#despite...well...*gesturing vaguely at the world* yeah...

[kicksnscribs]

Still alive but at what cost?

[zhelin-thames]

After the Summoning Incident: Justice League Debrief

part 1, part 2

The Justice League meeting chamber was quiet. Too quiet.

The heroes sat around the massive conference table, some looking contemplative, others still processing the absolute chaos that had just unfolded. The Batkids had scattered to their usual perches, some smirking, others—like Damian—still scowling.

Batman, as usual, sat at the head of the table, his expression unreadable.

Superman was the first to break the silence. “Well… that was unexpected.”

Wonder Woman nodded, arms crossed. “The boy was not at all what we prepared for. He is young, brash, and clearly still learning. And yet, he succeeded.”

“Barely,” Damian muttered under his breath.

Jason grinned. “I don’t know, Demon Brat, I think he did pretty damn well. Didn’t even die or anything.”

“He’s already half-dead,” Damian shot back.

“That’s semantics,” Jason said with a shrug.

Constantine, who had been pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration, finally spoke up. “Right, so here’s what we learned, then: the summoning worked, but not the way we expected. We didn’t get the Ghost King. We got the heir to the Ghost King.”

Flash leaned forward, confused. “Okay, but why does that matter? He still fixed the problem.”

“Because,” Batman said, voice low, “we summoned him by name—meaning he’s significant enough that the magic acknowledged him, despite him not being the ruler of the Ghost Zone.”

Zatanna frowned. “That shouldn’t have happened unless his claim to the throne is strong. Which means…”

“He’s important,” Constantine finished grimly. “And probably more powerful than even he knows.”

There was a pause.

Superman, ever the optimist, offered, “Well, he did seem responsible, considering he handled the situation without any casualties.”

Aquaman, who had remained silent for most of the discussion, finally spoke. “That is all well and good, but what concerns me is his guardian.”

The League collectively tensed at the mention of Pariah Dark.

Hawkgirl leaned back in her chair, frowning. “Yeah. Not every day you meet a giant ghost warlord who decides world domination is off the table because he’s got a new kid to dote on.”

“The real question,” Green Lantern said, “is why Pariah Dark, of all beings, chose him as his son.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Batman said. “Pariah Dark isn’t just a ruler. He’s a conqueror. The fact that he’s abandoned his previous goals simply because he’s taken a liking to this ‘Danny’ suggests a level of attachment that is… dangerous.”

“I dunno,” Flash said, tapping his fingers against the table. “The guy seemed weirdly soft on the kid. Like, full-on ‘overprotective dad ready to murder anyone who sneezes at his son’ levels of doting.”

Jason snorted. “Can you blame him? The kid’s hilarious.”

Damian rolled his eyes. “That does not negate the potential threat.”

“Which leads to our next problem,” Constantine interrupted. He gestured vaguely toward the space where the summoning circle had been. “That was the third time he’s been summoned this week.”

Batman’s eyes narrowed. “Three times?”

Constantine nodded. “From what I could gather, idiot cultists all over the place have been trying to summon the ‘Ghost King’ for centuries. Problem is, it hasn’t worked in millennia—until now. Which means something’s changed.”

Green Arrow leaned forward. “And you think it’s because of him?”

Constantine sighed. “Has to be. That kid might not be the Ghost King, but he’s enough of a power in the Zone to be dragged here through the same ritual.”

Superman frowned. “So you’re saying if people keep summoning him…”

“…Eventually, someone’s going to do it with bad intentions,” Batman finished.

There was another heavy silence.

“I say we keep an eye on him,” Wonder Woman said. “Not as an enemy, but as a potential ally. He may not trust us now, but if he is being targeted, he’ll need protection.”

Jason chuckled. “Good luck with that. Kid was practically begging to be sent home before his chem test.”

Hawkgirl smirked. “I still can’t believe that was his biggest problem tonight.”

“Teenagers,” Flash said, shaking his head.

Batman didn’t react to the lighthearted remarks. Instead, he turned to Constantine. “Can we track future summonings?”

Constantine exhaled a long breath, rubbing his temple. “Not easily. The magic is old, and the Ghost Zone doesn’t follow the same rules as our realm. But…” He glanced at Zatanna. “With enough prep, we might be able to set up a countermeasure. Or at least a warning system.”

“We should also determine how much control he actually has,” Aquaman said. “If he is an heir, his powers may be growing. We should be aware of what he’s capable of.”

Jason grinned. “So what, we’re gonna test his power levels? Let me know how that goes when Pariah shows up ready to throw hands.”

Batman stood, effectively ending the conversation. “For now, we’ll observe from a distance. If he truly is being targeted, we may need to act sooner rather than later.”

“And if Pariah Dark takes offense to that?” Zatanna asked.

Batman’s expression darkened. “…Then we prepare for war.”

Meanwhile, Back in Amity Park…

Danny groaned as he flopped onto his bed, exhausted beyond belief. “I hate magic,” he mumbled into his pillow.

Jazz, standing in the doorway with crossed arms, raised an eyebrow. “Rough night?”

“The worst,” Danny groaned, turning onto his back. “I got summoned by the Justice League—AGAIN. And Pariah nearly destroyed them before I could talk him down.”

Jazz sighed. “That’s, what, the third time this week?”

“Yes!” Danny threw up his hands. “I swear, if one more idiot cult tries to yank me across dimensions, I’m going to scream.”

Jazz smirked. “And then what?”

Danny scowled. “…Then Pariah will probably destroy another dimension out of spite, because apparently, he thinks I’m too stressed for a ‘mortal child.’”

Jazz chuckled. “Well, he’s not wrong.”

Danny groaned again, grabbing his pillow and shoving it over his face. “I hate everything.”

Jazz patted his shoulder sympathetically. “Welcome to adulthood, little brother.”

Danny just let out a long, muffled scream into his pillow.

[corkinavoid]

For @mysterious-messages, to 'Bless the child' by Nightwish

DPxDC Long Time No See

The crow was incredibly persistent. Which, of course, made it ten times more annoying in John's opinion, because he was trying very, very hard not to pay attention to the pitch-black bird with blood red eyes that was perched right outside the window.

Can't he have one single night where no impossibly powerful force of nature interrupts his attempt to drown himself in liquor? Honestly.

The crow knocks on the window again. Three perfectly timed knocks; this bloody bird sure knows how to draw attention, but it also definitely knows Constantine is avoiding it. Which is why it's insisting on making itself a nuisance, no doubt.

To be fair, John is not even entirely sure who's crow is it. Morpheus has a crow at his disposal, but his crow is a bitch. He wouldn't have simply sat on the windowsill and enjoyed annoying Constantine for the sheer spite of it. Death has her crows as well - very thematic, if you ask John - and then there was that one asshole raven that claimed itself belonging to Apollo.

And then, of course, there was-

Actually, maybe he should see what the crow wants. Might be important, after all.

Constantine sighs and puts his whiskey back on the bar before standing up. The world tilts to the side a bit - he might have had a few too many drinks, yeah. But then maybe it's just the side effect of the messenger crow being here, who knows. Constantine would rather put his money on the latter for the sake of his dignity. Not that he has much of that left.

He makes his way to the window, looks at the crow for a long moment, making his last internal debate obvious, and then opens the window.

"The hell do you want?" He asks, but quickly realises it was in vain.

He is not at the bar anymore.

Instead, he is standing in the middle of a graveyard, surrounded by tombstones, fog, and eerie silence. 4/10 on the creepy effect, John has definitely seen this shit done better.

The cloaked figure sitting on the nearest tombstone stays silent, watching him with unblinking, blood red eyes. John sighs again, pinches the bridge of his nose, and reaches into the pocket of his trenchcoat for cigarettes. If he ended up out of the bar anyway, he might as well use it for a smoke break.

"I'd rather you not," the cloaked being says, not a demand but a request by the sound of it. Constantine grimaces, but puts the pack back in the pocket. Arguing with this one will get him exactly nowhere.

"What's this all about, then?" He vaguely gestures around himself, at all the death, decay, and other things that start with the letter 'D'. "I never knew you're into this kind of thing. Very Mary Shelley of you," he raises an eyebrow.

The being - the Dead God, the Ghost of Time, Clockwork, Chronos, and any other name he likes calling himself - huffs a deep, low and breathy laugh. Then, he stands up, his feet firmly planted on the ground for once. He looks different to how John is used to seeing him, all sharp edges and monochrome colors, shiny leather oxfords and loose sleeves with tight cuffs.

Honestly, he kind of reminds Constantine of vampires. He really hopes this is not actually some kind of a new kink of his because John so didn't count on that kind of night. Despite what he's said before.

"No," Chronos shakes his head, his appearance shifting from young to middle-aged. Constantine blinks; if there's anything he learned about the Dead God through their various get-togethers, it's that his age usually reflects his level of seriousness.

But he doesn't have time to ask, nor does he get a moment to prepare, when a child, a literal goddamn child no older than ten steps out from behind Clockwork.

It looks like a boy, dressed in jeans and a blue hoodie with a NASA logo on it, and- He does look like Clockwork. Same pale skin, same eerie, unblinking eyes, same unearthly air around him.

Only, his eyes are a faint blue, like ice and winter skies. Like Constantine's eyes.

The unholy fuck. And he means it literally.

"Is that-" he starts, his throat suddenly dry, pointing his finger at the boy before he even thinks about it, but the Ghost of Time laughs again, a dirty grin on his lips.

"Yours? No, thank the Ancients," he says, making sure to sound just a tad bit offended even if John can see the mirth on his face. Bloody wanker. Constantine lets out a slow, loud breath through his nose.

"Amen to that," he agrees and looks at the kid again. And, as soon as the initial shock wears off, a sneaking suspicion starts to form in his mind. He narrows his eyes. "I don't want to ask, I really don't, but I'm going to anyway. Why?"

Clockwork's face looks distant for a moment, his features shifting into old.

"A child blessed by time has no home in his own life. A child blessed by death has no place among others," he says, and John hates when they speak in riddles, but he thinks he might be getting this one right. "I am only loved when I'm gone, the moments being held dear in memory. But a child does not deserve that," Clockwork's voice sounds almost sad, and, while John does understand it's supposed to be a metaphor, it doesn't feel like one.

But then, he is the Time itself. Maybe for him it's not really a metaphor.

He looks back to the kid, and catches the boy looking away with a grimace. Seems like they have at least one thing in common - they both hold a great distaste to Cronos' solemn way of talking.

Constantine is so going to regret this, but he knows where the Dead God is leading.

"Yeah, okay," he rubs his face with one hand, and, before he has time to ask or say another word, the whole graveyard is gone, and he is standing back in the bar, the low murmur of nightly crowd and warm light around him. Just like before he opened the window to the blood-eyed crow.

The only difference between then and now is the kid standing by his side, looking at him like John is the stupidest man he'd ever seen. Oh, he is already regretting this.

Constantine drops his hand down and goes back to the bar, where he left his drink.

"Want a beer?" He asks, and the kid rolls his eyes, trailing after him.

"I'm twelve," he deadpans, and, yeah, okay, he's got a point.

Fuck it, he is calling in a favor from Bats. That man has, like, twenty kids, he should have some parenting advice.

~•~•~•~

Yeah, the song really reminded me of Clockwork for some reason. Why am I loved only when I'm gone? is really stricking me as a line written for him because you only cherish the time after it's gone, you smile at your memories and pictures, but you rarely ever pay attention to it in the moment.

Also, I did my best with the Gothic aesthetic there, and here's the additional vibe.

Clockwork, just dropping a random ass kid on his occasional one night stand and vanishing into the night, knowing that John Constantine has a soft spot for kids and won't just fuck off to who knows where: it's for the greater good the better timeline

Danny, left alone with a clearly too drunk to think magician whose soul looks like a jigsaw puzzle: the fuck it's not

[solxamber]

Hi hi solxamber!! (Is that spelled right?) I hope you’re having a lovely day/night! if you would allow me too I’d like to make a request/ask, ignore this if you wish!

But freshwater stingray yuu! She’s so sweet with everyone (even though she may be such a quiet person) and super calming too! But she’s so misunderstood (◞ ‸ ◟ㆀ). Kinda like how a lot of humans now treat wild stingrays, they think she’s dangerous and always aggressive! But really she just wants a friend (；へ：). Oh! And she’s also very tall too! Like Floyd tall, since freshwater stingrays are some of the biggest known rays in the world! She also has a long, whip-like, stinger (tail) that she can’t control even in the water! Maybe this in a small one-shot form (if you do that!) with Octavinelle and Diasomnia? I feel as if specifically Malleus and her would relate to each other very well with them both feeling isolated and feared because of something that they really can’t control!

Please feel free to ignore this if you wish! You are under absolutely no obligation to respond to my request! Sorry if it was really long (I’m severely hyperfixated on any form of marine life) 人(_ _*)

And do you do anon names? If so could I be a 🪼anon?

Octavinelle, Diasomnia with Freshwater Stingray! Reader

hi! yeah you can be 🪼 anon! and don't worry about the length at all, the more detailed, the more fun i have writing it! thank you for waiting and i hope you like it <3 and it's spelled right! you can just call me sol tho!

Azul Ashengrotto:

You sit in the quiet corner of the Mostro Lounge, sipping tea and trying to keep your long tail from accidentally knocking anything over. It’s always the same—people giving you wary glances, as if you’re a threat just waiting to explode. Your tail, with its unpredictable movements, has always been a point of misunderstanding, and despite your calmness and sweet demeanor, most people steer clear of you.

Azul has been watching you for a while now, his sharp eyes glinting behind his glasses. He finally makes his way over, that ever-confident smile in place as he sets a fresh cup of tea in front of you.

"Everything to your liking?" he asks, voice smooth as ever, but there’s a hint of something more—genuine curiosity, perhaps?

You look up, startled. "It’s fine," you mumble, trying not to let your tail twitch in nervousness. But of course, it does, brushing lightly against the floor. You freeze, pulling it in tightly to your side.

Azul’s eyes follow the movement, and instead of the discomfort you usually see in people, there’s only understanding in his gaze. He leans in a bit, resting his elbow on the table. "It must be difficult," he says softly, "having to be so aware of your tail all the time, when people can’t see beyond it."

You blink, surprised at how easily he’s put it into words. "Yeah," you admit, glancing down at your cup. "People think I’m dangerous. But I just… I don’t want to hurt anyone." Your voice trails off, soft and sincere.

Azul chuckles, though not unkindly. "I understand more than you think. People often mistake strength for malice. They forget that control takes time." He gestures vaguely toward his own carefully controlled smile, his smooth façade of confidence. "And patience."

You tilt your head, meeting his eyes for the first time properly. "You... you don’t think I’m dangerous?"

"On the contrary," he says with a smirk, "I think you’re someone worth knowing. Dangerously misunderstood, perhaps, but aren’t we all?"

You can’t help but smile a little at that. For the first time in a long while, you feel like someone is seeing you, not your tail or your height, but you.

Floyd Leech:

You’re wandering through the courtyard when Floyd spots you, and of course, he makes a beeline in your direction, grinning like a shark who’s just spotted prey.

"Heyyy, Shrimpy!" he calls out, stretching his arms over his head lazily. You brace yourself, knowing that Floyd isn’t exactly one to respect personal space.

"Hi, Floyd," you say softly, still trying to keep your voice friendly despite the knot of nerves forming in your stomach.

As expected, he immediately slings an arm around your shoulders, oblivious to the way your tail twitches nervously behind you. "Whatcha doin'? Lookin' all serious. You plannin' to sting someone with that big tail of yours?"

You blink, startled by how casually he brings it up, but you know Floyd doesn’t mean any harm by it—he’s just Floyd. "No," you say quickly, "I don’t sting people. It’s not like that. I don’t want to hurt anyone."

He gives you a curious look, then laughs. "Aw, I know, I know! I’m just messing with ya!" His grip tightens slightly as he leans closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "But y'know, if anyone’s ever giving ya trouble, just say the word, and I’ll help ya take 'em down. Sting 'em, punch 'em, doesn’t matter!"

You blink again, unsure how to respond to Floyd’s unique brand of... support. But something about his carefree attitude puts you at ease, and you find yourself smiling despite everything. "Thanks, Floyd," you say quietly.

He grins, clearly pleased with himself. "No problem, Shrimpy! Let’s go find someone to mess with, yeah?"

Jade Leech:

It’s in the depths of the Coral Sea when you first meet Jade properly. He’s calm and composed, as always, but there’s a calculating gleam in his eyes that makes you nervous. You’ve always been wary of people who observe more than they say—those are the ones who usually misunderstand you the most.

"Ah, you must be the freshwater stingray everyone’s been talking about," Jade says with a polite smile, his eyes scanning your tall form, lingering on your tail for just a second longer than usual.

You nod slowly, unsure of what to say. "Yes. And you must be Jade."

"Indeed," he replies smoothly. "It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’ve heard quite a few interesting things about you."

You wince internally, imagining all the rumors about how "dangerous" and "unpredictable" you are. But Jade doesn’t seem fazed. Instead, he tilts his head slightly, his curiosity piqued. "It must be difficult," he muses, "being constantly misunderstood because of something you cannot control."

You blink, caught off guard by his words. "Y-yes," you stammer, "it is. But I try not to let it bother me."

Jade’s smile widens, and for the first time, you see a genuine warmth behind his usual calculating demeanor. "That is a wise approach. I believe there is much more to you than others realize. Perhaps we can... learn more about each other."

You feel a flicker of warmth in your chest. Maybe this encounter isn’t so bad after all.

Malleus Draconia:

You’re floating near the edge of the lake when you sense someone watching you. You turn slowly, and there, standing by the water’s edge, is Malleus, his dark eyes focused on you with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat.

You’ve always felt a strange connection to Malleus. Both of you are feared for reasons beyond your control, and both of you know what it’s like to be isolated because of it.

"Good evening," he says softly, his voice deep and soothing.

"Good evening, Malleus," you reply quietly, moving closer to the shore. "What brings you here?"

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he gazes out at the water, his expression thoughtful. "I often find solace near the water," he admits. "It’s... calming."

You nod in agreement, understanding exactly what he means. "It’s the same for me. People seem to think we’re dangerous just because of how we look. But the water... it doesn’t judge."

Malleus turns to look at you then, his eyes softening. "Yes," he murmurs. "We are not so different, are we?"

For a moment, the two of you stand in comfortable silence, sharing an unspoken understanding that words could never fully capture.

Lilia Vanrouge:

Lilia’s eyes twinkle with mischief as he glides through the air, catching sight of you as you swim quietly near the edge of the lake. He lands gracefully on a nearby rock, grinning widely. "Ah, my dear stingray! How does the evening treat you?" he calls out, his voice filled with playful energy.

You blink in surprise, unused to such cheerfulness, but you offer a small smile in return. "It’s... peaceful," you reply softly. "I like the quiet."

Lilia chuckles, sitting cross-legged on the rock as he watches you, his eyes glimmering with curiosity. "You always seem so quiet and calm. Yet I hear rumors—some people say you're dangerous!" He laughs at the absurdity of it, as if the idea is nothing but a joke to him.

You sigh, glancing down at the water, your long tail swaying gently beneath the surface. "They think I’m dangerous because of my tail. I don’t want to hurt anyone, but… it’s hard to control sometimes."

Lilia hums thoughtfully, leaning forward a bit. "Ah, but isn’t that the way with most things in life? The most wonderful, powerful things are often the ones most misunderstood." He winks at you, as if sharing a secret.

You can’t help but smile at his words. There’s something so comforting about Lilia’s playful wisdom, and you feel your usual anxiety melting away. "Maybe you’re right," you say quietly. "It’s just… hard."

Lilia nods sagely. "Hard, yes. But don’t let that stop you from being who you are. Strength and kindness aren’t mutually exclusive, you know. You remind me of myself in my younger days!" He laughs again, the sound bright and infectious.

You chuckle softly, feeling a bit lighter. "Thank you, Lilia."

He winks again, standing up with a flourish. "Anytime, my dear! Now, shall we play a game? I bet you can’t catch me!" Before you can protest, he takes off into the air, leaving you laughing quietly at his endless energy.

Silver Vanrouge:

Silver is resting under the shade of a large tree when you spot him, his eyes closed as he naps peacefully. You hover nearby, not wanting to disturb him, but your tail accidentally swishes too close to a branch, causing it to rustle loudly.

Silver’s eyes blink open slowly, his gaze finding you immediately. He sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Oh… it’s you," he murmurs, his voice still soft with drowsiness.

"Sorry," you mumble, embarrassed that you woke him up. "I didn’t mean to… my tail…" You trail off, trying to tuck your tail away behind you, but it flicks out again despite your best efforts.

Silver shakes his head, giving you a gentle smile. "It’s okay. You didn’t wake me on purpose."

You feel a warmth spread in your chest at his understanding. Silver is always so calm and kind, never judging you the way others do. "Still, I’m sorry," you say, moving closer to sit beside him.

He watches you for a moment before speaking. "You don’t need to apologize for something you can’t control," he says quietly. "I know what it’s like to be misunderstood. People think I’m lazy because I fall asleep a lot, but it’s just… how I am."

You look at him in surprise. "I didn’t know that. I thought you just liked to nap."

He chuckles softly, leaning back against the tree. "Maybe a little. But it’s more than that." He pauses, then turns to you with a soft smile. "I don’t think you’re dangerous. You’re just… you."

His words are so simple, but they mean more to you than he knows. You smile back at him, feeling a little lighter. "Thank you, Silver."

Silver nods, his eyes closing again as he drifts off into another peaceful nap, leaving you to quietly enjoy the moment beside him.

Sebek Zigvolt:

You’re swimming near the edge of the lake when Sebek marches over, his loud voice cutting through the peaceful air. "Ah, there you are! I’ve been searching for you!" he declares, arms crossed and chin held high.

You blink, startled by his abrupt arrival. "O-oh, hello, Sebek."

He stares down at you, his expression serious as usual. "You must stop hiding yourself away like this! It is unbecoming of someone with such... size and stature!" His tone is as sharp as ever, but you know he means well—he’s just... Sebek.

You glance down at the water, feeling a bit self-conscious. "I’m not hiding. I just like the quiet."

Sebek huffs, clearly not satisfied with your answer. "Nonsense! You should be standing tall and proud! You are far too... graceful to be skulking about like some common creature of the sea!"

You blink in surprise at his words, unsure how to respond. "Um... thank you?"

Sebek’s eyes narrow, as if he’s not quite sure you understand his point. "Do not mistake me! I am simply saying that you are far too formidable to let others fear you so easily!" He pauses, his voice lowering slightly. "It is... their loss if they cannot see that."

Your heart warms at his unexpected compliment. Sebek might be loud and brash, but his words hold a certain sincerity that you can’t ignore. You smile up at him. "That’s... really nice of you to say, Sebek."

He stiffens, his cheeks flushing slightly as he clears his throat. "W-well, I am merely stating the facts! Now, come! We must train! A creature as powerful as you should not waste your time in solitude!"

Despite his usual intensity, you can’t help but smile. "Alright, Sebek. Let’s train."

With a proud nod, Sebek leads the way, his loud voice echoing through the air as you follow, feeling just a little bit more understood.

Masterlist

[gksweetdreams]

Caught in a Web part 3

Here is part 3 enjoy ;)

Y/N’s breath came way quicker than she wanted to admit. She wasn’t scared—no, she had faced things far worse than this—but the way Sinister Mark looked at her was unsettling.

Not because he was dangerous… well maybe a little.

And it’s not because he had just killed a bloodthirsty variant like it was nothing.

But because of the way he looked at her, like she was something he had lost and found again.

She knew that look.

Because once upon a time, she had given it to her Mark.

Her heart twisted painfully at the thought. Right person, wrong time. That’s what it had always been. She and Mark had fought side by side, saved lives together, trusted each other in ways no one else could. And she had felt it—that pull, that connection, that slow-burning realization that maybe, just maybe, they were meant for each other.

But it never worked out.

Not because he didn’t care. Not because she didn’t want it.

But because the universe had different plans.

And now, her Mark was with Eve.

It wasn’t bitter—it hurt, sure, but she wasn’t angry. Eve was good for him. She was steady, kind, and powerful in her own right. She gave Mark something Y/N had never been able to…

 peace.

Y/N could be a hero. She could be his friend. But she could never be the thing that quieted his storms.

And she had to accept that.

Until now.

Because now, this Mark was looking at her like he never lost her.

And it was making her feel everything she had tried to bury.

Sinister Mark stepped closer, his expression unreadable. "You're thinking about him… the wrong Mark"

Y/N’s body tensed. “You don’t know that.”

His head tilted slightly. “I do.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms in a defensive stance. “Oh yeah? You some kind of mind reader?”

“No.” His voice was softer than before. “I just know what it’s like to look at someone and wonder what could’ve been.”

That made her stomach twist.

She shouldn’t be feeling this way. This wasn’t her Mark. He wasn’t the boy she had fought besides, the one who had made her laugh on rooftops after long battles, the one who had almost—almost—been hers.

And yet, he still was?

Different world. Different path. But the same face. The same voice.

And worse? The same look she had always wanted from him.

Sinister Mark took another step forward.

Y/N didn’t move this time.

“I lost my Y/N,” he admitted, his eyes dark with something unreadable. “She was the only thing that kept me from becoming… this.” He gestured vaguely to himself, to the darkness that was now part of him. "And when she was gone, I stopped caring."

Y/N swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest.

“But now you’re here,” he said, his voice dangerously quiet. “And I don’t believe in coincidences.”

Y/N did.

She had to. Because if this was something more than just a twist of fate, then it meant she was staring at a life she could never have.

And that was too much.

“Look,” she forced herself to say, keeping her tone light despite the heaviness in her chest. “I’m sorry about what happened to your Y/N. But I’m not her.”

Sinister Mark’s lips curled into something between a smirk and a grimace. “You keep saying that.”

“Because it’s true.”

“Then why do you look at me like you want to believe it’s not?”

That hit. Hard.

Her throat went dry. He had called her out, ripped her thoughts into the open like it was nothing.

She did want to believe it.

Because the way he looked at her—intense, unwavering, like she was the only thing keeping him from falling apart—it was everything she had wanted from her Mark.

But that wasn’t fair.

Not to him.

Not to herself.

And definitely not to the Mark who had already moved on.

Y/N inhaled sharply and took a step back, forcing distance between them. “Look I will cut you a deal… help me focus on stopping the others before they tear this world apart, and you and I can talk.”

For a moment, Sinister Mark just stared at her, his expression unreadable. Then, after what felt like an eternity, he exhaled and nodded.

“Fine,” he murmured. “For now…”

Y/N turned away, launching herself into the air with a web shot, trying to ignore the way her heart was still racing.

Because the worst part?

She wasn’t sure if she wanted him to stop looking at her like that.

And that was dangerous.

I hope you enjoy part 3!! Thank you for all the support and love for this series! I am already working on part 4!

Next Part →

[belit0]

I had an idea (if your taking requests) Could you do the Uchiha guys with trying to get back together with their ex. Maybe they did or said something and they were broken up for a while, but now they have to do some scheming and work to try and get her to accept them back into their lives.

Always taking requests!

Madara

Madara was never one for apologies. Words felt hollow, meaningless—so he didn’t waste them. Instead, he acted.

He ensured her safety from the shadows, a silent force guarding the edges of her life. The streets she walked were suddenly safer. The merchants she frequented offered better deals. When her roof leaked during a storm, she awoke to find it repaired—without explanation.

And yet, she resisted.

-I know what you’re doing, Madara.- She stood in the doorway, arms crossed, frustration clear in her eyes. -You can’t just fix things around me and expect it to fix us.-

His gaze was steady, unreadable. -Would you rather I did nothing?-

She faltered, but didn’t break. -I would rather you talk to me instead of playing the shadow lurking in my life.-

Madara exhaled slowly. Talking wasn’t his strength, but for her, he would try.

Izuna

Izuna didn’t do well with rejection. The first few times she brushed him off, he laughed it away. The next few, he stubbornly tried again.

Then, he got creative.

One day, she found fresh flowers on her doorstep—her favorite kind. The next, her favorite tea at her usual seat in the tea house. Then, a small, handwritten note: You still make my world brighter.

-It’s excessive,- she muttered one day, arms full of the latest gesture.

Izuna grinned, leaning against her doorframe. -If you call this excessive, wait until I really start trying.-

She tried to keep the frown on her face, but he saw it—the way her lips twitched, the way her fingers curled slightly over the note instead of crumpling it.

He was getting closer.

Obito

-I messed up. No, too vague. I was an idiot and I’m sorry. Too direct. Please take me back— No, desperate.

Obito groaned, dragging his hands down his face as he paced outside her house, rehearsing the perfect apology.

-Yelling at her won’t work,- he muttered to himself. -Crying might be too much—or would it work? Maybe just a little…-

Before he could decide, the door opened.

(Y/N) blinked. -Obito? Have you been muttering outside my house?-

He panicked. -No! Yes! I mean—

Her expression softened despite herself. -You’re impossible.-

He let out a breath, rubbing the back of his head. -Yeah. But I’m your impossible, if you still want me.-

Silence stretched between them—until she finally sighed, opening the door wider. -Come inside before you explode from nerves.-

His heart leapt.

Shisui

Shisui was many things���fast, charming, a strategist. He never lost a battle.

Except, apparently, when it came to her.

So, he did what he did best. He turned his comeback into a spectacle.

She walked outside to find half the village watching as he balanced atop a wooden post, arms spread wide.

-(Y/N), if you don’t take me back, I might just fall right off this thing in my sorrow! And it would be your fault! Do you really want that on your conscience?

She gasped. -Shisui, get down!

-Not until you forgive me.-

-YOU’RE GOING TO BREAK YOUR NECK!

-Only my heart, my love! That’s already broken! Might as well match the rest of me!

She groaned, rubbing her temples. -Shisui…-

-Does that mean you forgive me?

-Get. Down. First.

He grinned. Victory.

Itachi

Itachi did not beg. He did not plead. He did not chase.

Instead, he waited.

He left a book on her doorstep—one she had mentioned wanting but never got the chance to buy. No note, no explanation. A week later, a meal left at her door—her favorite. Carefully packed, still warm.

She never caught him, but she knew.

One evening, she finally confronted him. -You don’t have to keep leaving things for me.-

-It isn’t about obligation,- he said simply, standing there in the twilight. -It’s about whether I can still make your days better, even from a distance.-

Her throat tightened.

-Then don’t do it from a distance,- she whispered.

His breath hitched—but then, slowly, he stepped forward.

[hyuniemyunie]

*gulp* u...uh... can I please please request a reigen x f!reader where theyre childhood friends who've been mutually pining for eachother ever since they met.. 👁👁💧[nervous and shaking because I dont wanna seem like im asking 4 too much]

reigen arataka x f!reader childhood friends to lovers

sfw

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

OMGGGG HIII😭 FINALLY A REIGEN REQUEST. no no ofc youre not asking for too much i actually got so happy when i saw ur request😭💞💞

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠄･ ⋆ ･

Reigen leaned back in his chair, tapping a pen against his desk in a rhythm he wasn’t even aware of. You were sitting on the couch across from him, flipping through a magazine, but he couldn’t focus on anything except you. The light from the window caught on your hair, and he caught himself staring—again.

Get it together, man.

He cleared his throat, hoping the sound would distract you, but you didn’t even look up. It wasn’t like he wanted you to notice him staring or anything—it’d just make this whole thing more embarrassing. Still, his chest tightened at the sight of you so at ease, like this was any other day.

For you, it probably was.

For him? It was torture.

He’d known you forever, back when your biggest concerns were playground fights and scraped knees. Back then, he thought he had all the time in the world to figure out why being around you felt different. But here you were, all grown up, sitting just a few feet away, and he still hadn’t figured out how to deal with this... this feeling.

He rubbed the back of his neck, pretending to look busy as his thoughts raced.

How do you even say something like that? “Hey, remember how we used to play tag? Yeah, well, now I’m in love with you.” Great plan, Reigen. That’s not awkward at all.

“Something on your mind?” Your voice broke through his spiral.

Reigen nearly dropped his pen. “Huh? No! Nothing at all!” The words came out too fast, too loud. He winced internally, watching as you raised an eyebrow at him.

“You’ve been weird all day,” you said, setting the magazine aside. “Are you okay?”

Weird? He felt his stomach drop. Had he been that obvious? “Weird? No, I’m just, uh, busy. You know how it is—clients, spirits, paperwork...” He gestured vaguely to the empty desk in front of him.

Your lips twitched like you were trying not to laugh. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

He groaned, slumping forward onto his desk. “Alright, fine. Maybe I’m a little distracted.”

You tilted your head, watching him curiously. “Distracted by what?”

By you.

He wanted to say it. The words were right there, lodged in his throat, but every time he tried to let them out, he froze. What if you didn’t feel the same way? What if he ruined everything?

“I’ve just been thinking about... stuff,” he said instead, his voice a little quieter.

“Stuff,” you repeated, your tone teasing.

“Yeah, stuff,” he shot back, sitting up straight. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to act casual. “Big, important, grown-up stuff. You wouldn’t understand.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was a softness in your expression that made his chest ache. “Sure, Reigen. Whatever you say.”

The silence that followed was heavy, but not uncomfortable. He could hear the faint hum of the air conditioner, the occasional creak of the building settling. And through it all, his mind kept circling back to the same thought:

Just tell her.

But he couldn’t. Not yet. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk. “Hey,” he said, his tone lighter now, “remember when we were kids, and you tripped during that school play? You faceplanted right in front of the whole class.”

Your laugh was immediate, bright and genuine. “You were the one who told me to run in those stupid shoes!”

“Hey, I was trying to help!” he said, grinning despite himself. “Besides, you still got a standing ovation. Well, mostly out of pity, but it counts.” You threw a magazine at him, and he caught it easily, laughing as he tossed it back onto the couch.

Moments like this were why he couldn’t say anything. Why he couldn’t risk losing you.

But as he watched you laugh, saw the way your eyes lit up and your shoulders relaxed, he felt that familiar pang in his chest. He’d been holding this in for years, telling himself it wasn’t the right time, that he’d figure it out later.

Later was starting to feel like a cop-out.

“Hey,” he said, his voice softer now.

You looked at him, your laughter fading into a small, curious smile. “Yeah?”

He hesitated, his fingers drumming against the desk. He wanted to tell you. He needed to tell you. But instead, he shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Never mind.”

Your brow furrowed, but you didn’t press him. “Okay,” you said, standing and stretching. “I’m gonna go buy a drink. You want anything?”

“No, I’m good,” he said, watching as you walked toward the exit.

The moment you were out of sight, he let out a long sigh, leaning back in his chair.

'One day,' he promised himself. 'One day, I'll tell her.' But for now? He'd just have to settle for this.

---

Reigen tapped his fingers on the desk, his mind racing as he listened to the sound of you entering the office again. You were just a few steps away, and yet the distance felt insurmountable. His heart pounded in his chest, loud enough that he was sure you’d hear it when you came back.

You can’t keep chickening out like this. She’s been your best friend for years. If anyone’s going to understand, it’s her.

But what if you didn’t? What if you laughed, or worse, pitied him? He shook his head, trying to shove the thought away. Before he could second-guess himself again, you reappeared, holding a can of soda. You glanced at him, your brows knitting together. “You’re being weird again.”

“Am not” he shot back, too quickly.

You set the glass down on the table and crossed your arms, giving him a look that told him you weren’t buying it. “Reigen.”

The way you said his name—it wasn’t accusing or impatient. It was soft, full of concern, and it made his stomach twist. He ran a hand through his hair, letting out a long sigh.

“Alright, fine. You got me. I’ve been... off” he admitted, his voice quieter now.

You stepped closer, sitting on the edge of his desk. “What’s going on? You can talk to me, you know.”

That was the problem. He could talk to you—about anything, really. You’d always been there, always listened, even when he rambled about ridiculous clients or over-the-top exorcisms. But this? This was different. Still, the way you were looking at him now, with that quiet patience and trust, made something in him snap. He couldn’t keep holding it in.

“I... There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he started, his voice faltering. Your expression softened, and you leaned forward slightly, waiting.

He took a deep breath, his palms sweating as he rubbed them against his pants. “Look, I know this might sound... weird, or out of nowhere, but it’s not. I’ve been sitting on this for years, and honestly, I’m tired of pretending it’s not there.”

You tilted your head, your brows furrowing. “Reigen, what are you—”

“I like you,” he blurted out, cutting you off. Then, as if realizing how ridiculous he sounded, he winced and quickly corrected himself. “No, I mean... I really like you. Like, more-than-friends kind of like.”

The words hung in the air, heavier than anything he’d ever said before. He couldn’t bring himself to look at you, his eyes fixed firmly on the desk as he continued.

“I know I’m not the most... normal guy. I’ve got my flaws, my quirks—probably too many to count. But you’ve stuck around anyway, and that’s meant more to me than I can even put into words. And somewhere along the way, I stopped thinking of you as just my best friend and started thinking of you as... everything, hell, even my mom thinks we're dating.” His chest felt tight, his pulse hammering in his ears. He dared a glance at you, and the look on your face made him pause. You weren’t laughing or frowning. You were just staring at him, wide-eyed, like you were trying to process what he’d just said.

“I don’t expect you to feel the same way,” he added quickly, his voice a little more frantic now. “And if this messes things up, I get it. But I couldn’t keep this to myself anymore. I just... I needed you to know.”

The silence that followed was unbearable. Reigen felt like the ground might open up and swallow him whole. His heart was pounding so loudly he was sure you could hear it.

And then, you smiled.

It wasn’t a big, dramatic smile. It was small, soft, and warm, the kind of smile that made his breath catch in his throat.

“You’re such an idiot,” you said, your voice teasing but full of affection.

He blinked, caught off guard. “What?”

“I’ve liked you for years, Reigen,” you admitted, your cheeks flushing. “I thought it was obvious.”

His jaw dropped, and for a moment, he was completely speechless. Then, he let out a laugh—part disbelief, part relief—as he ran a hand through his hair. “You’re kidding. You’re kidding, right?”

You shook your head, your smile widening. “Nope. Dead serious.”

Reigen leaned back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling as he let out a long breath. “Well, now I feel like an idiot.”

You laughed, and the sound was like music to his ears. “You should.”

He sat up, looking at you with a grin that was equal parts sheepish and overjoyed. “So... does this mean you’d be okay with me, uh, taking you out to dinner? As, you know, more-than-friends?”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile didn’t fade. “Yeah, I’d be more than okay with that.”

“Great!” he said, standing up and holding out his hand dramatically. “Well then, allow me to escort you to the finest ramen shop in town.”

You took his hand, laughing as he pulled you to your feet. “You’re such an idiot..”

“Yeah, but I’m your idiot now!!” he shot back, winking.

And as the two of you walked out of the office together, Reigen couldn’t help but feel like, for the first time in a long time, he’d actually done something right.

[multifamdomfan]

Bound by Books

Aziracrow: Beauty and the Beast au

Aziraphale had always loved books.

They were more than just bound pages—they were solace. A refuge. A world unto themselves, full of knowledge and wonder, where no one could tell him he was wrong for wanting to learn.

Which is why, despite the circumstances—despite the fact that he was trapped in an enchanted castle with a surly, sharp-tongued beast—he couldn't help but stare when Crowley pushed open the massive double doors and revealed the library.

The air smelled of parchment, aged leather, and ink, warm and inviting. Shelves stretched to the vaulted ceiling, packed with books of every imaginable kind—histories, poetry, philosophy, great works of literature from across the centuries. A spiral staircase wound its way up to a second level, and ladders were fixed along the towering bookcases, waiting to be climbed.

It was breathtaking.

Aziraphale stepped forward in awe, his fingers hovering just above the spines of the nearest books as if touching them would break the illusion.

He turned to Crowley, unable to find his voice.

The beast shifted uncomfortably, his tail flicking once before curling back around his leg. His great clawed hands were stuffed into the deep pockets of his coat, his shoulders tense like he was bracing for something. “Figured you’d like it,” he muttered, waving a paw toward the vast room. “I mean, you seem like the bookish type.”

Aziraphale was still processing—still reeling from the sheer generosity of the gesture.

“You’re... giving this to me?” he finally asked, barely above a whisper.

Crowley scoffed, looking away as if the bookshelves had suddenly become very interesting. “Not like I’ve got much use for it, do I?” He gestured vaguely at himself—the large, beastly form, the sharp claws that could shred paper far too easily. “Been here for centuries. Read some of ‘em. Got bored. You, though—you’d probably appreciate it.”

Something warm bloomed in Aziraphale’s chest.

He knew what this was.

Crowley wasn’t just giving him a library. He was offering a piece of himself—something thoughtful, something selfless, something that said I see you.

Something that spoke of care.

Aziraphale swallowed against the sudden tightness in his throat.

“It’s wonderful,” he said sincerely. “Truly.” He hesitated for a moment, then added, his voice softer, “Thank you.”

Crowley shrugged, the motion stiff and awkward. “Yeah, yeah, don’t make a big deal out of it.” He flicked a claw toward the towering shelves. “Go on, then. Look around.”

Aziraphale didn’t need to be told twice.

He stepped inside, running his fingers reverently along the spines of well-worn tomes, breathing in the scent of parchment and dust. His eyes flicked over titles in a dozen different languages, some books so old they must have been handwritten, others glistening with gold leaf.

It felt like home.

And for the first time since arriving at the castle, he didn’t feel like a prisoner.

He felt like he belonged.

As he explored, Crowley hovered near the door, watching him. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in the way his shoulders had relaxed just slightly, something in the way his tail swayed—not restless, but steady.

Aziraphale turned, clutching a book to his chest. “I can truly read any of these?”

Crowley arched a brow, as if baffled that he’d even ask. “They’re books, aren’t they?”

“Yes, but…” Aziraphale bit his lip, then smiled. “It just seems too good to be true.”

Crowley huffed, rubbing the back of his neck. “S’just books, angel. If they make you happy, you can have ‘em.”

Aziraphale’s heart skipped.

Perhaps the beast wasn’t so fearsome after all.

[gammija]

Passing through

Sam was nowhere and nothing. No sight, sounds or senses entered his mind, no feelings of pain, no need to breath, or digest, or pump blood. It felt relatively peaceful, which was strange. He had the vague notion that he had been struggling, fighting something, something evil, something watching, and then...

Shattering, falling.

And now he was here, in the nothing behind everything.

"Ah. Hello, Sam."

If he'd had eyes, he'd had groggily blinked them open. As it was, he fuzzily found his awareness of the space around him... expand. He reached outside of his own thoughts, and felt a presence near his. The contours of a personality. Something a bit prickly, though soft underneath. And the voice that had spoken - if it could be called a voice, when there was no sound - felt familiar. He couldn't quite put his finger on it.

"Don't worry, we're going to try and get you out of here soon."

Sam startled. A second entity had been there, besides the first, he realized. Whatever sense Sam was using to interpret the non-space he found himself in, it was slowly getting sharper. This second personality seemed smaller in some ways, and kind, though with a surprisingly rough core.

It spoke again. "Would you, uh - would you like some tea?"

In spite of everything, the essence of a perfect cup of tea sprouted near Sam. It felt steaming, steeped for just the right amount of time, exactly what he'd want a cup of tea to be.

Something in him bucked at taking food or drink from strangers in strange places. He tried fruitlessly to shake his head and decline the offer. The concept of "No," seemed to make it across, despite having no mouth to speak with.

"That's alright," the first entity said. Sam felt its attention lift from him to address the identity besides it, sighing. "Wherever we send him, I- I'm afraid that that," it gestured at something, though Sam's awareness didn't reach far enough to tell what, "will end up in the same place."

"Yeah, I know." The second entity hesitated. "I, uh, I've got an idea... but you won't like it."

The first seemed to get what was being implied. Sam vehemently did not.

"No," it replied, although its tone was resigned. "We're not going to, to just send them to Georgie, so she can clean up someone else's mess. She's got enough to deal with, after..."

"I'm sorry. You're right, it's not fair to her. But you've got to admit, it makes sense: she's already monitoring entry points, and," the second chuckled ruefully, "she might be literally the only person in existence who has both the knowledge and the resources to be able to actually help, here."

"Or, you could... send me back?" Sam tried to get across. He felt strongly that going back home would be a much better option than whatever it was that these two were discussing.

They ignored him. He wasn't sure if they didn't care, or if his thoughts hadn't actually survived the journey to theirs.

"Yes, you're... you're right." Sam wondered why a creature in a realm without physical bodies would perform the act of sighing, which this one seemed to do often. "But I don't like... I don't want to keep haunting her life like this. She- they were supposed to be free of all this. And now... What was the point?"

The two entities had already been quite close to each other. Now, they started to overlap. Sam started having trouble telling the first from the second.

"Hey. We did make it better."

"For one world, maybe, after I ended it," one muttered. "And even they are almost worse of now, than before."

"Yeah- Well. At least now, they've got us to help? It's not all terrible Powers and Fears, anymore. I think that counts for something."

A scoff. "They had us before-"

"Hello! Uh, you, uh... you... beings?" Sam tried again. Finally, he felt something escape beyond the confines of himself, across to the other identities. "Weren't you going to... let me go?"

"Oh! Right, sorry!" The smaller entity peeled off from the first one. "Sorry, didn't mean to keep you this long. Last chance for that tea?"

"Martin-"

"Yeah, yeah, no time," it told Sam apologetically, and turned back to the other. "So, which one is it, exactly?"

The first entity indicated to somewhere far, far beyond Sam's awareness, the pair reached out to him as one, grazing his presence, and with a light push-

-he was falling-

-shattering-

-and crashing into real, muddy soil.

For a moment he was aware of breathing air, and seeing sky, and hearing something click, before his eyes fell shut, and Sam lost consciousness.

[sizzlingcoffeequeen]

NIGHTMARE OF EVERY FATHER ( TONY STARK x FEMALE DAUGHTER READER )

Character's: Tony stark obviously x teenage daughter and mention of Peter Parkar

Writer's note: so hii there let me give you head's up before you read that english isn't my first language so their might be grammatical mistakes or even spelling mistakes so just please bear with that i tried to do my best and I'll improve further aswell i hope you enjoy. Thankyou:)

*No warnings , no harmful sensitive topic mentioned just a little fluffy emotional oneshot*

Here's a fanfiction based on Tony Stark's daughter Y/n got caught red handed about basically dating no other than her dad's intern Peter Parkar ( in this Y/n and Peter are of same 16 year's old age and they even go to the same school)

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

Not Allowed

"Well?"

Your dad raises an eyebrow, his arms crossed as he leans back in his chair. The footage FRIDAY just played is still hovering in the air—clear as day. Peter Parker that sneaky little intern of his , sneaking into your room through the window like the world’s worst ninja.

You're dead.

You shift uncomfortably. “Uh… I can explain?”

Tony Stark sighs dramatically and gestures vaguely at the hologram. "Oh, please, by all means. Because I’d love to hear how my sixteen-year-old daughter, the most precious thing in my entire existence, somehow thought it was a good idea to date my intern behind my back.”

You wince. “Okay, when you put it like that—”

"There's no other way to put it!" He stands up, pacing. “Peter Parker?! I specifically told you to stay away from him!”

You cross your arms. “You also specifically told me not to touch the Iron Man suits, and yet, here we are.”

He points at you. “That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“Yes! Because—because—” He stops, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Because I said so, that’s why!”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “Dad. Look, I get that you’re Iron Man and that makes you protective, but Peter’s not bad. You like Peter.”

Tony lets out a humorless laugh. “Liking him as my intern and liking him as the boy who sneaks into my daughter’s room are two very different things.”

You bite your lip. Yeah… fair.

“I will not allow this,” he says firmly, arms crossed again. “Nope. Absolutely not. Not happening.”

You groan. “Dad—”

“Don’t Dad me.” He glares. “I’m your father. My job is to protect you, and keeping you away from hormonal spider-teenagers is part of the gig.”

You throw your hands up. “You literally gave him the suit he’s wearing!”

“Yeah, and?”

“And you trusted him enough with that!”

Tony sighs and rubs his face. He looks exhausted. “Y/n,” he says, softer now. “I’m not mad because I don’t trust Peter. I’m mad because I… I don’t want you growing up so fast. You’re still my little girl.”

Your frustration fades a little. “Dad…”

“I mean it,” he says. “One day, you’re riding around in my workshop, drawing on my blueprints with crayons, and the next, you’re sneaking around with a superhero boyfriend? What’s next? College? Moving out?” He makes a face. “Marriage?”

You groan. “Okay, now you’re being dramatic.”

“I invented dramatic.”

You exhale, stepping closer. “I get it. I do. But you gotta trust me, okay? You raised me to be smart. I wouldn’t date someone who wasn’t worth it.”

Tony looks at you for a long time. His little girl. His whole world.

Then, finally, he sighs. “Fine.”

Your eyes widen. “Wait—really?”

He points a finger at you. “With conditions.”

You grin. “I can work with that.”

Tony mutters something under his breath about "spider-kids" and "stress wrinkles," but you hug him before he can protest. And despite all his complaints, he hugs you back—because no matter how grown up you get, you’ll always be his little girl.

And, well… maybe he can tolerate Parker. Maybe.

For now.

---

Hope you like it!

Thankyou:)

[charlesollielandooscararthur]

Y/n Grande vs. Oscar Piastri's Sleeping Reflexes

summary: well yeah

Y/N was undefeated.

Not in the literal sense, obviously—she had lost things before (not often, but it had happened). But when it came to control, to composure, to making sure she was always the one dictating the energy of a room—Y/N was untouchable.

Until last night.

Until Oscar—in his sleep, like some kind of subconscious ninja—had clocked her straight in the face.

She shouldn't be this upset about it. She knew that.

But when she woke up this morning, looked in the mirror, and saw the dark purple bruise swelling up on her cheekbone, she had just... froze.

She didn't look like her.

And that was enough to send her right back under the covers of Oscar's bed, arms crossed, hiding from the world for the first time in her entire life.

She hadn't left since.

Downstairs, Nicole glanced around the breakfast table before frowning.

"Where's Y/N?"

Lily, casually buttering her toast, answered without thinking. "Oh, Oscar punched her in the face last night."

There was a beat of absolute silence.

Oscar, who had been mid-sip of his coffee, choked. "IN MY SLEEP!"

Nicole's eyes snapped to him so fast he was worried he'd developed whiplash. "You did what?"

"Oh my God," Oscar groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "I accidentally hit her while I was asleep, mum. Please don't make this sound like domestic abuse."

"That's still bad, Oscar," Nicole deadpanned. "She's hiding in your room. You should probably go check on her."

"I tried!" Oscar defended. "She told me to leave her alone!"

Lily, finishing off her toast, stood up. "Then maybe we try again."

Oscar let out a deep sigh before pushing himself up from the table, following Lily up the stairs. "She's being dramatic, right?"

Lily glanced at him. "Oh, absolutely. But that doesn't mean she's not actually upset."

When they reached Oscar's room, the door was closed.

Lily knocked. "Y/N?"

Nothing.

Oscar sighed, reaching for the handle. "I'm coming in."

"If you must," came Y/N's grumpy voice from under the covers.

When they walked in, Y/N was buried under the blankets, only her messy hair sticking out from the top.

"Oh, for God's sake," Lily muttered, marching over and yanking the blanket down. "You're not dying, Y/N."

Oscar's heart sank a little when he saw the bruise fully—a deep, ugly purple swelling across her cheekbone. "Shit."

Y/N sighed dramatically, rolling onto her side. "Yeah. Shit."

Oscar sat at the edge of the bed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Y/N, I genuinely didn't mean to—"

"I know you didn't," she mumbled. "I just—" She stopped, frowning. "Ugh, I don't know."

Lily sat next to her. "You do know. You just don't wanna say it."

Y/N huffed, fiddling with the edge of the blanket. "It's stupid."

"You're literally never stupid," Oscar said. "So tell us anyway."

Y/N sighed again, eyes flicking up toward the ceiling. "It's just... I don't feel like me right now. I look in the mirror, and I see some idiot who got decked by her boyfriend, and I hate it. It's not even a cool injury. It's just—this."

She gestured vaguely at her face, frustrated.

Oscar's chest tightened. "Y/N..."

"Before you say anything," she cut in, "yes, I know it's ridiculous. But I don't care. It's how I feel."

Lily and Oscar shared a glance.

Then Lily, without a word, leaned down and kissed the bruise.

Y/N blinked. "What was that?"

"A reminder," Lily said simply. "That you're still you."

Oscar hesitated before doing the same, pressing a kiss right next to where Lily had. "And that you're still the most beautiful person on the planet, even if I accidentally assaulted you in my sleep."

That pulled a tiny smile from her, despite herself. "You are never living that down."

"I figured."

Y/N exhaled, rubbing her eyes. "I still feel weird."

"That's okay," Lily said. "You don't have to pretend like

you don't."

Oscar nodded. "But if you wanna get back at me, I would let you punch me back."

y/n finally sat up, crossing her arms. "Oooooh, that is tempting."

Lily smirked. "You should take him up on that."

"Wait—" Oscar started, but y/n was already moving, shoving him hard so he fell off the bed with a loud THUMP.

Oscar groaned. "I deserved that, didn't I?"

"Oh, 100%."

y/n laughed, and just like that, the weight in the room lifted.

She still didn't like how she felt.

Oscar groaned from his spot on the floor, rubbing the back of his head where it definitely made a concerning amount of impact with the hardwood. "I really don't know why I expected any other reaction from you."

y/n, now sitting up with her arms crossed, shrugged. "You offered."

"I meant a punch, not a full-body slam," Oscar muttered, finally pushing himself up and sitting back on the bed, still rubbing his head. "I think you gave me a concussion."

"Good," y/n huffed. "Now we match."

Lily snorted. "That's so romantic of you."

Oscar rolled his eyes before glancing at y/n, who was trying to keep up her grumpy act but failing miserably. There was still a tiny hint of insecurity in her expression, but at least she wasn't hiding under the covers anymore.

"You do realize," Oscar said slowly, "that if anyone outside this room hears about this, I am going to be publicly executed for 'punching' my girlfriend, right?"

y/n smirked, regaining some of her usual confidence. "What's stopping me from telling everyone, then?"

"Oh, you are evil."

"And?"

"And I'm gonna expose every embarrassing thing you've ever done if you do."

y/n narrowed her eyes. "You wouldn't."

"Try me," Oscar challenged.

Lily leaned in, intrigued. "Do I get to hear these stories?"

"Only if she sells me out," Oscar said, gesturing to y/n, who looked genuinely torn.

y/n clicked her tongue before sighing. "Fine. I'll be nice."

"Wow," Lily said, crossing her arms. "Look at you, being mature for once."

"Let's not get carried away," y/n muttered, but the tension in her shoulders had finally loosened a little.

Lily gave her a knowing look. "You do realize you're still beautiful, right?"

y/n hesitated, fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. "I know." She exhaled. "I just don't feel it."

"That's okay," Lily said, nudging her lightly. "We'll remind you until you do."

Oscar nodded. "Even if that means risking my life in my sleep again."

y/n snorted. "Yeah, you better be careful. Next time, I will actually hit back."

"Duly noted," Oscar said dryly.

"I might even film it," Lily added.

"You two are gonna be the death of me," Oscar sighed.

But when he looked over and saw y/n finally smiling—really smiling—he figured that if it was for them, it'd be worth it.

y/n, Lily, and Oscar made their way downstairs, Oscar trailing slightly behind, probably because he was still fearing for his life. As they stepped into the kitchen, Nicole turned around from the stove, immediately narrowing her eyes at her son.

"Oh, look who finally decided to show his face," Nicole said, arms crossing.

Oscar groaned. "Mum—"

"No, no," Nicole interrupted, shaking her head dramatically. "You're lucky I'm not calling the authorities right now. Hitting your girlfriend? In your sleep?" She gave him a deeply disappointed look. "You were raised better than this, Oscar."

"Oh my God," Oscar muttered under his breath. "Why does everyone act like I deliberately punched her?"

"Because it's fun," y/n said, hopping onto the counter like she owned the place.

Chris walked in, looking between them with a confused expression. "What's happening now?"

"Oscar punched y/n in his sleep," Nicole informed him, stirring something on the stove like she wasn't casually throwing out defamatory accusations.

Chris blinked. "...Should I be concerned?"

"YES," Hattie said as she walked in, having apparently heard enough from the other room. "She literally has a bruise on her face, Dad."

Oscar dragged a hand down his face. "I didn't mean to! How many times do I have to say it?"

"A couple more times, just for my own entertainment," y/n teased.

Nicole sighed, shaking her head before turning to y/n. "Are you okay, love?"

y/n smirked, shooting Oscar a look. "Oh, I don't know. I could use some extra care and attention after such a traumatizing event."

"I'm leaving," Oscar deadpanned, already turning around.

"No, you're not," Nicole called after him. "You're going to sit down and make it up to her."

Oscar sighed, dramatically dragging himself to sit at the dining table. "y/n, my dearest, my darling, the love of my life—"

"Uh-huh," y/n nodded, very pleased with herself. "Go on."

"I am deeply sorry for accidentally assaulting you in my sleep. It was truly the lowest moment of my life, and I will never recover from the shame."

"Wow," Lily said, sipping her tea. "That was beautiful. Almost made me cry."

"Almost," y/n repeated. "But not quite. Try harder, Piastri."

"I— okay, you definitely don't need an apology if you're this entertained," Oscar muttered.

Nicole sighed, shaking her head. "I still think you should sleep on the floor tonight."

"Mum!"

Chris chuckled, clapping a hand on Oscar's shoulder. "Tough break, son."

y/n grinned, nudging Oscar's leg under the table. "See? The justice system works."

"I hate all of you," Oscar muttered.

y/n just smiled sweetly, finally reaching for a piece of toast. "You love us."

Breakfast continued mostly as normal—if you considered y/n milking this entire situation for all it was worth normal. She had made herself very comfortable at the table, feet propped up on the chair next to her, occasionally touching her cheek like she was in immense pain.

Oscar side-eyed her. "You're doing the most right now."

"I deserve to do the most," y/n shot back. "I have suffered."

Nicole, who had been pretending to mind her own business, casually nodded along. "She has."

"Mum—"

"Don't fight it, Oscar," Hattie interrupted, grinning from across the table. "Just accept your villain arc."

"I don't have a villain arc, because I'm not a villain—"

"A likely story," Lily muttered, sipping her tea.

Oscar groaned, letting his head drop onto the table. "Why are you all like this?"

"Like what?" Chris asked, spreading butter on his toast like this wasn't the most ridiculous family debate in history.

"Against me!"

"We're not against you," Nicole said soothingly. "We're just... not on your side."

Oscar lifted his head to give her an incredulous look. "That's literally the same thing."

"Details," y/n hummed.

"I hate you," Oscar muttered.

y/n just grinned, absolutely thriving in this moment. "Again, you love me."

Chris leaned back in his chair, watching them with amusement. "So, does this mean Oscar is officially on trial?"

"Oh, absolutely," Hattie confirmed. "I've already taken notes."

"Notes?" Oscar repeated, looking genuinely horrified.

"Yep," Lily smirked, pulling out her phone. "We have evidence, too. Just wait until we tell the group chat."

"Oh my God," Oscar muttered. "I need new people in my life."

"But then who would love you, Oscar?" y/n asked, batting her lashes. "Who would put up with you?"

"Not me," Hattie said immediately.

"Me neither," Lily added.

"Absolutely not," Nicole agreed.

Chris just shook his head. "Sorry, mate. You're stuck with them."

Oscar sighed deeply, rubbing his temples. "This is not how I thought today was going to go."

y/n reached across the table, finally offering a tiny bit of mercy by squeezing his hand. "Aww, don't be too mad," she said. "At least you're cute when you're miserable."

"Fantastic," Oscar deadpanned. "That makes everything better."

y/n just laughed, squeezing his hand again before letting go. "That's the spirit, baby."

And with that, the trial continued, because Oscar Piastri was never getting out of this one.

Oscar had resigned himself to his fate.

There was no escaping this. He could argue, he could defend himself, he could explain a hundred times over that it had happened in his sleep, but it didn't matter. He had accidentally punched his girlfriend in the face, and now, his entire family—the people who were supposed to love and support him—had turned against him.

And worst of all? y/n was milking it for all it was worth.

She sat at the table, completely comfortable, resting her chin in her hand, fingers delicately grazing her bruised cheek every so often with a dramatic sigh. Lily and Hattie, the enablers, kept sending her sympathetic looks, while Nicole kept sneaking her extra food, as if she were a wounded soldier.

And y/n, of course, was thriving.

"It still hurts, you know," she sighed, poking at her cheek for added effect. "It's actually quite tragic. I never thought I'd live to see the day where my own boyfriend would betray me like this."

Oscar's head hit the table. "It happened in my sleep, y/n."

"Does that make it hurt less?" she countered, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes!"

"Oh, wow," Lily mused. "So, if I accidentally stabbed you in my sleep, would that make it okay?"

"That's not the same thing!"

"But is it not?"

"No, it's not!"

"Hmm."

Oscar glared. "Don't 'hmm' me, Lily."

"I just think it's interesting," she said airily, sipping her tea.

"Okay, you all need to stop acting like I beat her up—"

"You kind of did," Hattie cut in.

"Oh my God—"

"Just own it, mate," Chris said, chuckling as he took another bite of his toast. "You're gonna be hearing about this for years to come."

"I didn't even get to fight!" Oscar argued. "It was over before I even woke up!"

"Sounds like a you problem," y/n hummed, biting into her croissant.

Oscar ran a hand down his face. "I hate you."

"You love me," she corrected, smiling sweetly.

"Debatable."

Nicole, who had been quietly observing, suddenly leaned over and pressed a cool ice pack to y/n's cheek. "Here, sweetheart," she murmured, ever the caring mother. "This should help."

y/n sighed, tilting her head to rest against it. "See? Someone cares about me."

Oscar gawked. "Are you—?" He turned to his mother, betrayed. "Mum!"

Nicole shrugged. "You did hit her."

"IN MY SLEEP!"

"Excuses, excuses," Hattie tutted. "Typical man behaviour."

Oscar groaned, pushing his chair back and standing up. "I need better people in my life."

"Good luck finding them," y/n grinned. "You're stuck with us."

By mid-afternoon, Oscar had to admit—y/n's bruise did look bad.

It had darkened considerably, a deep shade of purple along her cheekbone. It wasn't massive, but it was noticeable, and Oscar felt bad. He still stood by the fact that it was an accident, but it was unfortunate, and he didn't like seeing her hurt.

Not that y/n would ever let him forget it.

When they were getting ready to leave for the paddock, she insisted on taking forever to do her makeup.

"Why are you taking so long?" he asked, watching her in the mirror.

"I have to make sure the bruise is covered, Oscar," she said dramatically. "You wouldn't understand because you don't have to cover up the evidence of your crimes."

"Oh, my God," Oscar muttered. "You are insufferable."

y/n hummed

He just rolled his eyes. "Let's go before I leave you here."

Of course, the first thing people noticed when they arrived was y/n's face.

"Oh my God, y/n, what happened?"

"Jesus, that looks bad."

"Are you okay?"

y/n sighed deeply, placing a hand on Oscar's shoulder. "It's been hard, but I'm pushing through."

Oscar glared. "Do not make this sound like some traumatic event."

"It was traumatic!"

"I barely touched you!"

"My face disagrees," she quipped.

Lily snorted, leaning in to whisper to one of the engineers, "He punched her in his sleep."

"Oh," the engineer said, raising his eyebrows. "Damn. Rough night?"

Oscar groaned, running a hand through his hair. "I need to go somewhere else."

"Try therapy," y/n suggested, "maybe anger management."

Oscar shot her a look. "I hate you."

"You love me," she corrected, smirking.

Lily grinned, wrapping an arm around her waist. "And so do I."

"Of course you do," y/n hummed, resting her head on Lily's shoulder. "Everyone loves me."

Oscar sighed, rubbing his temples. "I swear to God."

[likeaspeedingarrow]

To cookies and new beginnings

Evan's head snapped towards him, “You do?” The twinkle was back and stronger than ever, “I really do,” Tommy confirmed, “in fact I propose a toast.” “Oh yeah?” “Yeah to the world's best cookies and new beginnings for us, as partners for life.” Written for buckTommy advent 2024 1st December: Beginnings & What makes life worth living? [BLANK]

Available on Ao3 or below the cut.

Find the rest of the prompt fills here

Ev-Buck’s hand reached out for Tommy's through the narrow gap left in the baking supplies strewn across the Island counter. “I'm glad you came.”

Tommy's eyes surveyed they loft, lights wrapped around doors, windows and shelves alive, one set even sitting snugly around the banister, a garland lined the barrier preventing accidental falls from the mezzanine and what Tommy could only describe as the world's most adorable tree slotted perfectly into one of the loft’s corners. Every other space looked like, well, a disaster. “Of course.” He looked at Ev-Buck, taking in the smudges of flour, cinnamon and cocoa powder caking the other's face and apron, his posture, the twinkle in his eye that Tommy had quickly fallen in love with and the smear of chocolate lining his upper lip that Tommy would love nothing more than to kiss away. “Look Buck-”

“Evan.”

“Excuse me?”

Evan pouted, “Evan, you call me Evan. I don't like it when you call me Buck.”

Tommy’s heart thudded in his chest, this adorable man. “Okay, Evan.” He amended as Evan hummed a little. “I probably should have called, I-” He looked at the disaster that was the kitchen again. “Hold on since when do you bake?”

Evan's face fell and the twinkle dimmed, oh no. “Uh…” Evan's voice trailed up. “Since you broke up with me.” He let out a sheepish laugh, “I really hope you didn't just come for your stuff, I kept all of it. Some nights,” Evan took a deep breath, his voice quieter, “it was the only thing that brought me enough comfort to sleep. I don't sleep most nights.”

Tommy's heart cracked at hearing that. “Evan.”

“Even hearing you say that makes me feel more like myself. I thought I'd, as Chim would put it, bucked it up, I never thought I'd see you again.”

“I wanted to reach out.” Tommy practically blurted out, way to go, Kinard that was real smooth.

Evan let out a light little laugh that was beyond a doubt one of the cutest sounds Tommy had ever heard. “So did I, every time I thought about it I baked hence…” He gestured vaguely at the mountain of flour that was once his kitchen.

“I missed you. My life has been-”

“On pause.”

Silence hung in the air in the seconds after them speaking at the same time.

“I got scared.” Tommy admitted, “You were looking at me like I held all the answers in the world and after those girls at the restaurant-”

“You didn't think I'd fallen as hard as you and then I spooked you by asking you to move in.” Evan stated matter of factly, “Despite my best efforts I'm still a himbo. I'm sorry.”

“You're not a himbo.”

“Evidence suggests otherwise.”

“You're smart, you know so much.”

“Wow now who has who on a pedestal.” Evan flicked a crumb towards him causing a laugh to bubble out of Tommy's chest. Evan joined soon after, Tommy's heart lighter than ever. “I missed you so much.”

“Can we talk?”

“Aren't we doing that now?”

“I mean really talk.”

The beep from the oven’s timer interrupted Evan before he could answer.

They sat on the couch, Evan very much taking up Tommy's personal space, the warmth of his body sleeping directly into his soul. He placed a gentle kiss on the other's brow as his hand snatched another warm cookie.

“So what did bring you over anyway?” Evan tried to sound casual but Tommy could pick up the nervousness bubbling under the surface, the same that existed on their first date.

“Howie.”

Evan let out a startled laugh, “Chimney? Really? Why?”

“He said you'd gone mad and it was something I had to see.” Tommy bit into the cookie, “I can't say I was expecting the baking. What is this?”

“Chocolate chip snickerdoodle. I got bored making them separately.” Evan shrugs, “Is it okay?”

“It's great.”

Evan beamed up at him. “Good.”

“Really makes life worth living.”

“Oh really? The cookie is what makes life worth living?” Evan looked at him, “what am I? A spare napkin?” He developed a far away look, “Though it's not like it would be the first time I'm a spare anything.”

Tommy frowned before nudging Evan gently, “Hey good cookies are incredibly hard especially to this quality.” His frown grew as Evan's demeanor didn't change. “Evan?”

Evan gave a non-committal hum, “Yeah?”

Alarm bells rang in Tommy's head, in any other moment he would contemplate the fact that they sounded exactly like the klaxons from the fire stations but right then Evan had his attention. He readjusted their positions so that he could look Evan in the eye, “Evan what do you mean it wouldn't be the first time you would be a spare?”

“I forgot that never came up.” Evan shook his head, “We were talking so much that I just assumed- I guess Abby never came up either so I shouldn't be a surprise really.”

Evan stood up, making his way over to the fridge and opening it to what Tommy could only describe as a wall of loaves. Evan pulled out two beers that Tommy noted were from the craft brewery he normally went to. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah this is just something that's easier to deal with with alcohol involved.” He gestured to the barstool, “Do you want to sit? Or we could stay on the couch.”

“Whichever ever works for you.”

They found their way back to Evan’s couch where, beer in hand, Evan explained the messed up dynamics of the Buckley family and how he was conceived as a donor baby. “Hurting myself was the only way I could get their attention as a child and sometimes it still feels that way. That's why Bobby is like the dad I never had, he notices me, he corrects me when I do things wrong and tells me if I do things right.”

“Oh, Evan.”

“Ever since you walked out that night I've been replaying our conversation over and over in my head.”

“Evan-”

“Nothing came out right, I wasn't trying to put you on a pedestal, I just- I was trying to acknowledge the fight you had and to try and say that I understood why you thought you needed to date Abby and at the time I didn't know it but I know now. I was trying to say I'm in love with you. You're who I see a future with, you're my last Tommy please let me be yours, we can switch and go at your pace but please don't make me be apart from you any longer.”

“I love you too Evan.”

Evan's head snapped towards him, “You do?”

The twinkle was back and stronger than ever, “I really do,” Tommy confirmed, “in fact I propose a toast.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah to the world's best cookies and new beginnings for us, as partners for life.”

Evan clinked his bottle against Tommy's own, “To cookies and new beginnings.” He sipped his beer, “Maybe a kiss to seal the deal?”

Tommy wasn't one to deny Evan anything that night, he was just happy to be together again, but he had one thing left to say. "For the record, I was joking earlier. It's you, you're what makes life worth living."

The next thing he knew Evan was in his arms, his lips crashing into Tommy's causing fireworks to erupt beneath his eyelids.

Everything was right in the world again.

[wicked-secretsanta]

Merry Christmas @starspangledpumpkin!

Read it on Ao3

“Is the party over yet?”

To hear the word party slip past Fiyero Tigelaar’s lips with such sullenness was an uncanny thing for Elphaba to hear. 

She’d found him sulking alone on a staircase on the outskirts of campus, bitter as the midwinter winds that whistled around them. Though voices from the party they’d abandoned could still be heard in the distance, Elphaba and Fiyero were far removed from the warming lamps and jolly pine decor of Shiz University’s courtyard.

As nipping as Fiyero’s remark was, Elphaba was happy that he’d spoken first. In fact, she was happy he spoke to her at all. She’d been surprised when Fiyero left the gathering, but not as surprised as when she instinctively followed him out. Not that she had any plan of what to say. What to do.

“For me at least,” Elphaba answered evenly, standing to the side of Fiyero on the step he was sitting on. “And it seems for you as well?”

A pause ensued as Elphaba patiently waited for Fiyero’s reply. It didn’t come.

“Fiyero—”

“Why are you even talking to me?” Fiyero muttered. “You haven’t for weeks”

Elphaba sighed. He was right. While she wouldn’t say that things had been icy between them…they’d been quiet. Things had been very quiet after…that day.

“You broke up with Galinda,” Elphaba said. “I was mad at you for that.”

“And now?”

“Well frankly it’s hard to stay mad at someone so pitiable.”

Her blunt remark would have insulted Fiyero on any other day, but he merely responded with a sad scoff. 

“Good point,” he agreed. “At any rate…Galinda seemed to forgive me faster than you did.”

“And why is it so important?” Elphaba asked. “That I forgive you?”

When Fiyero neglected to answer, Elphaba sighed and moved to sit beside him on the stairs. 

“I’m here now. Aren’t I? Extending an olive branch,” she said. “And not the kind Galinda made us dance with tonight…”

Despite himself, Fiyero cracked a faint smile.

“Yeah,” Fiyero agreed. “I’m not sure where Galinda got the idea to do a Wintertide party but she definitely had some interesting ideas.”

“I fear I may be partially to blame. She was dying to host something but I told her Lurlinemas was out. Nessa stiffens up at the faintest whiff of paganism.”

“Is that why Nessa was so tense over by the punch bowl?”

“Lacasa nectar,” Elphaba smiled wryly. “Galinda had to sneak in some Lurlinemas traditions. Princess Ozma’s punch, as she calls it.”

“Well it is ‘nicer to drink than soda-water’,” Fiyero jokingly quoted Galinda.

“‘And lemonade’!” Elphaba tacked on with a small laugh. “So once Lurlinemas was out she pivoted to all of…that,” she said with a vague gesture behind them. “And all of this.” 

Elphaba pointed to the halo of pine and golden berries that Galinda had fastened into her long, loose hair for the occasion. 

“Ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“Yeah…” Fiyero said, eying the crown. “Ridiculous…”

“So are you going to come back to the party or not?” Elphaba asked.

“No,” Fiyero muttered. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Then neither am I.”

“Don’t let me keep you.”

“Please. I love an excuse to leave a gathering,” Elphaba smirked.

“Well this is a first for me.”

“Yes, that is well documented,” Elphaba rolled her eyes. “Your leaving early must be part of your ‘transformatoriam’.”

Fiyero frowned.

“My what?”

“Galinda says you’ve changed. She said that you’d gotten quieter, moodier just before you two broke up. That you’d been thinking. Oh, say it isn’t so, Fiyero!” Elphaba teased good-naturedly. 

Fiyero, who was usually eager to tease back, merely offered a glum shrug in return. Elphaba felt her face fall, dismayed by the state of him. It was as if Fiyero had…dimmed. He was muted and bleak. Worst of all…the light behind his eyes was simply…missing. It had been for some time. 

Elphaba missed that most of all.

“You’re not yourself, Fiyero,” Elphaba said gently. “One day you were breezing along without a care in the world and the next you just…changed. What changed?”

Curiosity, frustration, and concern all blended within Elphaba’s chest as she tried to figure Fiyero out. She wasn’t sure which emotion to lead with. However, when Fiyero finally turned his head to meet her eyes, it was curiosity that took hold first. She frowned with intrigue, unable to shake the feeling that all of Fiyero’s mysteries would be revealed to her…if she could only search his eyes long enough.

She wasn’t allowed that chance. 

Stiffly rising to his feet, Fiyero abruptly descended the rest of the staircase and turned his back to her.

“You should get back. Galinda will be looking for you.”

Elphaba stood, her frustration now flaring to the lead. 

“I’ve already said that I don’t want to go back,” Elphaba repeated tensely. “Everyone is just getting drunker, Nessa is cranky, and I’ll never get the smell of pine off of me. Besides—"

“Besides what?” Fiyero asked, turning to face her. 

“Well? What would you have me do?” Elphaba challenged. “Leave you out in the cold to mope around?”

“Hey, I am not moping,” Fiyero said petulantly. “I am a prince. Princes don’t mope.”

“Well this prince is moping!”

With a huff Elphaba descended to join Fiyero on the ground. 

“What is this really about?” she prodded. “Is it about what Avaric said? He is such an ass.”

“You just can’t let him get to you,” Fiyero muttered dismissively.

“Then why are you letting him get to you?”

Fiyero’s jaw clenched but, again, he said nothing! Fiyero, though Elphaba would never tell him so, had previously proven himself a worthy sparring partner. But now? His silence stung her. Had their chilly couple of weeks really caused that deep a divide between them? 

Though now Elphaba had to wonder…how close had they ever really been? Perhaps she’d misjudged Fiyero’s friendship from the beginning. Perhaps she’d misjudged everything.

“Okay, well…” Elphaba muttered, turning back towards the steps to leave. “If you don’t want me here then—”

“No! Elphaba, I do.”

Elphaba stopped in her tracks as Fiyero’s hand reached forward to seize her own. Her gaze drifted towards their now linked hands and back to Fiyero’s eyes, and as she did…it all came surging back.

That day. 

The Cub, the poppy field, the scratch on his face. The way she’d taken his hand…much like he’d just taken hers. 

The way he had looked at her.

Much like he was looking at her now. 

A wintery gust rippled past them and Elphaba, shivering back into herself, quickly released Fiyero’s hand. 

“Sorry, I—” she apologized breathily, flexing her stiffening fingers. “My…fingers are ice.”

“Are they?”

Fiyero, obliviously undeterred, reached forward to rub Elphaba’s hands, warming them in his own.

“Oz, you weren’t kidding, Thropp,” he said in lighthearted jest. “I’m not so sure you’re going to make it.”

“Is that so?”

“Let’s see.”

Without a thought, Fiyero brought Elphaba’s hand to his face and pressed the back of her fingers against his cheek. 

“Yeah. It’s as I thought. You’re a goner, Thropp. And…”

Fiyero trailed off as he finally registered the silent surprise across Elphaba’s face. Her fingers remained on this face, frozen in more ways than one, delicately held in place by Fiyero’s grasp. Cold vapor mingled as their breathing grew shallower, tenser. Unable to help himself, Fiyero’s eyes drifted towards the sweet part between Elphaba’s lips.  

“And apparently so am I…” Fiyero breathed.

Elphaba wasn’t sure what to say, but before she had time to think of anything, Fiyero removed his hand and pulled back to create that same familiar, safe distance between them. 

“Sorry,” he said hoarsely. “Sorry, I…didn’t mean to do that…”

Elphaba pursed her lips back together, the burn of embarrassment heating her neck. There he went again. Pulling away after confusing her with his…closeness. 

“Of course,” Elphaba said tightly. “Of course you didn’t.”

With that she turned on her heel and began stalking towards the steps to leave. 

“Where are you going?” Fiyero called after her. 

“Back to the party!” Elphaba said, turning back. “I might as well, right? Seeing as I keep getting the cold shoulder from you here, why shouldn’t I go back and enjoy my first bonafide Wintertide celebration?”

“Bonafide—” Fiyero scoffed. “Are you kidding? You know—Vinkuns are the only people left in Oz who still actually celebrate Wintertide! And I can tell you none of that was close to what it’s actually like.”

“Well go on then,” Elphaba prompted. “You clearly want to get it off your chest!”

“It’s all just a mockery of Winkies—no different than usual,” Fiyero continued heatedly. “We don’t dance with pine branches. We don’t drink princess punch. We certainly don’t put on masks and have orgies in the grasslands like Avaric said!”

“So you are mad about Avaric,” Elphaba said. “You could have just said so—”

“And we don’t wear halos of golden berries no matter how pretty it looks on you!”

Elphaba, momentarily flustered, emitted a sound between a choke and scoff. Swallowing to recover, she barreled forward to ignore his comment.

“So that’s really why you’re so worked up?” she said. “Some poorly mimicked traditions?” 

“No—”

“Because screw traditions!” Elphaba declared. “Oz—this time of year. I swear! You want to know what I think about traditions, Fiyero?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me anyway.”

“I think they’re dumb. Sure some of them are harmless. Maybe even fun! But overall traditions just create yet another excuse to exclude people. Another excuse to keep things working the same way it always has. Oh, but it’s tradition!” Elphaba cried sarcastically. “It’s tradition! But why, Fiyero? Why do we uphold traditions year after thankless year?”

“Elphaba,” Fiyero interjected.

“Is it for familiarity? Sentimentality?”

“Elphaba.”

“Or are people really that afraid of change?!”

“Elphaba—”

“What?!” Elphaba snapped. “What? What, Fiyero?!”

“I meant it, you know.”

“Meant what?”

“I meant that you look really pretty tonight,” Fiyero said softly. He took a breath. “You look beautiful.”

Elphaba straightened her spine, her rant fizzling under his sudden intensity. 

“Don’t,” she muttered softly, shaking her head at him. “Don’t. Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Don’t—” Elphaba gestured ambiguously. “Confuse me like that. I’m—I’m not Galinda, Fiyero. I don’t know any of the right…ploys. I can’t tell what your intentions are!”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that you stopped talking to me too,” Elphaba accused. “It wasn’t just me. After that day…after the Lion Cub you—”

Fiyero looked away from her. 

“There!” Elphaba pointed out. “There, you see? After that day you broke things off with Galinda and just…stopped talking to people. You stopped talking to me,” she said. “And…”

“And what?” Fiyero asked, chancing a glance back towards her. 

“And…” Elphaba gestured helplessly. “And that hurt, Fiyero. It hurt me. I kept thinking…that I had done something wrong.”

Fiyero shook his head. 

“No, you did nothing wrong.”

“Then why?”

“I—” Fiyero made a frustrated sound and shook his head. “I don’t—”

He walked past her to sit on the steps once more, resting his elbows on his knees. 

“Fiyero?” Elphaba asked, turning to look at him. 

“I don’t know, Elphaba. Okay? And I’m sorry. I don’t know—I don’t…” Fiyero put his head in his hands. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I have no idea…what I’m doing.”

Elphaba stared after him and, after a long fought battle, her concern for Fiyero finally reigned victorious. She slowly crossed to sit beside him on the step, calmly reached into her bag, and procured a small loaf of poundcake meant for one. She unwrapped it from the plastic, broke it in half with care, and held one half out to Fiyero.  

“Here.” 

Fiyero lifted his head, frowning in confusion. 

“What’s this?”

“It’s…my tradition,” Elphaba admitted with some reluctance. Fiyero gave her a questioning look and she emitted an embarrassed sigh. “During this time of year Father always gave our cook time off for the religious holiday which left me responsible for preparing dinner. Afterwards he and Nessa always went to midnight service and left me behind to clean up.”

“Doesn’t sound very fun.”

“Right. But it still beat going to the midnight service,” Elphaba snorted. “So, every year after they left I would just…make myself some ginger pound cake and enjoy a little…peace. I so rarely got time alone in the house and it became my own little…secret ritual.”

“So you were holding out on me,” Fiyero said. “For someone who hates traditions so much…I wouldn't have expected you to create one for yourself.”

“I suppose it’s not traditions themselves I hate. I hate…doing things a certain way simply because that’s how they’ve always been done. Or…how things are expected to be done.”

“Yeah…” Fiyero murmured. “I can understand that.”

Elphaba nodded gently. “I thought you might be able to.”

Fiyero looked at her and then back at the poundcake.  

“Well I have to say it. This is the gloomiest tradition I’ve ever heard of,” Fiyero teased. “Making cake for yourself and then eating it alone.”

“Then I’m in good company,” Elphaba shrugged. “Because you’re as unhappy as I’ve ever seen you, Fiyero. And that is saying something.”

Fiyero felt a half-hearted swell of defensiveness and the urge to deny her claim…an urge that was soon soothed by Elphaba’s earnest expression.

“Why did you follow me out here, Elphaba?” Fiyero asked seriously. “Really. If I’m as sad as you say I am?”

“Because…you don’t have to be happy for me to care about you, Fiyero,” Elphaba said. “You don’t have to pretend.”

Fiyero said nothing but Elphaba watched as his features softened. 

“Oh, Fiyero,” Elphaba sighed, her shoulders slackening in sympathy. “You do know that…right?”

Fiyero was quiet, offering only a single, small shrug. Elphaba watched him swallow as if there was a new tightness in his throat.  

“You know…there’s something about this time of year,” Elphaba began musingly. “Have you ever noticed? There is so much emphasis on celebrating, gathering, togetherness. And it doesn’t matter if people celebrate Lurlinemas or Wintertide, or nothing. It’s like everyone starts to participate in some sick pageant where they’re trying to…I don’t know. Out happy each other.”

As Elphaba spoke, hers and Fiyero’s knees deftly brushed against each other. They both expected for the other to pull theirs away…but neither did. 

“So…” Elphaba continued. “We throw parties and decorate and visit loved ones and everyone labels it the best time of the year. And…it’s hard not to feel crazy if you disagree. In fact this time of year has a way of making it so that the lonely…just get lonelier.” 

Fiyero thought about this.

“Do you ever get homesick, Elphaba?” he asked.

“Not particularly,” Elphaba answered honestly. “Yourself?”

“I don’t know,” Fiyero said, equally as honest. “Sometimes I think I do…but other times not so much.”

“Well whichever it is…I am sorry that the party back there didn’t represent your home very well.”

“Ah, it’s fine. I was never really all that into Wintertide anyway…” Fiyero chuckled before trailing off into thought. “Although…there was always one part of it I liked.”

“Oh?” Elphaba asked, interest piqued. “What is it?”

“The Dark Night torch.”

Elphaba waited for him to continue. 

“Well you know how Wintertide is the longest and darkest night of the year?” Fiyero asked. Elphaba nodded. “It’s customary for two people to pair off and light a torch together in the middle of the night. If another pair spots a torch in the distance, then they light a torch. And so on and so on and so on…” Fiyero explained. “The idea was to send a signal to the hunters in the grasslands. To let them know that the darkest night was ending…and that the light would be returning soon.”

“That’s lovely,” Elphaba said. She meant it.

“Yeah, well…nowadays it’s all symbolic. The first torch is usually lit at the castle. I’ve never lit it, though.”

“Why not?”

Fiyero paused to consider his response.

“I guess it was just never…” Fiyero began vaguely. “Right.” 

“I see…” Elphaba said slowly. Down the cobblestone path before them, she eyed an unlit gas streetlamp. “Well…why not tonight, then?” 

Standing off the step, Elphaba began walking purposefully towards the streetlamp.

“What are you doing?” Fiyero asked, rising to follow her.

“I mean it’s no torch but it’s close enough, right?” Elphaba explained, pointing it out. “They must have missed that one tonight.”

“But we don’t have the…stick…lighty thing.” 

“Ah, yes. The technical term,” Elphaba rolled her eyes. “Come on now. It’s the least I can offer after the Shiz student body bastardized your entire culture tonight.”

Elphaba stopped at the streetlamp and, when she didn’t hear Fiyero’s footsteps, looked behind her to see him hanging back. He wore a strange expression. 

“What are you so afraid of, Fiyero?” Elphaba asked. 

She said it half in jest and half with all the sincerity in the world. Her question seemed to do the trick, however, because Fiyero took a breath and crossed to join Elphaba at her side. 

“Alright. Let’s do it,” Fiyero nodded. “How?”

“I have an idea,” Elphaba said, presenting her hands to Fiyero. “Put your hands beneath mine.”

Fiyero eyed them a moment before gently placing his hands beneath Elphaba’s open palms. He watched, then, as Elphaba inhaled deeply and produced a smoldering flame directly above her hands.

“Whoa—!” 

Wildly off guard, Fiyero removed his hands and leapt backwards. The flame dissolved in a small puff of smoke as Elphaba opened her eyes with an amused cackle. 

“What? You’re not afraid of a little fire, are you?” she goaded.

“I’m not not afraid of fire!” Fiyero protested. “Especially not that close to me!”

“It’s very controlled, I promise,” Elphaba assured him. “Don’t you trust me?”

“That’s a loaded question…”

Elphaba raised her eyebrows, her hands still outstretched towards him. Shaking his head, unable to believe he was doing this, Fiyero crossed back towards her and returned his hands beneath hers. 

“Okay,” Fiyero decided. “I trust you.”

“Thank you,” Elphaba nodded. “I mean that.”

More prepared this time, Fiyero watched in anticipation as Elphaba closed her eyes and reconjured the flame between them. It hovered above their fingers and grew steadily until it was about the size of an apple. As promised, it did not harm them. Instead it warmed Elphaba and Fiyero’s hands as if they were holding a mug of tea. Slowly, Elphaba raised her eyes to find that Fiyero was already looking at her, admiring how the flickering flame brought out the warmth in her eyes. The golden glint of the halo in her hair. Her vibrant emerald.

“Fiyero…” Elphaba said without thinking.

The word slipped out with no others to follow. Even Elphaba didn’t know her intention behind it. She only knew that Fiyero was looking at her with an intensity that made her burn in a way that the flame they were holding could not. 

“What happens next?” 

“What?” Elphaba asked dumbly.   

“With the lantern.” 

“Oh—yes,” Elphaba nodded. “Just…follow my movements.”

With a fluid gesture, Elphaba lifted her hands with Fiyero’s beneath them. The orb of fire lifted off their hands and drifted lazily upwards like a balloon until it took perch in the streetlamp to begin sharing its light. Elphaba and Fiyero dropped their hands and stood back, heads craned upwards to admire their lantern which now stood indistinguishable from the other lighted lamps. 

But they knew. 

“Happy Wintertide, Fiyero,” Elphaba murmured, still looking at the lamp. 

“Happy Wintertide…”

The initial brush may have been accidental, but the lingering was not. They both knew it. Fiyero’s knuckle brushed against Elphaba’s and they both took a cold breath in. Though their flame was high above them now, too far to feel its warmth, a heat lingered between them. Then, without looking, without speaking, the tips of Elphaba and Fiyero’s fingers met and twisted together into a rather delicate tangle. 

“Why did you never do this tradition before?” Elphaba asked again, this time in a whisper. 

“Because…” Fiyero replied weakly, his thumb brushing back and forth against Elphaba’s hand. “Because the tradition is…”

They slowly turned their heads to look at each other, hands still linked, and Fiyero met Elphaba’s eyes with affectionate resignation.

“The tradition is to light the torch with someone you love.”

Elphaba blinked, her heart aggressively pulsing adrenaline throughout her body. Fiyero turned towards her, apparently emboldened, and his hands took her waist. 

“And I had never felt that way,” Fiyero continued breathlessly, eyes drifting to Elphaba’s lips. “Not…not until…”

“Fiyero…”

Before either of them had time to react, Elphaba and Fiyero leaned forward to meet in a sudden but tender kiss.

Eyes slipping closed, Elphaba’s hands found Fiyero’s shoulders to hang onto as his arms encircled her waist. A strange but calm feeling washed over them both as if their kiss was both impulsive and yet long overdue. Their lips soon parted but their faces stayed close, the tips of their icy noses brushing against each other as their circumstances sunk in. 

“You just kissed me,” Elphaba breathed. 

“I did,” Fiyero said, arms still locked around her frame. 

“Did you mean to do that?”

Fiyero’s face broke into a grin, amused by her flustered query.

“Yeah, I did…” he answered. “And you kissed me back.”

“I did.”

“Did you mean to do that?”

Elphaba was quiet for a moment before nodding slightly. 

“Yes. I did.”

Their gaze lingered for a moment before they kissed again, this time with decidedly more fervor. They grasped at each other almost clumsily, as if their pent-up passion was all trying to escape at once. Fiyero’s hands stroked Elphaba’s face once before his fingers dove into her haloed hair. Elphaba, in turn, gripped the lapels of his coat and kissed Fiyero insistently—insistently. 

“This is crazy,” Elphaba muttered between kisses. “This is crazy…”

With a sudden jerking motion, Elphaba stepped backwards and broke their kiss with a gasp.

“What’s wrong?” Fiyero asked dazedly. “What’d I do?”

“This is crazy!” Elphaba repeated in earnest, eyes wild with confusion. “Fiyero, this is crazy!”

“No it’s not,” Fiyero said. “It’s not crazy.”

“Do you even realize what you just did?” Elphaba said with a wild laugh. “Fiyero you just kissed me.”

“Yeah! Like I said, I did it on purpose!”

“But it’s me, Fiyero. It’s me and it’s you and—”

“And what?!”

Elphaba wrung her hands together. 

“You’re not thinking clearly. You’re not thinking at all,” she insisted. “You’re just having a bad night. As I said, you’ve been off lately and—”

“Off? I’ve been off?!” Fiyero glared. “Do you want to know why I’ve been different, Elphaba?! You want to know why I’ve changed?!”

“Why—”

“I’ve changed because of you!” 

Elphaba blinked. “What?”

“You, Elphaba. You,” Fiyero insisted, gesturing to her. “You are why I broke up with Galinda. You are why I left the party. You are why—”

“So you’re saying I’m to blame?!”

“Yes!” Fiyero exclaimed. “For all of it! It’s like you cracked my brain open. It’s like you pried open my eyes! You’re the reason I’ve been thinking, Elphaba. You’re…you’re who I’ve been thinking about!” he professed. “I can’t—I can’t…I cannot stop thinking about you, Elphaba. I just…I can’t.”

Elphaba was speechless for a moment. She stood paralyzed, staring at Fiyero, before weakly whispering: “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” Fiyero repeated, confused. “What are you sorry for?”

“I don’t know,” Elphaba answered. “I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry for that, I suppose. That I don’t know what to say. What to think.”

“So you’re saying that now I’m thinking too much and you can’t think at all?” Fiyero asked. Elphaba shrugged. “How ironic.”

Elphaba managed a feeble smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Fiyero stepped forward and took her cold hands in his. 

“Is it crazy, Elphaba?” Fiyero asked seriously, rubbing her fingers. “Is it really so crazy? You and I?”

“Yes. It is,” Elphaba answered hoarsely. “It’s rather impossible to picture, in fact. For you to care for me in that way.”

“But not hard to picture it the other way around?” Fiyero asked hopefully. 

“Don’t,” Elphaba hissed, removing her hands from his. “Don’t do that. Don’t make me fess up to feelings that are already perfectly obvious!”

“They’re not as obvious as you might think!” 

“Don’t,” Elphaba repeated, voice cracking this time. She shook her head and crossed her hands over her heart as if to plead with him. “Don’t make me say it, Fiyero. Don’t toy with me.”

“Hey—”

“Have I not already been subjected to enough humiliation for one lifetime?!”

She turned her back to him, but not before Fiyero caught sight of anxious tears jumping to her eyes. Too proud to show her face, Elphaba quickly swiped her cheeks clean and took a few shaky breaths. 

“Don’t make me say it, Fiyero. Don’t make me risk saying something…that I cannot ever take back.”

“Elphaba…look at me.”

Frozen vapor released between Elphaba’s lips as she exhaled greatly, gathering her courage to face him. When at last she did, Elphaba, to her surprise, felt her body go off script. Betraying her safeguarding senses, Elphaba flung herself into Fiyero’s arms for a needy hug. Surprised though he was, Fiyero embraced her readily and tucked her close against him. When she shivered he held her tighter, rubbing her back up and down to warm her. To soothe her. 

“I’ll say it, then,” Fiyero spoke up softly, and Elphaba could feel his heart accelerate from where her head lay on his chest. “Oz, I’m scared to shreds…but I’ll say it first. Elphaba, I’m—”

“Don’t say it if it’s not true,” Elphaba warned in a hurried whisper, her fingers clutching him tighter. “Don’t tell me anything that you don’t mean.”

“I won’t. I promise you I won’t,” Fiyero murmured. “Do you trust me?”

“That’s a loaded question.” 

Even so, after a moment Elphaba lifted her head off of Fiyero’s chest to properly meet his eyes. Fiyero delicately brushed her hair aside before caressing the sides of her face. 

“Elphaba…” he breathed. “I have been such a coward. Because you’re right…I have been avoiding you. I thought I could brave this party but when I saw you…”

Fiyero shook his head, gently stroking Elphaba’s face with his thumbs. 

“I was scared to face you after that day with the Cub because…because I know I can’t hide from you. I know I can’t trick you. And I knew that if you looked at me for long enough that you’d see…” Fiyero poured his gaze into hers. “You’d see that I’m falling in love with you. And I am, Elphaba. I am falling so…so in love with you.”

Elphaba placed her trembling hand over Fiyero’s.

“And you’re not just saying this because we kissed, right?” Elphaba checked anxiously. “You’re not just getting caught up…in the heat of the moment?”

“How could it be the heat of the moment?” Fiyero said simply. “It’s freezing out here.”

She tried not to…but Elphaba smiled at that. Weakly, but still. She smiled. 

“And you don’t need to say anything back,” Fiyero assured her, encouraged by her smile. “As far as I’m concerned…this is already the best Wintertide I’ve ever had.”

“Is that so?”

“Oh, absolutely. I lit my first Dark Night torch, got some free cake, had the best first kiss of my life,” Fiyero listed charmingly, earning a flustered laugh from Elphaba. “And I finally told the woman of my dreams how I felt about her. Oz, Elphaba. I have never felt so…free.”

Elphaba took a good look at him. He looked freer too. Unburdened. There was energy in his features again, a giddiness in his tone. But best of all… 

The light had returned. 

The light had returned to his eyes.

“I love you too,” Elphaba said before she could overthink what she knew in her heart to be true. Her declaration was impulsive but the sentiment was anything but. “Oz help me, Fiyero…but I am falling in love with you too.”  

And Elphaba watched as Fiyero’s eyes, deeply expressive once more, lit up with surprise, then joy, then…mischief.

“What?” Elphaba narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What’s that look? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Are you saying that you’ve been…” Fiyero reached over to straighten the coniferous crown upon her head. “Pining for me?”

“Oh sweet Oz,” Elphaba complained loudly, backing away from him. “I tell you that I love you and you respond with a pun?!”

“Oh come on!” Fiyero called after her, grinning. “I’ve been pining for you too! It was mutual!”

Elphaba, trying and failing not to laugh, tore off her halo of berries. 

“There!” Elphaba said, chucking it towards Fiyero who caught it in both hands. “Take it, you horror!”

Fiyero grinned at the halo in his hands before returning his gaze to Elphaba. 

“You know…” Fiyero began, approaching Elphaba to close the gap between them. “Suddenly I’m glad that tonight is the longest night of the year….”

“And why is that?” Elphaba asked. 

“Because I never want this night to end.”

Carelessly tossing the halo behind his shoulder, Fiyero used his now free hands to pull Elphaba against him and kiss her again, a kiss that she more than welcomed. The torch they lighted flickered approvingly above their heads and as they fell deeper into one another, Elphaba couldn’t help but muse over how odd a match she and Fiyero were. 

How strange. 

How…untraditional. 

And it was funny, they both thought, that their hearts had come together on the darkest night of the year…because neither Elphaba nor Fiyero could remember a time when they’d ever shone so bright.

[etherealyoonghwa]

Unfamiliar Territory

Juice Ortiz x female oc.

Warnings: mention of alcohol.

Word count: 646

Maeve Blackwood masterlist

The stale air of the clubhouse, usually thick with the scent of stale beer and exhaust, seemed to hum with an unfamiliar tension. Maeve Blackwood, her presence a stark contrast to the rough-and-tumble décor, stood just inside the door, her gaze sweeping over the assembled Sons of Anarchy. Her tailored leather jacket, though subtly stylish, somehow felt like a suit of armor in this den of denim and ink.

She'd come to Charming on business – business that unfortunately involved the volatile and unpredictable world of SAMCRO. Clay had finally agreed to a meeting, but the apprehension clinging to him was palpable.

Then her eyes landed on him. He was younger than most of the patched members, with a restless energy that seemed barely contained. His dark hair fell over a striking, almost boyish face, but his eyes, despite their youth, held a depth that suggested he’d seen more than his fair share of the world. Juice. She'd heard the name, of course. Part of her research into the club.

Juice, meanwhile, had been trying to appear nonchalant, leaning against a pool table with a half-empty can of beer. But the moment the door opened and Maeve Blackwood stepped in, every instinct screamed at him to pay attention. She wasn't like the women who usually drifted through the clubhouse – the old ladies, the barflies, the occasional unfortunate civilian. She moved with an easy confidence, her eyes sharp and intelligent, missing nothing.

He saw her glance his way, a flicker of something unreadable in her gaze. He straightened up, a subtle, almost imperceptible shift in his posture.

Clay, clearing his throat, finally broke the silence. "Maeve, this is Juice." He gestured vaguely in Juice's direction. "Juice, this is Maeve Blackwood. She's… handling some things for us."

Maeve offered a small, polite smile, though her eyes remained keen. "Mr. Ortiz." Her voice was low, with a subtle, cultured accent he couldn't quite place. It was smooth, like expensive whiskey.

Juice nodded, feeling a strange mix of curiosity and a nascent discomfort. "Ms. Blackwood." He didn't offer his hand. It wasn't the Sons' way with new people, especially those who weren't part of their world. But he felt a faint urge to, to see if her grip was as firm as her gaze.

Her eyes flickered over him again, a brief, assessing sweep. He felt a peculiar self-consciousness under her scrutiny, as if she were dissecting him, piece by piece. He wondered what she saw – just another patched-in grunt, or something more?

"I've heard a little about you," Maeve said, her tone neutral, but with an underlying current that suggested she'd heard a lot more than "a little." "You're… good with tech?"

Juice felt a flush creep up his neck. It was a well-known fact within the club, but hearing it from an outsider, especially one like her, felt different. "Yeah," he mumbled, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "I handle… computers. And stuff."

A faint, almost imperceptible amusement touched Maeve's lips. "Indeed. I imagine that comes in rather useful."

There was a moment of awkward silence, broken only by the low hum of the vending machine in the corner. Juice shifted his weight, suddenly acutely aware of his torn jeans and the grease stains on his kutte.

Clay, sensing the nascent tension, interjected. "Alright, let's get down to business, Maeve. We don't got all day."

Maeve's attention immediately snapped back to Clay, her professional demeanor firmly reasserting itself. As she turned, Juice let out a slow, silent breath. He watched her as she moved, her posture erect, her movements precise. She was a different breed altogether, a sharp, intelligent woman stepping into their chaotic world. And for some reason, he had a feeling their paths, despite this brief introduction, were far from done intersecting. The thought was both unsettling and, to his surprise, a little intriguing.

[heartconquerer]

It wasn't the usual drinking party night—no. But to them, it might as well have been. The edges were starting to blur. Keith was slumped against the balcony railing, one foot propped on the lower bar, the city humming beneath them. Absolutely wasted.

He was grinning like an idiot, eyes half-lidded, his weight lazily resting against Agnes's shoulder. She could feel the heat of his skin against her own, the scent of alcohol lingering on his breath.

She, on the other hand, wasn't nearly as gone as he was, despite having just as much to drink. Maybe even more—but her tolerance made it almost unfair. Her thoughts were still clear, actions still steady, despite the alcohol humming in her veins.

Keith, on the other hand, was not steady.

"You really gonna do it?" She broke the silence.

Keith lifted his head off Agnes's shoulder, brows drawn in confusion. "Do what?"

"Med school," she clarified. "After nursing?"

He blinked slowly, processing. "Yeah," he said, exhaling. "I mean, that's the plan."

Agnes hummed, swirling the remnants of her drink in her cup. "You'd make a decent doctor."

"Decent?"

She just shrugged.

He laughed, shaking his head. "God, I don’t even know if that's what I actually want, you know? But I keep saying it, so now I have to do it. I can't back out now. That'd be so embarrassing." It was as if he hadn’t spent last night telling her to picture him in a white coat with a stethoscope displayed around his neck, looking cool and professional as people greeted him, "Good morning, Dr. Lim!"

"But man," he looked up the starry sky, "Life's so fucking weird."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He frowned. "Like, what the hell even is a plan? I say I’m gonna be a doctor, but what if... I wake up tomorrow and I decide I wanna be a—I dunno—a pirate! Or some shit."

Agnes smirked. "I’d support your piracy dreams."

Keith groaned dramatically. "You’re missing the point!"

She wasn’t. But she liked making him spell it out.

"Like, think about it," he continued, shifting so he could gesture more, "we go to school for years, and then boom, we pick something and act like we know what we're doing. But what if I don't know? What if I just... do what I'm supposed to until it stops making sense?"

Agnes took a slow sip of her drink. "Then you change."

Keith blinked at her, then squinted. "See! that's why I like you."

She raised a brow. "Huh?"

"No, 'cause you just-" He gestured vaguely. "You make things sound so simple. Like, no big deal. Like, 'Oh, the world’s ending? Just get a new one.'"

"The world isn't ending, Keith."

"You say that," he pointed, "but what if it is? What if we wake up tomorrow and everything’s different?"

She shrugged. "Then it's different."

"Unbelievable!" Keith groaned, dragging his hands down his face. "But, honestly? I know you think about shit more than you let on."

Agnes smirked, that felt like an ego boost—but in a good way. "Do I?"

"Yeah."

"Well, then, I actually like you. More than I let on." she replied, like she was commenting on the weather.

Keith blinked.

His brain stalled.

"Huh?"

Agnes didn't look at him. Just swirled the ice in her glass. "I like you," she repeated. "Just thought you should know."

Keith stared. His thoughts rebooted, then tripped over themselves. "Wait, like—like like?"

Agnes side-eyed him. "Yes, Keith."

He blinked again. "Since when?"

"Does it matter?"

"uh, YES?" he said, scandalized.

She shrugged.

Keith opened his mouth, then shut it. His thoughts were doing backflips.

"That's fucking crazy."

Agnes smirked. "Why?"

Keith paused for a moment. Not because he was thinking—quite the opposite actually. His mind was left blank; he had already forgotten what Agnes had just asked. Then his mouth started running again.

"No way. No fucking way." He laughed as his head lolled to the side as he looked at Agnes, blinking slow, like his brain was buffering. "You? Me?"

He ran a hand down his face, groaning. "That's so stupid."

Agnes tilted her head. "Thanks?"

"No, no, not like that," Keith slurred, waving a hand "I mean—fuck, I don't know what I mean. Just..." He pointed at her, his finger swaying slightly. "I looked at you once, I swear. Like, really looked. And I thought—nah. Nope. Not happening. Too much."

Turns out, his drunk brain decided to take a detour down memory lane. "You were just-" He exhaled sharply through his nose. "Too cocky. Too sharp. You walked around without a single care in the world, thinking so highly of yourself, like you're some God. And it pissed me off, and I thought-" He paused, then clicked his tongue. "Jesus, she's so fucking full of herself."

Agnes blinked, unimpressed. "Charming."

"But then-" Keith exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. "Then I actually started paying attention, and you weren't cocky, you were just... sure of yourself. It wasn't that you thought you were better than everyone. You just never saw the point in explaining yourself. And I... I fucking envied that. I wish I had even just half your confidence."

He glanced at her, tapping his fingers against the railing. "That envy eventually turned into something else. I don't even know when it happened. I realized you were never as unbearable as I thought you were. I just didn't want to admit that I actually liked having you around."

Agnes didn't respond right away. Just watched him.

He let out a breathy laugh. "I used to think I wasn't someone you'd ever take seriously. I think I knew at some point that I liked you and now I'm thinking I should've done something about that sooner."

She tilted her head. "Then do something about it now."

Keith blinked. His head felt light, dizzy in a way that had nothing to do with the alcohol. He looked at her, really looked at her, and something settled in his chest.

"Alright," he said. "We're dating."

Agnes barely hesitated. "Alright."

Keith blinked, thrown off. "Wait, what?"

"You said we're dating." Agnes shrugged, unbothered. "So we are."

Keith's brain broke. "Holy shit. We're dating."

"Yeah."

"Like, right now."

"Right now."

Keith stared at her. Then suddenly grinned. "We should kiss then."

Agnes raised an unimpressed brow. "That your logic?"

"Yes," he said, completely confident. "Couples kiss. We're a couple. Therefore, we kiss."

She sighed, shaking her head. "You're an idiot."

Then she shifted forward anyway, slow, unhurried, until the space between them barely existed. His breath hitched. She smelled like smoke and something sweet, something that was just her, and Keith was suddenly, violently aware of every nerve in his body.

He didn't know who moved first, just that her lips were warm and his brain went completely blank. Just that everything, his pulse, his thoughts, the entire damn night, tilted on its axis.

When they pulled away, Keith felt like he had to physically ground himself. He just blinked at her, dazed.

"Holy shit."

Agnes smirked, standing up. "Come on, boyfriend," she said, grabbing his wrist. "Let's get you some water before you pass out."

Keith let himself be dragged back inside, his thoughts sluggish.

. . .

By morning, Keith wouldn't remember any of this. He'd wake up with a hangover, barely recalling anything beyond the hazy blur of the party.

Agnes wouldn't remind him either.

She would just shrug it off, the same way she did with everything else.

[hunzzzzz]

Fight for you: part 1 (Kendall Roy x OC)

Okay guys this is my first time writing if it’s terrible I’m sorry

Blurb :

Harper Aly is broken. Hanging on by a thread. Desperately trying to fix her life. Kendall is like a breath of fresh air, pulling her out from the deep end.

Kendall is also broken, but something about her makes him want to fight for her. Fight against himself to a better man, be the man she deserves. She was like the first daffodil of spring, after a cold, miserable winter.

Their lives end up entangled in one another, emotions are high, working together gets complicated, promises are broken.

Can Harper give him a chance, despite her trust issues?

Can Kendall prove to be the man that he says he is?

It had been another soul-crushing day at work. My brain felt like mush, utterly incapable of focusing on the screen in front of me. With a sigh that spoke volumes, I glanced at the clock - 7:10 PM. It felt like a cruel joke. Where was the "acceptable workday hours" mentioned in my contract? Exhausted, I yanked off my glasses and stalked out of the office, my vision already blurring without them.

The office was a ghost town. Through the haze, I could make out a few lonely lights flickering on distant floors. It was a small comfort, knowing I wasn't the only one sacrificing sanity for the sake of deadlines. Two months of relentless work on an upcoming project had left me pale, gaunt, and perpetually underscored. The marketing and PR weight on my shoulders felt like the entire building.

The roof, my only solace, beckoned. I gulped in the cool night air, the first real breath I'd taken in weeks, and lit a cigarette. The nicotine buzz thrummed through me, a welcome distraction from the day's tension. I often snuck up here for a smoke in peace when the building thinned out. I wasn't a smoker, not usually. Just the occasional cigarette when things got… messy. Like when the man you loved decided to humiliate you on the world stage.

The combination of heartbreak and this suffocating workload had driven me to a new low. I wandered to the edge, the city sprawling beneath me like a glittering tapestry. The view, at least, was breathtaking. Up here, the city's chaos muted to a low hum, a welcome change from the relentless daytime thrum. For a moment, my thoughts were finally clear.

"Thinking of taking the plunge?"

A voice ripped me from my fragile peace. I whipped around, squinting through blurry eyes to identify the intruder. "Just imagine the adrenaline rush," he said, a cigarette dangling from his lips. He'd materialized from nowhere, a phantom in the night.

"Yeah, well, why don't you try it and report back?" I snapped, my annoyance flaring. This stranger had invaded my one moment of peace, the five fragile minutes that kept me afloat.

“Uh, okay. Not your day huh?” He chuckled. He had the audacity to find humor in this, it made my blood boil.

“If you keep talking to me I might actually just jump.” I attempted to climb up onto the ledge.

His face washed over with panic. "Whoa, okay, hostile much? Fine. Just, can you please… not?" He gestured vaguely at the edge as he backed away from me.

I smirked in quiet victory, retreating a step. The last thing I needed was small talk with some cocky suit from who-knows-where. I'd endured enough of that for one day. I finished my cigarette with a vengeance, flicking the smoldering butt over the edge with a disregard for littering I wouldn't normally have.

"Seriously? There's a trashcan right there," he said, his voice laced with amusement.

I nearly leaped out of my skin. He was right behind me again! I scrambled back, heart hammering, only to feel the solid press of his chest against mine. His grip on my wrists was firm but not aggressive. "Hey, hey, it's me," he soothed, another chuckle escaping his lips.

First this man ruined my smoke break and as if that wasn’t enough, now he amped it up a notch and tried to send me into cardiac arrest. Some people have serious boundary issues.

"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!" I shrieked, flailing against his hold. "Let go, or I swear to…"

"Or what? Jump off the building again?" he mocked, my own words twisted back at me. "Easy there, easy. Just thought I'd stick around, you know, considering you're a walking suicide risk." His deep chuckle sent shivers down my spine, a primal reaction that confused me. And then there was the cologne. The same scent that had shattered my world into a million pieces. It was all too much. Memories flooded back, a tidal wave of hurt threatening to drown me.

“Just leave me alone.” I muttered, my voice shaking, as I finally broke free of his death grip. Slumping my shoulders over the ledge, cradling my head in my hands. I rapidly blinked, trying to ward off the tears that threatened to spill, I can't let myself go back to that place. I won't let myself.

“Oh shit- I was fucking joking. Are you okay?” I felt a hand on my shoulder. “Look I’m sorry please– don't cry. I’m sorry, I’m a fucking idiot.” His voice was soft as he tried to awkwardly comfort me, trying to make sense of my sudden burst of emotions. Rubbing soothing circles between my shoulder blades. I shrugged his hand off, and cleared my throat, straightening my back, ready to tell him to go to hell. I turned to face him, only to be met by soft chocolate eyes piercing into mine, full of concern. Timidly breathing as though, any sudden movement might push me over the edge, emotionally.

It felt as though all the pain that I so desperately tried to block from my mind, began leaking through the dam. The facade that I had built, convincing my friends, family and co-workers that I was fine, came crumbling down like Jenga .

I choked out a sob as my eyes betrayed me. I let the tears fall, each one washing away a little bit of pain I had been holding onto for months. Drenching my cheeks and leaving me gasping for breath. Each stifled sob echoed the loud, resounding ache in my heart. I was finally allowing myself to grieve my broken heart, my relationship, my ex-fiance— since he's dead to me now .

Deep down I knew this emotional breakdown was bound to happen sooner or later. I just never thought it would be at work with a stranger comforting me.

“Hey, you're okay.” His voice was velvety, soothing my anxieties like a warm blanket. “You’re going to be okay.” His hands gripped my shoulders as they viciously shook.

Once the sobs finally subsided, I felt a lightness I hadn’t felt in a long time.

“Well shit, that was embarrassing.” I tried to humour myself, wiping at my mascara stained cheeks slightly, turning away from him and facing the city, so he couldn't see what a mess I had become.

“I’m sorry, I don't know where that came from.” I whispered, keeping my eyes glued to the skyline ahead, too ashamed to even look at him. Something about crying in front of people or in public, felt so deeply shameful to me, I felt so vulnerable. I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole.

“Are you sure- because uh, I don't know- there seemed to be a little something more to it.” He questioned sceptically. “Look, I've been there before, bottling it all up. Faking a smile to the point where I almost actually fucking convinced myself- that maybe, just maybe, I actually am happy.”

He smiled as he spoke, but there was a deep sadness behind his words. “I’ve been to rock bottom, countless times. So look- just- I’m saying, I don't know what’s going on with you, but, just trust me the more you try to push it away the more it consumes you.” His radiant voice was like a beacon of comfort, guiding me through to the light at the end of the tunnel. For the first time in months I felt like I could open up to someone, without any judgement.

“Okay you got me there, lock me up and throw away the key.” I admitted, earning a small laugh from him. “It’s just so embarrassing to even say out loud. Promise you won't laugh.”

I glanced over at him. I already had trust issues from my childhood, so being betrayed by the one person that I thought I could blindly trust without a doubt, shattered me. Before the betrayal, I would put effort into being more social and open with people I called friends. But now I found comfort in the loneliness. I was on a 24 hour look out, working overtime to guard my heart, from ever feeling that type of pain ever again. I knew I wasn't strong enough to survive it again, so I never gave anyone a chance to even challenge it.

“What- of course not. I promise.” He responded in an instant, hand held over his heart.

“My fiance cheated on me, I'm sorry let me reiterate.” I corrected myself. “My fiance of 8 years cheated on me with my best friend.” I confessed. “And the worst part is that it happened right under my fucking nose. But I was too busy planning our dream wedding, setting up appointments with realtors; looking for a bigger place for when we decided to start a family.”

I laughed at the last part, somehow saying it out loud sounded so ridiculous— how I was so oblivious to the truth. “I was so focused on the future, letting it blind me from what was actually happening right in front of me.”

“Shit— yeah no that’s uh— that's rough.” He nodded, taking in my words. “Fuck yeah, I get it now. Understood.” His voice was full of empathy. “I can't imagine- genuinely I’m fucking sorry.” Why was he apologising, when the person I longed to hear those words from, felt no remorse. Not a single ounce of guilt for hurting me in the worst possible way, leaving me broken.

“It’s fine. I’m in my acceptance phase now.” I reflected, feeling at ease sharing my raw thoughts with him, knowing that I’d never cross paths with him again. There was no harm in over-sharing with a stranger— what’s the worst that could happen?

“Yeah it sure seems like it.” He chuckled.

“No seriously— I am. Don't let my little breakdown earlier fool you.” I tried to defend myself. “That was partially work related too. The stress of this job has got me pulling out gray hairs. I’m too young to have gray hairs.” I sighed running a hand through my hair subconsciously.

“Okay now hear me out. Maybe- just maybe it’s just your bitchy attitude, that’s making you age?” He joked. Now that the haze of my inner turmoil finally simmered down, I saw his true colours shining through— god he was such an ass.

“Wow, creepy and a jokester. You really are a package deal.” I clasped my hand over my chest, feigning admiration. “I’m sure it’s not a big deal for someone of your prehistoric age to have gray hair, but for the younger generation, we take it very seriously. I don’t expect you to understand. You’re probably too busy dying your hair jet black every morning or getting fitted for your hearing aids.” My words left him stunned, as his mouth hung open in shock. It was clear that nobody had ever put him in his place before; humbled him; brought him back down to Earth. His entire persona radiated— finance bro— the worst of the worst kind of people.

“Okay- ouch. You fucking shoot to kill.” He finally recovered from my brutal attack. “And I’ll have you know my hair is naturally this colour.” He said, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

I burst out laughing, feeling my chest tighten as I gasped for air in between giggles. “Oh god- my stomach hurts- please you’re killing me here.” I took a moment trying to compose myself, as he watched his lips pressed into a straight line, not amused. “I’m sorry but using twitter, and listening to Kendrick doesn’t qualify you to be as young, and hip as you think it does.”

“Fuck you- I’m not even that old. I’m not even close to middle-aged.” He threw his hands up frustrated.

“You keep telling yourself that grandpa.” I smirked, loving how easy it was to get under his skin. Playing him at his own game, if he was going to dick then so was I. It was clear that I was winning the sword fight.

“Jesus- you’re fucking mean.” He smiled, shaking his head, taking my insults with a pinch of salt.

“Well, you know my villain origin story.” I tried to lighten the mood. “Your turn.”

“My turn? Uh- for what exactly?” He asked, eyebrows raised.

“I don’t know maybe your villain origin story, you know, how you became such an insufferable prick.” I replied grinning. “Harassing innocent women who are enjoying a peaceful cigarette.”

“Oh wow- okay. So now I am what- some sort of creepy, stalker who uh- fucking comforts broken women?” He laughed, brushing off my harsh words. His laugh was like a breath of fresh air, so contagious, I joined in too. I couldn't remember the last time I laughed like this, let alone even smiled— It felt like a lifetime ago.

“Answer the question, creep.”

“I guess we're sticking with creep then.” He huffed. “No origin story here. Just a guy who came up here to avoid my family’s daily fucking drama. But then heroically saved a beautiful young lady’s life.” He smiled, eyes twinkling in the city lights. If my cheeks weren’t already pink and puffy from all the crying, they definitely were now.

“Wow, my hero!” I exclaimed sarcastically, rolling my eyes at the absurd lie.

The wind whipped my hair into a frenzy, mimicking the chaos inside me. Stupid, stupid, stupid for leaving my jacket on the desk. What was I thinking, a rooftop therapy session in a miniskirt? A shiver wracked me, and I subconsciously hugged myself for warmth.

“Are you cold here, take it.” He offered me his blazer, shrugging it off wordlessly, seeing my teeth chatter.

“You've gotta be kidding me. This is… cosmic irony on steroids?" A strangled laugh escaped my lips, as hollow as the wind whistling around the rooftop. I gaped at him, eyes wide as the blood drained from my face. I dropped the cigarette from my lips, backing away from him.

“Kendall fucking Roy.” A million thoughts raced through my head, the most prominent one being— I was definitely going to lose my job. I had just told the COO of the very company I work at, the future heir to Waystar and Royco; to jump off the roof; allowed him to watch me have a spontaneous nervous breakdown; and if that wasn’t already humiliating enough I then proceeded to insult him to his face.

Kendall raised an eyebrow, a hint of amusement playing at the corner of his mouth. "Wait, are you serious?"

"Because… well, as you can clearly see with my superhuman eyesight," I stammered, "I wasn't expecting the COO to be… here. Rooftop therapy, you know?" I scrambled back, putting some much needed distance between us. “I have to go.” I quickly tried to escape, after digging my own grave.

He stared at me for a beat, then a slow smile spread across his face. "Interesting therapy technique."

The humor in his voice made the situation even more surreal. "Look, Mr. Roy, this is all a huge misunderstanding. I, uh, I don't wear my glasses at night, and—"

“Wait, hold up.” He yelled, hot on my tail. The door slammed shut behind me with a satisfying WHAM, momentarily muffling Kendall's surprised yell. I didn't wait to see if he'd follow. My heels hammered a frantic rhythm against the marble floor as I took the stairs three at a time. Bursting into my office, I practically dove into my chair, lungs burning.

Glancing down, I froze. Still draped around me was Kendall Roy's expensive blazer. A strangled groan escaped my lips. This was just not my night.

chapter 2