#might have to shake for spiders when it's dry but that's fine

[luvrxbunny]

slim fit

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x F!Reader

Prompt: Uniform

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, a bit of body worship, dry humping, cum in pants, reader doesn’t cum (lmk if I forgot anything)

WC: 1.6k

A/N: i kinda like this one i think! i hope u guys do too (not proofread) here’s the suit i’m taking about!

He walks through the door and your heart skips a beat, happy and relieved he’s home. You’ve been missing him all day, your period is on its way, making you a bit more emotional and sensitive than you usually are. “Baby! Welcome home, my love.” You get up on your tippy-toes and wrap your arms around his neck, breathing out a sigh when he wraps his hands around your waist. “Hola, amor. D’you miss me?” His voice is thick with tiredness from the presumably stressful day he’s had. 

You pull back and nod at him happily, he leaves his hand on your waist as he smiles down at you. He looks you up and down and his smile widens. You’re still wearing your suit with one of his zip-ups thrown over. He, unfortunately, hasn’t gotten around to making your digital suit so you still struggle with this one every day, usually opting to wait for him to get home so he can help you take it off. “How long have you been home?” He asks and gestures to your outfit while walking to the kitchen, leaving his work bag by the door. “It’s been maybe an hour or something—? I don’t know. I just miss you when you’re gone, seconds turn to hours.” You add a dramatic sigh to your voice that pushes a laugh out of his chest. 

“You need to figure out how to take this off without me, cariño.” You shake your head and ignore him, sitting on the counter beside where he’s making himself a little sandwich. “No, I don’t. The stress-” He hands you a piece of turkey and you instantly start snacking on it. “The stress it creates, along with the anxiety of like- what if I get stuck and you’re not home for another hour or something… or! Or what if I tear my suit?! I don’t have time to wait for a new one?!” He shakes his head with a silent smile as he takes a bite of his sandwich. 

“Mhm.” Is all he says, obvious disbelief in his tone and a teasing smirk on his lips. You sit up and look at him with a shocked, stern face but your smile can’t help but break through. “Okay. You don’t get it, alright? You have your fancy digital suit.” You give your voice a nasal tone as you tease him and his suit. He almost choked on his sandwich while laughing at you. He puts it down and wipes the crumbs off his fingers before walking in front of you. He places his hands on his hips and gives you the sassiest look. “I used to have a normal suit y’know. I was able to get out of it just fine. 

This is news to you. You thought Miguel had his digital suit- or a digital suit since he started his spider career. You need to see it now. “Where is it? Go get it! Put it on! Now!” You’re off the counter and pushing him into the bedroom while he laughs instead of answering. “It- It’s in the closet but- Baby!” He cuts himself off with a laugh as you shove him so hard he almost falls over. He holds your wrists, stopping your assault as you giggle at him. He leans down for a kiss to calm you down but you’re both just smiling against the lips of the other. 

“It might not fit me anymore!” You stare up at him with an evil smile. “I. Don’t. Care. Please put it on!” He watches you for a moment, seeing how badly you want to see it in every feature and emotion that flashes over your face. He wants to make you happy, it’s all he wants, so of course he caves. “Fine.” You’re instantly jumping up and doing a little happy dance with the widest smile he’s seen on you all day. “But you have to wait in the living room.” He’s gently pushing you out of the room. “You don’t get to watch me struggle.” You giggle at his words and nod, removing yourself from his hold and sitting patiently on the couch. 

 It feels like an eternity before he comes out. He turns the knob as slowly as he can, and a smile spreads over his face when he hears a soft gasp and noises that sound like you scrambling to get off the couch. He feels a bit of anxiety seep into his previously positive feelings. This suit is a lot tighter than his digital one, he can’t adjust it to his body type and he hasn’t even seen himself in it for years. He doesn’t know if he’s as muscular in all the places he needs to be, the suit might be baggy and unflattering. But he can hear your excited little breaths on the other side of the door, he can already see the smile that’s undoubtedly resting on your face. He’d give anything to see it in real life, so he pushes through his embarrassment. 

You’re bouncing in place as he opens the door at the speed of a snail. Once you can see him though… it’s over. Heat is flooding your veins and you take a deep shaky breath to regulate the shock from how you’re already drenching your underwear. He’s standing there, his legs pressed together, tilted inward and his hand holding the opposite forearm, uncharacteristically shy. He’s getting visibly restless the longer you take him in but you can’t bring yourself to stop. His suit is pretty similar to his other one but it’s white instead of blue. He doesn’t have the mask on so his curls, and an amazing contrast to the white and it makes his eyes pop, piercing yours every time they meet. The main issue you’re having is how tight it is. He’s obviously filled out since the last time he wore this suit, the biceps bulging and the fabric over his thighs pulled so tight that you’re afraid it may rip. The neckline is warped from the way his shoulders are stretching the fabric and his crotch… it seems impossible that his dick has gotten bigger since he wore this suit but the way it’s basically screaming at you makes you believe that it has. 

You’re entranced by his body but you don’t want him to get too uncomfortable so you finally speak up. “Miguel.” You take a step toward him, eyes on his chest instead of his face. “You look so good, honey.” He sucks in a sharp breath at your words and his eyes widen for a moment before fluttering back to their normal state. “Really? It’s- I think it’s too-” You don’t let him finish his nonsense. “You look incredible, so strong.” You squeeze his bicep for a moment before letting your hands run all over him. It’s like he’s naked. You can feel the definition of every muscle your hand runs over, the way they tense and he shudders.

He’s getting unbearably hard in his pants, one of the inconveniences he does not miss about a physical suit. Usually, this would be the part where he just dissipates his crotch and your hand is on his cock in an instant… but instead, he’s just pressing into the fabric, the restriction getting more uncomfortable by the second. He tries to ignore it, you never explicitly stated that what you were doing has sexual intent so he’s worried about being a creep. But fuck your hands feel so good he can’t help it. He’s fully hard by the time you’re done admiring his arms, moving on to his chest where his nipples have pebbled up for you. 

You raise an eyebrow at him but he keeps his gaze straight above your head, pretending his face isn't currently in flames at your admiration. You save him embarrassment and say nothing but continue your appreciation of his body. You know he’s getting hard in his pants, you both are so in tune with the other that any time you’re horny; 9.5/10 Miguel’s feeling the same way, and it goes both ways. He subconsciously puffs his chest out once you place your hands back on him, pressing his nipples into your hands. You peek up at him and catch his eyes closing softly. You press your palms into his boobs before digging your fingers in, fondling him the same way he does to you and a whimper slips out of his mouth at the feeling. 

He’s started to leak in his pants and he’s growing increasingly desperate. He’s almost at his limit, his body is already too turned on, all his senses cranked up making your touches feel more intense than they already are. The softness and sensuality of the entire interaction is really clouding his head, it only gets worse once your hand leaves his chest to cup his bulge gently. His eyes snap open and his hands come to your hips, walking you back to the couch while leaning down to capture your lips in his. You release a contented moan into his mouth when his tongue licks in, tasting your mouth and rubbing against yours, dancing with it. 

He crashes on top of you once your legs hit the back of the couch and force your knees to give out. He growls above you, a low, grunting sound as he pulls at your suit desperately, trying to take your bottoms off, or your top but everything is just stuck to you, like a sausage in its casing. “Fuck!” He whispers out to nothing, his voice sad and desperate for you. You cradle his face and flip the two of you over slowly, seating yourself in his lap and grinding over his bulge the moment it touches your needy pussy. His head gets thrown back and his hands on your hips immediately go to work, grinding you over his bulge. “This is why I need-” You’re cut off by your moans as Miguel re-angles you so you’re more leaning on his thigh, right over the tip of his dick, pressing right into your clit. 

He breathes out a sigh of relief as his cock starts pouring into his pants, precum draining from his cock, wanting nothing more than to be inside you. Your hands go back to his chest, shoulders, and arms, feeling like heaven over his suit, pressing through his sensitive skin. He whines and forces you onto his dick more forcefully, trying to get as close as he can with this stupid fabric separating his skin from yours. You grip his sides and press your thumbs into his nipples, relishing the way his breathing speeds up and his moans devolve to whines. You begin to bounce yourself in his lap gently, adding more force to your grinds, simulating that you’re actually riding him. His hips begin to thrust into you, adding to the friction between the two of you. “M’close.” He whimpers into your ear as his body folds in on itself, trying to fight the pleasure you’re feeding him with. 

His words encourage you to double your pace, wrenching a high yelp from Miguel as his hands still your hips. “N- I can’t-- Not in the suit, I-” You’re out of his lap on your knees before he can catch his breath enough to form a proper sentence. Your hand makes itself comfortable over his bulge, pumping him through the fabric, just to keep him on the edge without pushing him over. You just watch him like that for a little bit, his hands gripping the armrest with his eyes shut tight and his stomach tensing over and over to fight the urge to absolutely fill his suit. A devious smirk spreads over you when you realize he’s not going to open his eyes, he can’t. If he does he’ll cum. 

You lean forward, your face right above his cock but still looking up at his face. He’s none the wiser to your movement. You place your lips over where his tip is leaking through the fabric and suck as hard as you can, almost choking on the little bit of precum that shoots to the back of your throat. He gasps so suddenly that his throat seems to close in on itself, letting out a strangled noise before you feel his hands shoving your face further into his tip as his hips tilt up. 

His warmth is flooding your mouth, slowly making its way through the fabric as he groans raggedly above you, grinding into your face sporadically. You bring your tongue out and lap it over the rough fabric, teasing and overstimulating his tip as he gives you more ropes of cum, shooting right over your tongue and you moan at the taste. He slowly collapses back onto the couch, all the tension gone from his body, all his limbs loose.

You climb into his lap, careful to avoid his sensitive cock, and nuzzle your head into his shoulder while watching him pant at the ceiling. His head falls to the side, his eyes hazy and clouded when they open to meet yours. His eyebrows draw in for a moment and he whimpers softly “M’gonna make you cum, jus- just give me a minute.” He sounds delirious as he says it so you know it’s a promise he’ll break but you don’t mind. You nod at him softly, like an adult would do to a child who's making no sense. "Mhm. I know, baby." He smiles softly at your response. You’d do it again even if you knew he wasn’t going to get you off just to get him like this, all soft and pliant.

You stroke through his hair as he calms down and you don’t even slow your pace when you start to hear snores work into his breaths.  Instead, you let the calming motion of his chest rising and falling, slowly rock you to sleep… both of you still in your suits. 

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, here's the rest of my Kinktober Works and be sure to check out my Main Masterlist!!

[yorshie]

APPY SLICES

Bayverse turtles x fem reader

Turtle fluff, kinda petty jealousy, nothing sexual

Second Person, no Y/N.

Inspired by a pinterest post I saw about having an office turtle and the punch line was "does the big man want his appy slices?" and it just snowballed from there

Aged up turtles

Your first vacation in a year, and you were stuck with a house guest for part of it.

Well, sort of a house guest.

You stared at the plastic kiddie pool taking up half of the living room, shoved between your TV and the L shaped desk you used as a work space. A sandy colored shell moved slowly around as Romeo explored his temporary digs, the large tortoise taking everything in with long, slow blinks.

“Boy, does your mother owe me one,” You informed him lowly, shaking out tired arms that still ached from carrying the large cat carrier up the stairwell. “Though, I guess she should be worried you won’t wanna go home on Monday. After all,” you leaned down, watched as Romeo turned those large, multicolored eyes in your direction, “I seem to have a growing collection of turtles.”

He let out a loud huff, the air whistling through his nostrils, and you snorted. “Sorry, tortoise, though I’m pretty sure the rest are turtles.”

He turned back to ignoring you, making slow movement towards the heat lamp you had attached to the back of a stool and swung over a part of his pad earlier per his owner’s instructions.

You hummed, watching him, then glanced over at your phone when it dinged from the couch.

Orange Crush: Hey babycakes, we still good to come get you after patrol? Donnie got ahold of that movie you wanted to see.

Uh oh. You bit at your nail absently, thinking, then typed back:

You guys are welcome to stop by, but I might have put a snag in movie night. I’ve got a house guest I have no idea what to do with.

You hit send, waited a beat, then hit accept before the phone even rang, expecting Leo’s name.

“Everything good?”

You decided not to comment on the speed dial. “Yea, everything’s fine. I’ve just… got a house guest.”

A beat of silence, “are you in danger?”

You frowned, stared across the room at Romeo, then had a light bulb moment as you replayed what was said. “Oh, god, Leo, no I’m fine! This isn’t a ‘help, there’s someone in my apartment’ type of thing.”

“Well that’s good,” he breathed, and you could hear his dry humor creeping in, “Though you almost gave Raph a heart attack just now.”

“Spiders almost give Raph a heart attack,” you deadpanned back. “But seriously, I’m just babysitting a pet for a friend. Um… actually.” You squinted at the tortoise sunning himself. “Don’t- don’t be weird when you guys get here.”

A longer beat of silence. “O-kay.” The word was drawn out. “We’ll be over in ten.” He hung up before you could squawk about cutting their patrol short, and you were left holding the phone comically to your ear.

Romeo chose that moment to let out a questioning chirp, his beak opening and clicking shut.

You turned your attention back to him. “Hm? You hungry, big boy? Let me go get your food.”

You got Romeo his salad, watching with slight amusement as he once again slowly moved toward the plate of offerings next to his sunken water bowl, high pitched chirps coming from him as he started to eat.

A light tap at your window pulled your attention, and you crawled over the couch to unlock the window, letting Leo do the heavy lifting to actually get it open.

“Heeeyyy,” You said, smiling brightly, trying to block the view behind you while leaning against the frame.

Leo rolled his eyes, “hey yourself. You gonna let us in?”

You pursed your lips, looking over the four of them crammed onto the fire escape, Donnie half hanging off the railing as he avoided Raph’s shell. You held up a finger threateningly. “Don’t be weird.”

You heard Raph scoff as you moved to press against the couch cushions, letting them step in over the furniture. “‘Don’t be weird’ she says to the mutant turtles.”

“Uh.” Leo pulled up short, one foot still on the couch, letting Mikey bounce off his shell as he noticed the kiddie pool.

Romeo looked up from the salad, took in the towering turtles staring back, and let out a low grumble that somehow managed to thrum through the room.

“Wow. That’s impressive.” You popped up on the couch, leaned over the arm, watching as the four turtles spread out a little, all still eyeing the kiddie pool.

“Sheesh, that’s nothing, babycakes,” Mikey said over his shoulder as he backed to the side to perch on the couch next to you, baby blues fastened on the tortoise like he’d disappear if he blinked. “That little rumble ain’t got nothing on Raph in the morning.”

“Huh. Really?” You glanced at the red turtle, but he shrugged, moving towards the kitchen counter and the cans of soda you’d set out while waiting for them.

“It ain't nothin special, sweetheart. How long you watchin mr. grumpy pants?”

Leo still hadn’t moved from his spot half on the couch, and with a huff Donnie pushed past him, the only one to take a step closer to the kiddie pool and crouch down to get a closer look.

“I have Romeo until Monday morning.” You tried not to sound too intrigued with what was happening, or not happening, but you probably failed judging by the quick look Raph threw your way, slight smirk curling his mouth as he watched you peer between Romeo and Donnie.

The tortoise had one eye on Donnie and the other on Leo, his head swiveled to the side to keep them both in sight as the ominous grumble sounded once more.

“Oh, goodness.” Donnie chuckled, perched as close to the plastic lip as he could get without touching the tortoise’s turf.

Raph whistled, long and low, as the noise lowered deeper until it was a threatening burr. Romeo snapped his beak at the sudden noise from Raph.

“Ok. What’s happening?” You asked, looking from Mikey to Raph for answers.

Mikey winced, fingers drumming out a fast staccato on his bent knees, so you turned your question to Raph, who simply shrugged.

“Donnie,” you whined, and heard him hum in answer. “What’s with the weirdness?”

“Oh, well, I suppose we’re making him a little uncomfortable.” He supplied, twisting around to address you from over Leo’s hip. Romeo let out an angry hiss, and Donnie swayed back out of sight. “Oops.”

“Now you done it,” Raph joked. “Touched the big man’s pool.”

“So I should have coached him instead of you guys?” You smirked, the notion that the bigger turtles were all being trash talked by Romeo amusing.

“Eh, probably wouldn’t have changed much,” Donnie chirped back at you, pulling another threatening beak snap from Romeo.

Raph chuckled. “Careful, Don. He might think you’re after his girl.”

“Oh so now I’m part of the problem?” You put as much sarcasm into the query as you could, moving to sit up on the couch, swaying into Leo’s space.

“Sure.” Leo answered, finally moving his foot off the couch as you brushed against him. “Bunch of big ugly rivals come into his place, touch his home, chirp at his girl. I’d be pissed too.”

“Would you?” You tried not to sound too amused, hand coming up to press against your mouth at the uptick in Leo’s cheek even as his gaze was kept on the tortoise. “So is he gonna get even more cranky if I leave with his ‘rivals’?”

“I’m sure he’ll live,” Raph pushed away from the counter, snapped his fingers under Donnie’s glasses. “Genius, quit harassing the poor dude. He’s stuck in a pool, we get to go watch a movie with his girl. Don’t rub it in.”

“Pretty sure I’ve known you guys longer than him,” You kicked out at Raph playfully as he passed close, connecting with his thigh and making him sway to avoid the pressure. “Think that makes him the interloper.”

“Ah, ok, I see how it is, you’re our girl. You want us to avenge your honor, teach this creep a lesson?” He jerked his head toward Romeo, grabbing your foot with ease as you went to kick at him again. You let out a quick giggle, jerked your foot away from his grip, leaning towards Mikey for protection as Raph made a grab for your retreating foot again.

“Hey, it’s all good babycakes, I’ll hide you from your loverboy’s rival.” Mikey lifted his arm, flashing the charm as he let you wedge yourself between his shell and the couch, feet tucked in the cushions where the larger brother couldn’t reach.

“We better get going before we rile your house guest up even more,” Leo commented, ignoring the playful banter as he stepped sideways out of Raph’s way. “You have everything you need?”

You hummed, twitching further behind Mikey as you felt the youngest brother’s fingers reach back and ghost your far side. “My bag’s in my room. Obviously, I’m gonna have to come check on Romeo tomorrow, but I think he’ll be ok for the night.”

“Especially if he doesn’t have to deal with us,” Donnie added, straightening and stepping around the pool to head down the short hallway leading to your room.

“Oh, shoot, hold on. Can’t forget.” You popped out from behind Mikey, wildly grabbing onto Leo’s arm to steady yourself as you overcorrected on the couch cushion. His forearm tensed under your hand, giving you something steady to push off of as you headed for the counter.

As you turned around with an apple and a knife, Mikey gasped. “He gets appy slices?”

“Yup, every Friday.” You responded, not looking up as you carefully started cubing the fruit.

“He’s get a treat after being an ass?” Raph sounded incredulous, and you blinked, looking up finally to find all three bigger turtles staring at the apple in your hand.

You took in the various looks of envy and mild offense, and reached behind you for the bag with the rest of the apples. “Do… do you guys want some?”

Donnie rounded the corner at that moment, stopping so hard his shoe squeaked on the floor. “He gets appy slices?”

“O-kay.” You pulled the word out long and slow, conscious that they were tracking you and the dish of apple cubes across the room to the kiddie pool. It had to be your imagination, but Romeo almost looked smug as he hurried over for the treat you set down.

Behind you, Raph made a noise of disgust deep in his throat, and you fought to keep the smile from your face as Mikey echoed the sentiment.

“I promise,” You rose and turned to face them, “I will bring the whole bag and make you guys as many appy slices as you want tonight.”

Raph took the few steps to the kitchen, grabbed the bag of apples, and crossed back over to the couch and window. His brow raised as though daring you to laugh as Mikey opened the glass and hopped out onto the fire escape.

You fought it successfully until Leo purposely bumped into you, a gentle reminder to get moving, and you followed Donnie out into the chilly air, careful as you pulled yourself over the edge of the window.

Donnie offered you a hand, grip cool and firm as he tugged you up the flight of stairs and passed you off to Raph, whose arms you curled into as he picked you up effortlessly.

“Where’s Fearless?” He asked, stepping up to glance back over the edge, and you gripped tighter as the buildings swelled down to meet the street.

Leo stuck his head out of your window as though summoned, taking a moment to close the latch before he scaled up to where the others were waiting. At Raph’s questioning look, he huffed, the lights catching briefly on his teeth.

“Just reminding Romeo down there that he’s only a house guest.”

You blinked, your face going loose with shock, “Leonardo, did you growl at that poor tortoise?”

The only answer you got was a smug smirk, and Mikey’s bright belt of laughter.

Much later, in the lair, you sat slumped in the middle of the couch, fingers sticky as you peeled yet another apple. You didn’t even bother to lean forward as you offered a slice over the edge. You weren’t sure how they knew it was there, the only light coming from the soft jewel tones of the older movie on the big screen, but the slice was always accepted, much larger fingers grazing your palm the only indication. 

You smiled, and cut off another slice.

[marymary-diva17]

Where is she (2)

Miles quaritch x ex wife reader + spider and recoms

Miles and his team were on a mission to avenge you and the death, that had fallen upon you from Jake sully and his navi friends. None of them had yet to see they are being used by Parker and that the whole military and them had been lied about your so called death. Right now that was something to handled later, as right now you were in the forest with your son along with nephews and nieces.It seems like no one knew that this day was going to change everything for everyone one and life might never be the same.

Y/n " tuk don't wonder to far"

tuk " yes aunt y/n"

y/n " good sweetie I don't wish to cut off your fun but we have to be careful"

tuk " yes auntie" tuk smiled towards you as she went to chase some fan lizards, making you smile as you went back to doing your work.

y/n "come on let go find your siblings and cousins I hope they are not getting in trouble" you soon started walking toward where the older kids had ran off to be, placing a comforting hand on tuk back as you walking with her. All the sully kids had become your nieces and nephews as you are best friends with Jake and neytiri, they as well become uncle and aunt to spider.

tuk " auntie y/n is it true you were once married like my daddy and mama" you were shocked by tuk question but you knew you had to give her some type of answer.

y/n " yes I was once married like you dad and mom but I lost him, many years ago"

tuk " oh I'm sorry auntie I heard uncle norm and daddy talking about you and him"

y/n " it okay honey there no need to worry everything is fine" tuk smiled towards you she felt bad but once, she heard it wad okay she was happy again. You soon heard yelling and laughing it was definitely your son and the other kids.

tuk " we found them auntie we found them"

y/n " well go join them sweetie and see what they are doing" tuk soon ran off to join the older kids you soon reach, the area to see the kids swimming in the water and running under a water fall.

y/n " hello kiddos it seems like you all are having a wonderful time" s

spider " hey mom" you smile looking at your son as he had pushed lo'ak into the water. the kids seem to be having a good time soon kiri came out of the water and walked towards you.

kiri " hello auntie"

y/n " hello my sweet girl have you kids been having a good time"

kiri " yes we bene having a good time swimming and seeing what the, great mother has to offer us" kiri had a very close bond with lo'ak and spider as all three three had five finger and eyebrows. They were able to bond over that and become friends when other kids didn't wish to play with them.

kiri " tuk be careful"

tuk " I'm being careful kiri" you smile and shake your head a the four children played in the water a bit longer, it made you happy to see them still being kids and not letting the war effect them.

y/n " as much I wish for you kids to have fun all day we most head home before night fall, we don't need everyone worry about you guys"

sully kids " yes auntie"

spider " yes mom"

y/n " come children come we should be heading home now" the kids soon got out of the water and after drying off, them and you soon headed back home.

y/n " well come on and if we are lucky maybe we will find some adventure on our way home, and it will be good to see what new moves you kids came up with for climbing and running" Lo'ak and spider had ran ahead of the group racing each other.

lo'ak " aunt y/n" you soon heard lo'ak calling you and soon ran toward him and spider as they were kneeling down and looking at something.

y/n " what the matter" you ran toward the two as they were looking at something, you soon spot it and what you saw a massive shot print.

loak “ it to big to be a human shoe”

spider “ then it most be a avatar shoes”

loak “ it can’t be they don’t do that far and, some of them don’t ware shoes outside that much anymore”

y/n “ come on we have to get home right now” the children soon took off running with you, as you were looking out of danger.

y/n “ get down here kids loak call your dad” the children hide down low as you heard something coming towards the family.

loak “ dad said he coming with the others”you had nodded your head and soon you heard Tuk screaming.

???? “ drop your weapons drop them” you soon saw avatar in RDA uniform holding weapons, and yelling at the group. These avatar are holding the kids hostage but failed to see you, and watching your son and nieces and nephew being held by the rda made your blood boil.

????? " Three teens and kid colonel" you were looking at the rda and their faces were faces that you knew so well, you are looking at them but saw one of them coming near your son.

????? " where is Jake sully toruk makto"

y/n "let them go" you were pointing a arrow that these rda as they all looked at you, as you stand there your voice had gotten them off guard.

y/n " I said let them go or you will see mt rage if any harm comes to them ... so let them go now"

quaritch " y/n"

y/n " quaritch" you were looked at your so called dead husband as she soon. let lo'ak go and soon walked towards you, he was shocked to see you are alive and well.

quaritch " how is this real you are supposed to be dead"

y/n " free the children now"

mansk " the kids are free to go" the recoms soon let the kdis go as they ran towards you, and you had check on them each looking over them.

y/n " good you are all okay thank you great mother" you were looking that the recoms you dead husband and dead friends were now alive.

z-dog " how are you alive they told us you were dead"

tuk " she not dead she alive"

Lopez " look at those three kids hands they have human DNA in them"

spider " don't touch us and don touch her"

quaritch " easy there kid we know her" quaritch was trying to grab your hand and feel if you were real, he touch you finger tips and knew you are real.

tuk " auntie"

y/n " don't worry my love come on you all are coming with us"

lyle " okay"

lo'ak " dropp the weapon and leave them" the recoms looked at each other and soon at the boy who was ordering them around.

y/n " do what he says or when the other comes it will look bad" the rocks dropped their weapon and looked at you, they so badly wanted to hug you and talk with you.

y/n " now come we most leave now before night time comes and none of you will make it" you soon took off home with the recoms and the kids. None of you all will reach home when a call had been made getting everyone attention.

y/n " well I hope you all can explain yourself to the clan and Jake sully"

quaritch " wait what happing" soon the recoms had been shocked when many warriors soon came out of nowhere and soon surrendered the recoms.

neytiri " children" neytiri ran towards all the children and you checking up on all of them, and being followed by neteyam.

tuk " mama we are okay auntie made sure we were safe and made these soldiers drop their weapons"

neytiri " y/n"

y/n " I'm okay"

quaritch : hello miss sully it good to see you are alive ad I'm guessing these kids are you ... wow you and Jake have been busy" neytiri looked at the demon man and soon pushed you and the children behind her.

neytiri " demon I will make you die again if you come near any of these children and y/n ... you have done enough harm"

Jake " neytiri"

y/n " Jake"

Jake " so you all are alive my son was not lying" The recoms were looking at Jake he had changed as well, it had been many years since everyone last saw each other.

quaritch " it good to see you again Jake sully"

Jake " no more words from you now come we will bring you with us, we head home now everyone" the group soon headed home as the recoms were confuses about everything that was going on, soon reaching the home tree and the recoms were hissed that by all the adults.

neytiri " children head home now" the kids knew there was no fighting and soon headed home, as you were attending the meeting that was happening.

Jake " how are you all alive you dead fifteen years ago and now you are back here"

quaritch " the rda had some chips with our memories and after a while we came back from the dead in navi bodies"

neytiri " demons"

y/n " so how long has you all been back from the dead"

quaritch " for a day when we were told it had bene fifteen years it was shock to us all"

y/n " so you were sent to hunt down Jake and everyone else so the rda can take, over the planet and destroy all it wonder and beauty"

lyle " yes but we also came to get revenge for you"

norm " revenge for y/n why" everyone was looking at the recoms as they ere standing there explaining themselves.

z-dog " we told you were killed my Jake and navi they your own friends and navi had betrayed you, and it lead to you death"

quaritch " your death and the death of our unborn child"

y/n " that was lie Parker has lied to you all the rda almost killed me and my son, but I lived as the navi saved my life and you came here to harm them"

lyle " we meant no harm we thought we were getting revenge for you, we thought we lost you you are special to us"

y/n " oh lyle"

mo'at " it seems like these former husband have been given, a second chance now we most teach them out ways in exchange they will help us as well"

navi elder " no we shouldn't help them"

mo'at " I know we all have out own feelings about them but one of them is y/n mate and she a member of the clan ... so we most offer them help"

navi elder 2 " it will be her decision if she chose for them to stay or leave"

y/n " them coming here and dropping their weapon has deemed them a failure to the rda, sending them awya will be cruel and they still hold a special place in my heart"

Jake " then it agreed one but they will be watched closely as we don't need them causing anymore issues for any of us"

neytiri " I will let this decision happen as I owe so much to you y/n. but one wrong move against you or the children and I will fight back"

y/n " thank you neytiri" the meeting was called to end and you soon started taking the recoms to where they will be living, none of them were saying anything.

y/n " you all will be staying here it big enough for all of you"

quaritch " thank you so much"

y/n " my home is a few feet away so if anything happens call me for help"

z-dog " yes"

y/n " there will be some change for clothes for you all to wear, as you will need to get rid to these they smell horrible"

lopez " it good tp have our girl back with us"

quaritch " y/n I was wondering if we can talk there as been so much, left unsaid between us both"

y/n " yes that ie true but you ...."

????? " mom" everyone soon got quite when they heard a teenage boy voice, everyone soon turn around and saw the teen boy from early today.

y/n " spider"

spider " I came to see you when aunt neytiri told me you will be home, what are they doing here did you come to hurt my mom"

y/n " no my son everything is fine there no need to worry"

mansk " I most be getting my hearing right or misunderstanding words but did he call you mom"

y/n " yes spider is my son he is fifteen years old born shortly after the war"

quaritch " wait he your kid ... he my kid you had a boy"

y/n " yes I was going to tell you but you had left caring more about the war and human greed" quaritch was looking at you as you stood there with with your hands on spider shoulder.

quaritch " hello spider ... should I call you son or kid" spider looked at quaritch and said nothing, as there was dead silence.

spider " mom I'm going inside I can start on the cooking fire" you had nodded your head as spider soon walked off and into the home, leaving you with your former husband and friends.

y/n " There is some fruit waiting inside for you all to eat and the dried out meat, it will be good and keep you well feed until tomorrow"

z-dog " thank you we have some food as well that can maintain us well"

y/n " okay I will see you all tomorrow if anything comes up plase come find me or speak to me tomorrow" there was nothing else need to be said as the recoms soon walked inside their home, you help them with a few other things before you left for home. It seems like miles and the recoms wish to speak more to you, but it was to late as you were gone maybe they will have a better chance in the morning.

[waspenned]

scenes from an italian restaurant • part ten • peter parker

in which you and peter clear the air • 5k

warnings: language as per usual, angsty

now playing: bleecker street by simon & garfunkel

part one / the ao3 version

a/n: long time no see!!!!!! full update in the notes of the ao3 post but what a crazy year

You’ve been stood in front of Peter’s door for five minutes now.

That’s on top of the five minutes you spent working up the courage to go inside the building, and then the other ten minutes you spent pacing the block - just to try and shake some of your nerves out onto the pavement. It’s just knocking, just seeing the same face you’ve been seeing nearly every day for months now, but it feels bigger. 

You hadn’t been to a coworker’s place since the fire; not gone for coffee after a morning shift, or drinks after close, or a Red Bull run before the open. It made things easier to deal with. Sometimes it stung a little more than usual, especially when most of them were particularly inclined to come in all hungover and messy on a Saturday, with a whole new roster of inside jokes - but it felt safer, somehow. You’d been friendly with a few of them at some point, close almost, and even though they kept inviting you out with them, they all eventually stopped asking. Some understood, some didn’t - and once you'd overheard Sal hushedly call you ‘troubled’ to somebody through the gantry hatch, you were basically the point of no return. 

But Peter, as always, is different.

You glance at your phone. Seven minutes. Some awful part of you twists at the idea that maybe he’s wondering where you are, if he’s waiting for you; or if he’s being normal about it, like a normal person. Peter’s more normal than you, he wouldn’t take seven- no, EIGHT minutes to knock on someone’s door, even if his hands were clammy and his heart was thumping so loudly in his ears he thought his eardrums might burst. You’ve still got your earphones on even though you paused whatever you were listening to long ago, the sound of your breath thrumming through your head. When you move to finally take them off, you fumble and swear as they clatter loudly to the floor. 

Immediately, you cringe, wanting the floor to swallow you up as muffled movement stirs behind the door in front of you. You’ve probably got about ten seconds to pull yourself together and appear fine enough for him not to be immediately concerned - a difficult task, considering that you have dark circles the size of plates, and you’re pretty sure you’ve got some sort of stress-related rash breaking out on your hands, but the door is already opening, and life (as it turns out) isn’t merciful.

All of a sudden, Peter is there, and you’re on the floor, frantically chasing your earphones as they scatter across the lino. When you look up at him, you’re suddenly relieved to find that he’s mostly just confused. Lamely, you flap your mouth for a second, and then blurt out the first thing that pops into your head. 

“I was just about to knock.”

“What?”

“Never mind.”

Peter’s apartment smells like Peter - which is obvious when you think about it, but it didn’t cross your mind until this moment how painful this might be. There’s his soap, his deodorant, the faint oil fryer smell of any Joe’s uniform, which is currently half hanging out of a laundry basket near the door. It was like you were seeing him properly for the first time; this new, unknown Peter who exists beyond the confines of a kitchen. This isn’t the Peter you know or Spider-Man - this is Peter outside of Joe’s. Peter who does laundry. Peter who has a coffee mug on the drying rack that says ‘World’s Greatest Pop-Pop’, and some complicated calculations splayed out in sheets on the rickety little dining table. 

“It’s a bit of a mess right now, I haven’t had time to clean up, because of the-“ He’s babbling and flitting about, picking up different bits of odd clutter only to put them down again. His hair is damp against the collar of his sweatshirt; shiny and dark and curling up in little spirals around his ears that you had the sudden urge to wrap around your fingers. You step inside, and Peter’s pottering about the kitchen, preparing mugs and rooting through his cupboards. When you make your way into the main space of the apartment, barely a separate room, Peter looks up at you through his hatch and brightly chimes, “Would you like anything to drink?”

You quirk your brow. Suddenly, whatever haze had fallen over his face dissipates, and he blinks, dazed.

“I’m still in Diner Mode.” Peter rubs his eyes, then rakes a hand through his hair, disturbing the wet clumps of curls. No wonder it's always so frizzy, with the amount of times you've seen him tug and ruffle at it. The movement exposes the tips of his ears, shiny from the moisture, and their usual shade of flustered pink. He’s back into the cupboard in an instant, searching through boxes and jars before he finds what he’s looking for. “Okay, so I have coffee and…”

“I’m on the edge of my seat.”

“…Actually, that’s it.”

“Then I guess it’s my lucky day.”

You can’t help it, but your voice comes out dry and flat, and his eyebrows knit, something shifting in his expression. Your fingers go numb, and you remember what you came here to do - you just didn’t think you would get into it so quickly. Peter sets his shitty instant coffee on the side (and you would know it’s shitty, because you buy the same stuff) and just looks at you. You’re not sure what sort of look it is, something between his usual awkwardness, and some entirely new face you’ve never seen before. He’s planting his hands on the counter now, squaring his shoulders, and your breath hitches.

Maybe, you think, this is the face behind the mask. 

“I don’t know what to say.” It sounds awful and croaky, and it’s nowhere near covering the sheer amount of thoughts currently rushing through your head, but it’s all that comes to mind. 

What is there to say? Nothing much had really happened; coworkers hook up with each other all the time (granted, usually not on shift), but even then, you never even had sex. You can’t call him a ‘hook up’, he was somehow both more and less than that - just some guy you’ve kissed a couple times. Whatever the hell the two of you have been doing for months has never been labelled anything past ‘friends’, which you’re now quickly realising is nothing like what you actually are. You’ve been tormenting yourself, tormenting him, all because you couldn’t suck it up enough to admit to yourself that you care about him more than you want to, and because it’s easier to live with the possibility that something could, might happen. 

And now a new, worse feeling is looming over you; the possibility that Peter might not feel the same way about you.

Deep breath. Push it down. Bury it. 

“Then let me say it.” Peter is clearing his throat now, your heart rate spiking like a hummingbird, your teeth clenched shut. It takes one, two, five, seventy drips of the faucet before he speaks again - or maybe he doesn’t hesitate at all. 

“I’ve been thinking about something you said a while ago, before…” He trails off. Before everything. You grimace a little, suddenly feeling nauseous when you remember how rude you were to him, all the times you’d snapped at him when he was just trying to help. He’s the kind of person who helps people, and you’re the kind of person who pushes them away, apparently. All of the hate and grudges you’d held against him, all of the resentment, instantly falls onto your shoulders. You punished him for the crime of being happy and content, when his other job is being beaten to a pulp and worked to the bone, and you were stupid enough to not realise it was only because you hated yourself. 

“You said something about how shit happens, and Spider-Man won’t always be there. How I’m ‘just some guy’.”

“Peter, I-“ Your lungs are burning so hot you think you smell smoke again, and you try to hold your breath, even though you currently feel like you’re suffocating, “I didn’t… I don’t think that anymore. I’m-“

Deep breath. Push it down.

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m fucked up.” You’re laughing, but it doesn’t reach your eyes, or Peter’s. 'Fucked up’ is an umbrella term, apparently, for having nightmares about a fire that happened over a year ago, shutting everyone out of your life, smelling smoke in every dark corner or pantry. ‘Fucked up’ covers being so desperately lonely that you have to compulsively hurt the first friend you make after isolating yourself for so long; stringing him along in some ‘will-they-won’t-they’ bullshit and letting him down every step of the way. He probably wants to cut you off. It’s probably better if he does.

“You’re not fucked up,” His face is soft, like ricotta against your tongue. Like the skin across his collarbones. “I just… About the fire-“

He’s not broken eye contact with you until now, but his gaze flicks to the dish rack, the walls - he fiddles with the faucet for a fleeting moment. You wait.

“I want to apologise for everything,” It’s slow to start, but once the dam is broken, it all comes out in a rush and drowns you. “I know we didn’t know each other then, but I want- I need you to know that I’m sorry. It’s my duty to protect people, and I didn’t protect you, and I’m sorry.”

“Peter-“

“Hold on. Last night, when you were talking about how it was your responsibility to-“ His voice wavers. You realise you’re still holding your breath. “How you had, like, a sense of duty towards Joe’s, and you were so brave, and all I could think about was how I let you down. Even before I knew you, it killed me just knowing that there was someone who needed me, and I didn’t come through for them. It- It messed me up.”

There’s a pang where your heart used to be, when you realise he’s not talking about you specifically, but just someone in general. Some poor citizen needing to be saved. There’s nothing else there, just hollowness and cold, stretching back and back into you like an abyss. This must be what heartbreak feels like, you realise; you’re not special to him, you’re just something else on his plate. Maybe, something in the back of your head leers, maybe you’re nothing to him after all.

Spider-Man, your coworker, is staring into you so intently that you can feel the weight of the city on his shoulders. 

“I nearly quit.” His voice hangs like a loose thread - like the ones on the diner tablecloths that if you pull, make the whole thing unravel. You twist your finger around it and tug, even though you know you’ll come apart too.

“Joe’s?”

“Being Spider-Man.”

“Oh.” 

Peter huffs a breath, twirls the faucet knob between his fingers with the same dexterity and fluidity he demonstrated between your legs last night, and your gut churns. The pipes groan to life, and he shuts it off again before any water has the chance to flow through. Then, he’s coming around the corner, out of the kitchen, and all of a sudden you’re in Peter’s living room, with Peter, and that's what he looks like at home. There’s no pretence, no uniform, no employee code of conduct between you. 

“I want to be just some guy. More than anything.” He’s so close to you now that you can smell lime body wash and shampoo, see a drip forming at the tip of that one curl at his left temple that’s more like a ringlet than the rest of them. And you only know it's there because you haven’t stopped thinking about him, looking at him only when his back is turned and no one could catch you staring. You can barely hear him over the shame spinning in your ribs like a catherine wheel.

“But after the fire, I sort of took it as a sign that I was meant to be Spider-Man. You were there, you lived it. It’s my responsibility to stop that from happening.”

You can’t help it, but your eye twitches. It’s the same thing that’s been bothering you about Spider-Man since before; the promise of selflessness and responsibility and duty that Peter is now forever bound to. Before last night, you would have told yourself that you hated Spider-Man because you felt like he abandoned you, because he broke some kind of stupid, city-wide promise - but now that you know it’s Peter behind the mask, blaming him feels too harsh when the world gives him enough shit to begin with.

He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve the beatings, or the sleepless nights, or the working minimum wage just to go home to an apartment that will only get more expensive to rent. And all it does is make you angry. It’s unfair - everything’s unfair - and now it feels like your life, your near-death, was the event that made him keep giving himself and getting nothing in return. At the end of the day, you’re both just two twenty-somethings, trying to keep their heads above water.

It’s your fault that he’s still here, still hurting.

He’s still staring at you when you realise you’ve been silent for some time now, your mind blank and stuttering as Peter just looks on, almost concerned. The vice that’s been slowly tightening around your chest for months gives one final clench, and some long-buried string in your heart finally, finally snaps. 

You’re so tired. 

You knew it would happen eventually; that you’d run out of steam, or your knees would give out, and you wouldn’t be able to keep this up anymore. You’d always expected it to be while you were alone, or in Sal’s office, when you wouldn’t be able to keep up with all the silly little lies you’d been telling yourself - but not here, not in front of Peter, and not like this. 

And you’re not sure you’ve ever said any of this out loud - but the same tug in the back of your head that wanted to protect him last night is now thrumming away like a rubber band pulled taut. That pull, that itch, that simmers in your lungs and makes you feel like you’re responsible for him, or that he’s responsible for you. 

When you think about it, it’s guilt. Guilt that burns hot and acrid at the back of your tongue - guilt that puts you in debt to him, to everyone at Joe’s. You don’t just owe him an apology for lashing out, and running around the diner like a shithead; you owe him the truth. 

Deep breath. 

“Peter, I have to tell you something.”

Your voice sounds miles away - echoing in his box apartment, or maybe just in your head. You try not to notice the way his face twitches, or the way he stiffens slightly, or his eyes darting over you. His voice is tense, but not quite strained when he speaks. 

“What is it?”

Something scratches at the back of your throat, squeezing, constricting, scratching. This is it, this has to be it. 

Say it. 

Say it.  

“The fire was my fault.”

You weren’t sure what was going to happen. Sure, you’d imagined this scenario multiple times, all of them ending in various, and increasingly wild forms of punishment - losing your job, being arrested, getting cut off from the people who had been your whole life for years - but you’d at least imagined some form of relief. Perhaps the relief was the driving force of this whole confession, laying yourself bare and raw and bleeding in front of Peter in the hopes that he’d��do something about it, take it all away, and still like you enough to speak to you afterwards. 

Only now, in practice, the relief never comes, and Peter just keeps staring at you. Instantly, you want to vomit. 

"What?”

You can’t read his voice. You can’t read his face. To compensate for this, your brain cedes all control, and your mouth keeps moving. 

“I was smoking out the back door and Sal called me in for some stupid reason - something about the pans or the sauce, or whatever - and I forgot to stub it out, and-“

That’s done something. Peter holds his hands up, eyes drawn wide, as if you were some sort of wild animal. Maybe you are. Maybe this is all some sort of twisted defence mechanism - spilling out the one thing you swore you would never tell anybody, in one last-ditch attempt at pushing him away. 

“Hey, hey-“

“I didn’t get to see the full report, but I’m not stupid. I know it started near the back door, and that some- some spark, or something, caused it. If I'd just-“ Your voice sticks like glue in your dry throat, like you’re trying to swallow cotton. “I nearly killed people. So much of it was destroyed - stuff that had been there for decades, family pictures, wedding presents.”

You think he says your name. You don’t hear it. 

“That burn on Sal’s arm is only there because of me. Because- Because he tried to get me out of there.”

It’s all too much now - even here, even in Peter’s apartment, you can smell the smoke, feel the heat. Through the hatch into the kitchen, you swear you can see a flame, licking up the walls, swimming in your vision like molten glass. It’s burning in your eyes, curling in your throat and nostrils, burning and burning and 

“Please, look at me.” 

When you finally make eye contact, a breath forces its way past your lips. His hands are steady and warm on your forearms, slipping down to clutch at your palms, as if weighing you down to reality. It’s as if everything else had slipped away, and he’s in the middle of it all, grounding you like a tether. You cling to him. 

“I’m sorry.” It tumbles out like an impulse. Peter shakes his head, soft and smudged in the lamplight. 

“Don’t be.” He says, firmly. Every wet curl shines and shimmers as he shakes his head, and the smell of soap pushes the soot that little bit further away. Maybe if you were to look out of the window, you’d see plumes of dark smoke rising from a building a few blocks away, but your gaze is stuck to Peter’s like a magnet. “You didn’t do anything wrong."

“I did,” The awful creature that’s been churning in your chest rears its ugly head again, “I caused so much hurt. And I’ve been hurting you, too - holding a grudge for something that was my own fault. You- You don’t deserve-”

“No.” Peter hasn’t let up, watching every twitch and flicker on your face. Is this how he speaks to the maniacs he fights in the street? Is this how he handles every catastrophic responsibility that falls into his lap? “You didn’t.”

“Peter, I did-“

“You didn't.” He says again, only this time, something sticks. The look on his face, the sadness in his eyes - it snaps your mouth shut. It’s the way he hovers around it, the unsureness in his face, that almost confuses you. “I… After the fire, I did some investigating.”

Your feet have gone numb. So have your hands, and arms, and legs, and just about everywhere else. When you don’t protest or interrupt, Peter continues tentatively. 

“I got access to the NYPD files, I watched the clean-up like a hawk, I-“ He cuts himself off, clearing his throat. His fingertips worry over your knuckles, back and forth, like a pendulum. “I did some stuff I wasn’t necessarily allowed to, but I needed closure. Joe’s was- It was one of the last things I had left of Ben’s, and…”

“What do you mean?” Your voice comes from another room, another planet. How could he know something you don’t? How could he have answers that you don’t have? Sal never told you anything about the report, about the cause, about any kind of investigation. Something is clawing inside your stomach. How? How? “Peter, what are you saying?”

His voice is softer than anything you’ve ever heard when he finally answers. 

“It was a fault with a fryer. Some electrical issue.” You can barely hear him, but he keeps talking anyway, even though it sounds like he’s on the other side of Manhattan. “Suppose it’s why Sal is so insistent on fryer training now, and- hey-?”

It takes a moment to register what you're doing, but you realise that you’re laughing. You can’t help it, but you’re laughing. Peter's utterly lost, his eyebrows tangled into that familiar furrow, the one you only see when you've completely perplexed him.

All this time, all this energy, spent tying yourself in knots and swallowing bile - and it was all the fault of a fucking fryer. Even now, the relief doesn't come, doesn't take all of the pains and aches of it away. Instead, it melts and morphs into something new - awful, burning, searing shame. And there's Peter in the middle of it all, just waiting for you, wanting the best for you. There's something hot on your cheeks, and it turns out that your laughter has quickly merged into crying.

You're actually crying. In front of him. You'd probably prefer being vaporised into a million pieces by whatever supervillain is calling themselves Spider-Man's arch nemesis these days.

"Oh my God," You blurt out, every cell trembling. It sounded like the beginning of a sentence, but any other words dissolve on your tongue.

Something warm wraps around you, and of course, it's him. He's holding you, and while you've had the odd bit of skin contact with him here and there - hands clapping on your shoulders, fingertips as he passes you ketchup bottles, lips pressed to yours in the snow - you'd never expected it to be like this. This close, you can hear his heart pounding away, the scent of his deodorant drowning out any scrap of smoke or burning oil, and your hands - against your will - fist into the back of his t-shirt.

You stay like that until it subsides, whatever it is, Peter murmuring things you can't quite hear with your ears muffled by his arms. Eventually, though, he pulls back, and fixes you with a look you can't really identify. It's the same one from last night, where he'd stood in the middle of your apartment in his spandex and his mask, wanting something from you that you aren't sure you can give him.

"I know that doesn't... fix it," He says, his voice rumbling through you like a wave - like you were one of his webs, and you can feel his feet tugging at the threads, knowing exactly where he was, and how far away, with one tiny movement. Even if you weren't a web, if you weren't coworkers, if you weren't people (though you suppose, he technically isn't, at least not all the way) you'd probably still be able to find him. "But it's the truth."

Even if you could dredge up something meaningful and coherent to say, you don't think you'd be able to actually say it - not with your tongue feeling so heavy and sluggish in your mouth. You settle on the first thing that comes to mind - the onlything your mouth can remember the shape of.

“I’m sorry.”

Peter shakes his head. “Nothing to be sorry about.”

Your diaphragm is still convulsing with the aftershocks of tears, and your breath trembles in your lungs. It's all coming out now, and you don't think you'd be able to stop it if you wanted to - not now that dam is broken, and Peter hasn't gone running for the hills. Apparently, that's given your brain the go-ahead to spew out pure, babbling nonsense.

“I was awful to you.”

"You really weren't."

"I, I just-" Your breathing hitches again, your face burning hot and bleary, “God, this is pathetic. I’m supposed to be apologising to you.”

You're bowing your head, avoiding eye contact, but you can hear the way his face looks, just from the gentleness in his voice, the concern that soaks the room like gasoline, threatening to be set alight.

“You really think about yourself like this?” 

“I’m- I really am sorry Peter. I was so mean. You don’t deserve that.” 

It’s instant. It's genuine, and it's absolute. “I forgive you.”

There goes that familiar feeling again, the one that claws at you from the inside, and hates how nice he is, how soft he is when the world is so hard to him. You swallow thickly, forcing it down, and choke out a dry laugh, your face scrubbed raw from the heels of your hands. You probably look awful, but he's still looking at you like he always does - whatever that is.

“You know you’re allowed to hate me. You don’t have to be nice to me just because I’m snotting all over your couch.” 

“I could never hate you.”

There's a pang in your chest, and you're bent double, winded, by the gentleness of his tone. It hurts like a knife. 

“Don’t-“ Another shaking breath as you shake your head, “You can’t say things like that.”

“Look, I don't-" He begins, before he reshapes the words in his mouth, shuffling them like a pack of cards. That's how he's better than you, you think, he thinks before he speaks - he approaches things with kindness and care, instead of months of anger and resentment towards nothing in particular. "With the fire, even if we didn’t know each other then, when I think about what could have happened, if, if you-“

There it is, the unspoken part. The part that keeps you up at night with nightmares and the smell of ash in your hair that you can’t scrub out. Peter looks almost pained, his face screwed up as he debates between speaking his mind and holding his tongue - he seems to go on a whole journey in his head that’s plain as day across his face. He’s tense and strung tight, hands wringing themselves over and over and over, like he’s cleaning the countertops at the diner, and all of a sudden he’s your coworker again, and you think you taste bile. Eventually, he makes a decision, and speaks. 

“I guess I'm trying to say that I would miss you."

You’re almost winded by it. He says it so plainly, but it stabs you through the chest like a knife. Whatever emotion you’re experiencing right now is entirely new to you, and hurts like a bitch. 

Peter would miss you. He saves your life, he kisses you at work - and he would miss you. He just says it like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t knock the air out of you. 

It’s stupid - whether it was because he frustrated you, or confused you, or made you get that funny, swooping feeling in your stomach, you haven’t stopped thinking about him since you met him, and you’ve never even stepped foot in his house. And he looks like an angel by lamplight. And he would miss you. 

You don't remember much of the rest of the evening, between mumbles and awkward sips of shitty coffee, and the city growing louder outside as the sun sinks below the horizon.

Perhaps this is why people go to church, or believe in something bigger than themselves - in pure, desperate hopes that despite whatever they've done, there will be someone at the end who will forgive you, and treat you kindly. But Peter isn't one for spite, and his kindness is all the more special to you because of that. His forgiveness, however, is something closer to sacred - washing you over in its totality, its absolution. For the first time in a while, Manhattan's clatter and din isn't overwhelming, or undercutting all the shit going on inside your head, it simply exists; cutting through the wind and rustling the trees, like the pigeons that scavenge the back end of Joe's for pizza crusts and stray fries.

It's been a while, but when you leave Peter's, and take in another deep breath on the steps of his building - it feels clean and new. It's only on the walk home, when his voice is pinging around inside your head, that you realise - and it hits you like a train. 

He’s been more than a co-worker this whole time. 

How could you not have realised that? You used to have your head screwed on, the sensible one, and here you were; only just realising how absolutely, positively stupid you’ve been. Of course everything has felt so frustrating and complicated - you’ve been so blind to your own feelings that the realisation of it practically knocks the air out of you.

You’re not even sure when the world started looking brighter and the city started smelling sweeter, and you’re not even sure when that feeling became so all-encompassing and vast and deep and hot and cold all at the same time - but you know it’s all Peter’s fault. You want to hate him for it, at first, but you’re not sure that hating Peter would even be possible. Not when there’s no one in the world that looks at you like he does, no one who goes out of their way to make you smile. He makes you feel special, special enough for you to wonder why no one else has been looking at you like this all along. It’s not that the job has gotten easier, or the fancy coffee you can afford with your pay rise; it’s just that you’ve been stupid enough to develop stupid fucking feelings for the stupid guy you work with. 

Realising this feels like falling off of the Empire State Building. A familiar feeling, yes, when you tally up all of the emotional turmoil you’ve experienced - except now, there’s a small part of your brain that really, truly believes that Spider-Man would catch you.

Somehow, that was scarier.

[kit-williams]

non Khorne canon

thank you @callme-cursed for inspiring me with this:

Khorne - Your father's astartes only got more temperamental with age. Small things seemed to become the greatest slight one could make against him. You left for your own safety quietly in the night. It was unfortunate to realize so late you were his favorite. Now he is on a war path to find you again.

And letting me write something that no matter how hard I tried just keeps turning lewd. I'm keeping him legion/chapter-less so that anyone can insert their favorite legion/chapter. (Since its lewd its why I'm tagging my usual people)

Normal taglist: @bispecsual @egrets-not-regrets @moodymisty @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog @thevoidscreams

tw: dubious consent? maybe noncon? Can read either way I suppose but either way you're getting dicked down. Written in 1st person because I have a problem

I get a notification on my phone about a break in at my apartment and the pictures show your family's astartis breaking in and looking around most likely barking for your name. He had started to act odder and odder... getting angry and aggressive with everyone especially with everyone around myself... getting far too affectionate and starting to bring me home trophies. I decided to stay at my apartment more it's why it's there because I am a big girl... but he wanted me at home where he could watch me.

I decided it was time for one of my hiking trips. I call dad just telling him what he's done and just that I decided to take a hiking trip for a few weeks. I've been doing it since I was sixteen... and even then sure I'd be hiking with him. I swallow as I have to keep going to get to that dry spot as the rain picks up.

I'll probably take a different trail then I normally do to throw him off my trail but I'm certain dad can wrangle him in... he's always been a stubborn astartis but just him being a big bully and him... I don't even know what to call it? Online people called it courtship behaviors... others said it was just being overly affectionate and showing which person is their favorite... the internet was no help in dealing with his recent mood swings and it scared me.

Sure he was grumpy when I was younger but now he was getting straight up violent and it made me feel so unsafe even if it never was directed at me or the parents; I just had to get out of there so fast. I've always hated confrontation and just I was always a coward. It would be fine....

But it was not fine... I run my fingers through my long hair as I read the text in the morning... Dad: ... hasn't come home. He might be going to look for you. I close your flip phone as I quickly pack up my camp knowing I have less and less time to get to the trail split and if I'm lucky he'll just keep going looking for me and then go home.

It was always so pretty the morning after a rain... the way raindrops clung to leaves, to moss, hanging suspended in spider webs... just a breeze shaking those drops free from their perches giving me another mini shower under a canopy. But I didn't have time to enjoy the relaxing bit of nature as I headed quickly to the split and when I finally got there I made sure I didn't stop powerwalking down the path until lunch.

The rain was threatening to come back as I was upset at how much rain there seemed to be typical weather people lying... I hold my breath as I suddenly hear a humming as the forest goes quiet and I turn my head and see the bloody visage of him... the family astartis... freshly harvested skulls on his hip both animal and human. His breath comes out hot and heavy as he pants and I can see it in the air as he leans his head back just grinning like a madman to the sky as it suddenly unloads.

My legs get cuts as I sprint through the underbrush just running blindly as he calls my name rushing after me. My lungs burn as I run tempted to throw away my bag to run faster but he'd certainly use it as leverage if I do get away. I hear water as I realize I'm near that cute spot... with the little pond and the waterfall. I stop above the pond as the water is coming down... a jump into the water from this height would hurt, I would know the memory of me doing it one summer hike with him.

"Sweetheart..." He brays softly as he walks out of the woods looking at you as I stay near the edge of the rocks, "come on take a step away... you look so cold. I can help with that." I can hear the layered meaning in his voice no longer hiding it. I remember admitting it once that I had a small crush on him but that was when I was young and hormonal and crazy for anything man shaped. How he just laughed at that and found it cute... that was a decade ago it seems he's changed his mind on that.

"Just leave me alone." I say threatening to take another step back.

"Get over here now." He snarls and I nearly rush over to him in obedience but I just shake my head as he looks so angry at me it causes my eyes to water as I feel so scared.

He takes a step forward and I jump back and the look on his face is surprise before I know it he's right there jumping after me having to jump somewhere else to avoid crushing me. He wasn't the best swimmer so I think I have time... I think I have time... I crawl out of the water coughing slightly just taking a moment to rest my limbs. Its in that moment I feel a hand thread through my hair and grip my hair by the scalp.

I scream and claw his hand as its hard not to know who is dragging me by my hair given how his nails dig into my forehead causing me to bleed. The rain seems to drown my begging and screaming as he drags me to the "lovers cove". Rain hits a tarp hidden by leaves and vines as I remember finding this place as it was nice to camp here in the summer with the firepit roaring. Of course you couldn't stay here long having to explain to him why... because it was really only used for sex.

I'm too tired to move as jumping in my full gear was exhausting. I feel the flash of heat as he starts to pull on my clothes and I struggle as he snarls and fights me out of my soaking wet clothes. I'm trembling both from how wet and cold I am but also so afraid of being alone with him right now.

He seems to visibly relax as he pets my head and starts to dry my skin by rubbing a dry fur pelt against my flesh as he mutters and nuzzles my face just trilling as he continues to dry me off. His lips brushing against my cheek and temple as his thumb roughly swipes away my now flowing tears. Trying to calm me down as he rummages through my wet bag trying to heat up a ration for me. His eyes nervously darting over to me as if he is worried that I'll try to take off into the dark raining forest fully naked. I look over at him... the large two headed eagle tattoo on his back is still there though now holding what looks like a crown of thorns. It looks like a large back piece has been outlined in one of those chaos shapes... for Khorne you think.

He puts the ration in my lap and nuzzles me as he has me in his lap... and I realize he's naked too... I can feel his excitement against my back as he maneuvers my hand to pick up my spoon and I start to eat. I whimper and let out a soft sob as he hugs me tightly trying to soothe me. I rub my eyes as his hands move up and down my sides... trying to calm me down but it only riles me up and I try to move out of his lap.

His arms flex as he puts me in a headlock and his leg wraps around my own to keep me in place as he is snarling and barking at me in his tongue and I can't help but burst out into tears as he lets me go and I cower just afraid... I hate it when people yell at me... especially men... so loud so scary. He croons apologetically his body covering mind but then his breathing hitches as he starts to throb more as I realize his cock is against my sex... and to my horror... I'm not physically repulsed by the action.

I can't even say his name to try and stop him as he's already pulling your hips up as you manage to slip between his fingers to scramble away and he pounces on you. Your lungs hurt as you wheeze out the air feeling him rut against you licking the side of your head and you can't help but burst into tears as you moan out shamefully. You beg with a hiccupped sob for him to stop and he does... for a moment.

"Need... need to mark... need... need to keep." He hisses through clenched teeth. "No more separation... " He says before turning my head and shoving his tongue down my throat it feels. His fingers fumble against my sex before one slips so easily inside of me... roughly preparing me but there is not much to prepare... I'm so wet. "So sad... so helpless... " He moans into my neck pushing another finger into my sex as he does his best to prepare me for the burn of the stretch. He pulls his fingers out and shoves them into his own mouth tasting me. "Need me... need me to protect... I protect. Always protect." He says in stilted English as he pulls me off the ground before putting me on a shitty "bed" with a pelt he brought with him most likely thrown over it.

I try to beg for him to stop but he pushes his thumb against my tongue to stop me. He tilts my head up and I see several skulls around the bed. He practically purrs as I start shaking as they are all human skulls... some still stained red, "I protect... scared little sweetheart."

He says just hooking his hands under my knees tilting me up before sliding into me. He has to stop and close his eyes to not start pummeling his hips into mine but his pace is still just a bit to fast and little too hard and I can't help but cry up at him. But now I whimper and whine... he leans in and kisses me hard and passionately. I arch feeling the fur of the pelt against my back only leave ghosts of an impression on my skin... the skulls watching him fuck me hard are a ghost of a memory...I feel that pleasure course through my veins as he presses himself against me as deeply as he can as I orgasm and the clenching flesh around him causes him to spill over the edge.

We tumble over that edge as the rain picks up, lightning lights the forest, and thunder shakes the trees. Tears roll down my cheeks as he holds me close cooing at me. "Don't cry... I'm here... you're safe." He says between pants. Warmth is still spilling out between my legs and I feel confused about what's happened... but I feel so tired and will... I'll worry about it later. I sniffle softly and nod my head as I close my eyes and pass out feeling his warm body around my own and the fire... I'll deal with it all tomorrow.

[kisuminight]

c!George and c!Dream have a bond that lets them feel each other's emotions. It is not a fix-it solution.

~

There is a bitter ember is George’s resonance with Dream. There has been for a while. It started as a small thing, back when Tommy first joined the server. But it grew and grew, until it was a bonfire that George could feel in the center of his chest, winding out from his lungs and strangling his throat like the thorns of a creeping rose.

Dream never named it, but George could guess. It was obvious, from the way it might flicker and wane but always, always flared up again whenever George tried to rely on him these days. First when Tommy burned down his house. And again, when the Badlands attempted their assassination. It’s been an acrid coating on his tongue, worse than brewing potions with spider eyes, since Technoblade… well, since Technoblade.

(George isn’t jealous about him. Isn’t jealous of the way Dream had been excited when Technoblade first arrived on the server, and admiration clicked and fizzed like redstone, even as the bitterness swallowed his appetite and choked at his breath).

The ember has grown into a proper inferno now, like the constant hissing of lava roaring in his ears. It’s hard to hear what Quackity is saying, but the resonance is winding tighter about him because Dream is coming. Dream is coming, and today George is going to demand answers.

-

“Just say you hate me.”

-

Sapnap is dragging George away, away to Mexican L’Manberg. There’s enough lava to drown the whole Nether, a conflagration that could swallow the whole server is burning him from the inside out and he is gasping around the feeling of thorns tearing him apart from the inside. Is this what it feels to swallow a wither rose?

“I don’t—how could he do that? George, let’s go. George—shit, George!”

Sapnap is there. His hands are on George’s arms. George can’t feel it through the armor. Just a bit of pressure as his whole world shakes apart around him. It’s painful, and George can’t breathe. The world is in and out and he can barely make out that they are out of the castle. There are grass blocks underfoot and no walls to lean on.

“C’mon, breathe with me. In one, two, three, four—” Sapnap’s voice curled about his ears, rhythmic and worried. It helped, a little. Gave George enough stability to sooth his own reactions until he could manage something more than panting sobs.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Shut up, George. Keep breathing.”

“I’m fine. What is this?”

Sapnap’s hands squeezed, keeping George from pulling away. He looked worried, the corners of his eyes crinkled and uncharacteristically soft. “It’s a panic attack, George.” The corners of his mouth dragged down. “Of course the first one you’ve had was caused by Dream.”

“No? It’s not my panic attack?” The pain ebbed as the heat did. It didn’t quite die back down to an ember, but the bitterness receded into something more sour, as the roses in George’s throat wilting into something easier to breathe around.

“Really?” Ugh. Sapnap made a face, and George made a face right back. “Okay, sure. Let’s just get to Mexican L’Manberg.” He turned away, but kept one hand tight around George’s wrist to pull him along.

“You are ridiculous,” George told his back, pretending that the sun wasn’t drying his cheeks into a sticky mess. He used his free hand to rub at his goggles. He tugged at the tangle of emotions in the resonance, feeling it spool out as they got farther away from Dream.

Whatever. It didn’t matter that the wilting had turned into the same soupy-bog in his lungs as when Sapnap killed Spirit. George didn’t care about the return of the almost-pneumonia of grief that settled like a fever and made Dream uninterested in the world for days or even taking care of himself. Maybe Dream would feel George’s fury like a fire in turn, and come apologize to bank it.

Tomorrow, probably, because he was so busy with Eret today. Tomorrow, George could get his answers. Demand what Dream was even thinking, and why he was even being this dumb when it made all this wrongness curl about him like a miasma and twist the emotional bleed into something dark.

Dream didn’t come home that night. Or the next. Tomorrow stretched on into the taught, painful pull of a distant resonance, like barbed wire strung between their hearts.

[greyskyflowers]

Bits and Pieces of fics I'll probably never finish:

MarcoAce

Reincarnation/magical realism/modern AU

Ace inherits an old house on the coast from Shanks. The house is a mess and full of strange things but he has a great time fixing it up.

Along the way he learns about the people who lived in the house before him, gets a visit from his younger brother and his friends, and meets an odd group of people from town that seem to have adopted him as one of their own. He also meets a man named Marco.

~~

Ace has rarely felt as lost as he does standing in front of his new home.

The house is two stories and a shadow of what it once must have been, with a beautiful porch now all rotten and threatening to fall in. The house might have been painted a pretty slate color at on point but was now a mess of dirt, salt and rot

It was liveable though and that's all that matters. It's with a strong mix of excitement and dread that he opens the door.

Dust bellows out and the shadows peek around the corners to see who's visiting.

The light in the kitchen is on but when he goes in to investigate the room is dark and the bulb broken.

The wallpaper reachs out and tugs gently at his hair when he walks past.

~~

He sweeps the shadows back to their corners, now clean enough for them to begrudgingly stay there

He takes down the old lace curtains and goes to soak them in water, hoping he might be able to save some of them. They're hard with age and grey with dust but beautifully made and look to have been snow white at one point.

He cleans all the cabinets and doors, sweeping out the bad and old, opening the windows to call in the good.

The day tumbles in as sunlight on floor that has been in the dark for years. Spiders tiptoe over the floor to see where they can hang their own lacey and silky webs.

He finds some old wood by the fireplace in the main room and decides that until he gets the heating working again, this will work fine.

The wood catches easily, incredibly dry and old as it is. It burns blue green for a moment before fading to the normal red yellow, the flames cast shadows that look like feathers on the walls.

He shakes out the old welcome mat on the front porch and leaves an iron coin under it when he sets it back down. He keeps the door open behind him.

Each room he enteres for the first time is given a soft greeting and the windows propped open.

~~

He's painting one of the ground floor bedrooms when someone knocks at the door. He's right in the middle of doing the small work around the window though so he debates ignoring it.

The paintbrush slips out of his fingers and lands on the one of the tarps he had put down. Well... he might as well get the door since he was to climb off the ladder now anyway.

~~

Ace feels his breath catch when he looked at it. It was stunning.

"I didn't even know that they came in this color."

Marco uses the hem of his shirt to dry it off.

"The ocean does strange things sometimes. Red pearls hardly seem that odd when you think about it."

He looks at Ace from the corner of his eye and holds out his hand to drop the pearl into the younger man's hand. It falls to his palm like a drop of blood.

"You should keep it. Maybe if we find enough you can make a necklace."

Ace rolls the red pearl around between his finger, it looks like glass in the light and is surprisingly heavy.

"You think I could pull off a whole necklace of these?" He means it as a joke but Marco doesn't take it that way.

"Yes." He says without hesitant.

"Oh."

Ace lets the silence hang between them. He feels like he missed something but isn't sure what it was.

~~

His toes sink into the sand and the water throws foam at his ankles. It's cold and grey today.

"Are you cold?" Marco seems surprised.

"Yeah. I get cold easy, Luffy always made fun of me for it when we were younger. He'd be running around bare chested and in shorts all year around and I'd start bundling up early fall."

"That's funny. You seem more like the type to be warm all the time."

Ace grins. "Are you saying I'm hot?"

Marco laughs and the shoreline doesn't seem as colorless as it had earlier.

~~

Zoro with his thrift shop gold earrings and dyed green hair that only he could pull off. Scars from past fights still color his skin and the scars are silver lines when the sun catches them. He's always half a step behind his brother.

Usopp has his thick curls piled on top of his head in a messy bun and is telling a story about the time he saved someone from drowning to anyone close enough to listen.

Chopper, graduated high school and then college so young but so smart. Losing his way before managing to find a place with Luffy. Every part of him glows in shades of brown and gold in the afternoon sun.

Franky has sleeves of both arms, black and grey ink that makes designs like gears and stars and other pieces of metal. It's stunning artwork that almost looks real, his wife Robin the one who had done all of it.

Robin who always seems to know more than you. She works remote, no one knowing what she does or if they do they're not telling Ace. Whatever it is doesn't need her to work often and pays very well. It's shady but so is Robin, so it works.

Brook, a older man who had outlived everyone he loved. He had been absorbed into the little group quickly and he was thriving. A collection of terrible jokes, beautiful music, and life stories that seems straight out of a fantasy book.

Nami waves her phone around trying to get service. Her peach, gold hair spills down her back in rings and she looks annoyed. Her girlfriend is a blue blob on her phone that's laughing at her, if the airy giggle cutting in and out was any indication.

Luffy has the strawhat their godfather had given him when he was younger hanging from his neck. The man was a menace. Makino and Benn the only people that could keep him in line. His hair looks like ink in the sun and his shoulders are broader than last time Ace had seen him.

It makes something catch in his chest that he'd missed it.

~~

The lock is rusted and heavy. He tugs on it and lets Luffy try his hand at it too.

"Maybe we can pick it somehow?"

The little built in hideaway is interesting and he'd like to keep it if they could avoid damaging it while trying to open it.

Luffy rubs his chin and looks at the opening of the lock.

"Nami!" He bellows.

Ace rears back at the yell right next to his ear and faintly hears something yelled back.

Luffy stands up and goes to the window, leaning out if it.

"We need you to pick a lock!"

Ace tunes them out as he keeps fiddling with the lock until he hears heels coming up the stairs.

Nami is vivid in the bare and dusty room, all bright colors and loud personality.

Ace moves to the side to let her look at the lock.

"Oh, yeah. I can do this."

She unrolls a small cloth bundle she has with her and grabs some tools to work with.

Ace watches her scrap off some of the rust to get into the keyhole and start carefully moving the picks.

"And.. there."

The lock falls to the floor with a heavy thud.

She steps back and lets Ace in front of the little cabinet.

"You think it's food?"

Ace makes a face.

"I hope not. We couldn't eat it anyway... I mean, could we? I guess it depends what it was."

Nami looks disgusted.

"I'm getting Zoro up here to watch you two. I refuse to watch you morons eat whatever comes out of there."

She leans out the window and yells down at Zoro before turning and leaving the room in a kick up of dust.

The little door is still shut and it seems like the house is holding its breath.

The wood has swollen over time, and it takes a decent amount of pulling before it gives, Ace tumbling back on his butt when it suddenly opens.

Old air seeps out in a grateful breath, blowing back his hair and Luffy's hat flutters against his back. The breeze takes off towards the window and is gone.

Enough light shines in to start cautiously sneaking a look into the dark, cool hole in the wall.

"Water?"

He pulls out a few jars with clear liquid in it. He twists the top off and recoils instantly.

"Holy shit, That's moonshine." He takes another tentative sniff. "Nope, I take it back. That's lighterfluid. No human should drink this."

He shoves the cap back on and rubs his eyes. Luffy snags the jar with a whoop.

"Zoro will love these. Gimme."

The jars are swept up in skinny arms and Luffy takes off down the stair already calling for his best friend.

With a shake to clear his head, Ace is back to seeing what he can find.

He pulls out a small cloth bag, some small seeds falling into his hand when he opens it.

He can't tell what they where but maybe he can ask Robin or Usopp when he goes back downstairs. They carefully go back in their bag before being set aside.

He pulls out another piece of cloth. It's soft with wear and ragged like it had been torn from something. There's a skull on the front with maybe smoke curling around it? Ace looks closer, a mustache? He can't help the small laugh that escapes him, what a weird thing to hide away.

There are a few more odds and ends that he pulls out. Some old coins, a wicked knife with a curved handle, a small jar of sand all stuck in a clump, and way in the back was a book.

He pulls it out last, dusty and bulging with pages stuffed between the old leather that binds it all together.

He flips it over and brushes the dust off the cover. It's blank but clearly well loved, with ink and paint along the edges and the occasional stray drop on the front.

He opens it carefully, scared it will break in his hands but it holds strong.

It's a sketchbook.

He turns each page with wonder. Paintings of the sea that smelled of salt and leave his fingers wet, trees that wave their leaves at him as he turns the pages, ink drawings of a couple dancing with a dressed flaring up around the woman as she twirls into the man's arms.

Occassionally a photo was stuck in. The same dark haired man and smiling woman in every one.

They look happy.

The second to last page has a photo of just the woman, sitting on the window seat he recognizes from one of the other upstairs rooms. She looks like she was watching someone out the window, hand held up like she was going to wave and a happy look on her face. The other hand was curled around her belly, a very clear baby bump visible under the blue of the dress.

He turns the final page, not expecting anything else but a dried flower falls into his lap.

Carefully picked up by the stem he holds it up, this he recognizes. It's a hibiscus flower, more of a deep red than the vibrant pink he usually associates with them but otherwise age has been kind to the flower.

It's carefully tucked back into the book and he gathers everything up in his arms before carefully taking it downstairs.

Robin is in the kitchen when he comes down, looking at the stuff in his arms with a raised eye brow.

"Hey Robin, do you know what these are? Like what plant they might be?"

He fishes out the little bag and hands them to the older women. She lets out a hum as she carefully opens it. The seeds are a mix of brown, fuzzy circles like shapes and tiny, ovals with some fluff at the top.

"I think these are hibiscus seeds." She carefully rolls the larger ones to one side of her hand and pokes at the smaller ones. "I'm not sure what these are. Usopp might know."

Almost like he'd been called, Usopp tumbles in the kitchen in a rush of boots on wood and the smell of sunshine.

"Have you guys seen Sanji? I stole some cookies he made for Nami and I think he knows."

"No, we haven't. May we steal you for a moment though?"

"Sure!"

Robin holds out the seeds for him to see.

"Ace would like help identifying these. I belive the one on the left are hibiscus but am unsure of the other one."

Usopp rubs his chin and looks at them closer.

"The one is definitely hibiscus. The other one is a wildflower, maybe goldenrod?"

Chopper run into the room and grabs at Usopp's pants.

"He knows! He knows about the cookies!"

The both take off around the corner and leave Robin and Ace in the dust.

He takes the seeds back and makes sure they're safely back in the bag.

"Thanks. Probably would have taken me forever."

"Of course." She smiles and looks out the window.

"I think your brother has decided it's time for us to move along."

Ace looks out the window and watches everyone climb into their monstrosity of an RV that's 100% not legal to drive but doesn't seem to stop them. There's fruit trees growing from the top and a giant lion painted on the side that they affectionately call Sunny. Luffy hangs from the side while Franky finishes something up under the hood.

~~

He couldn't help the way his eyes dart from Luffy to Zoro and back.

"Umm.. er..." He isn't sure how to ask.

Zoro looks pleased that he'd think that but they both shake their heads.

"No, his name is Tora-o! Besides, Zoro and Sanji are dating."

"Really?" He can't help the surprise in his voice and watches Zoro flush while smacking Luffy on the head. He can't say he saw that one coming but he can kind of see it if he thinks about it.

Sanji is elegant, if you ignore the fact that he can have a hell of a temper when provoked. He's a good balance for the wilderness that live dunder Zoro's skin.

Sanji has a goal and aspirations and while Zoro has goals as well, he's content to go where the flow takes him.

They go together well.

"Sanji spoils Zoro and makes him special stuff to eat but not me."

Ace laughs at the face Luffy makes. Always worried more about food than anything else.

~~

"You like the water a lot than, huh?"

Marco smiles and turns his gaze out to the horizon.

"I think I must have been unable to swim in a past life. I can't seem to get very far from the shore before it calls me back."

Ace pulls his knees up and rests his chin on them.

"You know, most people would have said they were a fish in their past life if they love water."

He knocks shoulders with the other man to show his teasing.

Marco bumps him back and stretches his legs out so the waves can pull at his feet.

"Nah. I think sometimes we love something so much because we must have been denied it at some point."

"So not a fish, maybe a desert lizard or something. Oh! A cactus!"

Marco laughs. "I was thinking more along the lines of maybe a bird. Although I suppose a cactus is possible."

~~

"My mom died giving birth to me, so I never knew her. My dad was.. we were never really close. He was gone a lot. I think he loved me but.." Ace trails off.

Thunder rumbles outside and shakes the window panes.

"I almost drowned when I was younger. My dad lost track of me and I went under. He got me out but the water in my lungs was dirty and gave me nasty infection. It was touch and go for awhile. I think he blamed himself. We were never the same after that and he died 2 years later."

The smell of cedar curls out of the fire to whisper against his cheek.

Marco's eyes burn indigo and gold from the fire, harsh shadows cast across his face.

"I'm sorry. I'm sure your mother loved you very much and your dad too. Sometimes it can be hard to show how much you care."

~~

Shanks was unusually stonefaced at the door, Benn next to him finishing a cigarette.

"Hey Shanks. I didn't know you were coming...?" He leaves his greeting open ended with hopes of getting a clue on what was happening but he doesn't get anything.

"Hey kid. Thought we'd swing by, see how it's going."

He lets them in and a door upstairs slams shut.

They all look up and Ace leds them to the kitchen when nothing else happens.

"You want a drink?"

"Yeah, actually that'd be great."

They don't say anything else while Ace gets the drinks and it's making him sweat.

He puts the drinks down and follows suit, sitting at the old oak table across from the two men and waits. He hasn't hung a clock yet but the sound of one ticking can be heard loud and clear.

A piece of the ceiling that he hasn't gotten around to fixing yet falls on Shanks head, who grumbls and looks up before taking a big drink.

"I know, I know."

He takes a deep breath and looks Ace in the eyes.

"Alright, this is something I should have done years ago but I wasn't sure how to do it. Probably didn't want to if I'm honest."

Ace swallows nervously and shots a look at Benn, who lifts another cigarette and lights it without saying anything.

"I told you when I gave you the house that'd I'd been holding onto it for someone. I was. It was someone who had been like a father to me growing up. His name was Roger and he lived here with his wife, Rouge."

He stops and takes another drink.

"Rouge died and Roger disappeared. If I'm being honest, I think he took off somewhere to die of a broken heart. He was devastated. Rouge would have kicked his ass if she knew what he'd done but he didn't know how to live without her anymore. They'd lived in this house with the intention of raising a family and it ended up empty."

"I'm sorry."

Ace isnt really sure what to say but it's clear this is hard for Shanks.

"It wasn't a good situation and he didn't handle it well. Roger was a good man. People who didn't knew him may say otherwise but he always did right by me. He took care of Rouge and his friends, everyone else was unimportant. Which, I suppose, may make him a bad man in a lot of people's eyes."

He puts the drink down and reaches in his pocket to take out a folded photo. He gazes at it for a moment before setting it down and sliding it over to Ace.

It was the couple. The man and women he'd seen in the sketchbook and now had names for, Rouge and Roger.

"I found some of their stuff. I didn't think about if you'd wa-... would you like it?"

It was hard to look away from the couple but he forced himself to look up.

"No. That's actually why we're here. Rogue and Roger were your parents."

The house is quiet, almost as quiet as the first time Ace had stepped foot in it.

"I don't understand. People always told me that my mom died giving birth to me and I knew my dad."

Benn puts out his cigarette when Shanks doesn't say anything and takes over.

"A friend of your dad took you in. We thought he'd be the best option. As for your mom, she did die during childbirth. Rouge lived long enough to hold you and give you your name before she died."

He wants to deny it. He wants to yell, tell them this was a stupid joke or that it doesn't make sense.

It does though. He'd never asked too much about his mom, already ached for a mother he never got to know and details would just hurt more. The man who he had known as his father hadn't looked like him. He doesn't doubt that the man cared but small things that hadn't made sense at the time now start to.

All of the sudden the photo is cruel. He can see his freckles on her face, his dark hair and stormy eyes on him, can see the shape of his face and eyes in both of them. All of it was looking back at him from a photo older than he was.

"This is cruel." His eyes sting but it wasn't anything to how his chest aches. "This is the cruelest thing you could have ever done to me."

They don't say anything and he doesn't want them to.

"Get out."

"...I'm sorry, Ace."

"Just get out." The front door is already open and he follows them as far as the threshold.

"They loved you." Shanks says.

"What am I suppose to do with that? What's suppose to hurt less in this situation? The idea that mom left because she died and Roger made the decision to leave because I wasn't enough of a reason to live or they loved me and you kept that from me?"

The door closes with a heavy sound and echoes through an empty house.

~~

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

Corrupted - a TMA x Malevolent crossover, chapter 19

The plan seems simple enough: find a way to switch Daisy's focus to the real danger, the firebugs who worship the Desolation.

Unfortunately, nothing in Tim's life is that simple right now… and even worse, Jon has forgotten to follow up on a very important thing.

Gore warning! Also, Larson warning. Yeah. They're connected. 🙃

AO3

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

Aww. He looks like a little angel.

Tim is incapable of giving Hastur a dry look in his own face, but he can certainly shoot one at the vanity mirror.

Hastur laughs his terrible sadist laugh (and Tim really wants to bottle it, but for the sake of the bit, rolls his eyes instead).

“Can we maybe try to be less of a dick?" he says.

As you wish, Hastur rumbles, and his right fingertips tap a pattern over Tim’s stomach.

This whole having a hand thing is such a dangerous thing to give Hastur. Devil-pants is, without question, an asshole. Tim shakes it off and goes to check Jon.

He does not, truth be told, look like an angel. Paleness has lent his brown skin a green tint; he already looked like he hadn’t slept in a week, but now, he looks like he might have spent it throwing up, too. Tim feels shitty. It’s impossible to remove his onus from this, accidental priest or not. “Jon. Hey, Jon. Come on, buddy. We need to get you showered and fed.”

Jon’s eyes work behind his lids.

He hears you, says Hastur softly. But I don't understand…

“Don't understand what?” says Tim.

He’s seeing things that are not here.

“Soooo... dreaming?” Tim suggests.

No. The… he’s connected to the people he's seeing. I don't understand. This isn't a power he should possess.

Tim tries to parse that. “So should I try to see what he's seeing?”

No. That’s too big a spell for our first practice.

“Fine. Jon. Come on, mate. You can do it.”

“Nng?” Jon says, and cracks his eyes open. “Tim?”

“Yeah. You okay?”

Jon’s eyes fill.

Oh, no, thinks Tim. "You good, bud?"

“Can I… tell you something?” says Jon, slowly sitting up. “And I mean that phrasing, though may I is also included, but I’m not sure I can. Oh. Also, good morning."

Hastur huffs.

Tim ignores both grammatical tomfoolery and jealous cattery. “Morning. So yeah, try. Take as long as you need.”

Jon swings his legs over the side of the bed, rubs his cheek, and makes a face at whatever he finds there. “I’m really… I’m struggling with all this.”

Tim nods. “I get that. A few days ago, I would have sworn to you in front of a judge, a priest, and a virgin that there was no such thing as magic or souls or whatever. And here we are.”

Jon's lips quirk. "Well, you've got one of those here, should you feel inclined to try. So. Here we are,” he says, and seems to come to a decision.

Did I hear you say you're a virgin?

Right, Tim's ignoring that. "I'm all ears."

Jon swallows. “When I was eight years old, I had a particular bully. He was about… I don’t know, eighteen or so? Big enough to cause problems, and old enough that his word was taken over mine.”

Tim knew it. This guy has been bullied his whole life. Still is, and thinks it is normal. It occurs to Tim that Jon would not know if Elias ("if," that’s really funny) has been crossing lines he shouldn’t. It would fall too neatly into Jon’s ouvre, just with a little extra supernatural spice.

Tim is completely sure Elias is aware of this. Tim is completely sure Elias has blown past those lines for years now.

Tim is angry enough he almost misses when Jon starts talking again. “When I was young, I was a deeply annoying child.” And Jon does a laugh he clearly feels is expected at the expense of his younger self. “So it wasn’t that surprising. The thing is, I… I found a Leitner.”

Tim stiffens. “The fuck? You were eight!”

“Yes,” says Jon, like leftover coffee grinds. “I don’t want to go into all of it right now, but… this book almost got me eaten by a giant spider that lived in a house.” He swallowed. “Instead, my bully came along. He knocked the book out of my hands, knocked me down, then picked it up to use its contents to mock me.”

Tim knows. “And he got eaten instead.”

“Yes.” Jon covers his face.

"Jon, this... this wasn't your fault. Any of it. There's no such thing as a kid who deserves to be bullied."

“I know that," Jon says into his hands, "but I still feel like it was.”

Perhaps his fate was justice, Hastur says.

“For just shoving another kid on the playground?” Jon bursts, and laughs weakly. “No. No. It should’ve been me. It wasn’t, and I’ve spent my whole life trying to disprove what happened. To prove it couldn’t happen, because statistically, something like that cannot possibly be a one-off, and it was real, it did happen, and now so much more is real than I imagined, and this isn’t… this isn’t how I wanted it to go. That’s all.” He rubs his eyes. “I sound pathetic.”

You do, says Hastur before Tim can stop him, but that's not a terrible thing in this circumstance.

“Hastur,” Tim warns.

No, says Hastur. He should hear this. Sometimes, the universe produces justice. More often, it doesn't; but I find the fact that a near-adult felt it fine to harm a true child, and his doing so led to his death, directly, as a consequence of his own actions, absolves that child from any ill.

Jon looks up.

You are not guilty, Jonathan Sims, says Hastur with what sounds like all the authority he believes he once had, with the power of the pope, with a fucking god-like surety that sounds like he actually has the power to forgive sins.

Briefly, Tim is gripped with the mad urge to laugh, but he does not. Jon is staring, wide-eyed, and seems to be taking this very seriously. “You do?” whispers Jon.

Well, Tim can’t laugh now.

I do, confirms Hastur. And I think you know I’d hardly lie to you. I don’t even like you, particularly—but Tim does, so for his sake, I will speak. You did not do this. Let that shame go.

Jon stares. His eyes are wide, amazed, moved.

This, Tim suddenly realizes, is probably one of the ways Hastur manages to get cultists in this day and age: showing up, being all this, making them feel heard and special. Nope.

Cutting that off at the pass. “He’s a dick about it,” he says, keeping his tone light, “but I agree. There’s no excuse to bully someone less than half your age.”

Jon drops his gaze. “I suppose.”

“So do I.” Tim has no intention of letting Hastur bait that hook again, whatever hook it is. “So you’re having trouble with all of this because it’s happening so fast… and you have such a big reason to want it untrue. I get it.”

Jon rubs his eyes again like a tired child.

“Come on, man,” says Tim, helping him stand. “Get a shower.”

“I didn’t… my clothes,” says Jon pathetically.

“Your utterly gore-soaked clothes? Yeah, I’m calling a pass on that,” says Tim. “I’ll find you something. Just go get cleaned up, okay? Food, then, too.”

“And then?”

“Then… we might be going to Sheffield,” says Tim, hoping desperately that he is not, in fact, herding all three of them to their doom.

Jon obeys and goes to shower. He doesn’t even remember to close the door.

Tim sighs. “Yeah, we’re doing great.”

At least we feel less nauseated, says Hastur.

“You’ve really got a thing about throwing up, don’t you?” says Tim, checking drawers. As he thought, clothing of various sizes sits in these drawers, cleaned and pressed and waiting for whomever. “The fuck does he do here?” he mutters to himself.

I just don’t like it, says Hastur after a long moment.

“Throwing up?”

Who does?

“Nobody, but… oh, he’ll like this,” says Tim, and lifts out a simple green button-down, Oxford-collar and—as if planted—a nothing-brown sweater-vest with dark green chevron stripes.

He will, says Hastur. Also, did he say he was a virgin?

"That really isn't our business, Hastur?"

Of course, of course. I'm merely concerned for his welfare, both mentally and physically.

Tim cannot help his eye-roll. “Don’t think I trust this sudden opinion change of yours,” he says, laying the clothes on the bed next to some socks and boxers.

What? says Hastur, innocently. I am allowed to change my mind, Tim.

“Yeah, but you don’t go from not liking someone to liking them for no reason.”

Let’s just say… Hastur seems to consider his words. I like the sounds he makes when he is drunk.

"Okay, but that's worse? You see how that's worse, right?" Tim suggests politely, and heads for the stairs.

Oh, Tim, hums Hastur, you’re so suspicious.

“And that didn’t go very far in easing my suspicions,” Tim quips.

Hastur laughs at him.

Or maybe with him. It’s such a big, cruel sound that it’s hard to tell, and Tim’s imagination puts that sound in some interesting situations, and oh, it would work so well, and before he knows it, he finds himself asking— “Say,” he says. “Is that what you really sound like?”

My voice? Yes, says Hastur.

Tim decides he has no safe reply, and goes silent.

#

There are voices down there. One of them is Elias, and he’s… laughing? No, not quite laughing—it isn’t that evil as fuck sound he let loose earlier today. No, that’s… that’s…

“Is he fucking flirting?” mutters Tim.

He can feel Hastur startle. What? What makes you say that?

“Just listen.” Tim leans on the banister, doing just that. “The way he’s talking. It’s flirty as fuck.”

Hastur listens. It sounds aggressive to me, both passive and otherwise.

“Yeah, it’s that, too,” says Tim. “It’s the way he’s talking. Familiar. Definitely flirty. Distinctly rude. The fuck is down there, his ex-wife?”

Sounds male to me.

“Yeah,” says Tim, unsure if he wants to walk into whatever this is. He sighs. “Let’s get it done.”

With Elias, in the kitchen, is a man. A large man, beefy and broad, with white hair and beard, wearing a dark pea-coat and white captain's hat lined with gold leaves. And the man is already looking Tim’s way, as if he knew he was coming down before Tim did.

Elias turns in his chair and beams. “Tim! There you are. Come down here and meet your new business partner.”

So Elias is putting it on thick, and everything Tim thought upstairs is, he's sure, confirmed. The two are sitting an inch too close together with their hands too close on the table, yet the captain guy leans away from Elias like he’d rather be anywhere else, and Elias is utterly gleeful about the whole weird setup.

If this isn’t an ex, Tim will eat that captain’s hat. “Hi,” he says, and sits in a chair across from them. “So. Weird day, huh?”

The captain smiles. It’s a fantastic smile, friendly; the white beard and hair don’t match the youth of his face, and Tim has no idea how old this guy is. “So this is your mystery-sorcerer, is it? Nice to meet you, nice to meet you. Call me Peter.”

‘Peter’ doesn’t offer a hand to shake, so Tim doesn’t, either. “Tim. Business partner?”

“Peter Lukas is captain and owner of the Tundra, a large, seaworthy beast that can and has take you where you need to go,” says Elias.

“Part-owner,” says Peter so affably that Tim has no question Elias' comment was a stab.

Elias looks briefly shocked. “Part?”

Peter ignores him, confirming it. “I’m told you’re going to need some help reaching a few difficult places. Not to worry. I’ve got the resources to get you there, as long as the Institute fronts the funds.”

Tim looks at Elias.

“Oh, we’ll be paying, don’t worry,” Elias says brightly. “It all goes under the operating budget.”

“The hiring of random vessels to go someplace difficult,” says Tim as dryly as he can.

“Oh, I like this one, Elias,” says Peter. “He’s got a bit of bite to him, doesn’t he?”

“I was concerned you might,” says Elias.

“Well, not to worry. The issue at hand for me is impossible with this fellow,” says Peter as if that makes sense. “That’s all right. The money’s good, and it isn’t that long a trip.”

“Really?” says Elias sounding ridiculously amazed. “The Arctic is hardly right around the corner."

“The Arctic?” blurts Tim.

Peter waves his hand, affable and dismissive of all that Elias is. “Not to worry, Tim. It’s hardly time for your trip now, is it? I understand you’re going to Sheffield.”

Tim stares. “So… did you just tell him all the things, or is my National Insurance number still under wraps?”

Captain Peter laughs. It’s a great laugh. He’s absolutely delightful to hear, to watch, and yet it feels like the edge of an abandoned moor covered in mist and ready to swallow travelers.

The Lonely, whispers Hastur, and he feels afraid.

Well, that cinches it. “Thanks, but I think I have to decline?” says Tim, who will stand the fuck up for Hastur no matter if he’s a god.

Elias smiles.

Fuck, thinks Tim, because it’s clear Elias expected him to protest.

“Well, I can’t say that’s particularly wise,” says Elias, “but if you really want to abandon your passenger’s plans, that’s up to you.”

What? says Hastur, who perks up like a German Shorthaired Pointer. What? What about me?

“The item you need is in Sannikov Land,” says Elias mildly.

Oh, shit. The god-flesh. “The g… the thing is in the Arctic?” Tim squeaks.

Then we must go.

“Hold on,” says Tim.

Non-negotiable. If what I need is there…

“It is,” Elias says. “Anyway, all of this is moot. You’re going to Sheffield today, and assuming that goes as we all hope—”

“Wait, you said you were going to work on that,” Tim breaks in.

“Indeed. Chief Inspector Henderson has assigned some capable people to set up the sting. All you need to do is go.”

Tim can feel the incredulous face he’s making, but it goes beyond even the power of baby Merlin to stop it. “So,” he says, casually, “you ever have a moment when you realize your life has gone completely insane, and that maybe you’re just hallucinating, because what in actual hell is going on?”

Captain Peter smiles and laughs again, the perfect response, light and chipper. “Yes,” he says. “And I must say, Tim, you seem to be handling it admirably.”

But Tim knows how he feels, and knows his instinct is almost wrong, and he is absolutely certain that Peter is not moved by his charm. That Peter is repulsed by it. That Peter feels Tim’s amiability, and it disgusts him on some wild, deep level that Tim has never known. Hastur’s whispered words suddenly make sense. “The Lonely?” Tim says. “That’s one of these fear-gods? Loneliness?”

“You’ve known a bit of it yourself,” says Peter absolutely winningly. “I can see it on you—though with your partnership, you’ve certainly gone beyond its reach now, haven’t you? Ha-ha!”

While Tim has Hastur, he isn’t alone. “Yeeaah,” he says, drawing the word out. “Is being Lonely-core sort of inherently creepy, or is that just a quality of being Elias’s ex-whatever?”

They both look shocked.

(That may be the most satisfying thing that’s happened in days.)

Hastur laughs, low and wicked and eager.

Elias turns to Peter. “I did warn you.”

“Yes, well,” says Peter. “Well. Not to worry. I’ve handled rougher seas. And I'll be ferrying you toward an end-game, anyway.”

Was that a threat? Did this Peter have his sight set on them after they were separated? After, when Tim could be alone again? “Ratcheting up the creep factor a bit much, aren’t you?”

“Only in response to aggressive protective coloring,” beams Peter.

That was pretty good. Tim snorts. “I can't decide if I like you or want to set you on fire.”

“Prefer a bit more distance, if it’s all the same to you,” says Peter Lukas as if he’s flirting and not offering to stay far, far away.

“Wonderful! We're all getting along,” says Elias, and claps his hands. “The lieutenant is nearly here. I'll let you know when they're ready, Peter.”

Lukas stands. He’s tall. Large. Tree-like, and Tim has a wild image of this form against a backdrop of waves and moon and mist and mourn, somehow immaterial as if made of fog and sorrow, and it is terrifying. It is fear embodied of being abandoned, alone, in a world unseen of roaming eyes that see but never notice, laughter far away but never shared, homes and hearths so distant they did not even reflect on the water, and you will always be alone—

Whatever rises from Hastur now is rage-kissed, loud, shakes the table, rattles the china, and makes the lights flicker. Hands off. Do that again, avatar, and you will be alone in Hell.

“I'm not entirely sure if you’re actually trying to ward me off with a promise like that,” says Peter Lukas cheerfully. He taps his hat. “See you soon.” He leaves. He does not, Tim notes, require direction out, or lack knowledge on how to lock up.

Elias is smiling.

“Soooo,” says Tim. “That guy. You two?”

Elias waves the question away. “His family is one of the prime sources of funding for the Institute.”

Tim’s feeling spicy. “So you married in?”

“No, of course not,” says Elias. “We've merely known each other for a very long time.”

“If you haven't fucked, I'll eat his damn hat,” says Tim, which is, of course, when Jon arrives at the bottom of the stairs.

Jon stumbles. “What? Who?” he says.

Elias smiles. “If you’re ready, I'll call you a car.”

“We can take the train, and don’t think I missed you didn’t answer,” says Tim.

Elias tilts his head, looking up through his eyelashes, absolutely salacious. “Tim. Do we need to involve HR?”

"Oh, wow," says Tim.

“Is something happening here I should know about?” says Jon as primly as if he’d walked in on children drawing on the walls with Sharpies.

For absolutely no sane reason, Tim is struck with the giggles. “Could you two be more opposite?”

“We’re not opposite at all,” murmurs Elias. “Not at our core. In the end, we will both do whatever it takes… to see.”

Jon has gone still as a statue. He looks caught.

So that backfired. “Oh, good, the baiting started nice and early today,” says Tim. “Come on, Sims. I'll get you breakfast en route.”

“I—”

“Nope,” says Tim preemptively, and takes him by the arm. Then he hesitates. “You mind if I, ah. Touch you like this?”

Jon looks up. “Does it mean I’m going with you on whatever your next assignment is?”

Fuck, Tim thinks. “Yes.”

“Then you may do whatever you need,” says Jon in full Received Pronunciation, and pushes his glasses up his nose.

“Not until—ah! He’s here,” says Elias, and goes to get the door before the bell rings.

“Freaky, that guy,” murmurs Tim.

“Who’s here?” says Jon.

“I’ll handle this,” says Elias over his shoulder. “Let yourselves out through the kitchen.”

Don't be seen, is what that means. “Servants’ entrance, it is,” Tim drawls, and steers Jon out that door.

#

Elias must have an app or something, because the car he called is already here. Tim slips into the back with Jon. As he guessed, the driver knows where they’re going.

The driver is… large? Very large. Uncomfortably large, slightly hunched to keep his head from hitting the ceiling, shoulders considerably wider than the seat. Something is really weird about this guy. Tim subtly makes sure the doors are not locked.

"Food in the bag there," says the driver, who has a thick accent, a thick voice, a meaty pronunciation. "Sandwich."

"Oh! Oh, thank you?" Jon stares at the driver. Obviously stares, which will not go well even if the guy is normal.

“So,” says Tim, pulling his attention away, and drops his voice. “Seems we’re gonna be doing a sting.”

“A… a sting?” whispers Jon.

“Yeah. Setting it up to take down some firebugs. That's who was at the door—a cop.”

Jon stares. “Since when are you working for the police?”

“I’m not?”

It’s the Desolation, Hastur says quietly.

Jon pales, going slightly green. “Oh,” he says.

Tim suspects Jon knows more about them than he does. He lacks the courage to follow that trail right now. “They… they want to talk to me,” says Tim. “They don’t know I've got… you know.” He points at himself, and Jon nods. “So, yeah, Elias seems to think we’re setting up a sting, or something. The idea is pulling that Hunt lady off our trail.”

“You don’t know many details for the bait being dangled,” Jon murmured.

“You don’t have to go with me,” says Tim. “You can get out. The guy can stop the car.”

“No.”

“Jon, this is a really bad idea.” He doesn’t want to be mean about it. “You’re just the type of person they’ll…”

“Want to hurt?” says Jon, who may be weirdly naive, but isn’t actually stupid. “I’ve no doubt.”

Tim sighs. “I don’t really like this, sempai.”

Jon looks so grim. “I'm not worried about me. The real harm they can do is lure you in, I reason. With your abilities, you could destroy the entire world.”

Tim dearly wishes Jon hadn’t said that.

He can feel it. The hunger for it. The anticipated joy of destroying everything that had ever hurt him, and he has to turn away and look out the window and remember why he wants to save the world and not damn it.

It takes a minute. It’s not lust. It’s not hunger. It’s a need so deep that it feels like an integral part of him. Tim wipes his eyes.

You’re all right, Hastur soothes. Breathe with me. In, two, three, four, out, two, three, four. In, two, three, four five…

“Fucking dom,” Tim whispers, managing a weak smile, and looks back at Jon.

Jon is watching him. Only watching him, and yet Tim can feel it. It’s the strangest thing. It is… not comfortable. In a flash of instinct, Tim knows something else is watching him through those brown eyes.

“Is that the Eye?” he blurts.

Yes, says Hastur.

“What?” says Jon, startling, fortunately falling out of it.

That felt awful. Tim sighs. "Bloody hell. We're a mess, you know?”

Jon nods. “I suppose.”

Tim settles back and pulls out his phone. “Oy, driver—any chance you got some kind of mobile plug situation?”

“Yeah,” says the guy in that big, meaty voice to go with his big, meaty self, and without looking, hands back two wires with different connectors.

“Baller,” says Tim, and offers one to Jon.

“Thanks,” says Jon, taking it, and then—still holding it as if he’d forgotten it existed—pulls statements from his bag to read.

Tim pops in his ear buds, cranks up some Clean Bandit, and tries to ignore that call to end the world.

#

Three hours in traffic aren’t too bad. They give Tim a chance to snooze while not inebriated, which is immediately more restful, and to calm himself down as much as he can.

He knows Jon is right. This could be a problem. A huge risk. It’s not dissimilar to waving a chunk of meat in front of the lioness he nearly let loose in fucking Chelsea. Tim sighs. What magic do you want to practice doing?

He can feel Hastur all but sit up with ears perked like a happy puppy. You’re willing?

Feel like it might be a good idea. Beside him, Jon still reads statements, hunched over, a gargoyle-monk-nerd combination (including brown skin, which Tim is certain has a lot to do with his targeting) that is either endearing or annoying, with no in-between.

Tim finds him endearing. Poor little guy.

Yes, yes, ignore him. Let’s focus on us.

“What?” says Jon.

“Nothing,” says Tim. “We’re planning. Go back to your scary bits.”

Jon gives him a scathing look Tim wishes he could bottle and goes back to the scary bits.

We will begin with something so very small. Your imagination is keen and clear; your power is wildly strong. Thus, we will start slowly, and I will help you.

You have the power to help me? I mean… you can interfere?

I don’t have your will or thoughts like I do your hand. Hastur is almost gentle saying that. But I can talk you through. Help keep you grounded. And I think, when we sync properly, I will be able to help throttle, as well.

Tim sighs, puffing out his cheeks. Swear to me on John’s grave this isn’t some scheme to take control.

There is a pause, and Tim realizes he’s caused hurt.

It is not a scheme to take control.

Hey. I’m sorry. Didn’t know that’d hurt you.

Another pause. It did not, Hastur lies like a chump.

Someday, he's going to have to get the details on this whole John and Arthur situation. Sure.

“About ‘ere,” says the driver, slowing down. “Sure about this place? Not a nice area.”

“Yeah,” says Tim. “Uh. This.” He holds out the letter, carefully folded to hide all but the address.

“Yeah, that’s it,” says the driver. “Dunno who sent you here, but they’re not your friend.” And he laughs, almost a wet sound, definitely a cruel one.

Who in fuck has Elias hired to do this? “So, uh,” says Tim. “Did he pay you, or…”

“I’m paid,” says the guy, and rolls down his window to spit out of it, and maybe so his left arm can finally move. “Be here when you get out. Don’t take too long. ‘S not fun defending the bloody car, innit?”

“Sure,” says Tim, and elbows Jon.

Jon, who was so absorbed in his statements that he didn’t even realize the car had stopped. Jon, who was so glued to the page that he blinks as if waking from a deep and druggy sleep. Jon, who… actually looks a hell of a lot better than he did three hours ago. There’s color in his cheeks; his eyes are less tired. “What?” he says.

“We’re here,” says Tim. “Just let me talk, okay? Please. And, uh… since the car’s staying, maybe leave all that inside? It’s flammable.”

Jon looks as though Tim suggested they hunt down any infant relatives he might have and feeding them to crocodiles. “Oh!” he says, and briefly clutches manila folders to his chest. “Oh. Yes, you’re right, of course. Very good suggestion.” He takes a moment to pack it all away.

Tim breathes slowly. “I can do this.”

Yes. You can do this.

Tim swallows around the lump in his throat. “I can do this. They won’t get me. Or you. Or anybody.”

Before you, I would have assumed no human could. But you… Tim, I believe you can.

Hastur might be lying. Tim is too upset to tell right now. “Thanks.”

“All right,” says Jon, who has tucked his bag against seat in front of him. “Let’s go.”

Tim takes another breath and opens the door. His heart is pounding.

“I’ll be here,” says the driver, sounding bored, his arm and shoulder fully out of the car.

That guy has got to be eight feel tall. And wide, Tim thinks.

Hastur chuckles softly. At least he might make a good shield, should we need to run.

"Rather not," Tim murmurs, and walks.

The building in front of them used to be office space. No one uses it now, nor most of this street; and for there to be such unused real estate is, Tim knows, definitely a sign of bad things.

I can do this, he tells himself, double-checking Jude Perry’s instructions as he heads around the side toward the alley-facing door. I can do this. Jon is on his heels, and breathing quickly (afraid), and Tim does not like how it makes him feel, how that appeals, how the same patient wickedness that wants to burn the world loves that fear. I can do this, he thinks, and does not believe, and opens the unlocked door. And there—

So it had to be a good dozen people once. Maybe. There are at least twelve heads, faces stretched in terror, lying at obscene angles all over the floor.

And it had to be a good dozen recent people, too, because the blood is still fresh, and the torn limbs are still oozing, and ruptured bowels are still leaking, and Tim gags even as the sound of messy, open-mouth chewing draws his eyes away from the discard pile and to the current smorgasbord.

Three mostly-whole dead people lie there, piled, their flesh sort of crushed together like fisted ground burger, their blood shockingly red, the odor of their offal thick and greasy and bad, and a man crouches over them like something out of a zombie game.

He wears ordinary clothes—a button-down white shirt, horrifically stained, and tan slacks, and polished brown Oxfords, and for no reason Tim spots the expensive FitBit, and the neat round glasses (wire-framed) which sit folded on the floor just out of the splatter zone, and the carefully combed blond hair, and the gore up to his elbows, and the man turns with fresh flesh dangling from his mouth and pupils that have completely overrun whatever color his irises used to be, and he smiles, and flesh falls with a splut from his mouth as he speaks with an American southern accent which makes it all seem more surreal.

“Well,” says the man, standing smoothly, nary a popping knee or hesitation to indicate any kind of stiffness or lack of ability to get them. “I do declare! I didn’t expect you to walk right into my lap.”

Jon gasps. “That’s him! The guy from the hospital!”

The man glances past Tim toward Jon. “Huh,” he says. “Tastier than you were, by golly… but I think I’ll let you marinate a bit more. Now, this, though.” He takes one step toward them, and viscera squishes under his shoe like jelly. “This is a fuckin’ proper feast.”

Run! Hastur bellows.

Tim does not need a second warning.

He does not question his reach for power.

Does not question his choice to grab Jon around the waist like a scared rabbit and bolt, and run, and tear down the alley.

His terror overwhelms any mad desire to stay and burn their enemy down because it didn't work for the others and definitely will not work for him.

Jon screams.

The guy is right behind them, and Tim thinks, briefly, I need to fly! which he does not know how to do, and in desperation and terror and fear, he leaps.

“Hey!” shouts the pupil-void man behind them, below them, and Tim already knows that he has no idea how to do this, and he is not flying, but he has leaped a tall building in a single bound and they are coming down hard a couple streets over, falling as the wind steals Jon’s screams, and he does the only thing he can think to do: he imagines-yearns-demands-commands a portal to the ocean, so they can land without breaking like dropped eggs.

Suddenly they are no longer in the city at all, and smack into the water hard enough to knock out his breath.

The cold salt is a shock, and he already knows Jon inhaled it, and Tim kicks as hard as he can, eyes burning, aiming toward the light because that’s the only way he knows which way is up.

They surface, gasping, coughing, choking, their clothing dragging them down, smacked in the face by careless waves.

There is no land in sight.

Tim is dizzy. Very dizzy. Badly dizzy. “Fuck!” he manages.

Steady! Steady! Whatever invectives or oaths Hastur might have to share, he’s holding them back for now. We work together. Another portal is too much. All we need is a boat. You can do a boat. Summon it, create it. Anything. Even a fucking log. You can do this, Tim! You can do this!

Jon chokes, goes under a grasping wave. Surfaces again, eyes red and streaming, coughing up water.

Tim tries to recall the yacht from the billionaire he slept with. A twinge in his head; no go.

Tim tries to imagine an ordinary sailboat, lovely and new. A twinge in his head; no go.

Fuck it. He imagines a raft from some kid’s book he read, logs strapped together with a truly useless sail. Of course, that works.

And it is any port in a gods-damned storm. Tim gets behind Jon by some miracle and swims backwards, pulling toward that raft, which he wills not to get away from them in spite of the waves that lift them and lift the raft and put it out of their view and dunk them under and—

Hastur’s hand grabs it.

Tim muscles Jon onto it enough for him to pull himself aboard, then manages to climb on after him, gasping. Shuddering. He can feel it coming: exhaustion. Unconsciousness. And yes… he’s probably going to lose another body-part.

He wants to cry. He doesn’t want to lose body-parts. He doesn’t want to be blind, or crippled. Or lost on a raft in rough seas who the fuck knows where.

I’ve got you, says Hastur, his left arm wrapped around Tim, secure and tight. I’ve got you. You saved us. Whatever comes of this, you saved us.

“What… what…” Jon is gasping, and throws up more water.

“Guy from…” Tim clings to consciousness. The sun is horrible. He hates the sun, he decides. “The hospital? The one you texted me about?”

“I forgot about him,” Jon manages, draped over his own waist. “I froze. I… thank you. I froze.” His voice breaks. “He would’ve gotten me, and I’d have stood there. You… you saved me. Again.”

You saved us all.

Tim turns so that awful horrible terrible sun (which he does not picture blowing up because who the fuck knows anymore) doesn’t destroy his remaining eye, and curls on his side. “I’m afraid.”

Jon doesn’t know the reason. He can’t. “We'll find land. We... where the blasted… where are we?”

I know, says Hastur, who does know, and even in this state, Tim can feel that he is not eager, that he is not demanding, that Hastur feels regret. I’ve got you. Whatever comes, I’ve got you.

Tim has to believe him. He can’t stay awake any longer.

I’ve got you, Hastur’s voice says, following him into the dark from which Tim can only hope and pray he returns. I’ve got you. I will never let you go.

[lit-in-thy-heart]

we are blocking today lads

[ID: a hand holding a purple knitted jumper and a bottle of Soak wool wash (pineapple grove) over a large plastic container on grass filled with water and with some suds. On the edge of the container sits a white sparkly frog (Ismere) from FroogandBoog. It is horribly sunny. End ID.]

[sixzeroes]

(teaser) mark me in your heart.

summary | one deep, dark secret of yours? that undying desire you have to fuck mark lee. one difficult issue to work around? mark lee is the head pastor’s son. (he’s also got a lot of enemies, but you don’t know that. yet.)

information | spider-man!mark x reader(f); fluff, smut, tba; profanity, no other warnings for the teaser; 810 words for the teaser.

status | uploaded here.

tbh idk how i’m feeling with the fic rn but i rly want to release smth so.. yeah!! here’s a teaser for my very first fic ft. spider-mark :D i doubt anyone will see this but yay!

YOU SEE HIM BEFORE SUNDAY ENDS.

It takes everything within you to not let out a terrified scream, the ongoing storm outside doing nothing to help. You don’t see him when you first enter your room, occupied by the link your friend had sent you moments before. When lightning flashes and you briefly look up at your open window, you see a man hanging upside down, looking straight into your room.

“W—Wait!” Spider-Man whispers, his voice nearly drowning in the downpour. “It’s not what it looks like—and I know this looks bad, but I swear—”

“How the fuck do you know where I live?” you hiss, standing in front of your window with your arms crossed. “Aren’t you a hero, not a stalker?”

Spider-Man vigorously shakes his head. “I’m not a stalker! I just—I was worried, you know? After everything that went down on Friday, I just wanted to check up on you, see if you were alright.”

You scrutinize him. “Do you do this to all the people you save?”

“Uh, no?”

“Then why are you here?”

“To see if you’re okay?”

You prod your inner cheek with the tip of your tongue. “Spider-Man, do you like me or something?”

“What—no! No, that’s ridiculous!” You can’t tell if you’re hallucinating, but the Avenger seems…nervous. “I’m just doing my job as the friendly neighbourhood Spider-Man.”

“But why me? You don’t check-up on anyone else, so why am I any different?”

He shrugs. “Because I couldn’t go to church tod—”

Spider-Man slaps a hand over his mouth at the same time your heart drops.

“Shit.”

“Mark?” you whisper, uncertainty laced in your voice.

“Uh…no. I’m not Mark. Who’s Mark?”

Your heart is beating at an abnormal pace. You can’t unhear it now; that voice is most definitely Mark Lee, the head pastor’s son, the man of your fantasies. On Thursday, you couldn’t really dissect anything due to the adrenaline of nearly dying. But now, with a much clearer head and the time to think, you can connect the dots. Mark’s been missing the Sunday services due to his duty as a hero. He has an internship at Stark Industries because he’s an Avenger (or it might just be a cover-up). He’s saved millions of lives, and even battled against Thanos. He personally knew Tony Stark and that was why he bawled his eyes out when he died.

Mark Lee is Spider-Man.

Mark Lee is Spider-Man, so that’s why he knows where you live, that’s why he knew your name on the bridge, and that’s why he didn’t sound like a middle-aged man.

“Well, since I’ve checked up on you, I’m gonna go—”

“Mark?”

“Yes? I mean! Who?”

You suppress a snort, pursing your lips to do so. “Thank you. On Thursday, I mean. When you saved my mom and I from, well, dying.”

Spider-Man—Mark—bashfully shrugs. “It’s my job.”

“Do your parents know you’re Spider-Man?”

The man coughs. “Well, I’m not Ma—”

He falters when you tug off his mask, his eyes widening at your unexpected action. A small smile dances on your lips as you whisper, “Liar.”

A look of defeat paints his face. “Fine. I’m Mark.”

It’s nearly impossible for you to breathe as you take in the wonderful sight of the man before you. Despite the lack of light and the shadows cast across his face, his beauty is incapable of being dimmed. You notice his damp hair, and the rain running down his skin. The suit fits him tightly, defining his abs and toned muscles.

You set his mask down on the windowsill. “Wait here. I’ll grab you a towel to dry yourself off.” You turn towards the door, but swivel around to order, “Don’t leave, Mark.”

Your trip to the bathroom is silent, working hard to blend in with the night. In the bathroom, you grab three sets of towels, one for his hair, one for his body, and one just in case. Additionally, you grab a fresh T-shirt from the laundry room that fits oversized on you.

When you return from the bathroom, Mark is gone. In his place, on your phone, is a KakaoTalk message received a few seconds ago.

mark lee: pls don’t tell anyone.

Disappointment settles in your gut, but you’re not exactly surprised. You probably shouldn’t have taken his mask off during the heat of the moment, regret running through your veins. He must hate you now, there’s no way he doesn’t. Mark’s an anonymous superhero for a reason, and some girl who’s not even a friend uncovering his identity defeats the whole purpose. You’re about to move around when your phone lights up from a second KakaoTalk message.

mark lee: i’ll drop by tomorrow night. good night, y/n

Your heart picks up an erratic speed.

you: will do. good night, mark :)

You hope the smiley face isn’t too weird.

tag list | @jaemsslut4 @chitaphrrrr @pastel-boy-sungjae @jenojaeminrenjun @wh0re4yangyang @iluvj4sung @celamoon @budibbly @marksquare

please send an ask or comment to be added to the tag list! <3

[fandomlit]

neutral, chap. 4 (dream smp x reader)

series summary (in game!au) when an exiled tommy finally rebels against a manipulative dream, he finds safety in neutral territory, a place owned and guarded by you. staying in your safe haven opens up the younger one’s eyes to your way of life, while also revealing your deeper past before neutral; a past that involved a war for your love.

chapter summary after waking from a taunting nightmare, tommy expels some late night energy on some wandering mobs. you give him another lesson about taking care of himself, even when working hard, and tommy asks if you’ll teach him archery, which, of course, doesn’t go without entertainment.

warnings nightmares, mob killing

previous | series masterlist | next

gif cred belongs to @halcyoncraft

he was running again. he didn’t know where or from what, but his legs carried him far and strongly, weaving him through trees and grass and other obstacles along the way. he didn’t know how in danger he was, but he wasn’t going to stop and find out.

then he tripped.

when he flipped onto his back, it was that goddamn mask staring down at him, the lips just under it laughing, “you’re so weak, tommy! did you do anything while you were in neutral?” then his axe came down and tommy braced himself for the pain and release of death.

he woke up instead.

sweating under his covers, tommy sucked in a harsh breath as he sat up. he threw the soft cotton off of him, running a warm hand down his face. it was just a dream; he was safe in neutral.

looking out of the window next to him, he saw the moon still high in the sky, casting a cool light into his bedroom. dream’s words rang through his head like a bell, and he rubbed at his temples with a sigh. was he actually getting weak? was relaxing such a bad thing? at the very least, some part of him must have thought so to conjure a nightmare like that..

with another sigh, tommy lifted himself out of bed and flipped open the ender chest. he drew out his sword before heading to the main floor of the house.

when he reached the bottom of the stairs, a voice called out to him, “tommy?” his heart nearly stopped for a moment, before peeking into the kitchen and realizing it was just y/n. she sat in candlelight, writing in a small journal with a slice of half-eaten pumpkin pie next to her. “are you alright?”

“yeah,” he breathed, his voice still heavy with sleep. “just gonna go kill some mobs.”

she nodded. she looked tired, and a part of tommy felt bad knowing that she was most definitely going to wait for him to return. “okay. have at it, kid.”

he nodded, turning to leave the kitchen. before he did so, he pursed his lips and looked over his shoulder to y/n. “you should go to bed.”

she gave him a smile, scribbling something down in the small journal. “i will, tommy. just gotta finish this up..” his natural curiosity was drawn to the small book, and he almost asked y/n what she was writing. but then dream’s voice rang through his mind again, and tommy silently headed for the doors of the house.

the night air was refreshing on his warm skin, cool and still as the moon illuminated the frontal beauty of neutral territory. he took a deep, calming breath of that crisp air before focusing on the task at hand: proving to himself that dream was wrong. that dream is always wrong.

after about twenty zombies, ten spiders, countless creepers, and a few endermen, tommy finally felt the burn in his arms become nearly too much to bear. he panted as he struck down one last spider, turning and finally deciding to return back to the comfort of y/n’s home.

he sheathed his sword when he finally entered the house, going straight to the kitchen to see that y/n was still awake and writing in her small journal.

“ready to go to bed?” he asked gruffly.

she looked up slowly before nodding, placing her quill down and capping her ink. “any trouble out there?”

“no,” he spoke, shaking his head. “wrote everything you needed to?” y/n blew out her candle and went to join the boy in the doorway to the kitchen.

“as much as i could, anyway,” she shrugged, smiling lazily as they began to walk toward the stairs. “what was your nightmare about?”

tommy was slightly startled, but a little too tired to react drastically to y/n’s deduction. “how’d you know i had a nightmare?”

“i’ve had them before,” she said simply. “and it seemed natural that you’d expel some energy onto mobs after such a thing.”

“you’re smart,” tommy credited.

“thank you,” y/n yawned.

they continued to climb the stairs in silence as tommy considered his words. “i was being hunted by dream again, but this time you weren’t there to save me. he called me weak and killed me.”

“so you wanted to prove to yourself that despite allowing yourself peace, you didn’t have to sacrifice your strength to get there,” y/n summed.

the boy half-smiled. she was spot on, as always. “exactly,” tommy breathed. 

y/n was silent for a moment as she thought. they stopped at the hallway to tommy’s room and it then occurred to tommy’s tired mind that her room was downstairs; she was walking with him because she cared about him. 

“honestly, tommy, if this is a real concern for you, then there is no harm in taking time out of your day to work out and train,” y/n spoke. “but the most important thing is to recognize when enough is enough, and when enough becomes too much. you’ve allowed yourself peace and care for the last two weeks, and achieving such a state doesn’t mean you have to sacrifice fighting or training; it just means that you need to be more aware and in tune with yourself as you’re doing it.” tommy nodded.

“don’t overwork yourself, is the summary here,” she said, picking a cobweb off of his shirt. “let yourself do the things you want, but make sure it’s not wearing you down. that’s taking care of yourself.”

“alright,” tommy spoke quietly. “thank you, y/n.”

“of course, kid,” she smiled. “get some sleep, alright? if you have another nightmare you’re free to bother me.” tommy nodded again. “good night, tommy.”

“good night, y/n,” he yawned as she turned to head down to her room. he made sure he heard her door shut before finally heading to his own room.

...

“can you teach me archery?” tommy questioned the next morning at breakfast. it was a question that had bugged him since y/n had first revealed her skills just a few days prior, and since he was going to start training, he figured that might be a good place to start.

“sure,” she chuckled as she scooped some more fruit onto his nearly half-eaten plate of french toast.

“why the laugh?” he questioned through a mouthful of berries.

she shrugged to herself. “your curiosity is showing.”

“i’ve been wondering about it since you took out the mob,” tommy admitted. “if i want to get stronger.. i think this is a good way to.”

“perfecting a skill is the perfect way to get stronger,” y/n voiced. “of course i’ll teach you, kid.” she smiled and he turned back to his breakfast with his own grin. “finish up your food and meet me in the basement; we gotta get you a bow first.”

tommy hadn’t been in the basement of the house yet. he opened the heavy, dusty trapdoor and assumed y/n didn’t go down their often either. he slid down the ladder easily and was immediately hit with heat.

y/n had a welding station upstairs in her shop area, but the basement had a more broad and intense version of that area. several anvils, all cracked and rusted and adorned with different materials were scattered in a sort of pattern amongst the space, a fire burning high in a fireplace at the far side of the room. seeing no sign of y/n, tommy moved to the room to his left.

the next room held a large nether portal, as well as a small farm for netherwart. the dark room felt empty to him, and he had to remind himself that he was in fact in y/n’s house still. he remembered she had said that she didn’t like going to the nether.

“i’m in here, tommy!” she called out. he took another left into a small storage room, where y/n was rustling through a chest. “how tall are you, kid?”

“6’1”,” he answered.

y/n smiled. “you’re a lot taller than i’ll ever be.” she took out a pretty oak bow, slightly scratched and obviously old. “you’ll have to use this for now, until i can make you one that’s your size.” he took the bow from her hands, shrugging.

“it’s fine.”

“good,” she hummed, still shuffling through the chest as tommy took the time to look around the small room.

“what’re the dispensers for?” tommy asked, staring at the wall that held the three stone tools.

“im nothing if not prepared, tommy,” y/n spoke as she took out a quiver and began to fill it with arrows for him. “in case of emergency, those dispensers will set off flares to let others know that im in trouble or that neutral is in danger.”

tommy nodded, still looking at the obviously unused dispensers. “smart.”

“i hope so,” she sighed, handing him the quiver of arrows. he strapped it around himself as she continued, “let’s just hope i never have to use them, yeah?”

“yeah,” he chuckled. she gave him a smile, hoisting her bow higher in her grip.

“you ready to shoot some things?”

...

“relax your shoulders,” y/n reminded. tommy did so, his fingers still white with effort against the taut string of the bow. “don’t pull so hard, tommy. you’re shaking.” he sighed as he let the string and arrow go limp, lowering his bow as y/n approached him closer.

it was his second day of archery training, and he was still missing nearly every target. y/n was a calm and collected teacher, offering him advice that was pointed directly for him and reassured him that there was no rush in the learning process. but after missing fifteen or so shots in a row, tommy was getting frustrated.

and it didn’t help with sapnap and george staring at him through the kitchen windows.

“doin’ great, kid,” sapnap encouraged weakly, taking a drink of the lemonade y/n had lovingly prepared for the boys. just watching the older man sip made tommy’s mouth dry, but he was determined to make five shots in a row before taking a break.

tommy glared at the man before turning his gaze back to his mentor. “ignore him, tommy,” y/n spoke gently. “nick couldn’t hit a target if it was three paces away.”

“that’s a lie!”

“im kidding,” y/n laughed, placing a hand on tommy’s shoulder and turning him away from the distraction that was sapnap. “but seriously, there’s almost always going to be someone watching when you shoot. the more you can tune them out, the better. just focus on your aim--and make sure your grip is looser. you’re gonna snap that string in no time otherwise.”

“loose grip, focus on aim,” tommy breathed and she patted his shoulder as he turned back to the target ahead of him. he hoisted the bow up slowly and pulled the string back just enough that it wasn’t fully taut. he made sure his aim was a little higher than his target, and released the whizzing arrow. the arrow pierced just outside of the center ring.

“perfect,” y/n smiled. “now, do it again.” and he did, taking another deep breath and allowing himself to focus in on the feel of the rough wood on his fingertips, and the tight string he was pulling. the arrow hit just beside his last. she nodded encouragingly. “keep going.”

tommy could feel his heart start to thump in his chest from the excitement of his accurate aim. he took another calming breath and watched as the arrow lodged closer to the center.

“great aim,” she complimented and he grinned as he pulled another one back, trying to contain his shaking as he aimed. the arrow shot lower than his previous, but on the target nonetheless. “still a good shot. one more?”

“yeah,” tommy nodded, licking his dry lips as he retrieved another arrow from his quiver. heart still thumping with utter excitement and pride at y/n complimentary words, he quickly released the arrow and his smile dropped as the arrow lodged into the ground before the target.

“hey, that’s fine!” y/n assured as tommy groaned and dropped his head. “four in a row is an amazing improvement, tommy. you should take a break and reward yourself.”

tommy sighed, looking to the shameful arrow. “yeah. alright.” he dropped the bow to the ground along with his quiver. he looked to his slightly splintered fingers. “im gonna go.. wash up.”

“alright,” y/n smiled as tommy scampered away. she entered into the open kitchen, smiling at her guests. “you boys doing alright?”

they nodded. “when did you take up parenting, y/n?” george giggled. she rolled her eyes as she went to pour her and tommy their own glasses of lemonade. “no, seriously! you care for that kid a lot, it-it’s not a bad thing!”

she sighed, leaning against her counter as she sipped at her lemonade. “i know you two haven’t always agreed with him in the past, but i think tommy’s a good kid. i like his ethic, and i think he has a lot of potential. but that being said..” she shook her head. “he’s so young.” the boys nodded. “he’s been thrown into such a life of chaos and destruction, and im not saying he’s at all innocent, but.. i think it’s good for him to learn that there’s more to this world than just war and enemies. there’s...”

“neutral,” sapnap finished for her. she let out a laugh.

“yeah, neutral,” she agreed, tapping her fingers against her cold glass. “but, yeah, if teaching him peace and self care is motherly of me..” she shrugged. “then i guess im alright with being a parent.”

“that’s sweet,” sapnap nodded. “i hate it.” the three of them laughed, y/n laying a light slap on the man’s arm before tommy’s voice called out to her.

“y/n! can i have some help?”

“im coming!” she called back, setting down her glass of lemonade.

“go help your poor son,” george teased, resting his head in his hand as he gazed at y/n amusedly. she rolled her eyes.

“behave, you two,” she laughed before leaving the kitchen.

there was a moment of silence before george spoke, “i do think it’s quite sweet how y/n’s taken tommy in. i think it’s good for both of them.”

“you say that now,” sapnap sighed, leaning back in his chair. “but just wait until tommy’s back to feeling 100% and y/n’s going around saying “pog” all the time.”

tag list!! @vanhakirja @victory-is-here @inkyynki @airiour @sylum @kiritokunuwu @221bee-slytherin @bllatrixcarpnter @soullesstaco @stxrryb1tch @amibismexy @keiarma @akaichi-blog @runningoffofcaffeine @nonetookind @aquilla-favonia @feverish-dove @izuruamme @weeb-bb @bialin @justachillbisexual @kiritokunuwu @natalie-is-a-wall comment below or message me if you would like to be added <3

[charliedawn]

How would the slashers react if you liked them back?

First part :

Author : *sighs* I don't know why I keep doing this to myself..Warning : Sadness ahead.

Pennywise :

"Well..That's cute, and surprising..But, you know that I can't love, right ?"

Pennywise is not human, not anymore anyway. His heart is as dead as the rest of him and his true form is the one of a gigantic brownish spider, not exactly what someone would easily fall for..However, that doesn't mean you're ready to give up. You sigh and nod understandingly before insisting.

" I know..Even though, I want to try. I know that you care for me.."

He rudely scoffs and rudely interrupts you.

" Me ? Care for you ?..Come on..Stop it with your emotional bullsh*t.."

But, the problem is..it isn't bullsh*t. He knows it. He likes you. He likes the way you laugh. He likes the way you talk. He likes everything about you..and it's driving him mad. He desperately wants to keep you away, because he can't let himself believe that someone can love him, even now..He clenches his fingers into fists and turns his back towards you. He wants to leave, but you don't let him.

" Don't you dare turn your back on me, Pennywise !"

He freezes and, in a final attempt to get away, yells back at you.

" Don't you understand ?! I'm going to hurt you, small fry ! I'm going to suck you dry of everything that makes you happy until you hate me ! I have no heart ! No pulse ! Nothing ! Look !"

He rips his own heart from his chest and crushes it in his hand to ashes under your eyes.

" I'm not real ! I'm a monster living to feed on small children's fears ! Sorry, sugar..I'm just not the one for you.."

He is about to walk away when you grab his wrist and force him to turn around to face you.

" Not the one for me ?! And who are you to tell me that ?! I like you, Pennywise. And, that you want it or not, my heart belongs to you.."

Pennywise grits his teeths before getting his arm out of your grip.

" You want to waste your life with me ?! Fine ! But, don't expect us to be happy ever after ! I'm old and grumpy and an immortal assh*le and..!"

You shut him up by pressing your lips against his. When you stand back, you can't help but chuckle at Pennywise's astonished face.

"..I know..And ?"

His initial shock past, he only shakes his head in disbelief with a smirk.

" You're a weirdo, you know that ?"

However, he only pulls you closer to him in order to properly kiss you before you can reply..

Freddy :

" Look at me.."

He whispers, his voice hoarse and angry as he repeats.

" Look at me, Y/N !"

He then takes your face between his two hands, making sure that you can see every crevice on his heavily burnt face.

"Is that really what you want ?! Spend the rest of your days with an old ugly son of a b*tch like me ?!"

Freddy yells, angry and confused..How could you lie so well ? His heart wants to believe you so bad..but he's everything you're not. He's evil. And even if he likes to flirt, kiss and fool around..He can't believe that anyone can truly love him. He understands sexual attraction, he understands the desperate need..but love ? He made sure to give up on that a long time ago..Then why ? Why would you want him ?!

" You're a coward."

The insult comes out easily on your tongue as Freddy leans towards you with a frightening grimace.

" What the f*ck did you call me..?"

He tightens his grip on your face and you can feel the sharp edges of his claws digging painfully into your scalp, a silent warning..A warning that you don't take.

" You're a coward..You hide yourself behind the excuse of your horrible past to blind yourself to the truth..that someone might actually genuinely love you.."

Freddy lets go of you and, to your surprise, bursts out laughing.

" Me ?! A coward ?! Sweetheart..I love myself ! I wouldn't be anyone else than what I am right now ! But, I don't fool myself either. Physically ? I'm a bald scrawny motherf*cker. The amalgamation of a nightmare and a loser ! Personality ? Zero. I'm rude, an assh*le and curse at least 50 times a day. The type that you would present to your parents to give them a good reason to worry ! Now, tell me..Do I look like boyfriend material to you ?!"

You fail to answer and he huffs a knowing laugh before releasing you.

" That's what I thought.."

However, just as he is about to leave, you throw yourself at him and wrap your arms around his waist, burying your face in his sweater.

" Please ! Don't leave me ! I don't care if you don't like me ! Just..stay. Please.."

His expression softens as he sees you hold onto him so desperately. He kneels in front of you to wipe your tears as gently as he can.

" You think I don't like you ? B*tch, I f*cking adore you ! You're the rainbow in my black and white world..You're the only one that I would willingly kill for.. But, I also know that I'm a bast*rd. A few months ago, if you had told me that you loved me ? I would have happily used you for one night, maybe two..before leaving or worse, killing you. This is why, I can't do this. I don't deserve you. Now, tell me that you want me gone. Tell me, and I'll go. Before it's too late.."

For once, Freddy looks sincere and you can see in his eyes that he just needs a little more to be convinced and throw all of his concerns away. You stand on your tiptoes and kiss him softly. He tenses up and, even though he wishes to stand back, he isn't strong enough..He tilts his head and finally closes his eyes. In his mind, he knows that you'll end up regretting it..But, right now ? He is tired of fighting..He runs the fingers of his valid hand through your hair and turns it into a fist to tug on your hair and deepen the kiss.

Fuck it. The world can burn..I don't give a d*mn anymore. He thinks as he pulls you closer.

Penny :

*silence...long silence and stares...*

Penny : " Love..? As in..you love me ?"

Penny doesn't understand. Penny is confused because, he doesn't know love..Love is for humans..Love is for people like Bob, that was weak because of it. However, Penny feels his heart beat in his chest..Strange. He growls lowly and puts his hand on his torso..This feeling, he must get rid of it..To your horror, he uses his clawed hand to pierce his own skin and get to his heart. However, before he could get it out, you hurry to stop him and put both of your hands on his bloody torso.

" Don't ! Don't get rid of it, Penny ! It's good..There's nothing wrong with it !"

He frowns in incomprehension and tilts his head to the side curiously as he repeats, dumbfounded.

" Nothing..wrong ?"

You shake your head with tears in your eyes.

" No ! It's normal to feel good. I want you, Penny..I want your heart.."

Penny stops for a moment, hesitating. But then, he says.

" If you want it..then I give it to you..Here."

His heart is still beating in his hand as he offers it to you and your eyes widen as some more tears get out from your eyes. You take his hand and close his fingers over it with a small affectionate smile.

" Oh Penny..I want all of you..Not just your heart. I want your eyes..*your kiss his eyelids*..I want your hands..*you kiss his hands*..I want your marvelous creative mind..*you kiss his forehead..And I want your.."

Your eyes lower to his lips and you bite your lower lip, wondering if you should do it ? However, to your surprise, it's Penny that leans in to kiss you longingly. He then smiles against your lips and opens his baby blue eyes to stare at yours and finally, stands back to say with a small giggle.

" Sounds fun !"

You ark an eyebrow quizzically.

" What sounds fun ?"

Penny's smile grows wider as he answer enthusiastically.

" This love thing ! I wanna try !"

You can't help but smile at Penny's endearing eagerness and kiss his forehead one last time.

" As I said..you truly have a wonderful creativeness to you, Penny."

Penny doesn't understand, but smiles all the same and giggles one last time before looking at you with yellow eyes.

" There's something else that I want to try again.."

His eyes stare at your lips significantly, asking for permission as he looks up at you. You smile and nod in agreement. That's all the permission he needs before kissing you again..Somehow, you're not so sure if Penny is as naive and inexperienced as he pretends to be..?

Arthur :

" It's not nice to make fun of the disabled, Y/N..Plus, lying is not a good color on you.."

You frown and ask, offended and sad at his reaction concerning your feelings.

" Why can't you just accept my feelings ?!"

He takes a deep breath of his cigarette before replying with a bitter smile.

" Because, it's a lie..Because you can't possibly love me back.."

You frown in incomprehension before your eyes widen at the realization.

" Back ?..Does that mean you..?"

He chuckles and replies, his eyes glassy frome the tears he is trying hold in.

" Yes. Of course I love you too..Funny how it is always the primarily concerned that notices last..But, as I said..You can't love me. It is only an illusion..It'll pass.."

At that moment, you don't know if he's talking to you anymore, or himself ? He stares straight ahead, at an invisible spot on the wall.

" I'll wake up..and you'll be gone.."

You feel your heart sink as he seems to think this is just another one of his visions..However, determination burns deep inside you as you use it to give yourself courage for what you do next. You step in front of him take him by the collar to yank him forward and kiss him with all the passion you have for him. He tastes like cigarettes and broken dreams..His eyes widen and his cigarette falls to the floor as he finally returns your passionate kiss with desperate need. When you both take a step back to breathe, he laughs.

" Who knew ? Good things do indeed arrive to those who wait..And what a long waiting it was.."

He kisses you again.

Dennis :

Dennis : *paces back and forth after your confession and then, faces you with a straight face*

"Prove it."

He doesn't tell you how, he just tells you to prove it.

" Prove that you're in love with me..really me. Not Kevin, not Patricia, not Jade, or any of the other personalities in this body..Prove that you really love me."

You think about a way to show him and finally find it as you take his hands and ask with a smile.

" Dance with me ?"

He raises an eyebrow, but doesn't deny your request. You lead him to the middle of the room and you start dancing together. Soon, Dennis finds the act quite enjoyable and truly participates. He steps on the left, on the right and twirls you with ease. You both laugh as he takes a step back and nearly trips backwards. However, he then frowns at you and asks, lost.

" I don't understand..Why would you want to dance with me ? How would that be proof ?"

You smile enigmatically at him before finally answering truthfully.

" I know you, Dennis..You always put the needs of the others before yours. I also know that you asked your victims and, even some of the nurses, to dance with you..They all refused and you stopped asking afterwards..However, you never asked me. So, I guess what I'm trying to say is..I am willing to listen to you and to take care, not only of the needs of the Horde, but yours as well. I love you, Dennis. And you're important to me. You're not Kevin, Patricia or anyone else..You're you. And that's what I love about you..You're attentionate, selfless and strong..So very strong that you sometime forget that it's okay to let go..It's okay to need help or ask for a break. It's okay to be yourself..And I'm willing to be that person that reminds you of that. If you'd let me ?"

Dennis is speechless and, to his own surprise, feels tears rolling down his cheeks. He smiles weakly and nods. He then embraces you and cries against your shoulder.

" I'm tired..So very tired.."

You smile sadly at him before closing your eyes and gently stroking his back soothingly.

" I know..I know.."

You say before kissing his cheek. He sighs shakily before tightening his hold on you.

" I don't want to be alone anymore..I..I want you to be that someone."

You smile and nod.

" You can let go..I'm here. I'm holding you, and I'm not letting go any time soon.."

Kevin :

" No..You can't be serious, Y/N."

Kevin doesn't accept it, he knows who he is and everything the Horde has done..He can't drag you down with him. He loves you too, but is too afraid of what would happen if he is to admit it to you. So, he prefers to deny it.

" I'm afraid..I'm too afraid to hurt you too.."

You feel his trembling hands reaching for yours as he opens his mouth to talk some more, tell you more reasons that you should stay away from him, but you interrupt him.

" I don't care ! I love you, Kevin !"

He knows he should stay away, but your eyes have such a power over him that he can't utter anything more than a whimper.

" Please..Have mercy on me..Don't make this harder than it has to be.."

He takes a strand of your hair and tucks it behind your ear tenderly with a weak smile.

" You're so beautiful..I know that you'll find better out there..I'm too broken, darling. Far too broken.."

He kisses your forehead lovingly before smiling again.

" It's because I love you that I'm doing this..I'm protecting you. The beast is still there, waiting for the moment to strike.."

You shake your head and argue.

" We'll deal with the beast together !"

He smiles sadly at you before shaking his head as well.

" You can't fight the beast. You need to run, before its too late.."

He tries to leave, but you grab his arm to force him to face you again. You then put your hand on the back of his neck and he frowns in incomprehension.

" W..What are you..?"

But, he doesn't get to finish his sentence. You yank him forward by the back of the neck to kiss him. He tries to pull away, but you don't let him and feel the salty taste of tears on your tongue. You open your eyes to stare deep into Kevin's teary ones. However, when you're the one that wants to pull away, he wraps his arm around your waist to yank you back towards him. He gently caresses your cheek while laughing through his tears.

" My beautiful..beautiful and silly one..You'll be the end of me.."

However, this time it's him that kisses you first, the beast be d*mned..Kevin knows that he can't back down now. He needs you..The Horde needs you..and that's all he's sure about as he continues to kiss you.

[theskywaslookingback]

hands

“Somehow I thought the place would have been smaller,” Martin says, bag slung over his shoulder as he looks up at the cottage. “It’s nicer than I would have given Daisy credit for.”

Jon hums, pulling his bag out of the boot of the car they’d borrowed from Basira and letting the lid fall shut with a heavy thunk. The cottage sits nestled at the base of a large hill, surrounded by lush green grass and the last vestiges of summer flowers. Far off in the distance a couple of cows graze lazily, just small dark shapes in the dying sunlight. Bugs hum in the air around them. It’s small and quiet, just the kind of place Jon thinks Daisy might have liked, actually.

The cottage itself is stone painted a stark white, with dark blue, peeling shutters closed tight to the windows. One of the shutters lies broken on the ground, and the glass it had been protecting is spider-webbed with cracks. Two terra cotta flower pots sit on either side of the front door, both empty. There was no evidence that a welcome mat had ever been laid between them. To the left of the door was a box filled with what had once been firewood but was now damp with mist and rot. Jon shuddered to think about creatures they might find lurking in the bottom of that box.

“Charming,” Jon says, the corner of his mouth turned down in distaste. He finds the key in a false rock on the right side of the cottage, just where Basira had said it would be, and lets them inside.

It’s clear from the moment they step inside that Daisy had not visited this particular safe house in quite some time. The air inside the cottage is thick and unpleasantly cold, smelling of dust and age. Dust motes catch in the dim light of the bulb as Jon turns on the light, and he’s displeased to see cobwebs sitting stubbornly in the corners of the room. The wood floor looks old and worn, scratchy looking area rugs dotted along like haphazard patchwork quilt. Jon loathes to take his shoes off.

“Well,” Martin says from behind him, crowding in close, “at least the electric is working.”

Jon shoots a withering glare over his shoulder and steps inside, letting Martin close the door behind them. He drops his bag next to the uncomfortable mound of fabric that someone generous might have once called a settee and goes to check on the rest of the place.

Jon checks the taps in the kitchen and is relieved to find the water running. There’s an expired  box of Tetley’s in the pantry that will have to make do until they can make their way down to the village to do a proper bit of shopping, and a couple cans of peaches that might be passable as dinner or breakfast if he can convince Martin to eat them.

He can hear Martin moving about in the sitting room, the creak of the windows and shutters as Martin pushes them open to get the place aired out a bit. “Might be a bit chilly with the windows open,” Jon says.

“There’s a radiator,” Martin replies, “I’ll see about getting it on.”

“Right.”

The hall light flickers when he turns it on, but it gives him enough light to see by. The cottage itself has only four rooms - kitchen, sitting room, one bedroom, and one bath - and Jon can’t bring himself to be surprised that the only bed appears to be a full size. He checks the dresser drawers and finds them empty, thankfully, no nesting mice or other visitors.

The bed is a utilitarian thing. One pillow, though he’s frankly surprised it even has that, white sheets with tight tucked corners, and a navy blue duvet. Jon pulls it off the bed to shake off the dust and sneezes, his eyes watering. He opens the single window with a little difficulty, having to stand on his tip-toes to get it all the way open, and unlocks the shutters. Night has settled quickly over the little valley, but the moon is bright and nearly full, pouring silver light into the room.

When Jon makes his way back into the sitting room Martin is crouched in front of the radiator and frowning, the sleeves of his button down shirt rolled up to show the light brown skin of his forearm. He has a birthmark on his left arm, nestled next to the crease where his arm bends, a dark spot like a smudge of dirt that Jon wants to press his mouth to.

Jon clears his throat, the tips of his ears burning a little. “Any luck?”

Martin jerks a little, swinging his head up to look at him. Jon feels his mouth go a little dry at the sight if he’s honest. Martin’s dark hair sweeping over his forehead, those sleeves rolled back on those thick arms. He likes the look of Martin at work, those calm dark eyes fixed on a problem that Jon knows he’ll find a solution for. Martin sweeps his eyes over Jon, head to toe, before looking back at the radiator. “I don’t know what Daisy did to this thing, but I think it’s well and truly dead.”

“Did you try plugging it in?”

Martin gives Jon a glare worthy of one of his own and Jon feels his lips turn up into a grin without his permission. “It’s a gas radiator, Jon.” He sighs, “Hopefully the gas is just turned off and it’ll be an easy fix, but we’ll be stuck without it tonight.”

“That’s...not ideal.”

Martin hums in agreement.

Silence settles between them, a not unwelcome weight that Jon’s been getting used to the last few days. “Tea?” Jon asks after a moment for lack of anything more helpful to do.

“That would be lovely, actually. Did you find some?”

“Daisy had some in the pantry, it’s likely ancient, but--”

“Tea is tea.”

Jon wrinkles his nose but doesn’t outwardly disagree.

“I’ll just get some things put away then,” Martin says, picking his bag back up off the floor. “Do you want me to take yours?”

“Leave it. I’ll get it later.”

“Alright.”

Jon finds Daisy’s kettle under the sink and starts to wash it out when he hears Martin say something from down the hall. He turns off the water. “What?”

Martin appears in the entry, biting his lip. “There’s er, there’s only one bed.”

Jon furrows his eyebrows. “I’m aware. I saw the bedroom, Martin.”

“Yeah it’s just--“ Martin trails off, his cheeks flushing. “How are...how are we going to sleep?”

Jon remembers the two days they’d spent in his flat, sleeping in the same bed, their hands tangled together even when sleeping because the thought of being separated was too much to bear. But that had been right after Jon had walked Martin out of the Lonely, so he supposes those were extenuating circumstances, Martin needing an anchor to find himself again. It should be a relief that Martin feels safe enough to want a little distance again, but mostly it just sets off a dull ache in his chest.

Jon feels a sharp pain in his jaw and realizes he’s been clenching his teeth and makes an effort to relax, though his shoulders feel pinned next to his ears. Jon goes back to washing out the kettle, filling it with cool water to boil. He avoids Martin’s eyes and says, “I think there might be some spare linens in the closet. I can take the couch.”

Martin shifts, the old wood floor creaking under his foot. “Are you sure? It doesn’t look very comfortable.”

Jon shrugs. “I’ve slept on worse, when I do manage to sleep. It’ll be fine Martin.”

“Alright. If you’re sure.”

“I am.” Jon says with a finality he doesn’t feel.

He finds a couple of mugs in the cupboard that he rinses out before filling with water and letting the tea bags steep. He brings the mugs back into the sitting room and sets Martin’s down on the table. He takes a sip of his own and grimaces. It’s vile, but far from the worst tea he’s ever had so he makes himself drink it.

Martin appears a minute later from the bedroom  and takes his tea with a grateful little thanks before taking a sip and making a face.

“Tea is tea.” Jon mumbles.

“I’m not sure this still qualifies.” Martin says but drinks it anyway.

They drink the rest of their tea in silence. Martin volunteers to do the washing up while Jon gets his own things put away.

Martin has left him half the dresser for his clothes and made a space for him on the bathroom counter. It feels almost too intimate, their toothbrushes resting side by side, their clothes in the same drawer. Jon tries desperately not to think about it as he changes his clothes for bed and rifles through the little linen closet for a set of sheets.

He finds a set of dark gray sheets and a threadbare red throw blanket that he drags back out into the sitting room. The settee is as uncomfortable as it is ugly, hardly more than a couple of boulders masquerading as a sofa; Although, Jon has spent many a night sleeping on the floor or bent over his desk at the Archives, so maybe he has no real right to complain.

Martin turns off the kitchen light and waits awkwardly for him to finish, hovering around the edges like he wants to say something but doesn’t have the words. “Are you going to be warm enough?” He finally asks, eyes locked onto the throw blanket. The fabric is almost sheer in spots from wear and dotted with holes along one edge.

The chill is almost impossible to ignore, but Jon just shrugs, a jerky up and down motion of his shoulders. “I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, if you’re--“ Martin bites his lip, “Okay. Good night, Jon.”

“Good night, Martin.”

Martin disappears into the bedroom, turning the hall light off, and Jon lets out a shaky breath when he shuts the door behind him with an audible click.

*

Moonlight seeps in through the open windows, the chirp of crickets ringing along the countryside, a chill settling across the fields as if to prove winter will be along soon. Even in his long sleeve and trackie bottoms, two pairs of socks pulled up over his feet, Jon shivers. He keeps staring at the ceiling, tracing along crisscrossing cracks with his eyes. He kicks his feet and wraps the blanket further up his shoulder and tries to relax. The walls creak and shudder, old pipes groaning and settling inside the wall. Jon throws an arm over his eyes and tries not to think about it. He’s almost asleep when he hears the floorboards start to creak, the soft padding of footsteps coming from the hall.

“Jon?” Martin’s voice is soft, a little strained and raspy like he’s anxious, “Are you still awake?”

Jon sits up, rubbing a hand down the side of his face. “Yes, I’m still awake.”

“Oh,” Martin says. Jon can’t quite see him, can just make out the shape of him, long legs and broad shoulders. His arms wrapped around himself like he can’t keep warm. “It’s...it’s cold, isn’t it.”

“Yes.”

“Might--” Martin clears his throat, “Might be easier if we slept together, yeah? Until we get the heating back up.”

“Are you--” Jon pauses, picking at a loose thread on the blanket, “Would you be okay with that?”

“Would I?” Martin blurts, “I, uh, would you? Be okay with that?”

“Of course. We shared before.”

“Yeah we…” Martin takes a step further into the room. The edges of him blur just a bit, and what Jon can make out of his face looks exhausted. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“It doesn’t, it--” Jon chokes on his own honestly, the lump of it hard and solid in his throat, “It’s okay when it’s you.”

Martin’s mouth drops open into a little ‘o’, a shocked exhale of breath coming from him.

Jon immediately wants to take it back. It’s too much, Jon knows, he’s always been too much at exactly the wrong time. He curls his fists into the blanket pooled at his waist, fighting back the sharp wave of panic that ‘this is it, this time he’s ruined it for good’.

“Okay,” Martin says softly, his lips turning up into a small smile that’s both soft and a little sad, “come on then, maybe we can still get a few hours in before sunrise.”

Jon swallows hard. The panic sits there in his chest, silent and waiting. “Okay,” He chokes out, “alright, let me just--” He gets up and takes the blanket with him, just to have something to do with his hands and follows Martin into the bedroom.

It’s just as cold in here as the rest of the house, but the way Jon’s fingers are trembling has nothing to do with the cold. He picks the side closer to the window, if only so he has something to stare at when he can’t sleep. Martin curls up next to him. The bed is so much smaller than his own back in London. Martin has to draw his legs up just to fit on the mattress, too tall and wide for the little bed. Jon fits just fine, but he’s a little worried about rolling off the mattress during the night. They’re perched precariously, sharing the same pillow, Martin’s warm breath at the back of Jon’s neck.

Eventually Martin sighs. “Here,” He says, shuffling a little behind Jon, “Can I--?” He hovers his hand over Jon’s waist.

It doesn’t-- it doesn’t mean anything. It’s just that the bed is too small for two grown men, despite one being below average height, and it’s cold besides. That doesn’t stop Jon’s heart from beating hard and loud in his chest though, as he slowly nods.

Martin’s hands are large and strong and lovely. Jon’s breath catches when Martin’s arm curls around his waist and he’s pulled back against Martin’s chest. He can feel Martin’s heart beating against his back, thudding almost as loud and hard as his own. Martin’s fingers settle over his stomach, splaying out. Jon thinks his hand could almost cover it completely and it sets off another round of shivering in him that has nothing at all to do with the cold.

“Alright?” Martin whispers.

“Yes.”

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m-- it’s cold, Martin.”

Martin hums thoughtfully and lets go of Jon for just a moment, long enough to pull the duvet up higher around them before settling his hand back against Jon’s stomach. Jon curls his own hands in front of his face and grabs the blanket so hard his knuckles ache.

“Night, Jon.”

“Good night, Martin.”

Jon is sure there’s no way he could fall asleep like that, pressed so close to Martin that he can feel the warmth of him all along his body, but eventually he does.

[READ THE REST ON AO3]

[romioneficfest]

Double Hazelnut Almond Milk Macchiato

Title: Double Hazlenut Almond Milk Macchiato

Prompt: Day 2/Meet-Cute

Tumblr Name: 

Rating: General

Summary: Muggle AU. Hermione Granger is new in town, and she has a pretty complicated coffee order.

Trigger Warnings: N/A

xxx

It’s seven o’clock on a Monday, and the morning rush is in full swing at The Burrow. Forming a line out the door and around the block are dozens of important, yet fidgety business people with complicated coffee orders, and little patience.

Ron Weasley opens every morning, Monday through Friday, and he handles it well. Most customers are regulars, and he’s already memorized their morning joe specifications.

The majority of the morning crowd has been forgiving of the occasional slip-up. Seven years of working the first shift at the family-owned coffee shop means a history of accidental extra-whipped cream, almond milk instead of soy, and finger-slips on the espresso machine, and the customers always return.

Maybe it’s because they’re too tired to notice their Americanos are actually Flat-Whites. Or maybe it’s the hospitable vibe of The Burrow that makes complaining about bad latte art seem as petty as telling Grandma her muffins are dry.

Every now and then, there’s a new customer, and Ron has to whip out his earnest, people-pleasing attitude to assure that the newbie sticks around. He’ll do what it takes to turn them into a regular, and make them thankful that they chose the local joint over the cookie-cutter corporate shop across the street.

‘Take an interest in their day!’ his Mum would say. ‘Validate their order! Then make sure to ask their name, and use it!’

Monday morning, at seven o’clock, is one of those times.

“Double Hazelnut Almond Milk Macchiato.”

“Size?”

“Medium.”

The customer is about Ron’s age, and probably new in town. She doesn’t yet know that at The Burrow, ‘Double Macchiatos’ are simply called ‘Tall Macchiatos’, and instead of ‘small’, ‘medium’, and ‘large’, The Burrow’s sizes go by their family pets in order of mass: Pig, Errol, and Chudley.

“Great,” he says, grinning, “coming right up.”

“Make sure it’s almond milk,” she reminds him.

“Yup.”

“And hazelnut,” she adds.

“Yup.”

“Double-shot—”

“I heard you,” says Ron impatiently. Have a little trust, lady.

“Okay, just making sure!”

“Can I get a name for the order?”

“Hermione.”

Ron stares at the girl. Her brown eyes are round and drowsy, her hair is unkempt and wild, which contradicts the clean lines of the business suit she’s wearing. She looks so normal. “Can you repeat that?”

“Hermione. H-E-R-M-I-O-N-E.”

He hadn’t asked her to spell it, and the way she emphasizes each syllable reminds Ron of how adults would read to him when he was a kid. It’s condescending.

“Coming right up, Hermione.”

“Great.”

Ron resists rolling his eyes. He can handle a double hazelnut almond milk macchiato, and if he screws it up, she probably wouldn’t even know the difference. Most customers wouldn’t.

As Hermione paces by the counter checking her watch, he whips up a medium, double, hazelnut, almond milk ...cappuccino. Just to test his theory, of course.

“Here you go!”

He hands the drink to Hermione and watches as she takes a sip. Her eyes narrow, and for a moment, he’s convinced she can tell…

Then her face melts back to a polite grin. “Thank you!”

Maybe she can’t. Ron shakes his head as she turns and leaves, turning his attention to the next customer’s order.

Hermione returns on Tuesday morning at 7 am sharp. Her hair is pulled back into a stiff, tight ponytail that just barely lassos her wild mane, and she probably checks her watch fifteen times while in line. Ron suppresses a scoff—she can just make coffee at home if she’s in such a rush.

“Morning, Hermione!” he says with a forced smile. “Same as yesterday?”

She looks taken aback at first, clearly not expecting him to remember her name. “Um, yes, same as yesterday.”

“Coming right up.”

“Medium, Double, Hazelnut—“

“Almond Milk Macchiato,” he says. “I got it.”

“Okay,” shrugs Hermione, eyebrows raised. “Then do it.”

What’s her problem? “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” she snaps. “I need coffee, not a counseling session.”

Wow. He wants to retort back, but his mother’s nagging voice in his head stops him.  ‘Always be extra-polite to grumpy customers; remember they haven’t had their coffee fix yet.’

“Of course,” Ron says through gritted teeth, in as polite a tone as he can manage. To satisfy his desire to argue, he whips her up a medium, double, hazelnut soy macchiato, only half-hoping she doesn’t notice.

He doesn’t get a chance to see if she does, because she’s out the door before a single sip.

Her Wednesday return is accompanied by a looming dread in the pit of Ron’s stomach. He hates rude people, especially at 7am. Ron spots her impatiently tapping her foot in line, as usual, and prepares himself for their interaction.

“Hello,” he says politely, stopping himself before the natural ‘how are you?’ escapes his lips. “What can I get for you today?”

“Hi,” she says with a sheepish smile. “The same as yesterday.”

“Which is?”

“Erm,” she stammers, her expression confused, “a medium—“

“I’m kidding,” he laughs, “I know your order.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

She pays, and Ron fixes her a medium double caramel almond milk macchiato.

“Sorry about yesterday,” she says when she picks up her drink. “You were just trying to be nice, and I was rude.”

“Oh,” starts Ron, who isn’t expecting an apology. “That’s okay. Happens a lot during the morning shift.”

She smiles and nods before turning around to leave, taking a sip on her way out the door. Ron watches for her reaction, but doesn’t catch it.

She seems to be in a better mood by Thursday.

“The usual,” is all she says when she arrives at the counter, but this time she’s smiling. She looks different when she smiles—pretty. Something else unidentifiable replaces the dread in his stomach. Ron wonders if it’s the first time he’s seen her smile or if it’s just the first time he’s noticed.

But based on the tired circles under her eyes, she’s exhausted, so Ron prepares her a medium triple hazelnut almond milk macchiato. An extra shot of espresso never hurt anyone, and maybe it’ll help her get through the day. Or maybe, she’ll experience a coffee crash and have to return to The Burrow later.

Both good things.

“Just so you know,” she says as Ron hands over her cup, “it’s been a stressful week. I started a new job, and it’s not going well.”

“I’m—I’m sorry to hear that,” says Ron. He looks into her eyes, and for a moment, they soften. There’s more to her tough and professional exterior.

“These have made the week just a little better,” she adds, holding up her macchiato, before smiling softly and turning to leave.

Of course, Hermione requests her usual on Friday, and Ron is quickly running out of ideas for ways to screw with her order.

In celebration of the weekend, he might be able to pass a large off as a special treat. Other than that, he has to stick to the request—a double hazelnut almond milk macchiato. The first of the week. Better not mess it up.

As soon as he pops the cap onto her cup, it looks empty. He reaches for his marker again and scribbles something else—his phone number.

He’s not sure what compels him to do it. Maybe it’s because the larger size leaves so much white space. It could be because the grumpy brunette has been occupying his thoughts all week — he’s never purposely tried to fuck up someone’s coffee five days in a row.

Or maybe, it’s because when she walked in this morning, he smiled, and he just wants to learn more about the woman who thinks she knows what a double hazelnut almond milk macchiato tastes like.

She’ll probably ignore it anyway.

But later that day, his phone buzzes on the counter, and he scrambles for it faster than he’d run away from a mob of spiders.

The text is from an unknown number, but there’s no mystery. It only took five days, but you finally got my order correct!

Ron scowls at his phone. She knew? She was duping him?

Well, Hermione, why’d you keep coming back?

As soon as the message sends, he’s impatient, tapping his foot, pacing, and jittery. Just like Hermione every morning.

His phone flashes and buzzes, and Ron almost drops it by checking too quickly.

It wasn’t for the coffee…

[parkers-gal]

Being tom’s costar & him setting you up with his brother, Harry. Maybe reader keeps saying no because she thinks Tom is asking her out

hello

combined with another request (hope you don’t mind)

Reader is dating Harry & Nikki like doesn’t her because she’s tom’s love interest in a movie. Harry & Tom defend reader

wc: a fat 3k (sorry lmfao took this too far)

—

When you were first called in for a dry run through of a script that would later be your next movie, you didn’t expect Marvel’s very own Spider-man to be there too. Of course, he didn’t expect you there either, but you were still pleasantly surprised that the director had called in for willing or suggested actors. 

The two of you immediately hit it off, clicking on screen and off screen. And though you were playing lovers in front of the camera, your relationship with Tom was strictly platonic — and you were glad he was on the same page. 

That didn’t, however, mean Tom wasn’t completely involved with your love life. After returning to your trailer directly after a date, Tom was waiting for you — and wondering where the hell you’d been. You confessed you’d gone out with someone, but the date wasn’t smooth and they weren’t your type at all. The date went pretty badly, and Tom pointed out later. Ever since then, he’d ask you if you were going on another date. 

It had been a month and a half since then, and though you were ready for a relationship mentally, you knew it might be hard with all the press you and Tom would be doing around the world. You weren’t sure why you would be going on tour, though — it was a recreation of Sandra Bullock’s film While You Were Sleeping. Tom and you were popular enough as it was — a tour simply didn’t seem necessary. But, alas, you complied with your manager’s advice. 

“Sooo…” Tom followed you into your trailer. It was around eight o’clock, and he was using the voice he used whenever he wanted something from you. “Are you seeing anybody?”

It had been about two weeks since the last time he’d asked, and you were already rolling your eyes. “No, Tom. I’m not interested in whatever offer you’re about to make.”

“But Y/N!” He whined, pouting. “I know somebody who’s perfect for you!”

“As perfect for me as Andrew from the Uncharted crew?” You raise a brow, setting your purse down while Tom huffs. 

“He wasn’t that bad! How was I supposed to know that he doesn’t wash his beard?” “That seems like common knowledge to me, Tom!” You’re trying not to laugh at the ridiculousness of the conversation. “I could smell it from across the table!”

“Alright, alright.” Tom winces at the details. “I’m sorry about that one. But this time, I’m sure of it.”

“I swear to god if you pull some weird cliche shit and say yourself, I’m going to kick you out of my trailer.” You deadpan, pouring yourself from coffee from the brewer he’d just used while you were out. 

“It’s not me, Y/N/N.”

“Yeah, but you keep giving me dates with people that aren’t my type and then saying you have someone better. What if you’re buttering me up?” You smirk from behind the mug, sipping it smoothly. He rolls his eyes, but blushes nonetheless. 

“It’s not me.”

“Whatever you say, Spidey.”

He rolls his eyes again, sighing dramatically before heading towards the door. “See you tomorrow.”

“For what? Our date?”

“Quit teasing me!” He spins around, body halfway out the trailer entrance. “I meant ‘I’ll see you on set.’” You laugh wholeheartedly, waving to the brunette as he leaves you alone for the night. When you awake, you’re due early for a shower and straight to hair and makeup. You’re not sure why your character always wakes up so damn early just to work in a train station, but you comply with the director. 

“G’morning.” You greet the assistant director with a smile, bagel in one hand and your script in the other. 

“Morning,” He smiles before offering you some coffee. “Coffee?”

“Please?” You smile wider at the mention of the beverage, internally cheering as he makes your order — he’s memorized all of the crew’s by now, and it’s truly astonishing. You take up a conversation with him while you wait for your day to begin. 

Tom comes in through the double doors, spotting you immediately — with another boy. He races over as quickly as he can manage with his tired body and with what’s left of his dignity. He doesn’t want to seem too eager, but he really thinks he’s found a promising boyfriend for you. 

“Hey, Y/N.” He greets before his jaw clenches subtly. “Morning Conor.” 

Conor nods at him before pouring another cup of coffee for the Brit. You’re rolling your eyes at Tom — you know him well enough to know when he’s feeling anything but positively. 

“Excuse us,” You smile apologetically at Conor. “I have a part of the script I’d like to talk to Tom about before we start.” Conor nods understandingly, and you pull Tom aside, walking behind the sets while you angrily sip your coffee. “Y’know, you don’t have to be so dry to the crew that happens to talk to me.”

“I wasn’t dry!” Tom defends, shoving his free hand in his jacket pocket. 

“Then what do you call that?” You gesture behind you with the roll of your eyes. “I thought we were on the same page about our relationship, here. I don’t like you in a romantical way, and I’d prefer it if you’d keep that base of our relationship out of work.”

“Y/N, Y/N.” He’s wide eyed, hands gesturing for you to slow down and listen to him. “I don’t like you in that way. I just… think I know somebody who you’ll really get along with.”

You groan. “Tom, you’re a shit matchmaker. Y’know that?” He gasps at your response, feigning offense. “Look, I’m being real with you! Nobody you’ve set me up with has lasted more than a week. You suck at this job, Cupid.”

Tom rolls his eyes but stops you from walking any further, grasping your arm to turn you in his exact direction. “Look, just trust me on this one?”

You ponder the idea almost with your body, head tilting in unsureness. “I don’t know…”

“Please,” He’s practically whining now. “Please, just… one more date?”

“Fine.” “Yay.” He smiles in victory just as the two of you are called back onto set. With heavy feet, you drag yourself to set, but this time, you can’t help but feel a little hopeful. Don’t fuck this up, Cupid.

**

You’d wrapped up filming last week, and the director’s were quite positive you wouldn’t need to come back in later for reshoots. So, you were flying out of Chicago and down to Atlanta with Tom for the weekend. He was going to “introduce you to his next option.” You still didn’t trust him, but you didn’t have any immediate projects, so you agreed anyways.

Tom was due to start filming Spider-man 3 on the upcoming Monday, so you knew you’d be going to the airport alone on your last night — that is, if things didn’t work out with this new date. 

After receiving a text from Tom to be ready by eight o’clock, you’d showered and done your makeup. Settling on an outfit wasn’t as difficult because you had only what you brought with you. You were driving down to Tom’s rental home — apparently Marvel Studios always rented him that one — by seven forty-five. You were driving a rental car, and you mentally kicked yourself for not bringing a jacket in the middle of winter. 

Parking in the open driveway, you rang the doorbell. Tom swung the door open, hair slicked back and trousers fitted nicely. You rolled your eyes with a groan, and before Tom could even greet you, you complained. 

“Tom, I told you I’m not going on a fucking date with you- please ju-”

“No, no, no, love.” He laughed. “C’mon in, it’s game night with me and the boys. Your boy is inside waiting for you.”

You looked at him skeptically before walking up the steps and through the door. Tom led you through a rather modern-looking house, through an extremely large kitchen and into a back den room with a poker table. You rolled your eyes, but your facade dropped in the immediate moment where all eyes turned to you. 

“Guys, this is Y/N, my co-star in that rom-com we just wrapped.” You saw Zendaya smile and wave, Jacob greeting you with a cheerful “hi!” and then you saw a freckled boy with red hair and immediately felt butterflies tickle your stomach. “Y/N, this is Harry. The guy I told you about.”

You wanted to curse at Tom for practically keeping this guy a secret. You wanted to curse him for setting you up with all those other tramps instead of this gorgeous boy right here. You wanted to curse at Tom for-

“This is my brother, Harry. Harry, this is Y/N, the girl I told you about.”

Your eyes nearly bugged out at his words, for reasons being that this “Harry” is his brother and that he’s talked about you to him. Keep your cool, Y/N.

“Uh, hi.” You nervously laugh, stepping forward to shake his hand. Harry smirks at you, hand reaching up as his lanky fingers make contact with yours, shaking from his seat without even standing. 

“Hey.” His voice is deeper than Tom’s and it catches you by surprise. Tom had told you about his three younger brothers, but he never mentioned specific details like the ones you’re noticing now. 

“Right then,” Tom clasps his hands together. “Y/N, you can share the seat with Harry while I get the drinks.”

You nod and try not to come off as too flustered, heart pounding against your chest, palms sweating. They’ve pulled up a loveseat to the poker table, suitable for two people, or two lovers. You wince at your own self, wanting to kick yourself again. But you don’t, instead sliding in next to Harry. He smiles, removing the toothpick that was sitting on the side of his mouth, sticking out like a truck driver. He throws it, and it lands directly into the garbage bin. You bite your lip and begin the game. 

You end up staying in Atlanta for a lot longer than your two-day trip for the weekend. You’re there for a total of four weeks, and you’ve spent practically every hour with Harry. You were in a hotel for the first four and a half days before Tom had groaned at you leaving at one in the morning again, telling you to stay in Harry’s room and stop wasting your money on lousy hotels. The proposition made you giddy inside (and nervous, but they didn’t need to know that), and when Harry smirked at the idea, encouraging it too, you agreed.

So, you spent practically four weeks in Harry’s room, giggling at jokes and cuddling and watching movies and taking pictures. He’d taken you to set too, showing you around, talking nonstop about his cameras and their many different lenses. 

The Spider-man crew was dispersing for a two week break, and Harry had already decided that you were going with him and Tom back to London. 

“Love, are you ready?” Harry called for you from the bathroom connected to his bedroom. You shouted back your reply, zipping up your final suitcase while he walked back into the room. 

You knew that after your trip to London, Harry would have to go back to work and you’d have to go home before starting your next project. But you didn’t care — the two of you had already discussed long distance relationships before confirming yours; you could make it work. 

You would land in London by your two-month mark, you realized with a smile. Harry gave you a forehead kiss before talking both of your suitcases downstairs to the car. You grabbed the duffel bags and followed him out of the room where it all began. 

The flight was exhausting but nostalgic in a weird sense. You spent the latter half of it curled up into Harry’s side, asleep or watching a movie. When you finally boarded off the aircraft, you went straight to Harry’s flat without protest. Normally, you’d fight about checking into a hotel so you wouldn’t catch anyone unprepared, but you were too tired to care. 

Now, it’s been a day since your flight and you’ve promised Harry — and Tom — that you’ll go with him to their parents’ house for some lunch. You admit that you’re nervous and that it’s probably too soon to be meeting parents, but you pay no mind as you’re entering Holland's childhood home. 

“Mum!” Sam, Harry’s twin who you’ve just been introduced to, yells out. “They’re here!”

You hear excited squeals as Sam leads the three of you through and into the kitchen. Nikki’s back is turned when you enter, but she excitedly turns around to greet her sons. She’s taken off-guard at the sight of you next to Harry, but still leans in to tightly hug her sons, who she hasn’t seen in quite awhile. 

“And who’s this?” She inquires, gesturing in your direction. You’re a little taken aback at how unwelcoming she seems to be acting, but you shake it off as nerves. 

“Mum,” Harry smiles, a hand on the small of your back, nudging you a little closer to him and his mother. “This is Y/N, my girlfriend.”

The whisk in her hand seems to stop mixing the recipe in the bowl. Your smile falters slightly, but Tom fills the silence at Nikki’s ajar mouth. 

“Mum, she’s- uh, she’s my co-star in that rom-com I got casted for. Remember?”

“Oh,” She smiles a tight-lipped one, and you can tell it’s forced and fake. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m Nikki.” She wipes a hand off on her apron before extending it for you to shake. You accept the offer with a hesitant but genuine smile. 

“It’s nice to meet you, too.” She hums but doesn’t respond, instead turning her attention to Tom. You make eye contact with Harry worriedly, and he shakes his head, bewildered. He kisses your temple before sending you in to meet Paddy and talk to Sam — somebody who actually welcomed you. 

The day goes on like this, and though the tension is most obviously present, you don’t touch the subject, knowing it’s not your place or your home, especially since you came almost unannounced. You don’t want to be angry with a woman you barely know, so you try not to mirror her feelings.

“So, Y/N,” She directs her attention to you for the first time all day. You look up from your intertwined hands with a smile. 

“Yea-”

“Did you just decide Tom wasn’t good enough based on his character and then move on to my next son?”

You’re shocked, mouth ajar as you blink. “W- what?”

“Tom told me about how many ‘date failures’ you had until you finally settled on Harry.”

You want to curse at Harry for offering to refill your drink, and you want to curse at Tom for spilling the secrets of your dating life. “I- I didn’t settle for anyone.”

“That’s not what my son says.”

Just then, both boys walk in together, laughing in conversation about something. You’re already crying, but the minute the door opens you stand abruptly, nearly knocking Harry off his feet. 

He laughs at you, “Love? What’s u-” But he’s cut short when he notices your red eyes and fresh tears. He sets the glasses down, wiping your cheeks and grabbing both of your hands. “What happened? Hm?” He’s shushing you, trying his best to calm you down. “C’mon, angel. Tell me.” 

“Your- your mom just said a few things.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrows, and so do Tom’s. They turn to look at the woman in the chair skeptically, questions flying out immediately. 

“Mum? What did you say to her?” 

You excuse yourself, not wanting to be a part of the conversation just yet. You run off to the bathroom to freshen up while Harry and Tom talk to Nikki. 

“Harry, I’m just being a protective mother, okay? I didn’t say anything that bad.” 

“Mum, you made her fucking cry.” Harry’s fuming, nostrils flaring while he glares at his mom. 

“Don’t talk that way with me.” She points her finger at her son. “That girl is no good for you.”

“Mum, I introduced them.” Tom says. “I know her; she is good.”

“Not if she has to settle for Harry.” She clicks her tongue. “I remember all those dates you told me she went on, Tom.” She sighs while he scoffs. “Anyone that tries that hard to find a boyfriend is out for other things.”

“That’s bullshit.” Harry interjects. “She’s an actress, of course dating is hard.”

Nikki purses her lips but doesn’t reply. 

“Mum, she’s crying.” Tom says softly, seemingly trying a different approach. “You haven’t talked to her at all, today. I think you shouldn’t have judged her too quickly.”

“Apologize.” Harry says finally before standing up. “Apologize or we’re leaving.” He walks out of the room, heading to the bathroom where you’re hidden away, sitting on the toilet while you catch your breath. He knocks, coming in with your permission. 

He pouts when he sees your tear-stained face, face puffy and eyes red while you sniffle. 

“‘M sorry.” You grumble the words while he kneels in front of you. 

“What’re you sorry for, baby?”

“For causing all this drama.”

“Hey, hey,” His thumb rubs across your knuckles. “You didn’t do anything wrong. She had no right to say those things to you.” You look at him as he finishes, engulfing him quickly, crying into his shoulder while he catches you with his arms, holding you against his chest lovingly. After a few minutes, there’s a knock at the door, and Tom’s voice rings through. 

“Mum says she wants to talk to you guys.”

Harry makes eye contact with you apologetically, thumb still moving across the skin of your hand. 

“Well,” he stands tall. “Shall we?” You wipe your cheeks one final time before standing with him, taking the hand he offered you as you head for the bathroom door. 

“Guess there’s no avoiding this part if she’s going to be my future mother-in-law.” 

Harry sucks in a breath, and as you make eye contact with a smirk, there’s a glint in his eyes that acknowledges that you’re feeling better. He smirks back, opening the door for you as you head back into the living room. 

Keep your cool, Y/N. You inhale a deep breath, emerging into the room. Keep your cool. 

[esamastation]

lunahras: HP and ff7 should be fun

-

When Cloud heads to Aerith’s spring, it's to find someone already there.

It's not that unusual – even now, after so much time has passed, Aerith's spring sees a sort of… quiet pilgrimage every so often. People with lingering effects of Geostigma still wander in and out, taking a drink or a dive in hopes of being healed, before quietly, and quickly, wandering off again. The place still helps people, even now – but…

For all it's mystical healing qualities, there's something deeply off-putting about it. Even Neo-ShinRa didn't manage to stick with it, despite their plans of monetising the place's healing powers, of bottling the springwater and selling it for a fortune. No, the spring isn't for that. And even the thing it's for seems wrong, usually. Aerith's Spring is a bit like a graveyard, and not one you come to remember by – sticking close to it feels deeply, unnervingly disrespectful.

People usually only manage one trip, before something inside them goes, this isn't for me, I shouldn't be here.

So, Cloud gives the girl a side-eyed look, and then ignores her, checking the flowers instead. She lingers by the water and gives him a look, but says nothing as he rather ineffectually tries to tend to the flowers. They don't really need his help, though. The same way the spring doesn't really need anyone to keep an eye on it. He does it anyway.

Stopping would feel… worse.

Cloud putters around the age of the spring, waiting for the blond girl to leave. She doesn't, kneeling amidst the flowers and weaving her fingers into the weeds – so he leaves instead.

-

Two days later, the girl is there again and this time Cloud pays attention.

She's pale, thin enough to look frail, and somehow… foreign. Her hair is so light it looks almost white and her skin is about the same – and both are too clean for Edge. She's not around here, he doesn't think. With hair that pale and that long, she would've been noticed by certain people, which would've brought her to his attention eventually. Cloud's never seen her before, not elsewhere other than the spring, anyway.

She has leaves in her hair.

Their eyes meet over the water, and the blond girl smiles and says, quietly, "Hello." She has a soft voice.

Cloud hesitates, his hand longing to grip his sword handle, but he'd left it with the bike. "… hi," he says instead. "You sick?"

The girl tilts her head. "Not that I know of. I'm sleepwalking."

"… sleepwalking?" Cloud asks, frowning. "What?"

"Sleepwalking can be confusing," the girl hums and steeples her fingers, tapping her joined forefingers against her chin. "Or maybe it's a lucid dream. I can't quite tell. It doesn't matter, I reckon – it's very pretty here, either way."

"… right," Cloud says, hesitating. She doesn't seem troubled, or ill… but she sounds a little out of it. There's a faint smile on her face, carefree enough to look dreamy. She looks a little drugged, but also… not. It's weird, either way. "Are you lost?"

"Only when you know where you're going," she says and smiles a little wider. "Getting lost is hard, without a destination. I'm Luna."

"… you're the moon?" Cloud asks, wondering if it's a metaphor or something.

The girl laughs. "My name, silly. It's Luna. Hi, hello, nice you meet you. Is your name Sol?"

Cloud snorts. "No," he says. "Why would it be Sol?"

"You look like it," Luna says, smiling wider. "Your hair is beautiful. Like sunshine."

Cloud decides, whatever this is, whoever she is, he doesn't have the energy for her, and promptly walks out of there.

-

The day after, she's there again. Or still?

"Don't you have a place to go?" Cloud asks, concerned and annoyed.

"Hmm?" Luna asks, her fingers in the water. She seems to have lost one of her shoes. "Yes, I have places I'd like to be. None here, though, so I'm staying here. You don't mind, do you?"

He does a little – and then immediately feels awkward about it. as much time as Cloud spends by the spring, as much time as he spent by the church, neither were his to mind, really. He just… does. And though he'd enjoyed the fact that no one else could stand being around the spring for long and so left him alone, well… it wasn't his doing. He just benefited from it.

All good things come to an end.

"What's your name?" Luna asks, looking at him.

"Cloud," he answers, shaking his head. "You can't stay here."

"I think you'll find I can," Luna says, shrugging. "It's easy. Watch me."

Giving her a flat look, Cloud shakes his head and goes to check the flowers, just in case she stepped on them or something. They look fine, and he can't see any broken stems or damaged leaves. That's something, he supposes. "There's no food here, or shelter. You'll get wet if it rains."

"Probably. Little rain doesn't hurt anybody," Luna says and stands up. There's leaves and twigs and dirt stuck in her dress, but she doesn't seem to mind it. "I think you're just mad because this is your special place and you didn't want to share it. Did someone die here?"

Cloud winces and looks away, idly picking at dry leaves. "No. Not… not here."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Luna says. She has a stick behind her ear, it looks a bit like Wutaian chopsticks. Long, slender, lacquered looking piece of wood. She takes it off, spinning her long hair into a messy, lopsided bun, and using the stick to pin it in place. Hair stick, then.

Turning to him, she smiles. "I'll help you weed their garden."

Cloud opens his mouth to complain, but can't get the words out. There's understanding in her eyes, but no censure. It's like Tifa's, but lighter, because it comes without knowledge. "That… isn't necessary. There's not much to do."

"Everything's better with little help," Luna says determinedly. "Cloud."

-

The next time Cloud sees Luna, he has blood on his hand and she has a flower in her hair. It makes his heart clench for a moment, until he sees it's not one from the spring – it's made from paper. Origami, or whatever it is the Wutaians call it.

She looks tired.

"Hello again," she says and tilts her head. "Are you alright? That's a big sword you got."

Cloud looks down at the fully assembled fusion sword and sighs, hoisting it over his shoulder. "There's monsters about," he says. "One of them got a jump on me, but I took care of it."

Luna blinks, tilting her head even further. "Monsters, really? What kind? Are they big? I've been looking Marbblers – do any of them have snouts like elephants, but bodies like spiders?"

"… no, not that I know of," Cloud admits slowly. "No, they're just… normal monsters."

"Normal monsters," Luna says, and her eyes shine with interest. "There are normal monsters. I think I would like to see that."

Giving her a suspicious look, Cloud shifts his footing. "You've… never seen monsters before?"

"I've seen beings and beasts and all kinds of things in between," Luna muses, stroking her chin. "I wouldn't call any of them monsters, though. Well. Few people might match the description. Mostly, though, what people mean when they say monster tends to be something certain people don't like."

That's… either very insightful or very naïve. Cloud can't quite tell which. "In that case you should probably stay away from monsters. Or at least, have someone with you who knows what they're doing with monsters."

Luna turns to him, her expression lit up. "Do you?" she asks

"Er…"

-

The next time Cloud sees Luna, it's to find her gearing up for an monster investigation mission, and it's all he can do to stop her from getting herself killed in her first encounter with a monster

Things… really don't get any more sensible from there.

---

Eh this sorta did and didn’t run away from me.

I think that’s it for the prompts. all other prompts were AC x something else, and I gotta be honest, guys, I’m kinda full up on AC stuff.