#but he's close to just hurling himself through a window too

[scorching-passion]

Somehow Genesis gets thrown through Roche's window and manages to stick the landing.

Unprompted Asks - ALWAYS ACCEPTING @poeticphoenix

It could be determined a lie if Roche was to say he wasn't beginning to grow rather concerned at this moment.

Between peeling flower peddlers away from windows and the sharp melody of shattering glass to reveal the flailing body of his superior now lodged in the overhead viewing gallery only one thought truly remained.

Whoever this house belonged to is going to be rather annoyed...

[hannyoontify]

little stars - kwon soonyoung

member | non-idol!hoshi x illustrator!reader

genre | fluff, newly est. relationship

word count | 2k with some change

synopsis | soonyoung sees you without makeup for the first time, and he notices something he’s never seen before

warnings | reader wears makeup, reader has freckles on their face, reader is implied to have insomnia but it’s not prevalent to the plot, reader is ticklish, soonyoung has an extensive vocabulary of terms of endearment that borderline make me wanna hurl if they were used unironically, soonyoung makes a shrek reference

notes | i have freckles on the back of my hands and have always been insecure of them but i remembered how my ex used to kiss them and say they were beautiful

Soonyoung’s not a criminal. He knows that. The last time he committed a serious crime was back when he was seven years old when he stole a new pack of crayons from his sister’s friends’ house after a play date.

(Two seconds after leaving said friend's house and he could no longer handle the overwhelming and crushing guilt and ended up running to his mom and crying, calling himself a “tiger thief.”)

So when Soonyoung urgently texts your best friend to ask for the password to your apartment, he can’t help but feel a dull pang of guilt in his chest as he inputs the numbers he sees into the digital keypad. His hands are shaking as the door unlocks and he fumbles through the doorway and upon your quiet and dark apartment.

It’s well past noon now and yet, there wasn’t a single hint of you in the living room and kitchen. The sink was still empty, the drying rack was full, the throw pillows on the couch looked too pristine, and the curtains were still closed. Fearing the worst, Soonyoung quietly made his way to your closed bedroom door, his sock-covered feet padding along the floor. 

He softly knocks once. Then twice. “[Name]?” No response. 

“[Name]? Baby? Are you awake?” When he doesn’t get a response, Soonyoung pushes the door slightly open. “I’m coming in…” 

In the dark room, all Soonyoung could perceive was a lump amidst the lush pile of stuffed animals and blankets, your sleeping form slowly rising and falling. “Baby…” He pushed the door wider, letting the minimal light from the living room stream past your doorway, shedding light into your dark room.

The lump under the big fluffy duvet stirred, squirming around as Soonyoung approached the side of your bed. He turned on the mushroom lamp you had on your bedside table and you let out a loud groan. 

While you stirred in your sheets, Soonyoung glanced around your room. He’d only been to your apartment a couple times in the past few months but he was already familiar to the layout of your bedroom. In the corner, next to the window was your desk with your extensive, impressive PC set-up. Sheets of half-drawn and unfinished pencil drawings were strewn across your drawing board and your desk was a flurry of paper, reference photos, and pencils.

Soonyoung felt a pang in his chest at the realization that you had probably stayed up until ungodly hours trying to finish your illustrations. You were an artiste and you had a bad habit of working until you practically dropped dead when you were struck by a lightning of inspiration.

“[Name], love, it’s time to wake up. It’s already past 3 in the afternoon. Sleeping is for the nighttime.” You poked your head out of the blanket, the edge of the fluffy duvet resting right below your eyes and covering the rest of your face. 

You stared at him blankly with bloodshot eyes and Soonyoung swore he saw—and heard—the gears turning in your head. It took you a couple seconds to recognize your boyfriend. “Soonie?” You croaked out, your voice still hoarse having woken up just seconds before.

Soonyoung smiled at the nickname and affectionately patted your head. “Time to wake up, sleepy head. Don’t wanna ruin your sleep schedule. Late night, huh?”

You nodded and rubbed an eye. “Deadline was…” You yawned. “Last night. Couldn’t sleep either.”

Soonyoung nodded sympathetically. 

“What- what time is it?” You blinked at him with the blanket still covering the rest of your face. Your hair was a tussled mess that was fanned out on the pillow behind you.

“3 pm, baby. C’mon. Let’s get you out of bed.” Soonyoung gently pulled the blanket away, revealing the rest of your face and your matching tiger pajamas. Your boyfriend stared at your clothes, an ambiguous look in his eyes that made you unsure of whether he found your pajamas adorable, or if he simply coveted your clothes and hence boosting you up to top 3 on his rob list, next to his model friend, Joshua and his tiger striped patterned button-up.

(That button-up wasn’t even his, it was something his stylist had just put on him for one of his magazine photo shoots.)

Meanwhile, reality had finally begun to settle in for you as you just realized that your new, hot boyfriend was standing in your bedroom, fluffy hair galore. He was standing over you with a twinkling look in his eyes, clad in a pair of black sweatpants and a white tank top, his muscles flexing and rolling as he tugged the blanket off of you.

You then suddenly became painfully aware of your appearance. You were in your embarrassing tiger character pajamas and your face was painstakingly bare. Your hands flew up to your hands and you flipped over, burying your face into your pillow with a loud groan. 

“Soonie, can you wait outside for me?” Your voice was muffled by the fabric of your pillow. 

Soonyoung reached out for your shoulder and his eyebrows scrunched up with worry. “Why? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

With your hands still covering your face, you rolled back and peeked at your boyfriend through your fingers. “I’mmph mmm wmmph any mammphup.”

Soonyoung chuckled and gently grabbed your wrists. “Baby, I can’t understand what you’re saying.” 

“I’m not wearing any makeup,” you whined. “You’ve never seen me barefaced before, I’m embarrassed.”

“Nooooo, baby, lemme see your hot and sexy face,” When you wouldn’t budge, Soonyoung sighed in fake exasperation. “Then you leave me no choice.”

He crawled into the empty spot next to you in bed and wrapped his big arms around you, prying your hands away from your face. 

You giggled and wriggled away from Soonyoung, using everything within you to try and hide from your boyfriend who was now currently pinning you to the mattress jiu-jitsu style. You shrieked when Soonyoung’s cold fingers dug into your sides, causing you to writhe around under him, like a fish without water. You gasped for air as Soonyoung tickled you but your hands still firmly covered your face.

“Baby, babe, pookie bear, my sweet sugar plum, my snookum bear, honey bunch, sweet cheeks, pooh bear, pudding pie, my cutie patootie, snuggle bear,” Soonyoung gently grabbed your wrists again. “I don’t care if you’re the pretty princess version of Fiona or the ogre version. I’ll be the Shrek to whichever version you are, because,” Soonyoung placed a hand over his chest and spoke after a dramatic pause. “It’s the heart that truly matters.”

You snorted. 

“Are you laughing at me and my Shrek analogy? You know it took me a long time to think of that.” Soonyoung seemed to deflate and he pouted.

“Of course not baby. I think your Shrek analogy is genius,” You peeked through your fingers, just in time to see his chest swell again with pride–you had complimented his Shrek analogy! “But I’m still not showing you my face.”

“BABY NOOOOO,” Soonyoung dramatically threw himself against you, his fingers seeking refuge in your armpits this time, causing you to erupt into a fit of giggles. “LEMME SEE YO FACEEEEE.”

“Nooooo,” you whined. Despite your protests, you couldn’t help but giggle as Soonyoung tried different combinations of kissing and tickling to try and get you to open up.

Thanks to his stubbornness and his iron grip, he was finally able to pry your hands off your face and pinned them against the pillow next to you. In the midst of wrestling you, Soonyoung had ended up on top of you, his legs straddling your waist and he looked down at you with a triumphant grin. “Gotcha.”

His eyes were roaming around your face, evidently studying you as you tried to avoid eye contact. Your giggles slowly subsided, and you heard Soonyoung trying to catch his own breath. When he finally managed to lock his eyes with your own, there was a softness in his eyes in the way he looked at you that you had never seen before.

Breathless, Soonyoung spoke softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “You… have freckles…”

“H-huh?” You felt your cheeks burning as your boyfriend timidly brought a hand up to your face. His fingertips softly grazed your skin, his touch so light and gentle, you would’ve thought it was just a light gust of wind if you hadn’t been paying attention. Soonyoung’s eyes stayed trained on your cheeks, his eyes examining each and every individual freckle with a gentleness you had never seen from him before.

You’ve always been aware of the freckles on your face, but they’ve never received this much attention from someone before. It felt awkward, but it also felt… intimate. It felt nice for your beauty marks to be appreciated, and your heart swelled with affection at the sweet gesture from your boyfriend. 

Soonyoung continued to study the freckles, his fingers lightly tracing your skin with a feather-like touch. As if he was trying to commit every single detail of you to memory. Finally, his eyes meet yours and the corner of his lip tugs up, hinting a smile. “You’re beautiful.”

You feel the heat on your cheeks spreading across your face to the tip of your ears and you become unsure of how to respond. Sure, you’ve received compliments before, but not like this. No compliment you’ve ever received has ever been this intimate or vulnerable. The way Soonyoung said those two words made it sound like a secret. A secret that he uttered quietly into the void, whispering it into existence, just for you to hear. A secret only the two of you would know.

You thought your heart was about to burst. 

Soonyoung cupped your face with both his hands and his thumbs rubbed gently against the soft skin on your cheekbones. You blinked up at him, watching his big, dark eyes roam around your face. The light of your mushroom lamp reflected in his eyes, sparkling and shining with a child-like wonder. 

Your room was dimly lit, the muted colors in your room solely provided by the small lamp on your bedside table. It had begun to rain at some point, the dull pitter-patter of the rain against your window replicating the beating of your heart. 

After what seems like forever, you finally speak up. “Soonie?”

Soonyoung begrudgingly tears his eyes away from your freckles and looks into your own, shining eyes. “Yes, baby?”

“I–” you faltered, unsure of what to say. You pursed your lips and stared at your boyfriend who gave you a soft, loving smile. “Are my freckles that interesting?”

Soonyoung’s grin grew into a boy-ish one and he reached over and pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “Yes, honey. I want to commit every part of you to memory. I want to learn the story behind every freckle and scar. I want to learn all of you.” 

You felt an unfamiliar warmth stir in your heart, that soon spread throughout the rest of your body, through your fingertips and every cell of your being. Your heart fluttered. Was this what poets and lyricists meant when they wrote of love

“They’re like… I mean, I’m not a poet but-” Soonyoung fumbles as he searches for the right words to describe the immeasurable admiration and love he felt for you. 

Your freckles were strikingly beautiful and Soonyoung felt the wind getting knocked out of him when he first saw the sweet brown sugar sprinkled on your nose and cheekbones. They were like April rain showers that sprinkle the green grass with yellow flowers and Soonyoung thought your face mimicked the night sky, your freckles glinting and gleaming like countless stars. 

“Your freckles… they remind me of beautiful constellations. They can create illustrations in the night sky by connecting the dots and they tell stories, your stories.” Soonyoung paused. “And I love them.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Was he-?

“I love you.”

Soonyoung gazed down at you with an uncertain look, his eyes searching your own for some kind of response. His heart hammered against his chest as he wondered if you felt the same way yet. 

You did. 

“I love you too, Soonyoung. And baby?”

“Hm?”

“That was so much better than your Shrek analogy.”

reblogs and feedback are always appreciated ^-^

[heliads]

hi!! Can I request Harry Potter x f!reader, where Harry and y/n are dating and during the battle reader gets severely injured almost dead by Voldemort and Harry doesn’t know until after he defeats him he goes looking for reader but can’t find her, getting scared he goes looking for her and finds her under a pile of rubble realizing she’s about to die he uses the resurrection stone or wand to bring her back to life/heal her. Sorry if it’s really I’ve never requested before!

just read manacled so i'm desperately craving to write some hp angst so this request was perfectly timed thx anon xoxo

'someone take me home ' - harry potter

masterlist

The air is dark, choked with the ash and smoke of Harry Potter’s only true home.

Although he is not the one setting fire to the turrets, sending trolls in to demolish the stone parapets, or hurling curses through glass windows, Harry still feels responsible for the destruction. He is the one who challenged Voldemort by trying to hunt down his Horcruxes. He is the one who has brought this needless death and destruction into the castle. When Voldemort made his pronouncement that all of this fighting could cease if they would only turn Harry over to the Death Eaters, Harry had felt the weight of that guilt settle onto his shoulders like a cloak. It is his doing, all of this. He is the one to blame.

The only way he can make up for it is to end this, once and for all. If he does not kill Voldemort tonight– if he cannot end this war quickly– every life lost, every shred of memory and pride lost in the broken castle’s rubble will have fallen because he could not get the job done. Harry is responsible for everything that happens here tonight. He has to be responsible for winning it, too.

Harry is close to the end. So close. He has already died once tonight. He does not want it to happen again. For a moment there, when he went into the woods alone to meet his soon-to-be killer, armed only with a wand, a wish, and a deeply seated terror that would not leave him, Harry had not thought that he would come back. Dumbledore had not had the chance to specify that in his memories, that Harry would survive the Avada Kedavra curse for the second time in his life.

Harry had not known at all. Through Snape’s memories, he had seen that he would have to die for Voldemort to be killed, but there was no guarantee that Harry would come back. When Harry came away from the Pensieve burdened with that terrible truth, he had assumed that the blinding flash of green light would be all. When he said goodbye to Ron and Hermione, he had left them thinking that he would never return. Walking away from them was horrible, the price of seven years’ worth of incredible friendship. The only thing worse than that was leaving Y/N.

Y/N L/N. Harry’s girlfriend. They started dating during their fifth year, coasting on the thrill of sneaking around behind Umbridge’s back to run the DA. He’d liked her for longer, of course, he swears half the boys his year had a crush on Y/N at least since their second winter at Hogwarts, but Harry was the one who got to keep her around. He never forgot how lucky that made him. And, leaving her behind in the ruins of Hogwarts Castle to end his life, Harry reminded himself of it then, too. Even if he was going to die, he had lived a properly good life before the moment the Killing Curse was spoken aloud. He should have no reason to mourn all of the moments he would never have when he already experienced and enjoyed so many.

To distract himself in those cold, empty woods, Harry had reached into his pocket for the small, dark stone left to him by Dumbledore in the shell of a Golden Snitch. It’s probably not wise to carry a Deathly Hallow through the Forbidden Forest in search of a Dark Lord, but Harry was, after all, headed towards his certain death, so he figured that a little bit of risk was acceptable under those circumstances. Turning the Resurrection Stone over in his pocket, Harry had let his eyes flicker closed as he thought of something– as he wished for it, more than anything, more even than he needed to be alive– and then his eyes had opened, and he had seen his parents.

His first thought was that they looked just like their photographs. They smiled at him, reaching out wispy hands to guide him onwards. Remus and Sirius had joined not soon after. It was easier to be brave when he wasn’t alone, and it must have just been his mind imagining it, because he swore that just before he emerged into the clearing containing Voldemort’s camp, Harry saw Y/N there too, smiling and calling out to him.

He just wanted to think of her one last time, that was all. It meant nothing. Y/N was alive with Ron and Hermione. The one-hour truce had probably ended by then, so they would all be fighting again, but his two best friends would keep the love of his life alive. Of course they would. He made them promise.

Harry had removed that worry from his mind, and then he had died and subsequently come back to life. When he was lying on the cold ground, when Narcissa Malfoy had bent over him and asked him as quietly as she dared if her son was still alive, Harry has to admit that he was not thinking about the good of the mission to kill Voldemort, nor how he could keep up that crusade if he stayed alive. No, he thought about seeing Y/N one more time, and so he told her that Draco was still living. Harry didn’t even know if it was a lie or not, it didn’t matter, it worked. It could be true. Harry had no way of telling if Draco had passed away. All he could do was survive, clawing inch by inch until he could make it back to the grounds of the castle and tell for certain who was dead and who was alive.

The ruse, however misguided, had worked, and then Voldemort had crowed with sickly joy and dragged Harry’s body back to the castle. Harry was forced to remain stock-still, terrified to move so much as a muscle lest he give himself away and incur a second Killing Curse.

Now he is back, back here, back in the present moment, back in the castle. Harry is alive and everybody knows it. Harry heard the cheers erupt when he flung himself away from Hagrid to stand opposite Voldemort again, but he dared not look back. One distracted glance gives Tom Riddle a chance to kill him, and Harry cannot– he will not– give himself away like that after everything. His friends need him. Y/N needs him. Harry must do this, he must win.

Harry is no stranger to dueling, both with friends and enemies. When Voldemort points the Elder Wand at Harry, the wand that technically is under Harry’s control, Harry feels the moment thrumming in his veins like a bloodlust even before his opponent casts the spell. His wand hand rises of his own volition, the spell rising to his lips by reflex alone.

Two incantations are chanted at the same time. Avada Kedavra, Voldemort shrieks across the dusty courtyard, his voice like a death rattle. Expelliarmus, Harry shouts back, his heart leaping into his chest. He has never meant a spell like this before, and he swears he never will.

For a moment, all is still, all is quiet. The Death Eaters and students alike watch with bated breath as the two spells arc across the courtyard, but then Voldemort’s bright spark of green rebounds the second it comes into contact with Harry’s, sending both tumbling towards the Dark Lord. The Killing Curse hits Voldemort, and just like that, with no pomp and circumstance, no drama befitting the one who has caused them all so much violence and grief, Tom Marvolo Riddle dies.

Harry doesn’t believe it. Truly, he doesn’t, until he forces his limbs to walk over to the body of Voldemort and stand, staring, at the corpse until he is certain it does not move again. Slowly, surely, the Death Eaters peel away, and the students and members of the Order of the Phoenix come back again, surging around him like an ocean wave, rejoicing in their victory.

Ron and Hermione reach him first, one at each side. They embrace him, half crying, half beaming. Hermione’s saying that he’s done it, he’s won, and Ron is grinning at him proudly, telling Harry that he knew he could do it. Harry waits for the fourth person to join their party, but for some reason, she never does.

Harry pulls back slightly from their embrace. “Guys,” he says uncertainly, “Where’s Y/N?”

Ron and Hermione exchange confused looks. “She was just here,” Ron says vacantly. “Wasn’t she, Hermione? I swear I saw her a minute ago. We were fighting together, then a bunch of Death Eaters split us up. I got back to Hermione as soon as I could, but–”

“But you didn’t see her?” Harry interrupts. His voice sounds harsher than he intends, but a sudden, icy panic is beginning to flood through his system, and he cannot think about anything– he will not think about anything– until he is certain that this fear is unfounded.

He looks desperately at Hermione, the reasonable one, the one who always comes up with answers in times of crisis like this one, but she shakes her head quietly. “None of us have seen her since the fighting started up again,” she whispers. “I’m sorry, Harry.”

“No,” he says forcefully, “No, that’s not right. Y/N is alive. We just lost her in the crowd, that’s all.”

It must be true. Harry won’t look at either of them, won’t see the slow rush of guilt that’s creeping into both of their faces. Y/N has to be here. She wouldn’t just leave him like this.

Harry pushes past the two of them, fighting his way back through the crowds. He scans every face he sees, ignoring friends and professors the moment he’s sure they aren’t her. When he doesn’t see her immediately, Harry looks not at the crowds but the grounds, the walls, to see if she’s lying down somewhere. She could still be resting, or maybe she has a broken leg or something and can’t move. There is still a way that she could be alive. There is still a way that she could come back to him.

No sign of her. Harry is about to leave the courtyard and try searching somewhere else, and then he sees a hand crumpled near a pile of rubble. The hand, bloody and streaked with dust, is connected to an arm, an arm which lies limp from a shoulder, which leads to a chest which leads to a face, a face he knows, a face which is Y/N’s.

Harry is kneeling on the ground in a flash. The body of a fallen Death Eater is somewhere to the side, and Harry has the brief, proud thought that Y/N managed to kill one of them before she– He cuts himself off just in time.

Y/N seems perfectly fine by all accounts, were it not for the ash beginning to tint her face a lifeless shade. It gets everywhere, that stuff, but it won’t matter, they’ll have time to clean up later, once it is all over. It is all over, he realizes belatedly, but not quite yet. Not until she sits up again and smiles at him like she always does.

Harry waits for this to happen, for her chest to rise and fall, for any sign of movement. Nothing comes. It is only sitting here, waiting, watching for nothing, when he realizes at last that Y/N is dead. He missed his chance to save her. Y/N is dead because Harry couldn’t beat Voldemort fast enough.

The grief crashes over him in spasming attacks. He cannot lose her, not like this. It was easier to be the one dying when he knew she would go on to live a long, happy life, but this is wholly different and much worse. Y/N deserved far more than a death at seventeen. She deserved far more than Harry letting her down in this final way.

He can’t allow this to happen. Harry has killed the Dark Lord, he has freed the Wizarding World from death and destruction, he will save his girlfriend and it will be his last victory. Harry claws at his pocket for the Resurrection Stone– he almost lost it in the Forbidden Forest, but not quite, and now he has it still– and presses it with shaking hands against her heart. Harry closes his eyes and wishes with everything he has that she would come back.

He doesn’t want to open his eyelids. If it doesn’t work– he can’t look at her again, fallen and still. He stays in the darkness until someone tells him in a light voice, “You can look now, Harry. I’m alright.”

Harry opens his eyes and almost sobs again. There, sitting up, is Y/N. She smiles at him. “Don’t look so surprised. You know what the stone does, don’t you?”

“I do,” he croaks, “but– I was so afraid, Y/N. I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t have to,” she whispers back. “We’ll always be together now.”

He wants this. Harry reaches forward and embraces her. He can hardly feel her hug him back, but she’s probably still injured from the fight. She’ll have to get up to the hospital wing as soon as possible, Madam Pomfrey can make her as good as new in a second’s flash.

Harry steps back so Y/N can stand up, and then he starts to lead her back through the courtyard. Ron and Hermione have caught up to him by now, and they stare at Y/N with undisguised shock.

“She’s back,” Harry says exultantly, as if they couldn’t tell that already.

Hermione nods faintly. “Harry…”

Her voice trails off. Ron lays a comforting hand on her arm, then turns to Harry. “You found her, then?” 

For some reason, he doesn’t seem nearly as happy as Harry thinks the situation deserves. He’s just found out one of his best friends is alive, after all, but instead he seems as if he’s just come from a funeral.

“I did,” Harry confirms. “I’m going to take Y/N to the hospital wing now, just in case.”

Y/N nods in agreement, which makes Ron and Hermione exchange knowing glances again.

“What?” Harry asks, somewhat cross.

“Nothing,” Hermione says a little too quickly. “It’s just– Oh, Harry, you have the Resurrection Stone, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Why do you ask?”

The look in her eyes is deeply sorrowful. “You have to let go, Harry.”

He shakes his head. “What are you talking about? I just got Y/N back, I have to make sure that she’s alright.”

He moves to brush past them, but Ron holds out an arm. “Here, I’ll take Y/N to the hospital wing. How about you stay and talk to Hermione for a little longer?”

Y/N looks unhappy about this, and although Harry doesn’t quite want to be parted from her yet, he can’t technically see any problems with this, so he agrees, and watches mournfully as Y/N trails away behind Ron. She’s moving slower than usual, but again, that must be due to injury.

Hermione takes him by the arm and steers him away from the quickly burgeoning crowds. “Harry,” she begins slowly, “Do you remember what Xenophilius Lovegood said about the Deathly Hallows, about the Stone in particular? How it drove the second brother mad because his bride came back from the dead, but she was never really the same?”

“I do,” Harry says vaguely, not entirely sure what this has to do with him, “But that’s not the case with Y/N, though, she’s fine. I reckon it’s because I have the Elder Wand too, you know?”

Hermione sighs. “Harry, that’s not the Y/N you lost. She’s different. I think she’s closer to a ghost than a person.”

“No,” Harry says unsteadily, “She’s just like I remember, honestly. I don’t know what you’re talking about. She’s nothing like a ghost.”

Hermione takes a slow breath in and out. She’s obviously fighting tears. “That’s because she hasn’t been herself lately, even before she– even before she died, Harry. The war has been hard on all of us, but her especially. It’s taken quite the toll on her, so much so that you would see a ghost of the girl you knew and still think it was her.”

“That makes no sense,” Harry protests, but a persistent feeling of doubt is starting to shadow his mind.

“I can prove it,” Hermione insists, and reaches into her pocket to pull out a photograph.

Harry holds it in his hands and stares. He remembers the moment this photo was taken more than he recognizes the actual people inside of it. This was one of the last days they had to themselves before the war broke out in earnest and everything went to hell. It had been in the spring, all four of them in the Gryffindor Common Room. Colin Creevey had taken the photo while they were unawares and to punish him, they’d confiscated it. Harry had no idea Hermione had held onto it, but now he’s pressingly grateful that she had.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione all look the same, albeit a little younger, a little less beaten down, but Y/N– the Y/N in this photograph is nothing like the girl he’d just seen. This Y/N is vibrant, laughing uproariously at a joke one of them has just told. The version of her in the photograph turns with a start when the photo is taken, but she’s still grinning up at him, still happy. Harry feels as if a saturation charm has been cast upon the photo, it’s the only thing that would explain why she looks so bright and alive here.

Alive, unlike how she looks right now, because she isn’t. Harry had tried to bring her back, but it hadn’t worked completely. Just like in Lovegood’s story. He thinks back to the past few months and he remembers how Y/N had been, how the light had slowly drained from her. The constant running had been hard on all of them, but it was worst of all on Y/N. She was the one forever thinking of new places to go, new things to try, wearing the locket for the longest, never putting up a fight. Slowly but surely, it had coaxed the life out of her, so much so that Harry couldn’t even tell when she was just a shade he had brought back from the dead.

Hermione nods slowly, seeing that Harry understands at last. “I’m sorry, Harry. I’m so sorry.”

“So am I,” he murmurs bleakly.

“Are you going to end the enchantment?” She asks him.

Harry feels like he’s drowning, engulfed in the ash and flame surrounding him. “I will. Just– let me say goodbye first.”

“Of course,” Hermione says. “We’ll be here when you need us.”

It’s more than he can ask of her right now, both to pull him out and to support him when he’s reeling from the shock of it all. They must be devastated too, Hermione and Ron, both of them have friends here who have died in this final battle and throughout the whole war, but they’re putting him first again. He’ll never be able to thank them enough for that, but he can try.

An idea occurs to him as he walks over to Y/N. He’s still got the Elder Wand in his pocket. He hadn’t needed it for the Resurrection Stone, he hadn’t even been touching it, but maybe– just maybe–

He casts a quick summoning charm to bring his invisibility cloak over, then pulls the Resurrection Stone out of his pocket. The Elder Wand in his other hand completes the triad. All three Deathly Hallows, all together at last. Dumbledore had wondered what having all of them together might do, how one might finally become a Master of Death. He had mused once that perhaps one had to accept the inevitability of one’s own death, to brush it off and greet Death as an old friend, as the third brother had done in the tale.

Harry has done this already. Died. He accepted it then. Facing Y/N, he accepts it now. He may die from doing this, but it would be alright. Y/N deserves to live. Harry embraces his fate, whatever it may be. He has the Hallows, but he would give them up for her, he would give up anything. Even himself. He has not meant a spell like this before, except once, and he swears he never will.

There’s a sudden rush of wind around him that forces Harry’s eyes shut, just for a moment. When he opens them, Y/N is still there, but she’s a shade no longer. This time, when she surges forward and hugs him, he feels the embrace completely. 

“It’s really me,” she laughs, shocked, “I don’t know how you did it, Harry, but I’m really back.”

“You promise?” Harry gasps, half choking on his own surprise.

“I promise,” she smiles.

Harry glances back over his shoulder to where Hermione and Ron are watching with dropped jaws. One look at his friends is all he needs to know at last that yes, this is real. He’s finally won. The Dark Lord is dead. His love is alive.

At last, at long last, the last of his burdens disappear into the faint light of morning. Harry Potter is free.

harry potter tag list: @rogueanschel, @cameronsails, @neewtmas, @lovesanimals0000, @with-inked-solace, @sher-lokid7, @eclliipsed, @frenchgirlinlondon, @23victoria, @ilovexavierthrope

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[callsigns-haze]

Memories Fade V

Eris x Rhysand's Sister!Reader Summary: Not so long back Rhysand lost his sister. Years after Helion and Elain can raise her memories from the past to see what truly happened to Y/n. Warning: Mentions of death and drinking, mentions of violence

Part 1 here

Previous part

Seventy years had passed since that fateful ball at Helion’s court, and life had taken Y/N through many twists and turns. Now, she found herself in the familiar solitude of the cabin, a place of refuge and reflection. The years had brought healing, but the scars—both physical and emotional—remained.

The cabin was quiet, the only sounds the crackling of the fire and the distant chirping of birds outside. Y/N stood by the window, lost in thought, when she heard a soft knock at the door. Her heart skipped a beat, and she quickly moved to open it, glancing around to ensure she was alone.

She opened the door to reveal Eris, his fiery hair now streaked darker, but his eyes still as intense and captivating as ever. He stepped inside, and she closed the door behind him, locking it securely. Without a word, she threw her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“It’s been too long,” she whispered against his shoulder.

“Far too long,” Eris replied, his voice thick with emotion. He held her close, savoring the moment before finally pulling back to look at her.

As he did, his eyes roamed over her outfit, and a grin spread across his face. Y/N felt a blush creep up her cheeks as she remembered what she was wearing—a horrendous dress that Rhysand had insisted she wear to the upcoming High Lords’ meeting. It was a garish shade of dark purple with an overly elaborate design that did nothing to flatter her figure.

Eris tried to keep a straight face, but the sight of her in the dress was too much. He doubled over, hurling with laughter, clutching his stomach as he struggled to breathe. “Y/N, what in the world are you wearing?”

She groaned, rolling her eyes. “Don’t laugh at me! Rhysand’s idea of a joke, I think. He’s forcing me to wear this monstrosity to the meeting.”

Eris’s laughter continued, tears streaming down his face as he tried to compose himself. “I’m sorry, I really am,” he managed between fits of laughter. “But it’s just... it’s really something.”

“Oh, shut up,” Y/N said, playfully swatting at him. “I know it’s hideous. You don’t have to pretend.”

He finally calmed down, wiping his eyes and still chuckling. “You could wear a sackcloth and still be the most beautiful person in the room,” he said softly, his tone sincere.

Y/N’s heart warmed at his words, and she reached up to cup his cheek. “You always know just what to say,” she whispered, her eyes locking onto his.

Eris’s expression grew serious as he leaned in to kiss her. The world outside the cabin ceased to exist, and for a few precious moments, it was just the two of them, wrapped in each other’s embrace. When they finally pulled apart, Eris sighed, resting his forehead against hers.

“I’ve missed you,” he said quietly.

“And I’ve missed you,” Y/N replied, her voice filled with longing. “But we can’t stay hidden forever. The meeting...”

“I know,” Eris said, a hint of frustration in his voice. “But for now, let’s just enjoy this.”

----

The High Lords' meeting was in full swing, the grand hall filled with the palpable tension of ancient rivalries and unspoken grievances. Y/N sat beside Rhysand, feeling the weight of the various stares and whispers directed her way. The years had not dulled the memories of the attack or the scars she bore, but she held her head high, a testament to her resilience.

The conversation was heated, with discussions ranging from border disputes to trade agreements. The air crackled with the power each High Lord wielded, their magic swirling subtly in the background.

Then Beron, with his characteristic sneer, dropped a comment that caused the entire room to fall into an uneasy silence. "Has anyone considered the myth of the Phoenii?" he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm yet carrying an undertone of curiosity.

All eyes turned to him. The Phoenii was a legend as old as the Cauldron itself, a tale of love and rebirth that few took seriously. But Beron’s tone suggested he was hinting at something more.

"The Phoenii?" Tamlin scoffed, his golden hair catching the light as he leaned back in his chair. "You can’t be serious, Beron."

Beron's eyes glittered maliciously. "Oh, but I am. A myth, yes, but myths often have roots in reality. Ash and Flare, one as black as nigh and the other as warm as fire, lovers reborn from their own ashes, wielders of beyond magic. Could it be they were more than just stories?"

Helion leaned forward, his expression thoughtful. "It's said Ash died protecting Flare, and she, unable to live without him, ended her own life. They rose again, transformed, and became guardians of the beyond magic wood as for what they're long dead now."

Rhysand exchanged a glance with Y/N, his brows furrowing. The myth was familiar, but it had always been dismissed as a romantic tale rather than a historical fact.

Helion’s rich voice filled the silence, "It's a beautiful legend, a story of love transcending death. But it’s just that—a legend. It dates back to the time of the Cauldron’s creation, a time shrouded in mystery and myth."

Y/N, sitting beside Rhysand, spoke up. "Legends often contain kernels of truth. What are you suggesting, Beron?"

Beron’s lips curled into a smirk. "I’m suggesting we’ve overlooked the potential truth in these stories. If the Phoenii did exist, and their magic was as powerful as the myths claim, could there be remnants of it? Could it be something we could tap into, especially in these uncertain times about the mountain witch?"

The room erupted into a cacophony of voices, each High Lord and their retinues arguing over the possibility. Some dismissed it outright, calling it foolishness, while others, like Kallias, considered it with a more open mind.

"Even if the Phoenii were real," Tarquin interjected, "how would we even begin to search for their magic? The beyond magic wood isn’t exactly on any map."

Rhysand, ever the diplomat, raised a hand to quiet the room. "Whether the Phoenii existed or not, and whether their magic remains, is secondary to our primary concerns. We face real, tangible threats right now."

Eris, who had been silent, leaned forward, his gaze intense. "But what if the Phoenii’s magic could help us against those threats? What if it could be harnessed to protect our lands and our people?"

Y/N watched him, her heart aching with the unspoken connection they still shared. She admired his courage in speaking up, in daring to consider the impossible.

Helion nodded slowly. "It’s not worth exploring, if only to lay the myth to rest once and for all. But we must tread carefully. The past is fraught with dangers and unknowns."

The room fell into a contemplative silence, each High Lord and their advisors weighing the potential of the legend against the reality of their present struggles. The idea of ancient magic resurfacing was both thrilling and terrifying.

As the meeting continued, the topic of the Phoenii lingered in the air, a reminder that even in a world of power and politics, there were still mysteries to be unraveled and legends that might hold more truth than anyone dared to believe.

----

The High Lords' meeting finally concluded, and the tension that had filled the room began to dissipate as the participants vanished one by one. Y/N, glancing around to ensure no one was watching, caught Eris’s eye. With a subtle nod, they slipped away from the grand hall, their footsteps light and quick.

Hand in hand, they ran through the moonlit forest, their laughter echoing through the trees. The weight of politics and responsibilities melted away with each step. Eris led her down a familiar path, their destination a serene lake that had witnessed many of their secret moments over the years.

As they reached the wooden bridge that spanned the lake, they slowed to a stop. The night was clear, the sky a tapestry of stars reflected on the still water below. Eris lay down first, pulling Y/N down beside him. They stared up at the glittering sky, the cool night air brushing against their skin.

For a few moments, they simply enjoyed the peace, their breaths synchronizing. Y/N finally broke the silence, her voice soft. “What do you think about what your father said? About the Phoenii?”

Eris let out a sigh, a mix of frustration and amusement. “My father is a maniac. He says mad shit all the time.”

Y/N laughed, a light sound that blended with the rustling of the leaves. “True, but he seemed serious this time. Do you think there’s any truth to it?”

Eris turned his head to look at her, his eyes softening. “Honestly, I don’t know. The Phoenii are a beautiful story, and maybe there’s a grain of truth in every myth, but Beron? He’s more interested in stirring the pot than finding any real answers.”

Y/N nodded, her gaze returning to the stars. “I suppose you’re right. It’s just... the idea of ancient magic like that is fascinating. It makes me wonder what else is out there that we don’t know about.”

Eris reached over, intertwining his fingers with hers. “The world is full of mysteries, Y/N. Some we’ll uncover, and some will remain hidden. But no matter what, we face it together.”

She turned to him, her heart swelling with affection. “Together,” she echoed, squeezing his hand.

They lay there for a while longer, the worries of their worlds forgotten as they shared this stolen moment. The stars watched over them, silent witnesses to their bond that had endured through time and trials. The lake’s surface mirrored the night sky, a perfect reflection of the vastness above, and in that tranquility, Y/N found a sense of hope and peace.

But not for long....

part 6

Tagging some:

@callsign-magnolia

@kmc1989

@hardballoonlove

@senawashere

@hookslove1592

@marvel-molly

@lucky7rosie

@daughterofthemoons-stuff

@lilah-asteria

@crossfandomslut

@pit-and-the-pen

@inky-sun

@the-sweet-psycho

@why4anne

@bunnyredgirl

@rcarbo1

@pandabiiissh

@adalia-jaycee

[thegoldencontracts]

what would you imagine azul’s ideal first date would be? whatever it was, he’d probably be very awkward, but would try to cover it up, of course, because azul?? being nervous?? no way!!

Don't Question Me!

Epic idea, dearest anon, I love flustered Azul hehe <3

Notes: Teasing reader bc I was in a silly goofy mood

If someone told Azul Ashengrotto that he would be closing the Lounge for an entire night just so he could deal with the anxiety he felt going out with his crush, he would've laughed in their face.

But here he was, sitting in a seat, desperately attempting to keep his composure while you looked at him with amusement in your eyes.

"Hey, Azul," you said, picking at your dinner. "Is something wrong?"

Azul hastily shook his head.

"No, not at all," he said.

You just grinned. He didn't like that look one bit.

"Really?" You said. "You seem nervous."

Azul scoffed. He couldn't let himself be so easily teased.

"Preposterous," he said. He didn't like the way your amusement only seemed to increase at that.

"You don't have to deny it, Azul," you teased. "It's normal to be nervous on a first date."

"I pride myself on deviating from the norm."

"Bold words. Can you prove them?"

What was your agenda here? Were you intending to get something from him? Was this all some convoluted blackmail attempt?

"Of course I can." Azul decided to answer your challenge. "How exactly do you intend for me to do it, then?

You smirked, as if you were completely certain that whatever you said next would render Azul defeated.

"Why don't you let me feed you, darling?"

His face warmed up. Curses.

How was he meant to respond to that? Let you? That seemed like the only way to avoid being teased here.

You sensed the embarrassment radiating off of him, if the way your grin widened was any indication.

"Unless, of course, you're too embarrassed?"

"P-Preposterous!" Azul exclaimed, cursing himself for how flustered he sounded.

"Prove it, then." You didn't give him a moment to compose himself before picking up some of the salad on his plate and putting it up to his mouth. "Say 'ah'."

What sort of game was this? It should've been so easy to just allow you, prove he wasn't flustered by intimacy, put an end to this tomfoolery of yours-

But he couldn't. His face had flushed, his palms dripping with sweat, as if this were some Herculean task rather than an act common during dates.

Why? He was ordinarily so composed - even when the most bone-chilling of insults and threats were hurled at him. He'd spent years ensuring he knew how to effortlessly navigate conversations, but it seemed like that had all been thrown out the window.

You seemed all too smug about this. That wouldn't do. He had to regain his composure.

"Apologies," he said, more mumbled. "I was merely confused at how stupid- er, unfamiliar your behavior is."

The fake Freudian slip - that usually worked. No one managed to see through it.

But, of course, it seemed you were an exception.

"You don't have to get all huffy just because you're too embarrassed to let me feed you, Azul," you crooned, and he could feel his face flush.

"I wasn't intending to call your traditions stupid, that was merely-"

"You never say the entire word when you accidentally say what you think about something," you said. "And your fist always clenches when you realize your mistake."

How did you know him so well? It was mortifying. Flattering, too, but he'd never say that aloud.

That was irrelevant. He had no defense here. What did he do?

"This is all a foolish endeavor," he said, and you merely laughed.

"Aww, is the infamous Octavinelle housewarden getting embawewassed?" Your baby talk was infuriating. "Or maybe you're just nervous?"

You really wanted to make him suffer, didn't you?

"Don't question me!" He said, sounding much louder than he intended. Curses.

He looked away, feeling his lips jut into a pout.

"I'm simply not- all that accustomed to romance."

There was something that felt oddly vulnerable about this, as if he'd just shown you his body lain bare.

He really wasn't. Before you, he hadn't even gone on a date in his life. No one wanted to get anywhere near the ugly little octopus boy from back then, after all.

Would you be the same? Had this all been some elaborate attempt to gather blackmail, or perhaps just a laugh at his expense? It certainly seemed like it.

Your face softened.

"I wasn't trying to make you feel bad, Azul," you said, seeming almost remorseful. "I just- It's so rare to see you out of your element for once. You're always so perfect, so in control that I just, uh, couldn't help but want to see more, y'know?"

That sudden shift in tone was odd.

Wait.

Had he said that out loud?

That wasn't good. He had to regain his composure, reassert himself, he wasn't just some awkward boy!

"It's nice, actually." Your odd statement pulled him from his thoughts.

"What?"

"You know, this," you said, gesturing to him vaguely. "Seeing you act- more like me. Like you're not some vaguely capitalist entity. You look cute when you get all flustered, too."

You thought he was cute? Preposterous. He wasn't cute, he was a businessman, he was intimidating.

And he was hideous. Did you honestly think highly of his appearance?

It felt- nice, in all honesty. Someone who thought he was attractive. But he couldn't assume.

"Spare me the flattery," he said, though he was smiling. "Now then-"

He stood from his seat, extending a hand.

"I'm aware our date's meant to conclude by now, but I must ask for you to continue things back in my dorm."

This was it. This was where he'd see if you were interested in continuing to date him or not. He'd picked out a weekend, made sure your schedule was completely clear, that you had no commitments to attend to. He'd kept this date short to avoid draining your energy.

Now, all that was left was to see how you acted.

You smiled, taking his hand.

"I would love that."

[bahrtofane]

you visit jude and decide to take him through the night to show him a little something, and he shows you one in return

bff!jude x reader

word count - 900+

watch it - pure fluff + teasing and silly judi

-----

windows down driving through a warm madrid night with jude in your passenger. just happy you let him tag along. its your second day in the city, your first seeing him in months. you’ve been itching to. but he doesn’t need to know. his ego will only inflate even more. what will you do with him then? he's already a hand full.

he wanted to greet you at the airport (and bring flowers. friends bring flowers to airports right? right...)

he thinks you'd kill him if he did either.

he missed you, though he doesn’t yet know how to say it yet. worse, he thinks he just might love you.

friendship with you makes him want to tear his hair out. why does he want to kiss you. why does his heart ache at every single good bye. and more importantly why are you one of the very select few that hes allowed to call or face time him at any time

he needs to get it together. especially when you look so star studded like this, driving with one hand, lights of the city flickering on your face, drumming your fingers against the wheel while you tease him

he treasures you. he doesn’t know why you keep going out of your way to see him. he wants to ask. one day, some day, not today.

he chooses to stick his head out the window instead , ignoring the looks he just knows he's getting from the cars around him. you only giggle at his antics, turning the music up.

you hum to the music that blasts from the speakers, not a care in the world, weaving through the streets maybe a little too carelessly but you cant help it. not when his eyes gleam so.

he sticks his head back inside, shimmying into his seat properly, but he hasn’t had enough of the night breeze. hand hanging out of the window, arms outstretched, reaching up up up. you think he could reach the stars like this.

who are you kidding. he's a star himself.

he turns to you, smile wide, burst of laughter falling from his lips, "you drive like a mad man."

you shrug, "you’re having fun aren’t you?"

he mimics you, raising his shoulders dramatically, "am i?"

you shake your head, looking over your shoulder as you change lanes. he laughs, mumbling something about you needing extra classes. and who has their license in the first place, you or him?

never mind that, you want to show him something. you saw it driving to your hotel.

you come off the highway, slowing down as you go up a ramp, back into city roads. you watch as he looks out the window wide eyed. jude, always eager to experience everything. do you make the list?

you hope so.

you drive through turns and loops with one hand, the other outstretched trying to catch the wind.

"copy cat." he mutters.

you narrow your eyes at him, "and who can drive then?"

he quiets at this, huffing in his seat.

you reach the side of a building, parking your car. jude is still pretending to sulk when you step out, heading over to his side.

you lean down, resting a hand on the door, "come on you big baby, something i wanna show you."

he perks up at this, "a surprise?"

you snort, "something like that."

he hops out, closing the door being him. you don’t go very far, leaning on the drivers side of your car, pointing to the side of a building. he looks up, gasping.

its a billboard of him, spanning practically the whole side of the structure. there he stands in his iconic stance. text reading "made in birmingham" on the bottom.

"ive never seen this one before..." he trails off.

"pretty cool one. its huge."

he hums, "makes me look extra cool."

you scoff, "yeah you need it."

"hey!' he yells, launching forward as you run from him.

down the street while you giggle, only the moon and street lights to guide your path. he hurls empty insult while you try not to think too deeply about the implications of it all. he catches up in an instant. of course he does. grabbing your arm and dragging you back to your car while you groan.

you try to throw a fit, wriggling against his grip the best you can but man is the guy strong. turning to face you, brow raised. he turns a little to fast, till your pressed almost right up against each other. faces so close you could just lean in to-

kiss!

his lips press against yours. warm and sweet. soft and gentle.

he pulls away just as fast, apologies tumbling from the same lips so fast he cant hear you saying its okay.

so you kiss him instead. wrapping a hand around his. you can feel him relax under you, tensions seeping from his frame where he stands.

grounded.

when you part. you think your face is genuinely in flames. oh how youve dreamed of doing just that a million times over.

he laughs , the idiot laughs. clutching onto your hands like a life line, "ive been waiting ages to do that." he sighs.

"me too." you confess, shy. looking away, your gaze ends up back at billboard jude.

he wrinkles his nose, "id rather kiss you more somewhere where he isn’t spying."

you gasp, "are you jealous of yourself?" dragging the two of you back to your car.

he shrugs, ducking back inside and buckling up, "im just saying he doesn’t need to be seeing my business."

you roll your eyes, turning your car on and back to driving, "you’re so dramatic."

"but you’re having fun aren’t you?" he teases.

you ignore this. speeding through streets with all the windows down while you let him choose the music again.

you have a soft spot so what? so does he.

[ohtobeleah]

Iris sends Hangman (Deadman) sexy pictures when she knows he’s with Maverick.

ANON!! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS CONCEPT DID TO ME!? I DIED OF DEATH.

I.R.I.S Masterlist

***~***~****~****~***~***~***~****~****~****~***

Picture it with me guys. PICTURE IT. Jakes on his lunch break. He’s enjoying the nice sandwich he’d made himself because if he had to eat another protein bar from the vending machine because he snoozed his alarm for just a little too long, he’d have a mental breakdown. They sucked ass. 

“You coming to the Hard Deck after?” Phoenix was asking. She’d begun to grow a little suspicious of Jake and his sudden disinterest in the copious amount of badge bunnies that seemed to hurl themselves at him on any given night.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll be there—“ Jake replied with a massive mouthful of his sandwich. He obnoxiously overchewed just to annoy Natasha. 

“I think you’re beating yourself up about this a little too much Mav.” Bob smiled as he walked with Pete into the rec room. “These kids, they’re lethal weapons.” 

“Yeah, there’s literally guys in Fanboys advanced weapons systems lecture right now with callsigns like Mayhem and Chaos.” Rooster added. “So what if Iris got the drop on you old man? It was bound to happen.” It was the talk of Miramar, Y/n Iris Mitchell, only female TopGun student for this class, had gotten tone on her own dad, Captain Pete Maverick Mitchell in a basic Dogfighting maneuvers exercise.. “After all, she is the fruit of your loins.”

“Fruit of Mavs loins is still doing push-ups.” Payback chuckled as he looked out the window. “Can’t believe you have the only person that managed to get tone on your old ass doing push ups through her lunch.” 

Maverick just groaned as he sat beside Jake on the lounge across from Phoenix. 

“She won’t show off next time.” 

“Sore loser—“ Jake chuckled. 

“Don’t you have an ACM scheduled to teach after this? I wouldn’t speak so soon, Hangman—she might blow you out of the sky too.” 

“Imma pair her with P:E, she’ll be so busy watching his ass that she won’t be able to keep an eye on mine.” P.E. – Premature Ejection – pressed the ejection switch in an aircraft while it was still on the runway. How the hell that guy ended up in the top one percent Jake would never understand. “Plus, I’m a hell of a lot faster than you these days, pops.” Just as Jake is razzing on Maverick, his phone is buzzing on the armrest in the lounge. Unbeknownst to Jake, only seconds after Payback had said you were still doing push-ups on the tarmac, you’d been let go. You’d charmed Hondo into thinking you were actually a glutton for punishment and he got bored. 

Jake could’ve sworn he forgot how to breathe when he saw your name pop up on his lock screen, it was his fault really—he should have had the message previews turned on. But he didn’t. He walked right into your web. 

“Who’s texting you? All your friends are here?” Mav taunted as Jake shot him a look. 

“Do you even know how to text?” Jake snickered, swiping his thumb up the screen as his Face ID unlocked his phone. As Jake took another bite of his sandwich, he choked and coughed and splattered about in shock horror. “Fuck—“ Jake had never panicked so immediately before in his life. “Jesus Christ—“

There you were on full display, standing in front of your full length mirror, little emerald green set of lingerie on, obviously a pre taken, premeditated picture because you were just doing pushups out on the fucking tarmac. 

You were standing so close to the mirror that Jake could see your perfect nipples through the lace of the lingerie. You skin looked silky smooth and the hume of the dim lamp radiating behind you told Jake you took this last night when you decided on a night in. If he looked closely he could see the strategically placed vibrator on your bed and the not so inconspicuous H_NGM_N you’d written in the corner of your mirror. 

You were so hot it was a joke at this point.

“Here’s the deal, I get you on tone? you fuck me dumb, you get me on tone? I’ll do that thing with my thumb I know you like.” 

Jake locked his phone as quickly as he could, but he knew Mav had seen it over his shoulder. Holy shit. This was it wasn’t it? 

“What the hell's wrong with you?” Phoenix frowned as Jake coughed up his lunch, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. 

“I’m fine, I’m fine—“ Jakes in denial as he catches his breath. He’s red in the face and he feels like he’s got fire radiating in his lungs. “I’m good.” He’s not good, he’s got a raging hard on and anger rushing through his veins. 

“He just got sent nude.” Mav chuckled. “That’s what they’re called these days right?” Pete had for a split second seen the photo, until he averted his gaze. Not realising it was you, his own flesh and blood. “Or have I missed something?” He asked with a questioning tone.

“Nah nah, you got it Mav—“ Bradley bit his tongue, shooting Jake a glare. “You’re not missing anything, well done, good job on the lingo man, gold star.” 

There’s a ruckus coming from up the hall, Bob's curiosity gets the better of him when he sticks his head out into the corridor. 

“Looks like Rebound and Krod are at it again.” That was enough to get the attention off of Jake and on the two aviators blowing up in the hall. Mav was on his feet in seconds, Jake was unlocking his phone to text you back to meet him by B Hanger. 

“Your dad was literally sitting right fucking next to me!!” By your reply alone and the smirk that plastered itself across your face Jake knew you were out to get him in trouble. There was no way you weren’t doing this on purpose now. You enjoyed the rush too much. “He could’ve killed me then and there Iris!? The fuck are you trying to do here?”

“And somehow you’re still breathing?” 

“Don’t you ever pull that shit again? Do you hear me, Lieutenant Mitchell?” 

“Is that an order?” You asked, reaching down to cup Jake's raging erection through his flight suit. “Because there’s a lot more where that came from.” You whispered in Jake's ear as you stood on the tips of your work issued boots. “I would’ve taken some in my red set but I left the panties at your place.” 

“Shame, I really like you in red.” Jake's voice hitched in his throat as you palmed him ever so discreetly. “Like you a hell of a lot better in nothing at all though.” 

“So do you accept my proposal?” You asked softly, pulling back from Jake as you left him harder and throbbing. 

“Nope—“ Jake replied, grabbing you by the forearm as he spun you around, pressed you up against the side of the hanger and kicked your feet apart enough that he had inches on you. “I’m gonna fuck you dumb regardless of who gets tone on who.” Jake smiled, sucking a mark into the supple skin of your neck as he ducked down. “Because that’s what you want me to do don’t you? Daddies little girl, fucked dumb.” Your mother used to tell you something growing up as a kid when you’d ask why she never married Pete. Her response was always different and age appropriate, but the sentiment was always the same.

You fuck dumb, you don’t marry dumb.

Jake left a mark so dark and angry in his wake that it was very much noticeable when you returned for Jake’s theory assessment a little over twenty minutes later. 

“Lieutenant Mitchell?” Jake called you out as you sat writing down what he’d just said. “Is that some sort of bruise on your neck?” 

“Oh damn Iris where’d you get that?” Trash asked as he peeled your collar back, getting a better look at it. You just rolled your eyes, annoyed Jake would stoop so low. But then again, you deserved it. 

“Your mum gave it to me when I was busy fucking her last night, White.” You replied, to which the other pilots responded in an uproar. Jake just smirked to himself when you sent him a wink. Smiling back. 

Hangman felt his heart skip a beat as you did so. Feeling a warmth radiate in his chest he'd never felt before.

Fuck.

***~***~****~****~***~***~***~****~****~****~***

[lilyswritings]

fate — xix

synopsis: Keep your head down, focus on getting through your classes, and try not to die. That had always been your plan of attack when it comes to attending Kings Dominion School of the Deadly Arts. But your life plans get thrown out the window as you find yourself growing attached to the new kid who refuses to lose his compassion and moral code, despite the ruthless curriculum and vicious social cliques he finds himself surrounded by.

author’s note: thank you all for still being here!! your passion for this series has really kept me going, and i sincerely appreciate each and every one of you who's still here. i am still following closely to the show, but as we are swiftly approaching the end of the tv show (ruh roh!) i will be making some changes. without further ado, please enjoy part nineteen!

wordcount: 2,819

part i || part ii || part iii || part iv || part v || part vi || part vii || part viii || part ix || part x || part xi || part xii || part xiii || part xiv || part xv || part xvi || part xvii || part xviii || part xix || part xx

Marcus Lopez Arguello x Reader

     The dorm room is dead silent as you gape blankly at Petra. "No. Fucking. Way." You stare in horror at your roommate, mouth hung open as you attempt to process the slew of graphic information she just threw in your face. In response to your sheer outrage, she simply shrugs, black-painted lips turning up at the corners at the aghast expression on your face.

"Ew," You gasp, eyebrows furrowing as it seeps in, your eyes darting between your roommate, the sheets on your bed, to the chair in the corner, back to your roommate. "Ew! You and... Both of them? EW!" You stand up abruptly from your bed, eyes scanning the bedding below you in panic.

Petra's eyes twinkle with delight at your reaction to her news of what had gone down during the lockdown, when Lex, Billy and her, had been mere moments away from partaking in a three-way in your very room. While it hadn't gone very far, the sheer idea of something like that happening between your three closest friends, in your room, makes your skin crawl.

"In my room?" You exclaim, still processing, and she laughs.

"It's my room too. And we didn't do anything on your side... I don't think." She shrugs again, ducking away from the pillow you hurl at her.

You point a finger at her, mouth still agape at the very idea of anything like that happening on or around your personal belongings. "Petra Katja Yolga, I swear to God, if you ever have sex on my side of the room—"

"Whatever, Mom." She sighs, flipping you a middle finger, before her expression turns sly and a smirk tugs at her lips. "Besides, I feel like if either of us are in danger of participating in activities of the coital nature in this room, it's you."

Your jaw drops, cheeks blazing at the insinuation. "Shut up." You mutter, unable to form a cohesive comeback, and your heated cheeks and lack of retort just fuel Petra's fire, causing her eyes to twinkle mischievously as she plops down on the edge of your bed.

"Oh, Marcus..." She fakes a breathy gasp, falling back into the pillows, and before she has a chance to tease you further, you whirl around and exit the room as fast as your feet can take you, eyes wide with mortification as the sound of Petra's laughter follows you down the corridor.

Speaking of... You will the flush in your face to dissipate as Marcus turns the corner at the end of the corridor, dark eyes immediately seeking you out. "Hey." He smiles softly at you, and you reciprocate, heart swooping at the mere sight of his smile. Jesus, you need to get it together.

"You okay?" He takes in your flushed expression with furrowed brows and you bite back a laugh.

"Not one bit," You shake your head, eyes wide. "Apparently my three best friends almost slept with each other last night... In my room."

"What, all of them? Like, at once?" Marcus' tone is incredulous and you nod, pleased he seems as baffled by it all as you are, but then he ruins it. "Good for them."

You frown, smacking his shoulder lightly. "No, not good for them! My friends! In my room!"

He huffs out a laugh at your outrage, and it's only them that you notice there's a tension in his expression, a hardened look in his dark eyes that gives you pause. "Hey, what's up?"

Marcus makes a face, obviously not having intended on talking about it. "It's nothing, I just... I just got out of AP Black Arts and had it out with Master Lin. It's nothing serious, though, promise." At this, he slides his hand down one of your forearms, lacing his fingers with yours and tugging you closer to him.

Your brows shoot up, cheeks heating back up at the sudden proximity as you gaze up at him through your lashes. "If the monks catch us like this..." Your words trail off as he dips his head to seal his lips to yours, the kiss causing you to forget any protest you might have once had. Before you know it. his hands are on your waist and you're gripping at the lapels of his uniform, the world beyond the two of you lost to oblivion for all you care. You can hear Petra's voice in your head, cackling, but you shove it away, relishing in the kiss.

"If you're worried about the monks," He whispers as he pulls away, dark eyes glittering with mischief. "Maybe we should go somewhere more private."

You very nearly go along with it too, the air simmering between the two of you in the darkened hallway, but you remember why you were going to seek him out in the first place, and step back to give yourself some space to think — something you have proven to be unable to do at such close proximity to him.

"You —" You brush your hands over the lapels of his uniform, straightening the creases you didn't realize you'd made. "Have a shift at the comics store, if I remember correctly." He curses immediately at the reminder, groaning, and you smirk.

"Come with me." He proposes, hand sneaking back onto your waist, and you raise your eyebrows at how bold he's become — but then an apologetic look sneaks into his features, his brown eyes widening with a plea. "Plus, you sort of need to be there, Saya wanted to call a Vegas Crew gathering."

You feel the romance dissipate from the air just like that, a crushing reminder of the psychopathic killer at large and the incredible danger you all live in swooping in to ruin the mood. "Right. Smart." You nod, running a hand through your hair, and Marcus sighs.

"I was going to go change, do you want to come wait in the room?" You raise your eyebrows at his words and he laughs, hands held up in surrender. "No funny business, I swear." You roll your eyes, but nod anyway, biting your lip at the kiss he presses to your cheek as you follow him to his room.

Before long, the two of you head to the comic store together, only waiting a little while before Saya, Billy, and Willie all show up too.

The black and white photos Saya has sprawled on the counter make you shudder, taking in the horrors of what Fuckface has done to Shabnam's house.

"Jesus," Marcus finally speaks up, voicing your thoughts. "Is that Shabnam's dad?" He holds out a photo and you grimace at the image before you.

"His mom's probably in there as well." Billy says, and your frown deepens, causing him to pat you on the back with a less-than-convincing smile of reassurance. "All the more reason we have to do this now."

"Shabnam's house is rigged with traps," Saya explains, pointing them out on the photos. "Chester has seven to eight people inside, helping him."

You pause from gnawing on your thumbnail to look up at Saya. "Are we sure he has Chico?"

"He's not bluffing," Saya sighs. "He knows everything. He has to be getting information from someone inside of King's."

"Shabnam's parents." Marcus fills in, and you nod along, brows furrowed.

"What's stopping him from just..." You swallow thickly. "Sending Chico's head to El Diablo? If he finds out that it was Maria... That we were there..." It's hard to repress the shudder that wracks your body at the mere thought of that.

Marcus' hand appears on top of yours, dark eyes seeking out yours in an attempt at reassurance. "We're gonna need some serious firepower." He sighs, turning back to the group, and you nod. "Guns, explosives—"

"Y'all must be out your damn minds." Willie's voice cuts him off, and when you look up you notice him glowering at all of you, his arms folded over his chest. His eyes meet yours, and your brows tug together, before he scoffs and turns to leave the store.

"Wait, Willie—" You go to follow him, but Marcus puts a hand on your arm and gets up, exiting the store behind his friend. As soon as they both leave, you turn back to Saya and Billy, sighing deeply and sitting in Marcus' empty chair.

"We have to talk to Maria." You say, knowing full well it isn't what Saya wants to hear, and she grimaces but doesn't argue with you. There's a long silence that follows, where all three of you are inevitably picturing the various awful ways that conversation will go, before you finally let out a deep breath.

"I'll do it." You volunteer, causing both of your friends to glance up at you sharply.

"No offence," Billy starts, glancing between you and Saya. "But I think you're probably the last person she wants to talk to right now."

"I'm well aware," You shoot him a glare. "But she has to know what's going on. And I have to try to... To fix this." You know it's probably impossible, that this might be a death wish, but you have to try. You owe it to her to try.

"Tell Marcus where I've gone, okay?" You look to Saya, and she nods, one dark eyebrow arched at your plan. "I'll fill in on the rest of this later, but... I have to do this."

When you arrive back at King's, you forge a note from Juan to Maria, asking her to meet in the girl's bathroom, before slipping it under her door and running to the bathroom to lie in wait.

You are well aware that this might be the stupidest thing you've ever done, but you have run completely out of other options. As you sit in the darkened girls bathroom, you take a moment to fully wonder where the fuck your life went so wrong that you are now in a bathroom, preparing to trap the leader of the Soto Vatos and el Alma del Diablo's pet assassin, in order to have a heart-to-heart.

You are not given enough time to fully delve into those thoughts, thankfully, as the door begins to creak open and you spy Maria's shoes from the crack under the door.

"Meeting in the girl's bathroom is a new low, Juan." Maria calls out in Spanish, and you grimace as you swing the door shut and plant yourself in front of it, revealing your ruse to her.

She wheels around with her fan poised in front of her, expression morphing from one of surprise into rageful apprehension, and you throw your hands up placatingly.

"I know how this looks, and I'm sorry, I just really need you to hear me out and I knew you would never agree to talk with me." Your words tumble into each other in their haste to leave your mouth, and you sigh deeply before oh-so-slowly pulling open your blazer to show her the lack of knives tucked into the lining.

Coming unarmed to this might have been a suicidal move, but you know it's the only way to get her to listen to you.

Her dark eyes narrow, scanning your body, and you nod. "None in the boots, either." You answer before she even gets the chance to ask, slowly rolling your ankle around to show off the lack of metallic glinting.

"We need to talk." It's a cheeky thing to say as you stand in between her and the only exit, but you need her to agree not to kill you before you launch into anything — and you would really like it if this continued as a semi-normal conversation between two teenage friends, despite it all.

Maria doesn't lower her fan, but she doesn't run to attack you, either, so you take a deep breath and launch into it. "We've been doing reconnaissance on Fuckface, and it looks like he's holing up at Shabnam's house. We need to deal with him before he decides to send Chico's head to El Alma, and we need your help."

Her eyes widen as you talk, obviously as displeased by this update as you were, and you swallow thickly. "We need you, Maria. We have to end this. You killed Chico to save Marcus... Now we have to kill Chester to do the same. And save the rest of us, while we're at it."

Bringing up Marcus is a dicey move, and her eyes narrow at his name, but she finally tucks her fan away and sighs. "When?" She asks, and you sigh in relief, lowering your hands.

"We don't know. Soon. Maybe as soon as tomorrow. We didn't come up with a full plan before I left, but... It has to be now." The word 'we' obviously holds the implications of the Vegas Crew, and you watch her expression twinge at the mention of the group.

"Fine. I'll help." She says, eyes still glued to the ground. "Send a message when you make the plan." She moves to leave the bathroom, but you hold your position blocking the door, and her eyes narrow.

"Move." She orders, dark eyes narrowed, and you shake your head slowly, summoning the courage to say the next words.

"I'm sorry."

Your words hang heavy in the silence of the bathroom, and her expression morphs into one of heartbroken anger, but you push through. "I'm so sorry, Maria. It was never meant to happen like this, I didn't want—"

You're embarrassed by the sting of hot tears that press behind your eyelids, and you watch her drop her gaze to the ground, fists clenched tightly as she folds her arms across her chest.

"My heart has belonged to him since that first night on the roof, Maria. You have to know that." You plead, stoic in your efforts for her to comprehend how out of control you've felt this whole time. "With everything that we've been through, you have to understand that I didn't choose this. It just... Happened."

Her eyes never leave the ground, folded arms pressing tighter against her chest as she scuffs the toe of her shoe against the floor. "I know." She whispers, and you take a breath, watching her expression.

The dimly lit room is filled with tension, the air heavy with unspoken emotions. You've just ripped the curtains back and bared your soul to Maria, and now the ball remains firmly in her court. Her silence hangs in the room, stifling any hope for reconciliation.

Seconds turn to minutes as you both stand there, locked in a moment of profound uncertainty. Maria's hair falls over her face, obscuring her eyes as she continues to avoid your gaze. Her jaw tightens, and you can almost hear the gears turning in her mind, weighing the years of shared secrets and experiences against this revelation.

Finally, she breaks the silence with a heavy sigh. "I know," Maria repeats, her voice tinged with bitterness and resentment. "I've always known. I'm not an idiot. I see it in the way you look at him, the way you two..." She sighs again, dark eyes boring holes into the linoleum tile below her. Her words are sharp, filled with a sense of betrayal.

You nod, the weight of your confession still bearing down on you. "But I never wanted it to be like this, Maria. I never wanted to hurt you."

Maria finally looks up, her eyes meeting yours with a cold, unyielding glare. "You should have thought about that before you let it happen," she hisses. "I can't believe you would let me... You let me get my heart broken."

You take a step closer to her, reaching out to gently touch her arm, but she pulls away, her expression hardening. "Maria..." Your chest feels wounded, the sharpness in her eyes driving daggers into your heart. "I love you. I always will. But I can't change how I feel about him." Hot tears begin to fill your eyes as you shake your head fervently. "I wish I could."

Those words ring the truest for the both of you, and you both know it. Your shared love for this boy has caused boundless issues, invited danger and darkness into your lives, and yet as the bond between the two of you breaks in front of your eyes, you can share in the same hopeless adoration of the same idiotic man.

Tears well up in Maria's eyes, and this time, she lets them flow freely. "That isn't enough..." she says, her voice trembling with anger. "I need time. I need to figure this out."

You nod, feeling the weight of her disappointment pressing down on you, and she spares you one last cold glance before she swipes the tears from her face and storms out of the bathroom. The future is uncertain, but it seems clear to you now that your friendship has been irreparably damaged.

[theaviatorthatcouldnotfly]

about simon’s social media plotline

instead of deleting it, why didn’t simon just temporarily deactivate his instagram/make a private account?

all season, simon has been trying to find workarounds to his worsening situation when it comes to outside pressures and an increasingly stifling environment. he tries to find ways to still be himself and have some sense of freedom, even with all the criticism and negativity being hurled his way.

he’s hit with a barrage of hate comments everywhere? fine. he’ll reply to some of them, just to make sure that everyone gets a sense of who he really is. but he soon finds that when he does so, he’s only met with even more hatred and people coming for his throat. and wille himself tells him replying will only make things worse, so he should try to refrain from doing so.

okay, then. he might not be able to directly comment and tell the world who he is and how all of this is making him feel, but he can show them. so he uploads the video of him singing, the thing he loves most in the world, and he expresses himself through that original song. but that doesn’t work either, and wille tells that simon shouldn’t be posting those things on social media because they can easily be misinterpreted and cause harmful speculations and media attention. and to make things worse, there’s a whole new barrage of hate comments, this time leaning into more sinister territory.

but simon is not going to give up so easily— even if tons of people online are telling him that he’s a golddigger and pathetic and chasing fame, he knows that those aren’t his intentions. he’s with wille because he loves him, and he’s not looking for fame or wealth out of it. and all simon wants out of life is to make some positive change in the world. so of course he can’t help himself when he adds himself to the post of the picture he took with the younger boy who looks up to him. he’s hopeful and a little giddy about it all, because he is making a change. he is helping and inspiring others. he wants to share that with others.

and then simon goes home to find that an anonymous stranger has thrown a rock through his window, into his house.

simon loves his family dearly. he would do anything for them. and someone he likely doesn’t even know hated him enough to threaten his family’s safety, his mother’s safety, by finding his house and breaking the window with the rock. being harassed on social media and in person by reporters fucking sucks, but in simon’s mind, at least that’s only affecting him. but this? this is too far. this is his family, and they’re unintentional targets now, too. they aren’t even safe in their own home anymore, where they’ve lived in the last fourteen years.

so when jan olof and farima come by and tell simon to delete his social media accounts for his own safety— not temporarily deactivate, not make private, specifically delete— simon does it. because private accounts and deactivations are workarounds, and to simon, workarounds have only made things worse. it’s not just him on the line anymore, it’s his family and safety and his relationship with wille altogether, so he does exactly what the royal court says and deletes his accounts. workarounds just aren’t worth it.

okay, but why is deleting his instagram account such a big deal? he can always make a new one, so why does it matter?

one of the first times that we get a deeper look into who simon is, not coincidentally, through the contents of his instagram account! when wille is lurking on simon’s profile, we get a solid introduction into the key aspects and people in simon’s life. he he has two best friends who he adores, he loves his sister and his mother, and even his bio says “music makes my world go round”.

but looking past that aspect for now, we also get to see who simon is outside of social media and these close relationships: he’s very outspoken, doesn’t let others silence him (even in his very first scene, he sings louder when vincent makes fun of him), is unafraid to call others out on their bullshit and has strong values that he’s quick to share.

but throughout season three, as simon is faced with more and more pressure and cruelty on behalf of the public and royal court, he starts losing himself. he finds that singing isn’t as enjoyable anymore, he becomes quieter and quieter. he initially fights back when he feels that the royal court is being unreasonable, like when he was first told by wille about being careful on social media, but eventually just reaches a point where he stops and just takes it. he ends up going against his own values just for the sake of not fighting with wille during the sit-in, despite clearly being bothered by it. and of course, this isn’t helped by the fact that he’s not on speaking terms with sara again until much later and his relationship with his mom is strained until mid-season, so a integral part of his support system isn’t able to help him until he was a little too deep into all this.

so looking back at the social media aspect, simon deleting his instagram accounts is the nail in the coffin. he publicly displays his unabashed love for his family, friends, and music through his posts, all of which are essential to his sense of self and who he is as a person, and we see him literally delete it all. this drives home the point that simon is deleting himself, and marks one of his lowest points in terms of losing and changing himself to try and fit into a space that will never be made for someone like him. square peg in a circular hole.

so yes, realistically, simon deleting instagram is a sad thing to see, although not necessarily earth-shattering. but metaphorically? it’s everything.

why were there only hate comments? sweden is very progressive in terms of queer rights and social acceptance, so it couldn’t have been that bad.

of course, i can’t speak for lisa and the rest of the team, but i feel that this was an intentional detail. because the truth is, there probably weren’t only hate comments! we even see the initial response after simon posts the clip of him singing, and it’s positive.

but as an overall society, we tend to take criticism harder than we do compliments. you likely don’t remember that one time last week where a stranger complimented your hair or outfit or handwriting, whatever it may be, but you probably do remember the last time someone told you that your efforts weren’t enough. you probably remember the last time you got a bad review or a bad grade on something you tried hard on, or when someone made fun of your interests. and speaking as a teenager, i can confirm that this is a huge thing to us as well— we want to be accepted and complimented, we want to be wanted, and when we aren’t, it feels like it’s the end of the world.

so of course simon would take all those disgusting comments to heart. anyone would, especially when they haven’t had any time to prepare for it. so as more and more hate comments roll in, it’s harder to pay attention to the positivity that may also be there. from simon’s point of view, the hate is everywhere and too much to ignore, so that’s what we get to see. we see criticism and threats and people being mean, because those are the responses and the view that affect simon the most.

tldr; simon deleted his instagram because he felt that using another workaround in deactivation/private acc would be a risk, it’s a big deal because by literally deleting his social media the writers show that simon is deleting himself, and there’s mostly hate comments because through simon’s pov those are the ones that are the most impactful.

[joelsleftknee]

Part 2

pairing: Joel Miller!Reader | post-outbreak/ jackson era

WC: 2.6k

multiple part series: series masterlist

- part 1

content warnings: canon divergent obvi cause joel doesn't go golfing in this one, ANGST ANGST ANGST (literally wrote this cause there's not enough agnst to read out there), age gap (reader is around 28, Joel is 52), reader has hair and is shorter than Joel but no physical descriptions other than that, cute winter romance, bookworm reader, eventual fluff, eventual hurt/comfort.

(a/n): part 2 is here!!! thank you so much for reading! this is my first time writing here, so sorry if my formatting is kinda mid lol.

tags: @macaroni676 !!! :)

Joel half-heartedly untied the shoelaces of his leather boots before climbing the stairs to his room and getting in bed, pulling the covers up to his chin as the cold slowly seeped off his bones.

He spent all morning out on patrol with Harry, a twenty-something-year-old kid who’d joined Jackson just over a year ago. He had married one of the girls in town. Young and very pregnant, she had some coffee ready for both Harry and Joel before they headed out the gates.

As he sipped the hot drink, Joel couldn’t help the pathetic stab of jealousy that had him furrowing his eyebrows at the kiss on the cheek Harry received from his wife.

Harry had been in Jackson for such a short time, yet he had managed to build a life that seemed to make the damn Apocalypse worth living.

As for Joel… He tried to count his blessings. He really did.

He had Ellie, whom he loved more than anything. He had Tommy, and even Maria, who had become something like a sister to him.

But Ellie was building a life of her own, having recently moved into the garage and spending almost every day with Dina. And Tommy and Maria had each other.

Joel threw his arm over his brow, trying to block the shaft of sunlight that made it through the fraying curtains of his bedroom window.

Perhaps sleep would keep his mind off the pitiful downward spiral he was setting on. So he closed his eyes, lips parting with an exhale as he filtered off his thoughts. Exhaustion helped, and soon he was drifting off into an easy, weightless nap.

Joel’s rest was short-lived. Outside, excited squeals and laughter woke him about an hour later.

He grumbled against his pillow, pushing himself up on his elbows to try to blink away the sleep. He padded to the window, peering through the curtains.

It had snowed. In the past hour, Jackson had been covered in a thick blanket of freezing white. Now townspeople of all ages ran around making crumbling snowmen and snow angels. He spotted a couple of simultaneous snowball fights. If you could call the fluffy blobs snowballs at all.

He was scanning the crowd gathered downstairs all over the street, looking for Tommy.

Instead, he found you.

You were wrapped in a thick coat, head falling back in laughter as you watched Maria hurl a handful of snow at an oblivious Tommy, who turned around in shock, flakes clinging to his hair.

Joel closed the curtain, eyes catching on the books on his bedside table. The one you’d picked out for him a couple of days ago. And then two more—ones he’d found on patrol this morning.

He didn’t recognize the titles, but they seemed to be in pretty good condition. He’d initially planned to save them for later—a last resort excuse to go see you again. Still, he had scolded himself for even thinking that as he rode his horse back into the perimeters of Jackson this morning, lost in thought while Harry rambled about something beside him.

You were so young. And so beautiful. And so joyful and bright, that he felt that he was doing you a disservice by even staring at you for too long.

He was fifty-two years old, for goodness’ sake. Ancient in comparison. He was no better than a dirty old man. In fact, he was a dirty old man.

The realization hit him like a brick to the back of the head. He grabbed the books he’d found and stuffed them inside the squeaky bedside table drawer, slamming it close before darting downstairs. He pulled on his boots and his jacket, zipping it up to his chin.

Closing the door behind him, he stepped out onto a veritable winter wonderland.

“Joel!”

He turned his head to find Ellie jogging toward him, pulling a red-nosed Dina by the hand.

“Hey, kiddo,” Joel said, offering Dina a nod and a smile.

“Joel, you need to come to the hot and cocoa board game night,” Ellie started. “It’s tonight.”

Joel blinked, his gaze—unwittingly, of course—focusing behind Ellie and on the unnecessarily thick bright red winter coat you were wearing, still laughing beside Tommy and Maria.

Ellie waved a frantic hand in front of your face. “You listening to me?”

Your eyes met Joel’s. His heart jumped before he immediately looked back at Ellie, whose eyebrows were raised in amusement.

Joel missed the smile you flashed him.

“Did you fall off your horse this morning or what?” asked Ellie. “Tipsy Bison. Tonight. Hot cocoa. A game of Dutch Blitz. Get ready to be destroyed.”

Joel ran a hand over his face, fighting the urge to check whether you were still looking at him. “What time is this? You know I’m too old for these things.”

“Oh I know, you’re, like, a hundred years old,” Ellie said, earning a laugh from Dina, who added, in a stage whisper, “There’s also gonna be booze. Main reason I’m going.”

Joel scoffed, suddenly liking Dina more than he already did. “That might do it.” He pinched Ellie’s nose, who wrenched off his grip with a dramatic sneeze. “I’ll be there. But don’t expect me to be there all night.”

Ellie looked more than pleased. “I would never. You’ll have to go home and cry when I crush you at every game, anyway.”

Joel only shook his head, amused, as he watched Ellie drag Dina away.

Left standing at his front door, Joel’s heart almost stopped when he saw you walking up the couple of steps of his porch.

“Hey Joel,” you said, snowflakes clinging to your hair, catching the sunlight in an angelic aura.

“Hey,” Joel breathed, heart hammering inside his chest. “It snowed.”

What a stupid thing to say.

But you still smiled, chuckling as you said, “It did indeed. I actually came over because I heard from Harry that you found books on patrol today.” You looked at him, eyebrows raised expectantly.

“I did.” Joel half-turned to go back into his house. “I can get them for you right now.”

You raised both hands, stopping him. “No need! You can bring them to me another time. I don’t want to expose them to the snow.” You gestured around you just as a shiver in response to the low temperature took over your body. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you smiled at Joel, and he thought it shined as bright as the ball of fire that is the sun when it rises every morning.

“I just wanted to thank you,” you continued, “for taking the time to find the books.”

Joel wanted to do a lot of things in that moment. Things like running his fingertips, calloused from years of playing the guitar, down your soft cheek. Things like running his thumb across your plump bottom lip, tantalizing him like forbidden fruit.

Instead, he nodded with an “It’s my pleasure, darlin’.” And before he could stop himself, he asked, “Are you going to the board game night tonight? With the hot cocoa.”

Joel gulped as your eyes widened. He had no business asking you, he realized. Would you catch on to his sorry crush on you? Could he play it off as just friendly fellow townspeople behavior?

“I’m planning to, hopefully,” you said. “Are you?”

Warmth spread in his core at the question, and his cheeks reddened in shame at the realization that he was so lonely that something so simple like this exchange could make his heart race.

“Ellie sort of bullied me into it,” he admitted with a nervous laugh. But suddenly energized by the prospect of getting to see you again, he added, “Though I figure it should be fun. Just somethin’ to do in this weather.”

You playfully rolled your eyes. “Tell me about it. I’ve been cooped up in the library the past few days, trying to organize things and restore some books. So I could really use a night off.”

Joel wished he could somehow get all your work done for you. Even though he had not one damn clue of what restoring a book entailed.

But you were too sweet and too soft to be stressed, he thought.

“Well, I’ll see you later Joel,” you said, bringing him back to earth. “And don’t hesitate to bring any clothes to me that mind need fixing, yeah?”

He nodded, recalling your deal. “I’ll see you later,” he said, unable to stop the timid smile stretching across his lips as he waved goodbye.

He watched you return to where you’d been standing, coming back to Maria’s side. Maria, who shot Joel a knowing smirk from across the street.

Not having even left the porch, Joel turned back inside, deciding he had had enough of the cold wind today. And, above all, wishing to hide from any eyes that could pick up on the slight trembling of his hands and the permanent red in his cheeks when he talked to you.

He was acting like a schoolboy. At the grown age of fifty-two. But he couldn’t help it.

Back in his room, Joel climbed in bed once more, in more age-appropriate fashion, shooting for a second nap to stop his mind from reeling through the hours until he saw you again tonight.

“Goodness,” you signed, resting your forehead on the pile of books on your desk that you were trying to classify.

After the snow craze had died down and everyone had gone back inside to their respective daily tasks, you came into the library to meticulously clean and dust off books.

Naturally, you’d been sneezing nonstop for the past hour, nose irritated from blowing it every other minute.

A box sat on the ground by your feet, containing many more books that the townspeople had donated, found all over their homes, tomes long forgotten through the outbreak. You had to go through those still.

You just wanted to be done.

The thing was, you loved your job. You had dreamed of working at a library, of living among books, before the outbreak even happened. It is nothing short of a miracle that you got to pursue your dream even after the world went to hell.

But that doesn’t change the fact that you’ve gotten maybe a collective eight hours of sleep over the past three days. Maria keeps telling you to slow down, to take your time, and rest.

But you want this thing to work. And you’re going to work yourself to the ground if that’s what it takes. You’re hoping for a grand opening, even if the library and its books are already open and available to the public. You want to host a special event, nurture some enthusiasm for reading. Make it look cool.

You’ve had a few visitors ever since you opened the doors to your half-finished project last week. But with the weather and all, many prefer to stay inside instead of exploring what’s new in town. And you’ve pointedly asked Maria to not announce that the library’s open yet. Because you want that grand opening to be people’s first impression.

So here you were, at 10:57 pm, still paging through books, stacking tomes, and sneezing your brains out.

You wiped from your eyes the tears triggered by your allergies. Much to your dismay, you were already late to the board game night. You debated showing up anyway, but decided there was no point.

The reason you were going to begin with would probably be gone by them.

Joel Miller.

Tommy’s impossibly handsome, endearingly quiet older brother. One of your first visitors to the library. And someone you had been stealing glances at since the first time you saw him, almost a year ago, after your arrival at Jackson.

His hardened exterior and just the sheer size of him managed to draw everyone’s eye. You were well aware of all the other women in the commune who drooled over him, entrapped by the alluring danger that emanated off of him like a challenge.

But to you, he wasn’t dangerous. Sure, he was dangerous in the sense that he looked like he could kill any man in a matter of seconds. And in the sense that you’d heard of all his patrolling prowess. And of his many years of survival prior to his arrival to Jackson, the stories passed around like legends through town gossip.

But you knew there was more to him than that. Way more.

And you’ll be damned, but you wanted to know everything about him.

You were smart enough to know that you had plenty of competition. Because Joel was handsome beyond reason.

His rough features that softened when he smiled. The salt and pepper beard that made you go week on the knees when you saw him walking around town. His broad chest and shoulders—and the flannels that hugged him perfectly, so perfectly it was almost lewd.

You blew out a mouthful of air, snapping yourself back to the pile of work before you. You had no business thinking of Joel Miller this way.

He was beyond your reach. Mature. Experienced. Serious and reserved.

Much older. Old enough to be your father.

The realization had you closing your eyes and leaning back in your chair. There must have been something wrong with you because the thought made a desperate wave of warmth spread low in your stomach.

You had half the thought to put on the tight, long-sleeved shirt you had bartered for recently—funny enough, with the pathetic intention of catching Joel’s eye—and pulling up to the Tipsy Bison, down some liquid courage, and challenge him to a round of poker or something.

But you knew better.

You knew you would chicken out halfway through. And you knew there was no way Joel was still there. He had better things to do, you were sure. So even if he showed up to make Ellie happy and appease Maria, you doubted the hot cocoa and game cards would be enough to keep him for long.

Resigned, you returned to your books, pushing the image of Joel and his quiet smile away from your mind.

Joel left the Tipsy Bison at midnight. When the clock hit 12:01 am, he stood up from the table he’d been sharing with Ellie, Tommy, Maria, and Dina.

He had arrived early to the event. Both to have enough time to ease his nerves with the booze he disguised by pouring it in a mug and also just in case you’d arrive early, too. He sat facing the front door, and he watched it all night, waiting for you to walk through.

His heart raced every time a gust of freezing wind flowed into the room when someone walked in, expecting it to be you.

It was never you. And he felt like the biggest idiot in the world for having spent the entire night disappointed by your absence.

His mind couldn’t help but start making up reasons as to why you weren’t here. Maybe you took a nap and slept through the game night. Or maybe something had happened to you. What if you didn’t go because you knew he would be there, and you didn’t want to see him?

He had the brain to stop himself from wallowing into further dramatics lest he drive himself insane, but he could not help the false hope that popped like a balloon every time that door opened and it wasn’t you who walked in.

He waited. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d spent socializing for so many consecutive hours, but he was grateful that the people he loved made it more bearable.

He won enough rounds of Dutch Blitz to secure at least a month of immunity from Ellie’s teasing, and he managed to wipe off the sad puppy look off his face for most of the night.

He had no reason to be disappointed, he told himself. It wasn’t like you owed him your presence. He’d just met you, for goodness’ sake.

That still didn’t erase the pang in his chest as he walked back to his house after offering some help with the post-event cleanup and sharing a cup of hot cocoa that Ellie convinced him to drink.

He had brushed his hair and put on the cleanest, most presentable flannel he owned. He even groomed his beard and put on some cologne that Ellie had gifted him when he turned fifty-two.

He’d felt silly watching himself in the mirror, knowing no nice clothes and no amount of cologne could change the truth of his age. Or erase the reality of how undeserving he was of a sweet light like you.

Still, he figured that, even after so many years of pain and grief, an ember of hope lived within him, fanned by the past two years of living peacefully in Jackson.

So he had hoped to see you tonight, hoped to indulge in the knowledge that there still was beauty in the world, and that you were the clearest evidence of that.

With snow crunching under his boots and his shoulders slightly slumped in defeat, Joel went home.

[flightlessangelwings]

Us Against the World

Tasm!Peter Parker x gn!reader

Word count- 4.4k

Dialogue prompt- “ hey! why don’t you try picking on someone your own size! “ Action prompt- [ DISTRACT ]: sender causes a distraction to draw the receiver’s attacker/s away from them.

Warnings- s.mut (18+ ONLY), action, protective!Peter, food mention (reader makes salsa), Peter lifts reader, attempted harm to reader, the villain uses gas and chemistry to attack and reader is described as being trapped in a cloud at one point, reader interacts with kids briefly, no use of y/n

Notes- This month’s Year of Protectiveness is in honor of Andrew Garfield's birthday! I can't believe we're in August already! @yearofcreation2023 But this one was alot of fun to write so I hope y'all enjoy it! And I wrote it so that it could be read in the same timeline as Just Kiss Like Real People Do so if you liked that one, here is more with that pair but of course it could be read on its own! I"ll link it in the taglist rb if you want a refersher!

@flightlessangelwings-updatesis my update blog so feel free to also follow that and turn on post notifs!

~

The city lights illuminated the way as Peter swung through the tall buildings of New York. The air was crisp so high up, and it felt refreshing after a long night of being Spider-Man. He wasn’t sure what time it was, but he knew it was late… well after midnight. And even though the villain he was chasing got away… again… all Peter looked forward to was coming home to you.

Peter expected you to be sound asleep in the tiny apartment, so he was surprised when the light from the widow shined like a beacon calling him back. His heart pounded in his chest and he hoped you were alright as he flipped his wrist to shoot a web towards the building and hurled himself into the window. Letting out a heavy breath, Peter ripped off the Spider-Man mask and closed the window behind him.

Just as he was about to call out your name, the sound of the blender filled the space. That combined with the intoxicating aroma of the spices and tomatoes told Peter exactly what you were doing. His stomach growled as he stepped out of the tiny bedroom and into the living space where you were occupied at the kitchen counter. 

He stood in the doorway for a moment and just watched you with a lovestruck expression on his face. Every time he saw you it was like the first time, and even dressed down in a t-shirt and shorts, you looked stunning to him. You were too consumed with putting the last touches on your salsa that you didn’t hear him come in. But, Peter enjoyed the view for the time being and his heart skipped a beat in his chest with the overwhelming emotions he felt towards you.

But, when you let out a startled yelp, Peter quickly jumped into action. 

You had turned around and were surprised when you saw him standing there. So surprised that you almost dropped the blender that held the salsa you had worked so hard on. But Peter was quick, and in a flash he jumped across the room and caught it before it hit the floor and splattered everywhere.

“Peter!” you exclaimed, “You scared the shit out of me! I didn’t hear you come in!”

“Sorry sweetheart,” he mumbled sheepishly as he set the blender on the counter, licking a drop that splashed onto his fingers after, “Wouldn’t want to waste any of your famous salsa,” he laughed softly, “But why are you up? It’s 3 in the morning.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” you shrugged as you eyed him up and down. Ever since you found out that Peter Parker, your best friend, the person you had been in love with for years, was Spider-Man, it never got old seeing him in the suit. His long, toned arms, muscular body and especially the messy hair took your breath away every time.

“Everything alright?” Peter asked, concern lining his tone as he peeled the top half of the suit off and stepped closer towards you. 

“Fine,” you fidgeted as you felt your skin heat up under his gaze as your eyes dropped down to the floor, “Just thought you’d be hungry when you got back…” your voice sounded distant.

Peter looked at you with a softness and adoration in his eyes as he reached out and cupped your face, gently pulling you to look at him, “You know I know when you’re lying to me, right?” his voice was soft as his thumb brushed your cheek.

You let out a shaky breath as his eyes locked with yours, “I…” you trembled in under his hand, “I was worried…” you admitted.

“Baby,” Peter rested his free hand on your waist, holding you in his special way, “I’m fine, honestly. You know nothing would ever keep me from coming back to you, right?” he exhaled deeply, “I promise,” he took a breath, “You and me, remember?”

Tears filled the corners of your eyes at the sincerity in his voice and the confident look in his face. You knew he had been Spider-Man for a long time now, he had his powers and he knew what he was doing. Yet, you’d never loved anyone as much as you loved Peter, and sometimes you couldn’t help but worry as your mind went to the worst possible scenario. 

“I know,” you breathed. You opened your mouth to say more, but the words were caught in your throat as Peter reeled forward and kissed you deeply. Somehow, you were sure he knew what you were going to say, how much you worried for him. He said it in his kiss. 

“Sweetheart,” Peter mumbled between kisses as he backed you up against the counter, “As much as I love your salsa…” his voice dropped and his eyes darkened, “There’s something else I want right now…”

“Peter!” you couldn’t help but laugh at his insinuation, but you also felt a pulse of need through your body. You clung to his shoulders as your mind swam and your body warmed.

He let out a soft chuckle as his hands roamed up and down your sides, savoring the feeling of you under his touch. As much as it was a comfort to you to feel Peter’s hands on you, to feel his touch, it was just as much a comfort for him to know you were here and safe. Peter’s cock twitched as his hands dipped under the waistband of your shorts and in a flash he yanked them off of you, causing you to yelp in surprise.

But, before you could react to your shorts and underwear suddenly on the floor, you found yourself hoisted up onto the kitchen counter. Giggles erupted between you as Peter nestled himself between your legs… your bare legs. A low groan unlike anything you ever heard rumbled from deep in Peter’s throat as his eyes landed between your legs.

“Fuck…” he breathed heavily in a tone that made you shiver.

“Pete,” you sighed as you watched him drop down to his knees.

Immediately, you buried your hands in his hair as his hands ghosted along your inner thighs. Peter mumbled your name in a praise before he licked his lips and dove into you, causing you to scream loudly.

You saw stars as Peter worked you with his tongue, licking and slurping every sensitive spot with precision. You could tell even in your blissed out state that he was too desperate to tease you and take it slow tonight. Tonight was all about need; it was the need for both of you to know the other was here.

Tugging at his hair, you felt like your body was on fire from the way he worked you with his talented mouth. Every flick of his tongue sent waves of pleasure up your spine, and you were sure you weren’t going to last much longer. You arched your back as parted your legs more to give Peter more access to your body, an invitation that he immediately accepted. 

“Shit… Pete…” you moaned as you felt your body tingle.

Peter grabbed your inner thighs and squeezed hard as he intensified his motions, determined to push you over the edge in bliss. And from the way you screamed his name, he knew you were close.

It only took a few more licks of his tongue, a few more nibbles of his lips, one last nuzzle of his head before you came hard. Your head slammed against the cabinet as you screamed, your legs trembling under his strong grip as you gushed into his mouth. Tears formed in the corners of your eyes as bursts of color clouded your vision.

As Peter coaxed you down from you high, you felt his movements slow before he reluctantly broke away from you. A trail of spit connected the two of you until he moved far enough for it to break, but in the corner of his mouth remained a shiny dribble of your release. Peter watched until you opened your eyes to lick it clean with a satisfied smirk on his face.

“Delicious,” he chuckled as he rose to his feet and wrapped his arms around you, “But I’m not done with you yet,” he tone dropped as he easily picked you up and spun you around.

“Pete!” you yelped as you wrapped your arms and legs around his strong body. No matter how many times he lifted you up, you never quite got used to his super strength, and it caught you off guard in the most wonderful way every time.

He quickly made his way across the small apartment and gently lowered you down onto the bed, handing you with tender care as he did so. Peter stood for a moment and admired the sight of you, spread out on the bed, naked from the waist down and a look of pure bliss on your face. Hastily, he ripped off his Spider-Man suit so he was bare for you, and the way you eyed him hungrily made his cock stiffen even more.

“Like the view, sweetheart?” he asked with a cocky grin.

“Very much,” you purred as you bit your lip and extended your arms for him. You loved when he got like this.

“I do too,” his tone matched yours as he hovered over you, “But,” Peter grabbed your shirt, “You’re overdressed.”

You burst into laughter at his antics and allowed him to take off your shirt, the only barrier between your bodies. The two of you let out matching gasps at the sight of the other, as if it was the first time all over again. At times, it felt like that for both of you. The wonder, the passion, the desire never got old so matter how many times you slept together.

“I love you,” Peter broke the silence with a breathless voice as he cupped your face.

“I love you too,” you replied in a dreamy tone as you mirrored his action.

In a flash, Peter closed the gap between your bodies with a heated and desperate kiss. He swallowed the moan you let out as you parted your lips for him once more. The taste of yourself on Peter’s tongue was just as intoxicating for you as it was for him, and you bucked your hips against his hardened cock in a wordless plea.

Without breaking away, Peter muffled a moan as he positioned himself between your legs once more, this time with his cock poking at your entrance. Slowly, he pushed himself into you, past the first ring of muscle and into your warmth to connect your bodies together.

The moan you let out made you break away from the kiss, and your cry of pleasure echoed in the tiny room as Peter entered you inch by slow inch. You heard Peter’s own moans as he felt you engulf him, and he rested his forehead against yours as he slowly bottomed out inside of you.

Together, the two of you laid with Peter on top of you. Heavy breaths filled the room as you stayed with your sweaty foreheads pressed together. You wrapped your arms around him and dug your nails into his shoulders, clinging to him desperately.

“Move,” you pleaded softly.

He groaned your name and compiled without another word. He started slowly at first, rocking in and out of you, savoring the moans and groans you let out every time he was fully sheathed inside you. It wasn’t until you let out a higher pitched cry that Peter picked up his pace; he found what he was looking for.

“You feel so good, sweetheart,” Peter moaned, “Shit…”

The bed creaked as Peter thrust in and out of you faster and faster. As much as he wanted to keep his eyes open, to watch every expression you made when he was inside you, he couldn’t. He knew he would cum too fast if he watched the way your mouth hung open and your body bounced with his every move.

But luckily for him, you also weren’t far behind.

“Fuck!” you screamed as you dug your nails into Peter’s skin, “I’m gonna cum… Peter…”

“Me too baby,” Peter grunted, “Fuck…”

Peter’s thrusts became fast and erratic as he chased his climax as well as your own. He pounded into you with fervor as you screamed and your second climax hit suddenly. Your inner muscles clenched around him as you squeezed him inside and out. That and your beautiful screams were just the final push Peter needed for his own orgasm, and with a loud moan of your name, he came deep inside you. But, he kept going, wanting to savor every second of your shared climaxes together until he couldn’t hold himself up any longer. 

Peter let out a deep exhale as he collapsed down on top of you. Immediately, you wrapped your arms around him, holding him as close as you could. Neither of you wanted to move, content to stay in the other’s embrace, safe and loved. For several long moments, no one spoke, and just the sound of slow, deep breaths filled the room as you felt the other’s heart pound against your bodies.

It was Peter who broke the silence first with your name in a low voice.

“Hmm?” you hummed as you ran your hand through his hair.

“You know I’ll always come back to you, right?” Peter said as he propped himself up on his elbows to look into your eyes.

Your heart fluttered in your chest, “I know,” you cupped his face the same way he did yours earlier, “I trust you… I just worry sometimes,” you admitted.

“I do too,” Peter breathed, “But I’ll always keep you safe, sweetheart.”

The truth was Peter always worried about you too. He was scared that someday someone would find out his superhero alter and use you against him. He was scared that one day you would get hurt because of him. He was scared that one day he might not get back to you in time… But, as much as you trusted him, Peter had to trust you too. Having no one else, it was just the two of you against the world.

“I’m gonna go shower then we can sleep in tomorrow,” Peter broke himself from his thoughts, “How does that sound?”

“Perfect,” you purred as you gave him a chaste kiss on the lips, “A day at home together sounds like just what we both need. But remember, the day after is that science museum day I wanted to go to.”

Peter let out a soft laugh as he tapped your face playfully, “I wouldn’t miss it, baby.”

*

“Looks like we came on a school field trip day,” you commented as you and Peter walked hand in hand into the science museum.

Children filled the space and chattered excitedly among themselves. The two of you followed close behind the class as you lost yourself in the exhibits. At one point, you broke away from Peter so you could play with one of the hands-on displays, and he couldn’t help but chuckle brightly at you as you were just as excited as the kids were.

As Peter watched you, a thought popped into his head: he was ready to marry you. He had never been more in love with you than he was at that moment as you laughed in fascination at the exhibit. He wanted to marry you for some time, but as he stared stupidly at you, Peter knew it was time for him to pop the question.

“Hey Pete…?” your voice broke him from his thoughts.

Peter suddenly found himself face to face with you, and he must have zoned out for a moment because you looked concerned, “Yeah?” he asked as he cleared his throat and tried not to look conspicuous. 

“Everything ok?” you asked as you tilted your head to the side a bit.

Peter just smiled back at you; you had no idea what he had in store for you, “Perfect,” he slid his hand in yours again, “Shall we check out that chemistry demonstration?” his tone was light, “You look like you’re having more fun than the kids are,” Peter joked.

“Shut up,” you giggled as you playfully nudged him.

Peter imagined that your hand would feel like with a ring on your finger as he fiddled with your knuckles. Yes, it was time, and everything was perfect. But, just as it felt like nothing could bring down his mood, a chill ran up Peter’s spine and he was suddenly filled with a sense of dread the moment the two of you crossed the threshold into the other room where the chemistry table was set up.

He stopped dead in his tracks as his heart sank and the hairs on his neck and arms stood up. The man behind the table was instantly recognizable to him; he was the one that kept slipping out of his grasp. And the feeling of dread was only made worse when the chemist looked up from his table and made direct eye contact with him.

It was like he knew.

“Peter?” you sounded even more worried than before as you tugged his arm.

Without a word, Peter dragged you out of the room and down the hallway towards the bathrooms. His heart pounded in his chest as his first thought was of keeping you safe and getting you out of harm’s way.

“Peter?!” you repeated more forcefully, “What’s going on?”

“Listen to me,” Peter grabbed your shoulders and spun you to look him in the eyes, “That guy… He’s…” he let out an exasperated sigh, “He’s the guy I haven’t been able to catch,” he finished in a hushed tone.

You gasped as your eyes went wide.

“I think he knows who I am too. Something just feels off,” Peter sounded more scared than you’d ever heard him before, “But I want you to get out of here, I’m going to stop him here and now.”

“What about those kids?” you asked as your breath came out fast and ragged, “We have to get everyone else out too,” you inhaled deeply, “Let me help you, Pete.”

His lips tightened as he paused for a moment before he spoke with a heavy exhale, “I’m going to create a distraction, and you help them out,” Peter’s grip on your shoulders tightend, “But you promise me you’ll get yourself out of here.”

You nodded, swallowing your fear, “What kind of distraction were you thinking?”

At the same time, both your heads turned and both your eyes landed on the fire alarm that stood out on the wall. You looked back at Peter and he nodded at you, knowing exactly what you were thinking.

“I love you.” Peter’s words sounded more like an assurance than a confession.

You knew what he meant too: Stay safe.

In a flash, Peter pulled the fire alarm before he rushed around the corner to rip his shirt off, revealing the spider suit underneath. At the same time, you ran towards the children, who you headed screaming and panicking before you even reached the room.

“Quickly!” you shouted, “Outside! Now!”

The kids scrambled as they rushed towards the door and you ushered them out. But, as you did that, a movement from the front of the room caught your attention.

The chemist dissolved into a fit of rage, and you heard his angry mumbles to himself even over the fire alarm. Smoke billowed out from either side of him as he mixed his viles together and for a brief moment, he looked up and caught your gaze.

Everything felt like it froze as you locked eyes with him, and suddenly you knew what Peter felt. It felt like this man looked into your soul and read your deepest secrets. Your blood ran cold and fear pulsed through your veins as he suddenly launched himself at you.

You yelped and covered your head, anticipating an impact, but it never came. Looking up, you saw Spider-Man clinging to the ceiling, a shot of web tangling with the chemist and stopping him in his tracks.

“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size?” Spider-Man quipped as he flung another web shot at him and flipped over to stand in front of you.

“Spider-Man…” the chemist growled as he threw a bottle towards him.

Peter quickly covered you, protecting you from the impact as well as the few kids who still hadn’t gotten out. 

“Spider-Man!” They cheered together as they kept for joy- and relief- at seeing their favorite hero.

“Get out of here kids!” Peter instructed before he glanced at you for a moment. The two of you nodded subtly before he turned back to the chemist and launched himself at him.

“Come on,” you breathed, “Hurry!”

You pushed the rest of the kids out of the room, but before you yourself exited, you couldn’t help but look back. Deep down, you knew Peter put himself in danger as Spider-Man, but to actually see him fight in person, and so close, was something else. You felt fear, but not for yourself. Watching him take and deliver hit after hit honestly scared you. 

But you suddenly had something else to worry about.

“You!” The chemist roared as he gathered his concoctions.

“No!” Peter sounded more scared than you had ever heard him before.

Clearly, it was obvious to the chemist how important you were to Spider-Man, to Peter, and he took advantage of the opportunity. Before either of you could react, he threw something at you, and you found yourself surrounded by a blinding gas. 

You gasped as you covered your mouth and dropped to the floor. Faintly, you heard the grunts of Peter fighting him still, but you couldn’t see anything. You were sure if it was from the gas or just from the adrenaline but you felt more and more dizzy the longer you stayed in the fog.

I’m another flash, you heard an explosion and the building shook. You struggled to keep from falling completely flat on the floor and you scrambled to stay on your hands and knees, ready for anything. 

You heard your name in Peter’s voice before you saw his silhouette appear in the fog. You tried to call out his name, but your voice croaked. Reaching out for him your hand trembled until it finally made contact with his.

“I’m here,” Peter murmured to you as he yanked you close, “Cover your mouth and hang on,” his voice trembled, “I’m getting you out of here.”

All you could do was nod as you felt yourself lifted into his arms with his super strength. You covered your mouth as you clung to him with your other arm. A gust of air hit your face as you found yourself flung through the air as Peter flipped and flung your bodies out of the museum. Faintly, you both heard the kids cheering for Spider-Man and shouting excitedly. Usually, Peter would have stopped for them, but right now his first priority was you and your safety.

You buried your head in the crook of his neck as you felt the air get fresher and fresher as he fwiped through the buildings and landed you both in an empty skyscraper far away from everyone.

The moment he sat you down, Peter ripped off his mask and looked you over, cupping your face as he did so. “Look at me,” he sounded breathless, “Are you hurt?”

You immediately saw the look of pure fear on his face, and it made your heart sink. You were sure you looked a mess, and you felt sore but you didn’t feel hurt. “I’m ok,” you whispered. 

Peter exhaled your name in relief as he gathered you in his arms. “You’re ok, sweetheart,” he cupped the back of your head as he held you as close and as tight as he could, “You’re ok…”

You weren’t sure if his words were for you or for himself. Perhaps both.

“I’m ok Pete,” you whispered softly in his ear as you clung to him, feeling safe in his arms. All the fear and adrenaline slowly faded away and you felt calm and safe the longer he held you. With one deep exhale, you felt better and you pulled away just enough to look into his eyes while still remaining secure in his arms, “Did you really have to wait and pull a dramatic rescue like that?” you smirked softly.

Peter rolled his eyes at you, but at the same time he was relieved to hear you say that; it meant you were back to normal with your wits about you, “Sweetheart…” he breathed. The truth was he had never been more scared, especially with the explosion. He opened his mouth to voice that, but the words were caught in his throat. Peter grimaced at the thought of losing you and a tear formed in the corner of his eye.

Sensing the change in tone, you tried to distract him, “Hey Pete?” you asked.

“Hmm?”

“What happened… To…?”

His grip on you tightened, “I think the mixtures he was using affected his mind… Made him so angry… He…Umm,” Peter trailed off, not wanting to say it out loud and upset you.

“Oh,” you whispered, unsure of what to say next. The two of you sat in a comfortable silence for several moments as the breeze hit your faces. “Well, thank you,” you broke the silence, “For saving me.”

That brought a smile to Peter’s face. He leaned in and kissed you deeply, expressing all his emotions in the kiss instead of with his words, “You never have to thank me, honey,” he murmured against your lips as he placed a chaste kiss, “I’ll always protect you.”

You grinned against his cheek as your eyes fluttered closed, “And I’ll always take care of you too,” you hummed, “We made a good team back there though, didn’t we?”

“We did,” Peter chuffed, “You and me…”

“Against the world,” you finished the thought.

Silence fell over the two of you again, but before either of you could say anything, a growl from your stomach interrupted. You looked at Peter and both of you burst into laughter.

“I guess all that excitement made me hungry,” you chuckled.

“How about we get out of here then?” Peter said with a smirk, “I know a place that’s got the best salsa. We’ll pick up some tacos or something on the way too.”

You smiled brightly at him, “Sounds perfect…” you poked his chest, “Spider-Man.”

Peter felt his heart flutter in his chest. Oh yes, he definitely was going to find you the best ring he could and he was going to ask you to marry him as soon as possible. 

[whovianwriter]

leonard mccoy x reader

Everything

AN: Thank you so much for requesting, sorry it took me so long I restarted like three times cause I kept changing my mind on different things. Feel free to request anything!

Warnings: Blood, injury to the reader, hurt/comfort, thoughts about death, sad but then happy at the end

“Damn it, the engine was hard to fix but I finally got it.”

Y/N said as she was walking to her desk, then she felt the ship shake due to the engine going back on line but the shake would get worse before it got better. So she tried to stabilize herself with her desk as she waited for it to finish. But Then she saw one of the interns carrying nails and pieces of junk before she knew what happened. He fell on top of her and she felt the pain a couple minutes later as she felt something wet and warm get soaked through her uniform. There was yell and her vision began to fade when she saw Scotty picking her up. 

“Come on Lass, keep your eyes open. You can’t fall asleep.” 

It was getting hard to focus but she knew that this might not be ending on a happy note, she saw memories rush to her. Her childhood, a million smiles, some tears then she saw Leonard when they first met at the Academy. They started dating and fell in love, their wedding, they both just swayed to the music for so long they didn’t want the day to end. They both knew that they had finally found the right person for their other half. “Tell .. Lee.. I.. Love .. him.”

“You can tell him that yourself, Once you get fixed up.”

They soon got to the medbay and he laid her down at one of the tables, when Leonard came out to see what the noise was when he saw her. His wife bleeding out as he ran, a nurse stopped him as three doctors got to her. They knew he couldn’t work on her, they were too close. He felt the anger as her eyes closed and then he was upset then the anger came through. Scotty pulled him outside so the medical team had as much space they needed. “How the hell did that happen?!?”

As Scotty told him what information he had, Leonard was a mess as he kinda went into shock as he kept looking into the window to see anything but couldn’t he then saw the red on Scotty’s shirt and it made him want to hurl. That’s Y/N’s blood, he sat on the floor looking down trying to see if this was some horrible dream. He then saw another pair of feet run up to them and saw Scotty walking away and the new person kneeled in front of him lifting his head. It was Jim. “She’s going to be okay.”

Leonard looked back to this morning when they were snuggled together in their room, she had her head on his chest, his arm wrapped around her. Holding her like she was his life line. Their legs tangled together as she played with his free hand, ‘We should just call off, stay in bed. Snuggle, watch old shows and eat the leftovers. I’m too comfortable to move.’

‘Darlin’ as much as I want to do that, we only have a half day today and then we are off for a week for shore leave. I promise we can do all that tomorrow.’

‘Fine, but I hope you know I will expect cheesy rom coms as well.’

He laughed and kissed the top of her head before starting to untangle himself from her to get ready for the day, but once he stood she still didn’t stand up but was stretching out on the bed, he bent down and kissed her before saying, ‘I wouldn’t expect anything else, sweetheart.’

The sound of the hiss of the door opening brought Leonard back to the present, he slowly got up and relied on Jim a little so he wouldn’t lose his balance. It was one of the afternoon doctors coming to talk to them. He couldn’t remember his name right at the moment. “Y/N is going to be ok, we gave her a sleep hypo, so her body can heal a bit before we wake her up tomorrow morning. We made sure to get everything out but she will be sore for the next couple days at the very least. The damage wasn’t too bad, it hit bigger veins so that was why there was so much blood. You can come in and sit with her, Doctor McCoy.”

—------------------------------

“Len, I swear I will hit you with a pillow if you do not stop following me. I’m only going to the bathroom, I’ll be back in like 4 minutes.”

They got back to their room the next day in the late afternoon, since then which had only been a day he followed her everywhere just to make sure that she didn’t need his help. She had woken up with ease and even cracked a joke. She then wanted to make sure the intern was alright, he was wearing a welding apron, the most he got was a bruise. 

Leonard felt like if he left her alone for too long he would see that he was still in the medbay waiting to see if she would wake up. He was thinking about that when she came out of the bathroom and came over and crawled into his lap looking at him while she had one hand on his cheek. “I’m ok Len.”

“I thought I was gonna lose you.”

“But you didn’t, I’m right here we both are. I admit I thought that that might have been the end for a second and all I could think of is you.”

“Me?”

“Yeah, when we met, all the jokes you tell, our wedding where we stayed the whole night on the dance floor. I told Scotty to tell you that I love you. He responded with ‘You can tell him yourself.’” 

“Ok I’m cutting off the rom coms, that was so cheesy.”

Y/N laughed then turned her attention onto her husband, “I love you Leonard McCoy, you are my everything.”

“I Love you, you are my everything.”

She bent down and kissed him, till they both couldn’t breath.

[galleylapresident]

Behold: the blorbo AU arises from the depths to beat out all my other AUs to have a proper one shot written about it.

It started, oddly enough, with Kalifa. Despite Paulie's endless rants about how women should dress, he was always the first one to attack anyone who dared take advantage of one of the "scantily clad hussies" around Water 7. By the third time Kalifa watched Paulie hurl a drunkard through a window and into a canal for laying hands on a waitress, she knew for a fact that Paulie was all bark and no bite where women were concerned. No matter what he said, he'd be the first at her back if anyone tried anything.

Blueno was next. Despite Paulie's endless I.O.Us and ever-growing tab, Paulie always helped him clean up and close the bar on nights he was around. He even refused to take discounts on his drinks for the free labor. "Friends should help friends" he insisted while carrying in the endless kegs of beer that went into watering the thirsty mouths of Water 7. Hours and hours of work went into helping Blueno haul stock, clean spills, and repair broken furniture for free. Despite the mess of his personal life, Paulie was never one to turn way when someone needed help.

Then it was Kaku. As the youngest of the shipwrights—barely eighteen—he knew he had to prove himself to the older and more experienced shipwrights if he wanted to get close to Iceberg. That meant hours studying ships after work and meticulous effort to ensure that each knot, nail, and board were placed correctly. Paulie was at his side the entire time. Whether it was quizzing Kaku on different techniques or dragging him to Blueno's when he felt like his eyes were about to melt out of his head, Paulie always seemed to know what Kaku needed. He was always there, a willing teacher and listening ear.

Last was Lucci. At first, he saw Paulie as little more than what was on the surface. A skilled shipwright, Iceberg's first disciple, and a drunkard with a gambling problem. In many ways, Paulie was simply a problem that Lucci would eventually have to eliminate. Constantly attacking Kalifa for her clothing, following Kaku around the worksite all the time, and the way he was constantly beggin Blueno for drinks were just a few of the ways Paulie made himself a nuisance. That wasn't even counting Paulie's obsession with hearing Lucci's real voice or the debt collectors that skulked around the worksite each day. Truthfully, it seemed a miracle that Iceberg hadn't kicked Paulie out yet.

And yet... there was something fascinating about him too. About the way Kalifa always turned to Paulie whenever she needed a hand with disposing a handsy asshole. About the way Paulie knew exactly where Blueno kept his cleaning supplies and how he liked to organize the stockroom. About the way Kaku's knowledge had improved by leaps and bounds and how Paulie was happy to show off Kaku's work when Iceberg was around.

About how he took the time to research the kinds of foods that were good for pigeons. How he always made sure Hattori was out of the way before getting into it with Lucci. How he never pushed Lucci to speak despite his endless jokes about Lucci needing Hattori to talk to people.

It was baffling. It was absurd. It was... nice.

Paulie was an unfailingly kind person where it counted. In the world they had grown up in—one of assassins, murder, and unflinching devotion to the world government—that was rare indeed.

So it started with Kalifa, then Blueno, then Kaku, and finally Lucci. One by one, Paulie wormed his way into their hearts. None of them voiced it, but they all knew that Paulie was someone they would protect if their mission allowed it. He was a good man. If he could curtail his flaws, if he could defend himself and Water 7 from people like them, Paulie would be the perfect man to take up the reins after Iceberg

After all, even if Iceberg willingly handed over the plans, he would still need a successor one day.

And who better to secretly prepare Paulie for such a fate than them?

[slippinmickeys]

Fic prompt - Scully goes on a date with the Perfect guy. Mulder is angry, decides to go to a bar to find a one night stand. He just gets drunk and TLG bring him home where... He finds Scully sleeping on his bed

I started this forever ago, but could never really get it to flow and didn’t know how to end it. Reading through it now… it’s a little uneven, has not so much as whispered in a beta’s ear, but I kind of like where I left off and… I have so many unfinished works sitting in docs I’m letting this one fly free. Thanks for the prompt so long ago, Anon.

Dale. The guy’s fucking name was Dale. Who named their kid Dale, anyway? Perfect smile, perfect teeth, perfectly coiffed hair, polite, a doctor, and so damned charming that even Mulder had trouble not liking him.

He had a sailboat. He was taking Scully out on it. He was somehow more Vineyard than Mulder himself – a guy from fucking Chilmark. And Scully was eating it up. She was excited about the date, had been talking about it all day, ad nauseum. Well, he was pretty sure she had. He’d had to tune her out for his own mental well-being.

You’d drink, too, he’d said, maybe out loud, and it took him a moment to register the warm hand that clapped his back, the presence next to his barstool.

“I know, buddy,” Frohike said, eyebrows like caterpillars crawling across his brow, his hand squeezing Mulder’s shoulder.

“Frohike?” Mulder asked, surprised as all hell to see his friend standing there.

“Thanks, Nadine,” Frohike said to the barmaid, who handed over Mulder’s cell phone and credit card, both of which Frohike slipped into Mulder’s sport coat pocket. “Let’s get you home.”

Mulder stood woozily, and the older man had to occasionally correct his trajectory as he stumbled past the billiard tables that Casey had pulled three booths to squeeze into the back room of the bar.

The Vanagon was idling out front, Byers behind the wheel. Langly was riding shotgun, rubbernecking out the window and snapping a tight knot of green gum. The valet looked pissed and said something to Frohike that Mulder couldn’t make out as the little hacker tried to maneuver the much taller man through the open door.

“Keep your pants on, key jockey!” Frohike clapped back as he slid the big door closed. Mulder slumped against the window, miserable, sliding down the vinyl seat as Byers pulled away from the curb.

“What happened?” Langly asked, turning around and peering at Mulder through smudged glasses.

“Scully’s on a date,” Frohike said carefully. Byers’ eyes flicked to Mulder’s in the rearview, but he said nothing.

Langly nodded knowingly. “She been dickmatized? Is this dude some kind of punk?”

“No,” Mulder burped, righting himself in the seat as the contents of his stomach sloshed. “He’s actually a really nice guy.” He directed his comment to Langly’s second question, adamantly refusing to acknowledge his first.

“Let’s just get Mulder back to headquarters,” Frohike said, glaring at Langly. “Let him sleep it off.”

Mulder grabbed onto the side of the van as his head began to spin, and the thought of sleeping on the guys’ lumpy couch surrounded by the close-quarters smell of hot circuitry and day-old nachos triggered a violent urge to propel the contents of his stomach out the window beside him. He took a deep breath and steeled himself.

“No!” he burped again. “Take me home please.”

When Byers’ took the exit for Old Town, Mulder unclenched, and that’s when the urge to puke turned into a biological inevitability.

The look on his face must have conveyed some real urgency, because the next thing he knew, the van had swung over to a curb and Frohike already had the door open. He fell to his knees on the floor of the Volkswagen and hurled an arc of vomit onto the sidewalk outside the van.

“Whoa,” he heard Langly’s nasally voice pipe up when his coughing and gagging had died down considerably. “That’s some serious upchucking. I think he shot it past the fire hydrant.”

He spit once and then looked down in his hand to see a wad of Burger King napkins that Frohike had pressed into it. He mopped his face as the other man slid the sliding door closed and Byers merged back into traffic.

Mulder settled himself gingerly back onto the big bench seat.

“I feel a lot better,” he said pathetically, the sweat on his forehead cooling.

“Well you smell a lot worse,” Frohike replied, scrunching his nose in distaste.

“Bet Dale can’t hit the fire hydrant,” Mulder said.

“Dale can probably hold his liquor,” Frohike grumbled, and the puke-induced euphoria he felt withered, replaced by a humble misery. He wondered where Scully was now, if Dale had let her take the helm. He wondered how big the boat was, if it had a sleeping berth. If Dale and Scully had ever used it.

“You’d drink too, if-” Mulder started, but his words died on his tongue as it came to him what he was about to say. Out loud. To the guys.

The cab of the vehicle took on an embarrassed silence and after a long moment he looked up to find Langly reaching a hand back to him, a foil-wrapped stick of gum on offer along with a look of knowing sympathy.

Mulder took the gum with a nod of thanks and stuck the sheet of spearmint in his mouth, chasing out the taste of bile and sick and rampant jealousy.

When Byers pulled the van in front of Hegal Place, Mulder had trouble meeting anyone’s eye. Frohike was on the sidewalk waiting for him when he tipped himself out of the back of the van, sobriety duking it out with whatever liquor still swam through his bloodstream.

Frohike looked up at him with a kind and steady hand on his arm. “You want me to walk you up?” he asked.

Mulder felt around his pockets for his keys, locating them after a quick search. “No,” he said. “I got it from here.”

Frohike nodded and patted him one more time. “Put a trash can next to your bed, huh? Drink some water.”

Mulder thanked him and turned on his heel, missing the look the three guys gave each other before watching him ascend the stairs and fumble his way through the front door of his building. Eschewing the elevator and up the stairs because moving was better than standing still, down the hallway – where he’d thought he’d told her he loved her in as many words as he could, and still she went out with Dale – and through his front door. He had it bad, he realized, as he stepped through his door and into his apartment. He had it so bad that he thought he could smell a trace of her perfume – the expensive stuff she kept in her sock drawer – when he walked through the door of his own apartment. Christ.

He toed off his shoes and made immediately for the shower, catching the alleyway stench of whatever vomit hadn’t made it all the way to the sidewalk. Standing under the hot spray, he rethought some of his more recent choices.

If he were honest with himself, he’d gone to the bar tonight to pick up a woman and take her home. It had felt like a wild, righteous idea at the time, made on an indignant huff just as Scully was waving goodbye and Dale put his hand on her back to lead her through the double doors of the Hoover building. A decision made with jealousy boiling through his veins, but abandoned when he sat down at the bar and pictured another woman with her head thrown back on his sheets. Anonymous sex didn’t hold the appeal it once had for whatever reason, and he’d ordered a drink instead. And then a second, and a third and on down the line.

What would he say to Scully if she were here now, he wondered, toweling himself off. What do you see in him? That was obvious. He bent over and drank water directly from the faucet, slurping until the headache he felt coming on was assuaged. He looked at himself in the mirror. Why him and not me? He thought, and sighed, padding naked into his bedroom – not bothering to turn on the light – and sliding on a pair of pajama pants he pulled from a drawer.

He lowered himself into the bed, dejected, tired, still a little woozy, when a sound – a quick inhale of breath – sent him shooting back up to standing, heart pounding, instantly sober.

“Mulder?” came a groggy voice from the other side of his bed, and it took him a moment to reconcile his partner’s voice and its place in his dark bedroom.

“Scully?” he said, his voice sounding two octaves too high. “Jesus.”

He reached over and switched on a bedside lamp.

“I’m sorry,” she said breathily, blinking rapidly. She scooted up on the mattress and back into the pillows. Her hair was mussed and she wore a shell-shocked look. “What time is it?”

Mulder was still so surprised to see her that he couldn't put together a coherent answer. “I-what are you doing here?”

Scully looked over at him, took in his pajamas and his bare chest, his still-damp hair, and a look of profound embarrassment washed over her face.

“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I was waiting for you and then-”

Maybe Mulder wasn’t entirely sober yet, because his brain still felt absolutely befuddled. “Where’s Dale?” he asked, sounding rather like a simpleton, like he expected Dr. Dale to come sauntering into his bedroom at any moment, wearing one of Mulder’s robes, handing over a cold martini to Scully and saying ‘great bedroom for a shag, thanks for letting us use it.’

“Out on his boat, I imagine,” she said, not meeting his eye.

“But why are you not… on his boat?” Mulder lowered himself back onto the mattress, perching on the edge. “Wait, did he try something? Are you okay?” He leapt back up to standing.

“It's fine, Mulder, he didn’t do anything. I…got seasick,” she said, finally turning to look at him, a dubious, slightly jokey look on her face.

“But you don’t get seasick.” He was still standing.

She gave him a look like he was being deliberately obtuse. It started to occur to him that she was here on purpose, not because something calamitous had happened.

“But you were excited about it,” he said, lowering himself once again back to the bed. “You kept talking about it.”

“Mulder…”

“Scully?”

She thunked her head back against the headboard.

“Maybe I was hoping you’d talk me out of it.”

“You we’re hoping I’d-“ his heart soared momentarily, a bird taking flight. And then it fell out of the sky.

“Where have you been?” Scully asked, head tilted to look at him, her brow creasing, eyes narrowed.

“I was… at a bar.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks turned scarlet in the warm yellow light of the lamp and a look came over her face like a dawning realization. “Were you… there for someone?”

His life flashed before his eyes. Scully could tell when he lied to her, and he had gone to the bar with the intention of picking up a woman.

When he didn’t answer, Scully’s eyes widened and she stood suddenly. “I have made,” she said, looking around as if for a purse or a set of keys, “an appalling miscalculation.”

Mulder wasn’t sure if she was talking to him or herself, but suddenly she was on the move, darting through his bedroom door in a rapid exodus.

“Scully wait!” he called out, following her, just hoping to catch her before she got to the door. He felt like if she went through it, there was a real chance he might never see her again. Dana Scully didn’t do embarrassment well.

But he almost stumbled into her when he reached the hallway. She had pulled up short next to his billiard ball coat rack, her nose scrunched up in a look of minor revulsion. He had left his discarded clothes and shoes in a rumpled trail from the door to his bathroom, and the fumes coming off of them were sour and unpleasant.

“Mulder, it smells like vomit.”

He doubted she could see his chagrined expression, backlit as he was by the light spilling from his bedroom, but he shrugged.

“I… may have tied one on,” he admitted.

“You went out drinking?” Her face looked like she was working on a very hard math problem. “Alone?”

“Well, the Gunmen came and got me.” While he was sure she was glad he hadn’t driven drunk, he knew that’s not what she was getting at. “I was upset,” he finally admitted.

“Upset?”

He took a hesitant step toward her, watched her eyes slowly climb up to his face the closer he got to her.

“Jealous.”

Her gaze was moving rapidly back and forth between his two eyes. “Jealous?” Her voice barely above a whisper. His stomach did a loop, like a swallow over a corn field.

“You wanted me to talk you out of your date?” She smiled and sighed, looked down and away from him. “What’s wrong with Dale?”

Her gaze climbed back up, lingering a little, he thought, on his bare chest.

“Nothing’s wrong with Dale. That’s the problem.”

Mulder reached out a hand, wanted run it through her hair, but grazed her shoulder instead.

“You looking for a fixer upper? I know at least five different-“

“Mulder,” she said, exasperated. “Shut the fuck up.”

He did so immediately.

[kingmagnificoofrosas]

NIGHTMARE

The air was heavy with thick hot smoke as screams of agonizing terror pierced the night. Bright flames devoured building after building, mercilessly destroying and killing everything in its way. Man, animals, objects. Everything crumbled to ash.

Magnifico stood on his balcony, eyes wide in horror and limbs frozen in panic. “No …” he uttered breathlessly, “No …”

His entire kingdom had turned into an inferno. In an instant he turned, stumbled through his room and down the corridors. 

“Myrah!” He hollered, “Myrah, where are you?”  A window to his left suddenly exploded and he gasped. More flames leaped onto rugs and furniture and spread down the hallways within seconds. “Myrah!” He cried once more, frantically searching for his wife. “M’fhíorghrá, answer me!”

Dashing from door to door, Magnifico dodged the growing fire and falling debris. But no matter how much he cried for his wife, he got no reply.

Fear and shattering guilt overcame him like an avalanche and he had to hold onto a wall. Right at that moment, one of the curtains crashed in front of him, cutting off his way. Magnifico flinched backward, coughing and shielding his eyes from the spitting flames.

It happened again. How did it happen again? 

In the blink of an eye, he was suddenly right outside his palace. People ran in all directions, wailing, yowling, burning. He recognized their faces, knew their names, remembered their former wishes. 

Before he could call out to them however, one of the stone pillars near him cracked, seconds from collapsing. He noticed a child standing below the crumbling roof, calling for its mother, and without hesitation threw himself at it, shoving it out of the way just in time. The pillar fell, the mother sweeped the child into her arms and Magnifico rolled to the side, hardly escaping being crushed. Dust and hot ash filled his nose and mouth and he coughed. The glowing heat made it almost impossible to breathe.

“Magnifico!”

Lightning shot through his nerve system at the sound of his soulmate's voice. She was there! She was alive! Within seconds, he scrambled to his feet and hurled around. His heart leapt in his chest for a second before being ripped into shreds. Myrah tumbled toward him, almost burned to the bones. Crying out like a beaten animal, he dove forward to catch her before she could fall and sank to his knees with her.

“No! No no no! My love ... my life! Hold on I’ll-” Magnifico desperately tried to recall his supernatural abilities to heal the wounds he knew were her sure death, but the blue light refused to surface. “Come on!” He growled at his shaking hands, “come on!”

“Ma-”

His head turned back to her, “Hold on, my love! I’ll fix this! I’ll save y-”

“Magn-” Myrah coughed, compulsing in pain and trying to move her lips to talk to her husband, but before his name could fully come over her lips, her strength left her, her eyes closed and her body went limp. 

“Myrah?” Magnifico breathed, “Myrah? Sweetheart?”

No response.

"No. Oh God, no! Myrah!” He gently shook his wife, utter panic flooding his being, “Please! You cannot - I cannot lose you too! Please!" Again he shook her, stroked her face and hair over and over and wiped ash, dirt and blood away from her cheeks, but her eyes stayed closed. The limpness of his wife cut his soul like a hot sword. His mind refused to believe it. Once more he shook her but to no avail. “No, my love! No! Wake up! Open your eyes, darling! Myrah!” 

Nothing. 

“No ....”

The queen, his wife, his soulmate was dead but he couldn’t accept it. How could he accept it? 

Her broken body tightly in his hold, he bent over with a choked sob. Tears came like a flood as his entire being was consumed by indescribable agony and he let out the loudest, most heart-broken wail a man could ever sound. 

~

Myrah woke in an instant as she felt her husband cramp and twist in their sheets, flailing his limbs between breathless whimpering. Immediately she rose and reached out to hold his arms down. 

“Magnifico!” She called, “wake up, mi vida! ” 

His head tossed left and right and Myrah almost had to climb onto her husband to pin him down. 

“Shhht! Wake up! Wake up!” 

Suddenly he shot upright with a scream, his blue eyes wide as plates, his chest rising and falling in quick heavy breaths. 

Myrah sighed in relief. Now that he was awake, it was easier to get him out of his panic attack.

“All is well, mi amor. It was just a nightmare.”

Still disorientated and caught in the terror of the things his mind had played on him, he hyperventilated, sweat dripping from his forehead. The pain of losing his wife and the guilt of failing to keep the past from repeating was ever so present. He could still hear the screams, smell the horrible stench of burning flesh mixed with blood, dirt and fire. But even worse than the sight of the burned corpses, was his dead wife in his arms. The emotions overwhelmed him, nausea rose in his throat and he gagged.

“Magnifico! Look at me!” Myrah gently touched his face, “Look at me, my darling!”

Her husband flinched for a second but then slowly turned his head and she smiled. “There you go! Keep looking at me! Breathe with me! Deep breaths!”

Magnifico followed her breathing until his own had calmed and his pulse slowed down. 

“Well done, mi vida." She wiped his loose bangs and the sweat from his forehead and kissed his trembling lips. “I’m here. It was a nightmare.”

“M- …. Myrah.” He choked through his rising tears. “Rosas ... burned … people … my people burned … You were … I- I lost you! I couldn't-”

“Shhht!" Lovingly she caressed both his cheeks, continuing to wipe his tears and sweat. “It was another nightmare. I'm safe. Rosas is safe! All is well, mi vida.” 

He mustered her for a while, assuring himself he was truly awake. “Myrah?” 

“Yes, mi vida. I’m here.” She kissed him again, once more swiping his bangs away. 

She was real. She was there. It truly had only been another one of his raging nightmares. Utter relief flooded him and he sobbed. His head fell into the nape of his wife’s neck and she wrapped him in her arms. 

“Shhht! I know. I know.” She whispered, stroking his back as he cried. 

“Oh, Myrah!” He whimpered hoarsely, “I’m … so … tired!”  

Myrah felt her own throat tighten and her heart ache. 

“I got everything I could have ever dreamt of and more. Everything is perfect and yet … the past just won’t let me rest! I … I can’t bear this anymore!” 

His entire body trembled in her embrace. Her strong husband, who usually always carried himself proudly, now wept against her shoulder like a child. Right in this moment, he was no longer king but the boy once broken so many years ago. 

“Oh my darling, my life!” She breathed as she carefully lifted his face to rest her own close to his and combed through his dark silver hair.

“I know this is incredibly hard, it hurts terribly, and you just wish to forget, but it will get better. I promise you! And I'm here to help you in this pain. Each step of the way I will go with you, mi amor. Until the pain has faded into a scar and the memory of the past into yet a mere shadow. I’m here for you and I will be for eternity!”

The next time Magnifico woke up was early in the morning. As soon as his eyes opened, he turned his head to the side to check for his wife. And there she was. Deeply asleep. Her weight on his chest immediately filled him with relief and his pulse calmed once more. Gently, he stroked one of her auburn locks from her forehead and kissed it. Taking in her beauty for a few more seconds. God, he loved and adored her beyond comprehension. 

He must have fallen asleep in her arms after his melt down and over the course of the last hours their position had shifted. 

Carefully, he removed himself from the embrace, made sure she lay comfortable and then left their bed as quietly as possible. Throwing his thin morning robe around his shoulders, he passed the edge on which Julius was rolled up, sleeping as well, and fondled his head before striding out on the balcony. 

The sky was already turning indigo and the horizon, at the edge of the ocean, pale yellow. 

Magnifico closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He still felt awfully tired. Exhausted. As if he'd not slept at all. 

The sweet singing of birds painted a stark contrast to the roaring sounds of terror that still gnawed at the edge of his consciousness. 

Why couldn't he just forget it? Why did his past still haunt him like a never tiring predator?  

Before he knew it, his eyes started burning again but this time, he refused to cry. Instead, he stubbornly forced himself to concentrate on the sunrise. 

A light breeze hit his face and made his loose bangs sway back. He closed his eyes once more, breathing in the salty air and savoring the scent of oleander and roses it carried along. 

Sometimes he still couldn’t believe that he didn’t need to endure his regular mental episodes alone anymore. Now there was Myrah, who caught him whenever he fell. 

But as grateful as he was that she helped him through his pain, he rather had the whole trauma be done with once and for all. 

Slowly the sun started climbing over the edge of the ocean, throwing its first rays across the land. Magnifico blinked into the golden light, sounding yet another tired sigh. 

Suddenly there was a soft rustle behind him. Two gentle arms wrapped themselves around his waist from behind and he smiled. Her touch felt like taking a deep breath after a long dive. 

“You’re up already?” 

“I wanted to watch the sunset.” Not a lie, more a forced truth. 

The hold around him loosened and his wife stepped next to him. There was no fooling her and he didn’t mean to. 

“When did it stop for you?” He asked quietly. 

“The nightmares?”

His lips slimmed. 

“A few years.”

“I’ve got these for over two decades now … I’ve let the past go and it shouldn’t affect me as much anymore but-” 

“Magnifico,” Myrah took his hands into hers, “you are way too hard on yourself! Be a little bit more patient. There is no right or wrong as to how long the process of healing has to be.” 

“How much longer - I … I’m terrified to lose you too one day …this fear …it wrecks me!” he uttered brokenly. “I’ve lost everything I ever loved once before … I cannot bear it a second time …”

Myrah lifted her gaze. Her own eyes burned with tears now. She hated seeing her soulmate in so much distress. “I’m afraid as well.” She admitted, “after you’ve destroyed the book and sacrificed yourself to save Rosas … I thought I had to die as well. To have to live the rest of my life without you until I could see you again on the other side? … That was hell on earth. But-” she reached out to touch his cheek, “the great father let you return to me. And nothing can ever separate us again!” 

“How do I deserve you?” He smiled lovesick, chuckling along as she did. 

“Only you deserve me! Mi vida.” 

Leaning forward, he kissed her and her hands dove past his face into his hair. 

“I love you!” He breathed into the kiss, “I love you so much-” 

Her hands wandered from his hair down to his neck and back and then to his chest.

“I love you!” She replied, once again locking eyes with him. “I cannot erase your past, but I can help ease the pain.” 

He almost shuddered at the touch of her fingertips spreading on his chest.

“I can help you forget those nightmares for a bit …” 

Oh God! 

Her lips traveled across his skin like bolts of electricity all the way back to his neck and jaw before she gently pulled him closer to her body. 

His mind started swimming. In the best way possible. Whatever she did, it always worked. Always cracked him open and lightened up his soul. She was his beacon, his lighthouse in the darkest night.

And he held onto her as well. Like a drowning man onto a rope. Kissing her passionately between gasps for air. If she hadn't guided him back into their bedroom, he would have helplessly stumbled against the next pillar or wall, maybe even face planted the floor. 

She smiled against his lips and Magnifico wondered for the billionth time how it was possible for his stomach to tingle that strongly. 

Yes, right. She was his soulmate, this was everyday life and yet it was new to him every time. 

He let her guide him all the way to their bed, he’d forgotten how to walk anyway. With the most gentle pressure, she pressed him down on his shoulders to sit and before he knew it, she was on his lap. Together they shifted backward further onto the bed. 

Julius used the momentum to head to the door. Smirking to himself as he left the royal bedroom. He would take a long stroll through the gardens.

Oh, Lord! Am I still dreaming? Am I truly awake?  “Myrah …” 

More and more of her tender kisses showered Magnifico and he prayed she wouldn’t stop. Each place her soft lips touched tingled, almost burned. Once more they found his and he closed his eyes, tightening his hold around her back and waist. 

Could one get drunk on love? One part of him wanted to reply with as much intensity to everything she did but this time he just couldn’t fight against her and he didn’t want to. There were times where they both equalized each other while melting their endless love and their souls together, there were times where he gave more to her and this time it was her, who gave more. 

He had to do nothing but let her flood him with all the love her soul could offer. Let her give herself to him fully. This kind of giving was the highest peak of joy. An honor, a pleasure like nothing else on earth. 

She was bone of his bone and one flesh with him. Only her soul made to link with his like no other. A unity for eternity. Ever growing in love and wisdom. 

“Myrah!” Her name was the only thing left leaving his lips in gasps, breathless hisses and whimpers of purest pleasure. One gaze into the sun-flooded forest of her eyes, that intense look grazing every part of his soul, was almost enough to send him over the edge. 

Her love indeed silenced every sound in his mind, calmed the raging storm in him and pushed the hellish memories away. He thanked the great father exceedingly as his world was filled with Myrah. Tenderly and deeply passionately. 

[rouiyan]

𝘞𝘌’𝘙𝘌 𝘕𝘖𝘛 𝘙𝘌𝘈𝘓𝘓𝘠 𝘚𝘛𝘙𝘈𝘕𝘎𝘌𝘙𝘚 ; 𝘛𝘌𝘈𝘚𝘌𝘙 [ 𝘭.𝘮𝘬 ]

⧏ RELEASED — READ FULL FIC HERE ⧐

marks manages to land himself in a forty-two hour drive across the country with his archaeology major ex-girlfriend in the passenger seat. but for the duration of the whole ride, the only thing he can think about is that one twitter meme that states that “a majority of archeologists are women due to their natural ability to dig up the past.”

✧ photographer!mark lee x (fem.) archaeology major!reader ✧ exes to lovers, road trip au, referenced college au ✧ fluff/angst, hurt/comfort

✧ full fic w/c : 25.2k ✧ teaser w/c : 828 ✧ teaser disclaimers : food tw, knife tw, profanity

author's note — uhh.. well this is kinda awkward. i know i haven't posted content in a long ass time... sadly, this is by no means an official return to writing, but instead a piece that i've written on and off for over two years! now that i've been given a window of unoccupied time to finish it to my liking, i hope you look forward to it! i've missed you all btw

「 DAY 00, 01:42 PM 」— CUPID DABBLES IN BURNT TOAST

"oh, come on. i thought you were nicer than that!"

it's at times like these where mark is led to think that haechan only considers him as his very best friend for three things. his toaster, his car, and then of course, how easy it is to torment him.

he’s experienced enough to know that the guilt he feels is really only a direct result of haechan's guilt-tripping antics. and so he responds sarcastically, "yeah, nice enough to save a girl from a week of being in close proximity to the person she hates most in the world."

the toaster dings and haechan catches the two pieces of toast in their flight. he sticks one in his mouth, breaking off a bite, whilst turning to toss the other onto his friend's plate. chewing roughly, he leans back onto the counter opposite of mark, watching in contempt as the latter spreads jam across the burnt slice of bread.

haechan points a finger and juts it in his direction, offhandedly commenting, "i'm starting to think that it's you who hates her," a fact that both friends know isn't true. and because of that, mark doesn't make a big deal of denying it. "i don't hate her. i'm just..." he trails off and haechan takes the opportunity to craftily stage his intervention.

"not trying to make her uncomfortable?"

"yeah, i guess."

"not wanting her to hate you more?"

"there's that too."

"not over her?"

"hey, not cool."

a passage of silence elapses as mark sets the butter knife aside in exchange for his orange juice. gulping it down, he gets through two thirds of the glass before haechan perks up again. "actually, i think she still has a thing for you."

mark sputters, barely swallowing his drink before it could hurl out his disbelieving mouth. trying to smooth over his show of defiance, mark recovers a nonchalant expression as he deadpans, "there's no way. you know better than i do that she fucking hates me."

haechan takes another bite, aware but indifferent at how the crumbs have been gathering at his feet. his eyes trail absentmindedly to the clock on the wall behind mark, but only briefly for the hands are far past where he'd expected them to be. shoving the last of the toast into his mouth, he rushes to gather his belongings whilst uttering to his bewildered company, "shit, i'm gonna be late. pack it up."

obediently downing the rest of his orange juice, mark grabs his half-eaten, jam-slathered, burnt-to-a-crisp toast in one hand as the other reaches for his car keys on the way out. the unbearably hot sun of an early summer afternoon only hurries mark further along to his car, his wishes that he had worn shorts instead of jeans already too late to come true. but once both car doors have been shut and seat belts have been strapped, haechan carries on with his agenda without missing a beat.

"just give her the ride, mark. she'll keep you company and, i don't know, make sure you're not falling asleep at the wheel. and plus, she said she'll split the toll and gas fees."

mark shoves the last bite of toast into his mouth, the charred-ness of it procuring a nice crunch. even after he swallows, it takes him a second to respond. and though his answer is still far from budging, it sounds more like a justification, as if he needs convincing of his own opinion. "tell her it's cheaper to just catch a flight. and faster too."

exasperated, haechan retorts under his breath, "that's the same thing i told you," to which mark gives a raised brow, not catching what he said. instead of repeating, haechan only says, "just take her. you guys need to make up anyways."

that renders mark quiet for the rest of the ride as he tosses the thought over in his head. it's a thought that he knows he's been pushing away for far too long, hoping one day it'll become redundant enough to simply forget about. unknowingly, mark begins to speed a little, his turns become a little tighter, and when the traffic light signals red, the nose of his car is pulled daringly close to the car in front.

mark parallel parks shoddily in front of the archeology department building four minutes earlier than google maps had estimated. his best friend looks over at him expectantly and that in itself is enough to squeeze the reluctant words right out of him. "fine, i'll think about it."

haechan's face lights with a satisfied glow as he swings his backpack over his shoulder, making his way out of the car as quickly as he can. and just before mark can think to wish him good luck on his last exam of the spring semester, haechan blurts out the one crucial detail he had neglected to bring up until now.

"thank god, because i already told her you said yes."

copyright © 2023 rouiyan all rights reserved.