” Isagi attempted to defend him and the guys, yet earning a glare from both [Y/N] and Sae.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Yeah, okay..” the boy murmured, instantly shutting up right after he spoke.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Whatever. Doesn’t matter now that you all know, of course. And, I know you have questions cus everyone always does, so c’mon” [Y/N] accepted her destined fate, resting her chin along her wrist while awaiting the questions that were bound to suffocate her.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀It took the boys a moment to grasp her words before they rushed up to the kitchen island and started rambling on with questions and love confessions, [Y/N] chuckling at the sight of a pissed off Sae from the revelations.

© SOPESTVR PRODUCTIONS 2023 ♱ please do not plagiarize or steal my works. all rights reserved.

[candlewaxandp0lar0ids]

this is halloween || I.N. x reader

Summary: Working in a bar on Halloween sucks. What doesn't suck is your coworker Jeongin being shirtless in the name of it being a sexy costume (unless your boss made him do it, in which case you're prepared to murder him).

Word count: 3.7k

Genres: friends to lovers, coworkers to lovers

Warnings & Tags: mostly fluff, slightly heavy make-out session, mentions of customers being inappropriate with Jeongin.

A/N: hiiiii, welcome back on my blog! I hope everyone's doing good ^-^ I've written four small one-shots for Stray Kids' maknae line for Halloween (and the plan for now is to write four small one shots for the hyung line for Christmas/New Year's). Here is the first one, and I hope you'll enjoy them!

Seungmin · Felix

Working on Halloween night was rarely, if ever, a good experience, if you were in the service industry. You didn’t remember enjoying it even once since you’d started working, taking jobs wherever and whenever you could. It was easy to get hired for Halloween, and on crazy nights like that, tips always flowed in, but it was made barely worth it by the insanity you’d have to endure. The crowds, the noise, even the drunken people, all that, you could handle, but Halloween seemed to bring out the worst in people — or the worse of people, you couldn’t say for sure.

For fuck’s sake, a guy thinking he was a vampire had bitten you one time.

You couldn’t say you’d been surprised when the bar you’d been working at for close to a year had informed the employees that they were expected to wear costumes for the night. Up all night was always somewhat gothic-themed, after all. Plus, they weren’t asking for much. You’d merely been given a red headband with little demon horns on it and a note urging you to ‘dress sexy’. It had made you roll your eyes, and you had decided to only half humor the direction. After all, you’d be standing behind the bar for the night and you didn’t see a point in making too much of an effort.

When you’d gotten there, you had immediately known that had been the right decision. There were much bigger fishes to fry than your outfit, and neither your colleagues nor the manager paid you much attention. You were kept busy from the moment you set foot in the building to the opening, with not a minute to yourself. You only remembered to put the headband on as the very first clients stepped in through the doors.

After that, it was just an endless stream of people trying to get your attention and something to drink.

It was around midnight when you took your break.

Fifteen minutes, that was all you’d get — it meant both nothing and the world to you.

It’s as you’re sitting outside, quietly sipping on coffee that you need both to keep yourself sharp and to warm yourself up on this cold October night, that you’re joined by Jeongin.

You like Jeongin. A few years younger than you, he also joined a couple of months after you did. He’s sweet, hardworking, creative, and, as you find out tonight, has abs for days.

“What are you wearing,” is what comes out of your mouth when he walks towards you, even though your question should be ‘what are you not wearing’.

Jeongin glances down at his body like he forgot, then lets out a sigh as he, too, realizes that he’s very much shirtless — save for the suspenders that half cover dark nipples. You… take him in a little longer than you’d be comfortable admitting. Your eyes go from his large shoulders to the rock hard pectorals, to the well-defined abs that inevitably lead to the happy trail that disappears into his pants. Suddenly, you’re strongly aware of how close in age you are to him, even though you like to joke about how he needs to be taken care of.

He lets himself fall down next to you and the pout he gives you allows you to at least try to cling to that illusion a while longer.

“They asked me to,” he says. “Told me I’d be a sexy demon.”

Immediately, your spider-sense starts tingling. If there’s one thing you won’t sit for in silence, it’s one of your friends and fellow employee getting taken advantage of.

“Wait, did they force you?” you ask, brow suddenly furrowing. “Did they— insist or say something about your job? Because unless we signed very different contracts, I doubt that was in the job description.”

Jeongin’s eyes go wide.

He’s pretty. Shit, he’s really pretty, and he’s sitting so close to you that you can feel his body heat. It’s cold outside, but it was ridiculously hot in the bar, as is made obvious by the discreet sheen of sweat on his body.

“No, they, uh, they didn’t do that,” he says, sounding very sheepish now. “They just— asked.”

You click your tongue. They’d have to have known that he wouldn’t know better.

“I’ll talk to them. You shouldn’t have to dress in a way that makes you uncomfortable.” You gesture at yourself. “See, I’m wearing the stupid headband, but I’m not going to go out of my way unless they start paying me a lot better.”

Jeongin’s eyes follow the movement of your hand, and you feel very naked under his gaze as he takes in your body. Hm, you kinda wish you’d bothered to dress at least just a teensy bit sexier now. Then he looks at you again. Swallows.

“I think you look good,” he says. Then he smiles, and it’s such a sweet sight, cute dimples forming in his cheeks. Takes your breath away for sure. If it sounded more suggestive, you might be led to thinking that he’s flirting with you. It just seems genuine right now, though. Plus, now that you’re looking at him, you’re pretty sure he’s got at least three phone numbers written on his arms. The thought makes you wrinkle your nose in distaste. People tend to forget boundaries, when they’re wasted.

“I really need to get a word with Jin-Young,” you mumble through your teeth. A glance at your watch; your break is almost over and you don’t want to fuck your coworkers over, so you push yourself to your feet. You pat Jeongin’s shoulder, stopping yourself from lingering to feel the muscles under your fingers. Last thing he needs is yet another person disregarding his personal space. “You can throw something on, I’ll take care of it.”

He opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again.

“Oh, uh, it’s fine, you don’t have to do that—”

For a second, you hesitate.

“You don’t mind? Has no one been… gross?”

You openly eye the phone numbers, and Jeongin glances down like he’s seeing them for the first time.

“People are just having fun.” He shrugs, but avoids your eyes.

If the blind, white-hot rage that goes through you at his reaction is any indication of the conversation that’s going to unfold real soon, you might very well lose your job tonight.

“I’ll be back in a second,” you tell him. Again, he says something about how you ‘don’t have to’, but this time you ignore him.

Jin-Young’s in his office, hiding behind mountains of paperwork and muttering numbers to himself as he’s making sense of the receipts that he’s lined up in front of him. The thin pieces of papers jump when you slam your hands on the desk.

“What did you tell Jeongin about his costume?”

After first looking at the papers in complete disarray, like he thinks they moved out of their own volition, he slowly raises his towards you. You’d have sympathy for how lost he looks — Halloween’s hard on everyone in the industry, like you mentioned — if you weren’t so pissed right now.

“To dress sexy,” he says after some long seconds. “Like everyone else. Why? Did he not put any effort into it? Are you jealous about that?”

While you are vaguely flattered that people appear to think you look sexy in your bare minimum effort, that is not the matter at hand right now.

“He’s shirtless,” you say. “Who told him he needed to be shirtless?”

Finally, some light appears in the man’s eyes.

“Aah, that’s right! He asked what I meant by sexy, and that was one of the examples.”

“You pushed him to it,” you say through gritted teeth.

The accusation doesn’t faze Jin-Young whatsoever.

“I didn’t have to. He seemed quite excited about it, if you want my opinion.”

You don’t, typically, but that does throw you off.

“He seemed quite uncomfortable with it,” you say slowly, but it sounds more hesitant now. Jin-Young’s many things, and one of these things is a terrible liar.

“Well, what did you tell him?”

Wait a minute, is this your fault now?

“Nothing! Just asked what he was, you know, wearing. It— it caught me off guard.”

Jin-Young raises an eyebrow at you, and you defensively fold your arms over your chest.

“You know,” he says, trying to be coy and failing miserably as he leans over his desk, “I wonder why he liked the idea of doing it shirtless. It’s not like he doesn’t get attention when he’s dressed normally. Hm, it’s such a mystery. I guess we’ll never know.”

“Are you implying that it was because of me?” You can’t keep the skepticism out of your voice for the life of you.

“Oh, I wonder. Am I now?”

One thing you’re not going to do is talk about your love life with your boss, so you roll your eyes at him — he won’t fire you until the next day, and even that he’s unlikely to do — and walk out, saying something about needing to get back to work, which isn’t wrong.

In going back to the bar, you run face first into Jeongin’s smooth, hard chest, which is truly the cherry on top of everything that just happened. Strong hands grab onto your arms, stopping you from stumbling back, and concerned eyes plunge into yours, so deep you could drown in them.

“Shit, I’m sorry, are you okay?”

Great. You’re doing great.

“I’m fine,” you reply, squeakier than you’d like, “just need to get back to work.”

“What did Jin-Young say?”

That gives you a second of pause. You can’t just ask him flat-out in the middle of a shift on one of the busiest nights of the year if he likes you or not. You’re not wired that way.

“That he doesn’t see any issue if you’re not uncomfortable,” you answer instead of telling the truth.

Jeongin’s shoulders seem to relax, but the corners of his mouth turn down.

“Sorry, I really have to run,” you mumble, stepping out of his grasp. “If I don’t, Jihyo’s going to get crushed under all the customers. But I’ll— see you after my shift, okay?”

A spark of interest lights back up in his eyes. It’s quite silly, how happy and relieved it makes you all of a sudden. If, somehow, Jin-Young is right, and infuriatingly he often is, you’d hate to think that it was your comment that upset him. Which is why you allow yourself to tell him “Plus, it does look great on you”.

You do, then, turn on your heels and walk away like a coward before his jaw has even finished dropping.

The rest of the night is a blur, much like the first part. You do remember Jihyo glaring at you when you finally come back — you deserved that — and your legs and splitting headache very much remember that the customers did not let up once, but you don’t think you could give a single order you took that night.

Well, that’s a lie. You served far, far too many Bloody Maries, to the point where you ran out of tomato juice.

Still, your mind had mostly been trying to make sense of the various complicated thoughts that were swirling in your head all night. You had never allowed yourself to linger on the thought of Jeongin for too long. Of course you liked him, there was nothing to dislike about him. It wasn’t like the two of you hadn’t had moments.

New year’s day, the year before, when you’d known him for less than a week and he’d blushed terribly, refusing to meet your eyes, when the two of you found yourself under the mistletoe. Valentine’s Day, when you had covered for him as he was helping one of his friends who was in a crisis with his girlfriend at the time, and he’d gotten you roses the next day as a thank you. They’d come at a discount because it was the day after, he’d promised you.

Then, for your birthday, him and a few of your other colleagues had gotten you a cute necklace that he had told you, very smugly, that he’d picked out himself. He had an eye for these things, because as he tied it around your neck for you, you’d just fallen in love with it. He hadn’t been there for most of the summer though, and you had mostly written off the whole thing. The two of you didn’t see each other outside of work, and sometimes you lost touch with people, when you were a broke college student too busy trying to make ends meet to go out.

He’d come back in September, though, all tan and glowing and, okay, maybe your heart had given a little jump in your chest, but so what? Yes, Jeongin was hot. Big news. Maybe seeing him after two months meant that you weren’t that used to it anymore and that was why it got to you. But the tan had vanished as autumn set in more firmly, and your heart still insisted on doing that silly little thing sometimes when you laid eyes on him, or when he approached the bar with that wide, dimply smile of his.

It’s doing it tonight, as traitorous as ever, when you catch a glimpse of him in the very full room, still completely shirtless. Watching him isn’t helping with your conundrum though. You don’t have time to do it either way, but there are constantly women flirting with him, their whole body leaning towards him, and while you don’t blame them, not for a second, you can’t see what he’d have seen in you when he so clearly has his pick among all of them.

You’re not— you don’t lack confidence in yourself. You get hit on while on the job often enough that there’s no risk of that happening. You just haven’t had that much luck in the heart department. A guy like Jeongin, who’s hot, yes, but is even more importantly such a sweetheart, that’s… kind of unheard of, for you. Then, even if you do accept this premise, which you do very much question, for the record, there’s the fact that you work together, and if things go south, it could mean you would have to quit. You’ve been there before.

That’s if Jeongin even likes you. Jin-Young could have been wrong. You could be neck deep in delusion right now. You could be setting yourself up for the most crushing development of your life, because the more you’re allowing to think about it, the more your heart soars, and the less you can hide the ugly truth of your ridiculous crush on him.

Ugh. You’re going to kill your boss — that’s the most logical way out of this situation.

When you take your leave at 4 am, the bar is still bustling with life. It’ll be open all night, closing shortly before reopening at noon, but that is someone else’s problem. At least you can thank the past you for wearing flats despite the whole ‘dress sexy’ thing, because you’d be dead by now.

Jeongin’s putting a shirt on when you walk into the changing room, something that you find tragic but that’s probably for the best if you’re hoping to have a productive conversation.

“Got more numbers?” you ask, noting the doodling on his arms.

“I had to confiscate some people’s markers,” is what he sighs in reply.

“Maybe I should have gone harder on Jin-Young,” you mumble, anger filling you again at the thought. “But he said it was your idea to wear that, uh, costume, so I didn’t want to interfere, you know?”

Jeongin’s eyes turn into disks and it’s only then that you find yourself giving some credibility to what Jin-Young told you. Find yourself thinking that maybe, maybe?

“He… gave me the idea,” he says, slowly, eyes darting from the floor to the ceiling lights to the door on the other side of the room like he’s going to make a run for it.

“But among others, right?”

You’re doing everything you can to keep your tone light, turning your back towards him as you get your stuff from the locker, hoping that it makes your question sound casual and not like you’re fishing for information. Gosh, now you understand why kids slide across these little ‘do you like me? yes/no’ notes. This feels so silly. You’re a grown-up, you shouldn’t be dancing around the subject like that.

“Yes but that one was… Uh… Really low-effort.”

Right.

“He made it sound like he thought you were wearing it for someone in particular,” you say like you’d comment on the weather as you finish collecting yourself and turn to face him.

He’s still sitting there, frozen like a deer in headlights, eyes wide as saucers, staring, pleading for help. Your heart’s hammering in your chest. One of you is going to have to take the first step, and it’s the vulnerability of that step that terrifies you. You could have gotten it wrong. He could just be scared that you uncovered his crush on Jihyo, or Jeongyeon, or even on Changbin, for all you know.

Still, you’ll take the plunge. You glance at your nails like they’re a fascinating sight.

“I know I told you already, but I thought you looked great.”

He lowers his gaze immediately. It’s still not quick enough to stop you from seeing the wide grin that forms on his lips.

“Thanks,” he mumbles. It’s all… unhelpful. Could mean anything, and you’re all out of courage now. Then he looks up at you through black locks of hair, and you have to strain to hear what he says. “He was right.”

You blink.

“Who was?”

“I did wear it for you. Jin-Young told you, right?”

Regaining the control of your jaw after he just dropped that on you is way harder than it seems.

“Uh, yeah, yeah he did, what—”

“He just can’t keep his mouth shut.” Jeongin clicks his tongue as he gets up from the bench he was on, grabbing his bag as he does so. “But don’t worry about it, I won’t bother you.”

What?

“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better,” he grimaces, looking away once more. “It’s fine if you weren’t, um, into it.”

“No, I— I just told you.” Your mind flashes back to your first exclamation, and you’re not sure how to take it back or explain exactly what was on your mind without stuttering and making a fool out of yourself, again. “It caught me off-guard,” you explain slowly. “But I was very into it.”

Jeongin’s eyes are still wide, but they’re not filled with fear or surprise anymore. He takes a step towards you as you lean against your locker. You pray high and low that this is going where you think it’s going. As he gets closer and the air grows thicker between you, he seems to be searching for something in your expression that would tell him that he’s gotten the wrong idea, that he should step back. He still hasn’t found it by the time his body brushes against yours, and so he takes the next logical step.

His eyes close as he leans towards you, and you’re smiling when his lips meet yours. He kisses you slow and delicate, intent on savoring every second of it. One of his hands gently lifts your chin to get better access to you, the other coming down to grab your waist, and you arch yourself into him without thinking. The moment’s soft and sweet.

Then he gets even closer, and you wrap your arms around his neck, entangling one of your hands in his hair, and it turns a little less sweet. He goes from carefully tasting you to devouring you, pulling away from you briefly catch his breath before diving back in, his hips pushing you against the locker. Shamelessly, you allow one of your hands to come down to feel the muscles of his chest. He grins at that, nipping playfully at your lower lip, but that doesn’t mean you miss the shiver that runs through him then.

He grabs your hand before you get any lower though, and takes ahold of the other one before you can try anything else on that front, and easily pins them both over your head with just one of his. Then he keeps kissing you, long fingers running over your body oh so sinfully, without ever lingering too long. He takes his sweet time exploring you, and it’s only after a particularly suggestive movement of your hips that tears a moan from his lips, that he lets go of you, stepping away with a crimson blush marring his cheekbones.

“Sorry, I, uh, I might have gotten a little carried away.”

There he goes, not meeting your eyes, again, even after he just kissed the hell out of you.

“I was very into it too,” you hear yourself replying, and he chokes at that. You can’t help the brief laughter that spills from your lips. Cute.

“S-so, just so we’re clear, I’m not— I’d love to take you out. On a date.” He’s back again with the pleading look. “It’s not— it’s not just a physical thing.”

“That’s good,” you smile, leaning towards him in a suggestive manner. It’s just too easy to tease him. “I’d really like it if you took me out on a date.”

He frowns.

“If you keep looking at me like that, I won’t ever be able to do my job again and I’ll get fired.”

Again, you laugh. It just comes easy to you when you’re with Jeongin.

“Let’s see if you don’t get tired of me after one date before we start talking about you getting fired, hm?”

“That’s not going to happen,” he says, sounding far more confident than he has about anything else he’s said that whole evening, and wouldn’t you know it, there are butterfly swimming in your stomach now.

“How do you know?”

He leans in for another kiss.

“I just do.”

this might not make much sense and i'm sorry if it doesn't but i was just so happy to be writing again after such a long time :)))

i hope you all liked it and feedback in any form is always greatly appreciated!

permanent taglist: @lethallyprotected @jisuperboard

[tamurilofrivendell]

The Dragon | part 1 | Thranduil x Reader

{Part One} {Part Two} {Part Three} {Part Four} read on AO3

Pairing: Thranduil x Female Reader

Summary: You found a dragon egg and secretly kept it but when Thranduil inevitably finds out, after the egg has hatched, he is beyond furious and the tentative thread that has grown between you both is at risk of being severed forever.

Content etc: Angst. Threat of violence. Mutual pining/assumed unrequited feelings etc. Angry Thranduil. 

tags: @firelightinferno​, @achromaticerebus​, @coopsgirl​, @birbixo0912​, @desert-fern​​, @ancient-rime​

The forest was quiet. Too quiet, a fact which only increased your anxiety. You could practically hear your heart hammering away inside your chest, as though it were threatening to burst. Your feet carried you along, careful step by careful step, staying on high alert. The guards wouldn’t be too far behind and you had to lead them far enough away to make sure they didn’t find him. They would destroy him and you just couldn’t let them do that. He was just an innocent, he hadn’t done anything wrong!

It had all started almost a year ago. In this exact forest, not too far from where you were now strangely enough, on a night as similarly dark as this one.

You had snuck out of the kingdom for one of your little walks. It wasn’t really allowed due to how dark the forest had become over the last years. The spiders were getting bolder. The air was heavy and thick. Orcs had been seen. The plant-life was being smothered. The trees were sad.

This was no longer the Greenwood of old.

Still, the freedom was something you couldn’t quite give up. You took a dagger, just in case, and stayed as close to the gates as you could. But you strayed a little too far this particular night and that’s when you found it, half-buried at the base of a large tree.

It was unmistakably an egg, though of what creature you didn’t have a single clue. It was unlike any bird egg you had ever seen before. You don’t know what really possessed you but you felt like you had to help. It must have fallen out of its nest or something and you couldn’t leave it here, to get crushed or eaten. There were all sorts of beasts out here, enemies, and this was just.... defenceless. A baby.

So you took it. You smuggled it into your chamber, made it a warm and comfortable nest in the bottom drawer of your dresser, and promised to look after it until it hatched. It was quite easy to hide, nobody seemed any the wiser... until it hatched months later, of course. Then the utter panic set in.

A dragon. This was a dragon egg.

The little creature had broken through the thick shell after about twenty minutes, during which you kept silent vigil, preparing for whatever little animal would reveal itself to you. However, nothing could have prepared you for this. You immediately felt fear, your mind becoming thick with it. It was going to kill you! You had brought a monster into the halls of the woodland realm and it was going murder you and then turn its sights on the rest of these halls!

However, instead of immediately setting you ablaze, the little animal had regarded you with severe curiosity before stumbling towards you on wobbly little legs and nudging your hand with its tiny snout. You gaped at it, watching as it blinked up at you with wide, trusting eyes. It didn’t... look evil. It didn’t... act evil.

Your panic subsided slowly as you watched the tiny dragon and you decided that you would allow it to stay with you for the night instead of casting it out into the cold - though you didn’t sleep a wink that night, unable to fully shake your worry, despite the dragon curling up into a little ball on your pillow.

───────────────────────────────────

One night turned into two weeks which turned into three months, and still you kept the dragon in your chamber.

You became more and more attached to the little animal the longer you spent in its presence. You grew to love him, even, as the months passed by. He was attached to you too, if the joy he expressed whenever you wandered back into the room or spent time with him was anything to go by. He would sit with you while you read or wrote and you would play with him and smuggle him food. You named him Aegnor and he kept you company as well as bringing you some small comfort. It was nice to have a companion.

However, it soon became apparent that being closed away in your chamber all the time, spacious though it may be, would just not do for much longer. Aegnor was obviously craving the outdoors - to stretch his wings and breathe the fresh air.

So, not wanting to deprive him, you began to smuggle him out of your chambers and into the forest. You took him most often at night and never too far, though far enough away that the danger of being caught wasn’t so high. Sometimes you would take him down to the forest river and sit along the bank while he explored and stretched his little legs.

It had been here that an elf on patrol had found you. There had been a long moment where you had both just stared at each other. He tried to make sense of what he was seeing and you tried to figure out what you were supposed to do. The sound of his horn piercing the air, summoning more guards, had forced you out of your trance. You had snatched Aegnor from the ground and took off running, an arrow whizzing by your ear as you vanished beyond the treeline.

An arrow! They were shooting at you!

You could hear them in the distance. They had gathered quickly and the king had probably been informed by now. A flash of fear spiked through you at that thought but you banished it quickly, needing to keep your focus. You reached a tall, thick tree and placed Aegnor high up on the branches.

“Climb to the top!” You told him. He gave you an unhappy look but you would not budge, urging him to obey you. “You must climb to the top and stay there until I come back for you! Promise me.”

The little dragon looked very uneasy but he acquiesced and quickly clambered high up into the tree and out of sight. You watched him go, praying he would do as he was told, and then you turned and took off running.

It felt like you were running for hours, though it couldn’t have been, but no matter how far you went you could still hear the sounds of the pursuit behind you. They were closing in and you felt fear... fear in regards to these elves you had known practically your whole life. You could hardly believe it.

What you had done, however, would be treated as an act of treason. Dragons were enemies... especially to the Elvenking.

Turning on your heel, you took a sharp left, deciding that you would go deeper into the forest. You had practically forgotten about the dangers of the wood itself, thinking only of your panic and your need to get away, to hide. Maybe you could outrun them and then come back for Aegnor and... and what? Leave Mirkwood? The thought caused your heart to feel heavy. So, so heavy. Yet, you could not give up that little creature to be murdered. You just couldn’t.

Your thoughts were so loud that you didn’t hear it until it was too late. Eight large legs descended upon you, knocking you to the ground. You only just managed to roll slightly to the right to avoid its stinger. You had dropped your dagger somewhere back near the river and you were drained and distracted. A strong, disgusting limb held you in place as it readied for another attack and you could only squeeze your eyes shut and wait, and pray that Aegnor would get away safe.

Then a blade came swinging down through the dark, slicing through the foul creature’s flesh. The spider let out an ear-piercing screech as its legs were separated from its body and the life seeped out of it. You felt a thick liquid splattering across your clothing and your cheek and you let out a screech of your own as you rolled away, scrambling around on the forest floor.

When you opened your eyes, your fear grew tenfold, as you stared up along a silver sword, meeting the furious gaze of the Elvenking himself.

“Where is it?” He hissed, forgoing any discussion of whether or not you were well. You were still breathing, that was enough.

You found that you could not answer, merely staring back at him, able only to focus upon the cold dread you could feel flooding through your entire being.

When you did not speak, Thranduil’s gaze hardened and his voice dropped to a level even more dangerous than you would have thought possible. “Where. Is. It?”

“You...” You paused, swallowing hard against the lump that had formed in your throat. “You will have to kill me, my king... I will not give him up to be slaughtered.”

Thranduil blinked, unable to hide his surprise for just a moment before he recovered, but it was long enough for you to have seen it. “You would choose this... this creature... over me?” His voice was hard but you could just about tell that he was hurt.

“You don’t understand!” You began, wondering if you could plead and beseech your way to an explanation, find some way to make him understand. “Please, I-”

“Understand?” Thranduil cut you off before you could get any further. He was not interested in your placations and lies. “I do not understand?!” His tone was ice as he took a step forward, the tip of his sword pressing into your chest. “Begging will not get you out of this.” There was a pause, during which he scanned your face, before he spoke again. “...how could you?” For just a second you saw raw vulnerability, there and gone so quickly you were unsure this time whether or not you were just seeing what you wanted to see. “How dare you!” The fire raged through his veins once more as he fought the urge to run you through with his blade.

You stayed quiet this time, unable to meet his eyes any longer. The forest was deathly silent. You could no longer hear the advancing soldiers and you wondered if they had taken a wrong turn that took them away from you, or if Thranduil had sent them back to the halls so he could deal with you himself.

The thought sent a shudder right through you.

The corners of Thranduil’s mouth pulled into the smallest, yet most evil smirk you had ever seen grace his expression, as if he had read your mind. His gaze never faltered and you felt as though you were facing down your greatest enemy... which was a far cry from how you had felt about him the previous day.

The silence stretched out and you found yourself wishing that he would just get it over with. If he was going to kill you, you wanted him to do it now, get it over and done with. He would not cease his search for Aegnor, you knew that, but you hoped that the little dragon would be clever enough to flee this forest. Maybe head for the mountains or find a kind soul who would take him in and care for him until he was a little bigger. He was still so little, after all.

Suddenly, Thranduil’s fingers closed around your upper arm in a harsh grip as he hauled you to your feet and began dragging you back through the tangled branches of Mirkwood. You winced at the feel of his nails digging into your skin but you did your best to conceal any discomfort. He wouldn’t care, after all.

“You will rot in the dungeons until you tell me where this thing is.” He snarled, dragging you behind him so quickly that you could barely keep yourself upright. He didn’t care... or at least that’s what he told himself. Thranduil was beside himself with rage but he was also full of sorrow and grief.

The two of you had started off as any other in his kingdom. King and Subject. Over time, mostly during celebrations and festivals and chance encounters, you’d both become something more. Friendly, then friends. Over time, his feelings for you had grown into something past friendship. He could never tell you, of course. His kingdom aside, Thranduil didn’t believe his feelings could be returned and he could handle them alone. Having you in his life and grappling unrequited feelings was better than not having you in his life at all. Your laughter had brightened his days. Your presence had comforted him in his darkest moments.

...and yet.

This was such a betrayal. He couldn’t believe you had done this. To the realm... to him. You were one of the few who had seen the scars he bore from facing down one of those beasts long ago. He had shown you, and you had shed tears for him. You had held him while the memory took him in its violent grip. You had stayed with him while he fell asleep. You hadn’t turned your back on him.

What a lie.

───────────────────────────────────

You were kept in a cell for two weeks before you saw Thranduil again. He came striding into the dungeon, his robes flowing behind him. His sword was at his side and his crown was on his head.

This was it, you thought. This was the day he had finally come to kill you.

You couldn’t have predicted that, from within the folds of his cloak, he would produce Aegnor. You cried out as you looked upon the little dragon. You couldn’t help it. He was all bound up and a sort of muzzle held his jaw in place. He looked upset but he mostly looked like he didn’t really understand what was happening.

“It looks like we did not need you after all.” Thranduil broke the silence, holding the animal out in front of him, his eyes fixed upon your face.

Aegnor wriggled in his grasp but Thranduil only tightened his grip, still staring at you. His skin crawled being this close to it and he was thankful it was so small.

“Thranduil, this is insane!” You couldn’t stop the words leaving your mouth as you looked back at him, not bothering to hide your distress. You knew what he was doing by bringing Aegnor down here, by parading the creature in front of you, showing you how he had subdued it. “You’re hurting him!”

“Do you have any idea the damage these beasts can inflict?” Thranduil glared at you. “I have seen dragons lay low entire villages! I have seen the destruction, the utter ruin, that they leave in their wake! Have you forgotten, little one, the damage that has been left upon my own skin?!”

His voice had continued to rise in volume as he spoke and, as he spat the final words out, he threw Aegnor forward onto the ground. The little dragon fell against the bars of your cell and, before Thranduil could do anything, you’d snaked your arms between the bars and caught hold of him, pulling him into the cell with you.

“No, Thranduil, I have not forgotten.” You said, tears stinging your eyes as you carefully but frantically worked at the ropes binding Aegnor and released his jaw. Your gaze never left Thranduil, who was staring at you like he wished to rip you apart. “How could I?! But-”

“But! Nothing!” He thundered, storming towards the cell and flinging the door open, ripping it from its hinges in his anger.

Aegnor had slipped from your grasp and was attempting to waddle away but, in the same moment that Thranduil drew his sword to end the dragon, you snatched the creature back up and drew it to your chest. Thranduil’s sword came swinging down through the air and you squeezed your eyes shut, shielding the dragon as best you could. You expected to feel the sting of steel as it pierced your flesh but nothing happened.

Thranduil had brought his weapon down with the intention of slaying the dragon once and for all. Then you had gotten in the way, curling yourself around the animal in such a way that meant killing it would kill you. He had fully intended to do it... he thought so, at least. He was so angry. Yet, he didn’t. Thranduil watched you slowly open your eyes as he hovered in the space above you, sword pointed directly over your heart, where the warmth of the dragon was clutched in your protective hold. He was breathing heavily and he looked so angry. He felt so angry. And yet he found that he just couldn’t do it. He hesitated and in that hesitation he knew he wasn’t going to kill you. He would have done it already.

“How could you do this to us?” He asked then, his voice quieter than even he had expected. He felt vulnerable again and he hated it. He hated that he had let you so close, hated that you were affecting him in this way, hated that you had betrayed him, hated that thing in your arms.

“Thranduil...” His name left your lips in a whisper and he felt his heart crack. He moved, forcing himself away from you, coming to a stop in the entrance of the cell, his back up against the bars as he sat there fighting to get himself back under control.

You moved slowly, still a bit terrified, but you could see that Thranduil was grappling with something. You could see that, for this moment at least, he wasn’t trying to run you through with his sword despite the grip he still had on it.

Aegnor wiggled out of your grip then and blinked at the king in confusion, tilting his little head as he regarded the elf. He stayed close to you, feeling unsafe, but because you did not attempt to flee, he stayed there.

“Run if you are going to run.” Thranduil muttered. “You will not get far.” Though he would not be the one chasing you this time. He just couldn’t do it anymore.

Tears spilled down your cheeks as you gave Aegnor a resassuring little pet and then crawled to close the distance between you and Thranduil just a little bit. “Where would I go?”

Thranduil shook his head but he didn’t speak. It was like the fight had gone out of him very suddenly, all the rage bubbling over into a large waterfall of sorrow that had drowned him and he had not yet resurfaced.

“Please, Thranduil, look at me.”

Nothing. No response. No movement. It was as if he did not even hear you.

“I did not do this to hurt you.” You continued, shifting just a little bit closer.

That roused him a little and he turned his head just slightly. “Do not take me for a fool, little one.” He muttered, frowning as he glared back at you. “Do not act as though you are clueless. Do not act innocent. You knew what this would do. You knew that this would, indeed, hurt me.”

You blinked as a fresh wave of tears spilled down your cheeks and you reached a hand out to him but he immediately held up a hand and shook his head, pinning you with a dark look. “Do not touch me.”

It stung a little more than you wanted to admit and you lowered your gaze to the floor. “If you would just let me explain...”

“What is there to explain? You brought a dragon into my realm.” His gaze moved past you for a moment, falling on Aegnor, his expression wary. Though, he had to admit, he had expected it to try and attack by now.

You turned to look over your shoulder, following his gaze to the little dragon before turning back to Thranduil. “He is just a baby.”

Thranduil blinked his attention back to you then, shaking his head as he lifted his hand and ghosted the backs of his fingers against your cheek despite his earlier protest at touching. “It will not be so little forever.”

Your opened your eyes, which had closed briefly at his touch. “I was going to let him go somewhere, though. When... when he was big enough to look after himself.” You murmured, still feeling as though anything you said could send him over the edge again. Which was probably accurate. “I didn’t know he was a dragon when I brought him inside...” You whispered, ignoring Thranduil’s look of disbelief. “It was just an egg.”

“It does not matter, you should have told me.” He said coldly, dropping his hand from your face and turning his head again, looking away from you. “I thought we were closer than that...” He didn’t know whether or not he had intended to say those words out loud but they were out there regardless and he couldn’t take them back.

You stared at him, surprised. You blinked and more tears traced their way down your face. For years and years you had buried your feelings towards Thranduil. He was the king! It was improper. It could never be. You were grateful enough to have been able to become his friend and you had soon settled upon keeping him in your life by whatever means. If you could not love him, you would settle for having his friendship and it would be enough.

“We are.” You said softly.

Thranduil’s eyes flashed as he looked back at you. “No. Evidently, we are not.”

This caused you to cry even harder. Thranduil almost moved to comfort you, out of habit, but he held himself firm and forced himself to once more look away from you. Aegnor didn’t like your distress and he moved then, walking forward and nudging your arm gently with his little nose.

Thranduil had shifted again, his grip tightening on his sword the second the dragon moved. He was staring at the creature, his knuckles white.

“He will not hurt you.” You whispered, but Thranduil only shook his head. He didn’t believe you.

You sighed softly, turning away from Thranduil a little so you could pay attention to Aegnor. “It’s alright.” You told him, gently petting the little scales of his head and neck. He nuzzled closer, though you didn’t miss his hesitant look at the king, remembering the way he had been bound and thrown around. “Aegnor...” You said gently, drawing the dragon’s attention again. “Do not be afraid.”

“What would the dragon have to be afraid of?” Thranduil asked harshly, his gaze flickering from Aegnor to you.

You turned your head again, your attention moving back to Thranduil with a soft frown on your face. “You.”

You said it as if it was the most obvious thing in the world and yet it had not crossed Thranduil’s mind. His hard expression melted suddenly into one of complete surprise. “He is afraid of... me?”

Now it was your turn to be surprised because it was the first time Thranduil had spoken of Aegnor as a he and not an it.

You nodded. “Yes, of course he is. Think about it, he... he was born here and it’s my fault but he couldn’t know that he wasn’t allowed. He liked his little life, exploring and growing and learning... and all of a sudden he is running for his life and we are separated and then you... you have him captured and tied up and... and then...”

Thranduil held up his hand then because he didn’t want to hear any more. His eyes were fixed upon the dragon, still more than a little wary, but you could see slight understanding beginning to dawn in his eyes as his mind began working. He had been thinking of this little creature as a dragon - a large, dangerous, fire-breathing monster. He had been focused only upon his own fear, his own terror, the nightmares from his past. Yet, what sat before him was a baby, he couldn’t deny that. It had no experience of the world, of the corruption, it couldn’t even speak yet from what he could tell. Now that he studied it, it did look a little scared... wary, at the least. And it had not attacked, not even in retaliation when his soldiers had caught it hiding in the trees, or when he had ordered it bound and muzzled. When he had nearly slaughtered it - and you - with his sword.

Suddenly, Thranduil stood, swinging his sword through the air but instead of bringing it down through flesh, he sheathed it. Then, he held his hand out to you to help you up from the floor. You hesitated just briefly and he understood why, but then you took his hand and he pulled you to your feet. For a brief moment, you both stood there, looking back at each other in silence, and then he let go of you and stepped away.

“Bring him with you.” He gestured towards Aegnor as he turned on his heel and moved towards the stairs to exit the dungeons.

“What are you going to do with him?” You asked as you reached down to gather Aegnor into your arms, full of apprehension.

Thranduil stopped at the bottom of the staircase and said nothing for a long moment. You stood in fear, waiting for him to tell you he was going to have the poor thing put to death, but he didn’t.

“I do not know.” He admitted, glancing over his shoulder. “You and I will have to figure it out together.”

Then he was swiftly ascending the stairs, leaving you blinking after him in surprise. You recovered quickly, following him as you kept Aegnor held firmly against you, hurrying to catch up to the king.

Hope began to blossom within you as you followed, staring at the back of his head the whole way. Maybe this could be salvaged. Maybe Aegnor could be saved, set free somewhere he would be happy. Maybe Thranduil would not hate you forever.

Up ahead, Thranduil walked with his head held high, none of his inner turmoil showing outwardly as he led you towards his private rooms.

You had not yet realised it, but Thranduil did not hate you even now, after all of this. Quite the opposite.

His love for you was the reason your words had had any effect on him. His love for you was the reason you still had the dragon in your possession. His love for you was the reason you had not lost your life. His love for you was the reason that, at some point, he would forgive you.

He didn’t know what was going to happen with the dragon but he knew that, for this moment at least, it wasn’t a threat to him. There was a lot to work through and a lot to figure out but he felt the faint blooming of hope that, in the end, you would both find a way to make this alright.

[preciouslandmermaid]

🕸🕷 my heart is a hornet's nest 🕸🕷

Pairing: Insomniac Peter Parker/Spider-Man x Fem!Reader (code name: “Huntress” + she is Kraven’s daughter)

Rating: T

Summary:  It's been thirteen months since Kraven was killed by Venom. Despite everything, you're still in the city and helping a nerd - named Peter - in his garage try and save the world. It's hard to ascertain where your old life as a hunter ends and your new life begins. Somedays you can't even tell if you're moving forward or not. But, the pull you feel towards Peter is magnetic. And it's bound to end in catastrophe if you pursue him.

Even as part-time Spider-Man, Peter knows his relationships with others puts them at risk. He doesn’t want to throw you back into the carnage, into the fray, to the wolves you claim to be so comfortable around. He can't risk it. He can't risk you. And the long nights in his garage are really, really starting to wear at him.

Prompt: "Are you afraid of me?" / "Do I look afraid?"

tags: enemies to Lovers/enemies to friends to lovers, no use of y/n, secret identity, unresolved romantic tension, first kiss, light angst, slow burn, mutual pining !!

🕷🕷 ( read on ao3 ) 🕷🕷

Kraven snaps your name like a whip.

“You’ll oversee this one, huntress.” he says without looking away from the screen.

A mixture of pride and trepidation curdles beneath your skin. Kraven is trusting you, but he trusts plenty of his hunters. You lick your lips. The transfer of Martin Li. You promise Kraven that you’ll put the team together and leave before the hour.

No one questions Kraven’s decision. You don’t get special treatment purely because you’re his blood. In fact, if you look closely (which you won’t), you’d say that Kraven treats you worse than his other hunters. He expects—he demands – more of you.

There will be a target on your back when Kraven completes his hunt and finds a worthy enough predator to kill him. But that’s nothing new. You’ve had a target on your back since you were young enough to understand the way of the world; predator and prey, hunter and hunted, kill or be killed.

You lift your arm-- THUNK!—the throwing knife hits its bullseye.

“Huntress,” a hunter named Erik approached you, “you want five VTOLs?”

THUNK! This one is a little off-center and you blame Erik for distracting you. You exhale, balancing your weight, and lining up your shot. Erik is bold. Kraven named you the leader of Li’s abduction. He shouldn’t be asking questions. Your eyes narrow.

You pivot on your heel, fast as a viper’s strike, and flashing silver spins through the air. It’s beautiful.

Erik makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

Your throwing knife wobbles from where its pinned Erik’s hood to the wall. His eyes flick to the blade. He’s lucky you didn’t miss. Otherwise the blade would’ve sank into his throat or he would lack an ear for the mission ahead.

“That’s what I said,” you yank the knife from the wood, freeing him, “wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Erik says, voice tight and clipped, and his eyes darken. You know he is loyal to Kraven, not you. If he managed to kill you – Kraven would be disappointed, but he wouldn’t mourn you. Nature is cruel and so is your father. You sheath your throwing knives while keeping one eye on the hunter.

Erik hasn’t left which means he could be planning his next move. You tense and wait for the inevitable blow. Come on, you think, try it. You’d be happy to fight off your frazzled, nervous energy. You should probably conserve your strength in case things with Martin Li go bad.

Erik nods, “huntress,” and leaves.

You roll your shoulders and return to the weapons cache. I’ll bring Martin Li to Kraven and he’ll have his wonderful fight. He’ll achieve his dream.

Nothing will go wrong. Nothing could. You’ve been planning this for months.

******

Peter wobbles to his feet, his head ringing. Whoever these guys are—they’re serious. The tech they’re using is insane. Invisible drones. Laser swords. What’s next? A few giant mecha-robots intent on crushing Harlem? He shouldn’t think about it – he doesn’t want to jinx it.

He stares into the face of the capable, dangerous stranger with smoke burning his nostrils and scalding his throat.

Dark soot clings to your clothes, your expression venomous and focused, furrowed and tight. The light frames you, bouncing off the east river in sparks, and refracting over the small throwing knives clutched between your knuckles. She’s fast, like really fast. Fast enough that he’s concerned you have a spider-sense of your own. Who the hell are these guys? Miles kicks a drone in mid-air and metal-on-metal crunches together like a compacted soda can.

Peter jumps before the blade can slice through him. It whistles through the air, hits and – literally bounces! -- off a metal pole. His lenses widen. He twists his body. His nerves ignite with impending danger, but he’s in the already dodging the first blade.

He’s Spider-Man.

He can’t stop physics.

Your second blade cuts through the air and burns when it cuts his shoulder. He lands on his feet, a sharp inhale drawn through his teeth, and resists the urge to check the injury. She can’t have that many knives on her!

Your lips quirk, “are you afraid of me?”

“Do I look afraid?”

“Hard to say,” you make a gesture around your face, “with the mask and all.”

“Where’s yours?” he propels through the air with his webs slung behind him, “I thought--” you deflect his punch, “most bad guys—” you stumble backward when he kicks your chest, but recover quickly, “want to keep their identities a secret.”

“I have no shame in who I am,” your leg swings over his head.

“So uhhh...who are you?” he quips. His palms land flat on the cold, metal surface and his spine curves, his body moving like a question mark, and avoiding the onslaught of your assault.

“Serious question!” he says a little louder this time while your silver knife dances through the light as it carves his webs into flimsy pieces.

A burst of green flares flash against the gray smoke. His heart flips. The raft jolts to the side. They’re going to drag the ship underwater! The heavy-duty spears punch through the metal as if it was made of tissue paper.

“We gotta get this ship free!”

Peter spares a final glance over his shoulder and you leap from the other side. Are you landing on another boat? A life raft? Are you going to swim away? He has no clue. He can’t spare any further brain cells on it though. He slides down the tilted raft toward the giant spears that function like fish-hooks into the industrial, military transport raft.

***

It’s been approximately thirteen months since Kraven met his end.

You’ve found that keeping count provides some strange, twisted comfort. You wake up, check your calendar, and strike another tally mark into the wall. It feels good to carve the line into the sheet-rock, little flecks of white catching on your thumb and falling like cremated remains onto the hardwood floor and clinging to your socks.

Sometimes you run into old hunters, vying for territory, and hoping to claim some scraps that Kraven left behind. Many, however, fled to Kraven’s homeland to play out the tragedy of a power vacuum and continue Kraven’s legacy.

None of them have impressed you. Not the ones that have sought you out, hoping to kill Kraven’s kin, and earn glory. And definitely not the ones who you’ve run into accidentally. Those are the worst. They’re cowards. They’re mice. You stumble upon them, trying to eat the crumbs off Kraven’s table, and your retribution is swift and bloody and a pain in the ass to clean up.

You wonder what Peter Parker would say if he knew. You pull your sweater over your head. Peter, the nerd running a research foundation out of his garage, happens to be your only...well, friend is the wrong word...but he’s your only something in this city.

You aren’t supposed to have ‘somethings’. Attachments, as Kraven would call them. Attachments made you weak. You thought it was hypocritical for your father preach this advice when he had a wife and multiple children. Not anymore though, you finish lacing up your boots, everyone’s dead now except for me.

The cassette clicks with a satisfying ‘CLUNK’ into the player and you slide your headphones over your ears. The player was a gift from Peter. No. Gift is the wrong word. It’s on a loan.

“What’s this?” You cradled the cassette player, “it looks ancient.” You twisted the sharp-grooved circles. They remind you of strange teeth. You click the play and pause button. It’s clunky. It’s right-angles and lackluster chrome and the buttons make noise.

It’s the antithesis of the technology you grew up with around Kraven.

You love it.

Peter rolls his chair over to you, “it’s not ancient. Maybe vintage. God, do we call it vintage?” he sounds so baffled that you almost smile, “you know, record players and vinyl are making a big comeback so it’s only a matter of time before Walkman do too.”

He doesn’t wait for you to respond, “do you want it?”

“Huh?”

“I’m not using it obviously.” He smiles, “I think I have a few cassettes lying around and there’s no shortage of music shops in Brooklyn.”

Your fingers tighten around the device. The wild part of you, the part that Kraven nurtured through violence and toxic loyalty, wants to throw the device on the ground. See how sturdy it is and compare it to the tactical, military-grade equipment you grew up with. How many pieces will it break into? A dozen?

You gaze into Peter’s earnest face. His eyes are warm, light mahogany. There are soft lines that kiss the corners of his eyes. You think when he is old, he will have many wrinkles around his eyes, and it takes a second longer than normal for your lungs to refill.

“I’ll borrow it,” you say, unable to accept his random kindness, “and return it before our work is done.”

“Great!” Peter coughs, rubbing the back of his neck, “I mean, that sounds good.”

The cassette clicks, whirring warm in your palm, and switching the song. The subway rushes past in a gust of tepid, moist air that smells both stale and greasy. You scan the crowd. The citizens range from individuals wearing jean jackets with sewn patches, to baggy street wear, to plastic bags on shoes, to gym athletics and smart watches.

Someone gets on the train wearing a camouflage parka. Your spine stiffens. Your fingers twitch to the weapons hidden inside your coat. Do I know your face? You shift your body and peer at the subway windows, allowing the ghostly transparent reflection to reveal the stranger’s face.

As you wait for the right angle, the right lighting, you consider your options. Tail them out of the train—could be a trap, but their numbers are never that high. Get close, press the blade to the artery in their thigh, let them see your face before you sink the blade in and leave on the next stop. The timing would be tricky, but not impossible. Not for you. Bail on Pete and spend the next several days tracking the stranger until you’ve found and confirmed their hideout. An ambush. Quick and silent.

The stranger coughs into their sleeve and your fingers fall away from your knife.

You’re glad Pete isn’t here. You’ve never traveled together and you likely never will. It’s safer that way. It keeps him out of your personal life.

“That’s the problem with attachments,” you mumble to yourself, “you start wondering what they might say if they knew you.”

*****

Pete rubs his eyes with his fists, “do you hear birds or is that just in my head?”

You don’t lift your head from the microscope, “it’s birds.”

He yawns. There have been plenty of late nights in his garage shared with you, but this one feels different.

Maybe it’s because of the mercurial light flickering along the planes of your face.

Maybe it’s the notes by your hands, the edges of your fingers smeared black from ink.

Maybe it’s the unplugged headphone wire dangling from your throat and brushing ever-so-often against your exposed collarbones.

Shit. He blinks, looking away. He can’t get mixed up. He’s grateful to you. You donated the notes first, but then pieces of Kraven’s equipment, and then...you came around more and more. You wanted to see what he was doing, wanted to see his progress, or ‘see how helpful your notes are.’ He likes it. He likes having you around.

But, even as part-time Spider-Man, Peter knows his relationships with others puts them at risk. He doesn’t want to risk you too. And it’s not because you can’t fight. To him, you’re finding your place outside of Kraven’s shadow and he doesn’t want to mess that up. He doesn’t want to throw you back into the carnage, into the fray, to the wolves you claim to be so comfortable around.

The sequences before him blur into gibberish. He peeks up through his hair back to you.

Your name is the first word out of his mouth, followed shortly by “you’re bleeding!”

“I tried to catch the sample,” your voice is laced with frustration, “I can’t believe I dropped it.”

“It’s fine,” he opens the first-aid kit that’s stowed beneath the desk, “let me see.”

***

You blink at Peter. Earnest, helpful, kind Peter. You cradle your hand to your chest. It stings, but you’ve faced hornets stronger than this. The tiny shards of glass bounce colorful reflections from the holiday lights strung around Peter’s garage. The wild voice tells you to dig the shards out with your nails.

The blood is starting to stain the hem of your sweater.

Peter doesn’t blink. He doesn’t flinch away. His offered hand holding the gauze doesn’t shake.

You swallow. Why isn’t he shying away from the woman made of shrapnel? Doesn’t he know you’re lethal?

“What?” his eyebrows lift, “are you afraid of me? Or is it medical care in general?” soft humor folds into his brown eyes, “I promise my co-pays are reasonable.”

His words shatter the stiffness of your muscles.

You say, “do I look afraid?” you extend your bloody hand to him.

His fingers curl lightly and gently around your wrist. He flushes the wounds with water before plucking the glass out with a pair of tweezers. His brow furrows in concentration. Your neck prickles and a tingling sensation travels down your spine.

You’ve seen his furrowed brow a hundred times. However, you’ve never experienced it as the subject. Peter holds an antiseptic wipe between his long fingers. His touch is unbearably gentle and you wish you had something to compare it to.

“This might hurt a bit,” the soft, low rumble of his voice is strangely intimate.

The words fall out of your mouth, “I’m used to it.”

“Are we going to unpack that?” He slides the wipe across your angry, throbbing skin.

“No,” your lips twitch, “unless you have a psychology degree I’m unaware of.”

You’re fascinated by the way his fingers move along yours, light and precise, carefully wiping away the blood and wrapping your hand in gauze.

He says, “maybe it’s time for a career change.”

You smile. “What career?”

Peter chuckles, “okay, I walked into that one.”

His eyes lift to yours and his jaw slackens, like he’s finally caught the creature stalking him in the woods, and his fingers twitch on your wrist. The charged moment hangs undisturbed in the air, sending signals through the ether and rearranging the flow of blood in your veins.

His cheeks flush rosy and sweet. The pink hue reminds you of that pivotal morning a few months ago when Spider-Man gave you a sunrise and Pete’s number and a hope for a different future. Your fingers curl into his. And the carefully wrapped gauze prevents you from feeling the warmth of his palm. The wild voice tells you to rip the bandages off and run home. Your knees bump into his.

There’s always so little distance between you.

It’s a small garage, after all.

You tilt forward and hear Pete’s sharp inhale. There isn’t a moment of hesitation. Not for you. You know when to strike, when to move, and when to hide. It’s been drilled into you since birth. Hesitation is a lack of courage, in confidence, and you’ve never lacked either of those.

Peter’s mouth collides with yours.

Your ever-present and paranoid guard slips and you close your eyes to savor it—savor him.

The pliant softness of his lips melds into yours and your exhale shudders between your lips. His hand slides from your throat and holds your cheek, his thumb pressed into your cheekbone, and your hip bumps into the side of his workbench when you stand.

Peter remains on the stool, his neck arched, and his lithe legs part for you to enter the space between them. The thrill illuminates your chest like a red flare against a black sky. His lips play against yours, eager and a little clumsy, and you clutch the front of his wrinkled cotton shirt.

He mumbles your name.

“Shh,” you nose skims along his, recapturing his lips, because you think words might ruin it. The hanging lights flash their merry little dance. There’s fragments of glass under your boots. Ink stains your fingers, blood stains your sweater, and Peter’s tongue stains your lips.

You’ve experienced blood lust. You’ve felt it pounding through your ears and sharpening your focus into razor-thin virulence. You’re familiar with the excitement of a good hunt, a worthy opponent, a well-matched fight. Spider-Man, you think, I’ve felt this with him. But those were mixed with violence, and blood, and bruises.

This – this moment with Peter – is wholly different. Your heart pumps the same blood, pushing it through arteries and valves, but your hands move to caress, to clutch, and stroke through the fine strands of his hair. Your lungs tremble, not in pain, but in elation. The passion rolls through you in waves of syrup and brushes your skin like branches of fir.

Peter’s phone buzzes – loud and incessant – and he groans before tearing his mouth from yours. His cheeks are ruddy, eyes bright, and his chest heaves with hungry gulps of air. You’re glad to know you aren’t the only one affected by the strong pull of – whatever this is – between you.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta--” he lifts the phone from the table, “hello?”

You watch Peter’s face while he talks on the phone. He’s too expressive. He’d make a terrible hunter. And probably a bad poker player, too. You want to kiss him again just for the hell of it. And feel the rise and fall of his chest beneath your palms, feel his breath mingling with yours, his tongue and the blunt force of his teeth.

“I have to go out, um, do you want to come with?” he tilts his chin toward the garage door, “we could – uh – get something to eat along the way?”

You hands twitch at your sides. Your coat, draped on the desk chair, is laden with hidden pockets for knives and darts and small vials of poison. An arsenal for protection, an arsenal for vengeance, the truth of your soul. A soul that Peter cannot – should not – bear witness to.

“Can’t.”

His expression deflates, but he recovers with an easy-going smile.

He shakes his head, “that’s cool,” and says, “another time then.”

You make a noncommittal sound.

***

You finish setting up the tripwire at your apartment door and wipe your palms on your sweatpants. The windowpanes glisten with raindrops, painting the empty corners dark blue, and blurring the myriad of ever-changing traffic lights.

You scratch beneath your ear, upsetting your headphones, and flop onto the couch. The cassette whirs like a little hamster running through its wheel as the song fills your head and blocks out the honking below. You’ve grown to like the city of noise, the city that never sleeps. It’s a concrete jungle. A unique hunting ground.

Tap, tap, tap --

You jerk upright and your head whirls to the noise. Spider-Man perches on the ledge of your window, his red and blue suit shiny and dripping. You cautiously close the distance and begin to disarm the trap before unlatching it. It creaks noisily as it slides open and old paint chips cling to the windowsill.

The cool wet air is tinged with the scent of exhaust fumes.

“Weird time to visit,” you say.

“I was in the neighborhood.” He slips through the window like a salmon and lands soundlessly on the hardwood floor.

You’re going to have to move. You don’t want Spider-Man keeping tabs on you.

“But this isn’t a social call,” he continues, “I need your help with something.”

You lift one eyebrow, “I’m not a mercenary,” then you add, “and even if I was, I doubt you could afford me.”

Spider-Man laughs. “It’s nothing like that!”

You fold your arms across your chest. Spider-Man gives you the vague details of a criminal that he’s had trouble tracking down, could use your expertise, and fighting skills, and so and so forth. It’s a good pitch, you’ll give him partial credit for effort, but you’re not interested in becoming a vigilante – or a hero.

“So, what do you say? We’ve teamed up before.”

Against the symbiote. But, your motivations were selfish. You weren’t helping Spider-Man or trying to save the city. You were weakening Venom.

“No thanks.”

“What?” His lenses widen, “seriously? After my whole speech and everything?”

“Try a power point next time.” You shrug, “I’m retired. No more fighting for me.”

Spider-Man glances around your apartment and there’s evidence of your hypocrisy across every surface. A case of black, tactical arrowheads sits on your coffee table. There’s several target posters hanging on the wall across from your couch with pockmarks embedded into the paper. There’s unfinished gadgets and an open toolbox on the floor near the kitchen where you like to eat breakfast and tinker.

“You’re a bad liar,” there’s a smile in his voice, “just this once, huntress, that’s all. For old times sake.”

You muster the energy to glare at him, but it lacks true heat. “You mean the old times when I was actively trying to kill you?”

Spider-Man shrugs languidly, “we all have bad days.”

That wildness, the hunter that lives inside you, under your skin and in the marrow of your bones is grinding its teeth and trashing into your ribs. It’s hard to determine where you begin and the hunter ends or if they’re destined to forever be intertwined.

You’re a wildcat, unable to be truly domesticated and all your attempts have been in vain.

But, then you remember the warmth of Peter’s lips, his gentle hands, and genuine laughter. You tell yourself, there is room for softness inside of me, for even tigers can purr.

You tell Spider-Man to wait while you get dressed.

“One time,” you hold up a finger, “that’s it.”

“One time.” he agrees with a nod.

Together, you rush into the monotone rain-soaked evening for your first hunt since Kraven’s death.

[they-callme-ami]

I love Hobie so fucking much not just as a character but in relation to Miles as an older black Spiderman.

Rio (and by association Jeff) were worried that Miles going off to Princeton and other places would mean he wouldn't have anyone to take care of him, but also support him and have his back like they did and his community in Brooklyn.

My mother had the same fear for me when I went off to college, despite going to her Alma mater, it was a PWI and she didn't keep many friends who lived there. I'm now over 800 miles away from my family (WAY more than Miles but I digress.)

When Miles wanted to join the spider society and thought he could contribute, he was shot down and treated like some sort of criminal, mistake, as if he was worthless. Confirming Rio's fears. Even his own friends from before did not stand in his corner when the time came.

But Hobie?? Hobie had met Miles that DAY and he was constantly supporting him, looking out for Miles, and already had the gears turning for when shit would inevitably hit the fan. He warns Miles about the Spider society being BS, gives him advice about how to use his powers and escape, and made a watch all on his own for Gwen to utilize.

The same thing could even be said for Margo, who was not involved in chasing Miles and when it came down to it, allowed for him to escape Miguel.

Both had only just met Miles, and stood in his corner. They supported him, protected him, and were ESSENTIAL to him being able to escape and fight back. It may not have been Princeton, but when it came down to it, Miles found people in an oppressive system that helped and supported him because THEY were his people (in every sense).

It made me feel so...so seen. It's not uncommon for many POC (in this case, black people) to feel like they are judged the minute they are in a place where they are 'unwanted' or need to be put in a box, but finding your people wether in a racial sense or based on likes and interests is so healing.

I love Hobie because he supports people rather than institutions. I love Hobie because he fights for his own moral compass and what he believes will be a good cause rather than "The Greater Good" that leaves minorities at the wayside. I love Hobie because he takes care of Rio's son the way she would. I love Hobie because he reminds me of all the people I have taking care of me when my family can't.