#i started the series but petered out at some point

[ssa-dado]

7 - Cogito, ergo Sum

Aaron Hotchner x bau!fem!reader

Genre: slow burn, sad just sad stuff, angst

Summary: On a train to Riverhead, you confront buried memories of your father’s death and the complex emotions stirred by Peter’s welcome back party, where Hotch’s past with Haley left you feeling like an outsider. Hotch, haunted by memories of his abusive father and first love with Haley, grapples with his choices and regrets. Meanwhile, Hotch and Peter clash over your safety and personal boundaries on the job, discovering the next target of a series of poisonings. Warnings: Grief, domestic violence, emotional abuse, anxiety, CM case. This is quite sad

Word Count: 4.5k

Dado's Corner: Not me sobbing like a kid while writing this haha. Poor Aaron you deserve a hug. That said, I experimented a bit with the style of this chapter - it's quite cinematic. I drew inspiration from Suits' 2×08 where Harvey goes to visit his father's grave and the narrative interlaces flashbacks, present and the characters' point of view so beautifully. Also - this has a sister chapter coming up next so don't worry.

previous chapter ; masterlist

The train rattled gently as it made its way toward your hometown, Riverhead, each passing mile pulling you deeper into a past you had long avoided. The rhythmic clatter of the wheels against the tracks was a steady, relentless metronome, marking each second that brought you closer to face your father’s grave.

You glanced up to see a little girl holding her father’s hand, her tiny fingers wrapped tightly around his as they made their way to a seat just past yours. The sight was simple, ordinary - something that happened every day - but today, it felt like a punch to the chest.

Watching them, you felt the train become a catalyst for everything you’d been trying to bury; the pain surged, raw and unfiltered, hitting you all at once. The easy affection between them, was a reminder of what you could never have again. Your throat tightened, and tears pricked at your eyes, threatening to spill as you stared at the floor, trying to swallow the ache of everything you’d lost. In that fleeting moment, the emptiness of your own hands felt unbearable, as if the absence of your father’s presence echoed a thousand times harder in the quiet hum of the train.

You stared out of the window, but the passing trees and fading buildings blurred into the background, their muted colors mingling with the fog of your thoughts. You’d taken the rare step of taking a day off to make this journey, a day that was supposed to be about finding some semblance of closure, or at least confronting the loss you’d tucked away behind your work.

But you hadn’t been able to think only of your father. Your mind kept drifting back to Peter’s welcome back party the previous week. Where you sat at the table, Gideon’s words lingering in the air, the concept of thesis, antithesis, and synthesis feeling painfully apt in that moment.

“Everyone, this is Haley,” Hotch said, his voice carefully controlled. “We… we go way back.”

Only now you could clearly see at how Haley smiled, but her eyes were constantly on Hotch, her presence radiating a sense of ease that only came from years of knowing someone deeply. “It’s been a long time, Aaron,” she said, her tone gentle but layered with unspoken memories. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

You watched the interaction with a heavy heart, feeling like an outsider in your own team. The connection between them was undeniable, and for a moment, you felt a pang of jealousy, a sharp twist in your chest that you hadn’t prepared for.

You had just started to let your guard down with Hotch, to allow yourself to see him not just as your stoic coworker who would crack a joke every once in a while - but as someone you could trust, someone who understood you. And now, here was a piece of his past that you hadn’t been privy to, thrown in your face without warning.

As the evening wore on, you tried to engage, to laugh at Rossi’s jokes and nod along with Gideon’s stories, but your mind kept drifting back to Hotch and Haley. You couldn’t help but feel the sting of not knowing this part of him, of realizing that no matter how close you’d gotten, there were still walls between you.

At one point, Hotch caught your eye from across the table. His expression softened, a silent question in his gaze, as if he could sense your discomfort. But before he could say anything, Haley leaned in, pulling his attention back to her, and the moment passed.

Gideon, ever observant, leaned closer to you, breaking the awkward silence that had settled over you.

“You know, Y/N,” he said thoughtfully, tapping the cover of the book you’d bought for Hotch, “Hegel’s all about finding balance. Sometimes, the only way forward is to let go of what you thought you knew and embrace the contradictions.”

You nodded, but the words felt too close to home. You weren’t sure how to find balance in this moment, how to reconcile the sudden wave of emotions crashing over you. All you could do was hold on and hope that, somehow, things would make sense again.

Now your mind was buzzing with a mix of emotions: shock, confusion, and a sinking feeling of being completely blindsided. It was in the way Hotch and Haley exchanged glances, the comfortable proximity, the shared history etched in every small gesture. It hurt more than you’d ever thought it would, making everything sounded distant, muffled, like you were underwater.

The gathering had been a lively affair, full of laughter and shared stories, but a specific moment kept replaying in your mind: Haley’s warm smile as she said goodbye to Hotch, “It was really good to see you, Aaron, I’m glad you’re doing well. Maybe we’ll run into each other again sometime.”

Hotch nodded, his expression warm yet tinged with a hint of sadness. “Yeah, Haley. Take care of yourself. See you around.”

With that, she gave a small wave to the table and headed back to her group of friends, leaving Hotch standing there, momentarily lost in the past. As he returned to his seat, you could see the way he was grappling with the emotions stirred up by the unexpected reunion. He caught your gaze briefly, offering a small, almost apologetic smile that only deepened your sense of uncertainty.

As she walked away, Rossi had thrown a smirk Hotch’s way, raising an eyebrow as he quipped, “So, old flames burning bright again?”

Hotch rolled his eyes, though there was a faint, embarrassed flush to his cheeks. “Rossi, don’t start,” he warned, though his tone was more amused than annoyed.

“Oh, come on, Aaron,” Rossi continued, clearly enjoying himself. “Haley’s quite a catch. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were a little lovestruck.”

Hotch sighed, but there was a softness to his demeanor that hadn’t been there before. “It’s not like that, Dave. We… had our time. It just didn’t work out. She wanted a family, a stable life. I was too caught up in my career, trying to make it into the Bureau. We were just… heading in different directions.”

There was a pause as the table absorbed his words, the rare glimpse into Hotch’s personal life catching everyone a little off guard. You could see the flicker of understanding in his eyes, the acknowledgment of choices made and paths taken, and it resonated deeply with you. It wasn’t just about Haley; it was about the sacrifices, the regrets, and the constant pull between duty and desire.

You had stood on the sidelines, listening, and telling yourself it wasn’t jealousy you felt, but something else entirely. Hotch and Haley’s history was full of things you couldn’t touch, memories you couldn’t rewrite.

The ease between them that felt unreachable, at least for you. It highlighted your own struggles, the way you and Hotch danced around each other’s guarded edges, each too closed off and too stubborn for way too much to admit the walls you’d built were anything but necessary. You had worked hard to break through those barriers, inching closer to something that resembled real friendship with Hotch, but seeing him with Haley made it clear how far you still had to go.

One of your coworkers, ever the instigator, smirked and raised their glass, turning the conversation light again. “Ah, first loves. We’ve all been there, right? High school sweethearts, college crushes, and then… life happens.”

They nudged Peter playfully, their grin widening. “I bet you’ve got some stories, too. You and Y/N? Seems like you two have your own history.”

The comment, though playful, struck a chord. You could feel all eyes momentarily on you and Peter, the unspoken insinuations hanging in the air. Peter chuckled, leaning back in his chair with a casual ease that belied the tension simmering beneath the surface. “Oh, come on, let’s not dig up the past. Y/N and I? We were just kids. We studied, we got into trouble, and then we grew up.”

Rossi, always enjoying a chance to stir the pot, raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? ‘Just kids,’ huh? I’ve seen the way you two look at each other. Seems like more than just studying to me.”

Peter shot you a sideways glance, his smile both teasing and sincere. “Well, you know me, Dave. Always mixing business with pleasure.”

You forced a laugh, though it sounded hollow even to your ears. “Please, don’t encourage him. Peter was more like the annoying older brother I never asked for.”

The table erupted in laughter, and for a moment, the awkwardness eased. But underneath it all, there was a thread of unspoken tension, a reminder that you and Peter’s relationship, much like Hotch and Haley’s, was layered with complexities that no amount of jokes could untangle.

Hotch watched the exchange quietly, his gaze lingering on you longer than necessary. There was a flicker of something in his eyes—was it understanding? Regret? You couldn’t quite tell, but it was clear he was processing his own thoughts amidst the lighthearted teasing. The parallels between his past and what was unfolding now weren’t lost on him.

Then memories shifted, drawing you deeper into the party’s ambiance: the clinking of glasses, the chatter of old friends reuniting, and Peter’s infectious laugh as he moved through the crowd.

You remembered the moment he found you in the corner of the room, handing you a glass of wine with a casual, “So, are you ever going to let me take you out on that date?”

You had laughed it off, deflecting with a joke. “You’d have to catch me when I’m not buried in case files.”

Peter’s smile had softened, and he leaned against the wall beside you, his eyes searching yours in that disarming way he had. “I’m patient. You know that.”

There it was, an offer that seemed perfect on paper. Peter was kind, funny, and someone you could talk to for hours without feeling the need to perform or pretend. He had always been a constant, someone who understood your messy family dynamics and never judged you for them. Yet, for reasons you couldn’t quite name, you had hesitated.

It wasn’t just fear that a relationship might ruin your friendship, though that was part of it. No, this hesitation was something deeper, something that had started to shift within you over the months you’d been at the BAU.

The job had changed you, had made you see the world differently, and maybe that change had rippled into the way you saw Peter, too. He was familiar, a comfort you could rely on, but when he looked at you with that earnestness, you felt a strange dissonance, like you were two notes that no longer harmonized as they once did.

You shook off the thought and turned back to the scenery, trying to refocus. The landscape outside shifted, becoming a blur of rolling hills and scattered houses, but all you could see were memories of the afternoons you’d spent with Peter.

He was a piece of your past that felt safe, steady, and uncomplicated. You remembered the day he’d chosen your mother as his thesis supervisor, the excitement in his eyes as he explained why.

“She’s brilliant,” he had told you, sitting at your kitchen table, his hands animated as he spoke. “I mean, I’ve read everything she’s published. Working with her is like… I don’t know, getting to play with a master.”

Your mother had smirked from the kitchen, where she was brewing tea. “I’m not sure if ‘play’ is the word I’d use,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “But I’m glad you’re eager. I could use someone with your enthusiasm.”

Those afternoons felt like moments frozen in time, filled with academic debates that stretched into the evening. You would sit with Peter, surrounded by books and papers, discussing everything from human behavior to obscure psychological theories. Your mother would occasionally join in, her sharp insights cutting through Peter’s eager optimism, and you would feel an odd sense of belonging, of being seen and understood in a way that was rare. You and Peter fit so easily then, like two pieces of a puzzle that made sense together.

So why now, when Peter had finally asked, did you feel that familiar comfort turn into something that almost felt suffocating? It wasn’t fear, not exactly. It was something more complex, more tangled.

You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but whatever it was, it had kept you from saying yes. Part of you wondered if it had to do with the person you’d become at the BAU, the person who had learned to live in the shadows, to thrive on the unspoken and the unsolved. There was a distance between the you that Peter knew and the you that existed now, and you weren’t sure how to bridge that gap.

As the train chugged closer to Riverhead, you let out a slow breath, feeling the weight of your own thoughts settle in your chest. This trip was supposed to be about your father, about facing the memories you’d buried along with him. But as the scenery continued to blur outside your window, you realized it wasn’t just him you were here to confront. It was yourself, and all the tangled, unresolved things you’d left behind.

.

Back in his apartment, Hotch stood motionless in front of his closet, the faint hum of the city outside barely reaching his ears. It was supposed to be a simple, mindless task: changing out of his work clothes, slipping into something comfortable to signal the end of another long case. But that morning, the weight of the past lingered in the air, heavy and suffocating, refusing to be ignored. Seeing Haley again had shaken something loose inside him, memories that he had tried to bury beneath layers of duty, responsibility, and the unyielding armor of his carefully crafted stoicism.

He stared at the closet door as if it were a portal to another time, a past version of himself that he had spent years trying to forget. His hand hovered over a hanger, hesitating before he finally pulled the door open. He reached for a pair of sweatpants, the movement automatic, but his fingers brushed against something unexpected, something soft and familiar. He pulled it out, holding it up to the dim light of the room. It was an old pirate hat, worn and faded, buried at the back of the closet like a forgotten relic.

The sight of it was enough to send a rush of emotion coursing through him, his heart tightening with the weight of memories long left untouched. It was a small, silly thing - a costume piece from a high school play - but it held the echoes of a time when life had felt simpler, when love had been a lifeline rather than a distant, unattainable dream.

Hotch turned the hat over in his hands, his thumb tracing the worn edges. It felt lighter than he remembered, the fabric frayed but still holding the shape that had once made him feel like someone else - someone braver, someone who didn’t wake up every day terrified of what the morning might bring.

Holding it now, he was transported back to those days in high school, when he had first met Haley during their school’s production of The Pirates of Penzance. He could still remember the nerves that twisted his stomach into knots as he stepped onto the stage, feeling every bit the awkward, shy boy who never quite knew how to fit in.

His father’s presence loomed over every aspect of his life, a dark, volatile force that made every day feel like a minefield. Mornings were the worst; he’d wake up before dawn, his heart pounding with the dread that his father would already be up, the stale stench of whiskey on his breath and anger simmering just below the surface.

Every morning, Hotch would lie still in his bed, his ears straining to hear the slightest sound - a creaking floorboard, the clink of a bottle, the unmistakable thud of something heavy being thrown against the wall. He’d close his eyes tightly, his breath catching in his throat as he braced himself for the inevitable: the harsh sound of his father’s voice, slurred and laced with venom, cutting through the stillness of the house like a knife.

“You worthless piece of shit,” his father would sneer, eyes bloodshot, fists clenched. The insults were always the same, a relentless barrage of contempt that felt like punches to the gut. And sometimes, they were. The bruises left behind were easy to hide, but the fear lingered, seeping into every corner of his mind.

But then there was Haley.

Haley, with her bright smile and infectious laugh, had entered his life like a beam of light piercing through the darkness. She was everything his world was not: warm, kind, and unafraid to be herself. He could still see her as she had been that first day, standing backstage with an easy confidence that seemed to light up the entire room. He had been fumbling through his lines, tripping over words as he tried to keep his hands from shaking, feeling the familiar grip of anxiety clawing at his throat. But then she had turned to him, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Not bad, Hotchner,” she teased, her voice light and teasing, breaking through the wall of his self-doubt.

She nudged him playfully with her shoulder, her touch gentle but grounding. “But if you’re going to be a pirate, you’ve got to look the part.” She reached up and tilted the hat on his head, adjusting it with a flourish. “There. Much better.”

He had laughed then, a rare, unguarded sound that felt almost foreign to his own ears. It was a laugh born of something deeper than humor - it was relief, joy, and a sense of being seen in a way he never had been before. That moment had been the start of everything: the stolen glances, the whispered secrets shared between classes, the way she’d lean in close, her eyes bright with something that made the whole world seem less terrifying.

Haley became his first thought in the morning, replacing the dread that had once greeted him when he opened his eyes. Instead of the anxiety that his father would be there, ready to strike, his mind was filled with thoughts of her: the way she smiled, the sound of her voice, the softness of her lips whenever they kissed, the easy way she’d tease him about his nervousness on stage. She was his anchor, the one person who made him feel like he wasn’t drowning in his own fears.

Every morning, instead of waking up with his heart racing at the thought of his father’s rage, he’d wake up thinking of Haley. He’d think of their rehearsals, of the way she’d roll her eyes when he messed up a line but would always follow it with a grin that told him she was proud of him anyway. She had made him feel safe, like maybe, there was more to life than the fear that had defined his every waking moment.

Hotch hadn’t just fallen in love with Haley; he had clung to her like a lifeline. She was the first person who had shown him what it felt like to be cared for, to be valued for who he was, not for what he could endure. She was his sanctuary from the storm that raged inside his home, and for a while, she had made him believe that he could have something good, something real.

But as he stood there now, holding the hat, those memories were tinged with the bittersweet realization of what he had lost. The love that had once saved him had crumbled under the relentless weight of his ambition and the demands of his career.

He had chosen the Bureau, chosen to bury himself in the pursuit of justice, thinking that if he worked hard enough, if he dedicated himself to the job, he could finally be free of the shadows that haunted him.

But in the process, he had lost Haley. He had lost the last piece of innocence that had made him believe he could balance it all: love, career, and a future untangled from the pain of his past. Now, the hat felt like a symbol of everything he had tried to bury, a reminder of the boy he used to be and the love that had once made him feel whole.

Hotch closed his eyes, a wave of grief and regret washing over him as he placed the hat gently back in the closet. The memories of Haley, of the warmth she had brought into his life, were still there, but they were shrouded in the painful truth that he had let her slip away. He had spent so long running from the fear of his father, trying to replace it with something brighter, but in the end, he had pushed away the very thing that had saved him

The shrill ring of his phone cut through his thoughts, jolting him back to the present. “Hotchner,” he said, masking the turmoil beneath his usual calm.

Gideon’s voice came through the line, urgent and clipped. “We’ve got a situation. A series of poisonings in Long Island, targeting public spaces. Libraries, parks, shopping centers. It’s escalating, and the unsub’s leaving messages. We need you here, now.”

Hotch glanced back at the pirate hat before slamming the closet shut. “I’ll be there in twenty,” he replied, shoving the memories aside as he grabbed his coat and headed out the door. There was no time to dwell on the past; the present demanded his full attention.

At the BAU, the team gathered around the conference table as Gideon outlined the details of the case. The poisonings were strategic, each attack aimed at places where people gathered, spreading panic through the community. The unsub’s taunts came in the form of cryptic messages, each one hinting at the next target.

Hotch’s jaw tightened as he scanned the crime scene photos, feeling the familiar pull of duty override everything else.

“We’re splitting up,” Gideon said, his gaze sweeping across the room. “Hotch, you and Peter will head to the latest crime scene. Rossi and I will cover the first.”

Hotch nodded, his face impassive as he gathered his things. He was already mentally mapping out the approach, compartmentalizing the emotional weight of the morning. But as they drove, Peter, clearly uncomfortable with the silence, tried to break the tension.

“You know, about that bet I won,” Peter began, glancing over at Hotch with a hint of a smile. “The date… with her. I’ve been trying to figure out how to make it special.”

Hotch’s eyes stayed fixed on the road, his expression tightening at Peter’s words. The mention of you - the team member who had started to break through the cracks in his own carefully guarded exterior - sent a surge of conflicting emotions through him. His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

“Have you really thought this through?” Hotch asked, his voice low, almost a growl. “You and her, both in the field, both seeing the worst of what people are capable of… it’s not as easy as you think.”

Peter shrugged, trying to maintain his casual demeanor, but there was a defensive edge creeping in. “We’ve always been good at separating things. She gets it - she’s smart, one of the smartest people I know. We can handle it.”

Hotch’s frustration boiled over, his tone sharpening. “It’s not about being smart, Peter. This job… it changes you. It gets into your head, your heart. And you’re fooling yourself if you think it won’t affect you both. What happens when you’re forced to make a choice - her safety or the job? How do you keep that from clouding your judgment?”

Peter’s smile faltered, and his eyes flicked toward Hotch, the beginnings of anger flashing across his face. “You don’t think I know that? You think I haven’t thought about it every damn day since I realized I wanted more with her? At least I’m honest about where I stand. I’m not hiding behind this job like it’s the only thing that matters.”

The tension between them was palpable, the car’s interior charged with unspoken words and unresolved conflicts. Hotch’s gaze remained fixed on the road, but his mind was racing. Peter’s words hit closer to home than he cared to admit, scraping against wounds that had never fully healed. Peter’s willingness to embrace his feelings, to take the leap Hotch had always hesitated to make, stung in a way that was hard to articulate.

“You don’t get it, Peter,” Hotch said finally, his voice quieter, more resigned. “You have no idea what it’s like to live with the consequences of those choices. I’ve seen what it does to people, how it tears them apart. This job… it doesn’t let you have a normal life, no matter how hard you try.”

Peter stared at him, searching for something in Hotch’s expression that he couldn’t quite find. “Maybe not. But I’d rather take the risk than spend my life wondering what could have been.”

They lapsed into silence, the argument left hanging between them, unresolved. Hotch felt the weight of Peter’s words settle heavily on his shoulders, mingling with the guilt and regret that had been simmering beneath the surface since seeing Haley again.

He didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know if he even had the right to. Peter’s defiance, his willingness to fight for what he wanted, was a painful reminder of the choices Hotch had made and the things he had lost in the process.

When they arrived at the crime scene, Hotch pushed all of it down, shoving the emotions into that familiar place he rarely let himself go. The crime scene was chaotic, with officers milling about, evidence markers scattered across the library floor.

Hotch’s keen eyes scanned the room, piecing together the unsub’s method, the subtle clues left behind. But something caught his attention: a bulletin board crowded with flyers and notes, too chaotic at first glance, but hiding something.

He moved closer, pulling back layers of paper until he found it: a cryptic message, written in neat, deliberate script. As he read the words, his blood ran cold, the implications settling like lead in his stomach.

The riddle painted a clear picture of the next target. Hotch’s hands trembled slightly as he stepped back, the reality sinking in.

Riverhead.

The place you were right now.

Without a word, Hotch turned and sprinted out of the building, his heart pounding with a fear that went far beyond the professional. This wasn’t just another case. It was personal, and every second mattered.

[meanscarletdeceiver]

Thoughts on 'Duncan gets spooked'

Also have you watched WildNorWester's adaptation series? Adeline the phantom engine.

Needed more fog!

Or more shadows? Idk. I'm a real spoilsport. I know this episode is beloved—and I'm fine with it, overall!—but I do think they could have done more with the set to create a spooky atmosphere than to just use the usual night lights. Compare and contrast Clearwater 😤

Still, it's very nice to look at and I love the character work with Duncan. He is 100% the kind of guy to scoff at the idea of ghosts and then to get spooked. That's him. In RWS Mr Plain-Spoken is remarkably soft-hearted and susceptible to stories.

I do have some mild complaints about the other characters, though. Did we need another story where Rusty is the smart and perfect one? I'd have loved if their role in this story had been given to Duke or even Sir Handel—"you're going to have a go at our Stuart? well then prepare to be slapped down, punk." They could have even used Duke just for the scene where Duncan is told the story—he'd be stationary the whole time so it wouldn't matter if (as I assume) the model wasn't running well!

i'd love to upload pics but tumblr has cut me off for the day sry

[fangswbenefits]

Sweet Girl

Summary: Miguel isn’t all that excited about you joining spider society, so why and how does he enter a spiral of maddening obsession?

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x spider-woman!reader

Miguel POV. Obsessed Miguel. Soft/inexperienced reader. Pining.

This is more an of an introduction to my current series Frustration. You don’t have to read the first 3 parts to enjoy this.

Miguel crossed his arms as he stood on the lowered platform.

He was waiting.

And he hated being kept waiting.

Tense minutes went by until a swirling flash of light tore through the space continuum right in front of him.

Jessica Drew stepped out first, followed closely by Peter B. Parker.

And you.

You seemed so out of it, that Miguel wondered how a spider person could have been this badly affected by a mere dimensional travel.

As you tumbled out of the portal, you immediately lurched forward. “Oh, I’m going to be sick.”

Without further warning, you emptied the content of your stomach onto the floor.

Amazing.

Arching an eyebrow, he glared at Jess who was patting your back reassuringly.

“It’s her first time, Miguel,” she frowned lightly, helping you straighten up.

Peter offered you a tissue. “Oh, I remember my first time. My intestines were not the same for a week, and I do-”

Miguel immediately cut him off, not at all interested in hearing about Peter Parker’s bowl movements. “Welcome to Nueva York,” he stepped out of the platform, extending his hand to you. “I’m Miguel O’Hara.”

You cleared your throat and shook his hand. “So… you’re the boss.”

“I’m the boss.”

Miguel saw your eyes scanning him him up and down, widening slightly. “You’re… big.”

Peter snorted and Jessica chuckled.

But he could only roll his eyes. “You’ll eventually get used to your portal jumps.”

You scanned the room with curious eyes. “That portal really needs stabilisation,” you then mumbled, adjusting your suit. “The motion sickness…”

He scoffed. “You’re a spider-woman. I’m sure you can manage motion sickness.”

“Well… it’s not the same as swinging around in your web,” you retorted with a light shrug.

Jessica patted your shoulder. “That’s why we recruited you. Your intel might be able to helps us with some of these… instabilities.”

You immediately smiled brightly. “Oh, sure! I can’t wait to get started. This place looks so cool.”

Miguel groaned inwardly. Amateurs.

He had scanned your file thoroughly and had been against your recruitment initially, but Jess had brought up valid points in your favour, despite the fact that you had only been bitten less than six months ago.

Inexperienced and ambitious.

These two hardly ever worked together, but your vast knowledge in tech compounds had made him give Jess the benefit of the doubt.

“Follow me. I’ll have to draw blood to run some tests and Lyla here will fill you in later on other procedures.”

The hologram popped in obnoxiously by your shoulder. “If he asks nicely, that is.”

Your mouth dropped open in absolute bewilderment. “Woah! AI? That is really, really awesome!”

“Thank you, pumpkin,” she grinned with a wink.

Miguel paced through the long halled that stretched out towards Lab 1, with you following close by, as Peter and Jess flanked you.

From the corner of his eye, he saw you glaring out of the tall windows, completely transfixed by the the countless skyscrapers that sprawled out as far as the eye could see.

“You built this?” your voice echoed in sheer wonder.

“Yes.”

“All of this?”

“Miguel is really gifted with technology,” Peter chimed in proudly.

“Woah…”

That tingled his ego nicely.

As the four of you walked inside the lab, the surrounding spiders at work glanced over, voicing their greetings.

“Take a seat.”

You immediately did as he said with Jessica standing next to you, hand on your shoulder.

Miguel put his gloves on and readied the material for the blood testing.

“Give me your arm.”

“So you’re a tech guy…” you started, and he gripped your forearm, rolled the sleeve of your suit up with fingers probing for a vein. “What else?”

“A geneticist.”

“Nice! So you’re like a two for one type of deal?”

Once he found what he was looking for, he aligned the tube with your skin. “This will sting a bit.”

Before you could reply, you let out a gasp at the sudden intrusion.

“And you work at the lab, too?”

“Do you always ask so many questions?” Miguel said, waiting for the tube to fill in.

You nodded with a warm smile. “I just like to know what I’m getting myself into.”

You had no idea, but Miguel was testing you, trying to gather as much of your personality as he could. He enjoyed piecing people together like puzzles. It stroked his sense of control.

“I thought Jessica had briefed you.”

“I did,” she immediately said.

“Yet you’re the one drawing my blood,” you chirped happily, your eyes fixed on his.

Well, maybe you had an idea.

Miguel felt the corner of his lips turn into a faint smile.

Good.

He needed perceptive people around.

He pulled away from from you slightly and pressed a cotton pad to the small puncture.

Sliding open one of the drawers nearby, he grabbed a watch, never letting go of your arm.

“This is a dimensional travel watch,” he explain, snapping it snugly around your wrist. “Keep it with you at all times.”

He let go of you and you seized the moment to inspect it closer, fascination never leaving your face.

“Let me guess… you also built this,” you said with a chuckle, pressing on the screen a few times.

He reached out his hand to stop you. “This is not a toy. Lyla will inform you on how to properly use it.”

You nodded firmly.

“Welcome to spider society.”

It didn’t take long for Miguel to start walking in on you sleeping in the lab.

For the fourth time.

He was all too familiar with the riveting excitement that came with scientific progress that often led to many sleepless nights.

But he still couldn’t allow this to keep happening.

Halting a few inches away from you, he took a moment to access the situation: you sat hunched over the lab table, head resting on folded arms and a string of drool dangling from the corner of your mouth.

A heavy sigh parted his lips.

He tapped his foot once on the leg of your chair, causing you to jolt upright with a yelp, nearly falling back from the loss of balance as the chair swayed dangerously.

But Miguel was fast enough to prevent that by steadying you with a firm grip on your shoulder. You then leaned forward, panting and clutching at your chest.

“Good morning.”

You turned your head to stare at him, deep bags under your eyes and sleep lines covering your face. “Miguel! Oh — hi! I’m… oh my… that was such a scare!”

His crimson eyes narrowed slightly. “It’s the fourth time this week.”

Trying to regain some composure, you straightened your clothes and wiped the string of drool trailing down your chin with the back of your hand.

“Right. I was… uh…” you paused abruptly and looked around, as if momentarily disoriented. “Oh. Yeah! I am — was working on running some diagnostics and must have dozed off waiting for the results… and-”

He clicked his tongue and spun your chair around, effectively silencing you, his eyes boring into yours. “This isn’t going to happen again. You need to rest.”

You swallowed. “I was resting…”

Miguel didn’t have neither the patience nor the time for this.

“You need proper rest,” he pressed on with a scowl. “Jessica scouted you for a reason, and if you’re too sleep-deprived to work, you’re of no use to us.”

You broke eye contact with him, lowering your head. “I’m sorry…”

The sincerity in your voice took him slightly aback, and he relaxed his face, wondering if he had perhaps been too harsh.

You were chewing on your lip, staring down at your entwined hands.

He had no idea why, but his heart skipped a beat.

Probably stress.

“Look,” he tried again, softer this time. “I know what it’s like to want more. To do more. I’ve been there,” he then crouched, so he could eye-level with you. “But you can’t keep pushing yourself like this. We have time to figure this out.”

You looked to the side, hesitating at first. “I… was talking to other spiders and some mentioned they feel the side effects of motion sickness if they use the portal more than twice a day,” you went on with newfound confidence, gripping the pad on the table and lighting up the screen. “I’m close to getting the chips to work and ther-”

Miguel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Stop. Stop.”

You did.

“What part of me saying you need to sleep didn’t you understand?”

“I don’t mind sacrificing a few nights of sleep if it means I can help other spiders,” you said, a flash of defiance crossing your eyes. “Seriously, Miguel. I need to get this done… I need it.”

Miguel’s strictness shattered.

He then saw a reflection of himself staring right at him.

So much of your determination and persistence reminded him of his early days as a scientist. The struggle, the hunger for results, the need to achieve something that could help so many…

“I know you’re looking out for me,” you went on, placing one hand on his shoulder and giving it a soft squeeze. “And I’m grateful, but science and progress don’t wait. I know I can be helpful, so let me.”

For the first time in a very long time, Miguel O’Hara was left speechless.

“Please don’t fire me,” you laughed nervously.

He blinked a couple of times and stared down at his watch.

6:14AM

“You can come back in twelve hours.”

Your eyes widened in sheer excitement, lips parting into a wide smile.

He quicky lifted one finger. “If you try to sneak in, I’ll know.”

Your smile faltered, as he saw right through your intentions.

“And I’ll have you sent back to your dimension faster than you can say Nueva York. Got it?”

You lifted one hand in a salute and nodded.

He scowled. “And… stop hanging around Hobie.”

Dropping your hand, you bolted forward from your chair to hug him, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

The sudden motion nearly caused him to topple over and you immediately let go of him, as he rose to his full height again.

“Oh! Sorry!” you stepped away, patting his arm apologetically.

He blinked.

Then, grabbing your pad, you began tapping rapidly. “I’m uploading all the data to your watch, so please take a look.”

He blinked again.

You gathered your backpack and threw him a final warm smile. “If you find anything important, please let me know!”

Miguel nodded curtly, but remained rooted in place, as you hurried across the lab and past the sliding door.

His heart skipped a beat for the second time that day.

Then it dawned on him: the last person who had hugged him had been Gabriella.

Miguel should probably call himself a hypocrite.

He was heavily against you or any other spider dozing off in the lab, but he had been indulging in this quite often as of late.

By the time he rose from his slumber, and sat back on his padded chair, he realised something soft had been placed around his shoulders.

He tugged on it and was met with a blanket covered in tiny prints of Peter B. Parker’s face.

This was definitely Mayday’s.

“What…” he drawled out, blinking a few times to adjust his eyes to the brightness that poured in from the windows.

The clock on the wall marked nine in the morning.

He stared down at his desk to find a handwritten note next to a plate of… empanadas?

“Hi~

wanted to wake you up, but you were sleeping so soundly and I didn’t want to disturb you. I found Mayday’s blankie on my lab desk — I suspect Hobie is sneaking her around to pull a prank on me hehe xOx

P.S. Jess told me you like empanadas, so I tried making some for you. Hope you like them~ (I’m crossing my fingers)

P.S. 2 You need proper rest :)”

You.

It had been you.

He glared at the plate containing the pastries, and grabbed one.

His heightened senses allowed him to immediately get flooded with an overwhelming delicious smell.

Taking a bite, he fluttered his eyes shut, allowing the overwhelming combination of flavours to take over.

It tasted so, so good.

It tasted like home.

He rose to his feet and walked out, scanning the lab for traces of you.

But he was met with Jessica instead who had just walked in.

“Oh, you look terrible.”

He swallowed what was left in his mouth. “Thanks.”

Her gaze dropped to your hand. “Oh! Did she make those for you?”

“Uh… yes.”

He felt ridiculous for having mumbled it like that.

The two of them paced along the corridors and into Lab 2, where you were sitting, back turned to them, visibly engrossed in your tasks.

“How’s she been doing?”

He took another bite. “Good. She’s persistent and focused. Those are good traits to have in this field.”

“She reminds me of yourself.”

Miguel wasn’t surprised in the slightest, because it was an undeniable fact.

“Hopefully, she won’t make the same mistakes I did.”

“Oh, I’m sure she’ll make some along the way,” she shrugged casually. “And she’ll learn from them, as you did.”

Miguel kept his gaze fixed on you and felt a strange need arise in him.

To look after you.

He took the last bite and savoured it in silence, as Jessica eyed him curiously.

“She really is a sweet girl,” she ended up saying lovingly. “She asked me what your comfort food was.”

Sweet girl.

He let the name replay in his head, and determined he liked the sound of it. It was fitting.

“Go on. Say it.”

Miguel arched an eyebrow at this. “Say what?”

Jess threw him a smug look. “That I was right for recruiting her. That you were wrong.”

In truth, Miguel hated having to admit to his mistakes, and it wasn’t even related to his ego or inability to take criticism.

As he had come to learn the hard way, his mistakes would usually lead to catastrophic consequences.

But when it came to you, he had no problem admitting he had been in the wrong. You had proved to be quite capable of handling a multitude of tasks.

… and now you were starting to grow on him.

“Yes. You were right, Jessica,” he mumbled, his eyes fixed on you. “She really is… something.”

She patted his back a few times. “Are you turning into a softie, Miguel?”

He scowled. “No.”

“Go ahead and thank her, then,” she said with a smile.

Miguel didn’t like being told what to do. He had every intention of letting you know he was grateful for your efforts.

But it had to be in his own way.

He parted ways with Jess and mad his way to you.

“Hey.”

You turned in your chair, bearing that kind smile he had grown so accustomed to. “Hi! You’re awake.”

“Cearly,” he grumbled with a shrug.

“Did you like the empanadas?”

He nodded. “They tasted amazing. Thank you.”

Like home.

“Great!” you beamed, your smile never wavering. “You looked really adorable while sleeping. Sorry for not waking you up.”

Adorable…?

He felt a lump form in his throat. Your energy was contagious, and he considered embracing it.

But he didn’t want to cave in…

He was a stubborn man by nature.

But he also didn’t want you to think he was too cold and distant like many in Nueva York thought.

“I want to show you something,” he said, tapping on his watch.

You waited expectantly and the screen in front of your flickered momentarily before a video started playing.

File: Gabriella.006

He didn’t even bother staring at the screen. He already knew by heart its content, and he didn’t want to revist the pain today.

No.

His eyes were fixed on you, instead.

He knew Lyla had already mentioned the event that led to him deciding to protect the multiverse.

He knew you knew of Gabriella.

Of what he had done.

Your smile dropped as the video went on, even though the sound of giggles and splashing water echoed around you.

“I’m not showing you this for you to feel bad for me.”

You shook your head, parting your eyes from the screen. “That didn’t even cross my mind.”

He paused the video.

“Right.”

Your eyes held kindness and your voice became softer. “I know why you’re showing this to me.”

He highly doubted it, but he waited for you to go on.

“We take care of each other here,” you began, twirling your chair to fully face bim. “And that means being open to showing vulnerabilities.”

He remained silent, digesting your words.

“Am I wrong?”

Partially, but he wouldn’t tell you that. The justification he had settled for in his head didn’t come close to your own.

And his heart skipped a beat.

He grown used to it happening whenever around you, but this time it felt more alarming.

More urgent.

“Miguel?”

You were eyeing him with concern, your hand reaching out to touch his arm.

He snapped out of his thoughts, and took a step back. “Send me the files you were working on yesterday. I need to check the coding.”

You gave him a nod, and he saw understanding soften your expression. He had expected you to press him on for an answer, but he was grateful you hadn’t.

“Oh, and… thank you, again. For… you know…” he drawled out as he ran a hand through his hair.

“You got it, Miguel,” you said, smiling sweetly.

Sweet girl.

His sweet girl.

It took Miguel one week to start dreaming about you.

At first, it would be a conglomerate of nonsensical blobs with your face or voice here and there. But as days went by, some began to take shape.

Your shape.

Nowadays, it would be your face and voice that would keep him company after tiring missions.

He had gotten quite fond of it.

Until things took a turn.

And he would wake up with a throbbing ache in between his legs, begging for relief.

That was when he knew he was letting his admiration for you get the best of him.

As he rose from his bed and walked to the tall window in his bedroom, he saw the sun lighting up the horizon line, bathing Nueva York in rays of orange and yellow.

He had built all of this in the hopes of a better future.

But now he started longing for one that had you in it somehow.

As a fellow spider.

A fellow scientist.

A friend, even.

He squinted as his sensitive eyes became increasingly sore from the intense light, so he moved to his bedside table and grabbed the peace of paper you had left him days ago.

Your handwriting mirrored your personality: graceful and captivating.

Maybe he should have tossed it away, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so.

Walking into his living room, he booted up the screens on the wall.

There was this crescendo inside him that urged him to look for you.

He tapped through various sections of the lan, but he found you near the refrigeration area, tapping on your chin with a pencil, as you glared at the screens in front of you.

He wanted to call you.

To hear your voice first thing in the morning.

To commend you for being up so early already and committing to your duties.

Suddenly, he saw your lips turn into a soft knowing smile, and he knew you must have figured something out.

Of course you had.

Your perception and tenacity were unmatched.

As much as he wanted to talk to you, he decided against it.

In his mind, he was too undeserving of anything more than a friendship with you.

He convinced himself that he was not good enough, and that he was meant to watch you from afar.

You were just like a flame. Too close and it burns. Too far away and it freezes.

He grazed his thumb across the screen, close to you.

His sweet, sweet girl.

It would be better off this way. Not for him, of course. He was already in too deep. But it would be better for you.

You deserved better.

But he still craved you.

Miguel recognised the feeling that was started to seep into his heart and mind. He had almost forgotten how suffocating that felt.

He couldn’t tear his eyes from your face.

He couldn’t tear his heart from your hold.

The level of despair was unmistakable and he knew exactly what this feeling was.

Frustration.

Next part (if you can’t access it, click here)

Masterlist

[politemenacephd]

The Surrogate: Part III

Miguel O'Hara X Peter B. Parker X GN!Reader (+18) Part one Part Two Series Content: Planned pregnancy, Breeding kink, PinV sex, Oral sex, Threesome, Web knotting, Aftercare, Possible Angst/fluff.

Miguel and Peter want a third child, and apparently they've run out of options. That is, except for you, their friend and colleague. They offer to cover everything, and the pay is life-changing. There's just one catch: they went to concieve naturally.

You woke up barely able to feel your own body. It was like you were just a head floating in a cotton void, soft, numb, and still. You breathed in and out through your mouth, lightly drooling on the pillow as your body regained feeling inch by inch, minute by minute.

In that sweet space between waking and dreams you felt nothing. You were just drifting away, away—

“COME ON PAPA, HURRY UP!”

Your eyes shot open as a young girl’s voice echoed in from under your bedroom door.

God, you were so sore.

You were still Miguel and Peter’s spare room, or as they’d declared it, your room.

You barely remembered falling asleep. You remembered vaguely that at around 2am you’d hit your limit, having taken both men approximately 3 to 4 times each, and Peter had tenderly made sure you were comfortable and safe before they both left.

You moved your leg across the bed and flushed as you felt it hit a wet patch to your left. Huh. Peter must have shifted you out of it so you could sleep. You didn’t even want to think about how messy that side was.

You yawned and rubbed your face as you tried to gather your thoughts.

Well, it was done. Or at least, it was started. You’d officially had sex with them both, multiple times, unprotected, while ovulating. It hit you quite hard how serious this was, how serious it’d gotten. You’d had fun last night but now dawn was breaking, and you’d have to start planning your day, thinking about how every step you took their seed was in your womb right now, possibly creating some strange amalgamation baby.

It also hit you that… you wanted to do it again. You wanted them both, you wanted those two men on you, inside you, breaking the bed with their firm, aggressive thrusts, filling you until there was no more room.

Your face flushed violently. You’d hoped you’d at least enjoy the baby-making part, since it’d suck to just have to put up with it for the money, but… you hadn’t expected to enjoy yourself THIS much, right?

Right…?

Was it, wrong, to enjoy yourself this much? You were supposed to just be here as their surrogate, their support, but you could feel your gut tightening at the thought of both men. You felt a small pang of anxiety. You knew you were supposed to be professional, so why could you not stop your mind from wandering?

Your concentration was broken when you heard voices from behind your closed door.

‘Shh! Shh, look- you deal with the girls, I’ll go make sure they’re okay.’

That was Peter speaking, you thought. You could quite easily pick up his voice now. Wait, so both men were awake? Did they think you were still asleep? Then you heard something more.

‘PAPA!’

That was the girls. They must have been dropped home this morning at some point while you were blacked out. You instinctively ducked beneath the sheets.

‘Yes, mi amor! Just a minute, go put your shoes on!’ said another low male voice. Your heart fluttered a little; that was Miguel. He appeared to be calling to who you presumed must be Gabi, before he returned to whispering with Peter. ‘Ay Dios mio- I meant to talk to them though.’

‘I’ll relay the message, big guy. Okay?’

‘Mm... Okay. Fine. Just… Come here, just, quickly—’

You heard a soft, romantic moan as the two presumably kissed against the door. You couldn’t see them, but it sounded like just a quick peck.

‘Muy guapo’ you heard Miguel whisper, his voice just barely audible as it drifted under the door. ‘You know, I kind of hope the baby is yours, biologically.’

‘Oh, really?’

You heard them chuckling and awkwardly shuffled yourself deeper into the sheets. ‘Mhm,’ Miguel confirmed. ‘You make such cute babies. I want to see another one. Pedro’s bebito, eh?’

You felt like you shouldn’t be hearing this, but… It was kind of nice, even if it was a little voyeuristic, and perhaps a little melancholic. You’d been single so long yourself that to hear their soft, romantic platitudes in private was soothing on your own heart. Nobody got to see what they were like alone.

You heard them chuckling again, and this time the door creaked a little. They must be cuddling up against it. ‘But I want another one of you’ Peter whined softly. ‘The red eyes would be so cute. Little red-eyed baby? And the wittle tiny fangs—’

‘Oye, a tiny me will be a tiny nightmare’ Miguel chuckled in a whisper. ‘I’m just glad we’ve got their genes to balance it out, if that happens.’

You blinked. They? Were they talking about you now?

‘Oh, true. Very true. Ah- I hope they’re okay. I was SHOCKED they took as much as they did’ Peter whispered. You felt your face burn up a little as you shuffled down into the sheets, suddenly aware that they thought you were still asleep. You didn’t want to come into their home and look like an eavesdropper.

‘They did a good job, we picked right’ Miguel replied. He sounded happy, despite his professional sounding tone. ‘I agree, that uh- that’s the one issue with it being a friend. I do feel bad about pushing too hard.’

‘Oo, but they liked you though’ Peter said, practically purring as their whispers continued. ‘I could feel it. My big stud did such a good job, you better be careful. You’re gonna ruin them for anyone else.’

Miguel let out a slightly huskier chuckle. ‘What, you want us to keep ‘em?’

You felt your chest grow tight. Something about this whole thing was making you anxious. They were joking about, yes, but… Joking about keeping you? In what way? As the giggling died down, you finally heard Peter’s voice drifting beneath the door once more.

‘They’re pretty aren’t they?’ Peter whispered as low as he could.

‘Ay, Pedrito—’

‘NO, don’t make that face! You know I’m right!’

‘Mm… Yeah, yeah, I know, just- Don’t make me jealous’ Miguel grunted. You heard Peter scoff and felt your face get redder.

Wait, jealous?

‘Don’t make you jealous? You big dummy- You don’t get to look at them with those dark, brooding eyes and then get mad at me for it. You’re my man, and I am yours, heart, body, and soul, but we both know, very well, that our friend is hot, and it’s making the whole thing easier. Mm? Okay? Okay, Mr big soft baby?’

You heard Miguel chuckling again, his soft, dramatic tone now gone. It seems Peter was good at calming him. ‘Mm. Whatever. Maybe you have a point’ he whispered.

‘I always have a point, thank you. Hey, actually, speaking of, uh- I got some time before work if you’re taking the kids. If it’s an option, would you- like me to try and go with them again, or—’

‘No’ Miguel said firmly, quickly shutting Peter down. You tensed a little as you sank into the sheets. ‘No’ he repeated, ‘I want to… watch, if you do. It… mm.’

Your face went bright red as you heard Miguel let out a dark, deeply sensual chuckle, the door creaking as he pushed Peter into it again. ‘You both look, real pretty, when you’re moaning like that. Making me my precious little mjito. Eh? Lemme watch you make it. Don’t tease me.’

You felt your insides flutter and pulse as you listened to Miguel’s filthy little comments about your breeding process, and from the sounds Peter was making he felt the same way.

‘We can try again tonight if they’re willing. But remember, don’t push them. They need to rest’ Miguel said, and you heard him kiss Peter on the forehead. He must have noticed the time as he was suddenly talking much faster, eager to leave.

‘Excuse me, sir, you went four times last night, I only went three. I tapped out first. I’m not the one pushing them’ Peter quietly insisted. You heard Miguel chuckle again.

‘Mm. Okay, you got me there. I did a get a little… overzealous’ he admits, only for his words to be drowned out by the screams and shouts of their daughters. You could hear May and Gabi racing through the house. You felt a slight tug in your heart; you hadn’t considered how you were supposed to interact with them yet either. You just sank deeper into the sheets.

‘Okay, I gotta go. Hasta luego, mi amor’ you heard Miguel murmur, and after what sounded like one final kiss he was gone, calling to the girls to behave and follow. You listened to their voices growing distant until at last the apartment was silent, and only then did you let your guard down.

You collapsed into the sheets and grunted.

For a few minutes, you pondered the conversation you’d overheard in a bit of a daze. The way they talked about you was certainly flattering, which was nice, but, it made you feel weird inside too. It gave you a strange, almost bittersweet form of anxiety.

You buried your face into the pillows, unable to escape the way Miguel’s deep, sensual voice hung in your ears, or the way you remembered Peter’s breath on your back as he worked you, one hand on your neck and one on your hip, curving you like a bowstring.

‘Oh, fuck’ you mumbled to yourself. ‘I’m down so bad…’

‘Hi!’

You almost fell off the edge of the bed you flinched so hard. You spun and glared at the door, only to see Peter giving you that dorky half-smile with the bright, burning light of the sun at his back. You slowly forced yourself to relax.

‘My god… Ah- hey, Peter.’

Peter beamed down at you, his smile sincere. His hair was a mess and he was wearing pyjamas under a loose pink fluffy robe, both of which looked well worn at this point. The man liked the lounge.

‘Good morning, good morning’ he said, practically purring as he crept in and sank down onto the bed beside you. You gazed up at him with curious eyes, trying hard to seem like you just woke up and didn’t hear the two men’s intimate conversation.

‘Ah… ah, good morning Peter—’ you said, stopping to give a fake yawn to sell it further. His soft, sympathetic coos informed you that it worked.

‘Oh! Look at you, so sleepy. I’m sorry to wake you but I wanted to be sure you were okay and just, you know, go over some ground rules for today.’

You blinked and instinctively went to repeat what he said. ‘The what? Ground rules for toda—’

‘OH! But first!’

Before you could even finish your question, Peter had sprung up and hurried back out into the main house, his robe flapping around him as he went. You just chuckled to yourself. What a sweet man.

A few minutes later he threw himself back through the door, now preoccupied with a plate and a glass in his hand he was trying very hard not to spill. He crept over and carefully laid them down on the bedside table. He’d brought you a very simple, plain bagel and coffee.

‘Here, ah- this is what I’d call, pre-breakfast’ he whispered. You blanched a little.

‘Pre, breakfast? What—’

‘Obviously I will feed you more!’ he insisted, both hands raised as he sank down to his knees beside the bed. ‘Or, you can uh- feed yourself more later. The fridge is open to you. I stocked up over the weekend, I had to keep wrestling May out of there because she wanted to eat it all.’

You nodded along slowly as you began taking small bites of the bagel he’d brought. It tasted good, really good, perhaps homemade?

‘Mm- You’re tryna feed me up, huh?’ you replied mid-bite. Peter beamed.

‘Mhm! Gotta make sure you’re well taken care of’ he said, his voice strangely affectionate. Seemingly unable to help himself his eyes roamed down to your belly beneath the sheets, his gaze darting a little, as if he could somehow see the process occurring inside you. It made you strangely shy.

You’d been fine with the arrangement, of course, but it was weird to feel yourself being looked at like a broodmare. You felt how differently Peter talked to you compared to Miguel.

But then his head shot up, and he grinned at you again. ‘Can I see?’

‘Can you see wha- AH!’

You squeaked as he pushed the sheets aside and physically threw himself onto your lower torso, burying himself into your stomach. He squished you hard, his hands grabbed fistfuls of fat and muscle to squeeze, as he held you taut to his face and lovingly smothered your bare skin.

‘MM! Mm! You did so good’ he hissed affectionately, the words flying from his lips as he raised his head. He found you utterly confused, frozen in surprise, with his hands still gripping you tight. ‘You did good’ he repeated in a whisper, his soft smile widening. ‘You did really well. I mean really. The first time I tried to sleep with Miggy I think I nearly passed out. He was ah- a little less restrained back then, to be fair, but—’

He paused mid-ramble as he realized you were still frozen in shock, and his smile turned lopsided.

‘Ah… Sorry. Am I being too much?’ he whispered. You instinctively shook your head, your eyes still unblinkingly fixed on his face. ‘N-No. No! No. it’s fine’ you stammered back. ‘Just- ah, thank you, I guess. I was a little nervous but it, went better than I expected?’

‘Much better! Much better’ Peter reiterated as he sank down beside you. ‘You did an excellent job.’

‘Mm..’ You couldn’t help but chuckle a little at his gleeful expression as you took another bite. ‘Well, again, thanks. So uh, what did you wanna ask, Peter?’

‘OH!’ Peter cried as he clapped his hands, ‘I just wanted to make sure you were okay! And also ah- oh, yes, make sure you know general rules for living here.’

‘I know the rules Peter, I read the contract Miguel sent’ you scoffed a little.

‘You- you did? But- my god, it was almost 30 pages long’ Peter suddenly hissed, seemingly genuinely confused by the idea that you actually read the contract you’d been given. You rolled your eyes again.

‘Yes. I read it. I take my job seriously.’

‘Oh, I know you do’ Peter said, his voice still low but now taking on a slightly subdued flirty tone. ‘You took me very seriously last night.’

‘Peter!’

You gently slapped his thigh as he tried not to chuckle. ‘Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Let’s start again. So… How are you doing?’ Peter asked, holding his arms out as a gesture of goodwill. You huffed and gave him a tilted smile.

‘Hm. I’m fine, don’t worry. A little sore but not that bad, I’ll be better by this evening, I think. No bruises, no uh- lasting damage, you know.’

You noticed the way Peter’s eyes roamed a little as you mentioned the state of your body. They widened just a little when you mentioned being better this evening. ‘Mhm. Mhm. Okay! Well, that’s great then. So, I need to head off to work in a few minutes, but I wanted you to know the house is all yours. I can go wherever you want, you can use the kitchen to your heart's content, you can use the TV, the games console, we have a few books but uh- neither of us read as much as we should. Obviously, just, exercise the usual safety precautions you would with everything. We know you will, just- yanno.’

‘Peter come on, it’s still me’ you scoffed. ‘You don’t need to talk to me like I’m a total stranger.’

Peter pouted a little. ‘I KNOW, I know, but I rehearsed! Also if I don’t talk professionally I will get VERY inappropriate very fast, so—’

‘Okay! Okay. Gimme your prepared speech then, before you wind up balls deep in me again’ you teased, lightly punching his shoulder. The way his mischievous brown eyes narrowed in response made you just a little warm inside.

‘Mhm. Very funny. Like I said, you’re free to leave, obviously, I left you a spare set of keys on the kitchen counter by the fruit bowl. Everything in the fridge is available except the leftover empanadas and the big stack of unflavoured protein shakes, that’s Miguel’s, he won’t get mad if you touch ‘em but he WILL give you that sad little disappointed pout and talk very curtly for the rest of the day so PLEASE avoid them!’

You couldn’t help but chuckle at Peter’s warning. ‘Oh, yeah, sounds about right. Don’t worry, I wasn’t exactly craving unflavoured protein shake.’

‘Good, because they’re disgusting’ Peter insisted, causing you to laugh again. He then gave you one final smile before noticing the time on the bedside alarm clock, and with a sigh, he pushed himself up. ‘Okay! Well, I gotta head out. You take care, okay? I’ll see you later!’

You raised your hand to say goodbye only for Peter to hurry off, leaving you alone in bed once more. You shifted a little awkwardly in the rich, silk sheets. ‘Ah, sure thing, Peter. See you later’ you said, your voice lingering in the empty air, and in the distance, you heard the front door slam shut.

…

You spent the rest of the day getting accustomed to their house. You had a few days off work to adjust, luckily Miguel had ensured that, but already you were finding it a little boring without your friends.

Their apartment was certainly plush. You could admire it properly now; it had huge window walls overlooking the city, giving a perfect view of the moon rocket, the distant skyrise buildings, and of course the Spider Society HQ standing tall in its center. The windows initially surprised you since Miguel’s eyes were slightly sensitive to sunlight, but as you explored you quickly realized they were tinted with an almost invisible holographic sheen to stop the light from getting through in the same way.

They had a big open-plan kitchen and living room in the same beautiful modern shades of white and black. Everything looks very organized spare for the children’s drawings and toys strewn about the walls and floor. It seemed despite his need for perfection Miguel couldn’t bring himself to impose the same thing on his and Peter’s daughters.

You kept having to jump over balls of webbing and plush spider toys to get to where you wanted to go. It was… almost endearing.

You were left to muse your position and slowly adjust. You made breakfast with the copious amounts of food in the fridge, and you made lunch in the same way. You dozed on the huge, plush couch with your legs up and a thick blanket covering you and caught up on your favorite shows.

As the day wound into the afternoon, a storm came over, blanketing the city in heavy rain and darkness.

You did what you’d usually do on a weekend day off, but… all with a slight niggling thought at the back of your mind. It was the thought reminding you of what you’d done, of what could be happening inside you right now. Miguel’s baby, or Peter’s baby, just- sitting inside you.

You had to wonder how your relationship would change when it happened. You’d been naively certain nothing would change between the three of you after doing this, or after getting pregnant, but you were realizing that just couldn’t be true. They were still your friends of course, without a doubt, but… You had a craving now. A craving for something new, something sweet. Something you’d eventually… have to give up.

Because you were their friend, here to do a job. Nothing more.

You didn’t even notice your body drifting to sleep on the couch. As your mind went wild with a million scenarios you drifted off on the plush cushions, lulled by the rain, white noise, and warmth surrounding you on all fronts.

You only woke to the sound of childish giggling, something that was very unusual in your day-to-day life.

‘Shh! Shh, don’t say anything!’

A strange, muffled voice filled your ears, forcing you to flutter your eyelids open.

You immediately yelped.

Mayday and Gabi were kneeling by the couch barely an inch from your face. The girls were grinning as they looked you up and down, and they giggled more when you tried to scramble backward.

‘HI!’ May squealed, waving her hand. You awkwardly raised your own. Oh god, what did you do? What did you say? You’d forgotten that you’d have to engage with these two.

‘I… H-Hi, there’ you stammered. The girls began pulling on the couch as if trying to get closer.

‘You’re daddy’s friend, right?! You’re here to give us a sibling, right?’ May said, bold and unbothered in a way only a child can be. You felt heat rising to your face.

‘I… Y-Yeah, I am. Your, dads told you about that, huh?’ you said awkwardly. You were forced to make room then as the two girls sat beside you, eyeing you up with curious gazes.

‘Yeah! Dad said they gotta get your help to make it. I hope it’s a girl again!’ May crowed. ‘You’re here carrying the baby for them, right?’ Gabi added, the slightly older of the two being more tactful with her response.

You slowly nodded again. ‘Y-Yeah… Yeah, I’m just- carrying the baby, since they can’t.’

‘So, are you gonna be our parent too?’ May asked loudly, already moving to braid and play with your hair. You grunted at the intrusion but felt too bad to make her stop.

‘Aha, ah- n-not quite, sweetheart’ you said with a nervous laugh. ‘I’m just—’

‘If you’re gonna be another parent then you have to take my side!’ May blurted, putting her chubby hands on her little hips. ‘Papa tells me, I can’t have sugar before bed, a-and daddy says I can’t either! So if I have YOUR vote, then maybe I can win next time!’

You made mental notes in your head as you dumbly nodded; Okay, papa must be Miguel, and daddy was Peter.

‘Papa won’t let you just out-vote them, Maymay, it's not how math works! There’s two of them and ONE of them, it doesn’t work!’ Gabi drawled, smugly folding her arms. May scowled and stuck out her tongue, something Gabi immediately returned. You awkwardly tried to butt in again.

‘Well, I—’

‘Will you watch Bluey with me?’ May garbled a little, gently slapping your arm as she sat down on your stomach without warning. You let out a soft oof, but couldn’t help laughing, especially as Gabi settled at your head in a calmer, cross-legged position.

‘Ah- well, I—’

‘If you watch Bluey with me, you can be my third parent’ May said, gently slapping your arm. Bit by bit, to your surprise, you smiled. Her energy and boundless joy were infectious. What a sweet kid.

‘Sure’ you said gently. ‘Sure, okay, I’ll watch Bluey with you.’  

May beamed at you, giving a gap-toothed grin with her big blue eyes and wild ginger hair covering her forehead. You smiled back.

‘Girls! Girls, girls, come here you!’

As you stammered with surprise Peter suddenly appeared, swooping in to your rescue as he lifted the girls into his arms. He held both as they squealed and waved their arms. For a moment, you felt bad that you’d been interrupted.

‘Mi amors! My little demons, mm—’ Peter chuckled as he kissed both girls on the cheek one after the other, going over and over until they squealed and begged him to stop.

‘What did I tell you about pestering our guest? Now, did you at least say HELLO to daddy’s friend?’ Peter said firmly, raising them both to look at you. May groaned while Gabi giggled.

‘Hi, daddy’s friend!’ they both said in unison.

‘Hi, papa’s friend.’

That dark, husky voice filled the apartment, and while the girls squealed you felt your body melt at the sound. You watched Miguel slip in and throw his work down on the kitchen counter so he could scoop up his girls as they ran toward him. His stoic face softened and melted as he pulled the girls towards him.

‘Mi amors, mis pollitos, cómo fue tu día?’ he whispered to them both, letting them tug on his hair and touch his cheeks with infinite patience.

You watched from the side as he talked to his daughters, feeling your heart melt even further at the sight. He looked so effortlessly calm here. While they vied for his attention though, he did shoot you one look. It was a glance only, but you swore you saw his lips tilt into another smile.

‘Pst, hey!’

You jumped and turned to see Peter leaning over you, a huge smile on his face.

‘Come by our bedroom later, once the girls are asleep’ Peter whispered into your ear, instinctively making you freeze. Your face flushed.

‘You- oh, uh… Okay, sure’ you said, but before you could ask why he’d run off to blow raspberries on May’s cheek, tenderly lifting her up and swinging her around the living room. You watched them with a mixture of endearment and confusion.

Come by later? Did… did they want to go again?

It felt like a full age passed as you made your way through the motions of the evening. You ate with the family slightly awkwardly, making small talk where you could. Miguel made an effort to include you, as did Peter, but you still felt like an outsider sitting here while this family chatted and laughed and talked about their day.

You spent the rest of the evening in your bedroom, waiting until it went quiet. Once the girls were asleep, and at least a half hour after that, you decided to sneak out and see what was going on exactly.

When you approached their bedroom door you heard soft laughter inside, which made you pause. It felt strangely intrusive entering their home like this, even though they’d asked for you. It felt… voyeuristic.

You paused for a second before forcing yourself to push it open.

‘Ah, there you are!’

The moment the door creaked open Peter looked over and beckoned for you to approach, his face spread into an eager grin. You took a moment to admire their room as you entered. It was gorgeous, a wide spread of blacks and reds and whites, with high ceilings and paneled walls and a walk-in closet with holographic attachments.

Their bed was huge too, one that was built for dual purpose. It was a bed built for a very large man who liked to move and get rough, who wanted space to throw his partners around, but also a bed with enough space for a whole family to cuddle in on a lazy morning.

Miguel and Peter were currently on the cough though.

You approached with a flushed face, surprised at how bold they were being. They’d clearly been messing around before you arrived, as Peter’s shirt was slightly torn at the hem and unbuttoned down to his pecs, and he had slightly bloody bite marks on his neck.

What you noticed the most though was Miguel’s very obvious erection beneath his pants, one that was throbbing a little beneath the fabric. You felt your body tense as his beautiful red eyes looked you up and down.

‘Sorry, ah- we weren’t sure you wanted to come in’ Peter said as you approached, gesturing to his neck with a dorky half-smile. ‘We didn’t mean to get started early.’

‘Oh. Ah- no, it’s fine’ you murmured. Miguel just grunted.

‘How did you hold up last night, and this morning? Are you in any pain at all?’ Miguel asked in that husky voice, putting Peter and his own arousal aside to lean forward and look you over. You flushed as his eyes undressed you in your pajamas, roaming up your legs, hips, and belly.

‘N-No, no I’m fine’ you insisted. He fixed you with a look to ensure you were telling the truth, then grunted his approval. ‘Did you settle in okay?’ he then asked.

‘Y-Yes, it was all fine. The kitchen was, easy to use.’

‘Were you comfortable?’

‘Y-Yes.’

‘I don’t mean for this to sound like an interrogation, hermosa/o, I’m making conversation’ Miguel said, now raising both brows. You went stiff.

You hadn’t realized how, after getting so stuck in your own head, you’d forgotten that you were friends. You knew Miguel and Peter. You used to talk so normally. You swallowed all of that down and let out a small, familiar chuckle.

‘Your house is a mess, my guy, you’re- clearly baby whipped, those girls run this place, but… I can see why. They’re really sweet’ you said. Miguel’s smile widened, flashing a full fang.

‘There, that’s better’ Miguel chuckled in that husky tone. ‘I want you talking like that when we’re done…’

‘So, you… Wait, you do want to try again? With me?’ you asked then, your eyes darting between the two. Miguel didn’t nod, instead raising both brows as he looked you up and down.

‘Try again?’ he murmured back at you. Despite feeling like it was a reasonable question, his presence always made you feel a little dumb. You swallowed hard. ‘Try for, the… baby.’

‘Oh’ he grunted back, his eyes roaming for a second time. You froze up for one agonizing second before noticing that his lips were tilting into a smile. ‘I mean I guess, yes, but… It was more, whether you want to just, have fun, while we can.’

You almost squeaked. Wait, they just wanted to have sex for the hell of it?

‘O-Only if you want to, of course!’ Peter added quickly. Miguel grunted at him. ‘That went without saying’ he murmured, his low, calm voice a total contrast to Peter’s.

‘No, I… I mean, I do’ you said, the words coming out of your mouth just a little too quickly. Miguel smirked, and you felt yourself sweating all over again.

‘Do you want me to make you cum again, hermosa/o?’ Miguel asked smoothly, almost politely, in a way that made your knees tremble. His unwavering eye contact made you feel so damn small.

‘Or… are you eager to get on?’

His slippery tongue whispering those last words sealed the deal. You felt your entrance clench as if tying itself in knots beneath the fiery gaze of his eyes, his faint smirk, the flash of a fang behind his lips. Peter watched with a hand covering his mouth to avoid showing his own smirk.

‘I… I-It’s up to you, Miguel’ you replied in a slightly stilted manner, stammering over your words. His eyes softened just a little.

‘No, hermosa/o. It’s up to you’ he said, his sweet voice dipping into something more soothing. ‘This isn’t just about us.

You swallowed hard and got to thinking. The more you thought about last night, and the more you thought about how it’d felt to be held, crushed, filled, fucked to the brim by that enormous man…

‘I- just, wanna get on’ you said, panting slightly with the confession. Miguel grinned.

‘Then get on, hermosa/o.’

Miguel lay back and let you and Peter jointly unbuckle and shift his pants down, letting his hefty cock spring forth with such force it almost scared you. Peter groaned at the sight, unable to stop himself from gently kissing Miguel’s neck like he was worshipping a God, and you were left to carefully strip your own clothes aside.

His eyes didn’t leave you, not once. He was locked on as you stripped, and Peter wasn’t much better.

‘Gorgeous’ he whispered, ‘you’re doing so good…’

You mounted Miguel’s lap slowly, like someone trying to saddle up a horse that was much too large. It was almost intimidating to shift your legs around his thick, muscular thighs and clamber on.

He must have noticed this, because his huge hand came down to cup your rear for stability, taking a soft little squeeze of your right ass cheek as you tried to settle. Your resulting squeak of surprise made his member twitch with excitement.

‘There, hermosa/o, down you go’ he murmured, gently easing your hips towards his shaft. You felt it pushing up, the tip twitching for a second time as it started to bury itself into your folds. Another squeak escaped your lips, followed by a low, dull moan.

‘Yeah… That’s it…’

Peter watched with his head on his fist, admiring how nervous you looked despite your arousal.

Miguel held you there, his red eyes darkening with arousal and amusement as he gently nudged his member at your clit, his claws digging into the soft fat of your rear as he gripped you in place. He let the smooth, velvety skin of his tip rub at that little swollen nub until you started to mewl.

‘Come on, mi amor, don’t tease’ Peter said, but he was purring the entire time he talked. He pressed a few soft kisses to Miguel’s neck, something that in the swirling chaos of emotions you were already feeling caused a little pang of jealousy.

‘Get me wet, then, and I’ll get to work’ Miguel grunted. You squeaked then as you were lifted up into the air by Miguel, almost like you weighed nothing despite your size, and Peter moved beneath you instead. To your private joy, he kissed your thigh before going down and eagerly swallowing as much of Miguel’s cock as he could.

His soft, breathy moans filled your ears and made you quiver, your cunt clenching with arousal at the sound, and especially at the look on Miguel’s face. That big man let his eyes roll, his tongue snaking out to lick at his lower lip and fangs only to let them quiver as he felt his thick, veiny shaft being sucked down.

‘Mmmfff—yeah’ he grunted hard, almost growling. Peter only took a few pumps before pulling back and coyly wiping his mouth, only to then use that same hand to give your right ass cheek a wet, firm slap.

‘Alright, go on, giddy up gorgeous’ he panted, and without giving you a chance to even offer a snide rebuttal you were dropped down and thrust into hard by Miguel.

You were in too much shock to even scream. You just felt your eyes roll as your soul ascended, as that perfect, meaty, veiny shaft pumped its hot way into your cunt, smooth and wet with saliva and pre-cum. Your lips parted into a silent scream of ecstasy, as Miguel bit his lip until it bled to avoid screaming with you. You squeezed that throbbing organ like a fist.

Despite thinking you’d be the one riding Miguel refused to give up control for long. He started throwing his hips as he leaned back on the sofa, his arms behind his head as he threw you about like you were riding a bull. He made you bounce, made every inch of you jiggle with the force, his thick member punching at your cervix until you begged for release.

But you couldn’t get too loud this time, so Peter was forced to tenderly cover your mouth and muffle your moans while checking to ensure you weren’t uncomfortable.

‘There, good, good, well done’ he purred in your ear, his breath hot and sweet as it stirred your nape. ‘Good.’

You were once again torn between Miguel’s violent, domineering thrusts, his thick pumps and sweaty, hairy thighs bucking up against you, his bared fangs and dark eyes, and Peter’s soft, kindly words in your ear as he nestled and soothed you.

It was when you felt your orgasm rising that you were once again met with something new. Miguel moved in too, kissing Peter’s lips before nestling into your cheek, as if the closeness aided in his arousal.

You could feel it yourself; his member twitching at your cervix, kissing your womb, closely followed by a full throb that rose up through the veins in his shaft and resulted in a little quiver. He was enjoying this too.

‘Mm… that’s it…’

You were in a total daze with both men on either side, nuzzling each other and then nuzzling you as you were jostled on Miguel’s lap. You could feel at that point that Peter was equally as erect, his own length twitching and making a mess of your thigh with his thick pre-cum.

As your glazed-over eyes met him, you saw his mischievous, hungry smile, his hot breath hitting your parted lips. You knew you’d be riding him next.

‘Make that baby for us, hermosa/o’ Miguel whispered.

‘Make us proud’ Peter moaned.

You knew, at that moment, that this was going to get messy. You also knew that, at this point, you didn’t care.

[shawnxstyles]

the only one

DATE: JANUARY 2, 2024

summary: you go on your first date with peter, and it ends even better than you could have ever expected. ;)

request: yes!

words: 6.3k

warnings: SMUT (f-receiving [oral, fingering, multiple orgasms], protected sex, dirty talk), language, and the most gentlemanly man.

note: i cannot believe i’m finally writing another gyno!peter after all this time… anyway, this is NOT an actual series, simply just more situations/scenes of these two together!

gynecologist!peter x patient!y/n

–

Every date that you’ve been on in the past never made you this nervous. You didn’t spend two hours just deciding on what to wear and taking an extra hour to prepare yourself. You worked for a fashion magazine, editing and reviewing comments and critiques. You were surrounded by clothes and creativity all day, but struggled to pick a “first-date look” from your closet. You swore you read something about that before…

You never thought first dates were anything more than a simple introduction, a first impression of another human being. It was one of the foundations of the question, “Could I get along well enough with this person to go on a second date?”.

You had only been on two first dates: one with your ex, who you were with for four months, and recently with that guy from your work. The second one was mainly just a hook-up, and the first one obviously led to some type of relationship that didn’t work out in the end. Maybe you didn’t have enough experience in the dating world to be wondering if the amount of nerves you had right now was healthy.

Your hands were clammy as you strapped on your black heels. You noticed you were swallowing more frequently than normal, and you didn’t understand why. When you looked in the mirror, your hands flattened out your black dress more times than you could count, ridding wrinkles that aren’t even there.

After your appointment a few weeks ago, you had texted Peter. More specifically, you texted him the next day. Immediately after simply saying hello and your name, you thought of how many other people he may have given his phone number to. Or worse, how many people he had fingered in his office… You started worrying if you shouldn’t have texted him at all because he was a doctor. He was probably too busy for anything. It was just a nice gesture, maybe?

But an hour later, in the evening, he had texted you back with a short apology. He was working a little past the clock in order to get more doctor stuff done. Even his texts were sweet with a dab of charm. How do women control themselves around him?

Or maybe it was just you, and you were a fucking weirdo.

Yeah it could be that.

Peter and you went on to texting every now and then to texting daily. Texting him was something to look forward to after a long day at work. It also became pretty clear that he wasn’t texting anyone else because well, he was working throughout the day doing doctor stuff while you were doing editor stuff. He would even text you during his lunch break and that always made your heart skip to see his message in the middle of the day.

One night in particular, you were complaining to Peter (yes, you had gotten to the point where you could complain about little inconveniences) about your sink malfunctioning. Instead of asking you to send pictures of the pipes under the sink, he had you FaceTime him. It was the first time you guys have ever called and the second time you’ve ever seen his face, so your heart was a little race-y. But when that charming, wide grin flashed on your screen, he easily slipped into conversation. Peter helped you fix your sink with a little wrench movement along with replacing a broken screw through the phone.

It wasn’t awkward. It was relieving.

You didn’t have to force a certain personality in order to engage in a conversation with him. You felt more yourself than you ever have when talking to him, flowing easily like two streams into one. You hadn’t even realized how late it was by the time you guys ended the call until he was gone. The serenity of your place felt a little more emptier than usual without the sound of his beautiful accent from your speaker. It was nearly midnight by the time you went to bed, wondering how things would be if you and Peter took your friendship a bit further.

Would talking always be this simple? Would he always be this charming?

After that night, you would make excuses to call him. He never denied you, even after he told you he had a long day at the hospital. You guys were not only texting now, but calling daily. You would get excited for his texts and calls, looking forward to talking to him. That’s when you realized you wanted more with him. It felt like you knew each other forever, but it had merely been a few weeks. You wanted to go on a date with him, wanted to be with him in person again. And of course, your mind wandered to the thought of how he is in bed.

If he was that good with just his quick fingers, then how good was he with more space and time? You began to dream about it.

Then he finally asked you. It was so sudden, you honestly didn’t expect it.

You were debriefing your plans for the week and what you had to do at work.

“Sometimes, I feel like my life is on repeat,” You chuckle, but it sounds tired.

“You’re always doing the same thing every week?” Peter questions. He found that he loves just listening to you talk for hours about whatever. He prompts you with questions, and you always answer thoroughly. It’s like an unspoken routine for you two.

“I mean, it feels like that. I never have time to go out and do anything. And when I do, I don’t go out,” You half-smile to yourself as you look down at your lap. You sounded kind of lame, so you were trying not to cringe at yourself.

“You told me your agenda for this week, but what about Saturday and Sunday?”

“Oh, well, you know I don’t work on the weekends. Sometimes, I get extra stuff done at home, but only because I’m bored. I watch TV…” You squint your eyes, trying to think of things you do on the weekend when you’re not busy. “You know, I’m listening to what I’m saying, and I am so lame. God, I need a life outside of work.”

“You’re not lame. Just busy. Give yourself some credit,” he waves off your dig at yourself, and you don’t stop yourself from smiling. He’s just too nice. You can’t take your eyes off him through the small screen as he watches you back.

“Yeah, yeah. Enough about me. What are your weekend plans?” You definitely talk too much, so you always attempt to ask him questions back.

“Well, I was thinking of taking you out,” he very casually says, nonchalantly staring at you through the camera. “Unless you’re busy watching TV.”

“W-What?” Heat crawled up your neck and ears, skin flaming off of his quick words. He’s always charming and always confident with you, so why are you surprised he’s this smooth? You wonder if he’s been thinking about it for a while or if he just got the idea randomly. “Are you serious?”

“Yes. Unless you don’t want to. In that case, I am joking…”

“I want to, Peter,” You smile with the words. It feels impossible to lower your cheek muscles because of the giddiness coursing through you. “If I’m honest, I’ve kind of been waiting for you to ask me.”

“I was a little slow, yeah?”

“Yeah, both the turtle and the hare beat you to the finish line,” His wonderful laugh echoes through the speaker of your phone, and it fills you with warmth.

While other people have belittled you and forced you to be one way, Peter naturally allows you to be yourself. Your wit flourishes, and your insecurities fade into unique parts of you. Whether you two are friends or more, you need more people like Peter in your life.

After you two had confirmed the plans for Saturday, you two both went to bed when the call ended. When your head hits the pillow, it’s instantly filled with scenarios of you and Peter. Mostly how your first date might go. Is he the type to pull out a chair for you? Definitely. Would he pay without a second glance? Probably, knowing he has that doctor paycheck. Would he kiss you after walking you back to your door? Maybe, maybe not.

But he did finger-fuck you in his office, so nothing is really that impossible.

So, you let your mind wander for the rest of the night while you sleep peacefully. Yes, you had some great dreams.

–

Instead of texting you that he’s here, Peter knocks on your door. The sound itself made your heart accelerate instantly as you stride quickly to answer it. You’ve been overthinking all the ways that this day could go bad, seriously hoping that it doesn’t.

“Hey,” Peter says, clearly eyeing you up and down. He sounds slightly breathless, but not as if he just ran to your door. No, more like he’s speechless. But you could just be overanalyzing every little detail.

“Hey,” As you repeat the word back, you’re both silent for a second. It’s not awkward as it is tense. You’re both just observing and taking in the appearance of the other, appreciating the time and effort in the looks. Peter’s wearing a navy button-up with black slacks. The first two buttons are undone, giving you a peek at his seemingly smooth chest. He’s not wearing a jacket, so you get a view of his arms. From the way the rich fabric stretches around his muscles, it’s obvious that he works out. He just keeps getting better. He continues to check more of your boxes. “Let me just go grab my purse really quick.”

You snatch your bag off of the coffee table after checking you have everything. What if his one flaw is that he won’t pay for at least half the dinner? You must prepare for all the possible outcomes.

“You look brilliant,” You can see him swallow before his compliment, and you wonder if he’s as nervous as you are. He never makes it a point to look even the slightest bit unsure, which you admire. He’s very charming, which takes a lot of confidence, and he’s very good at it. When he asked you out in his office, you saw that persona slip just a tad, enough for you to see that he is human and that he gets nervous too. You found him adorable. You still do.

“You as well,” You blush as you shut the door behind you. The two of you walk to his car, and of course, he opens the door for you. You can’t stop blushing. “Seriously, how do you make such a simple outfit look so good?”

“Unbutton it,” he answers before gently shutting your door closed. Your mind instantly went to places that it shouldn’t have, making your skin burn. You thought about unbuttoning his shirt slowly and sensually until it fell down his bulky arms. You thought about unbuttoning his slacks and palming his cock. He would be so hard for you, and you didn’t hesitate to get on your knees. God, you wished it was real because you truly would not hesitate for this man.

You shake your head, attempting to rid yourself of those dirty thoughts, so you can have a peaceful date. A first date with Peter.

–

When you guys get to the restaurant, that small voice in the back of your head expects it to be awkward the second you sit down. But once again, you were proven incorrect.

Peter instantly engages in a smooth conversation, asking how your week was overall. You told him all about work and the papers you’re reviewing, and he told you about some of his patients. Every time he mentions anything doctor related, it just makes you swoon. It’s impressive how intelligent he is, and even more so how hard he works. It’s obvious he loves what he does, and you never realized that loving one’s passion was a must-have in your partner checklist.

You also just love the way he talks. His accent makes your skin hot and your spine tingle. Your mind wanders to places it shouldn’t more often than not. And his gaze never leaves yours, only when talking to the waiter when ordering.

There is never a dull moment. Even as you were patiently waiting for your food, you still found things to talk about.

“What do you think they’re celebrating?” he asks, observing two people in the back corner with smiles on their faces.

“They’re dressed nicely, and they’re holding hands too much to be together for that long. I’m going to guess the three or four month anniversary.”

“What about them?” he nudges his head in the direction of the people not too far from you two, sitting with straight faces.

“Oh, they’re not celebrating. Probably breaking up.”

“Who goes to such a nice restaurant for a break-up?”

“I don’t know. Sounds like rich people problems to me,” You joke, and you both share a chuckle. It feels nice to casually chat and people watch with somebody else. When your food arrives, you both eat with more adding silence, slipping in words slowly.

“Did I tell you you look really good tonight?” Peter changes the topic, eyes fixating back onto you.

“Yes… Thank you,” You feel yourself blushing all over your body. You use your napkin to wipe your lips, but you’re really using it to protect your face. It was so obvious what his words did to you, that’s probably why he said them. Suddenly, the room feels a little too hot, even just in your dress. “Took me a while to find out what to wear.”

“You could have worn a garbage bag and still looked great,” Peter says, causing you to roll your eyes.

“Oh, stop it. You’re such a charmer. What’s your game? What do you want?” Your words are playful, but the look in Peter’s eye seems more serious. More powerful and heated. Eyes you haven’t seen for a long time in another person, and it freezes you still. The only thing that’s countering the lust circling his irises is the uprising smirk on his lips.

“To take you home.”

Boy, was he a charmer.

“Don’t ask if I’m kidding because I’m not,” he adds, setting down his napkin on the table. He leans over, a curl falling onto his forehead. A hand reaches halfway across the white cloth and rests delicately on your hand. Even his touch was warm and soft, not forceful in any way. “If you want, I’d like to.”

“I…” You were speechless. You knew what your answer would be, but you were just starstruck. How can one person be so gentlemanly yet hot? Cocky yet so sweet? God really didn’t give anyone a chance when making Peter. “Yes, I would like that a lot.”

Your thumb rubs reassuring circles on his thumb while you smile like a fool. Peter’s smirk only got bigger as the night went on.

–

You talked. You laughed. You smiled.

But as he drove you to his house, you got nervous again. Maybe you guys would do something as normal as watch a movie. Maybe even cuddle a bit. But you really, really hoped it was more. Especially after your first meeting, you knew Peter wasn’t too shy about sexual matters. However, maybe he didn’t want to do that with you yet and just wanted to take things slow.

But his office…

When his hand was on yours on the table, your memory was brought back right to the moment of his fingers inside of you in the chair. You remembered the feeling of him pushing his digit in and out repeatedly and how good it felt when he removed his latex gloves. Your core rumbled with lust, getting off on the mere fantasy of it all.

When you arrive at his house, you both silently get out of the car. Besides the sound of nature, you could only hear your racing heart and how it was racking against your ribcage in intense beats. He unlocks his door, keying jingling while the breeze flows past. You’re hyper-aware of every noise as if Peter could hear your choppy breath. When he finally opens the door, he lets you in first and you smile, trying to not let your obvious nerves surface.

But you clearly fail when he points it out.

“What are you thinkin’ about?” Your eyes lock on his hands as he rests his key on his door side table and feet as he casually slips off his dress shoes. Everything about him was mesmerizing. You swear you could just watch a documentary of a regular day in his life and you could be starry-eyed.

“Bunch of things.” But it was really just one thing.

“Care to share?” Peter shifts to the kitchen and you follow him like a helpless dog, clutching your bag for dear life.

“I keep thinking about…the last time we were together,” the words fall from your mouth as you round the counter. You felt like you needed to create some distance between you two if you were going to admit something like that.

“What about it?” Peter’s knack to ask questions right now is making your face burn from embarrassment under his bright kitchen lights. He grabs two glasses and fills them up with fridge water without even asking if you wanted some.

“You know, the fun part,” You round the counter to reach the water, slowly taking a sip. When you set the glass down, your eyes don’t leave his chest. You’re too afraid to look into his eyes.

“I thought it was all pretty fun,” he says, placing down his own glass and taking one large step towards you “Especially the part where you came all over my hand.”

Your skin flames, eyes peering at him for a moment before dashing away. His finger slides beneath your chin to turn your face back to him. He could feel your radiating heat and could see the widening of your pupils under the luminous lights.

“Were you thinking of that?” His finger directs your chin upwards, forcing you to look at him. His voice was low and husky, only for you to hear. “Because I haven’t stopped since the day I walked out of that room.”

“Peter…”

“Just say the word, honey, and I’ll kiss you right now.”

You could just melt into a puddle on the floor of his kitchen. His words are so sensual, there is no way you could ever say no to this man. He’s irresistible without trying too hard.

“Please,” You mustered out seemingly breathless while your eyes were locked into his surely.

He doesn’t miss the beat. His head turns as his lips crash against yours. Your lower back hits the island of the counter of marble, but you don’t flinch. His lips electrocute yours, sending jolts of energy coursing through your body like a shock. Your hands naturally find his neat yet messy styled hair on his nape, fingers rummaging through the curly ends. One of his hands holds your waist down from moving as if he already knows you’re antsy to grind on him. His other caresses your jaw in a stable position, the type of dominance you’ve been craving since that day in his office.

His hand goes underneath your thigh, leading you to wrapping your legs around his waist. You thought he was going to sit you on the counter, but he walked all the way to a bedroom without breaking the kiss.

Peter gently lays you on the bed, causing you to depart from the kiss. He wordlessly goes to unbutton his shirt, but you quickly sit up to do it. You’ve been thinking about doing it since he picked you up, so it only seems right that your fantasy comes true, right?

Just like you imagined, you slowly flicked off the buttons and delicately removed the fabric until it was a bundle of cloth on the floor. On the edge of the bed on your knees, you stare up at Peter with a lustful glint in your eye. That glowy look caused Peter to kiss you again, hungrier than before. His force makes you fall onto the mattress again, making you gasp. He trails down your neck in sloppy kisses, touching every inch of your neck and chest with his lips.

“Where did you get this dress?” You didn’t expect him to ask you that while he was groping your breasts through the material. You moan at the feeling of his rough thumbs on your nipples. It’s very distracting while you try to remember where you got the dress that is currently in the way.

“Um Zara? I-I don’t remember,” You moan loudly, not having time to conceal it as he suckles a mark on your neck.

“Do you like it?”

“What?”

“The dress.”

“S-Sure, yeah. It’s-It’s not my favorite, though,” His tousled hair tickles your face as he gets closer to your boobs.

“Maybe you should have worn a garbage bag.”

“Why?” You pull back a little, moving his head up so you can see his face. You thought maybe you would see some expression of disgust, but he only has pure enjoyment. His soft smile turns into a smirk that you’re growing really fond of. It means he’s about to do something hot.

“Because then I wouldn’t feel so bad about ripping it off of you.”

Just like that, the thin straps are easily snapped from his large hands while he yanks the long dress down your body and onto the floor. His mouth instantly went onto your nipple, sucking until he was satisfied with the raw peak of it. He repeated the same movement the opposite one until you were a panting mess, huffing and puffing from just his mouth on your chest.

You can tell he knows how to do this. Yes, he works in gynecology so it’s a benefit that he knows the female body inside and out. But he’s actually skilled in his technique. Although he is hungry and nearly primal, he takes his time with certain areas, making your body want him more and more each time. It’s incredibly smart, and you’re wondering why every man doesn’t know how to properly treat a woman.

You don’t even know your body the way he seems to know it.

His mouth is at your panties before you could even process it. Right when you think he’s about to widen your legs like you so desperately want him to, he stops when his hands rest on your knees gently. He had been going at a fast pace, but now, he’s slow and controlled. Taunting in a way. Torturing.

“I’m going to remove these now, yeah?” He knows you want it now because he has you in his bed right where you want to be. His tone is not as shy as it had been in the office. It’s more controlling yet still soft. “Words, Y/N.”

That demand was all too similar to his words back in the chair with his hands on your waist. He was about to pull off your underwear then for professional reasons, and now, he’s going to yank them off for selfish ones.

“Please take them off,” Just like you had then, you clenched around nothing. Just his sensual words that make you spiral into horny oblivion. Your wavering tone makes him smile as he tugs down the thin material from your legs, tossing them somewhere in the room.

Then he finally widens your legs, facing your aching pussy that hasn’t forgotten about him since all those weeks ago. You were throbbing and leaking to the damn bed sheets, but you couldn’t give a fuck less. You wanted his fingers, his mouth, his cock–anything that he was willing to give you.

“That day,” he starts, “I really wanted to taste you. You were dripping all over my fingers. It was so hard to stay professional.”

He leans down and gets really close to your cunt, inches away from doing what he really wants to do.

“You’ll let me taste you, right?” he asks in an innocent kind of way, but there’s hints of taunt in there. It makes your core burn, and you almost moan at the way his breath hits your center.

“Yes, please. Do whatever you want,” You say that because it’s true–he can do whatever he wants to you, and you would be grateful.

“So polite. So eager,” he kisses your thigh, dangerously close to you now, “And so, so wet.”

“Peter, please,” You were begging now, but you didn’t care. You would beg all night for Peter to touch you the way he did in his office. You’ve tried to replicate it, but it’s no use. You’ve been craving that feeling for weeks now, and he seems to be the only one who can get you there.

“So polite. Good girl.”

To your luck, he doesn’t say another word. He finally puts his mouth on your pussy by slurping up all of your juices. You immediately moan, just by the mere knowledge that his mouth is on you. His tongue slips through your folds all the way up to your clit. Peter suckles on it, feeling it throb in his mouth.

“Taste even better than I imagined,” You don’t know if his whispered words were meant to be heard by you, but you heard them. They caused you to clench right as his tongue slotted inside of you, desperate to taste more of you.

His large hands are pressed against the insides of your thighs, forcing you to stay spread for him. You can feel them ache, but nothing feels as prominent as his tongue inside of you. And then, just when it starts to feel good, he makes it feel even better. One of his digits finds your clit, circling pressure until you’re a moaning mess.

“Fuck, Peter. That’s… so good.”

His mouth pops off of you for a second to catch a breath. But he could honestly drown in the taste of you. He smoothly slides a finger to replace where his mouth was, filling you up just like in his office. Now, his mouth is sucking on your clit, needing to make it throb. You feel that feeling you’ve been chasing for the past few weeks building up in your stomach, and you know it’s not going to be long at all until you achieve it.

“Come. Show me what only I can make you do,” Peter grumbles, his words cascading over your body. The deep rumble of his voice tips you over the edge, causing you to come all over his fingers again. After cleaning up some of your orgasm, he lifts his mouth, but doesn’t remove his fingers. He continues to pump them in and out, even though you’re sensitive.

“So fuckin’ tight, and I haven’t even given you a second finger,” one of his fingers taps of your clit, causing you to gasp at how sensitive you are. “Can you give me another?”

“A-Another one?” You’re panting and sweating from just one, but he wants to give you another? Who is this man, and where has he been all your life? “I can’t.”

“Oh, but you can. The body is an amazing thing,” he inserts another finger into your cunt and increases his intensity on your nerves. You gasp again, moaning without caring how loud you are. “See, your clit makes you do that. And I love that.”

“Oh, Peter,” You helplessly whimpered. As he thrusts his fingers inside of you with that charming smile and a hint of a smirk, you already feel your high approaching you again. The sight and the feel of him was just too overwhelming. With each thrust of his fingers, his arms bulged, forearm veins popping deliciously. He was a sight for sore eyes.

“C’mon, baby. Give me another. Want to feel you clench around my fingers. Imagine it’s my cock. Imagine how big my cock is going to feel in your little, tight cunt.”

His words oozed sex. So it only made sense that you came not long after. Your release coated his skilled hand once again, and this time, he seemed satisfied with your two orgasms.

When you could finally catch your breath, you didn’t see him reaching for his belt like most men do. But you really, really wanted him to reach for his belt.

“Are you tired? How do you feel?” The tone in his voice was soft. He was easily able to change from sex Peter to caring Peter. Your heart melted at his concern.

“Tired, but good tired. I’ve only ever had three orgasms, and you just gave me two of them,” You laughed breathlessly while he chuckled. “Would I be selfish to ask for more?”

That made him laugh. It was wholehearted and deep, echoing throughout the room. “Not at all.”

And then he reaches for his belt. You feel your organs twist in that lustful, horny way that they do when he does anything. When all his clothes are discarded and you’re faced with his raging cock, you’re practically drooling. He was right when he said he was big; thick and veiny all along the sides. It seemed unfair, really.

He reaches over to the nightstand and grabs a condom, ripping it and rolling it on easily. You continue to watch him in awe as he strokes himself a few times over the condom. Truth be told, he’s already incredibly hard. The second he slips inside of you he fears he will come on the spot because of how tight you are.

But he leans over your body, elbows holding himself up. You can smell his fresh scent, full of pine and wood.

“Did I tell you you look beautiful tonight?” he whispers next to your ear, his warm breath hitting your skin, which gives you the shivers. Your hands trail up over his body until they’re resting on his broad shoulders. You can feel his tensed muscles working to hold him up right, even though it looks like an effortless task to him.

“Oh shush. But thank you,” His comment makes your face warm, like a candle right next to your cheek.

“You look especially pretty under me,” his cock brushes your cunt, sliding delicately through the folds. You’re not shy of gasping, trying to mentally prepare yourself for his impeccable size.

When he finally pushes the head in, you take a deep breath and release it in a small whimper. You know you’re tight because you haven’t been with anyone in a few weeks. The most you’ve taken are Peter’s fingers, which are nothing compared to his cock.

He waits a few moments before moving again, giving you time to adjust. But you don’t think you’ll ever be able to fully settle with his size. It seems like he’ll always be stretching you out, no matter how many times you take him.

“Breathe, baby,” his words are breathy and wavering, but so sweet. The small nickname gives you the butterflies you haven’t felt for a while. Not the nervous butterflies, but that tingling, excited feeling of fondness. It’s one of your favorite feelings, and you’re so glad Peter gives you them.

You listen to him, taking deep breaths. He takes the opportunity to push himself a bit further until he’s fully inside of you. He stays still, looking at your face as you grow more comfortable. He watches as your expression contorts into desperation, which is what he’s been waiting for.

“You’re so tight, honey. But you’re taking all of me. Knew you could,” Peter reassures you, even as you clench snuggly around him. It’s embarrassingly hard for him to stay still, given how warm you feel wrapping him.

“Please move. Fuck, I need to feel you.”

Slowly, Peter removes himself and then slots in again. You remember to breathe as his movements become less languid and more fluidly quick. Soon, his thrusts have a bit of speed, causing you to scratch his shoulders at the intensity.

“You’re so big… so deep,” Your moan bounces off the walls of the room, making Peter smirk as he continues to move. His cock pins your hips, shutting down your squirming.

“No one’s ever fucked you like this? Never been this good, baby?” A small huff of his breath hit your skin and you were awed. His words alone could get you off, and then he’s pumping himself perfecting inside of you too, just making you go insane. He knows where all the right spots are, lifting up one of your legs with ease to get a better angle. You love that you can just let him take over you without having to work for your orgasm like you’re used to. You’re used to being on top, but it’s evident that Peter just wants to take care of you. He wants you to be satisfied for once, and you’ve never felt so seen. You’ve never felt so… good.

“Y-You’re the only one,” You sigh as you bite your lip, loving the way he's speaking to you. He’s all sultry in tone and even sexier with his words. You believe he has no flaws that are worth noticing.

“S’right. I’m the only one who can make you feel this good. You can only take my cock like this, deep in your cunt,” All you can do is moan and shake as you feel your next orgasm approaching.

Just when you go to reach down to your clit to push yourself even further, he reads your mind and does it for you. His thick finger circles the throbbing bud until you’re arching your back. Your fingers play with the pebbled nipples on your chest as your insides grow more tight. You haven’t had an orgasm feel this intense yet, so it’s hard to anticipate the feeling.

“Gonna come, baby? Come all over my cock, I need to see it. Need to know I’m the only one who can make you feel this way.”

With one entire pump inside of you, you’re coming over Peter’s cock and showing him that he’s the only one. All you can see is his charming, fatigued smile surrounded by stars. His brown hair is tousled and a dash of sweat is above his eyebrows, but God, he’s never looked so fucking hot.

It’s not long after that he’s coming after you, his release filling the condom completely. Peter was trying his best to hold himself for as long as possible. But with you, he discovered it was very difficult. Like he thought, the second he was inside of you, he could’ve come. You’re so slick and warm, just so alluring.

He gets up from the bed to discard the condom in done trash while you lay there in naked awe. You already know that you’re going to be sore tomorrow like the day after the gym.

As Peter comes back, he has a wipe that he uses to clean you up.

“What are you doing?” You ask before he starts to wipe you.

“Cleaning you up. You know, like aftercare. You can go to the bathroom and even take a bath if you’d like,” Peter answers while you sit straight up dumbfounded. “May I?”

“Yeah, yeah go ahead,” You allow him to soothingly clean you while you just accept it. Your mind is still whirling with confusion. Are all guys supposed to do this? Or is he really just that great? “Thank you. I… No one’s ever done that before.”

“Really? God, you were really with some twats, Y/N,” he shakes his head and walks back to the bathroom while you chuckle. It’s funny that you had to go through those two guys in order to get to Peter. Third time’s the charm. “Want to take a bath?”

You ponder for a second. You were tired, but not like you would drown in the tub. Maybe if you had better stamina you would ask Peter to join you, but for now, maybe you just need to sit and think about what’s happening alone. Peter is too good to be true. He’s such a gentleman, he never misses a beat. You hope you’re not overstepping by accepting.

“Can I? Or is it too much—”

“Nonsense, I want you to be comfortable. Now, do you like the right or left side of the bed?” You stare at him in confusion. One, because that was a random question. And two, because when did he put on boxers?

“What?”

“Which side do you sleep on?” You felt your cheeks burn for some reason, and then you realize you’re still naked while he’s semi-dressed.

“Um right, I think. Why?”

“So you can sleep there. You are staying, aren’t you?” Peter’s cheeks tint rosy red, that peek of nervousness shining through. It made you smile because even if he seems too good to be true, there is a little human in there who’s just like you.

“Yes, of course,” You can visibly see his tenseness fade as a small smile grows on his lips.

“I’ll start the bath then get you some clothes then, or else you’ll keep me hard all night.”

Your skin burns, but you feel like that’s not the last time that will happen to you. Not with Peter. No, you know.

—

thank you all for being patient!! i also think this is the longest taglist i’ve ever had, so thank you again!! 💞

taglist:

-> @motheroffae @noa217 @nelly-belly97 @spidermanffh3000 @httpscomexe @mysticdaisy21 @emilyparkerholland @deathst9r @ellenita98 @ellabellabus07 @mrstealuregirl @bisexual-desi @sherlockstrangewolf @madsttx @graywrites20 @bradtomlovesya @princesspannnn @sageisswaggg @purplerose291 @girlbossnancy @lockwood-lover @marzipaanz @eatshitanddiee @invisibletrolleyson-jeremy @lnmp89 @crybabyddl @pretty-npeach @marine-mayday @aerangi @justanotherpasserby-blog @tinafuentes @moniffazictress11 @eywaheardyou @alwaysclassyeagle @raajali3 @likeapplejuicenpeach @winuvs

crossed out= not able to tag

[dduane]

By the way...

it was sort of last week, or maybe during the week before—I forget— when @petermorwood came downstairs to get tea while he was working on some long post or another full of guns and swords and assorted deadly weaponry—or cats, or food, or historical clothing, you know what he's like... and all of a sudden he said:

"So what about Cyber Monday?"

And I wasn't sure where that was coming from, as Peter normally doesn't spend a lot of his time being concerned about cyber stuff in general.

"Uh, why?" said I.

"Well, it's the Young Wizards anniversary month. Shouldn't you be doing some kind of sale offer over on Twitter, the way you did on Tumblr?"

My mouth kind of opened and shut again. Mostly at the moment when I think of Twitter, it's in terms of imagery involving things circling the drain at ever-increasing speed. And as far as Cyber Monday went, I hadn't really thought about it. This year I noticed that I've started kind of lumping it in with Black Friday, which mostly increasingly makes me mutter and shake my head as I see what my email box gets to look like this time of year. And since I'd been mostly preoccupied with writing issues and website crap lately, you could kind of multiply that not-caring by two. Or five. Or some power of ten.

...Yet he had a point. And what the hell, at least putting a video up there would remind people that the series existed! (Because people do seem to keep forgetting, and then suddenly bursting out with OH WAIT ARE THESE THOSE BOOKS I LOVED WHEN I WAS A KID, WAIT, YOU MEAN SHE WROTE THOSE, I THOUGHT ALL SHE DID WAS STAR TREK?!) (Eyeroll.)

"But I told them on Tumblr," I said, "that I wasn't going to do any more of these sales for the foreseeable future."

"Looks like you forgot to foresee this," said Himself, dumping half a cow's worth of milk in his tea as usual. "Look, if you do it just one more time, I bet they'll forgive you as long as you tell them about it so they can take advantage of it if they want to." Then he snickered. "And anyway, you told them you weren't going to do any Sherlock/Young Wizards fusions either, and look how that turned out." More snickering. "They forgave you for that. Eventually."

"Oh god."

"Just tell them. They'll let you off the hook." Up the stairs he went, still snickering. "Sometime in mid-2024 probably."

(eyeroll)

Dammitall, I hate it when he has a point.

So look. Here's the discount page. There's the video, two paragraphs down. You all know the drill. The "All the Wizardry" package is $29.99 today. The "I Want Everything You've Got" package is $40 just for today. Anybody who hasn't taken advantage of one of these offers previously, or didn't have the cash earlier, or wants to point somebody else at it...go knock yourself or -selves out with my abslute blessing. (Because who knows whether anybody on Twitter will notice at all, the way the algorithm's been behaving.)

And: everybody please forgive me. (abases herself before the assembled multitudes in the approved manner)

(...Anyway, WTH, it's worth a try. I want to get this friend of mine a new fountain pen for Christmas, and every little bit helps...) :)

(And a final reminder: we can't sell to people in Britain / the UK, it's a Brexit problem ... so sorry about that.)

[lovewithmary]

(not) moving on — a max verstappen x stark!oc x charles leclerc series

★ fc: madison beer ☆ summary: evangeline "evie" stark is in love with her best friend, max verstappen, but he tries his best to keep her at arm's length. but what happens when she starts to get close to his fellow drivers in the paddock? ★ notes: early chapter bc I am too impatient so I’m taking the poll results as is and assuming charles is the winner. anyways, drama is happening!!!

previous next series masterlist

"Evie's baking,"

"We know,"

"My daughter is baking for two tiny villages or two super soldiers, and none of you thought to ask if there was something wrong?" Tony asked, watching as his fellow Avengers, his wife, and his youngest daughter were all eating the pastries that Evie had been baking since she got off the phone.

"Parker tried grabbing the spatula from her hand, but she threw a bowl at his head. But luckily his Peter Tingle saved him and he dodged," Bucky explained, mouthful with a slice of one of the cakes Evie made.

"I told you not to call it the Peter Tingle!" Peter complained.

"I think she had a fight with Max," Morgan's tiny voice piped up, oblivious to the heads that turned to her.

"Morg, why didn't you say that earlier?" Pepper asked.

Morgan blinked innocently and shrugged, then said, "You didn't ask,"

"Okay, who wants to be the one to ask her about Max?"

A tense air fell between some of the most powerful people in the world, only for them to touch their noses and say, "Not it!"

Unfortunately for him, Tony himself was the last one to do it, which made him curse. "I should've just stayed in my lab," he muttered but went to the kitchen to see that Evie was already starting another batch of cupcakes as if the pile of used cupcake liners between Steve and Bucky wasn't enough.

"Hello, tesoro," Tony greeted, concerned at the fact that Evie barely reacted at the sound of his voice.

"The dining room isn't that far from the kitchen, papa. I don't need to have powers or be a Super Soldier to hear you guys," Evie commented.

"So, will it be easier to ask what happened between you and Max that's made you spiral into a hurricane of frosting— is that macrons? When did you learn how to make macrons?" Tony asked, caught off-guard.

"Max and I had a little misunderstanding. And I didn't know how to make macrons until earlier," Evie responded.

"A little misunderstanding? You're taking over my kitchen with baked goods for a little misunderstanding?"

"I will find a way to bake you if you don't stop!" She threateningly responded, the aforementioned spatula Peter tried taking was in her hand menacingly pointed at Tony.

Tony raised his arms up in surrender, "I won't ask then. I will just be here, in the corner of the kitchen, giving you moral support," he said, taking a step away from his daughter and near the door just in case.

Silence fell between the father and daughter, Evie angrily making a bowl of frosting while Tony was thinking about whether or not he had to bring in Pepper for his own moral support.

That was until, "Do I insert myself into people's business too much? Is it something I do regularly?" Evie blurted out.

"I think you insert yourself into people's business when you think you need to. I don't think it's a lot, but then again, you help me with my business, so I can't say it's too much," Tony shrugged.

She groaned, not getting a clear answer. She should've known that her dad wasn't going to outright tell her when she was being too invasive. "I'm serious, dad," she told him.

"Did Max say something? Whatever he said, ignore it. He drives for a living, he's wrong no matter what,"

"I thought you liked Max. You've known him since he was a kid,"

"I don't like him if he makes my daughter upset,"

"Dad..."

"What did he say?" Tony asked once more.

Evie sighed before washing her hands and grabbing her phone from the pocket of her apron and then giving it to her dad, unlocked and the texts already on the screen. She watched as her dad's face turned angry.

"I'll shoot him out of the sky with one of my repulsors—"

"Dad, no,"

"He didn't have to talk to you like that! That little shit—"

"What do I do?" Evie interrupted him, knowing that if she let him rant, he'd end up wearing one of the Iron Man suits, already on the way to wherever the next race was.

"Do what Starks do best,"

"Which is?"

"To get under people's skin,"

[thebestofoneshots]

Gilded Constellations | (wolfstar x reader)

Series Masterlist | Previous episode

Pairing: Wolfstar x Reader Word Count: 8.9 K Warnings: ANGST w/ comfort (but also not?) Prompt: It was nice to be in Remus' arms, but now it's time to face the real world. Will you be able to do it? This IS a Wolfstar x reader fic, but it's incredibly slow burn. They won't start all dating each other until we're very deep into the story, but I promise the long wait will be worth it. Proofread by lovely: @aremuslupinsimp

Disclaimer: Vixen’s coping mechanisms are not healthy, please go to therapy and actually process your feelings instead <3

Chapter 47: Let Me Take You Home Tonight

You walked alongside Remus through the tunnel. The floor was cold against your bare feet, and the more you walked, the more you could feel the pain caused by the blisters in your soles. You wondered for a moment if that’s what ballerinas felt after wearing pointe shoes. 

Remus kept throwing glances at you as you walked, you thought you were good at hiding it, but he could hear your jaw clenching and your ragged breath as you moved, sometimes cutting short from stepping on something sharp. 

“Do you want to take my shoes?” he asked you. 

“What?” you asked confused as you turned to him. “No, I’m–” you wanted to say fine, you weren’t sure you could make it sound believable, “It’ll be better once Pomfrey gets a look, I’m sure.” 

“But until then, you’d be in pain.”

You sighed, “You know fae don’t normally wear shoes.” 

“You’re only a quarter fae,” he responded. “And they live in the woods, and fly.”  

You huffed in response to that, he wasn’t wrong. But still, you weren’t going to take his shoes. Your feet were already hurt, his weren’t. 

“Can I borrow your wand?” you asked as you turned to him, he pulled it out of his pocket and handed it over. 

You took it in your hands and waved it over your feet “Episkey,” you whispered, the same spell you had used to fix Peter’s nose before his date. It didn’t completely heal your feet, but the blisters were gone and walking wasn’t as painful as before. 

You didn’t like using healing spells, they tended to be complicated and could go awfully wrong, especially without your actual wand, but you already knew Remus’ wand liked you since she had allowed you to use it in the past, so you decided to risk it, if only to bring Remus some peace of mind. 

“Thank you,” you added as you straightened back up and handed over his wand. 

“Are you sure you don’t want them?” he insisted, half pulling one and you just shook your head again in response. His offer was sweet, awfully sweet, but you wouldn’t have him feel pain at your stake, two people had done that for you in the last 24 hours, and neither of them had survived. 

Remus still wasn’t convinced, but he walked alongside you, nonetheless. He knew you were still in pain, and he wanted to do anything he could to help you, but he also knew what it was like to be in pain and be constantly reminded about it by people, so he decided to let you have it, he’d take care of you once you were with Pomfrey. 

By the time you arrived at the end of the hallway, you saw the small hole you’d have to climb, the one that was much easier to climb as Vixen than as yourself, and you wondered how Remus had gotten used to it. 

“Wait here,” he said as he climbed up the area with ease, placing his feet and hand on strategic places to make his ascent much easier. He was insanely good at it, almost like Spider-Man. A few seconds passed and then you saw his hand drop back inside, “All right, the Willow is calm now, come on up.” 

You used one of the spots he had used to propel yourself forward and grabbed onto his outstretched hand, your own closing around his forearm as he did the same to yours. And then he helped you up almost the rest of the way. Hauling you towards him like you weighed nothing. 

“Thanks,” you mumbled as you stepped outside, the light being a little harsh on your dark accustomed eyes, which had you narrow them as you looked ahead. The ground was still filled with snow, and you still didn’t have shoes. You looked at your bare feet for a second before turning to Remus. 

“May I borrow your wand again?” you asked with a sigh. 

“What are you going to do? Melt the snow?” he asked in disbelief. 

“I was planning to use a warming spell…” you admitted.

“Ridiculous.” 

“I’m still not going to take your shoes.”

“Yeah I know, you’re stubborn as hell,” he said with a huff as he crouched down in front of you, “Come on, hop in.” 

“You’re planning to piggyback ride me all the way to the castle? You are the ridiculous one!” 

“What? Like it would be hard,” he said as he turned his head towards you. You gave him a suspicious look in return. “Hello? The best friend who also happens to be a werewolf? Superhuman strength, and all that, ringing any bells?” 

You sighed, “But Remus–” 

“But Remus me one more time and I will carry you without consent, you have been warned.” 

“You wouldn’t dare!” 

“Wanna test it?” he asked, as he raised one of his eyebrows. 

He just might, you thought as you shook your head and did what you were told. 

“See?” he said as he straightened up and started to walk, “Was it that hard?”

“Yes,” you said with a pout as you leaned your head on his shoulder. Remus was awfully comfortable, but you supposed he had always been, “I don’t want to be burdensome,” you mumbled, “the moon was just a couple of days ago, you must still be sore–”

“You are not burdensome,” he said almost instantly. Emphasising the “not” in the very articulated way he used to talk when he was in presentations. 

“You’re too nice,” you mumbled as you dug your head deeper into his shoulder, your lips brushing against his neck causing him to shiver. “You cold?” you asked. 

“No,” he responded. 

“Are you sure?” you insisted, you had felt him tremble, “I could cast a warming spell around the two of us,” you added as you extended your hand in an attempt to get a hold of his wand, but that just caused your lips to brush against his neck again. 

“I’m good,” he repeated as he shoved you back with his shoulder, not too sharp, but enough to drive your mouth away from his neck. That’s when you noticed. 

You frowned, and then a devious smile appeared on your lips, “Are you… ticklish?” you asked tentatively. 

“What? Why do you want to know?” Remus asked with a frown, his head turning your way. 

“Just curious,” you replied with an innocent shrug. Remus gave you a side glance and then turned back to the castle. You had already crossed the entrance archway and were a lot closer than you’d been before. You smiled, and leaned a little closer to him again, taking in a deep breath and blowing some warm air straight to his neck. 

Remus’ hair stood on end as you did that, and his step faltered as if he was about to trip, but he recovered, “What the–” he couldn’t even finish since you did it again. 

“Vixen!” he complained, you just laughed. It was torture, but there was something magical about your unabashed laugh that he wasn’t sure if he really wanted you to stop or not. When you did it again, this time blowing closer to his ear, he couldn’t hold back the cackle that escaped his lips.

“Oi! Please stop!” He managed to say in between chuckles. 

“But I’m trying to warm you,” you said innocently and blew again. 

Remus tried to use his shoulder to push you away from his neck but was unsuccessful, he didn’t want to let go of your legs since he knew then you’d slide off him so he continued moving his shoulders in an attempt to stop you. 

“Little Witch!” he whined. 

“What?” you asked, “You’re cold, I’m just trying to help.” 

“Such a vicious lie–” he couldn’t even finish, since you blew again, this time, he actually tripped and the two of you ended up spiralling down in the snow. 

Remus attempted to break the fall, but the way he tripped didn’t help him much, so you were the one to hit the snow first, and due to the way you were grabbing onto him, he ended up in between your legs with his head being cushioned by your stomach. 

There was a second of silence, in which you tried to breathe in some of the air that had escaped your lungs from the sharp fall, but you started to laugh right after. Remus raised his head from your stomach to look at you, to check if you were all right and was surprised to see you smiling so brightly. 

“Look at you,” you said as you grabbed his head with both of your hands. “You’re so red, I had no idea you were that ticklish! The mighty werewolf, who would have thought?”

“I thought you were hungry,” he said as he tried to shake your hands off. He hadn’t blushed just because you were blowing air in his neck, or perhaps it had been because it was you the one doing it. 

“I am, but messing with you is better than eating,” you replied with a smile and then shivered involuntarily. 

He noticed instantly and scrambled into a standing position. Pulling you up so fast it took you some time to regain balance, “Remus!” you argued at his harshness but he ignored you, pulling you up and slinging you across his shoulder. “Remus!” 

“I warned you, Sweetheart,” he said simply, starting a much quicker pace to the castle, even inside, he didn’t let go of you. 

“Remus, what are you–” you asked as you noticed the path he was taking, “I would have walked to the infirmary,” you said with a huff. 

“Rather not to risk it,” he said simply. 

When you reached the infirmary, he dropped you into one of the beds and went straight to talk to Pomfrey as you stretched and sat on the edge of the mattress.  

She looked at you with a worried sigh as she passed her wand over your body. “You were slightly hypothermic when he found you,” she said as she leaned down to check both of your feet. It felt weird, you had gotten hurt so often lately and you had avoided the infirmary like the plague most of the times that, being checked by a medic felt odd. Like you couldn’t deal with your pain by yourself, which was absolutely ridiculous, even Remus went to the infirmary and he was tougher than you.

You hummed in response to that, “Rem helped me warm up,” you added. She gave a side glance to the boy, he was blushing, and Remus didn’t blush often, she nodded. 

“Remus, darling, could you please leave us alone for a second?” He hesitated but nodded, and walked outside. “Darling, he did more than just warm you,” she said. “News fly fast here, I heard of everything that happened, how’s your magic?” 

You took a deep breath, “It’s… It’s all right,” you said honestly. “It was almost gone after the Fiendfyre but it’s much better today.” 

She nodded, she could feel it, you were pretty much refuelled, it would have taken any normal witch days to refuel after something like that, she had heard about you being mixed race but she suspected your speed recovery had a lot more to do with Remus than it did with you.  

“Please lay on the bed.” She was checking your knees and dabbing some potions on them with a small cotton ball. “Why did you come here?” 

“Here?” you asked with a frown. 

“Instead of Saint Mungo’s, instead of home?” 

“I don’t think I have one of those anymore,” you admitted as you avoided her gaze. “My father cannot be happy with what I did. Hogwarts was the safest place for me. And… I should probably speak to Dumbledore.” 

“You should rest first,” she corrected, “politics can wait.” 

You threw her a worried glance, and she gave you a “no-nonsense” sort of gaze, you had you hold back your argument. 

Still, it wasn’t politics, it was a matter of life and…

 You didn’t want to think much about it either. She checked your breathing, and your face, even pulling your sleeve up slightly to check the bite you had given yourself. 

“That’ll take a bit longer to heal,” she said, she easily noticed it hadn’t been a simple human tooth to tear through the skin, and while she wasn’t sure how exactly you had managed to do it, she knew it had to do with a transfiguration. 

“I assumed it would,” you agreed and covered your arm with your sleeve again. You were pretty sure Remus hadn’t seen it, and you didn’t need him to see yet another way in which you had been hurt. Seeing you bawl your eyes out last night was enough. Merlin, he must think I’m so weak. 

“I don’t know the full scope of the story, luv,” she said slowly as if she wasn’t sure if he should speak or not. “But… From what Dumbledore told me in his note, which he heard from someone who was also at the dinner, you ended up in the situation you did because you tried to help a muggle-born who was being tortured by the Dark Lord. That was very brave of you.” 

You turned to look at her, there was somewhat of a reverential tone in the way she was looking at you that made your throat knot. You weren’t a hero, you didn’t want to be perceived as one either, especially not with how things had ended up. 

Nina was gone and you would have diеd if Barty Crouch of all people hadn’t helped you get the fuck out. You would have cried over her until Lucius used a spell that wiped you off the map. You had tried to make justice and you had succeeded at nothing but making things worse and getting people killed. 

You tried and failed. You weren’t a hero, you were a failure. You hadn’t been brave, you had been reckless and stupid. But if things happened all over again, would you have allowed Nina to be tortured? Would you have allowed Bellatrix to kill her? 

Of course not. 

“She still diеd,” you said, avoiding her gaze entirely. 

Pomfrey placed her hand over yours, “I don’t know many that would have tried, darling,” she reassured. “She was lucky to have you as a friend.” 

You didn’t want to cry again, but her words had been enough to crack you up. She brought you close to her chest and rubbed your back as you sobbed. You hated it, the feeling of tears streaming down your face, it made you feel weak. 

After a few minutes, you sniffed and tried to wipe your face again. Pomfrey had been patient and kind and she even handed over a small, cloth handkerchief for you to wipe the tears away. “Here, take this, darling,” she said as she handed over a bottle of pepperup potion. “It’ll help the rest of the chills go away,” she explained. “One sip every two hours, It’s just for precautions.” 

She had cured your feet and knees, the bite you had given yourself didn’t hurt anymore and after taking a bit of the potion, the shivering was gone. 

“Will I have to stay the night?” you asked her. 

She gave you a long look, after what you’d been through, the last thing that you’d want was to stay at an infirmary. Would she rather have you stay? Sure she would. But while she was worried about your physical state, she also knew the emotional one was important, and you looked like you needed a bit of normalcy and quiet. She sighed, “You may go back to your common room.” 

You took a deep breath and nodded. 

There was a soft knock on the door, and then Remus walked inside. He had a backpack slung across his shoulder as he walked inside. “Will she stay the night?” he asked. 

“Just got cleared up,” you replied. He could see you had been crying again. 

“Really?” He asked Pomfrey with a frown. He had planned to stay at the infirmary overnight with you. 

“Really,” Pomfrey nodded. “But no walking around barefoot. A warm bath will probably do you good.” 

Remus gave you the “I told you so” look and pulled a pair of slippers you must have left in his room one of the nights you stayed over. 

You smiled and stood up while popping them on, then the two of you walked towards the exit. 

“Remus?” The Mediwitch called as he was about to step out. 

“Yes?” he asked, turning his head towards her.

“Keep taking care of her like you’ve been doing.” 

He smiled and nodded, “Will do!”

“I brought you some of Sirius’ clothes,” Remus said as he nodded to the backpack behind him, "I thought she’d have you stay the night.”

“Me too,” you admitted. “But it looks like I wasn’t that bad off to begin with. She said you helped a lot last night.” 

Remus shrugged in response. 

You got to the common room and it was completely empty, “No other Gryffindors stayed over?” You asked as you walked the stairs alongside him.

“A first year and a third year,” he said. “They must be in Hogsmeade with Minnie now,” he said with a shrug. 

“Oh,” you responded simply. He opened the door to his room and the two of you walked inside.

“Remus,” a voice said from the radio. “Remus, are you there?” 

You smiled, it was Sirius. You turned to Remus, questioning and he nodded. You walked straight to his bed, where the radio lay and sat down right in front of him, looking for the microphone. Once you got a hold of it, you pressed the side button like you had seen people do in movies. “Roger that soldier, the squad is on their way,” you said in a deeper voice. 

There was no answer from the other side, Remus pulled out the mirror to see what was happening. Sirius was looking at James with a confused face. 

“Soldier, do you copy?” you insisted. 

Remus barely kept a straight face. 

“…Starshine?!” Sirius asked, half doubtful. 

You smiled, debating whether to continue with the prank or not, “Indeed, Pups,” you replied, in your voice. 

Remus saw the instant relief of Sirius through the mirror, and James leaned a little bit closer to the radio as well. 

“How ARE you?” he asked. 

Right, Sirius had seen it all. 

“Well, Remus and Pomfrey took care of me,” you replied with a shrug, even if he couldn’t see it. Your demeanour had changed like rapid fire, it’s like you did everything you could to shove last night to a dark part and completely forget about it but people kept bringing it up. 

He saw Sirius sigh on the other side, and he turned to the mirror, spotting Remus looking at him attentively, he pressed the button. “Kit, that’s not what I–” He sent Remus a questioning look, Remus shook his head in response. He could talk to you about it later when you actually wanted to talk about it. “Did you like my gift?” 

“I loved it!” you said, happy he didn’t ask much more about last night. Remus walked next to you on the bed and handed the mirror over. 

You looked at both Sirius and James sitting on the bed, Sirius looked like he had slept about as well as you had, there were deep dark circles under his eyes. If he had seen what you had… He might be the only person besides Remus, who understood what you were feeling, or at least had a vague idea of it, and yet… you refused to talk about it. 

Not now, not through the damn radio, you tried to justify yourself. You were well aware ignoring your feelings wasn’t quite healthy, but you didn’t know a better way to cope either. Crying until you were tired wasn’t exactly a better option either, not now when you still had things to do. Maybe after the war was over, after your friends were safe, then you’d allow yourself to cry. 

“Yeah?” Sirius asked with a smile. You nodded in return, looking at him through the mirror. He was wearing one of the shirts you’d gotten him. “I loved what you sent me,” he responded. “I’ve already been practising some watercolour stuff.” 

Good, this was good, as if nothing had happened. 

“Me too,” James intervened by snatching the microphone away from Sirius. “I mean I haven’t been practising watercolour, but I loved your gifts.” 

You send him a wink through the mirror and spend about half an hour chatting with them about anything other than what had happened. 

At some point, the boys had to go for lunch and you said a quick goodbye to them before allowing yourself to recline back on Remus’ bed. You wanted to keep your mind entertained, “We should go to the library,” you said out of a sudden, “or to eat, you said I could eat after Pomfrey.” 

“You should bathe first, she said a warm bath should help you feel better,” Remus said as he placed his hand on your head to check your temperature. You were still borderline cold.  

You checked the clock and took a sip of the pepperup potion Pomfrey had given you. Smoke came out of your ears for a couple of seconds. You were thankful for the fact that you didn’t have to drink it all in one go, you didn’t like the smoke thing one bit. It wasn’t painful, but you didn’t find it exactly comfortable either. 

“Yes Mum,” you said as you let yourself sink deeper into the bed. 

“Well then?” 

“I don’t want to leave,” you whined, and you really didn’t. Being alone would only have you spiralling deep in your head, and in your thoughts, and nothing good could come from that. You turned to look at him, “Why don’t you read to me instead?” 

“Why don’t you get an audiobook?” he retorted almost without thinking, “Besides I thought you were hungry.” 

“Doesn’t sound as nice as you do, and I’m starving,” you said as you turned back to the ceiling with a sigh. Remus attempted to hide the blush that crept up his cheeks by turning to the side.

“I’ll read to you after you take a warm bath like Pomfrey instructed. I’ll even read while you eat if you want.”  

You pouted in return, but you did want to change into anything other than the black dress you still had on –even if Remus’ jumper over it was warm– so you decided the deal was fair. 

You stood up and walked towards the door. “What are you doing? Just use our bathroom,” Remus said as he pointed to said place’s door. 

“Clothes,” you said as if it were obvious. 

“Want me to get them for you?” 

“And you’ll pick my underwear?” you teased with a smile. Remus couldn’t help but blush at the thought and you laughed openly at him. “Ugh, you’re such a prude. I can barely believe you were fucking Alice for like 3 months.”

“Oi!” he complained with a frown. “She never asked me to pick out her underwear.” 

“Poor thing,” you said with a pout. 

“As if Sirius had ever picked your underwear.” 

“Oh, do you wanna know what else he got me for Christmas?” He hadn’t gotten you anything of the sort, but the more you spoke, the redder Remus became, and you thought it was adorable. 

“Get your clothes, I’ll run the bath for you,” he said as he pretty much pushed you out of the room. 

“Not too hot!” you said as he closed the door in your face. He heard you say a short “hmph” and walked down the stairs. He leaned his head against the door and had to breathe deeply for a couple of seconds to cool down. 

Had Sirius really gotten you underwear for Christmas? He didn’t tell him about it… And they had discussed presents rather often. Then again, would he even mention that sort of stuff to me? he wondered. He stayed at the door for a few more minutes and then he walked to the bathroom, sitting down on the edge of the tub as he opened the water tap, first hot, and then just a bit of cold. 

Remus was a hot water shower kind of guy, borderline scalding, so when he measured the temperature, he picked it a little hotter than the standard person would. But then again, he didn’t know how long you’d take, so the water might cool down by the time you came back. 

No such luck, you had been quick on your feet, as soon as you got to the room stripping the black dress you’d been wearing. It was a stunning piece at the beginning of the night, now it had been torn and worn out from the fall, there was dried bIood clinging to the skirt and to the edges of the sleeves, both yours and Nina’s. You didn’t want to see the dress again, so you threw it in the laundry with a note for the elves, asking them kindly to get rid of it. 

You would have done it yourself, but you still didn’t have a wand and attempting evanesco without one seemed like the recipe for disaster. 

After that, you grabbed a simple pair of sweatpants and a long-sleeved cotton shirt. You also took a jumper that you had swiped from Remus and then placed it all in your backpack along with some toiletries. You were thankful you hadn’t packed any of your clothes to take home, although there were some things there you would miss. The clothes you had been wearing on the trip –Remus’ brown jumper and Sirius’ shirt–, the cute stuffed animal you’d gotten from the Slytherins, the books, and… of course, Sirius’ lovely drawing.

You almost broke down to cry again, the realisation that you’d never be able to go back home, that you would never eat your mother’s soup, hitting you like a truck as you thought of the things left behind. But as your eyes watered and your breath started running short you stood up hastily. Tears wouldn’t come if you didn’t give them enough time. 

You took a bathrobe, wrapped it around yourself, and then took hold of the clothing assortment you’d picked, walking back to the boys’ room faster than you could process your feelings. You had to make sure the other students weren’t around as you crossed the common room, without a wand, there was no disillusionment charm, and without that, you could easily be spotted. 

You walked inside the boys’ room as fast as you could, and you heard the water running, you assumed Remus was still inside, so you knocked lightly on the door. 

“Come in,” Remus said softly. “You okay?” he asked the minute he saw your face.

“Totally,” you lied. However, could you be okay? “I got the clothes,” you added as you moved the heap up just a bit to call attention to it. Remus looked at you as he dipped his hand in the water, it was bubbly and it smelled really nice. 

“I added some pain reliever potions Pomfrey’s given me,” he said. You gave him a look. Last time you’d taken his medicine, things had been problematic. “I checked a book, it says they’re safe. And I didn’t use that much either.” 

“You know, I’m not really in pain,” you said, not physical, at least. 

“Yeah bet,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. You reached towards the tub and dug your hand in as well, pulling it out almost an instant later.

“Shit, it’s too hot.” 

“It’s just warm,” Remus argued. 

You shook your head in response. It was hot enough to be uncomfortable. You pulled his hand out of the water and took it in yours, “Have you already fried your heat receptors?” 

Remus narrowed his eyes at you and pulled his hand away from your grasp “Haha, very funny” -he stood- “Hurry up, I’m hungry too.” 

He was about to leave the bathroom when you stood up as well, “Wait, may I borrow your wand?” 

Remus handed it over without questioning and then exited the room. You turned back at the tub, it was scalding. 

“Relashio gelida,” you said, a stream of freezing cold water left Remus’ wand. After a couple of minutes, you stopped the stream and checked the water again. It was still warm but not scalding anymore. You stripped and got in. The smell and the potions relaxing you in an instant. You didn’t want to take too long, so you busied yourself rubbing off some of the dirt and cleaning the dried patches of bIood. You sank completely under the water, blinking as you looked up at the stone ceiling, a little blurry due to the bubbly water. I didn’t hurt your eyes though, whatever potions Remus had used, prevented the soap from actually sinking into them. 

Not that you would have minded the little sting, all you wanted was a little moment of quiet under the water. She had always been a calming force for you. You remembered once reading that mermaids couldn’t cry, since they were already inside the water. You liked the idea of being able to cry without people noticing. You stayed there until your lungs cried for air and you resurfaced enough to let your face out of the water, you took a deep breath and sighed, closing your eyes and figuring it was about time for you to finish up.

You changed quickly and found Remus sitting outside, a book in his hands. You were still drying your hair as you stepped into his room. Remus thought you looked adorable as you brushed the towel over your head. The crisp white shirt you’d chosen made you look angelic in his eyes. 

“Let’s get some food,” you said as you left your hair alone and brushed it with your fingers. You’d let it air dry as you ate. The castle was warm enough to not have to worry about drying it. 

Remus nodded and the two of you walked down to the Great Hall. It was almost empty, there were a few students cuddled up at some tables. Like 5 Slytherins sitting with Ravenclaws, and then there were 3 younger Hufflepuffs at their own table. 

“I guess they chose not to go to Hogsmeade,” you said as you sat down.

“Some of them didn’t get permission from their parents,” Remus explained. “Enid and Niall for example,” he said pointing at the Hufflepuffs, “they are half-bIoods, their parents forbade them from going because of all the incidents they’ve read in the papers, they were scared.” 

“And they should be,” you said, thinking back to the pile of dеad bodies back in Rosier Manor.  The feast wasn’t as big as it was normally, but a decent assortment of food appeared right in front of you as you sat. There were desserts, and fruits and pasta and even some pies, but most importantly for you at that moment, there was meat. 

You grabbed onto a few sausages bacon and a piece of steak and started munching on it the instant they appeared. Remus helpfully filled up a cup of your favourite juice for you and passed it over, before serving himself one. 

He, despite claiming he was hungry earlier, took his time preparing himself a sandwich before he placed anything in his mouth. You felt like you were devouring your food in comparison to the much calmer demeanour he kept as he munched on his sandwich and ate some chips. 

“I’m thinking about writing my parents,” he said after taking a sip from his juice. You turned to him and nodded. “But I’m not sure if… I mean would you rather stay here or do you wanna come with us?” 

“You mean come to your house?”

Remus shrugged in response “I mean, the change of scenery could help clear your mind… and we could visit James and Sirius at some point too…” He seemed slightly hesitant as he spoke. 

“Are you sure your parents would want me at their house, though?” 

He frowned, “why wouldn’t they?” 

“I mean… Pomfrey’d heard about the dinner, I pretty much openly opposed Voldemort, there’s probably a huge target for my head, that’s why I came straight to Hogwarts.” 

“Oh, they won’t care,” Remus said. “We can ask Dumbledore if he thinks it’s safe if you want. If not we can just stay here until the break is over–“

“–I can stay here,” you interrupted. “Remus, your mum must miss you a lot. She hasn’t seen you in months, you’re not going to stay just because of me.”

“Mum has Dad, she won’t be alone if I don’t go,” he said simply. “If you stay, I’ll stay.” 

“Talk to them first,” you insisted. “When were you supposed to leave?” 

“Tonight,” he admitted. “I’m meant to see Dumbledore after dinner, he’ll let me use his office’s floo network.”

You didn’t want to admit it to yourself, but the idea of spending tonight alone was unnerving. Of course, you couldn’t keep clinging onto Remus like a leech, no matter how comforting he might be. 

“I’m going to the owlery,” he said as he stood up, “I’ll write them, we’ll have an answer before then.” 

“I should speak to Dumbledore,” you said as you too stood up, you turned towards the teacher’s table, “you think he’ll be at his office?”

He shrugged, “I’ll come with, it’s on my way anyway.”

You nodded, secretly thankful that he’d offered to walk you there, since you weren’t sure how to get to Dumbledore’s office. Yes, you had been at the school and you knew your way around secret passageways and to and from classrooms as much as anyone, but you hadn’t been to his office since the very start of the year, you didn’t even remember ever seeing it again. 

Once the two of you were in front of the statue, Remus waited for you to ring the bell and for the statue to roll around revealing the set of stairs before nodding at you and continuing on his way. It was strangely reminiscent of that time you’d met him, the sexy pirate from the romance novels, you remembered. You had been through so much with him, that the initial meeting seemed to you like it had been years ago, instead of months. 

The statue behind you clicked into position and you took a deep breath and walked upstairs, ready to talk to Dumbledore, even if you weren’t eager to relive the night’s events.

“I was expecting you to come,” he said calmly, “please sit,” he added as he gestured towards his chair. You swallowed and did as told. “How are you?” 

“Surprisingly, still alive,” you responded. 

There was a faint smile on his face, almost imperceptible, but you had noticed the way the corner of his mouth curled, even if just for a second. “I wouldn’t say surprising,” he said, “I’ve been informed you’re a very capable witch.” 

You held back the amused scoff that threatened to leave your mouth by clenching your jaw before you decided to speak again, changing the drive of the conversation. “How much do you know?” He curled an eyebrow. “Of last night, I mean.” 

“There was a fire at the Christmas Party, people diеd, your mother, among them.” 

“It was a Deatheater Party,” you said coldly, “Voldemort was there, they called him Tom.” 

He nodded as if he was aware of that. “They were torturing people, you intervened to stop Mrs. Lestrange from using an unforgivable on Nina Blythe. Her mother had already passed, unfortunately. Nobody’s seen her since the disaster.” 

You struggled to say the next words, “She didn’t make it.” 

The man nodded, somberly, “I assumed as much when you arrived with Madam Pomfrey and she didn’t. You wouldn’t have left her behind.” 

He was right, you didn’t even want to leave her behind when she had passed. “Barty Crouch Jr. and Evan Rosier helped me escape.” 

“The same Slytherins that–” 

“–Yes,” you cut him off, you didn’t like being rude to your elders, but you didn’t want to hear from that moon either. The fact that the two boys had helped you still being hard to process. The same hands that had left you bruised one night had grabbed onto you to get you out of there alive, it didn’t make sense. “There were a lot of people there. I don’t know all of their names, but I tried to gather as many as I could. I’m sorry if I can no longer be of use.”

Dumbledore frowned, “No longer be of use?” 

“I can’t spy for you anymore.” 

“Ahhh,” he said, seeming to understand. “Nightshade didn’t ask to train you just because she thought you’d be a useful spy. Neither did I. We wanted you to join the Order of the Phoenix.” 

“The what?” 

Dumbledore explained to you what the Order was, that while your family connections had been initially a big reason for your recruitment, it had been your performance in classes, and the friendships you had formed that really got Nightshade to choose you. You had shown no bIood-based bias, you had openly defied pure-bIoods. 

“We think you’d be an incredible addition to our ranks,” he added. 

You gulped as you stared at his desk, trying to process everything he’d told you, “You… you want me to fight in the war,” you said, as if putting it into words made it any more real than it already was. 

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow as he stared at you and nodded, “Perhaps then you’ll be able to continue protecting those you love.” 

“But– there are much more experienced wizards, there– I almost diеd last night.” 

“Yes, and you were willing to risk your life to protect someone you love,” he said. “That makes you better for the task of fighting a war than most, no matter how qualified they might be.” 

You swallowed again, be it bravery or recklessness the reason that you had done what you did, you were now being offered…

“A chance to stop it from happening again,” he finished. 

You looked at him with a frown, you were sure your occlumency was up, and you instantly tested your mind shields. They were still up, Dumbledore gave you a long look, and you realised he hadn’t been reading your mind, but rather your reactions and your body language. The way your jaw clenched and your body tensed when he said certain things. You breathed, relaxing your body as much as you could before speaking again, “Okay,” you said simply. 

Dumbledore nodded, and you were about to stand, halfway up your chair before you sat down again and leaned a little closer, “I came here because it was the only safe place I could think of that Barty could help me apparate to.” 

“It was very wise,” he noted. 

“But… Remus will leave tonight. He asked his parents if I could come with them, but I won’t if my being with them puts them at risk.” 

“Do you want to go?” He asked calmly. 

You were taken aback by his question. Of course you did, you didn’t want to be left alone. “Not if it risks anyone’s life,” you repeated. 

He nodded and gave you a long look, “From what I gather, the deatheaters are not looking for you at the present moment. They think you’re too weak, and that you’ll return home by yourself. Your father will probably be there, waiting for you.” He took a deep breath and then continued, “Is there a way in which he can track you? A magic item or something he’s given you?” 

“No,” you responded. You had many magic items, but none by which he could track you. Not even the ring your mother had given you. 

“Then it should be safe for you to go, as long as you don’t call too much attention to yourself. The Lupins live in a cottage near the sea in Wales at the moment. Small muggle town, no wizards live there to my knowledge.” 

You nodded as he gave you all the information, “So, I wouldn’t put them in danger by going?” 

“You would not,” he reassured. 

“Okay, thank you,” you said as you stood up, something akin to a smile drawing itself on your lips.

Dumbledore merely nodded as he saw you walk towards his door and descend down the stairs, a mischievous look on his face, as if he was both amazed by and compassionate of you. 

You walked down and found Remus sitting on a nearby bench, writing some things down in a small notebook. His face lit up when he spotted you, “How did it go?” he asked. 

“He knew a lot of it already, I gave him the details and wrote a list of all the names I remembered. 

The two of you walked towards the common room by each other and sat near the fire. Remus had extended his legs over the table and you let your head fall over his lap, closing your eyes when he turned on the radio and played one of the tapes you had sent them. “You still want me to read?” he asked. 

You shrugged in response. “I’ve got this book,” he told you, pulling it out of his back, “or we could do one of yours?” 

“Your book,” you said, you hadn’t even opened your eyes.

“You really want me to read advanced arithmancy?” he asked. You frowned and opened your eyes, he gave you an amused look as you took the book from his hand to revise the title. 

“Your nose will grow,” you said as you read the title. It was not Advanced Arithmancy. 

“You weren’t even looking,” he said simply. “The book’s fine?” 

You nodded, and he started reading. Remus was an incredibly good reader, and you lost yourself on the story as he read, his hand had absentmindedly found your hair and he was carefully brushing his fingers over your scalp, like he often saw you do to comfort Sirius, you had done it to him a couple of times too, and he loved every minute of it. 

You were both so immersed in the story that neither of you realised there was an owl knocking on a window until a boy from 2nd year walked down the stairs and asked if anyone was expecting mail. 

You turned to look at Remus and he moved the book away to be able to see your face, you lifted yourself up while he stood and walked towards the window, opened it and retrieved a small letter from an owl’s beak. 

“Thank you,” you said to the boy with a polite smile. 

“You’re welcome,” he said before giving you a court nod and leaving, waving a polite goodbye. 

“They said you can come,” Remus said as he sat down next to you again, showing you the letter. You took a deep breath and smiled. You wouldn’t have to spend the night alone. “Want me to help you pack?” 

You nodded with a smile and the two of you walked to your room. Remus had been there before, back at the Halloween party, a soft smile played on his lips as he looked back at the memory. 

Meanwhile, you took the small bag from the party that you had somehow managed to keep slung across your shoulder during the entire ordeal and started dumping everything onto your bed. Remus looked at you surprised since he had no idea you had also charmed your bag to keep so many things inside. 

“Why would you take so many things to the party,” he asked as he pulled one of the three books inside the bag and started to inspect it. 

“I was originally planning to sit in a corner and read something,” you admitted, “was not expecting a bigotry celebration.” 

“I loved this, by the way,” you said as you pulled out the book of poems he’d made you and placed it on the desk carefully. 

“You took it as well?” 

You shrugged, “I wanted to read it, I haven’t gotten through all the pages,” you said honestly. Then you leaned down and picked out a small suitcase from under your bed. 

Remus smiled as he looked at you, you had been so talkative at Slughorn’s party, perfectly entertaining both adult guests and other kids your age, he could barely imagine you sitting in a corner with a book in your hand, you clearly hadn’t been eager to attend said party in the first place. 

“Do your parents celebrate an elegant New Year?” You asked as you pulled a few simpler clothes from your trunk, some jeans, a couple of jumpers, some thermal clothes and a couple of graphic tees. 

“No wonder I can’t find my jumpers,” he said as he grabbed three of the jumpers you had pulled out. 

“Sorry,” you said with a wince and a small shrug, they were all his. “So, elegant?” 

“Not really?” he said with a shrug. “I mean Mum wears something nice, but it’s not like elegant wizard stuff either.” 

“You think this would work?” You asked as you pulled out a simple blue dress. It had sleeves that would reach just past your elbows and a square neckline. 

Remus nodded with a shrug, “Just wear something comfortable,” he said as he sat on the bed and helped bend some of the clothes you’d picked out. 

“Oh, Rem, don’t worry about that, it’s–” 

“Shhh,” he interrupted, “just focus on finding the stuff, we should hurry.” 

You gave him a look but nodded, picking out some more stuff quickly and starting to bend it all. When you opened your suitcase he realised it had also been charmed, two rows of drawers pulled out and moved to the side, enough for you to place all you had picked and at least another 3 times that. Of course, you wouldn’t need that many clothes, so it didn’t matter if some parts of it stayed empty. 

“You’re taking pyjamas?” he asked. 

You hadn’t even thought about it, and quickly dug through your trunk to pull some shorts, fluffy socks, long sleeve shirts, and also some thick pants, in case it got too cold. You also walked towards the bathroom and got a toothbrush and a small set of toiletries. When you walked back, Remus was already placing all of your sleep clothes in one of the drawers. 

“Thanks,” you said with an awkward smile and pulled a brush from the vanity. 

Remus just shrugged in response, “No problem, luv.”

You heard a small tap on the window and walked towards it, a large black owl was leaning against the window seal. He carried a small square package in its claw, Narrow and long, wrapped in black fabric and with a letter tucked in the side. The owl waited for you to open, left the package with a small nod and flew away. 

Remus and you exchanged looks before you picked it up and walked over to the bed, sitting next to him. You pulled the green ribbon and found a small letter on top, it was more of a note than a letter, though. 

We attempted to retrieve your wand, unfortunately, and as you’ll see, we were late, Bella had already broken it in two. You’ll have to get a new one. Barty mentioned that you asked for the one that belonged to the girl. We had to dig through, but we found it. Hope it serves you for whatever purpose it is that you need it. 

-E

“They got it back,” you whispered as you took the box and pulled it open. Your wand, like Evan said, was there in two pieces, completely broken. You pulled out the pieces with a sigh, a sad look as you stared at them. 

“You’ve had it all your life?” 

“Yeah,” you answered, “I got it when I was 9 so I could study ahead.” Remus gave you an incredulous look, and you shrugged. “They wanted me to perform well in my first year. They wouldn’t let me use it all the time, but Mum taught me all the basic spells, and I pinched a book of duels from my father. I accidentally charred a tree before they realised.” 

Remus scoffed with a smile on his face. He shouldn’t have been surprised, you had always been a bit of a troublemaker, but imagining a little Vixen with a wand burning a tree down was certainly amusing. Either way, there was still another wand in the box. It was narrow and long, about as long as James’, perhaps a little longer, it was carved like Sirius’ but the insides had a tinge of blue, and seemed to shine as it caught the light. “Is that–”

“Nina’s wand,” you finished, swallowing thickly as you too looked inside the box. “They found it,” you added with a sad smile. 

“What will you do with it?” he asked. 

You shook your head, “I’m not sure,” you admitted. “I just knew I didn’t want it to be lost forever.” 

“Do you know what type of wand it is?” he asked. 

You shook your head in response, “Nina almost always kept her in her pocket, she tended to avoid the subject… I never asked her why.” That last part was a little harder to say, mostly because of the thought that came to your head after it, you’d never be able to ask why.

“Maybe we can give it back to a family member?” 

“Her mum was there too,” you responded. “Perhaps Sybil would know,” you added with a shrug.

“If–” Remus hesitated, “If I were her, I’d want you to keep it.” 

You gave him a look, and picked the wand up, shaking your head, “I doubt it.” 

“No, I’m sure,” Remus insisted. “She pushed you out of the way of a spell, she would want you to be protected. If her wand could protect you the same way you protected her–”

“Tried,” you corrected. “I tried to protect her.” 

Remus placed his arm over your shoulders and brought you closer to him, “Sometimes we do all that’s within our power and we still lose. It doesn’t make us any less worthy.” 

You sighed, leaning your head against his shoulder, “If I take it” –you took in a breath– “If I take it then I can’t keep pretending it didn’t happen.” Your eyes were watering again. “I’d have to face it, every time I do magic, I’ll have to–”

“Hey,” Remus said softly, as he rubbed his hand on your shoulder. “Breathe, luv. Let’s leave it here for now. You can borrow my wand whenever you need magic and we’ll go to Diagon sometime on the break so you can get a wand. How does that sound?” 

You blinked the tears away, quickly cleaning one that had slipped and nodded. “I’ll bring it, just in case,” you said, and gently placed the one on the drawer near the bottom. You didn’t want to see it when you looked for clothes. 

Remus didn’t think it was healthy to ignore your feelings, he knew what you were doing to yourself wasn’t any better than actually processing your loss, but he had been trying to ignore his feelings for you and Sirius the last few months, and he wasn’t hypocritical enough tell you how you should process things when he himself could barely do it. 

Eventually, you took a deep breath and pressed a button on the side of the suitcase. The drawers went back inside and the suitcase closed shut. You took some of the books and placed them inside the smaller bag you had taken to the party. “We’ve got books at home too,” Remus teased with a smile and you elbowed him gently. 

“You said after dinner, right?” He nodded, and you turned to the clock, “We should probably go see Dumbledore then… Perhaps we can get some snacks from the kitchen on our way.” 

Remus shook his head, “Mum will have dinner for us,” Remus said, "she used to be a chef, she’s always loved cooking.” 

“I had no idea,” you said as you grabbed the suitcase and the bag, you left them in the common room and walked with Remus to get his own suitcase and backpack and then the two of you walked towards Dumbledore’s office. 

“I see you’ve decided to go,” Dumbledore said as he saw you with the suitcase in hand. 

“Remus can be very persuasive,” you replied. 

He nodded and moved out of the way to let you walk towards his chimney. 

Dumbledore handed over a small piece of paper to you, in neat gold, you read: Lupin’s cottage, Wales. 

“Thank you,” you said as you walked over to the chimney.

“Mr. Lupin, perhaps you should go first,” Dumbledore suggested. 

Remus nodded in agreement and walked inside, taking some powder from the bag and then throwing it against the floor, “Lupin’s cottage, Wales,” he said, articulating every word carefully. 

“Ready?” Dumbledore asked as he offered the bag for you to take some of the green powder. You nodded and dug your hand into the bag, taking a good deal of powder and holding your fist closed tight. “Take care,” he said simply. 

“Thank you, Professor,” you said as you walked inside the chimney. “Happy New Year,” you added right before taking a deep breath and saying “Lupin’s cottage, Wales.” 

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

TAGLIST: @rayrlupin @callmelovergirl @warcelia @ireneop @endversewinchester @moonyunebi @smuttysluttybitch @mazzymoons @drugs-for-memes @sofiacblair @vmpir3lvr @remuslupinisbae @rabluver @willgrahamisalesbi4n @thatobsessedreader @itskailey24 @hell0-kittie-blog @belovedmoony @blacksgarden @loving-and-dreaming @cassie-love20 @starchaser-lily @zucchini-queenie @springflwer07 @sseleniaa @cometsghost @orkwardx0 @imdoingbetternow  @sbrewer21 @remuslupinsbae @maxinehufflepuffprincess @wifiatthetrainstation @unstablereader @msblacklupin @simpkingollie @jaylienpotter @remussbitch @hermionelove @izuoyarmin @themarauderswife7 @keira-kaz2y5 @lampthemacarenagod @bugg06 @a-n-1-m-3-f-r-3-4-k @darlingeels @kissmeunicornbaobei @xluansstuff @boo8008 @angelmixer @voteforintensedreams @allons-y-molly @aremuslupinsimp @imaginexred @writingshae @nyanwyn @poetrypirate @crazyhorseforgot @saturnhas82moons @ryeyeyer @mothraantics @maqqiekwon @desikudisworld

Leave a comment telling me if you wanna be tagged on Gilded Constellations

Want to support me? Like and reblog this post (reblogs are extra nice since they help me get my work to more people), also guys, I absolutely love reading your comments, so do throw them my way if you have any!

A/N: I little bit of fluff so we can start processing all that's been going on in GC lately. I feel like it's much needed.

Read more Marauders Fiction

[sirenscriptures]

primarchs + fantasies (2)

anonymous asked: Can I like. Beg you to do another of the primarch fantasies. But including Angron and Peter Turbo. Don't care too much about who else you go for if you do it but please there's so little content for them 😭😭😭🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

notes: you ask and you shall receive my sweet anon <3 if you want more primarchs for this series of hcs do let me know!! i decided to include my fav emo ankle biting bat and pretty goth raven man along with your lovely choices. (mdni banner is by arlerts-angel!)

warnings: pretty much gender neutral ! reader. size difference. touch starved primarch time. possessiveness. some bondage. body worship mentioned. depictions of fear play + predator/prey + slight stalking on konrad’s part. the primarchs not knowing how to deal with intimate feelings (shocker!!)

perturabo

for one so cold such as perturabo, it’s a safe assumption that any type of fantasy—even if fleeting—is an utter waste of time. and to no one’s surprise, wasted time is one of his many irritants.

in general, primarchs aren’t recognized as being the greatest with intimacy, yet there are certainly ones who are better at handling it than others, and perturabo is not within that group, at least not yet. shall we say…he would be low-ranked on the intimacy scale compared to some of his brothers.

though, in his slow-building foundation of trust with you, various facets of the massive primarch began to reveal themselves.

it started small, really—fleeting thoughts in your absence of how you watched with a bright curiosity at how he spent so many hours repairing and creating countless devices at his workbench, looping even the smallest of interactions you were able to have in your limited time together within his head during his alone time, the feeling of your prolonged absence beginning to drive an even emptier pit within his chest that made it impossible to focus on anything…

at a certain point, the initial waves of these new urges made perturabo’s already thin patience begin to melt away completely, making him more prone to snapping at everyone around him, even toward you at times—which he of course would come to regret.

but other than his immense frustration due to his inability to recognize and fully confront his deeper desires, he would find himself giving into these “wastes of time” he’d resented so much before.

specifically, desires to explore every part of your delicate body. desires that made him, perturabo of all souls, yearn for physical contact from only you. even if it meant splaying you out on his workbench or hooking you into one of his large contraptions so you had nowhere to flee, he’d do it.

just envisioning how your fragile skin would be stained with marks from metal straps and contraptions digging into your soft flesh, how warm and tight you would be even with his thick cock barely inside of you, and how addictive your noises would be to him as he’d let himself finally have the privilege of getting completely lost in pleasure instead of his own monumental ego…it was enough to drive even someone as stone cold as him mad.

yet, there was more to these thoughts. perturabo had no interest in simply pleasuring you, or getting his pleasure from you. even though pleasure in this sense was fundamental, the aspect that enthralled him the most was being able to call you “his”. not that just your body was his, but that you belonged to him. and he had no means of forgetting to remind you. physically, emotionally, mentally, he wanted to let you know that you belonged to no one else but him.

the more he entertained these thoughts, the more he couldn’t even really recognize himself anymore. you had somehow managed to completely rewire his way of thinking. whether this was good or bad was to be determined…maybe after he did what he did best: putting his ideas into action.

angron

although angron is one of the primarchs who struggles with intimacy the most, that doesn’t mean he is immune from having the same thoughts and desires as his brothers. the only thing that truly “prevents” these thoughts are—you guessed it—the nails.

due to the amount of pain he was in at almost every waking moment, angron had essentially written off any other feeling than his anger. after all, he had no choice. the way he was engineered made this unfortunate truth evermore present, especially when you started growing on him.

he couldn’t even fathom how it was possible that he’d started growing attached to you. of course he had care for certain folk around him, like his sons and certain siblings, of course. but when it came to you, it was completely different. not even the nails could drive hard enough into his brain tissue to convince him that it wasn’t. yet, any time he wished to explore the sensations you gave him, the anger would always wash over him even more than the last time.

anyone that even knew slightly of the primarch knew that his fury was unmatched. his rage boiled like no other, even out of the deepest pits of the immaterium; and the way he fought and shed others' blood displayed that clearly. and though his exterior would never let you know it, he did have the capacity to worry despite the pain.

the truth was that these desires were possibly even stronger than his own potent rage. but angron knew, with that same bitter taste in his mouth, that even if he were able to, letting himself release onto you would only end up hurting you; but more likely killing you. though he could be bloodthirsty and careless of the lives he tossed away, you were different to him than others. his trust was not easy to gain by just anybody, but your gentle nature and genuine kindness even despite his own temperament had gradually surrendered it to you.

though it’s immensely painful for him, sometimes he can’t help but to think of you. there are so many times where he craves the feeling of your bare skin against his. times where he can feel you in every aspect, from the taste of your lips to how it feels pushing inside you. the pain he’s so used to feeling doesn’t stop him from envisioning how hypnotizing you’d look pushing yourself down onto his shaft, head throwing back as your entire body trembled at the feeling of his length stretching you from the inside.

he knew it could never truly happen because of these feelings, but a part of him wanted so badly to feel you with his own hands. as battered and scarred as they were, you’d always looked so soft to him. the attraction angron had to you seemed to only fester when he had these thoughts, causing even more pain for him.

envisioning a position where he can have you in his possession and feel every single part of you without any pain feels like it could be the closest feeling to euphoria he could ever feel. even if it’s just a sliver of the sensation, the pain feels worth it in some form. even if you have to restrain him until he has fresh scars, it would all be worth it for you. at least, some part of him felt that.

corvus corax

like many of his brothers, corvus is extremely complicated. there are many cold and immovable aspects to his personality, yet there is still the glimmer of humanity in him. there are also aspects of vulnerability that you don’t get to see too often, at least as a human surrounded primarily by legionaries.

even as a human who never got much interaction with him, corvus knew there was something about you worth exploring. while it was never too common for primarchs to interact so personally with humans in or outside of their legions, he wasn’t the type to be concerned about any raised eyebrows or whispers.

the more alone time he spends with you, while limited at first, only makes this curiosity within him grow. every visit with you makes him want to know even more about you than the last, even when your conversations expand from only mere minutes to hours.

while it only seems like a harmless interest of his in the early stages, corvus slowly begins to realize just how much of an impact you leave on him, and it eats away at him in your absence. there is something desperate within him when thinking of you. it doesn’t make sense at first due to how new these sensations are to the primarch, but it comes together eventually.

maybe it was how deeply he’d gotten to know you that drew him closer. even just the sight of your face or sound of your voice could pull him from even the darkest of ruminations that plagued his mind so often. the first time he’d ever heard you sincerely smile and laugh without any worry of formality made something in him feel more alive than ever.

his thoughts of you were fond, but they had so much more depth now. because of you, his mind no longer felt so dark and clouded.

the desperation he felt for you was connected to the deep longing for your touch. though he could never let you know that, corvus still ached to feel you. his thoughts of you were full of admiration not only for your character and personality, but also for your body.

if he let himself slip too much into the thought, it would make him wonder what it would be like exploring your body. you were so delicate, so gentle that he’d have to almost “train” himself to handle you properly and with care. your body was so fascinating to him entirely. in his mind, there wasn’t any other way to make you know that than to worship it entirely.

so many thoughts and wonders of feeling you and noting which parts of you were most sensitive, so many visions of your back arching and body squirming, so many questions of whether you felt similar to him.

of course, he has to pull himself away from these thoughts, which is a battle against himself every time. though, there are still so many questions in his mind that remain. even when he’s gotten to know so much about you, there is always a deeper yearning in the raven guard primarch to display how much he desires you as a whole. for now, he can only hope that these fantasies don’t just exist as such forever.

konrad curze

curze is another one of those special cases, in that most if not all of his fantasies involve invoking fear in some way. yet, his fantasies about you are quite different from his fantasies of how he sheds others’ blood.

in true primarch nature, it takes him quite a while to properly acknowledge these thoughts and urges. having these types of feelings for a human was the last thing he’d ever expected in his lifetime. he never would have found his mind capable of ever having these feelings for really anyone.

for a being so centered on generating fear and violence wherever he is, it’s like the world he’d always known was shattering around him. the discovery of his feelings and desires for you feel like konrad’s biggest loss yet an amazing revelation at the exact same time.

before, you were such an insignificant face in his mind. just an innocent stranger, almost like the rest of them. almost. that was the part that had stuck out in his mind: you were clearly different in the way he’d spared you from death. yet, he never understood why.

these feelings are almost unbearable to him, like a sickness of some kind. it’s almost like feeling this way changes him physically in some form, because it seems to take a toll on his health and stature for a while. yet somehow, it feels good…and he doesn’t want the overwhelming sensations to stop.

though he manages to hide it from you when you’re present, it comes to a point where even the mere scent of you fires off a million of these sensations at once: head spinning, vision almost completely blurred, feelings of that same drunken sickness mixed with an intense, unquenchable thirst for more blinding all rational thoughts…

yet, it somehow only intensifies. he can’t help but think of how beautiful you’d look underneath him, eyes glassy with that familiar fear he’d evoked in so many. even if it’s only an image in his mind, konrad can feel how soft your lips are, how delicate your neck is with his massive hand engulfing it, and how desperately you writhe beneath his body, both in fear and arousal.

the mere thought of you eventually becomes insatiable to him. he needs to feel you, needs to be as close to you as he possibly can, even if that means lurking wherever you are. he really doesn’t care whether you see or not, though he has quite a talent for slipping right away from your vision before you can even turn your head.

it doesn’t matter how much he tries to fight the visions away. once his mind was set on you, an endless spiral drove deeper into his mind with each passing moment. even if he would never fully understand why he’d felt this way, or how this had ever come to be, konrad knew that there was far too much enjoyment to be had in this little game of chase with you to really care.

even if there was a very small part of him that did truly wonder of the deeper parts of yourself other than your mixed fear and interest within him, he’d never truly let that be known. at least, not in a direct way. but who knows? maybe one day you’d see that mask slip accidentally. but until then, he would still keep so many secrets from you, even in his own fantasies of you.

written by sirenscriptures. do not copy, repost, rewrite, translate, use, or post on to any other site.

[im-sleepdeprived]

Crazier • Pt. 1

pairing: mcu!peter parker x reader

a/n: this is a series ! prob 3 parts im thinking (i think im back AH), editing took me 10000 years actually so if there's something wrong PLEASE don't tell me !!! :D

warnings: umm just me not knowing anything about star wars, girls support girls<3, mentions of breakup, honestly theres nothing wrong but i think i said 'shit' like twice if you give a shit lmfao

"There's no way you actually think 'Return Of The Jedi' is better than 'The Empire Strikes Back'. Like, come on dude, it's so obvious which is better," Ned exclaimed, obviously feeling very strongly about the little debate he had currently going on with Peter. 

However, Peter couldn't have been more nonchalant. "Listen, man, I love debating with you but I know where I stand and this is where I draw the line," he shrugged.

Ned opened his mouth, no doubt to argue some more with his best friend, when his gaze shifted to you, "Hey man, maybe we should talk about something Y/N can enjoy too."

That made your head snap up from where you were just toying with the food on your tray. "Don't worry about me guys," you forced a smile, "Honestly, I love watching Ned beat you into a pulp about movies," you looked at Peter. 

Peter put on his 'sad-puppy-dog-face', "Ouch babe. You're supposed to side with me here, I'm your boyfriend after all." 

"Well, I would've sided with you if you hadn't bailed on me when we were supposed to watch the movies together the other night. If you'd been there then I would've been able to contribute to this conversation and agree with who I genuinely thought was right, which at this moment, I believe, is Ned." 

Ned grinned at you from across the table and you two high-fived while Peter just pouted some more, "I'm sorry sweetheart, I really am but y'know I had the internship."

You rolled your eyes, "Of course, I know that. At this point the surprising thing is whenever you don't have that internship," you looked at Ned, "Dude, do you know how many dates and hangouts he's canceled on me? I feel like I should be able to sue at this point. Can you sue someone for wasting your time?"

Ned winced, "Pete, I love you man, but you need to start actually acting like her boyfriend otherwise you won't be her boyfriend for much longer."

Peter's eyes widened a bit but then his face quickly turned nonchalant, "It was just a few slip-ups, don't worry about it," he threw an arm around you and pulled you in, kissing the top of your head, "but you're right, we should talk about something we'd all enjoy."

Laughing, you said, "I told you guys, I enjoy hearing you debate because Ned is always-"

Peter threw a hand up, "Don't finish that sentence. I've had enough of you two fraternizing against me for the day."

You and Ned laughed some more, "Well honestly, you two can continue your...," you waved your hands, " 'old-couple-bickering' and I can scooch down a little and go hang out with M.J.."

Peter pulled you in closer at that, "No don't leave," he muttered in your hair. 

"Yeah," Ned started, "let's talk about something else like," he trailed off, "OH, you're managing the school play next week, right? That's gotta be interesting, tell us about that."

"It's really nothing 'Manager' is really just a fun name they stuck on me. Mrs. Lightbody does most of the work."

"Oh come on," Peter said, "when you first got the part, it was all you wanted to talk about. What happened?"

you happened, you thought. It's true, you had been too excited that you'd been chosen to be in charge of everything and you couldn't wait to rant to your boyfriend about just that. That was until he basically ignored you and shook it off as nothing, running away for the stark internship. You hadn't really wanted to talk about it with anybody after that. Maybe it wasn't as cool as you'd thought it was. 

You looked down and just shrugged, "Dunno, guess I just didn't think you guys would be interested in it. You've never really shown interest in theater before."

"Well, that was before my gorgeous girlfriend was in charge. Now, go on, tell us what it's like to get a bunch of theater kids on track."

You laughed, "God it's torture. I'm convinced it's some personalized hell made for someone's eternal punishment and I do not envy them."

Peter and Ned laughed along with you, Peter saying, "Yeah I bet. We all know how much you love your control."

You gasped, eyebrows furrowing, "Peter Parker are you saying I'm a control freak?"

He held up both of his hands in surrender, "No of course not babe," he traded a glance with Ned when you weren't looking. 

"Anyway," he propped an elbow on the table, rested his head on his palm, and made a motion with his other hand, "continue."

You looked at Ned, "Are you sure I'm not boring you," you asked, shoving your hand in Peter's face when he went to argue.

"Of course not Y/N! Wild, out-of-control theater kids is a favorite subject of mine," he grinned and you huffed a laugh. 

"Fine, it's not as easy as I thought'd it be I'll say that. There's always someone way out of line, either singing songs from musicals at the top of their lungs or fighting someone else with the props. One time a kid started climbing the curtain bags and it was disastrous."

You told them all the funny stories you had from the past rehearsals and how you couldn't wait for the upcoming ones. 

"Hey these sound fun how come I haven't been to one yet," Peter asked, referring to the rehearsals. 

You scoffed, "Please Parker, you can barely make it to a date. There's no way you're gonna make it to one of these."

Peter felt a wave of guilt rush over him. He'd been leaving you hanging a lot lately. 

"I'm sorry Y/N/N, really I am. But I want to come to one of these. I want to see you doing your thing. In fact, when's the next one I'll be there," he sounded so sure of himself but you weren't. 

"Um," you hesitated, not really sure if you should answer him, "They're every other day after school until opening night. But Peter, honestly, you don't have to come I know how busy your schedule is and you barely fit in things that you need to do, I seriously doubt you have the time to voluntarily do this," you told him, refusing to get your hopes up. 

"Hey," he leaned closer to you, "I know I haven't been the best boyfriend lately but I promise I'm going to be there for you today."

"Peter," you said quietly not being able to meet his eyes and that alone made his heartbreak, "Don't make promises you can't keep. That never ends well."

"Hey if I said I'll be there, then I'll be there. come on, gotta have a little more faith in me than that sweetheart," he smiled a little, letting it grow into a grin when he saw your lips tugging up at the corners of your mouth. 

"Promise," you asked. 

"Promise," he confirmed, leaning in for a sweet kiss. Maybe he could really be there for you this time instead of-

Something hit the side of your face making you both turn your heads towards your other friend. You looked down to find a bunch of rolled-up napkins lying on the floor. 

"Well as glad as I am that y'all got that settled, let us remember that this is a public space," Ned said making you both laugh. 

"So it's settled, meet you in the auditorium after last period right," Peter asked you, trying to make sure he had the times correct. 

"Oh," you replied, a little shocked that he was actually doing this, "Yeah, if you're showing up then I guess so."

peter laughed, "Y/N come on, what did we just have an entire conversation about? Of course, I'm showing up."

You nodded slowly then looked towards Ned, "I didn't hit my head anywhere just a minute ago, did I?" 

Ned just shrugged, "I'm just as surprised as you are Y/N. Peter needs to step up his game and I'm sure the internship can wait an evening. After all," he gave Peter a hard look before an amused expression took over his face, "After all, what is an internship if not just running around making copies of random things and memorizing dozens of different coffee orders."

"Hey man come on, we've been over this." he nodded his head towards you and widened his eyes slightly, but you didn't notice, too busy taking a sip from your chocolate milk, "This isn't just any internship. I have to be available at every moment in case Mr. Stark decides he needs me on something."

"Mhm, whatever," Ned took a bite of his sandwich, "All I'm saying is that no matter how important it is, you need to learn to divide up your time evenly."

"Don't worry Ned, I'll be sure to sign him up for some time management classes," you said seriously, making Ned choke on his food from laughter. 

Peter sighed, one arm still resting on the table, the palm of it holding his head. his other arm tucked away under the table, hand holding yours. 

you were feeling amazing, your mood completely lifted now. Peter was finally making the first step to fix things after your many failed attempts. Things could start going back to how they were at the beginning of your relationship. sweet, caring, and mutual. 

You were so sick of feeling like this whole thing was one-sided but now things finally looked like they were turning up. 

Little did you know. 

When the day finally ended you couldn't wait. Spending time with Peter while hanging out with your new friends (somewhat, you weren't really sure but you were optimistic) seemed like it be such a good time. Almost too good to be true. 

You rushed towards your locker and gathered your stuff before shooting Peter a text that you'll just meet him in the auditorium. 

You arrived there before anyone else, which was typical, everyone would be wandering the halls with their friends for a while before making their way here. The cast and crew might mess around a bit but in the end, they were extremely passionate about what they did and you knew that in the end, the show would be amazing. They were all incredibly talented. 

little by little everyone started filing in in little groups. You searched them all for Peter but he was never a part of them. Oh well, he was probably caught up with Ned and MJ at the moment. He'll be here in a bit. 

When the majority of people were present you, reluctantly, decided you had to get things started whether Peter was here yet or not. Everyone had to start getting to work and he should be here any minute now. 

"Ok everyone, you've been wandering around long enough. Time to get started," you clapped your hands together, a clipboard held under your arm, "Noah, Jack, and Lacy we've got to start making progress on the set and I don't want paint everywhere we've had one paint fight too many," you narrowed your eyes at Noah and Jack who looked down sheepishly. It had been a mess. It'd looked as if a pride parade had thrown up all over the stage. 

"This background is our last chance and if you mess it up again we'll probably have to cancel and if that happens, I will not hesitate to unleash Lexi on you," you gestured towards the girl who glared at them and you could've sworn you saw them pale which made smile a small smile. 

You pulled out your clipboard to skim through and see what was on the agenda. "Where's our light-man," you asked and looked up. Everyone shrugged looking around until a girl, Martha, spoke, "Lenny had a teacher meeting, he's running a bit late but he'll be here."

You nodded, "Martha that reminds me, how's your mom doing with the costumes? does she have everything she needs?" 

Martha nodded quickly, "Measurements and everything. All of them should be ready a few days before the big day and she'll be here that night for any mending that might be needed." She shot you two big thumbs up. 

"Good, good, good," you muttered under your breath. You looked around at everyone and shrugged lightly, "OK so I guess everyone just rehearse your lines, get to work and we should be good for the next couple of hours."

Chatter quickly spread across the large room as everyone got together working and talking. You sat down on a seat and let out a long sigh. You tugged your phone out of your pocket and looked for a new message from Peter. There was nothing. You sent two more and added a call for good measure. He didn't pick up, it just rang all the way through. Maybe he got caught up with a teacher. Or maybe he got detention and didn't get a chance to tell you. 

You had more important things to get to and Peter would get here whenever he got the chance. He'd promised after all. So you shouldn't worry about it too much. 

You started making rounds around all the groups of working teenagers, stopping when you saw Lexi waving you over to her little group which mostly consisted of the main cast. 

You walked over to them, "And how's everything going over here? Any trouble?" They all shook their heads. 

"Actually, I think we're getting along rather well, it's a great cast you've rounded up here miss Y/L/N," Mrs. Lightbody said, making you feel extremely proud. 

"I actually wanted to talk to you," Lexi said kindly. 

"Oh? What's up, Lex." She grabbed your hand and led you a little farther away from the group, turning and shooting them a quick reassuring smile. 

Lexi was the star of the whole play, playing the main character, so you'd worked with her closely these past few weeks. She helped you with even the slightest things so you wouldn't get too stressed or anxious (she claimed you were the only sane person in the whole group and it needed to stay that way). She was undoubtedly the most excited person about the whole play and you couldn't blame her, you could already tell from just practice that she was going to do amazing. She was on the popular side where school cliques were involved, but she was always such a sweetheart. She quickly became a great friend of yours and you hoped it stayed that way even after the play and all these fun little get-togethers were over. 

"Hey, Y/N I noticed you seemed a little off before. I'm sorry if I'm out of line saying this but I just wanted to check in on you and make sure everything was okay. Anything going on? I'm always here to listen if you need to talk," she smiled one of her heartwarming smiles. 

You were a little shocked that she'd noticed, "Thanks Lex, really, but I'm fine I promise. but thank you so much for looking out for me."

she had a look on her face like she didn't believe you but she didn't push it, which you appreciated, "ok well if you decide you want to talk about I'm always around I promise," she grabbed you into a hug which you gladly accepted. she pulled away and squeezed your shoulder before heading back to the group. 

You loved her but really there was nothing wrong. Because Peter was gonna show up. Even if he hadn't answered you yet. He's gonna show up, follow you like a lost puppy, and marvel at your every move in that way of his to the point where it got annoying, and you were gonna make him swear to never come to one of these again. To which he would pout and give you puppy-dog eyes and you'd both forget whatever it was you'd said. 

He had to come. otherwise, you might seriously start considering Ned's words from earlier. or you won't be her boyfriend for much longer. 

Peter had to show up because maybe your whole relationship was on the line. 

An hour of a bunch of nonsense arguing passed until you finally heard the press of the large auditorium doors opening up. 

Your heart flew when you saw the large mess of brunette curls turned to close the doors. however, your hope quickly deflated as soon as the figure turned around. it was just Lenny the light-man. 

"Lenny, great. I need you to start working on the lights and getting them ready," you told him. He nodded and quickly made his way backstage. 

You were totally bummed. peter hadn't even replied to you so you had no clue what was going on. you'd even gone so far as to text Ned who'd just sent you a shrugging emoji and an apology for not knowing where he was. 

You felt a little broken, with each passing minute, your hope that your boyfriend might still show up dying down. 

You were desperate so you walked down to the side of the stage where Lexi was chatting with her 'co-star' Brad Davis, who played her love interest. 

You walked up to them, your hand lightly grabbing Lexi's shoulder which brought her attention to you, "Can I talk to you," you whispered. She nodded quickly. You looked towards Brad whose attention was already on you, "Is it alright if I just steal her for a moment," you sent him a fake smile. He smiled back, "No don't worry about it, she's all yours."

He looked like he was might say something else but you didn't give him the chance to before dragging your friend away from all the commotion, "I'm ready to talk now."

She looked at you knowingly before sitting down and patting the spot next to her. So you sat and you told her everything. You told her about all the missed dates, how sometimes he'd just ignore you completely making it impossible to reach him and come back and act like nothing happened, how it always seemed like he was hiding something, and how you were so tired. 

And she listened, of course, never making you feel like you were being overdramatic, and making you feel something that Peter always failed to. Seen. 

When you finally finished Lexi looked at you with total sympathy-eyes, you hated it but you sucked it up because you had chosen to talk to her. 

"Permission to speak freely?" she asked hesitantly. You nodded quickly, "Yes of course, please do that's why I came to you in the first place." 

"Dump his ass," she deadpanned. Your eyes widened in shock as you looked at her. "Really?" you asked. She nodded, "Y/N, I love you but it's obvious that this boy doesn't. Because if he did there's no way he'd test you like that, I mean, he's standing you up right now when he promised he'd be here. I say end it before it gets worse. But hey," she held up both hands, "If you think I'm out of line saying that I totally understand but I'm just telling you what I'd do if I was in your shoes."

"You think I should dump him," you mumbled looking down, not really believing it. You'd thought about it sure, what would happen if you two weren't together anymore but you'd never considered it an option, let alone a solution. 

"Thanks, Lex, I'll think about it," you gave her a tight smile and she smiled back. "I just hope you do whatever feels best for you Y/N, you've been looking down lately and you don't deserve that." She gave your hand a squeeze and one last smile before she went back to practice. 

You weren't seriously thinking about ending things with Peter, you were too scared to lose him. Your friendship was more important than any relationship ever could be. But the longer he went as a no-show the more it ran through your brain for the rest of rehearsal. Peter never texted or called. You were desperate for a simple "sorry" at this point, not wanting to have to settle for the worst option. But as time went on, the less it seemed like an option and more like a task. Something you had to do, that had to be done—something new to check off your clipboard. 

Rehearsal ended and people left in groups as they had come. You lingered, smiling and saying you had just a few things to check up on before you left whenever someone took regard for your incessant hovering. Soon enough you were the only person in the big empty room. 

You sat at the edge of the stage, legs dangling, and pulled out your phone from your pocket. You sent one last text, we need to talk. 

After about ten minutes of waiting there, you decided it was getting late and you had to get home before it was too dark. maybe you could convince your parents to let you head over to Peter's after dinner and you could get over with it then. your mind was made up. you were gonna break up with him. 

You gathered your things and made your way up to the big double doors. The hallways were quiet and you were hyperaware of every step of yours. It was weird to see the school so dead, a big contrast to the usual packed hallways. The more you thought about it the more it was like you could almost hear the running footsteps of students. No scratch that, student. Okay at this point it started sounding too real.

You turned around to catch your boyfriend speeding down the hallway, skidding to a stop when you saw you. 

"Oh my god Y/N, I'm so sorry I totally lost track of time. I was just helping May out with a few things and next thing I know-" 

You held up a hand to stop him, "Save it Peter I really don't care." 

His face fell, "But, hey, let me make it up to you! Let's go get some ice cream or something. You can tell me what rehearsal was like today and I'll walk you home after. It's getting dark."

You crossed your arms. you almost wanted to agree but you knew better than that, this whole thing was getting way too much for you to handle. 

"Peter I'm done," you told him simply. he looked at you a little confused, "done...done with what?"

"This," you almost screamed as you pointed at the two of you, "I'm done with this, this whole act because, let's face it, we both know you weren't helping May with shit." you were surprised you had gotten this far without crying and you wanted to keep it that way so you sucked in a breath and tried to steady your heartbeat. 

The guilty look in his eyes told you enough. you were right. he moved the slightest step closer but you moved back, you really didn't feel like touching him at the moment. "come on sweetheart," he said weakly, "there's gotta be something I can do. I promise I'll show up on time more, you'll never have to wait for me again. I'll be around you so much you'll get sick of me. just please don't do this."

"That's the thing, Peter," you groaned, "I don't want to be sick of you but I'm sick of the way you keep treating me. you make me feel like shit Peter. you're my boyfriend and you make me feel terrible. and I keep trying to help you out, coming up with different excuses each time but I've finally run out. I want a stable relationship and you can't give me that so I'm done." 

His eyes were red now and you had to push back the guilt you were feeling, he brought this upon himself. it's true, you wouldn't have done this unless it was absolutely necessary. you loved him but you just couldn't handle it anymore. 

"I can," his voice broke slightly on that last word, "I can give you that y/n just give me another chance to show you." 

You huffed, "Well Peter, part of a stable relationship is honesty. can you be honest and tell me where you were today? 'Cause it's been established that you weren't with May."

He froze a little and you continued, "In fact, why don't you tell me where you were when you missed all those dates, all those couple hangouts, and all those group hangouts? When you missed my parents' anniversary dinner that they invited you to, or my little brother's birthday party that he was really excited you'd be there for. Go ahead Pete," you flung out your arms, "tell me where you were and I'll believe you can give me a stable relationship."

He looked physically conflicted, as if he was genuinely having an inner battle with himself, "I- I can't y/n/n, but you have to believe me when I say it's for the best."

"And I can't Peter. I can't so just forget this," you cleared your throat, "Come back when you can actually handle a relationship Parker, or you know what, don't because either way, I'm through with this."

You turned to walk away. his hand reached out to grab your wrist but you dodged it and held your hand up, "I don't think we should talk anymore," you kept walking and he didn't follow. You didn't want him to. But in all honesty, it was hard to turn your back when the person you were leaving was always the one you ran to when your heart shattered as it did right then. 

the cold air hit you hard and the tears finally came, slightly smudging the concealer under your eyes but you couldn't care less at the moment. 

It was true what he'd said, it was dark already and windy so you tried to be alert on your way home, deciding you could process all your emotions when you're home safe. 

You were walking for a bit, wiping your tears and trying to keep your vision clear when you heard a slight thud next to you and footsteps matching up to catch yours. "Hello Miss, it's pretty dark, can I walk you home?"

part 2 is here !!

[okay-j-hannah]

Part 8: The Favor

Teen Wolf : Multishot

Stiles Stilinski x Reader

Word Count: 13.5k

Warnings: series rewrite, season 2 {aka 2011}, slow burn, friends to lovers, Stiles pining and depressed, usual teen wolf levels of violence and gore, heart conditions, talk of scars {good}, amnesia, finger picking, AGAIN ANGSTY AS HELL

Request: This just came from my own head 😊  

A/N: Don't worry

100% recommend listening to rain sounds when you get to the end part where it's a thunderstorm.

Part 7: The Summer Filter

Part 8: The Favor {You Are Here}

“No, I’m sorry, who are you?” The look on your face sends a wave of hurt down Stiles. “How do you know my name?”

He’s gripping the steering wheel of the jeep, cruising with Scott and Allison in the car. Lydia had gone missing about twenty minutes ago, the police at the hospital taking witness statements and rallying an APB.

With you indisposed, the trio decide to take matters into their own hands. That doesn’t mean Stiles is free of the hurt. You really have no idea who he is.

“Alright, but if Lydia’s turning, would they actually kill her?”

Allison is fretful, “I don’t know. They won’t tell me anything. Okay, all they say is, ‘We’ll talk after Kate’s funeral when the others get here.’”

“What others?” Stiles looks in the rearview mirror.

“They won’t tell me that, either.”

Stiles sighs, “Okay, your family’s got some serious communication issues to work on.” He yells at Scott whose head is out the window, “Scott, are we going the right way?”

Scott sniffs the rushing air and says, “Take the next right!”

“This is really turning into a real shit night.”

Allison is chewing on her fingers, “(Y/N) really doesn’t remember us?”

“She’s lost her memory from the last few months,” Stiles bites the inside of his cheek. “She remembers last summer but doesn’t remember starting her job at the hospital. That means her memory stops around October of last year.”

“God…” Allison mumbles, “Did they say if her memory would come back?”

Stiles digs his thumb into the ridges of the wheel, “They called it retrograde amnesia, and there’s a chance the memory loss could come back if they treat the underlying cause. But the cause was an anoxic brain, and they just needed to oxygenate her body to fix that. I don’t…” he slams a hand against the wheel as Scott slides back into the car. “This is what happened to…”

“Happened to…?” Allison presses, but it was Scott who answers.

“His mom,” Scott’s voice was quiet and full of sympathy. “There were days she didn’t know who Stiles was.”

Allison looks mortified, “Stiles, I am so…”

“How close are we?” Stiles cuts in, jaw set.

Scott points toward the woods, “It’s coming from that direction. We’re definitely closer – the scent is stronger.”

“There’s no way she’s a werewolf, right?” Allison says in a shaky voice, an attempt to get past the topic of you. Clearly this expedition to save Lydia was a way to distract Stiles. “You said her bite didn’t heal.”

“I know,” Scott frowns, not-so-subtly looking over at his friend to gauge the hurt he was feeling. “Maybe it was a late reaction?”

“I don’t think so,” Stiles muses, tone a little rigid, “This has got to be something else. Peter made it clear that she either turns or she’s dead.”

Scott directs the jeep further into the woods, “Maybe we should try to get ahold of Derek?”

“I’m done being on speaking terms with psychotic alpha werewolves,” Stiles goes off road into the trees and leaf-strewn ground. “I want that guy out of here by the next full moon.”

“Do you think he’ll leave town now that he’s gotten his revenge?” Allison muses, eyeing the back of Stiles’ head just as much as Scott was looking. “He avenged his sister, right?”

Scott shrugs, “I wouldn’t be surprised if he wants to create a pack of his own.”

“And he can do that somewhere else,” Stiles scoffs, bouncing along with the jeep, “Go back to wherever he was the last six years.”

“(Y/N) wasn’t bitten, right?” Allison asks quietly.

Stiles is quick with the answer, “No, just… she was just thrown around a bit. No teeth action.”

“With all the supernatural stuff happening to us… hearing about (Y/N)’s heart problems just seems so – human, don’t you think?”

Scott gives his girlfriend a warning look, “Yeah, you’re right.”

“I think her memory will…”

“Can we drop the whole (Y/N)-amnesia thing?!” Stiles grumbles.

Allison is swift in her retort, “She’s my friend too, Stiles. I’m allowed to be worried about her just as much as you!”

“Let’s not do this right now,” Scott says in a louder voice. “Lydia’s scent is coming from there.”

Stiles parks the jeep, leading the way into the moonlit forest and the house far in the distance. The Hale House. He’s still grumpy as he asks, “She came here? You sure?”

Scott stands back with Allison, hands nearly touching, “Yeah, this is where the scent leads.”

They keep walking, “Alright, but has Lydia ever been here?”

Allison shakes her head, “Not with me. I don’t think with (Y/N) either.” She talks with Scott in hushed tones, “Maybe she came here on instinct, like she was looking for Derek.”

“You mean, looking for an Alpha.”

“Wolves need a pack, right?” she asks, “Would she have been drawn to an Alpha? Is it an instinct to be part of a pack?”

“Yeah, we’re stronger in packs.” They watch Stiles wander around the tree line, inspecting the area as he goes. “Like literally stronger, faster, better in every way.”

They could see the breaths coming from their mouths, it was so cold. Allison pulls her beanie over her ears, “That’s the same for an Alpha?”

Scott nods as something tightens around his ankle and lifts him into the air. Allison muffles a scream and backs away, watching her boyfriend be pulled toward a tree.

Stiles makes a funny choking sound, squatting on the ground and holding a black wire between his fingers, “Sorry, buddy.”

“Stiles, next time you see a tripwire… don’t trip it.”

Allison smiles, cheeks rosy from the cold, “Let’s get….”

“Wait, wait, wait!” Scott flails in the air, waving them off, “Someone’s coming. Hide!”

The pair of them jump into action, Stiles grabbing Allison’s arm to pull her back towards the woods. No sooner had their footsteps soften on the leaves as they hide behind a tree, did a group of hunters appear from the backside of the house.

“Oh, shit,” Allison mumbles into Stiles’ shoulder, “They probably thought about Derek too.”

“I can’t hear anything they’re saying,” Stiles bemoans, “This is stupid.”

Allison clutches his arm, “It’s going to be okay.”

In a quick motion, Stiles slams his head into the tree. Considering they were already pressed into it, the hit wasn’t that hard. “Things are anything but okay.”

~~~

The boys huddle into the locker rooms as Coach yells for them. Isaac fumbles with his equipment, joining the back of the pack.

“Quicker!” Finstock yells, “Danny, put a shirt on.” The coach prattles on, “Stilinski, that means you! Let’s go, gather round. Listen up.”

Isaac searches the office wall behind Finstock, looking for you. You were always near the Coach during team meetings, usually holding an energy drink or pointing out things Finstock failed to mention to the team.

But you are nowhere to be seen.

“Police are asking for help on a missing child advisory. It’s a sick girl, roaming around, totally naked.”

Isaac remembers how the Sheriff questioned him about the same advisory that morning when he reported the strange grave robbery at the cemetery.

“Now, it’s supposed to get below 40 degrees tonight. I don’t know about you, but the last time it was that cold, and I was running around naked… I lost a testicle to exposure. Now, I don’t want the same thing happening to some innocent girl. So police are organizing search parties for tonight.” The Coach brandishes a piece of paper and Isaac can visualize the rolling of your eyes at the poor delivery of the speech.

Finstock tapes the paper to his office window, “Sign up, find the missing girl, you get an automatic ‘A’ in my classes.” He smiles at the instantaneous cheers, but Isaac is of the few standing still.

He holds his duffel bag and looks for you again. There was no way you’d let Coach give students straight A’s like that. You were his voice of reason – the only way classes came out coherently and fairly graded.

A swarm of players rush past him, but Isaac lets his eyes roam until he finds Stiles and Scott. He knew you were friendly with those two, more so than him at least. He walks over to the boys at the shower entrance.

“Um… hey…” he says awkwardly, holding the strap of his bag with two tight hands.

Scott looks taken aback, but is friendly anyways, “Hey, Isaac.”

Stiles is a little more blunt, “What do you want?”

“I uh… I wanted to ask where (Y/N) was,” he wrings his hands, “Usually she’s at these team meetings.” He notices the way Stiles looks to the ground, letting Scott speak first.

“She’s still at the hospital,” he says calmly, “She won’t be back for a while.”

Isaac knits his brow, “Oh, is she okay?” Again, he notices how Stiles scoffs at his shoes.

“Yeah,” Scott says with a lackluster tone, “She’ll be fine. Did you need her for something? We can give her a message.”

“Just… I haven’t seen her in class and – we miss her.” He has a hard time looking them in the eye, “And maybe that Coach is running rampant without her.” His lips upturn ever-so-slightly, “She’ll want to know her assisting is very much appreciated.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles cuts in front of Scott’s laughter. “I didn’t realize you and (Y/N) were close?”

Isaac wipes the smile from his face. “We’re not. Not outside of class at least.” He grinds his teeth, “She’s great. She’s always been kind to me. I’d hate if something happened and I didn’t know about it.”

That seems to appease Stiles, a flash of guilt washing over his face. “Right.”

~~~

The days seem to darken. Even with the promise of spring right around the corner, the world seems dusky, like the sun was a dimmer set low. Stiles’ lens was filtered with gray, shadowing his perspective with melancholia.

He spends his afternoons chasing the supernatural with Scott. But his nights he spends alone – quiet – in his room. He sits at his desk, spinning from side to side to look at the bulletin boards on the walls.

The one directly in front of him was all about you. He had covered it up with a blanket when you slept over that one time. A family picture and a selfie he got from your social media are pinned in the middle. Countless strings are between the picture of you and little bits of information.

A few green strings lead to fun facts like:

Watches true crime

Likes to read

Works at Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital

Born in Palo Alto, California

Fireman Tom

Front Desk Westbrook

Atrioventricular canal defect

A yellow string leads from the fact about a congenital heart defect. It spreads to multiple pictures, article clippings, and website screenshots on the heart problem.

“Children born with this condition have a hole in the wall between the heart’s chambers. They also have problems with the valves that control blood flow in the heart.

Atrioventricular canal defect allows extra blood to flow to the lungs. The extra blood forces the heart to work too hard, causing the heart muscle to grow larger.”

“Ventricular tachycardia is a type of irregular heartbeat, called an arrhythmia. It starts in the lower chambers of the heart, called the ventricles. A healthy heart typically beats about 60 to 100 times a minute at rest. In ventricular tachycardia, the heart beats faster, usually 100 or more beats a minute.

Sometimes the rapid heartbeat stops the heart chambers from properly filling with blood. The heart may not be able to pump enough blood to the body. If this happens, you may feel short of breath or lightheaded. Some people lose consciousness.”

He has a red string leading to an unknown section about the 3-inch incision on your chest. After hearing you mention that it was a device inserted near your heart, he did some more research. It might have been an implantable cardioverter-defibrillator, or an ICD.

Those devices detect irregular heartbeats and deliver electric shocks to hopefully restore a regular heart rhythm.

Other blue strings lead to theories he has about why your CHD correction wasn’t permanent, as well as solutions to your persistent tachycardia.

The other side of the board has a few other green strings that lead to a picture of you, Lydia, and Allison. Another is the name ‘Andrew’ written sloppily and then crossed out repeatedly with a ballpoint pen. A few short strings lead to the various situationships in your past and some notes on their kissing techniques.

Overall, Stiles was proud of the research he had conducted on you. But staring at it wasn’t making him feel any better. He was exhausting himself over retrograde amnesia, failing to put those details on your bulletin board.

He was hoping it would correct itself before he had to.

He barely registers that his dad enters the room. “Hey, kid,” he says, void of his sheriff uniform. “How you holding up?”

Stiles shrugs and it pulls a sigh out of Noah. “Listen, I’m glad we were able to find that Martin girl tonight. We should consider that a real victory.” Stiles just nods and Noah continues, “I uh… what in god’s name is that?”

He looks over Stiles’ bulletin board. “Research,” Stiles mumbles.

Noah sounds hesitant, “Right. Um… should I be concerned about this?” He searches his son’s vacant expression, “Like, are you peeping into her windows and stealing things from her underwear drawer?”

“What?” that snaps some life into Stiles, “No! No, dad, it’s not like that. It was a little inside joke from when we first started hanging out. Then it kind of turned into me trying to figure out what her heart problem was.”

Noah looks to the side with the medical research, “You know… uh, the Westbrooks called.”

“And?” Stiles looks up with dull brown eyes.

“And the doctor says (Y/N) should be exposed to things that might trigger her memory back. Stuff that she doesn’t remember.”

Stiles bites at the inside of his cheek, “Like me?”

Noah takes a deep breath, folding his arms. The reserved Stiles before him was disconcerting. “Having you visit might help.” The Sheriff tries to find something helpful to say – his wife was always better at these things. “They’ve had Scott sit with her and she remembers the few times they ran into each other during her early hospital days; back when she was still getting surgeries.”

“I don’t know how I… how do I sit there and…” Stiles leaves his hands limp in his lap. “How am I supposed to help? Pretend that I don’t know anything about her? Act like we’re meeting for the first time?”

“Maybe,” Noah grimaces, “I’d start with keeping this bulletin board to yourself. It might scare her into getting a restraining order.”

Stiles cracks the smallest smile, “How long is she going to be at the hospital?”

“About two or three days,” the Sheriff scratches the scruff on his chin, “They’ll probably keep her from school for even longer.”

“She’ll need to keep up on homework,” Stiles sighs, “She’d hate to miss out on so many assignments.” His small smile grows, “Of course she’s already done with her end of term projects.”

Noah smiles, “Even that biology one you guys were supposed to do together?”

Stiles shrugs, “Honestly, I don’t have a clue.”

They both share a laugh before Noah beckons him, “You should go. I’ll tell Tom you’re on your way.” He looks at his son, nostalgia flooding him.

Little Stiles jumping across waiting room seats. Little Stiles following the nurses around. Little Stiles foraging for snacks in the vending machines. Little Stiles afraid to talk to his mother who didn’t recognize him.

Little Stiles that cried in the hallway while he was busy with a police dispatch.

“Hey, it’ll…” Noah tries, “… it’ll be okay.”

Stiles looks drained, but he smiles at his father’s attempt. “Thanks dad.”

It was a long drive to the hospital. It felt like the world around him was moving in slow motion. It was like his jeep was gliding on the road with no traction. It didn’t help that he let the ringing in his ears be the only source of sound.

There was a tightness in his chest that wasn’t as warm as before. It was accompanied by an anxious knot in his stomach. Hospitals were bad enough. He doesn’t need to be reminded of his mother while he sits with you.

Knots in his shoulders, he walks into the hospital with shuffling steps. He vaguely remembers running into Melissa. He barely notices how the Westbrooks dismiss themselves to grab lunch.

He’s in your doorway and watching the line of confusion grow between your brows. The look of someone meeting a stranger.

And he’s suddenly eight years old again.

“Hi, (Y/N),” he says with a growing lump in his throat.

You fidget with the blanket laying over your legs. Your eyes are uncertain, “Hello. Um… are my parents…?”

“They’re grabbing lunch,” he says, hands in his pockets, “Is it okay if I visit for a bit? The doctor said it might trigger your memory.”

You look reluctant and it pains him. “I guess it’s worth a shot,” you watch him pull a chair over, “I don’t think you told me your name before.”

He tries to swallow past the lump, “Stiles.”

“Stiles,” you say quietly, as if you had never said the name before. “Stiles what?”

“Stilinski.”

Your eyes brighten, “You’re a Stilinski?”

He snorts, “Yeah, my dad’s the sheriff.”

“Woah,” you smile, “Your dad has been to my house a few times.”

Stiles nods, reminiscent of your first conversation together searching the woods for Scott all those weeks ago. “And you’re front desk Westbrook’s daughter.”

That makes you giggle, “I like that nickname.” It grows quiet for a few seconds while you consider his deflated figure. His eyes are downcast and his hands are stuffed in his pockets; you can see his leg starting to bounce. “Are we really good friends?”

His muted brown eyes turn to your brighter ones. “Yeah, we are.”

You nod, “For how long?”

“Since January when the school came back from winter break.”

You give a side smile, “So I did manage to start public school.”

He licks his lips, “Yep. And being a medical assistant here and being a teacher’s assistant to Coach.”

“That’s amazing,” you remark, “I didn’t realize… I’ve been dreaming about doing those things for years, but the fact I did… and I don’t even remember.”

Stiles frowns deep, “You haven’t gotten any of your memory back?”

You shake your head, “I get these flashes sometimes and I can’t tell if they’re dreams or not. Like… blue spray paint on my arms.”

Stiles’ face brightens with hope, “That’s – that’s real! That’s not a dream. We had a spray paint fight when we were fixing my jeep.”

Your eyes snap to his. A strange guilty feeling enters your stomach. It was bad enough disappointing people simply because you couldn’t remember them. Seeing the hope on his face makes you fill with pressure. You two must’ve had a pretty significant friendship.

“What other things have we done together?”

Stiles takes a tight breath, “Well… we’ve had dinner together. You’re an excellent cook. We painted my jeep and took Scott to get drunk on the preserve. We did a few school projects together and hang out at lacrosse practice. I took care of you when you were sick,” he suddenly looks you right in the eye, “I was there when you broke up with Andrew.”

Your eyebrows go up, but you don’t interrupt him.

“I was there when you got those claw marks on your shoulder – and other times you felt in danger,” he swallows hard, “We went to the winter formal together.”

“I went to a school dance?” you breathe out quietly. “Was it amazing? I’ve always wanted to go to a school dance.”

Stiles rubs his suddenly clammy hands down his pants, “It was. You looked great.” At seeing the light shining in your eyes, he continues. “You wore a dress that had these sparkling stars on it. The… y-you let the scars on your chest show. You were… you looked beautiful.”

“Did we slow dance?”

“Yeah, we did,” he sighs, chest aching. “It was the only dancing you could do that didn’t mess with your heart.”

You feel a drop of insecurity enter, “How much do you know about my heart?”

“I know about the heart defect and the tachycardia,” he rubs at his face. He could really take advantage of the situation here and learn more about your condition. But as quick as the thought came, it left. He wasn’t going to manipulate you like that. “I know you had a device put in last summer.”

“And that’s it?” you ask quietly. “I didn’t tell you more?”

“You always felt like it wasn’t the right time,” he shrugs, “But I suppose you might feel differently once your memory comes back.”

You brush your hair away, “I’m sorry I don’t remember.”

A sadness creeps into him. “It’s not your fault.”

“I’m still sorry. I hate seeing the disappointment,” you gesture to his slumped figure, “I really am trying.”

“I believe you,” Stiles says with a little more vigor.

Your eyes are a little wide as you say, “My mom told me you were the one to find me and bring me here.”

Stiles bows his head, visions of your bloodied figure going purple from the lack of oxygen. “Like I said… it’s not your fault.”

“And you’re saying it’s yours?” It was an honest question, but you said it with such sarcasm that it takes you aback to see the seriousness on his face. He really believes it was his fault. “From what I hear, you saved me Stiles.”

“Not all of you,” he winces a smile, leaning back in the chair, “If I had been sooner… maybe your heart wouldn’t have given out in the parking garage.”

“You don’t know that,” you say quietly. You may not recognize the boy, but it upset you to think he was blaming himself for your condition. “Regardless of whatever retort you can think of… you brought me to help. If you hadn’t done that then I would’ve been dead for sure.”

He doesn’t see the point in arguing with a version of you that doesn’t even know him. “Maybe. How has your heart been since being here?”

“Fine,” you say quickly, “I’m ready to get back home.”

“Ollie misses you,” he smirks.

You gush, “Oh my god, you know Oliver! He’s my handsome little man.”

“That he is…” Stiles laughs, “Very handsome.” He plays with his fingers, leg still bouncing from the rising anxiety in his stomach. “Is this helping with your amnesia at all?”

Your shoulders rise in a shrug, “I’m not sure. Nothing has come to me yet. But I do like talking to you.” You have a sweet smile on your face, “You mentioned I was dating someone named Andrew?”

“Just for like two weeks,” he says hotly.

You don’t notice, “I told myself I wouldn’t ser…”

“…seriously date anyone,” Stiles finishes, “That’s why you broke up. He was looking for something long term with you.”

Curious, you tilt your head to the side. “Was he cute?”

Stiles snorts, “Well… I guess. You had a crush on him.” He tries to stop his leg bouncing, “You have good taste too, he’s a good guy.”

“Is that why we went to the dance together?” you wonder, “Because I broke up with Andrew?”

“Technically we both went stag,” he says with a faux smile. A forced smile to keep you at ease. “But it was important to you to have the full experience – so I asked.”

You sigh, leaning against your pillows in thought, “You don’t realize how lucky you are to live such an average teenage life.” Stiles holds back his sarcastic laugh. What you said was so ironic. “I spent a lot of my life dreaming about the little things – silly things – like high school dances and playing sports and learning to drive.”

“Wait…” Stiles leans forward, “You don’t know how to drive?”

“No, I do,” you say defensively, “I have a license, technically.” You slump a little further, “But medically I’m not allowed to drive. The potential for fainting is a big red flag for driving. I don’t want to cause any accidents because my heart decided to give out on the road.”

Stiles has a wary smile on his face. “That’s okay, I drive you everywhere.”

“Is that with the jeep you mentioned?”

“Yep, my pride and joy,” he says, “It was my mom’s. She called him Roscoe.”

You remember how the Sheriff lost his wife. Something your parents told you after a few visits from him. You remember feeling sad that someone had died. Now you realize how sad it would be for a child to lose their mom as well.

“And we fixed him up one time?” You want to hear him talk more.

“Yeah, we put a new hood on him,” Stiles sighs out a smile. “You kept poking fun at how… how much duct tape and spray paint I have for him.”

You have a sweet smile on your face, “You want the car to last, I get it. Probably will be just duct tape by the time you turn him in.”

“Oh no,” Stiles waves his hands, “I’m going to keep this jeep for the rest of my life, even if it runs down. I’ll import custom parts to keep him fixed, I don’t care. I just need to find a way to make enough money to.”

You giggle and it strikes Stiles.

“What sort of job would that be?”

“I don’t know, maybe like an FBI agent or something.”

“FBI…” you nod, impressed, “That’d be cool.”

Stiles swallows, unsure of how to keep a conversation going with you. That was a feeling he wasn’t used to. It was so easy to talk to you before. He hates the awkward edge he feels brimming his smile.

“What about you?”

“Another one of those silly things I dream about,” you say sadly, “I don’t know what I’d do.”

His brow knits, “Spitball some ideas for me.”

You laugh again, “Maybe… a writer. Or maybe I’d open a cat rescue. Even better, what if I opened a cat café where you could read and buy books and pet cats.” The more you talk, the easier it was to spill your dreams. “I could be a nurse one day. Maybe work under a cardiothoracic surgeon. I could also just be a stay-at-home mom.”

Stiles feels that achy warmth in his chest more and more. “You want a family?”

“Of course,” you say as if it were the easiest decision in the world. “I always hated being an only child. It made being stuck at home so much worse. I’d want a bunch of kids.”

“How much is a bunch?”

You smirk, “I don’t know, like ten maybe.”

“Ten!?” Stiles jerks in his chair and it makes you laugh louder than before.

You wave a hand, “I’m kidding. I think four might be my max.”

Stiles wipes at his brow comically and your following giggle keeps that ache pulsing in his chest. “I think all those ideas are great. I think I’d even read a book written by you.”

“Are you not a big book reader?” you ask.

He winces, “If it’s not for research I don’t usually partake.”

“That’s a shame. There’s some really good fiction out there,” you smile. But there’s a sudden shift in your expression. “Have we had this conversation before?”

Stiles feels a tug at his heart, “No, actually. We don’t talk about the future much. Usually it’s whatever has happened in the past before we met – or what our friends are up to.”

You nod, a little reassured. “I would hate it if you just pretended like you didn’t already know this stuff about me.”

“When it comes to you, (Y/N),” he says confidently, “I’d say I’m scarily unfiltered. I say things to you that I don’t to anyone else. I don’t think I could pretend.” Even with his feelings for you – they came out in the littlest of ways without him voicing them directly.

That puts the smile back on your face, “It makes me sad not remembering you. It sounds like we got along really well.”

“We did,” he says quickly, “We do.”

You pull at the edge of your cotton blanket, “Our friends seem nice too – Allison and Lydia.”

“Nice might be a little kind for Lydia,” Stiles laughs, “Maybe a faux cold-hearted rich bitch is more appropriate.” He feels proud to rouse a look of shock on your face, “She’s all talk at school, but she has a good heart and is super smart. Just don’t get on her bad side.”

You chuckle, “And Scott sat with me a couple times. He looks different than what I remembered.”

“It’s been almost six months from where you memory ends,” he says, “That makes sense to me.”

“Do you…” you falter, “Do you think I will remember eventually?”

God, I hope so, he thinks. “I think you’ll get a few things back,” he says honestly, “I don’t know about everything. Amnesia is stupid like that.”

You frown, “Will you still – hang out with me?”

“Of course,” he says instantly, “If you want to. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I know it’s probably overwhelming.”

“It is,” you push back your hair again, “But I still want to try.”

~~~

The next week is full of anxiety. With spring right around the corner, March appears with sunny days and average temperatures. The promise of rain was on the way. It was nearing the next full moon and Stiles was full to the brim with nerves.

You still hadn’t come back to school, and he was finding it hard to come visit you. Meanwhile he and Scott try to tackle school one day at a time. Scott finds ways to see Allison while the overly watchful eyes of her grandfather become an increasing pressure.

The old man, Gerard, was still living at the Argent residence after his daughter’s funeral. His presence brought a newfound fear to the group.

He was the one at your door when you heard it knock.

“Hello, (Y/N),” he says with a smile. “I’m Mr. Argent, the new principal at Beacon Hill High.”

You blink a few times before awkwardly saying, “Right, um… hello.”

He raises his eyebrows, “May I come in?”

You look behind your shoulder for a moment before muttering, “Sure, we can sit here.” You gesture to the sitting room with the piano just beside the door. The older man nods his thanks and finds a seat in a comfy armchair.

You follow and sit on the loveseat opposite him. “How can I help you?”

“I’m just checking in on your progress since leaving the hospital. Many of your teachers have asked about you returning. I understand you experienced some memory loss the night of the school dance.”

“Yes,” you say, sitting on your hands, “I don’t remember any of it.”

He leans his elbows on his knees, looking at you seriously, “And you haven’t regained anything?”

“I get these flashes sometimes,” you mutter, looking towards the carpet beneath your toes. “But those seem like dreams to me. I don’t recognize them.” At his persistent look, you elaborate, “Like visiting the mall or a lacrosse field or the woods.”

He nods, “I’m sorry to hear that. Do you have any intention of returning to public school?”

You swallow hard, “Well, um… seeing as I don’t remember any of it – I think it would be hard to pick up where I left off.”

“Our staff is willing to accommodate to your situation,” he finally leans back, “We’ll give you special permission to use more resources and have extension time on all assignments. We want to make sure you’re comfortable in returning.”

“That’s good to know,” you say, noticing Oliver enter the sitting room. He jumps onto the couch with you, “I’ll need to talk to my parents about it.”

Gerard gives another strange smile, “Of course. Are you getting any of your course work from friends at least?”

You grimace – does he mean the friends you don’t remember? “I’ve had a few homework things dropped off.”

“Some from my granddaughter, I believe,” he chuckles, “She’s always had a good heart, that one.”

“Who is your granddaughter?”

“Allison Argent,” he says.

You widen your eyes, “Oh, yes – Allison. She’s been helping me with some assignments. I didn’t realize her grandfather was the principal.”

“Like I said, my position is relatively new.” He claps his hands together, “Please reach out to the office if you plan on returning full time.”

Meanwhile, in the middle of town, Stiles and Allison are at a hardware store looking for something to help Scott with the upcoming full moon. Allison was intent on being involved this month, her first full moon since learning the truth of it all.

“You used handcuffs last time?”

“On the radiator, yeah,” Stiles grumbles, looking at the shelves stocked with tools. “And he still got out and almost killed (Y/N).”

Allison gasps softly, “You’re kidding.”

“Not at all. If Derek hadn’t shown up, I think he would’ve…” he stops at the end of the aisle, “We need something that won’t break as easily. Heavy duty.”

“Like… chains?”

Stiles waggles a finger at her, “I like your thinking.” He checks the signs above each aisle for what they need. “We can chain him up somewhere until the moon sets.”

She follows, her intentions on more than just helping Scott with the full moon. “(Y/N)’s told me you haven’t been visiting her.”

It’s like she can see the tension knot in his shoulders. His sneakers squeak on the tile floor, “And you have been?”

“I’ve been helping her keep up to date on our school assignments.” She watches the hunch develop in his posture. It was like he was deflating before her eyes, “Don’t you remember the doctor said exposing her to things she…”

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles says a little more coldly than before. “It’s just that…” He spots the chains and goes for them.

How does he tell Allison that seeing you might finally break his already tearing heart? He’s sure seeing the look in your eyes again – the polite look someone gives a stranger – would kill him. How does he explain the pain he feels knowing you don’t remember a single memorable thing you’ve done together? It was a new kind of rejection.

He prefers daydreaming about the you that knows him. The you that he feels more deeply about than anyone else before. The you that he now searches for in his sleep. It was now his favorite time of day.

Sleep meant he could dream about you. He could see you there, smelling of sparkling strawberries by the lake – looking like a sun warmed burst of color. He yearned for that peachy summer filter your presence brought to his life.

His days were dull without you. Like the world resorted to turning the brightness down because its sun had disappeared.

“I’ve been…”

“… distracting yourself?” Allison offers.

He grips a coiled pile of chains and pulls them over his shoulder, “Maybe. The full moon kind of takes priority the next couple of days.”

“Do you think (Y/N)’s in danger?”

“Not if this idea works,” he grumbles under the weight of the metal links. They walk towards the registers. “And with you helping it might make things easier.”

Allison pulls out some cash so they can split the cost. “First searching for Lydia, then looking into a new beta werewolf, now making plans for the full moon… you’re going to run out of distractions eventually.”

I’ll just sleep then, he thinks. You’ll be waiting for him there.

“Let’s tackle this first,” he says.

Allison sighs her frustration. “I wish there was a way we could just… reach in and pull the memories out, you know? Make her remember.”

Stiles drops the full weight of the chains on his foot, and he curses loudly, “Ah, fuck!” He bounces on his unhurt foot, panting as he has a stroke of brilliance.

Maybe there was a way to force your memories to the surface.

 ~~~

Scott is lying on your living room floor, Ollie hiding upstairs from the doggish presence. You’re sitting cross legged on the couch ottoman, listening to his woes.

“So you think the principal became the principal to spy on your secret relationship with Allison?”

“No, there’s got to be more to it than that,” Scott grumbles, arms splayed to either side. “He’s looking for something more. The Argents are… very loyal to their ideals. Once they set their minds to something – they accomplish it no matter what.”

“And by becoming principal, Mr. Argent is trying to accomplish… total domination over teenagers?”

Scott sighs out a laugh, sitting up, “Maybe. I’m sorry – I’m venting too much. It’s got to be super confusing for you.”

You shrug, “Just a little. I’m starting to piece things together.” You start to pick at your nails, a nervous habit you’ve been more partial to since the hospital. “Allison has been a big help. I think Lydia is still recovering from the attack, more than me at least.”

“And Stiles?”

You frown, “I haven’t seen him.”

Scott matches your frown, “He’s taken it pretty hard.”

“I thought as much,” you pick at your cuticles, “Why do you think that is?”

Sensing the touchy subject, Scott looks to the ground. “We all deal with hard stuff in our own way.”

“But he told me he still wanted to see me,” you say confusedly, “Even if I didn’t remember everything.”

“I think he holds a lot of guilt for the memory loss,” Scott defends, “He uh… he cares a lot.”

“I sort of got that from his last visit,” you wince, “I guess I wouldn’t want to be reminded of something I consider a failure.”

Scott furrows his brow, “You being alive isn’t a failure, (Y/N).”

“My amnesia is, though,” you sigh, “But it’s got me thinking… maybe there’s more to why he thinks of it as a failure.”

“What do you mean?”

You swallow, “I don’t know. It’s hard trying to figure this whole thing out. It’s like I’m trying to give a summary on a book I never read.”

“We’ve done that plenty of times in English class,” Scott smiles warily.

You chuckle at the joke. “I mean, I’m seeing the end of the movie without any plot. I don’t know what to make of anything I see. I hear of all these things I did, and it just feels like I’m out of the loop. I’m being told about someone I don’t even know.”

Scott nods at your words, happy to be your confidant. “It sounds hard.”

“And even with that, everyone is making an effort to stay connected to me. Everyone I don’t remember. Allison does homework with me, you vent to me about Allison, the hospital has put my work schedule on hold, the high school is making accommodations, even Lydia has texted me.” You grimace as you pull at the skin around your nail. Part of a cuticle tears away, “So why hasn’t Stiles? Why is he different?”

Scott bites his tongue. “This whole thing might mean something a little different for him.”

“In what way?”

“Just you,” he swallows, “You mean something different to him.”

“You mean, because he was the one who saved my life?”

Scott clenches his jaw, “Yeah, something like that.”

You suck on your finger. It stings where you tore the cuticle away. You taste blood on your tongue.

“We should do something,” Scott decides, “We should get the friends together and hang out.”

“And do what?” you ask, standing to find a band-aid.

Scott follows you to the hallway closet, “You have a firepit in the backyard. Maybe we roast some marshmallows?”

“You don’t think it might rain?” you wrap a plain brown band-aid around your finger. It almost surprises you to see two other fingers with the same bandage around the nail. “It’s been cloudy all week.”

“No, I think we’ve got a few more days before the weather gets real bad,” Scott waves a hand at you, “Would your parents be okay with it?”

“Sure,” you shrug, “My mom would probably be thrilled.”

Scott is already texting on his phone, “Perfect. I’ll let everyone know – do you have firewood?”

“Are you kidding?” you laugh, “My dad keeps the shed fully stocked. Marshmallows and everything.”

“It looks like Lydia is going to be at her dads place tonight,” Scott grimaces at his phone, “But Allison is available.”

You watch the dopey lovestruck smile grow on his face, “Won’t it… won’t it be terribly awkward for everyone? You guys have history to talk about while I… I don’t remember meeting any of you.”

Scott shifts his face into a serious expression, “That doesn’t mean we don’t want to still hang out with you.”

You fist your bandaged fingers into the pockets of your sweats. “I guess I can see it as a chance to get to know you guys better.”

“We could play like truth and dare, or answer get to know you questions,” Scott chuckles.

The next half hour has you creating a s’more station outside while Scott brings over a pile of firewood. He’s just exploring the depths of the shed when Allison appears, the sunset illuminating her in flattering light.

“Hey!” you say, glad to see her again, “I was just laying out the chocolate.”

Allison gives you a hug, eyeing her secret boyfriend carrying an armful of wood from the shed. “Perfect. Let me help with the camping chairs.” She hops over to kiss Scott before taking the covers off the chairs.

“Have you talked with Lydia recently?” you help move the seating around the firepit, “She was a little frazzled the last time I saw her.”

“She was a little shy coming back to school,” Allison admits, “But Lydia has always exuded a kind of confidence, even if she doesn’t especially feel it. The whole school was gawking at her, and she strut down the hallway like nothing happened.”

You nod, a smile of gratitude on your face, “I’m glad.” You notice how Allison deliberately set the chairs in two pairs across from each other, on either side of the firepit. She plans to sit by Scott, and across the fire, you sit by Stiles. “Is Stiles for sure coming?”

“He told me he would,” Scott throws a few more logs on their pile, “Just that he’d be late.”

As Scott was making a tent of wood in the firepit, a grumbling engine could be heard pulling in front of the house. You sit in your chair, matching cream colored sweatshirt and sweatpants on. You even had a green and blue flannel on over the sweatshirt for an added layer of warmth. It was something you just found in your closet.

Stiles appears walking around the house, hands in his pockets. His lips are in a thin line as he waves a hand in hello.

“How are you, Stiles?” Allison asks, ever the polite one.

He shrugs, eyes flitting between the remaining seats. He knows his best friend will want to sit beside his girlfriend. “I’m alright.”

Your eyebrows knit. Stiles doesn’t look very alright. He looks like he could collapse from exhaustion at any second.

“Hey, grab me some of that kindling, would you?” Scott says, kneeling beside the firepit and crumpling old newspapers into flammable balls.

Stiles leans down for a box of splintered wood and shaved bark. He gives the pieces for Scott to create a nest in the heart of the pit.

You fold your arms as the sun fully sets and the stars become more visible across the indigo sky. You observe the wrinkled nature of Stiles’ clothes – the dark rings beneath his eyes. He looks a little worse for wear.

“This is my first fire of the season,” Allison says, crossing her legs and admiring how Scott sets the kindling aflame, “I love having campfires.”

“Me too,” Scott says warmly, standing to go sit beside his girlfriend, “I’m a fiend for toasted marshmallows.”

“I like them a little on the burnt side,” she says in reply, enjoying how he easily slips his fingers between hers.

Stiles stands as the kindling burns more brightly, sending plumes of smoke into the air. His eyes find your form tightly wrapped in your chair. There’s a flicker of something sad in his gaze – guilt, pity, pain?

He walks around the pit and sits in the camping chair beside you. It was more like he collapsed in the chair, the legs scraping on the stones littering the ground.

“What about you?” you ask timidly.

Stiles looks at you with tired eyes, “Sorry?”

“How do you like your marshmallows roasted?”

His eyes are still sad, but something quirks in his lips, “Golden brown – although that’s dangerously close to burnt and that happens more often than I care to admit.”

“I don’t have patience for roasting marshmallows,” you say begrudgingly, “They’re never exactly what I want. I eat them too fast.”

Stiles swallows hard, moving his limbs slowly as if any faster would give him a headache. He spears two marshmallows on the end of a roasting stick. “And if you had patience for marshmallows – what would they look like?”

“I like them golden too,” you smile, “A little or a lot is fine with me. I just don’t like them burnt.”

“It gives them flavor!” Allison defies, “And it’s fun blowing them out when they catch fire.”

“Until they melt right off the stick,” Scott laughs, “And they burn in the pit like Anakin near the lava pools.”

You giggle, a strange flash of a dream crossing your mind. Yourself wearing a star wars t-shirt with a blue and green flannel. The same flannel you have on now. Was it a dream… or a memory? Was it like the strange memory of blue spray paint on your arms?

There was something stirring in your stomach. You could mistake it for anxiety or the painful churning of your insides – but something was trying to pry itself out of you. Watching Stiles rotate the roasting stick against the firepit was sending waves of familiarity through you.

The campfire reminds you of Stiles in a way. He reminds you of autumn and woods and campfire smoke. It makes you think of fallen leaves and flashlights and flannels.

Just as you remind Stiles of summertime – he reminds you of autumn.

“Did you hear about Isaac’s dad?” Allison suddenly speaks.

Scott sighs, “Yeah, he was taken out of lacrosse practice today to talk to the police.”

“I don’t think he has a strong case of his innocence,” Stiles mumbles.

“What happened to Isaac’s dad?” you ask, unsure of who Isaac even was.

Scott clears his throat, checking his marshmallow by pinching the soft white fluff. “He was murdered.”

Something cold and steely takes ahold of your limbs, “Oh my god, that’s terrible.”

“Yeah, it happened during the last rainstorm,” Scott continues, “I think they suspect Isaac.”

“Why would he kill his own father?” you ask with a slanted brow.

Allison prepares some graham crackers and chocolate, “I don’t think they had a very good relationship.”

“You could say that,” Stiles scratches at his neck, “Seeing as he comes to school with new bruises weekly.”

A small gasp escapes you, “That’s awful…”

“You’ve actually helped Isaac with it before,” Stiles says, “You’ve taken him to your house and cleaned him up after a fight.”

You find it hard to swallow, “I’m glad someone did. Has there ever been an investigation at the house for child abuse?”

“Not that I know of,” Stiles sighs, “Isaac has never wanted any trouble.”

“That doesn’t make any of it okay,” you say more to yourself, “Is he still being questioned?”

“I think my dad might take him into the station tomorrow for further questioning,” Stiles says.

You tilt your head towards him, “As in, Isaac is going to be arrested?”

“I’m not sure,” Stiles says quietly, “I wouldn’t be surprised seeing as he’s their biggest suspect with a damning motive.”

You don’t realize your fingers are searching for more tender skin to pick at around your nails. Scott puts his toasted marshmallow on a prepared cracker and proceeds to set another on fire. Allison giggles as she smashes one s’more down.

“I haven’t seen Isaac,” you say quizzically.

Scott presents the marshmallow aflame on his roasting stick for Allison to blow it out. “He’s been asking about you though.”

Stiles removes his marshmallows from the fire as well. “He says Coach has been unreliable and chaotic since you’ve left.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, “Because I’m his TA?”

“He may be your superior, but that man is hopeless without you,” Scott laughs, “I honestly don’t know how Coach has kept his job as long as he has.”

Stiles is preparing two s’mores beside you, layering a graham cracker and chocolate with golden brown marshmallows. You are picking at your unbandaged fingers terribly.

Scott and Allison are preoccupied with feeding each other sticky s’mores while you stare into the dancing flames of the fire. You wince at a sharp pain. Looking down you see your fingers have pried a sliver of skin from around a nail. It stings being exposed to the nighttime air and a blossom of blood speckles the tender skin beneath.

A large hand enters your vision – long fingers reaching for yours. He pulls your injured hand away and inspects the bandages on your fingertips. He places a readymade s’more in your palm. “What’s happened to Isaac isn’t your fault,” he says quietly, “Neither is Coach being manic – that’s nothing new.”

You watch his hand pull away, fisting in his lap as if regretful to touch you without your permission.

Taking a deep breath, you look at the perfectly cooked s’more, “Man, there weren’t even coals yet,” you say with mustered warmth. “This looks amazing.”

You catch him staring at your smile. The tiredness is evident in his look, but the fondness that warms his eyes is undeniable. He holds his hands together like he fears they’ll move for you if he didn’t.

The gooey marshmallow sticks to the sides of your face as you eat. It’s exactly how you like it, and you can’t help giggling at the sticky sweetness melting on the chocolate.

Stiles is watching you with something sad and sweet in his face.

“Thank you,” you say, cracker crumbs littering your lips. “You didn’t have to make me one.”

“I wanted to,” he says in return. “I wanted to see if that marshmallow would stay on the cracker or not.”

You snort with a full mouth. Bits of sticky fluff are on most of your fingers and stuck to your cheeks. You flick your fingers, seeing how some of the marshmallow was gripping the fraying fibers of your band aids.

“Oh, shoot,” you shake a hand free of crumbs. “I’ll be right back.”

As you rise from your chair, Stiles grips the arms of his – like he was about to stand with you. His eyes follow you all the way to the back door.

Scott clears his throat loudly and Allison nibbles the marshmallow from her fingers.

“What?” Stiles questions, still on the edge of his seat.

Scott wiggles his eyebrows, “You know what.”

Allison licks her lips and nods toward the house, “Take the chance.”

“Ah… god.” Stiles slips out of the chair, tripping on his way to the house. He opens the door and spies you starting to open new band aids at the kitchen counter.

 “Oh!” you say sharply, “Hey – everything okay?”

“Um…” his throat was suddenly very dry, “I just – wanted to see if you needed help.” He walks to the counter and sees the pile of marshmallow coated band aids. “I know it can be hard to… wrap those on your fingers by yourself.”

You feel shy, hesitant to display your fingers, “That… that’d be nice, thank you.”

He ignores how your hands shake, unwrapping a band aid and picking a finger with raw skin around the fingernail. Some were scabbed over, and others were still wet with exposed, tender skin.

He’s soft in how he holds your hand, gently wrapping the band aid. “I’ve never seen you pick at your fingers before.”

“Me neither,” you say quietly, “I guess it’s just a new nervous habit.”

“What was making you nervous?” he asks just as quietly. He keeps his gaze on your hands, his own oddly cold against yours.

It leaves you free to look at his face without fear. You never noticed how thick his eyelashes were. You suspect they frame his bronze eyes well, especially when they were well rested. He also has a constellation of moles across his face.

You were tracing them with your eyes as you say, “I guess I was feeling guilty again for losing my memory. It sounds like people need me… the old me.”

I need you, Stiles thinks, upset at how the guilt was presenting itself in you. “But none of it is your fault.”

“That doesn’t stop the fact that lots of problems would be solved if I could just remember.”

“I’m sorry,” he says with hidden emotion, “I… I could’ve… if I had just stayed with you…”

Your brows knit as he applies a third bandage. “It’s not your fault either, Stiles. We’re both doing the best that we can.”

He clenches his jaw, “Maybe we should put band aids on all your fingers so you’re not tempted.”

You snort, “Thank you for helping me.”

Stiles smiles and again you’re struck by another one of his features. Stiles is cute, you think, he’s really cute. “You’re welcome,” he says.

He holds your hands for a second before lifting them to his lips. He kisses each of your bandages in a chaste, silly way. “Make-it-better kisses,” he says almost dreamily – remembering a past memory, “Your specialty.”

You’re stuck on the way his mouth hovered over each of your fingers. “You learned well, apparently.”

“You’re basically cured,” he smiles again, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Make-it-better kisses are a medical miracle, so they say.”

You nod slowly, “Maybe I just need a couple more of those to get my memory back.”

Stiles’ eyes blow wide, “Oh… oh my god – that’s not what I… I didn’t mean to insinuate – I mean, not that I’d be upset to do… ah, shit, I’m messing this up.”

Giggles are falling out of you faster than Stiles is running his mouth. “Stiles, I was meaning a forehead kiss. Help fix my brain.”

He lets out a loud sigh, “Of course – of course that’s what you meant.” He’s jerky and hesitant and terribly endearing as he leans over to place an awkward kiss to your temple.

~~~

The jeep stops with a jolt in front of the sheriff’s station. Through the blinds Stiles and Derek see a woman behind the counter.

Somewhere in the holding cells is Isaac, being held on suspicion of his father’s murder.

“Okay, now the keys to every cell are in a password protected lockbox in my father’s office,” Stiles says. He grits his teeth, “The problem is getting past front desk Westbrook.”

It was Angela on duty, filling out her part on police reports behind the counter.

“I’ll distract her,” Derek says nonchalantly.

Stiles freaks, “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” he grabs Derek’s leather jacket, “You? You’re not going in there.”

Derek looks at the hand on his jacket like it might be his next snack.

“I’m taking my hand off,” Stiles says quickly. “That is Angela Westbrook in there – you can’t just ‘distract her.’” He uses air quotation marks.

“Sure, I can.”

“She’s married!”

Derek shrugs, “And I’m charming.”

“You’re a criminal!”

“I was exonerated.”

Stiles licks his lips, “You’re still a person of interest, and trust me, Westbrook is the last person you want to mess with. She almost always hangs up when I try to call the station.”

“That’s because you’re a hyperactive, overexaggerated teenage boy and I’m…” he adjusts his collar, “A handsome innocent person of interest that looks really good in leather.”

The look of acceptance in Stiles’ face was laughable. He couldn’t deny any of those points. “Fine. Try and charm her and see what happens.”

They wait as another police officer appears to talk to Angela, looking like they were about to head home for the night. It’s the opportunity Stiles needs to talk to Derek about one more tiny favor.

“So with me helping with this whole Isaac fiasco… I was thinking maybe you could do something for me.”

Derek whips his head over, “Excuse me?”

“A favor for a favor.”

“You know I could just walk in, knock everyone out, and break into that lockbox, right? I don’t actually need you.”

Stiles lifts his hands in protest, “You do if you want to remain an innocent person of interest!”

Derek stares him down uncomfortably, “What favor?”

~~~

The new spring rain was finally here, starting with a light sprinkle. You are on the couch, your favorite forest green blanket over your socked feet. Oliver is snuggled on your lap, enjoying the way your stomach rocked him back and forth with your breaths.

Angela sits with you, warming her hands on a mug of tea she brewed for you. “Chamomile and lavender,” she says.

You sigh, “Good for stress.” You give her a knowing look, paired with a smile.

“And sleep,” she says, “I’ll probably pass out in about ten minutes.” She laughs and then clears her throat, “You know, there was something super strange that happened at the station the other day.”

“What was it?” you ask, excited that your mom wanted to share about her workdays again. She had been worried about putting stress on your heart by telling you those stories.

She looks worried now, “It was a little chaotic.”

“Please, mom,” you say, “We haven’t just talked in a while.”

Angela seems to agree, taking a big gulp of her tea. “Well, we had a boy in holding for a murder – no, I won’t tell you who. And Derek Hale came in to talk to me.”

“Hale,” you mutter, “Wasn’t that the name of the family whose house…”

“Burned down, yes,” Angela says, “And while he was there, the boy broke out of holding and an officer I’ve never seen before was knocked out on the ground.” She shakes her head, “I have no idea how any of that happened on my watch. The poor officer had an arrow in his leg and everything.”

“Oh my god, from what?” you ask with pursed lips.

Angela shrugs her shoulders, “The Sheriff is looking into it, but I’m not sure. His son was by the holding cells when he got there.”

“That Stiles guy?”

She nods, suddenly looking at you with warmth – a question in her eyes. “That’s right. He’s a good kid. A strange one, but good.”

“Did you…” you start to say, “Did Stiles and I hang out a lot?”

Angela swallows, “You did. He thought we couldn’t hear all the times he climbed the garden trellis,” she smirks, “But your father and I aren’t that dumb.”

You scoff in surprise, “He climbed the front of the house?”

“A couple times,” she replies, finishing her tea, “He’s not exactly the most graceful person. It’s easy to hear him struggle up the vines and fall through your window.”

You laugh, “And you never thought to stop it?”

“Your dad considered it,” she says, pausing to hear the rain fall heavier on the roof. “But we knew you kids were fine. He might be a bit of a troublemaker, but I know he wouldn’t do anything to put you intentionally in harm’s way.”

Squinting your eyes, you suddenly gasp, “Oh my god, you approve of him, don’t you?”

Angela shrugs again, “Maybe.”

“You’ve never liked any boys I’ve brought over.”

“I think your dad still needs a little convincing,” she says, “But Stiles will win him over eventually.”

“I didn’t realize…” you say, flinching as thunder crashes overhead.

Angela shivers, “Well, that’s my cue for a nap.” She stands and stretches, “Warm tea, cozy bed, and rain in the background? Don’t expect me to wake up anytime soon.”

You laugh, “I’ll be here reading. Thank you for the tea, mom.”

“No problem, sweetie. I wish I could start on that garden, but the recommended time frame is the end of April,” she rolls her eyes, “My herbs are suffering in their little pots!”

You smile as she retreats up the stairs. The rain was really coming down now, pelting the roof like a hail of bullets. You always loved the sound of rain. Maybe it was the cliché book reader in you, but the weather gave the perfect conditions for a reading session.

Ollie sleeps soundly on your lap as you pick up your latest read. It was strange coming home to see a bookmark in a book you didn’t remember. It still sits on your nightstand, hopefully to be picked up again should your memories return.

In the meantime, you begin to read a new fantasy trilogy.

The rain and thunder continue for another half hour, Oliver choosing to sleep on an overturned pillow beside you. He snuggles his face into his fluffy tail as you read. You were just starting to feel sleep tugging at your eyelids when a firm knock came on the front door.

You close your book, apprehensive as the last time someone knocked on the door, the new principal sat you down to question your current whereabouts.

But you find that it was someone new. A tall handsome man with light eyes stands on the porch, sprinkled with rain.

He wipes the water dripping into his eyes, “Hey, (Y/N).” He looks up at the ceiling as if listening for something, “Can I come in?”

“I’m sorry, who are you?” you ask, shocked that this handsome man knew you by name.

“I’m Derek,” he says, pushing his way in and standing beside the piano.

You follow by quietly closing the door, afraid to wake your mom. One of the men involved in the strange chaos that happened at the police station was currently in the sitting room.

“Like Derek Hale, Derek?”

“You remember me?” he asks with confusion in his brow.

You fold your arms, “I remember your name on one of my mom’s police reports years ago. About a house fire.”

He clamps his mouth shut and nods. “Listen, Stiles and Isaac have been talking about you – asking me for favors.”

You remember your friends talking about an Isaac. “Okay?”

“I told them it might not even work, but alphas are usually the ones best apt to do it.”

“Do what?” you ask, arms tightly wound and your feet rooted to the spot. You are starting to get a pit in your stomach. Thunder is roiling outside.

“Just… jog your memory a little bit.” He takes a step forward and you suddenly find the ability to move backward as far as the room would let you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you say quickly, “I don’t even know you!”

Derek holds up his hands, “You need to calm down. Your heart is stuttering all over the place.”

“Yeah, it does that,” you say angrily, fear overtaking you, “Especially when strangers threaten to do something to jog my memory.”

“It’s just some minor memory manipulation,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, “I haven’t really done it to extract memories out of someone else before, but it can be done.” He approaches your body pressed against the wall, “You need to hold still though – I don’t want to damage your spinal cord.”

You gape your mouth, “What the hell do you mean!?”

He takes ahold of your neck and you’re on the brink of a scream when he covers your mouth with his other hand. “I need you to stand still.” And he sinks his claws into the back of your neck.

You flinch and gasp behind his hand. Something sharp punctures the nape of your neck, heat trickling down from the top of your head to your spine. You feel a strange twinge of electricity and it makes you shiver.

A picture was filling your mind, crisp and warm as you close your eyes to see it better.

It was you in a pale yellow dress, bows in your hair, and your hand held tightly in Tom’s fingers. Judging by how you had to crane your neck to see his tall figure, you had to be about four years old.

Another warm image appears: dirty carrots being pulled from smelly earth. Your mom claps her soil stained gloves, proud of the garden you planted together. Little you was just as excited, taking a bite out of the carrot and grimacing at the gritty taste of dirt.

One memory flows in, a tinge of cold on the edge of this one. Like you found a cold spot in a pool of water. You were finishing a homework page your mom made on algebraic equations. A bitterness was in your chest at not being able to do it in an actual school.

Your mom appears to place a stapled packet of papers in front of you. You curiously pull the first page towards you and the top reads: ‘Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital – Job Application.’ You squeal and launch yourself into a hug with your mom.

The next memory that tries to surface isn’t as warm as the others. And it doesn’t flow in as easily. You start to get a headache as a cold image swims into view. A jeep driving through the woods.

“I don’t get out much.”

He laughs, “Then why the sudden change?”

“I felt like it.”

“Woman of many words,” he smirks.

You flinch, the memory crumbling into something new – just as cold and difficult to resurface as the other one. A movie was playing in the background and a steaming meal was on plates in front of you.

He was describing a different meal to you, “It was a masterpiece.”

“Sounds amazing,” you say, moving your plate, “Like a fancy kid’s meal.”

He laughs, “That’s what it was! When I was little the only thing I would eat was kraft mac and cheese with chicken nuggets. She was determined to make me a better version.”

“I would’ve liked to have met her,” you say softly, “She sounds like an amazing person.”

“She was,” he says quietly, “She would’ve thought you were sweet.”

Pain pulses in your temples as floods of memories try to pry through your vision. It was like trying to yank sharp rocks through a rubber hose. But the next memory appears with a slight warmth.

Your chest was fluttering with desperate breaths.

“And what do you feel?” he asks.

“My heartbeat,” you say, tightening your fingers around his, “Your hand. And the cracking spray paint.” It was getting easier to breathe as you open your eyes to look at him.

You can see your initials drawn on his cheek with blue paint. He looks concerned as his thumb starts to rub along the inside of your knee.

Stiles, you think. That’s Stiles!

A burst of freedom surges through your head – like a lock being broken. You start to remember everything in between these colder memories. They start to warm with recognition.

Stiles is rambling, “… and I wasn’t sure how you felt about me being close when you weren’t in some kind of distress from your heart because so far the only times I’ve touched you has been when you were about to faint or your heart is racing or you just went through a traumatic ordeal, and seeing as being drunk and having a breakup bonfire with your friends is none of those things… I thought maybe you’d be mad at me for, you know… touching you.”

You smile as he gets even more adorably endearing, “I’m not mad, Stiles.”

He still looks ashamed, whispering, “Okay.”

“I would tell you if I didn’t like how you were touching me.”

He whips his head to you, his throat bobbing.

Your eyes start to prickle with tears. How did you not realize how much this boy was into you? The signs were all there.

“Get in the bed, Stilinski,” you mumble, already soothed by his woodsy honey scent. You breathe it in deeply, loving how he apologizes as he gets under the sheets. You relish in his awkward avoidance of your limbs, “It’s fine, Stiles,” you laugh, “We’re bound to touch being this close.”

He swallows hard, staring at the ceiling like avoiding your gaze would save him from the heat encompassing his heart. It was making his cheeks burn.

“Goodnight,” you mumble.

He bites the inside of his cheek, “Goodnight, (Y/N).”

Tears are filling your eyeline, a drop racing down your cheek as the distant, cold memories are fully back in focus. The pain in your head was growing, but it was worth it to remember all this. The fact you didn’t notice Stiles’ feelings sooner was putting a pool of guilt in your stomach. The poor boy was being so terribly obvious now that you saw the scenes again in your mind’s eye.

He smells like candy, you think.

Your lips fall into an easy pattern. He moves his hands to the small of your back to remove any more space between you. Your noses brush and press into cheeks as you kiss.

He hums deep in his throat, and it sends a shiver down your spine. He places two quick kisses along your jaw and lands on your neck, right beneath the bend in your jaw. Your head falls back as he leaves chaste kisses there too.

“Is this good?”

You laugh with your eyes still closed, tears actively falling down your face. It was good, you remember. So good you actually have a crisis in thinking you might’ve made a mistake. You were in denial of any feelings you had for him.

Even when Allison and Lydia questioned you before the dance.

Your mind swims to the desired memory that you had forgotten. Projected stars fill the space as the band plays a soft song. You hold onto Stiles in a beautiful starry dress. You’re hidden from him as you’re pressed together, swaying to the music.

You wonder if that’s part of the reason you two have courage to talk. Neither of you were looking.

“What else?” you ask with a puckered brow. A warmth you now know to be likeness enters your chest.

He grips your sides, “I like… being this close to you. And smelling that wonderful fruity stuff on you.”

You laugh, “You’ve said that before.”

He smiles, “I like you in this dress. I like that your scars are out. I like the fact you came without a date because I get to dance with you like this. And I like knowing you’re smiling right now without me needing to look because I can feel it against my cheek.” He pulls away to see proof of that smile. “I like you, (Y/N). Like a lot.”

Your cheeks start to feel itchy with salty tears, a quiet sob making your breath stutter.

“Like a lot a lot.”

Before watching the aftermath of that dance play out in your mind, you force yourself to the present. Claws rip out of your neck, and you wince, wiping at the tears that had dripped down your chin.

“How…” you sniffle, “How did you do that?”

Derek looks serious, searching for side effects in your crying, “It’s just something werewolves can do.”

“Never heard of that one before.” You cover another sniffle with a laugh, “Thank you,” you say, “Thank you.” You jump on him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

He’s frozen for about three seconds before placing his hands gingerly on your back, “You’re welcome.”

You’re on your tiptoes to reach him, but it’s the perfect height to hide your face in his chest, “He was so devastated when I didn’t remember.” You recall Stiles when he first saw you in the hospital, “He has to be so upset.”

“He’s miserable,” Derek says gruffly, pulling you away. “I need you to fix him. I didn’t think he was capable of being any more annoying.”

Your smile suddenly drops, “I never got the chance to tell him.” Your hands fly to your hair, completely ignoring the pain still pulsating in your temples. “I went to find Lydia before I…”

Derek raises his eyebrows, “Before you…”

You look at him with red eyes, “Derek this is so important. I need a ride. Please!”

~~~

The rain is in full force behind you, providing a backdrop to your panting silhouette. Just traveling from Derek’s car has you soaked in rainwater. The sleek black car drifts away under the cover of thunder.

You’re shaking terribly, water dripping from your hairline and down your face. The porch at least gives you some cover while you wait. It was ridiculous. You left the house in such a hurry, you hadn’t thought to change.

You wear comfy sage green pajamas, matching with little white daisies on them. A sunflower yellow knitted cardigan lays wet and heavy over your shoulders. One sleeve is dangling further down your arm than the other.

Anxiously you check that the police cruiser is absent from the driveway. Then you hear the door creak open.

Stiles is there in dark blue loungewear himself. It brings out the purple circles under his eyes.

“(Y/N)?” the dull expression in his face suddenly changes to one of deep concern, “What are you doing here? Did you walk in the rain?” He’s reaching for your cardigan, wishing to pull you into the shelter.

But he hesitates – not knowing if it was okay to touch you so forwardly. Not knowing if you’d find it a violation that a near stranger lays his hands on you.

It breaks your heart.

“I need to talk to you.”

He blinks, hand falling to his side, “Yeah, of course.” He opens the door further and ushers you in. “You must be freezing.” He jumps to find a towel to cover your shivering figure.

You’re pulling the wet cardigan off when he returns with a giant fluffy towel. He sees the straps of your pajama top and immediately averts his eyes, wrapping the towel around your shoulders. He rubs up and down your arms for about two seconds before catching himself again.

He takes three steps back, rubbing at his face harshly. “What do you want to talk about?”

You aren’t sure if the tears ever stopped since regaining your memories; it was too hard to discern what was from the rain and what was from you. But you look at Stiles now with a deep warmth in your chest.

It was so large and so warm it was constricting your lungs. Looking at him was making it hard to breathe. “Are you not sleeping?”

He clenches his jaw, “I try to sleep as much as possible. It’s probably not very restful sleep,” he runs a hand over his shaved head, “But… it’s nice to dream.”

You want to touch his face, touch the circles beneath his eyes. “There’s something I forgot to tell you. I completely forgot and then there just wasn’t any time to.” You hold the towel around your shoulders, taking a few steps toward him.

He looks scared, his throat bobbing as you approach.

“That night at the dance,” you start, “We were on the dance floor, and you were saying such wonderful things.” You shiver, “And I was afraid to admit the things I was feeling.”

Stiles’ eyes were growing wide. Wide and desperate. They were silently pleading with you. The very air surrounding you two seemed to be sucked out. A hitch is in your chest as you continue:

“I never got the chance to tell you… how I feel.”

His eyes were growing warm, tears lining his bottom lashes, “(Y/N)…”

“I like you too, Stiles,” you say with a proud smile. “I like you a lot.”

You watch the breath leave his lungs – like his chest had collapsed. He’s screwing up his face like he’s trying not to cry, but a tear falls anyway. “Really?”

You give a breathy laugh, voice choking on the emotion in your throat. “Really.” And you let the towel drop from your shoulders, launching yourself forward to crash your lips against his.

He stumbles back and grips your waist for support.

You stand in the entryway, holding his face and kissing him deeply. You tilt your head and make the kiss deeper; he follows a second behind you, still recovering. He’s shaking just as much as you are now.

Goosebumps erupt on your bare arms, and you pull away to look at him. Tears are smeared on both your cheeks.

“You remember?” he whispers softly, moving his hands to hold your face.

You run your hands down to his chest, “There’s this little trick with a werewolf and my spinal cord,” you shrug, unable to stop smiling. “It pulled everything back for me.”

He’s still trying not to cry, twisting his lips, “Thank god,” he gasps a sob. “Thank you god.” He pulls you in for another kiss, soft and tender this time. He wipes away the wet strands of hair framing your face.

You take a deep breath, tracing a finger up his chin to the soft skin beneath his eyes, “You really need to sleep.”

“I do,” he licks his lips, eyelashes sticking together with tears, “Just to see you.”

You take ahold of his wrists near your face, “You need real sleep.” You tug on his hands and lead the way upstairs. The rain continues to fall, accompanied by rumbling thunder. It gives you something to listen to as you enter Stiles’ bedroom.

You take a quick peek at the disarray: clothes strewn about the floor, old books open and stacked precariously on scrap paper, lacrosse equipment dirty with soil and grass piled in the hallway. The bed is scrambled like he was kicking in his sleep.

Pushing him to sit down on the mattress, you turn to move toward the dresser, but his hand clamps down on yours.

“Where are you going?”

You look back at the instant terror that envelops his face. “I’m just going to change out of my wet clothes.” You lean down to kiss his forehead, “I’ll be right back.”

At the dresser, you find a pair of plaid pajama pants and a shirt with a Doctor Who logo. In the hallway bathroom you change and comb through your hair. You’re hanging your wet clothes on the shower rod when you hear stuttered breaths coming from Stiles’ bedroom.

In a few quick steps you’re back in the room and see Stiles struggling to maintain his breathing. His eyes are still wet with tears and he’s holding his chest like it hurt. His head snaps to you when you enter, and a micro change happens in his expression – the smallest amount of relief.

You’re at his side in an instant, running your hands over his chest and to his face, “Stiles, it’s okay. I’m here and I remember. This isn’t a dream. We’re okay – I’m here.”

He nods his head, but still struggles to draw breath. He is fully panicking.

You grab the covers and pull them over you, crawling onto the bed and laying yourself over his body. Like a weighted blanket. You take deep breaths and hope he can mimic the feeling as he feels it against his torso.

One of his hands goes to your back, holding you to him. With his other, you intertwine your fingers. You pull your hands under your chin, giving them a kiss. With your head nestled into his chest, your free hand raises to be up by his pillow. You’re able to reach his short hair, running your fingers over his head in a soothing motion.

A tangle of limbs, your body holding his down, he starts to calm. He holds onto you like his life depends on it. Like if he lets go you’ll float back into his restless dreams.

It feels like hours later you both fall asleep, holding each other.

And it was the best sleep either of you have had in weeks.

~~~

Research Websites

Atrioventricular Canal Defect

Atrioventricular Canal Defect

Ventricular Tachycardia

Ventricular Tachycardia

Implantable Cardioverter-defibrillators (ICDs)

~~~

Taglist: @assassinsasha23 @tasty-book-fans @lovelybaka @the-fandom-queen @runs-with-sciss0rs @iamaslytherin0 @n3muru @bethsvrse @taylorbrooke-0912 @iloveyou2mia @everrrsincenewyork @gisellesprettylies @dullypully @taylordaughter @greenoliveslover @nataliambc @anehkael

[perotovar]

bloody kisses — part one: less than zero

pairing: shane morrissey/tim rockford rating: E (18+) mdni word count: 5k content: vaguely takes place in the 00s, age gap (shane is 23, tim is 40), internalized homophobia, hurtful names (fairy boy, faggot, queer as a slur, etc), a gay porn magazine, lots of references to peter steele of type o negative (and his playgirl issue), male masturbation, acab, some angst, if i missed anything lmk! dividers: @saradika-graphics beta: @chronically-ghosted (ily ♥)

summary: shane has been in denial about himself for a while. newly single and with the help of one of his favorite singers, he opens his eyes to a new venture he could possibly take: the cop he sees on a semi-regular basis, detective tim rockford.

series masterlist

for updates, follow @oakslibrary and turn on notifications ♥

The kid was a fucking regular at this point.

Tim just happened to be in the station every time the kid got caught. Maybe he was doing it on purpose, who knows. 

And God help him, Tim sorta liked the little shit.

“Don’t you ever get tired of coming here, Shane?”

“I told you, my name is–”

“I’m not calling you that and you know it,” Tim sighed exasperatedly, rubbing a large hand over his face. “Why did you steal the magazine?” Tim’s voice was almost bored when he asked.

Shane stayed quiet, picking at the chipped black nail polish on his fingernails. He was looking down, chains jingling from how quickly he was bouncing his leg. Was he nervous? Tim didn’t think the kid was ever nervous. Or, well. Acted like it, at least.

Shane Morrissey, twenty-three, twenty-four next month, was found at a convenience store stealing an issue of Playgirl Magazine. Tim wasn’t judging, but his reading on the kid veered off in, well, the other direction. He had the vibe that Shane could go either way; either aggressively straight, or trying to cover something up.

“Look, I really don’t care why, kid. I’m not going to… judge you, or something–”

“Whatever, old man,” Shane sneered, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away from him. “Can I just get my community service and go?”

Tim quirked a brow and crossed his own arms over his chest, standing tall behind the chair pushed into the interrogation table. Tim had asked Ron to turn the microphones in the room off. Tim knew the kid better than anyone here, and he knew Shane wouldn’t talk if he knew he was being recorded. Or he’d go off about aliens or “drones” or whatever other bullshit he came up with next.

Shane wasn’t an idiot, Tim knew that. Shane knew that. He just had a hell of a wall put up.

Tim sighed and pulled the chair out. He spun it around so he could sit on it backwards, arms perched on the top. “Kid,” Tim started. “Listen, I’m not going to do anything. It’s a fucking magazine and this is New York City. Your little theft is pretty far down the list of my priorities right now.”

Shane actually looked a little offended, looking at Tim incredulously.

“I’m going to let you off with a warning this time. And to be honest, I don’t want to see you back in here anytime soon, okay?”

“Aww, kicking me out? Thought you liked our little chats,” Shane batted his eyelashes, an exaggerated pout on his lips. He rolled his eyes after that and rested his chin in the palm of his hand, bored.

“I said I didn’t wanna see you back in here, Morrissey.”

Shane looked at him, big brown eyes squinted accusingly.

Tim reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, digging out a business card. He slid it across the table until it was next to one of Shane’s hands. He didn’t really know why he was offering this to Shane. Well, he did, but he couldn’t really say, ‘I see a lot of myself in you,’ without Shane taking it the wrong way. This wasn’t one of Shane’s normal petty crimes. Shane didn’t strike him as the type to steal this sort of thing. He’d vandalize the side of a building or go on joyrides. Things that were mostly just annoying. This magazine was… different.

Tim had his fair share of this sort of thing. He got into being a cop because he got caught when he was in his twenties. He was angry at the world because people didn’t accept him, so he lashed out. He got the feeling that Shane was the same way. Things were different in the 80s, so hiding this part of himself worked for Tim. He didn’t want Shane to feel like he had to.

“If you wanna talk, give me a call, okay?”

Shane rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to say something, but Tim held up a hand to cut him off. 

“I know, you don’t want to call a cop, but I promise I’ll be off duty. I’ll just be Tim when you call, not Detective Rockford.”

Shane blinked at him before a giggle bubbled out of his mouth. “Your first name is Tim?”

It was Tim’s turn to roll his eyes. He sighed heavily and got up, pushing the chair back in. “Or don’t call me, whatever, kid. I’m just saying, if you need someone to talk to about… anything, just. I’m all ears, alright?” He kept things vague on purpose. Once he was back at the interrogation room’s door, he turned back around. “Seriously, I don’t wanna see you back in here again, alright?”

Shane raised his eyebrows, eyes wide as a mocking facial expression crossed his features. “Whateverrr,” he sighed, standing from his own chair. He looked down at the business card on the table and picked it up as the door clicked shut. He rubbed his thumb over Tim’s name before stuffing it in the pocket of his leather duster.

He hastily left the interrogation room and made his way toward the exit, but was stopped by a secretary.

“Shane Morrissey?”

Shane cringed as he froze, staring at the older woman. He glared a little, but raised his arms in defeat. “Yeah? What?” He bit back at her.

“Detective Rockford said you had personal items,” she said sweetly, rolling her chair to the wall of lockers behind her.

Shane raised a brow. “I didn’t bring anything–”

“Here you go, sweetie. Don’t go getting into trouble now!”

Shane sighed and grabbed the black plastic bag from her. “What did this old man give me–?” He gasped as he looked inside the bag, cheeks burning. It was the magazine he’d stolen. The Playgirl magazine. He squeezed his eyes shut and got out of the station like a bat out of hell.

Honestly, the only reason he’d stolen it was because Peter Steele was on the cover. He was in that convenience store for a pack of smokes and saw the frontman’s face on the cover, bare chest on full display, with a large hand cupping the cock in his underwear.

He’d been staring at the cover for a few minutes too long, because the convenience store clerk waved his hands in front of his face. “You gonna buy somethin’, man?” The clerk’s name tag said “Dante” and he looked very bored. 

Shane shook himself out of it and looked up, the bright red of the magazine piercing the corner of his eye. “Uh, yeah,” he cleared his throat, digging into his baggy pants to pull out his wallet. “I’ll get a pack of reds,” he mumbled, pulling out a couple greasy bills.

Dante didn’t bother asking for his ID and just turned around, digging into a drawer below the case of cigarettes for the key to open it.

Shane’s eyes were like a magnet, pulling directly back to the magazine. He looked at Dante’s back for a second, and quickly rolled up and stuffed the magazine into one of the deep pockets of his leather duster. 

Dante pulled out the pack of cigarettes and locked the case shut again. He sighed as he tossed the pack onto the counter. “That’ll be ten bucks,” he said, voice monotone.

Shane handed him a ten dollar bill and turned to leave.

“Hey!”

He turned back, standing in the doorway just as the bell dinged above him, and saw Dante’s bored face now looking angry. “The fuck you doin’, man? Put that back!”

Shane raised his brows and looked down, the magazine poking out of his pocket. He looked back up at Dante’s face and booked it, running as fast as his legs would take him. 

His lungs burned as heavy boots thundered along the concrete, chains and jewelry clanging against each other. He turned down an alley and gasped for air, leaning against a dirty wall with his hands on his knees. He waited until his breathing was back to normal and checked his surroundings. When he figured the coast was clear, he took a step out of the alley. 

“‘Scuse me.”

Shane whipped his head around and saw a cop standing there. “What?” He frowned, voice having a little more bite than was probably necessary, but well, Shane hated cops.

“You just come from a convenience store down the road?” The cop pointed his thumb in the direction behind himself.

“No. Can I go back to what I was doing?”

“What were you doin’?”

“None of your business, pig,” Shane rolled his eyes and turned to leave, but the cop grabbed his arm and cuffed him. “Hey! Fuck off!”

“No can do, kid. Clerk called about a kid matching your description with a, uh… well, an interesting magazine in his pocket,” the cop grumbled, tugging on the Playgirl poking out of Shane’s pocket.

Shane’s cheeks burned in embarrassment and shame, eyes squeezing shut. “Fuck.”

“C’mon, fairy boy.”

“I’m not–!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Before Shane knew it, he was in the back of a cruiser and was headed toward the station.

He couldn’t even look at the magazine now. Shane laid in his bed, in the middle of his messy bedroom, and stared at the ceiling. The bright red of the magazine cover was just out of sight. The heavy guitars and vocals from his shitty speakers pierced the silence of his room, soothing his anxious thoughts. His mind drifted off to Detective Rockford. Or Tim, he guessed. He leaned over his bed and dug through the pile of clothes he’d discarded when he got home.

Tim’s business card now in hand, he laid his head back against the pillow and stared at the embossed text. The first thing that came to mind was Tim’s gravelly voice saying, “If you wanna talk, give me a call, okay?”  

What would he even say to someone like Tim? Tim was a cop. He wasn’t exactly Shane’s first pick in literally any scenario.

Shane sighed and tossed the card onto the pile of clothes. He looked over to his left at the magazine laying next to him on his wrinkled sheets. Peter Steele’s come hither facial expression stared back at him. 

He’d had these… thoughts for a while now. Feelings he had no answers for. He wasn’t gay. He couldn’t be. Shane liked women, he liked pussy. He did.

Did he?

He picked up the magazine and started looking through it. Of course, there were photos that went along with the cover, of The Green Man standing in front of a mirror without a shirt. He stuck his large hand down the front of his pants, lips parted and eyes closed. Shane adjusted how he was laying, feeling a minor stirring in his pelvis. Obviously Shane was looking at the woman Peter was heavily making out with on the next page.

The photos started to get a little more risqué as he went. They started out pretty tasteful, with Peter laying on a bed, fully clothed, and a hand gripped around his cock through his jeans. But they quickly became… less tasteful.

Shane stared at a photo of the singer sitting in a chair, completely naked, with a large hand wrapped around an equally large, hard cock. Shane’s own cock twitched in his boxers as he felt a light sheen of sweat at his hairline.

“What the fuck,” he whispered to himself. He slammed the magazine onto his sheets and stared at his tented underwear. There was a small wet spot where there was precum already gathering. He started to breathe unevenly and worriedly looked up at his ceiling. He couldn’t even hear the music in his room from the rushing of blood in his ears.

He leaned over his bed and frantically searched for Tim’s business card. He didn’t even know what he was thinking, but he was terrified. He grabbed the landline on his nightstand and stared at the bland text on the white background.

He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. He couldn’t call Rockford when he had a fucking boner.

An image of Tim’s face flashed behind his eyelids and he gasped, cock twitching in interest. His eyes snapped open and he frowned. “What the fuck?”

He looked down the tent in his boxers and felt betrayed. It was bad enough that he was hard when thinking about a man, but a cop? He couldn’t fucking believe it.

“This is bullshit,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest. He refused to entertain his dick at all.

But his dick wasn’t listening, hard and starting to throb underneath the thin material.

He sighed in defeat and looked up at the ceiling of his bedroom. “One time,” he breathed. “I’m doing this one time. No one ever has to know.”

Before he knew it, his boxers were thrown onto the messy pile on his floor and his hand was curled around his cock. He moaned at the relief he felt, thumbing the head teasingly. He shut his eyes, Tim’s face appearing behind his eyelids again. He groaned. Whether from frustration or arousal, he couldn’t tell and honestly didn’t care at this point.

He slowly built up a rhythm, stroking himself steadily. He bit his lip and sunk further into his sheets, feet planted flat on the bed. He started fucking his fist, lifting his hips off the bed. The cool air coming in through the window gave him goosebumps all over and made him whine weakly. He was thankful the music was turned up enough that he couldn’t hear himself.

“Good boy.”

Tim’s voice whispered in his ear. His imagination started to run wild, imagining Tim sitting on his bed and watching him. 

“Show me how you get yourself off, baby.”

Shane groaned, the steady beat of his fist on his cock speeding up. The cool metal of the jewelry he wore on his hands had grown warm, giving him a delicious friction. It grounded him, telling him it wasn’t actually possible for it to be Tim’s hand around him. 

“Want me to touch you?”

Shane nodded to himself, eyes shut in bliss. “Please,” he whispered. He slowly removed his hand and gripped himself with his left hand. It was a little awkward, but it was enough for him to imagine that it was someone else. That it was Tim. 

“Fuck,” he huffed, rubbing the head with his thumb. “Gonna–”

“Come for me, Shane.”

Shane nodded to himself and sped up his left hand. Precum dribbled out of the tip, easing the way as he fucked his fist. It felt like only a few seconds had passed, completely lost in his own world. And maybe it had been only a few seconds.

“F-fuck!” He whimpered, balls drawing up. He groaned, stroking himself through it as he came hard, thick white cream covering his hand. 

He came down slowly, panting hard as he kept his eyes closed. Slowly, he opened his eyes and looked down at his chest. He was completely covered in his own spend and he felt heavy. That was probably the most intense orgasm he’d ever had alone.

He picked up Tim’s business card and shut his eyes in defeat.

“Fuck.”

One Week Later

Shane had no idea how he got to this point. He was laying on the concrete outside of a club downtown. His face was throbbing and he was exhausted. The faint sounds of people shouting kept him conscious as he rolled onto his back. His vision was blurred and the buildings towering over him started to spin.

“Hey! Get the fuck back up! I ain’t done with you.”

Shane groaned and tried to look up at whoever was yelling at him, but his body felt too heavy. That didn’t last for long, though, because the next thing he knew, he was being hauled up by a man twice his size.

“You gonna try that shit again, faggot? Huh?” The brute’s breath smelled like shit as he spat in Shane’s face. Shane twisted his face in disgust, his head pounding even more with all the yelling.

“Nah,” Shane smirked, eyes barely open. “I’ll suck your cock before I do that again.”

The brute squawked in disgust and punched Shane square in the jaw. Shane laughed shakily, suddenly feeling more alive than dead. He was past the point of feeling any of the pain.

“Aww, c’mon, you don’t like it when someone sucks your cock?” He taunted.

“Alright, break it up, you two,” the bouncer for the club barked, pulling the brute off of Shane. Shane sagged against the wall he was pressed up against, head hanging low. “You okay, kid?”

Shane snapped his head up, but groaned in pain before he could react. He could’ve sworn that it was someone else’s voice for a second… 

“Kid?” The bouncer shook his shoulders and handed him a plastic water bottle. “I said, are you okay? You got somewhere to go? Someone you can call?”

Shane drank from the bottle with shaking hands and looked at the bouncer, eyes half-lidded. The man was big, had dark skin, a beard, and thick ropes of hair cascading down his back. He was really handsome, in Shane’s opinion. He didn’t have the energy to fight with himself about it right now.

“Y-yeah. There a phone nearby?” He croaked, licking his dry lips. The bouncer nodded and hauled Shane up onto his feet. Shane lost his footing at first and fell into him, gripping onto the man’s thick waist.

“C’mon, man,” the man grunted, basically carrying him to the club’s phone. Thankfully, the bouncer brought him to a quieter area of the club. “Can you call them yourself?”

Shane’s throbbing head moved to look up at the bouncer. He nodded slowly, opening and closing his eyes like a cat falling asleep.

“I’ll be in the hall if you need me, okay? I’ll get you another water.”

Shane hummed and picked up the club’s phone, gently pressing it to his ear. He dug into his duster pocket and pulled out Tim’s business card. It was all rumpled up and dirty, but he could still read the numbers, surprisingly. He’s pretty sure it takes him far too long to dial the numbers, but the faint sound of the phone ringing tells him he actually did it.

Tim picks up on the third ring.

“This is Rockford.”

A shiver travels down Shane’s spine at the familiar gravelly voice.

“Th-thought you were ‘just Tim’ with me,” he says weakly, a faint smile on his face.

“Morrissey? Didn’t think you’d actually call me, shit. Are you okay?”

“Peachy,” he grunted. His voice sounded pinched when he said it, his face curled up in pain again. He’s pretty sure the brute split his lip because that’s throbbing now too.

“Where are you, Shane? I hear music.”

“C-club downtown. Got–” he paused, swallowing around a lump of pain in his throat. “Pissed someone off.”

“Shit, kid. Do you need me to come get you?”

Shane groaned in pain as an answer and nodded, even though Tim couldn't see him. The bouncer came back, putting another plastic water bottle in front of him. Shane made eye contact with him and nodded in thanks. “Can you–” He gestured to the water bottle, asking for the large man to open it for him.

“Is someone there? Give them the phone, kid.”

Shane didn’t answer and just handed the phone to the bouncer. He didn’t hear the one-sided conversation and just laid back in the swiveling office chair, the now opened bottle in his hand.

The bouncer hung up the phone and chuckled down at Shane. “You got friends in places I didn’t think you would, man.”

Shane smiled, eyes shut. “We’ve got history,” he said vaguely.

“I’m sure you do. He’ll be here soon.”

Shane had no idea how much time passed, but the sound of Tim’s low, soft voice in his ear woke him up. When he opened his eyes, Tim’s tired, handsome face greeted him, making him smile softly. 

“You came,” he said softly, genuinely a little surprised, and tried to stand on wobbly legs.

“‘Course I came, kid. Said I’d help you out. You okay coming back to my place?” 

Shane hummed and wrapped an arm around Tim’s broad torso, fingers fiddling with the tank top’s material. He was wearing one underneath a button-up. He probably just got off work.

“Take that as a yes,” Tim sighed. He looked to the bouncer, and nodded in thanks. He led Shane out to his Caprice and buckled him into the passenger seat. “Keep drinking that water, okay?”

Shane mumbled in response and lolled his head against the back of the seat.

“Don’t fall asleep on me, kid, Jesus.”

“Hit ya real hard, didn’t he?” Tim grunted, pressing a wet washcloth against the cut on Shane’s cheekbone.

“More of a lovetap.”

Tim sighed and cupped Shane’s face in a large hand to hold him steady. Shane held his breath, eyes glued to the focused expression on Tim’s face. He studied every detail, never getting a chance to be so close to him before.

“Why were you at the club, Shane?”

Shane sighed and looked down at Tim’s broad chest underneath the tank top. He’d taken off the dress shirt when they walked in the door of Tim’s apartment. They were sitting at the bar in Tim’s kitchen, Shane’s chunky boots on the bar of the stool Tim was sitting on. He looked at the slacks pulling at Tim’s thick thighs and forced himself to look elsewhere, inadvertently giving Tim room to clean up the blood on his split lip.

He hissed in pain at the sting and mumbled, “Wanted to get out of my apartment.”

Tim gave him a look that said, ‘That’s not what I meant and you know it.’

Shane rolled his eyes and shrugged. “I dunno,” he sighed. 

“That was a part of downtown I didn’t think I’d find you in, to be honest,” Tim said softly. He picked up another damp washcloth and cleaned up some of the dirt on Shane’s neck. “Couple more blocks and you’d be in the… more colorful side of town.”

Shane froze, eyes wide. “What are you saying?” He asked defensively, eyebrows furrowed.

“‘M not saying anything, kid. Just making an observation,” Tim shrugged back. He removed his hands slowly and nudged Shane’s chin with the knuckle on his index finger. “There ya go. Lookin’ good.”

Shane blushed a little and looked away. He crossed his arms over his chest and mumbled, “Thanks for getting me.”

Tim smiled softly. “Sure, kid. You got anyone to let them know where you are?”

Shane shook his head and didn’t say anything.

Tim nodded and didn’t press any further. “Well, I’ve got a couch if you want somewhere to sleep for the night. Sorta late now.”

Shane turned up his nose at first, but deflated, too tired to keep the mask on. He didn’t say anything else and just walked over to Tim’s couch. He laid down on his side, facing the back of the couch and hugged himself.

Tim’s eyebrows turned down in concern, but he left it alone for now. He got up and took his shoes off, quietly making his way into the kitchen. He got Shane some water and left it on the coffee table.

Tim looked at Shane’s sleeping form one last time before he turned and went to bed.

Shane’s entire body ached. He turned his head and groaned in pain.

“Awake?”

Shane opened his eyes and immediately shut them, the light from the window blinding him. He tried again, looking over at Tim standing in his kitchen. He was wearing that same white tank top from the night before and some plaid pajama pants. His normally put-together hair was ruffled and starting to curl.  Shane’s heart pounded at the sight.

“Sorry, I know it’s bright. Want something to eat?” Tim asked gently, holding up a pan and spatula.

Shane turned his body but couldn’t, legs getting all tangled in a blanket. When did he get that? He looked down and noticed his jacket and boots were off. He looked up at Tim and raised a brow.

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t want you getting dirt on my couch,” Tim grumbled, turning back to his cooking. 

Shane felt… something in his stomach. Were those butterflies? He didn’t get butterflies in his stomach. Least of all for a cop.

“You like eggs?”

Shane looked up again and nodded.

“Think this is the quietest you’ve ever been around me, kid,” Tim chuckled, cracking an egg into the pan. 

“Sorry,” he croaked, voice still scratchy from sleep.

“Don’t be, it’s alright,” Tim hummed. He transferred the eggs onto a plate and grabbed a fork, bringing it over to Shane. He sat on the edge of his coffee table and handed the younger man the plate. “Eat, please.”

Shane looked at the plate of scrambled eggs and almost cried. He couldn’t remember the last time someone did something like this for him. He took the plate and started eating quietly.

“How you feeling?” Tim asked softly, taking a drink of his coffee. He held the mug in both hands between his thighs, Shane’s eyes glued to the sight.

“‘M alright. Sore,” Shane mumbled around the eggs.

“I’m sure you are,” Tim snorted. “I mean how are you feeling, kid.”

Shane shrugged, chewing silently. “Fine.”

Tim sighed and got up, walking back to his kitchen. Shane frowned to himself as he finished off his eggs. He set the plate down on the coffee table and stood up. He really was sore, but pushed through it as he walked into Tim’s kitchen.

“You wanna know why I was at that club?” 

Tim froze at his opened refrigerator and slowly turned toward the younger man. He shut the fridge door and gave Shane his attention, leaning against the counter to the bar.

Shane shut his eyes and took a deep breath. He kept his eyes downcast as he spoke, staring at the hole in his sock. “I was at that club because I wanted to… I dunno, see more people like… like that.”

Tim crossed his arms over his chest, listening intently. “Like what?”

“Like–” Shane sighed in frustration. “Gay people,” he mumbled. “Got the address mixed up, so, this–” he gestured to his face. “Was the result.”

Tim smiled internally. There it was.

“I felt– I’ve been,” he paused, looking for the words. “I don’t really know. I don’t,” he sighed in defeat.

Tim hummed in response, unsure if Shane wanted his advice or not.

“If you’re gonna be a dick, I can just leave. I don’t wanna hear what you have to say,” Shane frowned, looking up at Tim with a hard expression on his face.

“How do you know what I was gonna say?” Tim replied, shrugging easily. Shane stared at Tim’s bulging biceps, the tank top revealing more skin than he’d ever seen.

“Well–! You’re,” Shane frowned, cheeks warm. “You’re a cop. You guys are always saying shitty things to guys like me.”

“Sure, some–”

“Don’t ‘not all cops’ me, Tim.” 

Tim’s eyes widened at the response. Not necessarily the words, but the fact that Shane actually called him by his name. “Alright, I get it,” he said softly. “I know you’ve had a lot of bad experiences with cops, I’m sorry.”

Shane huffed in response, but didn’t retort. 

“I mean it, though. I wasn’t going to judge you, Shane,” Tim said, stepping closer to him. 

Shane’s breathing picked up, looking at Tim’s large hand on the bar’s countertop. “You weren’t?” He asked shakily.

“No, kid,” Tim chuckled. He cupped Shane’s face and gently rubbed the pad of his thumb along the split in his lip. “You can’t keep getting into trouble over this sort of thing. There are other ways.”

The air left Shane’s lungs, big brown eyes staring at Tim’s handsome face. He was so close now, Shane had no idea what to do. “L-like what?” He breathed shakily. He stared at Tim’s lips, subconsciously licking his own.

Tim looked over Shane’s face, trying to read his body language. Not yet. He took his hand away and grabbed a glass, filling it with water. “Talking about it, for one,” he said quietly.

Shane exhaled a heavy breath and looked down. His heart was pounding so hard in his chest he thought he was going to pass out. Was Tim about to kiss him? He looked at the back of Tim’s head, eyes looking over the curls intently.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Shane said quietly. “Not right now anyway.”

Tim turned around, face unreadable, and handed Shane the water. “What do you want to do now, then?” He asked, leaning against the bar’s countertop again.

Shane set the glass down and stepped closer into Tim’s space, eyes glued to the older man’s lips. He looked up at his eyes, then back down at his lips. He surged forward and pressed his mouth to Tim’s, kissing him roughly.

Tim grunted into it, arms raised at his sides. It took a second for his brain to kick in and he pulled back, turning his head to the side slightly. 

Shane’s cheeks burned and he felt like an idiot. He turned away and grabbed his jacket that was hanging over the back of one of Tim’s dining room chairs.

“Shane, wait,” Tim started, but Shane ignored him, roughly pulling his chunky boots on.

“Don’t,” Shane snapped. “I’ll be out of your hair.” His face was hard and left no room for argument. He stormed over to the door of Tim’s apartment, heavy boots thundering loudly across the hardwood flooring. 

The last thing Tim saw was Shane’s retreating form and the sound of his front door slamming, the sound echoing throughout the apartment.

[jellybeans2099]

Cam Person Drabble

Paring: Miguel O'Hara x Spiderperson!Reader

Part 2 Here

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, obsessive behaviors, masturbation, breeding kink, size difference (if you squint), s-x work is real work

Word Count: 0.5k

A/N: I used they/them pronouns for the reader so insert whichever ones you use. No real descriptions of what the reader has going on to keep this neutral. This idea has been swimming in my head for DAYS and I need to just get it out. Let me know if you want a longer version of this! (also loosely based on @oharahive's Frustration series, I just love the idea of frustrated Miguel and oblivious reader so I took my own spin on it)

He wondered how pathetic he looked staring at his computer screen with such an intensity. The object of all his late night longing was right in front of him and yet he knew they were so much farther away than he could ever get to them. How silly was it to get attached to  the person behind the screen. And yet here he is every single stream, cock in hand. It started out as an accident. An honest to god accident. He didn't want to know what you did in your spare time and how you supported yourself when you weren't at HQ but he saw your username handle while doing a routine check in on new recruits. You only met him once and had never even made a point to see him again. Only exchanging a hello out of curtesy or a brief recap after a mission.  You didn't go out your way to see him, just another person here in the spider society. He shouldn't have looked it up and found you streaming in your down time. The moment he laid eyes on your half dressed form, moaning and pleading with someone in stream controlling your toy he was transfixed. He found himself dick in hand pumping hard and fast in tempo with you. He was absolutly obsessed. He felt a desire bubble up he had never felt before. How much he would give to see his cum leaking out your pretty little hole, moaning his name as he fucks it all back into you. Watching himself go deep inside you, into places no toy could ever reach. By the time he came to he had a large load of cum covering his  t-shirt and sweats dripping on the floor underneath his desk.

Now here he was almost 6 months later and he couldn't stop himself. Every night you were streaming there he was in front of his desk waiting for you to go live. He paced himself now, not cumming until you finished the stream as a reward for being so patient. Sometimes a stream was quick, just 20 minutes before you were abruptly interrupted by "nosy neighbors" which was always something going down at HQ that needed your urgent attention. Those days are particularly hard to pull himself back together to face you as your assigned a mission for a new anomaly. Some days he made sure that HQ had a backup for you just incase you wanted to be live a little longer. Those streams sometimes went on for up to 3 hours and he savored them to the last second. At HQ he could hardly face you without getting an immediate hard on, often meeting you only when his back was turned, You hardly seemed to mind, you kept your distance as much as you could. He once overheard a conversation you had with Peter B. saying you found him intimidating and that you were keeping your distance. Oh how little you know about the beast you've awakened in him.

[ponett]

been rewatching and reabsorbing a lotta X-Men stuff recently and once again remembering how its always been allegorical of many civil issues, namely LGBTQ+ struggles do you think thats why it has a more varied fan following than say The Avengers? (or any other surface level super hero team) or would you just say "they're cooler and better written" is why you specifically like them not to have this question come off as "do you like them because you're gay" lmao

It's a mix of both for sure. The political allegory has always been messy and will never fit real life issues 1:1, but when it's written well that resonance tends to be what makes me really connect with my favorite X-Men stories, particularly X-Men '97 in recent memory. It makes the X-Men the relatable underdogs you wanna root for and gives their conflicts more meaning beyond the fun superhero adventure elements. The series has also always had a lot of great female heroes and villains going back to the Claremont days, and I don't think that can be understated. I'll pick Storm, Rogue, and Mystique over Captain Marvel, Scarlet Witch, and Black Widow any day, no contest. These factors all lend themselves to giving the X-Men a more diverse fanbase

In terms of raw quality, though, it's also worth pointing out that the X-Men were just... created to be a team from the start? With some exceptions like Wolverine, most of them were created to be a part of that ensemble cast and fit into that group dynamic, compared to the Avengers who are just a hodgepodge of heroes from other series who team up sometimes. New X-Men are created specifically to bring something new to the perpetual soap opera drama of the series and to the roster of powers on the team. Their stories are intertwined in a way that you can't always do on a crossover team. You're rarely gonna see the most important Black Panther stories in The Avengers. The most important relationships in Peter Parker's life are not with his allies in The Avengers. You can be a fan of those characters and completely ignore The Avengers!

But also yes they do just have cool powers and costumes and also they're in more '90s Capcom fighting games with sick sprite art lol

[mbappebby]

Stargirl || One

Ivy Carter (OC) x f1 grid

Summary: Ivy Carter begins her journey in f1, she meets but also reunites with some drivers when entering the paddock for first time and proves to everyone she belongs here.

Requested: No, please sent some in for this series!!

Series

Taglist: (let me know if you want to be added)

IVY CARTER scanned her pass before entering the Bahrain paddock, she was in her casual clothes and was with her trainer RYAN EVANS, the pair were making their way towards the Mercedes garage.

Nearly all the cameras had pointed in her direction and started to follow her, Ivy stopped to sign things and take photos with fans before eventually getting to the Mercedes garage .

“Hey Ivy!”

“Hi Vee!”

“Hey Carter!”

All the crew said when seeing the rookie driver enter the garage. “Ah, there she is! Hi Vee!” GEORGE RUSSELL said seeing his teammate walking up to him. “Hey G! Where’s Toto?” Ivy asked as the paired hugged.

“He’ll be here now, think he’s waiting for Susie” George told her. “I love her,” Ivy replied. “I think everyone knows that” George mumbled as Ivy hit him slightly.

“There’s my two drivers!” TOTO WOLFF said as he walked into the garage. “Susie!” Ivy exclaimed running into the arms of her. “Hey sweetheart!” SUSIE WOLFF replied as they pulled away.

“Any greeting for me, Vee?” Toto joked as the rookie hugged her new team boss. “Thank you for this opportunity, I promise I won’t let you down” Ivy told him as they pulled away.

“You deserve this Ivy and I’m sure you won’t disappoint me,” Toto said. “Bono is going to be race engineer, as well!” Toto added as PETER BONNINGTON entered the garage.

“Bono!” Ivy exclaimed as the pair hugged. “Hey Vee, how are you?” Peter asked. “Amazing knowing that you’re going to be my race engineer!” Ivy said.

“You free right now, Vee?” George asked as Ivy looked at Ryan. “Yeah you’re free, I’ve checked with Nat” Ryan told her.

NATALIE COLLINS, her PR manager was who Ryan was referring to. “Great! You can come meet some of the guys, you already know a few of them” George said. “Okay..” Ivy mumbled as the pair made their way out the garage.

Something you should know about Ivy is how shy she is. You wouldn’t think that she was shy when seeing her acting around her team, but when she first meets someone it’s a whole different story.

That’s why she was currently walking somewhat behind George when they made their way over to a group of drivers. Ivy watched as George greeted them, she stay back as her nerves was getting to her.

“Hey Vee,” LEWIS HAMILTON said softly as she hugged him. Her and Lewis have known each other for awhile due to her being a Mercedes junior and they become quite close.

“Hey Lew, how’s Ferrari treating you?” Ivy asked as they started to have a full conversation. “If it isn’t Ivy! How are you kid?” VALTTERI BOTTAS said as he walked over to the pair.

“Val!” Ivy exclaimed as they hugged before pulling away. Again, due to Ivy being a Mercedes junior driver she had met and become close with Valtteri.

“Vee! Come over here!” George called as Ivy turned around to see George with a group of drivers she didn’t know. “Go on Vee, we’ll catch up with you later” Lewis said.

Ivy slowly made her way over and stood next to George. “Look who it is, little Ivy” LANDO NORRIS teased. “Shut up Norris,” Ivy sassed which made some of the drivers around laugh.

“Still feisty as ever” Lando added. “Hey Vee! How are you?” ALEX ALBON asked. “I’m good thanks, Albono!” Ivy said with a a smile. “So nice to him yet rude to me!” Lando added.

“Can you tell him to stop already? I’ve only just got here!” Ivy mumbled as the drivers around laughed while Lando just had a smirk on his face. “Wipe that smirk off your face Norris,” Ivy told him.

“What if I don’t?” Lando asked as Ivy gave him a glare and the Mclaren driver run off, with the young girl running after him. “Have they always been like this?” CARLOS SAINZ asked.

“Yup, the day we introduced them to each other” Alex said. “How old is Ivy again?” PIERRE GASLY asked. “She’s 18” George told him as they all looked shocked.

“Only a year older than I was first getting here,” MAX VERSTAPPEN said as they all laughed seeing Lando falling to the ground with the rookie on his back.

“Didn’t you say that she’s shy? It don’t seem like it” CHARLES LECLERC asked. “Only around new people, you can see her and Lando get on quite well” Alex said joking at the last part.

Ivy and Lando eventually calmed down and made their way back over to the group of drivers. “Nice to meet you all!” Ivy said giving a fist bump to the drivers. “Likewise, Vee” Max replied.

Ivy smiled at the nickname that he already used. Ivy started to have a small conversation with them all before they all had to make their way back to their respective garages.

“Ivy! You’re in the press conference with Max, Charles, Alex and Oscar in 10 minutes” Natalie told her. “Thank god it isn’t Lando” Ivy mumbled.

Soon enough, the rookie made her way to where the press conference was going to take place. When she entered the room, she could see all the drivers already there.

She greeted them all with a fist bump before sitting down between Alex and Oscar. “Long time no see, Osc” Ivy said as the Aussie driver smiled. “Finally got up here, eh?” OSCAR PIASTRI replied.

“I still can’t believe it, crazy” Ivy told him. The pair were too invested in their conversation that they didn’t know someone was asking Ivy a question until Alex nudged her slightly.

Ivy turned to him as he pointed to a reporter who has asked her the question. “Sorry, was just catching up with Osc. What was your question?” Ivy asked softly.

“It’s alright, I wanted to ask how it has been for you in Mercedes so far and how you are feeling about the upcoming season?”

“Mercedes is like a family to me, I grew up in the junior program and been in the garage a lot over the years. So I already knew a lot of the crew, so it’s been easy for me to settle in. It’s still surreal to me that I’ve finally made it to f1, been dreaming of it since a little kid so I can’t wait for the season to start now and get out on the track” Ivy said.

“You still are a kid” Max joked which made many in the room laughed at the comment. “I mean he isn’t wrong,” Alex added as Ivy rolled her eyes with a smile on her face.

Surprisingly for Ivy, the rest of the press conference went well, she was shocked that she didn’t get any certain questions asked but she had to be thankful for it.

When they were allowed to leave, Ivy walked out with Oscar and the pair started to make their way back to their garages. “Ew, why you bringing her here?” Lando joked as he saw the pair outside the Mclaren garage.

“Shut up Norris, see you later Osc!” Ivy said as she gave the Aussie a fist bump and poked her tongue out to Lando before making her way to Mercedes.

“You ready for tomorrow?” George asked. “Eh, I’m nervous but I can’t wait to get started” Ivy said. “You’ll be fine Vee, you belong here” George told her.

“Thanks G, is Carmen going to be here this weekend?” Ivy asked. “Yeah, she’ll be here from tomorrow onwards” George told her. “I’ve missed her” Ivy said.

“She’s missed you too,” George mumbled as Ivy had a big smile on her face.

//

Skip to Qualifying

Q1

“Here comes out the Mercedes cars, George Russell is the first out then his rookie teammate Ivy Carter, what an entrance she has made already!” DAVID CROFT said as he watched the two cars come out onto the track.

“Well Mercedes did say that they had a chance to do something different. But bringing a 18 years old rookie into the team, many people didn’t think that would happen!” MARTIN BRUNDLE added.

"Well, let’s see how Ivy can do on her first ever qualifying in formula 1 today!” Crofty said.

"-the both Mercedes have crossed the line ending their flying laps. It's P5 for the rookie and Russell gets into the top 3, they are both through to Q2!"

"Eliminated from Q3 is the Williams of Alex Albon, the both HAAS's; Magnussen and Hulkenberg, Esteban Ocon in the Alpine and Yuki Tsunoda in the RB!”

R- "Okay Vee, let's keep it up we are through to Q2"

Ivy- "Copy, what position am I in?"

R- "We are currently in P5"

Ivy- "Copy, where is George?"

R- "P3!"

Q2

"Ivy Carter is flying out there, she has just crossed the line and the rookie put herself 3rd fastest. However, Verstappen has just beaten her and she is pushed down to 4th"

"It's a George Russell who’s on top at the end of Q2, followed by Hamilton in the Ferrari then Max Verstappen and the rookie Ivy Carter is ahead of Leclerc who completes the top 5!"

"We've lost Daniel Ricciardo in the RB, Pierre Gasly in the Alpine, both Valtteri Bottas & Zhou Guanyu in the Sauber and Lance Stroll in the Aston Martin!”

R- "That's P4, Verstappen just beat you to that P3. Let's keep going!"

Ivy- "Copy! Where's George?"

R- "P1!"

Ivy- “Let’s go G!”

Q3

"Right, Lando Norris the first to do his last flying lap, he crosses the line and it's P7 start for him tomorrow! Piastri starts P8 and Alonso hasn’t improved so it’s a P9 for him tomorrow!”

"Carlos Sainz, crosses the line in P10 as he doesn’t improve! Sergio Perez has had some issues and it’s P6 for him! Charles Leclerc can’t improve and it’s P5 for him tomorrow!”

"Only 4 cars left on the track, Ivy Carter will be the last one to finish her flying lap. She has just gone purple through in the first sector, moving onto her teammate who has put his car on provisional pole, what a lap that was from Russell"

"Hamilton is the next to cross the line, it’s a P4 start for him tomorrow! It's all eyes on what Verstappen and the rookie Ivy Carter can do now!”

"Verstappen crosses the line and gets 2nd fastest, he can’t beat Russell, but has he done enough or will the other Mercedes of Ivy Carter ruin it for him?”

"—Ivy Carter crosses the line and it's 3rd fastest for the rookie!! Very close between her and Verstappen, however what a debut for the young rookie!!"

"George Russell starts from pole, followed by Max Verstappen on the front row, then the rookie of Ivy Carter in P3. Both Ferrari’s of Hamilton and Leclerc complete the top 5!"

R- "P3 Vee!! What a lap that was, well done amazing job!"

Ivy- "Let's goo!!! P3 in qualifying on the debut, wow! Thank you guys so much, it's onto the race!!"

R- “Huge congratulations Vee, well done what a lap!”

Ivy- “Thanks Toto!”

Ivy parked her car in the P3 spot, she stay in her car for a moment for getting out and running to her team. They all patted her back, she took her helmet off before hugging Toto and Susie.

“Knew you could do it, well done kid!” Toto said. “Thank you!” Ivy replied. “Proud of you sweetheart,” Susie added. “I love you guys” Ivy told them.

Ivy has always seen the pair like parents to her, she never had a good relationship with her biological parents and never will want to now as they disowned her when she was only 16 years old.

That’s another story for another time..

“Vee! Well done!!” George said as he hugged her, lifting her up in the process due to the height difference. “Thank you G!” Ivy replied as she felt the floor again.

“Almost got me” Max told her as she put her helmet down and had a drink of water. “Be sure to check your mirrors tomorrow, Verstappen” Ivy told him.

“Game on, Carter,” Max added with a smile.

//

Instagram

ivycarter

Liked by georgerussell63, maxverstappen1 and 2,173,993 others

ivycarter: wow, just wow. P3 in my first ever qualifying?! I honestly can’t believe it, a huge thanks to the team. Let’s bring on tomorrow!!💗

tagged: mercedesamgf1

view all 18,639 comments

user51 Yayyy congrats Ivy!!

user80 🤩🤩🤩

user2 Almost beat Max!!

mercedesamgf1 Stargirl🤩

ivycarter My team❤️

user62 I love how well Ivy has settled with the team🥰

user1 My girllll💗

user10 What a season this is going to be !!!

user92 Ivyy🥰

georgerussell63 Let’s go Vee!

ivycarter 😊😊

user55 Awh, her and George >>

user28 🤩🤩🤩

user21 👑👑

carmenmmundt Well done Vee!!💗

lilymhe Congrats girly🤩

ivycarter love you both💋

user15 ^ what a trio😍

user61 I didn’t know Ivy was close with them?!

user27 She grew up with Mercedes, George must of introduced them! She’s close with Lando too!

//

[crazyunsexycool]

Heart’s Munition

Chapter 7

Pairing: Mob boss!Steve Rogers x Maid!reader

Word count: 6.3k

Warning: mention of blood/blood splatter, gun use, gunshot, knife use, non-con touching (not Steve), SA, attempted rape, bruises, beating, angst, protective Steve

A/N: I really liked writing this chapter. Here we have a situation in which reader knows that Steve is in the mob but has never been in direct contact with any type of violence or anything until she is… We also find out who the woman that broke Steve's heart is (Are we surprised who it is?) We'll find out why later on so here we go....

Series Masterlist

“One more piece of tape.” You said as you held your hand out. 

“Here you go.” 

You place the tape on the last corner and then smooth it out to make sure it stays in place. 

“Mom are you done?” Eli pops his head into the room you’re in. “They’re downstairs.”

“Yes, come on.” 

You and Eli were two balls of energy. Everything was in place and Regina was more than supportive in your excitement. For the last two days you had been working on getting a room ready for Peter. He was finally being released from the hospital and considering how things were going Steve thought it would be better if Peter stayed for a while. 

There’s voices coming from the hallway so you and Eli stand together and wait for the door to open. Steve smiles as he opens the door and steps inside. Peter is right behind him. 

“Welcome home.” You and Eli yell at the same time. Peter, still being medicated, is startled before he starts laughing. 

“Thanks guys. Did you help decorate?” He asks Eli who walked up to Peter and hugged him gently. 

“Yeah. Do you wanna watch a movie?” 

“That sounds like a great idea bud.” 

“Eli, let Peter get settled first. Why don’t you go help Dom make some snacks for the two of you?” 

“Ok ma. I’ll be right back.” Eli says before he’s running out the door. 

“It’s good to see you’re back.” You said as you gave Peter a hug of your own. 

“Glad to be back too.”

You smile as you help him get comfortable in bed. Regina helps by getting his bags from Sam and sorting out the items. 

“Who’s she?” Peter nods in her direction. 

“This is Regina, the newest member of our staff.” 

Peter gives her an awkward smile and his eyes dart to Steve. He thought he’d find the boss checking her out but his eyes were only on you. Peter knew from the first moment Steve liked you but he was stubborn. He wouldn’t let emotions cloud his judgment. Steve had warned him to keep a level head and to keep feelings out of the business. But seeing him now it would seem as if his boss was going against his own advice. 

“Nice to meet you. Let me know if you need anything.” Regina offers. “I’m going to get back to work.”  

“Thanks.” Steve says as he moves so that she can reach the door. 

You stay for a few more minutes catching up with Peter before you excuse yourself too. Bucky and Sam walk out with you.

“We’ll let you get settled but we do have to talk about what happened at some point.” Steve says. 

“Of course boss.” Peter nods. “I’m glad you brought them here. Y/N and Eli I mean. It was just the two of them and with Eli as sick as he is Y/N needs all the support she can get.” 

“And she has it now. Why didn’t you tell me about her and her son?” 

Peter looks down at his hands. 

“You’re not in trouble.” 

“She asked me not to. Simple as that. Eli is her priority and I respected that.” 

“You’re loyal, I like that about you kid.” Steve says. “You’re not keeping any other secrets from me are you?” 

“No sir. Eli is the only thing I’ve ever kept a secret.” 

“Good. Now get some rest.” 

Steve flexed his hand, assessing the damage on his knuckles from the interrogation he’d been a part of. He hissed when the cold alcohol swab touched the open skin on his other hand. 

“Don’t be a baby.” You murmur as you throw away the used alcohol pad. 

You turn away from Steve to grab some ointment and when you turn back he’s lighting a cigarette. 

“Hey.” Steve protests when you snatch the unlit cigarette from his mouth. “What the hell, I need a smoke. I'm stressed.” 

“No smoking in the house.” 

“It’s my house.” Steve argues back. 

“Elijah can’t inhale smoke so either quit or go outside to the other end of the yard where he doesn’t play.” 

“So now I can’t do whatever I want in my own house?”  Steve glares at you but you aren’t intimidated by it. 

You roll your eyes before taking his hand again and finish cleaning it up before moving around to the next one. 

“I didn’t ask you to move in. You brought me here and told me this place was safe for me and my kid. Now if you go and trigger an asthma attack it won't be good for him.” 

Steve huffs but agrees. He sits silently for a moment as he watches you.

“You know maybe I should get you a sexy nurse uniform.” 

“And who would I wear it for?”

“Your only patient.” Steve says, matter of fact. “Do you think I’d let anyone else see you dressed in something like that?” 

“I don’t know, I thought it was my choice who I let see me with or without clothes on.” You turn your head to look at him over your shoulder, a smirk playing on your lips when Steve’s jaw clenched. “What? Does it bother you that I could go out there and find someone and let him take me home?” 

Steve stands abruptly and spins you so that you’re chest to chest with him. His hands lay flat against the flat surface of the desk  behind you, his eyes darkening at just the thought of someone else putting their hands on you. Your breath hitches at the intensity in his gaze. 

“Do you really think I would let that happen? Let some asshole touch you.” 

“It’s not up to you, Steve. I’m a grown woman, I can do whatever I want. Why do you care anyway? Are you still just trying to get me in your bed? Is this why you’ve been so helpful, you think that helping me with Eli will get me to sleep with you? I won’t risk it. My job is much more important than a one night stand with you. Besides I thought we were past this you sleeping with your maids thing.” 

Steve groans in frustration, his head falling to your shoulder. You smile and play with the hair at the nape of his neck.

“No. I’m helping you with Eli because I genuinely care.” He pulls back to look at you, his gaze much softer now. “Maybe I wasn’t clear enough before but I will be now. I want you. Not just for one night.” 

“Well two nights isn’t going to cut it either.” 

“You’re being a brat, you know that? I'm going to win you over.” 

You laugh and get closer to his face, his eyes immediately going to your lips. 

“Well I’m not going to make it easy for you.” You murmur and kiss the tip of his nose just as the door opens. 

Bucky walks in, his steps falter as he watches the two of you separate yourself from one another. 

“Hey Buck, right on time I was just finishing up here.” You say as if he didn’t walk in on the two of you in a compromising position. 

“Uh-ok cool.” 

You pick up the first aid kit and place it back in its spot within Steve’s office. As you head for the door you stop and turn to look at both men.

“How much longer is that mess going to be downstairs?” You asked about the nameless idiot that shot Peter.

“It will be cleaned up soon.” 

“Ok, just let me know if you need me to take Eli out for the day. I don’t want him to see any of that.” 

“Of course.” Steve smiled and you walked out.

“What was that about?” 

“Don’t worry about it.” Steve waves his hand dismissively. 

“Ok? Anyways, Beck still won’t talk. We’ve tried everything.” 

Steve sighed as he ran a hand over his beard. “We’re going to have to call either Lloyd or Loki in. But we’ll move Beck first. I don’t want that done here.” 

“I’ll figure out where to move him to.” 

“Thanks, I’ll make the call.” Steve leans forward and grabs the phone while Bucky heads back out. 

You heard Steve’s voice before you walked into Elijah’s room. Almost as soon as you had moved in, Eli requested that Steve read with him at night before bed. You told your son you weren’t sure that was possible but in the short time you’ve been there Steve hasn’t missed a night. Although reading didn’t take long, all of the medication Eli was on made him sleepy. It didn’t stop him from fighting it and trying to stay awake for just a few more minutes. You lean against the doorframe and watch Steve tuck Eli in and turn off the lamp next to his bed. 

“Hey.” Steve says as he walks out of the bedroom. 

“He didn’t put up much of a fight did he?” 

“No.” Steve shakes his head. “I think all of the excitement of having Peter here wore him out.” 

You smile while looking back into the darkened bedroom. “I’m not surprised. He loved when Pete would come over and play video games.” 

Steve’s eyes were still on you when you looked back up at him. There was an intense feeling of need between the two of you as you stood in the quiet dimly lit hallway. One that pulled you closer to each other. He cleared his throat and you looked away.

“I have some business to attend to at one of my clubs. Will you be alright here alone?” 

“Yeah. Peter is sleeping too and I think Dom had a poker game. I’m just gonna enjoy a nice bubble bath before bed.” 

Steve groans and closes his eyes. You bite back a laugh. 

“Do you need a hand with this bubble bath?” 

You smile and shake your head before starting to walk backwards toward your own room. “I’m good, thanks. I can take care of myself just fine.” 

“Tease.” Steve mutters as he watches you walk into your room. 

****

Steve shook hands with his newest associate, Erik Killmonger. They had worked together before but this was going to be on a more permanent and lucrative basis. The two men were in the vip section with a drink in hand celebrating their new business deal. 

They looked down at the sea of people dancing and drinking as they talked about logistics and expectations. 

“Good evening gentlemen.” A sickly sweet voice called out from behind them. 

It was a voice Steve recognized and immediately tensed because of it. He turned slowly, anger already rising within him. A glare was sent in the direction of the uninvited guest but she was unphased.

“What are you doing here, Sharon?” Steve demanded to know. 

“I just came by to say hello, see how my old friend was doing.” 

“You shouldn’t be here. Not my club and not in New York.” 

She rolled her eyes and sat at one of the plush couches, motioning for a waitress to get her a drink. “I heard you were doing business and I have a proposition for you.” 

Erik looked between the two and excused himself after mentioning something about someone catching his eye. It left Steve alone with Sharon although Bucky quickly and quietly joined them. 

“So what do you say, Rogers? Want to make a deal?” Sharon asked as she batted her lashes at Steve. 

“No. You shouldn’t even be in New York but I’ll be a gentleman and give you twelve hours to leave.” Steve nods at Bucky who moves and grabs Sharon by the arm. 

“You can’t be serious? Is this because of Peggy?” 

Steve tensed at the mention of her name. It brought back bitter and hurtful memories. He kept his expression unreadable though and looked back at the blonde. 

“I’m a man of my word. I said I’d never work with The Carter Family again and I intend to keep it. I also told you that you have twelve hours to leave.”

Sharon pulls her arm away from Bucky’s hold. “It’s a shame you’re letting your emotions get in the way of a very lucrative deal.” 

“Sharon-” Steve raised his hand to stop her from talking when she opened her mouth.

“Steve.”

“What Buck?” He looked over a Bucky, annoyed that he was being interrupted. 

“We have to go. Check your phone.” 

Steve pulls out his phone to find a few missed calls and texts from your phone. 

Y/N: Steve mom needs help. 

Y/N: Come home now!

Y/N: Please!!

Y/N: Answer your  phone.

Steve immediately called you back but you didn’t answer. The urgency came from the first message that was obviously from Eli. He wasn’t sure how he missed yours and Peter’s calls but he left Sharon forgotten in his VIP section and headed back home with Sam and Bucky.

Eli and Peter were sleeping. Dom had gone to a weekly poker game with his friends. The house was quiet and you have wanted to take advantage of the bathtub in your room for a while. So that’s what you did. You lit some candles and added epsom salts and oils into the water. It was perfect. With some music playing softly in the background the only thing missing was a glass of wine. You grabbed your robe and headed downstairs with the intention of pouring yourself some. 

It was while passing Elijah’s room that something felt off. While you left the door ajar it was opened a little too wide. Then there was a smell of cigarette smoke that bothered you. Especially after asking Steve not to smoke around him. You knew that request bothered him but he wouldn’t go do anything to harm Eli either. So you crept up to the door and peered inside just to make sure Eli was still asleep. You could see him on the bed sleeping soundly but the cigarette smoke clung in the air heavily. Since the room was dark other than the sliver of light that illuminated the bed you struggled to make anything else out. 

You hear it before you see it. The deep inhale in the corner of the room. Then the lit cigarette. The person smoking takes a step out of his hiding place and you can barely make out his short slicked back hair and large frame. Your breathing stops as you stare at this stranger in your son’s room. 

“Well what do we have here?” It’s almost a whisper but it sends an unpleasant shiver down your spine. 

“Get out of this room right now.” 

The stranger walked closer to you. He was tall and obviously strong. You were sure he would overpower you but he was a threat to your son. You’d do anything to protect him. With every step he took you took one back in the hopes of leading him out into the hallway. 

“Aren’t you a pretty little thing? Rogers must be treating you well if you walk around like that.” He motioned toward your robe which had loosened and revealed your bra. He licked his lips as he eyed you. “The kid might be a bit of a mood killer though.” 

You wrapped the robe around yourself tightly and headed towards the stairs. He stalked towards you with a predatory gaze in his eyes. Before you could get to the top of the stairs he grabs the back of your neck, pressing his body against your. One hand wraps around your throat and the other starts roaming your body.

“That’s no way to treat a guest, Honey.” He whispered in your ear before sniffing your hair. 

“Let me go.” 

“Show me a good time and maybe I will. Or maybe I’ll keep you.”  

He started dragging back into the hallway and opened the first door he found. 

“No. Please don’t.” You tried to push against him in hopes of avoiding being thrown into the bed. But he was taller and obviously stronger than you. 

“You should cooperate sweetheart. Maybe I’ll go easy on ya.” 

You're thrown onto the bed. The robe you were wearing is now open, exposing your bra and revealing the shorts you were wearing. You cry and beg as your attacker moves to crawl over you, his lips find their way to your neck as he holds your hands above your head with one hand. His grip is hard and painful. The other he uses to keep your face still as he kisses you. He pulls back and smirks down at you. 

“Look at you, you’re so pretty when you cry.” He laughs as he moves around in order to undress you. In a moment of desperation you kick your feet up and manage to kick him in his groin. “You fucking cunt.” In his moment of weakness you kick higher this time and your foot connects with his face. He grabs his nose and starts cursing at you but you’re moving away from him.

You ran faster this time in hopes of getting down the stairs. As long as he was away from Eli you didn’t care what happened to you. 

“Dumb whore. I was going to be good to you but now you’re fucked. When I’m done with you, you’ll never see the kid again.” He yelled as he followed you down the stairs. “Stop running or I’ll go back up there and shoot the kid.”

Turning to look over your shoulder slowly you saw the gun aimed at you. 

“I really only came here for one thing. You see your little fuck buddy, Rogers, he has an associate of mine.” He says while taking a few steps down towards you. 

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Elijah creep out of his room. He stood there unmoving as he watched a stranger pull a gun out on his mom. You prayed he would go hide again and were relieved when he moved away from the railing. 

On the landing that led to the second floor you stood looking up at the intruder. He takes slow deliberate steps just to show you that he was in control. Your tear stained cheeks do nothing to deter his attack.

“If you tell me where he is,” he pulls his phone out and shows you a picture. “I won’t have the kid watch what I do to you. I won’t sell him off to the highest bidder either.” 

A door opens up at the end of the hall. He stops on the last step so that he’s hidden from whoever is there.

“Y/N?” Peter’s sleepy voice breaks the tense silence. “Y/N, I need some help.” 

The stranger takes a peek around the corner and sees Peter making his way down slowly. You take his distraction and charge at him full force hoping to at least knock him down and get the gun away from him. Barreling into him, shoulder first, he falls back. It wasn’t so much your strength but catching him off guard that helped you. He groaned as he grabbed his head, a small amount of blood started to trickle from the apparent gash at the back. While it looked like it hurt it didn’t completely knock your aggressor out. 

“Peter, get back in your room. Call Steve or anyone tell them to get back now.” You yelled before running down the stairs with the gun in your hand. 

Not even hitting his head against a few steps slows down your attacker. It forces you to head into the kitchen instead of outside. You turn on your heel and hold the gun up, pointing it at him.

“Don’t move or I’ll shoot you.” You say.

“Really? I don’t think you’ve ever used a gun before.” 

“First time for everything.” You reply. “On your knees.” The gun is still pointed at him but it shakes almost violently in your hands. 

He smirks and takes another step closer. The gun goes off but it hits the floor. It makes your hands shake even more.

“Don’t. Move.” You say through gritted teeth. 

There’s movement behind him and then Peter is telling you to move. The intruder turns around to face Peter knowing you won’t be able to shoot. He still gets shot once in the shoulder and in each kneecap forcing him to the ground. When you stand from behind the kitchen island you see Peter standing with a gun in his hand, suppressor attached. 

“Are you ok?” He asks while keeping his gun aimed down at the intruder. 

“I think so.” You say with a shaky voice while looking him over. “You’re bleeding.” 

“I think I ripped my stitches.” 

“I’ll get you cleaned up. Let me just-“ you look around unsure of what you can use to restrain him.  “I’ll be right back.” You run down the steps to the basement on wobbly legs. 

“We can use this.” 

You say as you get to the top stair with some rope. Peter nods but grimaces at any slight movement. 

“What do I do?” You look up at Peter.

“Y/N, Peter?” 

“In the kitchen.” You yell out. 

Coulson’s quick steps echo throughout the otherwise quiet home. He stares at the scene in front of him bewildered for just a moment. 

“Give me the rope.” He says and moves into action. 

You help Peter get to the couch. “I’m gonna get the first aid kit ok? I’ll be right back.”

“Hey,” he catches your hand. “Go check on Eli first, this can wait a few minutes.” 

He saw the relief in your eyes and the way your tense shoulders slumped. 

You run up the stairs and head directly to his room where you find the door locked.

“Elijah, baby it’s me.” You knock. “Baby please open the door. It’s ok.” 

The door opens and Eli’s crying face comes into view.

“Mom.” He rushes to you, burying his face in your stomach and wrapping his arms around your waist. 

“It’s ok, it’s safe now. Are you ok?”

You feel him nodding against you. The only thing you can do is hug him back and assure him that he’s ok. After a few minutes you pull away, kneeling to get a better look at him and make sure there are no marks on him. 

“Why was that man here? Why did he want to hurt you?”

“I don’t know, baby.” You brush away his tears. “Let’s go sit.” 

Eli takes your hand and walks back into his room. You aren’t sure if it’s him shaking or you but it’s almost uncontrollable. 

“I tried to call and text Steve but he didn’t answer.” He holds out your phone.

“You did a good job, come here.” 

You take your phone and call Steve immediately but there’s no answer. Then you call Sam and Bucky and still nothing. You send them all a few texts and you start to worry that they have been hurt. Dom answers right away and he tells you that he’ll be back in a few minutes. After that you sit against the headboard and bring Elijah to sit on your lap and you hold him tight like when he was a baby. The only thing you could do now was wait. 

Steve flew through traffic in order to make it back as fast as he could. His mind raced as he tried and failed to get an answer from you. He came up with the worst case scenarios of what could be happening. All Steve hoped was that you and Eli were ok no matter what the issue was. He would never forgive himself if anything happened to either of you. 

 Sam and Bucky weren’t far behind when Steve finally pulled into the driveway of his mansion. Immediately he knew something was way off. The normal guards that were posted around the perimeter were missing. He grabbed his gun as he stepped out of his car. When he looked backed, Sam and Bucky also had their guns out. 

Steve rushed to the door, opening it without warning. His gun was up as he walked in with Sam and Bucky behind him. They walk into the living room only to find Peter sitting back on the couch, his hand putting pressure on the area where he had been stitched up previously. Dom was fussing over him trying to help stop the bleeding.

“Peter? What happened?” Steve asked, getting the attention of the semiconscious young man. 

“There’s this guy. He broke in.” 

“I have him down in the room.” Coulson stepped out of the kitchen. “I got an alert from the security alarm. I got here just as Peter shot him. It seems he had his eyes set on Y/N.”

“Where is she?” 

“Upstairs.” Peter answers. “With Eli.” 

Steve looks back and Bucky lifts his chin up towards the stairs. 

“We’ll go see who this idiot is.” 

“Get Peter medical help and find out what happened to the guards.”

“Clint and Nat are on their way.” Coulson says. “I’ll have them take Peter in.”

Steve nods and heads upstairs. He takes two at a time until he reaches the third floor. His heart is beating out of his chest as he walks up to Eli’s room, worried about the state he would find you in. He knocks but doesn’t get an answer so he opens the door and takes a peek inside. The cigarette smoke still lingers but he doesn’t find either you or Eli. Steve walks out and heads to your room, knocking a bit more harshly than he intended too. 

“Y/N? Can you open up?” Steve calls out. After a minute the door opens and your tear stained face peeks out. 

“Steve.” You whimper when you finally see him.

“C’mere, baby.” Steve pulls you into his chest. He feels your whole body trembling and his arms tighten around you. “Are you ok? Is Elijah?” 

You nod against his chest and begin to sob now that Steve was there. 

“It’s over. You’re safe.” Steve murmured.

He kept as calm as he could but he felt nothing but rage. Not only did someone think they could just walk into his home without any repercussions, they also terrorized you. There would be hell to pay once he was downstairs to get the necessary information. 

“Do either of you need to see a doctor?”

“No. We’re ok, just shaken up a bit.” You reply as you finally look up at him again. 

“Alright. What about you? Are you sure you’re not hurt? Did he do anything to you?” 

You avert your eyes and Steve’s stomach drops. 

“What did he do? Did he touch you?” Steve’s voice hardened. There was this underlying and unsettling sharpness to it.

You nodded. Steve took a deep breath while he slowly pulled away and turned his back towards you. He ran a hand over his beard as he thought about all the ways he was going to rip the asshole that dared touch you apart. 

Steve turned back to look at you. “Did he force hi-“

“Tried to. I got away from him before he could.” 

“Ok.” Steve takes a deep breath. “C’mon let’s get you back to bed. You need to rest.” 

Once Steve realizes that you’re asleep he leaves the room quietly. He walks down to the first floor to find out what the hell is going on in his own home. There will be hell to pay for this, not just for the disrespect of breaking into his house but for what you went through.

“Update, now.” He demands.

“The idiot that broke in is none other than Jack Rollins. Apparently he was looking for Beck when he stumbled upon Eli’s room.” Bucky says. “He’s a sick twisted bastard from what Peter told me he heard.” 

“Did he say anything else?” 

Bucky shakes his head. Steve starts rolling up his sleeves. He heads for the basement door with Bucky on his heels. 

“What are you going to do?” 

“What do you think?” He growls but continues toward the basement door. 

“Steve, think about this.” Bucky says. “We could get information out of him if we do this right.”

Steve stops and turns to look at Bucky and the rest of his team. 

“He put his hands on Y/N. I don’t give a fuck about information.” 

Bucky’s eyes harden at the new information.

“I’ll come with you.” 

The two men walk down to the basement and into the soundproof room. Sam was standing over Rollins, who already had a few cuts and scrapes along with the gunshot wounds. Steve doesn’t waste any time at all as he connects his fist with Rollin’s jaw. The man, who had been tied to a chair, falls backwards. 

“I’m guessing that pretty little thing you have upstairs told you about our time together.” Rollins chuckles. “She was real sweet.0

Steve lands a few more hits before he stretches his hand out behind him. Bucky already knows what Steve wants and hands him a knife. Steve inspects it carefully before looking down at the man below him. 

“Oohh should I be-Aahh.” Rollins screams when Steve plunges the knife into the bullet wound on his shoulder. Blood splatters into Steve’s face but it doesn’t deter him.

****

When Steve finally stopped his assault he was covered in blood. Steve’s anger hadn’t subsided even as he walked back into the kitchen. The others were gathered around the island talking about what happened when he joined them. 

“Has anyone checked in on Y/N?” He asked. 

“Still sleeping boss.” 

He nods and starts walking out. “I’ll be back in about 10 minutes. I want to know everything when I come back.” 

Steve goes up to his room to shower and change quickly. Then he heads back down to the kitchen. Dom has a cup of coffee ready for him. The sun was just starting to light up the sky. Steve grabs his cup and takes a sip. 

“What do we have?” He asks as he takes a seat at the kitchen table. 

“Rollins killed some of the guards around the perimeter, enough to slip by undetected. He hacked the security system. He couldn’t completely deactivate it but he delayed the notification Coulson would get.” Clint said. 

“He was looking for Beck. But he won’t say anything else.” 

“What should we do now?” Bucky asks. 

“First I want him out of the house. Get him some medical attention, I’m not done with him just yet.” Steve orders. “Let’s double up the guards. Let’s have Jensen double check the security system and upgrade whatever needs to be upgraded.”

“How is Peter doing?” 

Steve and the rest of the group turn to see you standing at the entrance to the kitchen. Even though you slept most of the night you look exhausted. Eyes are red and slightly swollen as if you’d just been crying. 

“Peter’s fine. He just ripped some stitches, he’s in his room sleeping.” Nat tells you. 

You nod as Dom walks over to you. 

“Want some coffee, Mia Cara?” 

You shake your head. Dom opens his arms for you and you step into his embrace. The older man pats your back in a comforting manner. 

“You’re safe now, Mia Cara. We won’t let anything like this happen again. You hear me?” He reassures you. 

You just nod against his chest. Everyone silently shuffles out of the kitchen. Dom places a chaste kiss on your forehead and leaves, giving you and Steve some privacy. 

“How are you feeling?” Steve asks as he gets up and moves towards you.

You shrug. Other than being worried about Eli you were numb to the whole situation. 

“Baby, look at me.” Steve says softly.  He tucks a finger under your chin and pulls up so that you have to look at him. 

You’re fighting back tears for what felt like the millionth time. 

“Tell me what you need?”

“I don’t know.” 

“How about some time away from here? We can get away for a weekend and take Eli somewhere fun. What do you say?” Steve offers.

 It angered him all over again to see you like this. A shell of who you really are. Your arms wrapped around yourself. Steve didn’t like seeing you down like this although it was completely understandable. 

You shrug again in response and he sighs. 

“Why don’t you go rest for a little bit longer and I’ll have Dom make you something and bring it up.” 

“I can’t.” You mumble as you look around the room. 

“Why?” 

“I have to work.”

“You’re joking right? You aren’t going to be working today. Regina will be in any minute now, she’ll do what she can. You worry about taking care of yourself and Eli.” Steve says as he leads you out of the kitchen and into the living room. 

In the distance you hear the door that is normally used by the house staff to come in and out.

“See, that's probably Regina right now. I’ll talk to her.” 

You gasp when Regina appears in the doorway. She’s sporting a black eye, busted lip, bruises around her throat and she’s holding her side as if it hurt. You rush over to her to make sure she’s ok. 

“What happened?” 

“The-these men they-they broke into my house early this morning.” She sobbed before hiding her face in your shoulder. 

“Fuck. Bucky, Sam.” Steve yells for them. The two men rush out of the hallway that leads to Steve’s office. 

“What happened?” Bucky asks once he sees Regina crying. 

You tell them what she had just said since she couldn’t control her crying. Both men look back at Steve, the same anger in their eyes. Dom and Coulson soon join the others.

“Do you know who did this?” You ask her as you guide her to the couch. 

“No. I’ve never seen them before. I was sleeping when they broke in.” Regina sniffles.

“Did they say what they wanted?”

Regina nods. “They told me that I had to get whatever information that I could on you and report back to them.” 

“I have a few questions.”

“Ask away.” 

“How did they know you work for me?” Steve asks and you look between him and Regina.

“I don’t know, maybe they had been following me?” 

“Why tell me?”

Regina swallows thickly as tears well up in her eyes again. “Well everyone here has been so nice to me, and this is the first job I don’t have to get almost naked to get money for,” She sighs, wincing due to her injured ribs. “I didn’t want to ruin what I had here. But my grandma, she’s in a nursing home and they had pictures of her. They said that they’d hurt me and make her watch.”

“They said the same about me and Eli.” 

“Wait what?” Regina looks at you confused. 

“Someone broke in last night.”   

“What is happening?” Regina asked. She was scared and so were you. The only difference was that you knew Steve would make things right. 

“I don’t know but I’m going to find out. In the meantime you can’t go back to your place.” Steve tells her. “We’ll have someone pick up some clothes for you and have a doctor look you over. Do you think you could recognize these men if you saw them again?”

“Maybe. Oh wait,” Regina grabs her phone. “Would a video help?”

“You have a video of them?” 

She looks at Bucky and nods. “I installed a doorbell camera and a camera in the living room. Here, you can definitely see their faces.” 

“You have a camera in your living room?” Sam asks suspiciously.

“I live alone and I’m single. There have been some break ins around the neighborhood. I was trying to protect myself.” She says as she hands the phone over to Bucky.

Sam and Steve huddle around Bucky to look at the video Regina had. They see her being dragged out of her room and beaten. Unfortunately they didn’t recognize the men in the video but they would find them nonetheless. 

“Thank you for this. I don’t know who they are but we’re going to find them.” Steve tells her. “Y/N can I talk to you for a minute?” 

You get up and follow Steve into his office where he closes the door behind you. 

“What’s wrong?” You ask Steve after watching him pace back and forth for a few minutes. “Is it about whoever broke into Regina’s place?”

Steve leans against his desk and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“I’ll most likely have to be out more. At least while I track these sons of bitches down.”

“Ok, and?” 

“Will you be ok here? After last night… I’m doing everything to make sure this place is more secure.”

“Ok.” 

“I’m also going to assign Nat to be with you whenever you go out. I know you’re independent but I need you to do as she says if something were to happen.” 

“Do you think someone would try to hurt me again?” 

“Honestly? I don’t know. I mean look at what they did to Regina and she hasn’t even been here that long. I’m not going to risk you and Eli being in danger again.” Steve pushes himself off the desk and walks over to you. “It should’ve never happened in the first place. I’m going to handle this.”

“I’m more worried about Elijah than myself.”

“Of course you are because you’re a good mom.” Steve cups your face when he sees your eyes start getting glassy. “You just take care of him like you always do and I’ll keep you both safe.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.” 

Ch. 8

Permanent taglist:

@rebekahdawkins

@cjand10 

@nalny5 

@Sturchling 

@angywritesstuff 

@seitmai

@writing-for-marvel

@goldylions 

@almosttoopizza 

@littleseasiren 

@pono-pura-vida

@talesofadragon

@midnightramyeoncravings

@bunnygirlwriter876

@pandaxnieenke

@kandis-mom

@hisredheadedgoddess28

@braveclementine

Series taglist:

@lets--be-honest

@hapinessinthebeing

@sebsgirl71479

@mssleepy876b

@marvelmenwhore

@vicmc624

@haruvalentine4321

@i-can-do-this-all-dayy

@dontbescaredtosingalong

@ilovetaquitosmmmm

@buckystevelove

@drewsuncrustables

@thesomberfest

@hidden-treasures21

@bruher

@lovelybaka 

@rogersideup

@zaraomarrogers

@stcrrjoon

@mrsevans90

@peaceinourtime82

@rebeccapineapple