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ripcupid · 2 years

Text

wanting more

words count (causes it's long) - 5k

warnings - overstimulation, lots of begging, sev has a surprise, etc.

You sit by Sevika at the booth of the brothel. She focuses intensely on the game of blackjack. It’s close to both her and Silco close to 21.

You guys were there to talk about the next shipment of shimmer but they got into a somewhat heated argument but so they decided to settle it with a game.

You sit silently watching the game unfold. Sevika places her cards face side down placing a cigar in between her lips. You slide the lighter off the table flicking it on.

The tip of it burns as she blows the smoke out of her nose. You pick up the transparent glass cup filled only halfway with brown liquor. The drink burns your throat but you keep your composure not making a face at the taste. You look around the brothel watching people come and go as the night continues.

Distance moaning comes from the rooms nearby. You try to block out the sound focusing on anything else. You see men, usually of high power, walking out of the rooms trying to wash off the inner guilt they have.

A loud jukebox stays at the front playing western music that someone started playing earlier. The game continues with Silco placing down an ace which they both agreed was 11 instead of 1.

“Ha looks like I win.” Sevika brags throwing her cards on the table.

You silently trace over the rim of a glass cup smirking when you see Silco grit his teeth together in spite. You lean back against the seat holding the glass cup in your hand. Sevika grabs your thigh still conversing with Silco.

You stare down at Silco as he stares at you. Sevika’s hand grabs your thigh tighter noticing Silco’s watchful eyes. “Baby?” She leans in close to your ear.

You hum back turning your head to look at her. “Can you get me a drink?”

“Sure thing love.” You slide out of the booth walking over to the bar. The whole way over you feels Sevika’s cold graze on you. You stand at the bar conversing with the bartender. You sit at one of the chairs too impatient to stand the whole time.

You thank the bartender before heading back over to Sevika. You set the cup in front of her before sliding back into the booth. Sevika pulls you onto her leg before you could sit.

Sevika and Silco converse about the next shipment but you don’t pay attention not when your wife’s arm holds you tightly against her body. A cigar still dangles from her mouth but she moves it once she picks up the cold glass. You lean forward against the arm reaching out for the cup you had earlier.

You sip on the drink swallowing the last drops in the glass. You lean back into her touch resting against her shoulder. You take the hand on your stomach bringing it up to your lips. The cold metal against your warm lips. Sevika isn’t the only one watching your movements, Silco’s eyes never bother leaving you. “He’s staring,” Sevika whispers into your ear kissing behind your ear, shooting Silco a look of warning.

“We’re leaving now.” Sevika’s voice booms catching your attention. You jump at her speaking when her voice raises still close to your ear. You get off of her watching as she downs the rest of her drink.

“Don’t be mad Sevika,” Silco yells as you both walk away. He laughs noticing how mad Sevika got.

Sevika closes the door of your apartment sighing deeply. You don’t pay attention instead you struggle to take off your shoes, “Come here.”

Bright colorful lights shine through the windows. Off in the far distance, the sign for The Last Drop shines over Zhaun. The bustling late-night streets filled with people.

You walk closer to her standing in front of her. Sevika’s hand cups your face making you look at her, “I saw the way he looked at you love.” Her warm hand against your face.

“What do you mean Sev?”

Her eyes narrowed as her thumb runs over your bottom lip. “Open.” You drop your mouth open letting her slide her finger in. “I didn’t like it, him thinking he can just stare at you.”

“You’re so pretty, baby.” Sevika takes out her thumb. She takes your hand bringing you over to the bedroom.

“Are you mad?”

“Only at him, I could never be mad at you my love.” She pulls you down onto her lap. “But this dress god you look so good.” Her fingers trace over the hem of your dress.

“On your knees.”

You get off of her resting down on your knees between her legs. Her hand comes to your face cupping the side of it. You lean into her touch smiling at the warmth of her organic hand. “Baby?”

“Yes.”

“Take off your dress.”

You obey reaching down to pull up the hem of the dress pulling it over your body. “Thank you, my love.” Sevika leans in closer to your face, and her lips meet yours, filled with lust and jealousy she kisses you biting your lip. “Are you comfortable with this?” Her hand comes back to your face.

“Yes ma’am.” You nod leaning into her touch again. Sevika's hand grabs your jaw squeezing your face.

“Tell me if it’s too much, I truly care about you.”

“I will, I promise.”

“Good girl.” She smiles. Her cold eyes stare down at your exposed figure. You squirm under her watchful eyes. She kisses you this time it’s much softer than before. You fall into a trance against her soft lips. She pulls away sliding her thumb back into your mouth.

You hold onto her wrist stopping her from pushing it farther. Your eyes stare at her cold ones as your lips wrap around her finger, “Fuck baby,” Sevika groans under her breath. Sevika’s hand slides over your neck, and your voice strains as you call out her name. Sevika leans back adjusting her position. “Stand up.” You stand in front of her waiting and watching. Sevika leans back up taking hold of your hips. She kisses the bone of your hip just over the waistband of your underwear. She kisses over your lower stomach pulling the waistband and letting it go to hit against your skin.

You bite down on your lip. The slight pain from the hits hurt but once that subsided the feeling of her lips over the spot was almost euphoric. She continues to let the band strike your hips kissing over it.

She kisses your hips dragging her fingers up your legs to the waistband. She drags one side down moving over to the other. She slides it down your legs helping you step out of it. She pulls you onto her leg resting her hand on your hip.

Her lips meet your neck sucking the soft skin. You sigh at the feeling of her lips over your neck tangling your hand in her hair. She kisses across your exposed chest.

Sevika’s mechanical hand comes up to your chest, and the cold fingers circle your nipple. Her lips meet yours again, and she pinches your nipple making you whimper against her lips.

Sevika moves away moving down to your breast. She cups the underside sliding her tongue over the bud. Your body pushes deeper into her touch pushing her closer. You whimper at the feeling of her tongue over your nipples. She pulls away from your breast moving over to the other one.

Her hand continues to toy with your nipples as she moves back to your lips. “Sevika,” You moan out, “touch me… please.”

“I’m just getting started, I need you to be patient.”

You groan with frustration. You cup her face forcing her eyes to yours, “Please, I’ll be good.”

“You can’t persuade me into touching you, you have to earn it and I know you’ll be good.”

“Fine.” You groan rolling your eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes, I’ll leave you here if this attitude continues.”

“Wait, don’t I’m sorry.”

Sevika laughs at you before kissing you again. You feel her mechanical hand slide down your legs paying no attention to it. Sevika pulls away grinning at you. She pulls you over to straddle her lap. You stare into her eyes, and the corners of her lips curl up, “You want me to fuck you?”

“Yes ma’am, I need you so bad.”

Her grin gets bigger as her mechanical hand snakes around your neck. You gasp once Sevika squeezes lightly on your throat. You feel Sevika’s organic hand slide up and down your stomach almost reaching where you need her. “Please.” Your voice is small and strains against the grip on your throat. She isn’t hurting you but she can tell desperation and the need to overcome your senses.

Sevika’s hand finally dips in between your legs sliding through your slit. You whimper at the slightest contact with your neglected clit from her fingers. You wrap your hand over the hand on your neck. Sevika’s fingers focus on your clit as she slides her hand off your neck bringing it down to your waist. Her lips replace the empty feeling on your neck.

You cry out when she bites down on your neck. Sevika shushes you with a peck on the lips. Her fingers continue running up and down your slit sliding over your clit. You slide your fingers through Sevika’s hair as you roll your hips against her fingers. Your legs start to hurt as they are forced on either side of Sevika’s legs, and your knees rest on the bed allowing some form of stability.

Sevika feels every little vibration that comes from your throat against her lips. She focuses on your clit again with tight circles. You pulled her head away from your neck bringing her lips to yours. “I love you so much Sev.” You mutter against her lips. “I love you too baby.”

You kiss her lips once more before moving it kiss her neck. You place your head under her jaw placing small kisses on her neck. “Are you okay?” Sevika’s voice grows soft and worried.

“Please Sevika.”

“What is it?” Her mechanical hand brushes over your hair soothing you as her organic hand toys with your clit.

“I need more please.”

“Don’t be so needy.” You feel her fingers sliding down to your entrance almost sliding them in. She continues teasing you by repeating her previous actions. You buck your hips trying what you want. Sevika pulls your head away from her neck grabbing your jaw again, “You look so pretty, my pretty little girl who wants my fingers so bad huh.”

“Yes please, I need it.” She grins whilst sliding her fingers into you. You bit down on your lip feeling a sense of fullness. The obscene sound filling the room, your moans as Sevika fucks you, the quiet squelching sound of your cunt. You mindlessly thank her as you try to fuck yourself on her fingers.

Sevika watches every little movement you make from your mouth dropping open slightly, you biting your lip, your hands touching any part of her, your eyes on her or your eyelids falling shut, she watched everything. Sevika slides her fingers out going back to your clit as her mechanical hand wraps around your neck again. “Faster please.” You moan out.

Sevika moves the pads of her fingers over your clit faster making you moan close to her ear. You thank her once again rocking your hips to match the pace of her fingers. You wrap your hand over hers still fucking yourself on her fingers. Sevika’s eyes glare at you still refusing to look away. She grabs the back of your neck forcing your eyes on her, “Look at me or I’ll stop.”

“Please don’t I need you.”

“Good girl.” She brings your lips to hers. Her kiss is soft showing just how good you are for her. “You’re taking it so well my love.”

“Wanna cum, please let me.” You cry softly against her lips. You hold the side of her face looking into her eyes.

“It’s okay,” Sevika spoke softer than she usually does. You lean into her resting your head on her shoulder, your arms wrapped around her neck. You lazily rock her hips against the pad of her fingers. “You can do it baby just like that.” Her other hand comes to your hips helping you move it.

You whimper into her neck muffling the cry of pleasure escaping your mouth. Sevika continues whispering “just like that” and “good job baby.” Encouraging you to continue. You finally break crying out into her neck as you cum on her fingers.

“Good job baby.” Sevika carefully pulls you off her laying you down on the bed. Sevika leans over you holding your chin. She opens your mouth sliding in her slick-covered fingers. “Suck.” She orders as you immediately follow. Your eyes open meeting hers once again.

“My love?” Sevika leans back taking her fingers out.

“Yes, Sevika.”

“Can you take off my clothes?” Sevika ask, the sentence came out like a question but was really more of a demand. You pull yourself up pulling at the worn fabric of Sevika’s clothes. You carefully pull the clothes off careful over her mechanical shoulder. You smirk at the muscles hidden under the clothes. “Can I touch you?”

“Not yet baby, be patient.”

“Can I kiss you?”

You look up at her waiting for approval. She nods and you lean down to kiss her abdomen. Her skin is warm against your lips. You kiss just under the fabric covering her chest. You slide it up revealing her breast. You feel a tug at your hair forcing your eyes to hers, “Patience my love you’ll get what you want soon.”

“Please Sevika I wanna please you.”

“Real tempting but no.” Her hold on your hair doesn’t let up instead she pulls you farther away from her. “Take off my pants.”

You tug at the belt on her waist pulling it through the loops. The belt clinks on the floor once you throw it. You pull at the fabric of her pants you come to an obstacle once you get to her shoes. You struggle with the hefty steel-toe boots tightly tied to her feet. The shoes thunk against the hard floor joining the belt, shirt, and dress on the floor.

You finish taking off her pants sitting back for waiting for her to say something. “You wanna touch me?” Sevika’s voice breaks the silence.

“Yes ma’am.” You nod.

Sevika slips past you resting farther on the bed, “Better make it good.” She taunts readjusting her hips.

“I will.” You are eager to crawl between her spread legs.

Sevika grabs your hair once again pulling you away from her cunt. “Gimme a kiss first.” You go up to her face kissing her lips. Your hand rest against her abs running your fingers over them. You push up the rest of the fabric on her chest finally breaking away to pull it over her head.

You kiss over her abs again going back to her spread legs. Your lips meet her hip right above the waistband sliding her underwear down her legs. You look up at her, her eyes already staring down at you, “Don’t waste my time love.”

You nod leaning into her cunt. Your tongue slides through her slit brushing against her clit. You moan into her at the taste of her. “You taste so good Sev.” You mutter against her thigh.

Sevika shushes you pushing you back to her cunt. The grip on your head is firmly grasping your hair in a fist. Your tongue slides through her slit tasting her arousal. Your lips wrapped around her clit sucking to please her. Sevika groans, slightly jolting towards your face. Your hands hold her thighs open from closing around your head. “You’re doing so good.” Sevika grunts jolting again.

The praise encourages you to make her feel good. To hear her grunt through her teeth, for her to praise you tell you how good you are at pleasing her. You look up at her to see her head thrown back not able to look down at you. Her usually pulled-back hair now falls somewhat in front of her face.

“Keep going don’t stop.” Sevika groans voice breaking slightly. You watch her reaction as you slide two fingers inside her. Her head falls forward to look at you again, “Don’t fucking stop.” Her voice breaks even more to the point to sounds like she’s begging.

You pull out your fingers whilst removing your mouth from her clit. You circle her clit watching her reaction once again. You bring yourself up to Sevika’s face. “You’re doing so good.” Sevika holds your face kissing you softly.

“Thank you, Sev.”

Sevika’s hand rests on your hip pushing your hips down so you sit on the bed. Your fingers continue rubbing her clit. Sevika unknowingly spreads her legs farther. You lay back down resting in between her legs. You slide your fingers back in taking her clit in your mouth again. The tip of your tongue flicks over her clit as your fingers slide in and out of her.

Sevika's hand runs through your hair moving it aside. “Faster baby.” Sevika pushes you impossibly closer to her cunt. You move your tongue faster over her clit a sigh falls from her lips. “I’m so close my love.” Sevika’s hip rocks against your face her voice becomes softer.

The sound of pleasure falls from her lips. Her breathing becomes erratic her chest rising and falling. You watch her cover her mouth muffling the sounds. “Don’t stop- fuck I’m so close.”

You slide your hands up her stomach feeling the muscles ripple and tense under your fingers. Sevika’s hand comes down to meet yours. Her hand clasps yours before she brings it to her lips kissing your fingers softly, “I’m gonna cum.” She mutters against your hand. You focus on her curling your fingers up and flicking over her clit again and again.

Sevika cusses under her breath the air fanning over your hand still presses to her lips. You feel her body tense and her hand tightens as she comes on your fingers and face. “You did so good my love.”

“I just wanted to make you feel good.” You completely pull away from her sitting on your legs. You stick your fingers in your mouth before wiping your face with the back of your hand.

You stare into Sevika’s cold eyes, “Come here.” You crawl into her lap your hand resting on her abs. Your knees sink into the bed as you stand on them. Sevika readjusts under you leaning her head towards your body again, “Are you still sensitive?” Sevika asked against your chest.

“Kinda.” You answer holding the back of her head.

“Do you think you could cum for me again?” Her eyes flick up to meet yours.

“Can you just go slow, please?”

“Of course.” Sevika licks the pads of her fingers bringing them to your nipples. You bite down on your lip from the sudden touch. “Look at me.”

You bring your head down looking at her. A sinister grin plaster her face. Her fingers continue to circle your nipple but her eyes never leave yours. “Kiss me please.” You breathe out.

“So needy and I haven’t touched your pretty little pussy yet.” Her eyes narrowed seemingly mocking you. Sevika kisses your collarbone her fingers still on you. “You’re so wet already aren’t you.” She whispers in your ear.

“Yes ma’am.” Your back arches into her touch. You feel her hand slide lower running up your inner thigh. Her mechanical hand forces your head lower to watch the movements her hand makes. She makes you watch as she slides her fingers through your slit.

“Just for me huh.” She taunts removing her fingers from you. You nod. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you.” You mutter moving your head back up.

Sevika grabs the side of your face, “You gotta be more specific.”

“I wanna feel you.”

“Like this.” Sevika slides her fingers through your slit again purposely going over your clit. Your body jolts forward almost falling on her.

“Yes just like that,” You cry out hunched over. Your head in her neck, “Just touch me like that please.”

“Look at me, baby.”

You pull yourself up looking at her. “I need you so badly Sevika please just touch me again.” You hold the side of her face. Your eyes flick from her lips to her face. You whisper one last plea before Sevika grins at you.

Her eyes grow dark as she hears your pleas fill her ears and the room. Your head falls again as you beg her once more. “Please Sevika I need you to touch me.”

“I will but please my love be patient.”

You nod agreeing to be patient. “Good.” Sevika kisses you softly still denying the thing you want most. Both her hands rest on your hip hovering over her thigh. Her organic hand slides down your thigh reaching your inner thigh.

Sevika’s lips parted from your kissing down your neck. Her fingers finally grant your wish to reach the place where you need her. You moan out dropping your jaw once her fingers come in contact with your clit.

Her lips meet with your chest taking your nipple into her mouth. “It feels so good thank you, my love.” You push yourself deeper into her. Your hips move against the pad of her fingers on your clit. Her fingers move slightly faster causing another moan to rip from your throat.

You curse under your breath gripping Sevika’s hair. You pull at the hair tie holding the small ponytail in the back. Her hair falls forward as she switches to your other nipple. You pull her hair back whilst pulling her head away. You roughly kiss her pleasure and longing fill you.

Sevika’s finger slide inside you curling to hit a certain spot inside you. Your eyes roll back as your head drops back you start to thank her for such pleasure rolling your hips faster. “You’re taking me so well.”

The obscene sound fills the room once again causing heat to rush to your face and to your cunt. Your moans accompany the sounds filling your ears. Her fingers slide in and out of you with ease whilst the palm of her hand glides along your clit. Your legs tremble being forced open again whilst Sevika’s legs rest in between holding your aching thighs open.

Sevika’s mechanical hand runs down your abdomen as her lips kiss over the areas she touched. The cold metal contrast with your burning skin and her lips. Her fingers curl inside you once again hitting that same spot. “Don’t stop Sev I’m so close.” Your body pushes into her again as your hips lazily roll on her fingers.

“Just keep going baby.” Sevika encourages you to keep moving. You harshly kiss her begging her to go faster which she grants. Her lips wrap around your nipple once again adding more pleasure to your aching body.

Her lips reach your neck teeth grazing over the flesh. Her mechanical hand comes up to move your head to the slide. Your mouth hangs agape moans ripping through your throat as her fingers relentlessly fuck you.

Your thighs tremble and shake as Sevika's legs still hold yours open. The feeling of your orgasm is quickly approaching as Sevika’s thumb reaches your clit. You curse under your breath feeling incredibly close to another orgasm. You feel your orgasm rush over you as you cling on to Sevika.

You come around her fingers as your body crashes onto hers. Her fingers slide out of you and into her mouth. She hums at the taste of your arousal coating her fingers. “Are you okay?” Her voice was softer than usual.

“I’m okay.” You pull yourself off of her laying down next to her. Your chest still heaves eventually raising and falling at a normal rate. Sevika leans over you kissing softly on your face and going over your lips and then to your cheek. The kisses trail down your jaw whispering an “I love you,” in your ear before kissing your neck. Your hand slides through her hair resting on the back of her head as it moves down your body.

Her lips graze over your chest once again a twinge of pleasure rush through you completely unwanted. You sharply gasp at the touch as Sevika whispers an apology. She kisses over your stomach sliding even lower down your body.

“Too much.” You whimper feeling her touch glide along your inner thigh. The metal against your skin is cold but quickly gains heat from your thigh.

“I know baby I know.” Her middle finger slides along your slit. The now warm metal against your clit. A shiver rakes through your body causing you to shake under Sevika’s body. Sevika’s face is now back over yours watching every little movement your face makes. The finger against your clit starts to move slowly. It glides over the bundle of nerves making you whimper once again.

Your eyebrows furrow at the overstimulation coursing through your still-aching weakened body. You let your eyes fall close letting the pleasure and Sevika’s touch control you once again. Sevika’s lips find yours once again. Her teeth bite down on your lip making a squeal fall down your lips.

Sevika’s lips hover over yours as she whispers rather vulgar words. Your hand grasped her arm opening your eyes, “Stop teasing me.”

“I’m not teasing, I’m touching you aren’t I.”

You sigh dropping your hand for her arm. Sevika’s finger still moves slowly over your clit. A small whimper leaves your lip filling the room. Your hip rolls against the metal trying to take the pleasure you so desperately want. “Don’t move.” Her voice booms catching your small movements.

Your hips come to a stop as you lay still against the bed. “I’m sorry Sevika.” Your eyes gleam shining in the slightest bit of light with tears. You squirm underneath Sevika’s judging cold gaze. Sevika does something with her mechanical arm and before you can question it a faint buzzing fills the room. You moan once the vibration hits directly on your clit. You gasp out her name.

“It’s a surprise for you.” Sevika chuckles knowing what you were going to say. Your thigh is unknowingly closed around the arm. Sevika tsk at you stopping the vibration to your clit. The arm slips away from you as Sevika pulls away resting her back on the headboard.

You instantly pull yourself up crawling towards her. You rest in between her spread legs kissing her. The metal arm returns to your cunt teasing you again. You shake under her touch moaning into her mouth. Sevika quickly removes her arm pulling you away from her so your back is resting on her.

“Can you keep your legs open for me?” Sevika asks, her voice commanding as it usually is.

“Yes ma’am.” You spread your legs open until they hit Sevika’s on either side of yours. Sevika’s organic hand comes to her mouth, she licks the tip of her fingers bringing them to your nipples.

Once again she circles your nipple making your head fall back. The buzzing starts up again as the hand slides down your stomach reaching your cunt. One of the fingers reaches your clit again the vibrations running through you. The other hand comes up to your fallen head grasping your throat.

The mechanical hand slides through your slit purposely going over your clit. The finger rests on your clit making your legs tremble and your hips grind against the metal. Sevika laughs at your actions, “Keep them nice and wide for my love.” Sevika teases placing your legs over hers. You try your best to look at her catching only a glimpse of her face.

Sevika notices your staring and turns to kiss you. The vibrations are agonizingly slow against your clit. Your hips grind faster against the metal as your hand moves down to grab Sevika’s arm. Your legs want to close around the metal but are unable to. Sevika whispers words to taunt you in your ear. “Look at you, grinding so desperately against my fingers.”

You grow shy at the obscene words turning your head away from her. Sevika drags your face back not allowing you to turn away from her. You moan out dropping your head on her shoulder, “It feels so good.” You whimper.

Sevika changed to circle your clit whilst speeding up the vibrations making a moan rip through your throat. You don’t question when or how this was added to her arm. Air gets caught in your throat as Sevika moves her hand back to your neck. “Please Sevika.”

“You wanna cum again don’t you?”

“Yes please can I?”

“Yes, my love.”

With that approval, your legs tremble around hers. Sevika covers your mouth muffling the moans and whimpers leaving your mouth. Your eyes fixate on hers watching a grin form on her face as she watches you. Sevika’s fingers slow down, and your legs shake every time the metal slides over your clit.

You grab her mechanical hand bringing the arousal-coated fingers to your mouth and licking it off. You turn in her hold resting on your side. Sevika’s arms hold you close to her body, Sevika calls out your name, catching your attention.

You hum in response to caught up in your own mind to speak. “Do you need anything?” Sevika's voice is soft as she strokes your hair.

“Can you just hold me?”

“Sure thing love.” Her arm rests on you still holding you close to her. You crane your neck up slightly pulling your body up along the way to kiss Sevika. “Are you sure you don’t need anything? Like water or a bath.”

“I just want you right now, a bath can wait.”

Sevika smiles stroking the side of your face. A soft kiss is placed on your lips. “But you must have a bath later.” She pulls you against her chest holding the side of your head. You hear her heartbeat, the soothing sounds reminding you of the woman that you love dearly holding you in her arms.

[A/N] This is the technical part 1 to touch, this is also posted on ao3. I'm working on a masterlist and request rn while also establishing request rules.

#sevika x reader #sevika smut #queer #arcane smut #arcane sevika #smut #arcane #sevika x you #sevika #sevika x y/n #sevika arcane #arcane netflix #arcane x reader

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flagtext6 · 2 years

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10 Things You've Got In Widespread With Minecraft Server

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#lion's roar #lion is the king of the jungle

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1ddotdhq · 3 years

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Sun 14 Mar ‘21

Hello hello I hope you have your POPCORN, your BEVERAGE OF CHOICE, your PIPING HOT TEA, because in a few hours time we have a BRAND NEW HARRY PERFORMANCE to squeal over!!! As of right now, Harry lost the “Best Music Video” to Beyoncé, which makes sense tbh she’s a bloody legend, as Louis would say, but there’s two more to go, and twitter trended “YOU GOT THIS HARRY” to show their faith and support for his other two categories (Best Solo Pop Performance and Best Vocal Pop Album). H will be opening the Grammys and we STILL have no clue whether or not he’s going to perform live, but Ben Winston challenges viewers to try and guess which sets are pre-recorded; he designed them to be difficult to tell, so we can always do that? I mean. Can you be more pretentious or condescending? Anyways, Harry keeps on being lovely and sending flowers to his back up vocalists, as well as a Christmas card to a waitress in a pie shop who regularly takes his order. “He is one of the kindest peop - persons?- peoples? I’ve ever met, and this really just made my day!” . Love that! Regulars can put such a smile on your face when they’re kind - one guy tipped me thirty bucks once and I wanted to hug him. But ANYWAYS ITS NOT ABOUT ME!!

It’s about ZAYN telling the Grammys to go FUCK THEMSELVES once again! He tweeted, the “[The Recording Academy] are moving inches and we need to move in miles. I’m keeping the pressure on & fighting for transparency & inclusion. We need to make sure that we are honoring and celebrating “creative excellence” of ALL. End the secret committees. Until then... #fuckthegrammys”. Hell YEAH KING!! Go allllll the way off!!! He’s right, and he should say it, and I do not want to see ONE SINGLE PERSON going “but what about Harrrrryyyyy” because we ALL know that this isn’t a personal attack on the nominees (as Zayn has said) but rather a fight for equity from an institution that is fundamentally intolerant. Good for him.

On that note, let’s head over to Ireland (or London, lmao) and hang with Niall’s Instagram stories where he continues to advertise the Guinness show - and he was fully clothed this time! Will the wonders never cease?? He was wearing a black and white striped J.W. Anderson shirt (of Rainbow Cardigan fame), saying he would do his best to “bring the best of the pub to you”, as St Patty’s Day will be looking “a bit different this year”. The livestream is on YouTube on March 17th, and Niall’s special HBW merch is still out for a full day! So get on that while ya can, if you want! Also, Niall blessed us with an anniversary tweet. “One year,” he said - is it about the album or the quarantine? We may never know...

#harry styles #Zayn #Niall horan #yessss good for Zayn mannnn #this is an early one #but hey! why not! it’s Grammy Sunday we want proper time to fanperson #hahahhahaha #anyways!#song of the day!#not today by imagine dragons #that one comes from my mom actually! so if you like it lmk in the tags hahaha #any also I’m taking requests for song recs bc I want to hear from youuuuu

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kirieshhhka003 · 3 years

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So... Can I have Gyro Zeppeli's nsfw alphabet, pretty please? 🤭🤭 thank you so much, love you!

Thank you for your request, my lovely anon, I love you too💚😘

Note: in all NSFW alphabets I describe how this character acts during sex with different partners, NOT with someone they love

Warnings: NSFW

Gyro Zeppeli NSFW alphabet

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Gyro is good at aftercare. He gives his partner massages, strokes their body and cuddles up with them. If partner ask for something(like glass of water or running a bath for them) Gyro would do it as fast as he can and return to canoodling with them

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

On partners Zeppeli loves their thighs, especially if they’re sick and plump, he squeezes and plays with it, licks and marks them. On his body Gyro loves his dick, he likes if a lot and finds it pretty

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

The amount of sperm Gyro produces is average, it’s very watery and almost transparent, has very salty taste. Blonde doesn’t care much where to cum, everywhere on partner’s body is great for him, but creampies have special place in his heart

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Once, when he was 18, he was almost caught fucking his “best friend” by his father. Gregorio heard some weird noises coming from Gyro’s room, but when he checked it out, there was nothing strange there. Gyro heard his father’s steps and hid himself and his friend Alberto in a wardrobe and kept fucking him while Gregorio looked around his room looking for something that caused those sounds

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

At the age of 17 Gyro already was pretty experienced, so, his body count is reaching 100, maybe even more, he’s literally expert in sex, he knows what to do, where to lick and stroke, when he should slow down and when to fasten his pace

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

His favorite positions are 69 and all related to missionary. Gyro loooves when female partners sit on his face, squeezing his head between their thighs

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Gyro is always goofy, it’s just the way he is. Sex isn’t something serious for Zeppeli, he’s sure that it must be comfortable for both partners - jokes and puns are the best way to chill both him and partner out and set on a right mood

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Gyro always has a short bush down there, it’s color matches his drapes. On his partner Gyro doesn’t care much, some interesting intim haircuts really turn blonde on

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Gyro is goofy, but he’s also very passionate, he kisses and caresses partner’s body, whispers something dirty into their ear and praises them. “Damn, babe, look what you’re doing to me. You’ve already made me cum for four times and I’m reaching my next orgasm. You’re such a little precious whore, aren’t you, huh?”

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Gyro is very horny and is up to sex almost all day, so if there’s nobody who attracts him physically nearby, he’ll just do it by himself, using his hands(and maybe steel balls). Everytime Gyro gets bored - he masturbates. Jacks off every night before sleeping, and, sometimes, after waking up, but it depends on his mood.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Oh, there’s a lot of. Dirty talking, daddy kink, creampies, choking, marking, cock warming, facesitting, facefucking, outdoor sex, squirting, edging, degrading and dominance over him

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Everywhere, every location is fine. Of course he has his limits and would never fuck at the place where kids may see him, but all other places are good

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Literally anything. A pretty guy winked at him - Gyro has a tent in his pants. A few dirty words whispered in his ear make him 100% ready, it takes almost zero efforts to make Zeppeli going

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

There are not a lot of things that Gyro would refuse to do, he’s willing to try out everything! But everything related to shit, wormit or blood is his NO, don’t even ask for it

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Loves both giving and receiving. Gyro may spend hours eating out/sucking off his partner. When it comes to receiving Zeppeli loves to see partner’s red teary face while they’re choking on his dick. The sight of it makes him cum down their throat almost immediately

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Gyro’s pace is usually normal, not too slow but is also not fast. But it depends on his partner and on how close Zeppeli is to orgasm. When he’s nearing his high during sex, Gyro’s thrusts become rougher and faster, but when he teases his partners he moves so slowly, that it almost hurts

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Absolutely loves them. What can be better than being sucked off during a 10 min lunch break? When it’s so much hornieness and so little time, quickie is a perfect solving of a problem

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Outdoor sex is one of his biggest kinks, Gyro gets so thrilled by a thought that someone can catch him fucking some pretty girl(or guy🌝), adrenaline sends shivers running down his spine, all his senses go crazy, stars shine bright in his eyes

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Usually Gyro goes for 4-6 rounds, each of them lasts for about 10 minutes, but blonde lasts longer during oral sex(but it really depends on his partner’s skills)

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

He doesn’t have any toys, but he has his steel balls! They are perfect vibrators that stimulates all right places and nerves

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

It really depends on blonde’s mood. There are times when Gyro just wants to blow off the stem and things such a teasing or edging only piss him off more. But when he’s feeling tricksy he may spend hours between partner’s legs, fucking them mercilessly, almost letting them cum, and stopping the last moment

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

This man never shuts up, he talks and talks and talks... He has a really dirty mouth, praises mingled with swearings slips of his tongue, moans and quiet groans accompany his every thrust

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Gyro doesn’t like to be a bottom with male partners. His ass hurts the next few days and he can’t ride his horse properly, so he always insists on being a top

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

His dick is 5,5 inches when fully hard, not curved and isn’t veiny. The tip is slightly smaller that the shaft and is very sensual

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Gyro is very horny. Really really really horny. Most of his thoughts are about sex, masturbation, naked bodies of his partners and, sometimes, about Johnny’s ass. He wants to fuck 24/7, his sex drive is crazy

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Gyro isn’t one who needs to rest after sex, just a few minutes to catch his breath and he’s ready for new adventures

Masterlist | Smut Masterlist

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chil2de · 3 years

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Hi just wondering if you’d ever consider writing for chuuya from bungo stray dogs and nishinoya from haikyuu. I love them both so much and you’re my favourite author and I’d really love to see how you’d write for them if you’re up for it

sorry @ all my other fandoms it’s literally the way i dropped everything to write this LMFAO

hiya!! i’m sosos happy this came through i remember a while back a lovely anon requested dazai from bsd and i completely forgot about it so aaaa!! so sorry if you’re reading this that anon! but nevertheless! i really, really adore chuuya and this is in fact my first time writing for bsd and chuuya for that matter. i’m so flattered anonie, thank you <3 i hope i done him justice :) p.s: i got a little bit carried away and was planning to post nishinoya in this one too but.. yeah. be sure to look out for him cause i’ll post a separate piece for yuu! enjoy.

nsfw content below! if you’re new here, please read my disclaimer here before proceeding. thank you!

a note: logically, this fanfic makes no sense because chuuya doesn’t wear his sexy vest + hat outfit until after dazai has left the port mafia so... don’t think about logic, k? (i think so anyway? it’s been a while)

there’s a clink of ice dragging against glass that chimes through the air. inside the glass seems to be a transparent liquid of sorts, leading anyone of the ordinary to believe that it may at least be vodka. in actuality, it’s just lemon flavoured water with some ice. it’s not like anyone would pick up his drink to take a sip anyway-

“oh? it’s not vodka? ehhhhh, are you trying to look cool, chuuya?” dazai takes a bold swig of the beverage before setting it back down onto the coaster. he bears a large grin that stretches from ear to ear, eyes lightly fluttered shut as he hums sardonically. there’s a spring in his step as he traverses beside chuuya and hops himself up onto the window, legs dangling and ankles fluttering.

“what the hell do you want?” chuuya barks, eyebrows creasing in disgust.

“what do i want? hm. like right now? you know.. i could probably go for some coffee right now! a cappucino? no- maybe latte? oh, wait, what about a flat white-“

“dazai.” chuuya hisses, spinning around from his chair to face him.

“seriously. cut the bullshit. why are you here, huh? i’m not having a tea party with you, so if you’re here to waste my time, leave.”

“ugh, you’re always so to the point. a little smalltalk and banter never killed anyone.”

“it killed my brain cells. spit it out.”

“chuuuyaaa~ you’re so meaaaan!”

there’s a scowl that chuuya pierces through dazai so heavily to the point where the latter is forced to drop his foxy act.

“we’re taking a woman in for questioning. she refuses to stay anywhere that’s not a proper bedroom, said that she’s more than willing to comply otherwise.”

“pffft, what a fucking stuck-up princess. so what? you’re sticking me with her?”

“believe me, you’ll thank me. i can’t take her. i’m out on a job in a few.”

“i’d never thank you but alright. i just have to keep an eye on her until tomorrow?”

“even you won’t be able to screw this up.” dazai remarks as he slides off the window, straightening himself before beelining towards the door.

“what the hell is that supposed to mean? you tryna say something?”

“uh-huh. anyways! see you later.”

as dazai heads outside, he takes one last glance at chuuya from over his shoulder.

“alsooo, can you keep the noise down to a minimum? everyone knows your name here already-“

“shut up!”

“yeah, okay~”

the door quietly shuts with a thud and chuuya leans back in his chair, staring up at the ceiling for a while.

within a couple of moments, he notices the shuffling of footsteps outside his room. instead of looking like a moron who fell asleep with his eyes open, he swings around to his desk and continues to gloss over the details of his next job.

an unfamiliar feminine voice rings out from behind him, causing his interest to peak.

“oh, um, thank you!” you awkwardly bow to the guards? the uh, big scary people with guns? (probably guards) who escorted you up to the room. you take a step inside and let out a small squeak before the door behind you shuts.

and locks.

“eh?”

“what’s with the ‘eh?’” chuuya snorts, not making the effort to turn to face you just yet. he goes to take a sip of his drink and wrinkles his face in disdain when he realises the being that tarnished it beforehand. using his right hand, he crosses over his left and effortlessly pours the beverage out the window. you only gawk at him with utter confusion. couldn’t he have just gotten up to go to the kitchen or something? do they even have a kitchen?

you conclude that standing around stiffly and eyeing the man at the desk isn’t a good look on you, so you move towards the bed. sure you said you wanted an actual room, but, you didn’t think it would be someone else’s.

“may i?” you motion towards the bed. chuuya briefly flickers his attention to you in his peripherals.

“sure.”

you scoot onto his bed, making yourself comfortable. you slide your back up against the wall, leaning yourself into the wall on your right as well. you decide to glance out the window, counting by the different coloured cars in hopes for either time to pass or the mafioso man to offer you some form of entertainment. maybe a book? oh, shit, uno cards? can you even imagine playing uno with him? this guy would flip his desk before the first round’s finished.

you laugh to yourself, and within a split second, you immediately lament your existence.

“what’s so funny?” chuuya implores, setting his pen down. you haven’t even turned yet and you can feel his gaze burning holes into you.

“nothing.” you blurt out.

his sigh fills the room as he picks up his chair before setting it down beside you. chuuya slumps down with his legs spread apart, torso cradling the back of his chair.

his slender and bony hand reaches out, ice cold fingertips from his beverage send you into a state of alarm as he clasps your chin before yanking your head to face him.

“i don’t tolerate bullshit. quite frankly, i won’t repeat myself to you.”

“the least you can do after strolling in here like a prestigious brat is listen to me. i don’t know what shit you pulled to get involved with the port mafia but-“

chuuya grazes his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down. he peers down at your teeth and the beginning of the pink in your mouth.

“what were you snorting about?“

there’s a desire that fuels your extremities and every nerve in your body. you don’t know why, but fuck, this man makes you wanna act like an intolerant brat. and you think, what’s the harm? if you’re gonna get picked apart by the port mafia, you might as well start early.

and bonus points? he’s hot as shit.

“that’s none of your business, is it?” you grin over his finger, valiantly lapping and curling your tongue before circling the muscle over the tip of his thumb.

chuuya screws his face at you. his eyebrows furrow in turmoil at the blatant disrespect and the corners of his lips crinkle in distaste. your eyes lock with his deep blue orbs and you smirk at the arousal that glosses over them.

chuuya uncurls his hand from your chin before easily kicking aside his chair. it goes clattering halfway across the room.

“down on your knees.” chuuya snaps, tone deep and laced with danger. you oblige, scooting off the bed as fast as humanly possible before settling down onto your knees.

you eye chuuya as he grabs ahold of his belt. he’s extremely short, for one, so you can see why he’d ask you to sit like this. he’s slender, but not underweight. there’s obvious implications of built muscles along his body, especially his thighs and arms. there’s something about the black fingerless gloves that rock against his smooth and pale skin that makes your stomach stir.

“what are you staring at?” he hisses before tossing aside his belt.

“isn’t that obvious?” you remark, licking your lips.

chuuya flashes you a smirk before zipping his fly open. using his gloved dominant hand, he decorates your face by slapping his thick dick against your cheek. his cock is piping hot against your face. you swallow with anxiety when his size is made apparent to you. he’s got a girth that’s wider than average, with a length of around 7 inches. maybe 8? you’re not exactly sure. you lick your lips at the deep red tones that flush his pretty cock.

“i’ll wipe that shitty attitude clean off your face. you’re reminding me of that dumbass clown.”

“eh? an ex or something? you’re bisexual? that’s freaking amazing! happy pride mont-“

“shut the fuck up. you spew way too much.” chuuya barks before shoving his cock down your throat mid-sentence. you gag and sputter around his length, fuelling his ego.

he grabs ahold a fistful from the back of your head, using your strands to roughly pick you up and back onto his cock. your wrists scramble to his hips and you try to push him back, to whimper that it’s too much and too sudden for you.

“where’s that cocky big girl attitude gone now? you can’t suck a dick? almost makes me feel bad for you.”

you whine and spill muffled complaints but it only fuels him further. it sets chuuya’s veins ablaze, controlling you like this.

you weren’t even sure it would be possible, but he manages to brush his tip against the back of your throat. your vision blurs, tears streaming out from your gag reflex. your nose runs and you can only sniffle constantly. drool and saliva envelopes the underside of his shaft, leaving your chin and some of your neck soaked. you wrinkle and wince your nose at the small stubble that’s slowly beginning to grow back near his base. through your tear stained lashes, you look up at chuuya like the good girl you are, lips wrapped around his dick and all.

“oh you god damn kinky bitch” he hisses out through a whine, features melting in compassion.

in that moment, recollection flashes in his eyes. he slides himself out, and a loud wet slurp fills the room. through your blurry vision and fit of coughing, chuuya grabs the long abandoned chair, spinning the back support until it lands the right way. he takes a seat, cock painfully erect and glistening in the deep orange sunset light.

his slender and pretty long fingers curl in a “come here” motion. his other hand leans into his jaw and he bears a smug grin. the harsh lighting from outside pours in so that only half of his face is visible, even then, you can still make out the fact that he’s about to absolutely fucking ruin you.

“ride me.”

#fun fact: today i found out i share the same personality type as okkotsu yuta #it’s a sign for marriage😔🤚#hsbdhfs i hope i wrote him well <3 thanks anon for the request!#bsd #bsd chuuya #bsd imagines #bsd headcanons #chuuya nakahara #nakahara chuuya #chuuya fluff #chuuyabsd #chuuya x reader #chuuya x you #chuuya x y/n

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sunseteyes · 3 years

Text

“mahal kita” — i love you

ㅤㅤ ↪︎ STARRING: café bartender!shinsuke kita; student!gn!reader

ㅤㅤ ↪︎ THEMES: fluff, hints of bullying

ㅤㅤ ↪︎ WORD COUNT: 4.2k words

ㅤㅤ ↪︎ SYNOPSIS: shinsuke kita was your first love, and even if it was unusual of you to do so, you were willing to say it to him, despite the circumstances that you two were in.

ㅤㅤ ↪︎ INTERMISSION: finally!!! i’ve been planning this since december and this actually has a second part! the second part will have kita’s pov mostly so do look forward for that~ it will be posted next week !! also, “mahal kita” is a filipino phrase and it translates to “i love you.” the reader is not filipino but if you want to think if it that way, you could, though the reason why i wanted to incorporate my language here is because i just felt like,,, i had to? hahaha anw, enjoy !! i worked hard for this one :D

the bright light blinds you despite having your eyes closed and as you have an arm covering them. indeed, even the sun was beckoning you to listen to the beaming sound of your alarm that plays on the background like a broken cassette tape, urging you to wake up now or else your schedule would get cut off. you wouldn’t want that, especially during a weekday like today.

groaning as you forced yourself to sit up and rub your hand over your eyes to make the world seem a little bit clearer. you then welcomed the sight of the room that had the sunlight illuminate its four corners, a familiar sight that you see everyday.

and you were growing tired of it, to be honest.

your daily routine had never been that much different as it has always been; getting up, getting dressed, going to school. really, there was nothing else that seemed to have been enough to make your eyes brighten up in excitement, since everything just happens on repeat.

every. single. day.

bringing your hand up to cover your eyes from the blazing sun, you wished you hadn’t forgotten to bring your sunglasses from your dorm as you crossed down the road, cautious with the cars that passed by the street. your gaze drops down to your wristwatch, your feet fastening its pace as you catch sight of your university literally only a few blocks away.

there’s nothing really special with your life; just a normal graduating college student hoping to establish a normal working life with a normal family in the future. the latter seemed quite impossible these days, especially with the constant repeat of your relationships throughout the years. still, there’s nothing wrong in expecting you’d have a good future, right?

maybe, maybe not.

“you’re late again.” you panted as you turned to the person sitting beside you, fixing your things and yourself in the process.

“what did i miss?”

“not much, but the professor is strict with attendance.” tobio eyes you before glancing back to the front of the room, feigning his focus upon the topic the professor was talking about.

“yeah, yeah i know.” you whisper back, doing the same thing as you forced yourself to digest the information that was being spoken of, even if you’re not particularly interested in any of it.

“oi,” your senses came about and it was tobio’s face whom you’d seen first, already standing upright in front of your seat, his bag slung to his shoulders-

“huh?” you look around and see everyone doing the same, looking tired just from one discussion. and it seems you have dozed off while awake all throughout the entire time.

“are you just going to sit here all day or not?”

you then gathered your things and followed suit, heading to the cafeteria but not before stopping by the vending machine to get your regular coffee and tobio’s dairy.

“you sure do like milk a lot, tobio.” you’d tease all the time, and he’d respond with,

“for someone who has trouble sleeping, you still haven’t quite enough of coffee, idiot.”

your friendship with tobio started ever since you were kindergarten, and you believe you two were simply drawn to each other because of how silent you two could be, only leaning into a conversation when it is needed. despite having met each other for so long, you two only began to stick to each other when high school came, after being reunited and seeing a familiar face after such a long time. it was that time that you and him realized how far alike to each other you were, deciding to have a bond that neither expected. plus, he likes watching volleyball matches just as you do. simply put, you found someone who was not much different from you, and you realized how comfortable you were with that—the usual things.

the fear of change and difference was what kept you stuck in the same town, at the same school, at the same status, and at the same way of living. people kept on emphasizing how important it is to look outside the box, but no matter how much you wanted to take a peek outside, you couldn’t, didn’t want to. you were fully convinced that if you dream big, there are just bigger consequences to life than how it usually gives.

“who’s that?”

the whispers and murmurs ripped you from your mind, your attention turning to your classmates who were talking about a certain person, making you involuntarily glance at where they were looking. it was a man—an unfamiliar man inside the university premises. who was he, perhaps? it was the same question as what your peers kept on inquiring to each other.

“you must be the new guidance counsellor!” now came a familiar voice, beaming like a sunshine as how he usually is, his hand extending to the said man with the new face, a certain kind of change that you never expected.

“guidance counsellor? where’s takeda-san?” a series of murmurs emerged again until one eventually said that the previous counsellor had taken a break since his wife had finally given birth to their child. you were never close to him but the casual greetings you and tobio received from the man was enough to call him as a kind person. you will surely miss that now that he’s gone temporarily. just from looking over and observing the new counsellor, you were quite sure that this one is far different from takeda.

you sooner found it out when you were called by one of your professors, specifically one that you knew so well that you were close to saying you had been fed-up in seeing his face all over again.

“(y/n), could you pass this to ojiro-san, you know him, right? the new guidance counsellor.” professor koushi sugawara hands you over an unlabeled folder, about two of them, barely glancing your way as he continues to type with his keyboard, eyes trained over the computer screen in such an intense focus. you often see him like this, but you were too irritated to want to even follow his orders as soon as possible, the frown on your face deepening the more you stare at the man’s figure.

“i’m not your maid here, by the way.” you say to him lowly, and it was a good thing that no one else was near him or you two would be embarrassing yourselves for causing such a scene in a school faculty.

this time, you met koushi’s eyes and you felt yourself bite your own tongue when you saw the familiar bags under his eyes, the rim of his glasses barely covering them and the exhausted look on the way he was gazing at you. you knew how tired he often gets because of his work and you do try to help him out, but he just called you out of a class—the only class that you were enjoying and he just wanted you to deliver a couple of papers to the new guy? you’re not someone he can call for errands that easily, not without some words that needed to be discussed.

“yes, you’re right. sorry about that, my pretty younger sibling.” he still teased you, and you only let out a huff before turning away and heading towards the guidance, not without telling your brother to eat his lunch or else you’ll stop making bento for him—it’s not as if you will but the threat always works because he hates waking up earlier than he should to prepare food.

having a professor as your sibling is kind of weird, especially the first few days of when people have found out about it, but the feeling eventually fades away for it’s very much like when you two were still going to the same school during elementary and high school, and like everything else, you’ve gotten used to it.

“oh, this is from sugawara-san?” ojiro, the new guidance counsellor, looked kind and welcoming, very much like the previous one, takeda. you’re not that much fun of change, but if adjustment is needed, then you have no choice but to abide by it. something about this new counsellor makes you somewhat comfortable with him, and it’s in a good way, you hope.

“thank you, uh-” he drops his gaze to your identification card and like any other who suddenly notices your surname, his eyes widen by a little bit, a wave of realization hitting them in his mind.

then he smiles, warm and friendly. “thank you, (y/n)-san. is it alright to call you by your first name?”

“i don’t mind.” you shrug, inwardly smiling, “thank you, ojiro-san.”

“you met the new counsellor already?” tobio questioned by the time you two were walking home, or rather to the cafe you two usually drop by at before really going home. it was one of the things that you and tobio bond on still, apparently. milk and coffee really are the things that tobio and you love—despite its difference, there was a certain middle ground where both the likes meet.

“yeah, he seems nice.” you say, not paying much attention to what tobio was saying for your eyes were set at the counter of the cafe almost immediately as you both entered the transparent doors, the same head of silver hair with darkened tips standing there, beholding an apron that matched any other worker in the room.

you must have forgot to mention earlier; there are times when excitement runs through you like a battery, powering up every vessel and cell inside of you.

there he is. shinsuke, the most beautiful man you’d ever seen your whole life. and yes, you only knew of his name because it’s on his name badge.

you could hear tobio scoff beside you but you merely brushed him off as per usual, heading straight to the lane of the man that still serves a customer by asking their own orders. tobio, on the other hand, walks to the other line where there were basically no other customers.

“good afternoon,” he greeted by the time it was your turn, and in an instant, there came a smile by your lips, one that you rarely ever give to anybody, to any other time, really. this man just gives you a rush of serotonin in your system that it was difficult for you to not react that way.

“chocolate-chip frappe, like usual?” he offered his own kind smile, and your heart combusted again, like it does whenever he looks at you like that, talks to you like that. you knew it was technically his job to build rapport to customers, but it seems as if there’s no escaping for you to escape this kind of fate.

you like him. if you were given a chance to get to know him more, that might even develop into something more.

“yes, please.” you responded, sounding ever so pleased and joyful than how you’ve acted for the rest of the day early on.

“perhaps you would like to purchase our new year’s special drink?” he says as he points at the small poster from beside him, the image of the drink catching your attention, and if you were asked, even if the poster was that colorful, you doubt that it would tear away your focus from the man on the opposite of you.

“uh-”

“it comes with green tea,” he cuts you off, if he knew you were about to respond. “but i admit you don't seem like the type to order a drink like that, do correct me if i’m wrong.”

“how did you know?”

“you only ever ordered the same drink most of the time,” he says with a straight face, as if calculating in the inside of his mind while looking you in the eye “and whenever i offered you our specials, you only like those that taste sweet or those that fit well with coffee.”

it took you a couple of seconds to reply, and it’s with how you were amazed by his observational skills, a soft and short chuckle leaving your system. “you’re really good. yeah, i actually don’t enjoy my tea when it’s cold.”

he types in your order with a small smirk on his face, and you had to control yourself from not getting flustered by how you were getting to have the chance to see this side of him—one that is far from his formalities as a worker to a customer. it gives you the opportunity to witness and to feel how close he was as a person, like you, sort of like a middle ground. like how milk and coffees are to tobio and you.

“you look like you just won a billion yen.”

you giggled as you sat down in front of tobio, not even trying to hide the giddy, fuzzy feeling you were feeling on the inside now that you were quite far away from the subject of affection.

“maybe i just did.” you say, the scenes of earlier playing by your mind.

this change, this sort of change; you didn’t mind it. him talking to you, you convinced yourself it was a good kind of change that you would gladly adjust upon.

once again, the day passes by in a blur, and tomorrow comes again.

“(y/n)-san!”

your name being called early in the morning by a voice is one thing that you did not expect when you went out of your shared apartment with your brother, and are now walking your way to school.

“ojiro-san,” you acknowledged the call, “good morning.”

“ah, yeah good morning as well.” he greets, finally catching up on your form while slightly panting from jogging towards your way.

“uhm,” you interjected, brows furrowed together as you twiddled upon the earbud that you had to unplug from your ear the moment you heard the counsellor’s call. “-is there something you needed to tell me?” it took a whole lot from you not to act irritated than you usually do whenever you are enjoying a peaceful walk to class, but it’s not as if you expected to have an early conversation with someone as well. it’s not like there’s a lot of people who like having your company other than tobio—you’re not even sure if he enjoys being with you. you’re not really the talkative type either so it’s a win-win situation for everyone. the only times you’d actually like having to initiate a conversation is with the barista at your current favorite cafe.

“ah, nothing much, but could you give this to your brother and tell him that i already found someone for him? oh wait, do you know about it?” he says as he hands you over the same folders that you handed to him early on yesterday. at first, it took you awhile to process his vague question until it finally hit you.

oh right, the very big change coming up for your life.

you nod, tucking the folders by your side. and just when you were about to speak, the sound of the bell rang over your heads that you had to exchange a quick goodbye or else you’re going to be late on your first subject again.

“thanks, (y/n).” koushi smiles brightly at you, despite his quite opposite state, as per usual. apparently, your brother thinks he’s such a great pretender, especially towards you. although you understand his intentions as well and that’s to be positive in front of you to not burden you with his own problems. how did you know? well, he is your brother, you not only knew him because you had been together ever since, but you have some of his bad habits as well, including this.

when you handed him the folders, you watched as he opened them, but you already knew what’s its contents, that's why you didn’t bother to look. leaving the faculty room, you never knew there would come a day where you’d miss going there often.

though before you could even go back peacefully to your classroom and grab both your bag and tobio, the moment you turned to a corner and there, you bumped into someone.

“watch where you’re going, fatass.”

“hey, ain’t you the kid from elementary? wow, you never changed, have ya?”

your whole body ran cold that you froze there, in the middle of the now-empty hallway, unable to breathe properly than you should. scenarios of the past then came like a film at the back of your mind, playing ever so carelessly as they indulge such negative emotions that now rushes through your veins.

a touch was all it took to bring you back to reality, and you heard a familiar voice that probably kept calling you all this time.

brown eyes—the person in front of you had such as his voice chants your name like a prayer, a plea to make you stay sane.

“are you alright? (y/n)-san?” wait… you know that voice.

you just know you had to save yourself from drowning—or was he the one who’s pulling you out?

“shinsuke?” you stuttered; hesitant, unsure. after all, how could someone like him come here at your school? is he delivering orders now?

“are you doing okay? you look pale… do you want me to take you to the clinic? just guide me where and i’ll help you, do you want me to carry you? he barged you with so many questions that your still-hazed mind failed to cope up with most of them. the only thing in your mind is him and how he seemed to have come at such a perfect timing.

“uh-no, it’s alright, i’m alright.” you tried to convince him, but it’s not like you were lying anyway. the moment you saw him, everything else have faded away—at least you tried them to be.

“maybe i should take you outside. come on, you look like you’re in need of some fresh air.” he didn’t ask you furthermore and took you gently by the wrist, ushering you to follow his lead, as if he was the one who had been on these school grounds for years and not you. you doubt he even knew his way around and was just trying to calm you down in some way.

you liked it though. you liked how his warm hand touches your skin, how his mere presence drowns away every other negative thought as if they were dust, too miniscule to even worry about. you liked his soft eyes and how they expressed his concern for you in his own way of doing so. and you liked how his comforting voice soothed over your tensed muscles, as if they massaged their way through just to ease up the bundles of tension in them.

perhaps what you feel towards this man, shinsuke, is more than just a simple admiration that lasted for months. you haven’t given much thought over it in fear that you might not be able to move on and get over, but they were growing day by day, little by little, and now you’re beginning to scold yourself for only realizing it now when it’s too late,

“shinsuke-san,”

you urged the both of you to halt, the murmurs and whispers that you passed by dissipated into faded echoes now that he is looking at you by his ever-so-soft stare, gazing at you with one that you could never fathom what he’s thinking about as he does so. he’s just mysterious, but it’s what makes him too exciting and thrilling to unfold; to see the layers that lay underneath that shell of his, like a crab, protecting its delicious contents, or a pearl inside a seashell. you were sure he’s beautiful inside and out.

that’s why you can’t just shut your mouth about it. you just have to get it out, it’s now or never.

because you’ve never felt like this to anyone, and you sure doubt you’d ever again.

“i love you.” you say, the words slipping out smoothly, rolling by your tongue easier than you ever thought it would. and the moment you realized you were able to let them out, a wave of relief washes over you, it was like your own body and mind was telling you to go and say it, beckoning you to open your heart, no matter what change may come your way.

the look he gave you showed a reaction you’ve never seen from him; furrowed brows, halted expression, it was clear that he was baffled with your sudden confession and that in no way would you have a chance of getting a happy ending today--not that it mattered much. your intention was merely to get it out of your chest.

and you’ve got no regret about that.

“what are-you’re supposed to prioritize yourself first. come on, let me take you to the clinic.” he continued to pull you away, as if that was what he intends to do with your feelings and supposedly-hidden desires for him that are now out in the open. it’s not as if that was what he was doing, but for you, it probably was what he’d do if he took your confession seriously.

“have you eaten your lunch yet, sugawara-san? i mean, (y/n), would you prefer to be called that way instead?” the nurse inquires as she tries to see if there was anything wrong with you aside from the claim of shinsuke’s description of you being pale and quite unresponsive since he apparently spent about a minute or two trying to bring you back to reality. you think he’s just over exaggerating, but you wouldn’t be surprised if that was hailed as the truth by the heavens. after all, there is a very good reason for that to happen anyway.

“uhm, i think i ate a piece of brea, or two.” you say, pondering over it for a moment, trying to recall the happenings before you suddenly remembered to deliver to your brother the folders that the counsellor asked you to do so. “and i don’t mind either way, but i do think it would be best to call my by (y/n) instead.”

by the end, the nurse only gave you an advice to eat more and drink water whilst also giving you some vitamin that you forgot what’s it’s called because you were too busy admiring shinsuke who’s from the side, trying to discuss with the nurse with regards to what could have possibly happened to you.

“thank you, by the way.” you say as you and him walk side by side, on the way towards the exit of the premises since you insisted that you take him there in return to accompanying you at the clinic earlier. “you shouldn’t have done it, but you still did. i’m grateful for that.”

shinsuke looks at you in the eye and your heart starts to beat faster again without your permission.

“there’s no need to thank me, but you should take care of yourself. you can never be full with just a loaf of bread.”

you nervously chuckled, your fingers twiddling as you averted your gaze to the ground. “i had to do something so i got up and abandoned my food, sorry about that.”

“don’t say sorry to me, you should apologize to yourself.”

now you didn’t know he was this naggy, but it surprisingly doesn’t irritate you more than how it should be for most people. it might have been because of your own feelings, but it doesn’t matter, it shouldn’t, anyway.

“still, thank you.” you say, a cheeky smile on your face, one you think you’ve never shown to just anyone, a look that even your brother or tobio would be surprised at because you rarely display it for them either. for shinsuke, it seems that all your insecurities are thrown away, as if your breathing is not withheld and you’re not drowning anymore. no matter how you’ve looked at it, the way shinsuke’s presence makes you more comfortable than you would to anyone else is unusual for you, but you’re on the borderline of being comfortable and not in the situation. if you were asked, you’re kind of.. calm.

“are you coming by at the cafe later? i’d treat you to a cinnamon bun if you’d lie. that’s your favorite, right?”

if you looked flustered, you didn’t have much time to hide them for you were already beaming like the sun from his words, the combination of his offer and your feelings mixing well together to form how you’d react to such a question.

“are you asking me for a date?” a sudden burst of confidence, one might say, but you’re having fun with it, in spite of the newness of the situation and circumstance, urging you to come out of your comfort zone, and shinsuke’s indulging you a bit more.

“as long as you eat, then you may call it that way.”

oh how you’d want to repeat that moment over and over, never changing until the end of time, even if it’s obviously not going to happen.

not when your future is about to change.

#kita x reader #haikyuu x reader #shinsuke kita #haikyuu x you #kita x you

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lambourngb · 4 years

Text

This Hard Truth

Fic prompt: “Are you drunk?”

THIS HARD TRUTH picks up immediately after THIS HARD LIE, an AU that explores the changes to Roswell and Michael if Alex had decided to tell the Air Force to go pound sand. It’s not all roses. Also folks, not sure if I’ve said, but I’ve been writing these each day literally from scratch off an old vague outline I abandoned a year ago, and today’s the first one that I’ve struggled with, so there’s your warning. Once Michael Guerin Week is over, this is going to a beta and will find a home on AO3. Thank you for loving the raw story.

****

The solid black Range Rover parked in front of his Airstream didn’t surprise Michael in the least.

It had been three days since Jesse Manes had succumbed to his terminal cancer diagnosis, those final days silent under a steady morphine drip. The doctors were correct with their less than a month pronouncement which had left Michael with the uncomfortable position of hoping that Jesse was going to defy those odds. It was a win-win of extended suffering for a man who had earned that and it would have kept Alex in Roswell longer.

He had seen Alex exactly seven times since that first night at the Wild Pony, all of them casual spontaneous encounters that became less spontaneous after he’d learned the nursing rotation of Manes brothers and home care staff. He’d shuffled his jobs at the garage to leave openings in schedule and stopped eating at home during the nights he knew Alex would be free, emptying out his dining out jar.

This was a species thing, he had reminded himself as a curl of guilt had started to squirm inside him at the level of low-key stalking he had done to see his ex. Between Max’s somber admission that he still could remember in crystal-clear detail the day Liz Ortecho touched his lip almost eight years ago in high school and the reaction one of Michael’s attempts at dating had to his story of showing up on Alex’s doorstep two years after a breakup with no warning, well he was aware this wasn’t a normal intensity. The date with wide eyes picking up their phone, even though it hadn’t made a noise, saying, “You seem like a nice guy, but I need to take this call, it’s probably work, we can try again some other time-”

That was the proper reaction to his story he learned, not nodding sagely like Max had and encouraging him to go in the first place.

Humans couldn’t calculate within a minute the amount of time they had recently spent with someone the way Michael could. It was a full commitment of energy to stay carefully friendly with Alex, to keep his alien focus under wraps even though he probably tipped his cards that day in Nashville. On his good days he told himself that Alex hadn’t called the cops on him because he’d been happy to see Michael and on his bad days, it was because he didn’t want the press.

With Jesse Manes dead, Alex’s reasons for staying in Roswell were over. It was time to say goodbye to this small interlude of where Michael felt completely himself, brimming in mitochondrial buoyancy with every cell alive and sparking. Back to the cards of Hallmark blandness and the short notes of congratulations after a song does well.

Alex looked up from his casual sprawl in the lawn chair, his phone in hand, and smiled at Michael’s approach, “thought I might return the favor, and show up at your door unannounced. I gotta say, an Airstream at Sanders’ was not what I was expecting as Casa de Guerin.”

Suddenly aware of the dark stain of dirt staining his cuticles, Michael shoved his hands in his pockets as he strolled up to him. Everywhere he looked was a reminder of the divide, from the shiny Range Rover Sport to the smooth manicure and high-end clothing that wrapped Alex’s frame. “What did you expect then, bedroll in my truck again?”

“Whoa,” Alex stood up, pocketing his phone to hold his hands up harmlessly. “Sorry, that’s not what I mean, I was referring to the doctor boyfriend you’ve got. Most doctors I’ve met are about the trappings, it looks like you found a good one that likes you as you.” Alex’s smile wavered, “I’m happy for you.”

Now even more off-balanced, Michael sputtered, “wait, I don’t-”

“I’m less happy it’s Kyle Valenti, but I guess it’s possible he’s changed, or received a personality transplant-”

“Holy shit who have you been talking to?” He finally cut in, looking over his shoulder back to the office at the auto yard, half expecting to see Isobel being helpful. She had never quite forgiven Alex for finding happiness in Nashville, and it would be just like her to spin a version of events to make Alex jealous. As if that was possible, even in a universe where Michael was capable of being a Stepford boyfriend worthy of a doctor, nothing compares to the life Alex has built without him. Not even zero-percent body fat doctors who did know quite a bit of anatomy. The mention of Kyle did remind Michael that he hadn’t heard very much from him since that last night shortly before Alex had rolled into town. “We’ve seen each other a few times now, Alex, I would have told you if I had a boyfriend. Anyway, Kyle has changed, but he’s not- we’re weirdly enough friends.”

A pang of longing shot through him at seeing Alex arch his eyebrow at him in judgment. “That is not what Maria says, or Arturo, or Old Man Sanders for that matter.”

“Well, they are wrong.” Michael said firmly, stepping around Alex leaving a careful amount of space as he flipped open the lid of his cooler for a beer. “It’s not like that okay? I don’t have a Dennis and a dog in my life, it’s casual and fun but nothing more.”

“I wish I was sad about hearing that, but I’m not.”

Michael paused in the middle of popping the cap off his bottle, “Wow, thank you.” That stung more than he was expecting to hear that Alex was happy he was alone. Fame and fortune really did change people. Swallowing the lump in his throat, “Listen, I’ve loved seeing you Alex, and the less said about your dad the better, so thanks for coming by to say goodbye and eh, enjoy Nashville,” he grabbed the knob on his Airstream door to flee.

A hand covered his, keeping the door firmly closed against the frame. Michael cursed his species for the thousandth time as the touch sent waves of weakness through him. Alex leaned in close, too close for just friendly words, “Wait, that came out wrong.”

“Did it?”

“Yes,” Alex stated firmly. He held onto Michael’s hand, stepping into the space between them to block the retreat into the Airstream. This was the closest they had been to one another in four years, not since that last fight the morning before Alex’s flight east that ended with fucking on a bare mattress after Michael had packed their sheets for Alex to take. “Coming back here, seeing everyone, um, seeing you, it reminded me of who I was before I became this guy,” he gestured at his clothes and back toward the expensive car vaguely. “I’ve got all these things now, useless things, that when I look in the mirror, I see my dad, a guy who cared more about a uniform than he did his own kids.”

“Alex, you could never be him, I don’t care if you become more famous than McCartney, it’s just not possible.”

Whatever Alex saw on his face made him shake his head gently in response, “I don’t get it, you still look at me like you did when we were dumb kids surviving on ramen, like nothing’s changed at all.”

“Nothing has changed for me,” Michael insisted firmly, bringing the open and almost forgotten beer to his lips. A merger shield to employ. It was pretty clear that nothing ever would and that was his reality. It was as true now as it was when he had borrowed a guitar from the music room at seventeen. “But you knew that already, that’s why we broke up, remember? Things were changin’ for you, you were goin’ to bigger places than Roswell, and that’s a good thing. A great thing even.”

“I know. You should know that I’m not going back to Tennessee right now, Michael.”

“What?”

“There’s no Dennis, I mean, not anymore. That kinda fizzled out after your visit, and the dog was his,” Alex kept his hand over Michael’s, slowly moving it up to circle his fingers around his wrist, “I do miss the dog, she was sweet.”

“Your house-” Michael started, his pulse back to pounding senselessly in his ears.

“That was mine but I sublet it to a guy I know who’s doing session work at the studio while I was here. I just let him convert the sublet into a lease.”

“And your agent?”

“Dealing with the fact I’m taking my first sabbatical in four years,” Alex finished smoothly, an answer ready for every disbelieving question that Michael could muster about his house and life. He took a step back, as if he was suddenly aware of how he had crowded him against the warm metal door of the Airstream.

There was just one question left to ask though, as Michael studied Alex’s face intently. The transparent way his eyes kept flickering from the beer bottle against Michael’s mouth and then away. “If you’re not here to say goodbye to me, then why are you here?” he asked challengingly, raising his beer back to his mouth to finish with a full lipped suggestive swallow.

Gauntlet dropped and accepted as Alex surged forward to press Michael against the door and kiss him. The glass bottle dropped uselessly to the ground, glancing off the metal steps as Michael reached behind him to turn the knob quickly. He stepped backward, letting Alex crowd him through the doorway, chasing his mouth hungrily.

The metal door slapped hard against the door jamb, as Michael fell back on his mattress.

Alex gulped audibly for air from the break, pulling back to tug off his v-neck shirt over his head and then stilled as he took in the state of Michael’s small bed. His eyes widened, scrutinizing the setup and Michael had to look away in embarrassment, knowing exactly what Alex had just recognized. “You goddamn liar! When I said I didn’t want our sheets to take with me, you said you were going to burn them!”

“Yeah, well, it seemed wasteful.”

Michael leaned back on the thin mattress, ripping his own shirt off to toss carelessly on the floor. He watched as Alex reached down to unbutton his pants. The yellow light from the trailer window brushed a gold glow of Alex’s half naked torso. He drank in the small, subtle changes in Alex’s body, like the corded strength in his torso that spoke of some sort of workout. Probably yoga or dancing maybe. The playful outrage on Alex’s face slowly changed over to a dawning realization as he took in the details of the small and cramped surroundings.

This was why Michael never brought anyone back here. All around were the skeleton remains of that first apartment together. The same dishes in the tiny sink. The same cheap poster advertising Warp Tour was taped to the back of the wooden built-in dresser. The same stupid classic car clock that Alex had brought home, after Maria had bought the Wild Pony and upgraded the decor, all because the cars reminded him of Michael.

Everywhere in the Airstream was some piece of memorabilia from those three years together. It was as close to a shrine to their relationship that Michael could build without setting out candles and a full altar.

“Holy shit, you really do love me.”

“Uh, yeah,” Michael rubbed at the back of his head ruefully, before laying back to accept Alex’s warm weight over him. He closed his eyes as Alex kissed him, turning his head upward as those long, musician fingers tangled in his hair. Gasping softly, he confessed, “Never did figure out how to stop.”

“My dad was wrong, I mean, I knew he was- but he was so convinced that your species weren’t capable of it-” Alex stopped abruptly, aware almost immediately that Michael had gone rigid under him.

Dimly Michael realized that Alex was still talking but nothing registered after ‘your kind’. It was subterfuge earlier, when Alex joked that first night about his father being a lunatic lost in the ravages of a brain tumor. He believed Jesse, worse he seemed to know that Jesse was right, that Michael was different.

Cool palms cupped Michael’s face, pulling him away from his spiraling thoughts. Any hope of laughing off the response was gone with the serious look in Alex’s eyes. “Hey. I don’t care, okay? You are still the first person, hell the only person, I’ve ever loved completely. Where you came from doesn’t matter to me. I know who you are-”

“And you know what I am.”

“Yes.”

***

Michael stared up at the ceiling of his trailer not daring to look sideways at Alex, who was pressed as close he could get against Michael on the narrow bunk. After a soft acknowledgment that he knew that Michael wasn’t alone, that he’d figured out that Max and Isobel had to be the same even though his father had died believing only Michael was an alien, Michael told him everything.

The crash, the pod, the years in the system, the knowledge that he was different and the fear that came with that knowledge. The fact he has powers, that they all do. The joy he had in finding Max and Isobel again at eleven even though he didn’t trust why he felt that way toward them. Then the vow they had made for absolute secrecy. “Not even Noah knows about Isobel, and they’ve been married four years now.”

“And Max? He never told anyone either?”

“His partner knows Jenna Cameron but that wasn’t planned. They were driving back to the station after a long circuit patrol for speeders and got caught up rescuing some people from a flash flood. The Berrendo. Cam got hit by a tree branch, femoral artery, and yeah, Max healed her. No one saw him because it was a dark night, but healing leaves a handprint. Impossible to deny it.”

Alex ran his hand absently through Michael’s chest hair, soothing them both. “It was a relief when my dad had Flint show me the evidence.”

“A relief?” Michael joked weakly, his mouth twitching upward in the effort. “Low key worried now that learning I’m an alien was a relief to you.”

“I thought the novelty of being with me had worn off. I mean, my choice after telling the Air Force to fuck off was starving to death or splitting expenses with you for rent. I figured after 3 years, you were ready to move on, so you let me go.” Alex reached up to cover Michael’s mouth with his palm briefly. “I know how that sounds, but you have to understand, before you? No one had ever loved me. My mom left when I was eight. I mean, maybe my older brothers did for a bit when I was little and cute? At least until I was thirteen and my dad started singling me out. He would kick my ass in front of them, daring them to protest, and they didn’t. I didn’t even love me.”

“Alex,” Heartbreak was in every syllable. “I never wanted to let you go-”

“I know, I’m just saying, I could finally believe it when Flint handed me a piece of a 70-year-old spaceship.”

“Dropping in on you with no warning a couple of years ago wasn’t a clue?”

Alex pursed his lips together, and laid his head on Michael’s shoulder. “Honestly I had spent two years telling myself that you didn’t give a shit, and then when you showed up, I thought it was because I was making a name. All sorts of people come out of the woodwork when the first taste of fame comes along. Then you confused me, because you left and started sending me these terribly boring greeting cards.”

“Fuck off, I spent forever picking out those cards,” Michael protested with a laugh. “I was trying to show you that I had chill, that I wouldn’t boil a bunny or stalk your social media.”

“Well you succeeded, I did keep all your cards though. It might have been a factor for Dennis moving out,” Alex joked in return before sobering with a tired sigh, “but little did you know, the real stalkers here were my family. Ever since 1947, a Manes man has been tasked in protecting humanity from your kind, starting with my great-grandfather Harlan, and ending with my brother Flint.”

Michael echoed the sigh, tucking Alex closer to him. The idea of the government, especially the United States Military, believing in aliens was enough to send his pulse rattling upward with fear. Every fear made real.

“On the bright side, my dad is dead, so that’s one less Manes hunting you.”

“What’s the other side?”

“I thought my brother was in Germany except he’s been stateside for the last five years working with my dad. He’s a weapons expert, and he’s so important to the project that the military forwarded his mail to Germany for the proper postmarks.”

“Well fuck.”

***

The next day, Michael took a rare sick day from work and guided Alex out to the desert to the cave to show him the pods, where his story had begun according to his memory. Then it was Alex’s turn for show and tell, as he directed Michael to the abandoned air base.

“I don’t know if we’ll be able to get in, but Flint calls it Project Shepherd. It was Dad’s center of operations in Roswell. He tapped into all the traffic cameras and even planted one on the gate to Sanders’ Auto,” Alex explained as he stepped out of his Range Rover. “You fixing cars must have bored the shit out of him.”

Weeds and scrub grass covered the broken pavement of the air base, lending to the air of disuse. The huge metal hangers covered the expanse, the domed tin roofs punctuated the horizon like a scattered group of D’s. Michael scanned the surroundings, a feeling of disquiet and dread filling his veins. It was probably the height of foolishness to visit a top secret bunker with only the company of a musician as back up, even if he did have the last name of Manes.

A dark shadow caught his eye, and frowned as he realized that they weren’t the only ones on sight. A familiar dark blue BMW was parked off to the side, mostly hidden by a building named B unimaginatively. As he crossed the parking lot with Alex a step behind, skipping over the broken slabs of paving markers, he drew to a halt in front of an open door.

Michael started forward, but Alex slapped his hand over his arm to halt him, “you should let me go first-”

“What, no!”

“I’m human, what if there’s some sort of anti-alien trap down there?”

“And you’re human, so what makes you think you’ll trip it?” Michael shot back reasonably, shaking off Alex’s hold. “If there’s a trap, I’m the one with the lock pick in my brain, besides, I think I know who’s down there.”

“This is like every bad horror movie, Michael.”

But outside of that pronouncement, Alex let him take the lead down the stairs of the open bunker into the cool shadows of the underground facility. As expected, he made it down uneventfully and found exactly who he expected at the bottom, spinning around in a slow circle in a leather covered office chair.

“Did you know they’re selling a shirt at Planet 7 that says ‘I’ve been probed by an alien’? I should buy it, because I can wear it unironically,” Kyle greeted as Michael made it to the bottom of the staircase. He shut his mouth comically as he realized that Michael wasn’t alone, “Whoops, did I just blow your secret like I’ve blown you?”

In Michael’s experience with Kyle, working the almost-friends and all-benefits angle, he had seen him in a lot of states. Worn out from a long shift at the hospital, solemn because he’d lost a patient, giggly because of Michael’s tendency toward wild bedhead, horny strangely because of a good football game, and finally tipsy after a pair of IPAs. He had never seen Kyle in this state.

“Are you drunk?” Michael asked, disbelievingly even though there was a mostly empty bottle of bourbon on the long conference table, stretching along the width of the room under the fluorescent lights.

“I am very drunk. That is the only sane response to my dad, I mean my day, actually I had that right the first time, my dad.” Kyle nodded vigorously before looking over Michael’s shoulder, “Hi Alex Manes. I’m sorry I was a homophobic jackass in high school. I have really changed. Ask your ex. Or is it current? Am I the ex now? Are we both Michael’s ex? Exes? Fuck is that plural or possessive-”

“You are definitely an ex now,” Alex answered firmly.

“Holy shit you are wasted,” Michael shook his head, slightly amused in spite of the deep alarm he felt in finding Kyle Valenti deep in the command center of an alien hunting operation. It was hard to feel too afraid considering the words pouring from Kyle’s mouth unedited.

“Listen I changed myself okay? I did the hard work examining my privilege and my toxic masculinity. I did it because I like sucking dick, but also because my dad is a good person and I wanted to make him proud. But I was fucking wrong. Not about sucking dick, that’s great, but my dad, he’s not good, Michael, he is really not who I thought he was.” Kyle pronounced seriously with the heavy emphasis of the inebriated. He staggered over to a computer system to press a key, pulling up a surveillance camera of a nondescript building on the set of command monitors. “He runs an alien GITMO,” the outside image clicked over, showing a line of cells, including an image of an all-too familiar man, “And he had Jesse Manes killed by an alien.”

#mguerin20 #guerinweek20 #malex fic #michael guerin #malex #roswell new mexico #au after the shed #the lost decade #oh yeah still got a bit of plot to wrap up #alex manes

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keelywolfe · 4 years

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FIC: The Rose and the Thorn: Chapter 8 (Mafia AU)

Summary: Behave, that was all Edge asked of Rus. Behave while he's gone. Rus can do that, no problem at all!

Tags: Spicyhoney, Mafia AU, Flower Shop AU, Violence, First Meetings

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Read on AO3

Read it here!

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If there was one teeny, tiny minuscule benefit to being at breakfast with Red and Blue, it was that no matter how much they both looked like they wanted to ask questions, they obviously didn’t want to do it in front of each other.

The looks they were sending each other were loaded with things unspoken and Rus only pretended to be oblivious, focused on cleaning his plate. It tasted better now without guilt flavoring it, he supposed anxiety over an upcoming brotherly chat wasn’t as much of a downer on his appetite. It took a little longer for Blue to go back to his own breakfast and he chewed with determined focus, his fork scraping loudly on his plate.

Red gave up on food entirely, choosing instead to have a cigar for breakfast. The tip smoldered almost the same crimson heat as his glaring eye lights.

As slow as Rus ate, in mincing little bites, and as many times as he refilled his plate, twice, until his magic felt bloated, eventually he had to admit defeat. He couldn’t avoid the questions forever. Honestly, he wasn’t sure who he’d prefer to be cornered by first, Red or Blue. At least with Red there was a chance of putting him out of his misery.

Finally, he pushed away his plate with a sigh, wiping at his mouth with his napkin. By now, Blue was practically vibrating with impatience and the smell of Red’s cigar wafting down the table was killing the taste, anyway.

“finished?” Red said, dryly. He jerked a thumb at the door, the heavy rings on his fingers glinting, “good, now head outta here.”

Rus only blinked at him dumbly, “what?”

That wasn’t at all what he’d been expecting, his own version of the inquisition was what was supposed to be coming. Instead, Red sighed, deep and exaggerated. “go on, kid, me and your bro got some business to attend to.”

“Yes, business,” Blue said and there was something in his voice, brittle in a way that Rus didn’t think he’d ever heard before. But the smile he turned Rus’s way was bright and he made a little shooing gesture, “Go on, brother, I’ll come to you when we’re finished.

“have a look around,” Red said, easily, “dogs will keep you outta trouble, so do whatever ya want.” His grin went wide, tight and sharky, “within reason, flower shop.”

Hearing that little nickname said so sardonically made him stiffen and Rus fumbled to his feet, tossing his napkin on the table and heading for the door. At least he’d managed not to spill anything on himself.

At the door, he hesitated, looking back at Blue. It felt like abandoning him and they’d always had each other’s back, stayed together underground and above, gotten through everything together. Blue only waved him impatiently on and it stung, a little, like his days back in stripes being told to stay put when the adults needed to talk. A miserable flush heated his cheek bones and Rus turned back, walked out the door.

The same Dog who’d led them here this morning was waiting, probably ready to take him back to their room, but Rus hung back. He didn’t want to watch TV, knew he wouldn’t be able to take a nap, so instead he asked, tentatively. “can you take me to that room with the books?”

To his relief the Dog nodded, and this time Rus paid closer attention which way they went. He didn’t really need a map, anyway, if he had a general idea where they were, he could take a shortcut instead of relying on Red’s endless Dog pack to lead him around on an invisible leash.

That office was only two left turns away and the Dog held the door open for him, letting Rus in, then closing it behind him. Probably planning to stand out in the hall waiting and it was whatever, at least he was in a room with books.

There were so many, most of them luxuriously leather-bound and looking as if they’d never even been opened. Shakespeare and Chaucer, Austin and Dickens; the kinds of books someone would show off if they were trying to impress. But buried into one corner were some popular novels, dogeared and comfortably worn.

Rus hesitated over choosing one, glancing over at the massive desk on the other side of the room. His curiosity was itching, it was, oh, so tempting to see what kinds of things were hidden in its depths…which would probably fall under that whole misbehaving thing Edge warned him about. He’d already decided to leave it alone when a glance into one corner froze him, making him very glad he hadn’t made the attempt. The rounded lens of a camera was pointing right at him, a little red light blinking.

Books. Right.

Rus picked one of the worn novels, an old favorite of his, and settled into one of the oversized chairs to read.

‘The Turn of the Screw’ seemed an apt choice, all things considered.

Rus was barely through the first chapter when he heard something of a commotion out in the hallway. There wasn’t any screaming or gunfire, so hey, probably safe enough to peek out the door and he did, catching sight of several broad backs and shaggy tails making their way down the hallway with a rattle of metal and ceramic.

The Dogs were carrying the trays from breakfast, Rus realized, at the same moment that he saw that his ‘guard’ wasn’t at his post. He was helping carry them, probably back to the kitchen and that stirred his curiosity again.

What kind of kitchen must this place have, it had to be something wild, right? Something right out of ‘Top Chef’ with all the absolute best tools and gadgets. If Rus got a good look at it, he’d have some gossip to distract Blue from the questions he was pretty sure his big bro had. It never hurt to have a little something something as a backup plan.

Of course, he could ask to tag along to see it, Red obviously told the Dogs to let him explore a little, but, eh, where was the fun in that? Sneaking into the kitchen wasn’t getting into trouble and even if it was, the cameras were out here, too. Someone would probably show up to foil his sketchy plans if there was a problem with it.

Sounded good, right? Right.

Rus trailed along behind them as quietly as he could. This place really was bigger than it seemed, weird twists and turns, and for the first time it occurred to Rus that it was probably a real security feature. Hard for anyone to attack or kidnap in here if they couldn’t find you. A couple of the doors they went through needed a swipe card and Rus managed to catch them with a touch of blue magic before they closed, gleeful that the dogs didn’t notice; probably they’d pay more attention going in, it wasn’t like they expected anyone to be sneaking out. They were chatting together, too far away for Rus to hear, and the dishes were rattling. A perfect storm to keep them from noticing their skeletal shadow.

They went down some stairs, ugh, rude not to have an elevator for them, did Red really have his guys hauling three meals a day up the stairs.

Rus crouched on the landing where they couldn’t glance up and see him, waiting until they went around the corner before creeping down. From there they went through another door and that left him scrambling. He couldn’t exactly follow them right into the kitchen and once they dropped off the trays, the Dogs would probably head right back upstairs and right into him, catching him before he had a chance to get any intel.

The door was already opening again when Rus darted through another door with a placard that read ‘janitorial’ and hey, what do you know, it was filled with brooms and shelves of cleaning supplies.

There was no window. All he could do was wait, counting impatiently, trying to decide exactly how long it would take a couple of guard Dogs to go down the hall and around the corner. They might not be mad about him following them down, but if they caught him out now, there would be questions he didn’t really want to explain why he was hiding with the Clorox and Pine-sol.

Cautiously, Rus crept out into the very empty hallway then down to the door, slipping inside and—

Oh. This was very much not the kitchen, not the kitchen at all. Even if the lack of appliances and counterspace didn’t clue him in, Rus was pretty sure that cooks usually wore more clothing. Like, a lot more.

The people sitting around the room were mostly wearing robes that were hanging open over scanty underthing; very pretty people, Monsters in every shape and shade whose attractiveness wasn’t at all diminished by the way they were eagerly digging into the leftover food. All the trays from that morning were crowded on a long folding table, the kind they used sometimes in banquet halls.

There was a microwave on one end of the table, but no one was using it, no one seemed to mind if their eggs were lukewarm. There was also an open package of store-bought tortillas and several of them were layering sausage with hash browns, topping them with tomatoes for an impromptu breakfast burrito as they chatted, the room filled with laughter and the sounds of eating.

Rus stood there for far too long, gaping rudely, when one of them looked up and let out a small cry. A sudden hush fell over the room, a dozen or so eyes staring at Rus while he stared back.

A Bun was the first to speak up, maybe the same one he’d seen dancing yesterday, it was hard to tell with her bra on. Her mink-brown fur was clean and fluffed, with a spray of spots across her muzzle that passed for freckles. Her ears were pulled up in a loose sort of ponytail, and her robe was a nearly transparent shade of cream with lace dripping from the cuffs.

She pasted on a smile, said with sweet firmness, “Sugar, back here is off-limits to guests, you’re gonna have to head back out—" she trailed off, setting her half-filled plate aside as she rose gracefully to her feet and came over to study him closer. Rus tried not to flinch as she lightly touched his collar, her eyes traced over the rest of him. “You don’t look like a paying customer, honey, you lost?”

“i’m a friend of edge’s,” Rus said, warily. “i came from upstairs.” It felt a little too much like namedropping and he wasn’t sure what reaction he expected, maybe shrieks of terror or someone swooning at the mere mention of his name.

Instead, the pall that had settled over the room when they noticed him faded as quickly as it’d come, the tense tide in the fluttering sea of silk and lace rolling back out as the others went back to filling their plates.

“Oh, a friend of the Boss! That’s different,” the Bun laughed and slid a surprisingly strong arm around him, guiding him further inside despite the reluctant drag of Rus’s shoes. “Then you go on and pull up a chair, hon, and help yourself! We don’t mind, do we, girls?”

A chorus of denials came from the others, a few of them muffled around chewing.

“thanks, but i already had a crack at it earlier,” Rus tried. He couldn’t help giving the door a longing glance, this place wasn’t exactly the kind of gossip that Blue would be interested in, though Rus was very sure he’d have a lot to say about it. But the Bun didn’t relent and Rus resigned himself staying for a few minutes. Two days ago, he’d hardly a single secret to keep from his brother and now it looked like he was getting a collection.

“Then sit anyway and chat,” the bun said. Her smile was sly, red-tinted lips curving. “You came all the way down here, may as well. My name is Mona, what do you go by around these parts?”

“Rus, ma’am.” He almost fell silly being so mannerly, but the lessons of childhood stuck, even when a person found themselves it what he figured was the stripper’s breakroom. Blue always told him manners weren’t only for special days and he didn’t miss the fleeting surprise and pleasure that crossed Mona’s face. It made him wonder when the last time someone called her anything like ma’am or miss, or if she was more accustomed to something worse.

“Oh, you sweet thing,” Mona giggled. She retrieved her plate and heaped a pile of fruit on it, confessing, “I’d take the whole thing if I could, never can resist fresh mango. The boss always makes sure we get the leftovers after they do their fancy meetings. Makes for a nice treat. I can hardly pour a bowl of cereal, myself, kinda a literal version of can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.”

“Better to save your heat for the stage, Mona!” One of the others called and a titter of laughter rose up around the room while Rus tried not to think about seeing that very stage act last night through the ceiling glass.

“Hush, you, and eat!” Mona scolded, even as she laughed herself.

“that’s really nice of him to bring you food like that,” Rus said slowly. It was and it made Rus feel a little guilty about his assumptions earlier about all of it getting scraped into the trash. A kindness he didn’t assume of Edge, and Rus thought unhappily that it said something about him more than Edge, something unkind. A reminder that he barely knew Edge and it seemed like his perceptions were getting challenged at every step, reality slowly getting shaken out of all of his daydreams.

“He’s a good fella,” Mona agreed, popping a grape into her mouth. “Boss takes good care of us.” Very softly, too quietly for anyone else to hear, “Not sure why he’s got you holed up here, but he’ll take good care of you, too, honey. And you call me Mona, all right now?”

That kind reassurance made Rus swallow hard. He snagged one of the muffins, simply to have something to do with his hands, nodding a little as he murmured, “okay, miss mona.”

That earned him another pleased chuckle. Thinking of the names a stripper might be used to only made him more determined to hold to politeness. A person wasn’t only their job, not Edge and not these ladies, and Mona seemed so kind. She deserved his manners.

Filled plate in hand, Mona guided Rus over to one of the sofas that was pushed up against the wall, plopping down on the sagging cushions. Around them, conversation started up again, and Rus had to admit, it was sort of fascinating to listen to someone else’s gossip for a change. As it turned out, it wasn’t so different than the chitchat he made back at the shop with the regular customers There was idle speculation on the weather, if the humidity was finally gonna break into rain and give them some of the sunshine they all craved. About the set list for that night, songs that Rus didn’t know and a few he made a mental note to give a listen. A few of them asked him his favorite songs and Rus offered a couple tentatively to nods and delight, and made a mental promise to never let Blue know that at any given moment there might be a monster downstairs taking off her clothes to the same song he tended to sing when he weeded.

One gal complained about her current boyfriend and the consensus was that she needed to dump his ass. Rus agreed, saying stoutly, “if he’s a cheater, you deserve better. let your neighbor have him if she wants him so bad, she can pay his rent for a change!”

A chorus of agreement circled the sofas and Rus tore off a piece of his muffin to munch on, hiding his pleased grin. Not much was worse than a cheater, in his opinion, promising love and then breaking their word along with someone’s heart.

“You said it, honey. Aren’t you an angel?” the Cat Monster purred. To his dismay, she slunk to her feet, all sleek grace in totteringly high heels. She was wearing a dress that was little more than a tube of material hugging her curves, bubblegum pink a sharp contrast to her short white fur. Her tail lazily coiled around her ankles as she leaned down and said teasingly, “You offering to take his spot, sugar skull?”

Um. Rus struggled to swallow down his mouthful of muffin, managed to croak out around it, “sorry, i don’t like girls. no, wait, i mean! i like girls, not, like like, it’s…that’s not what i mean!”

Soft laughter from the Cat Monster drowned him out, bright and unoffended, “Aww, guess I’m out of the running, he doesn’t like pussy.”

“Don’t tease him, Lilith!” Mona scolded, patting Rus’s arm even as heat flooded his cheekbones. “Remember, he’s a guest of the Boss.”

“Uh huh,” the Cat, Lilith, turned away, tail swishing, “Figures. Sure can’t fault his taste.”

Another murmur of agreement went around the room and Rus buried his face into his hands, cringing. Wanting to deny it and at the same time, he didn’t, really, how could he? Edge was handsome by most standards, even Human ones, especially the kind who were probably out in the main room right now, waiting for his new friends to finish their breakfast and get back to dancing.

Mona wasn’t one of them. She yawned, showing her large, blunt front teeth, and stood. “I’m about to head home, my shift is over for the night. How long are you staying upstairs, honey?”

“only a few days, i think.” He hoped.

“Well, you come on back and say hello again, you hear?” She held out a hand and when Rus shook it, and her grip was light, gentle. “It was nice to meet you, Rus.”

“it was nice to meet you, too, miss mona,” Rus said, honestly. He might come back and visit again even when he wasn’t stuck staying upstairs and it wasn’t a secret if he simply didn’t bring it up to his brother. Right?

Mona gave him a last smile and slipped out of the room.

The other ladies were wandering out, too, some still carrying coffee cups, others straightening their clothes and hair, breaks over and ready to head back to work. Rus left them behind and found his way back to the stairs. The door at the top was locked and Rus didn’t have a keycard, but that was fine. He didn’t really want to try to retrace his steps all the way back anyway and after a glance to make sure no one was watching, he took a sideways step into a shortcut, stepping out into the book-filled office.

There was no one in the room, it was exactly as he’d left it, his book still sitting on the side table. No alarms sounded or sirens blared. If anyone was watching those cameras, they didn’t seem too concerned about him blinking in and out, and that seemed…odd. All this security and no one minded if he shortcutted around? He’d have to ask Edge about it, maybe, next time he saw him.

Well. If he saw him. It wasn’t like there was any reason for Edge to come looking for him, not really, unless it was to let Rus know they could head home.

Actually, there was really no reason at all for him to see Edge again, not privately anyway, and that realization shouldn’t have made his soul sink so unpleasantly. That was actually the point of them being here, wasn’t it, hiding out for a bit while Blue settled their business arrangements, a percent of money for ongoing protection, that was all, and maybe Rus didn’t trust Red entirely, but he believed Edge when he said his brother kept his promises.

Edge wasn’t asking anything else of Rus. He didn’t want any bargain of his own, honestly seemed pretty damned against it, and it was probably better if Rus didn’t see much of him, easier to get back to his own simple floral life.

Simple. Right.

It’d been a couple of hours since his own breakfast but suddenly, Rus was tired in a way he hadn’t been before. He’d head back to their room and if Blue was there, maybe he could beg for a chance at a nap before they had the chat he knew was coming.

The chances of him finding his way back to their room on his own was slim to none but Rus was reluctant to shortcut again and instead headed out the door. He was bound to bump into someone who could lead the way.

He didn’t expect it to be literal. The moment he opened the door and stepped out Rus plowed into what felt like a wall. A very nicely clothed one, his flailing hands sliding over cashmere and linen as he scrabbled for a hold to keep him upright. His luck wasn’t with him lately and he probably would have fallen, except two large hands settled on his shoulders, holding on, and okay, what did it mean that he already knew that touch, the gentle grip of increasingly familiar gloved hands.

“Careful,” Edge said. The deep, rolling resonance of his voice never failed to make Rus shiver, like an invisible touch climbing up his spine. The sneaking, sly thought came that he’d nearly learned how a real touch would feel in the same place, would have if he hadn’t panicked last night. Rus shoved it forcefully away. So much for not seeing Edge again while he was here, and his relief was embarrassingly strong.

“whoops, sorry!” Rus managed to laugh, ignoring the nervous butterfly flutter of his soul, “all these hallways and i still managed to…run…into…”

The words whickered right out of his head as Rus finally looked up, leaving blank shock behind as he stared, and it was only then that he noticed, distantly, that the normal rich tang of Edge’s cologne was tainted with char.

What. The. Fuck.

“what the fuck, what happened?!” Rus blurted aloud, all his humor, his cheer at meeting the ladies downstairs and his sneaky-sly thoughts about Edge touching him vanishing as he lunged to catch Edge when he rocked unsteadily on his feet in a way that had nothing to do with Rus bumping into him, all his heavy weight caught briefly in Rus’s desperate embrace.

~~*~~

tbc

Read Next Chapter

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #mafia AU #underswap

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thatmagickqueer · 4 years

Text

Here's some poly Fluff! Asra x Reader x Julian.

Warnings: Julian route spoiler in the next sentence, minor swearing.

Setting: Right after Julian pushes you away and breaks up with you, you have to confront the cards and Asra for an answer.

Between a Rock and Hardplace

I walk toward the shop, finally focused on the cobblestone path, trying to keep the tears from welling up in my eyes. In case Asra was in today, I wouldn't want him to see. He can't know what went on between Julian and I... he might assume that I didn't have feelings for him either. It's so frustrating falling for two people at once. I shake my head. This whole situation is impossible. I can't choose. How could I? It wouldnt be fair to myself or either of them, if my suspicions of both of them caring for me are correct.

I stop before the old wooden door, closing my eyes and feeling the grain of the wood caress the tips of my fingers, in attempt to collect myself and be in the moment.

I fumble the key out of my haphazardly filled bag, cursing at myself for being so disorganized lately. To be fair, a lot has been on my mind. At last, I hear a tinkle of metal against other contents of the bag and fish it out, my eyes gleaming both in triumph and bitterness.

I prepare my eyes to guide the key into the lock, only to look up and see Asra at the doorway, eyes soft with amusement. He must have sensed my lingering presence at the doorway.

"I don't think you'll need that anymore," he says, holding the shop door open for me.

"I-I...thank you." I stammer. I walk in, running a hand through my hair, flustered.

Asra closes the door behind us and resumes labeling a fresh batch of products for under the counter.

I can't remember ever being this nervous. I shift my weight, stalling. My eyes float towards the back room.

The cards call to me.

Ah, yes! The cards!

I feel Asra's gaze upon me, gentle, but curious.

"Is something bothering you? Would you like to ask the cards?" He asks. I can tell he wants to press further, but decides not to.

I smile weakly. "I will do a self-reading today, but you're more than welcome to join me after." There's no hiding his concern this time, his brows furrowed, filling up a newly labeled jar with a comical level of intensity. A sleepy Faust seems to feel his worry, waking from a snooze in Azra's scarf.

I've never done a private self-reading in his presence, only when he and I were away from eachother. So I don't exactly blame him, especially since I'm usually so transparent with him. My hands part the soft curtains, stopping midway through the waterfall of fabric to look back and meet his lingering gaze again. I raise an eyebrow. "Having fun looking at me today?" I tease.

Oh no. Why must I be such a flirt? I'm trying to make this situation more simple, not more messy. Oh well, it appears I've lightened the mood judging by Asra's twinkle in his smiling eyes. I whip around, going into the reading room before he gets a chance to respond. I'm glad I played it off cool before this blush fully consumed my face.

I do my best to clear my mind before choosing a type of reading and a question. There are so many questions in my head and so many types of readings I can do.

After a pause, I choose a situation, action, and outcome reading.

I shuffle the deck into 3 smaller decks, rearanging and shuffling again. From there I sweep the cards out in a semi-circle on the table. I think of my question: What should I do about this situation with Julian and Asra?

I gently pluck three cards that call to me, laying them out.

Situation: VIII of Cups, Reversed.

I am both fearful of walking away and pursuing this situation further. I am afraid of losing all that I have gained along the way. I am confused, unsure if walking away would be better for me in this case.

An amused breath escapes me. You sure got that right, I think.

My hand delicately flips over the second card with a satisfying thwap.

Action: Temperance

I let out a disgruntled groan. Now is definitely not the time for elusive answers.

I gather my patience and dissect its meaning.

Temperance means the middle road, which is making me more confused. I furrow my brows. The middle road? In this situation? -Both- Julian and Asra? Now that I think of it, Asra and Julian did have that fling... a few years ago...but that's about it. I sigh. The card means finding a balance and adapting, but I'm more worried about the communication that has to happen to get me there.

My eyes drift over to the last card as my hand reaches to flip it over.

Outcome: Ace of Cups.

It means emotional fulfillment, new beginnings, and giving-and-getting.

I don't know what will happen, but I need to know now. My heart flutters with hope.

I lean forward, collecting the cards, shuffling them, and placing them back in a small purple velvet pouch I bought for them at the market. I trace the small, gold-threaded embroidery of a graceful snake on the middle of the bag. I hope Asra likes it, after all I needed something to protect the cards if he's going to let me adventure around with them on my person.

I hear a knock on the post just outside the curtains. "MC, everything okay? You've been in there a while...Can I come in?" Asra asks.

"Sure! All done here!"

Asra passes through the curtains, the lamp casting light on his beautiful features. He looks like he's glowing. He takes a seat, taking in my face as well. The tension is a little too much for me.

"Sorry I took so long. I didn't mean to leave you hanging with shop duties. There weren't any customers that needed a reading, right?" I say, biting my lip nervously and shifting my feet.

"No, you're fine. MC, did you want to talk?"

"Actually, yes."

He looks at me expectantly as I try to find the words.

"I...Julian...left me."

"Oh. I didn't know you guys were a thing."

He almost looks hurt.

"That's not the only thing bothering me," I blurt. Might as well get this all off my chest and be done with it. Running my fingers through my hair, I look up to him, his gaze locked in mine. Rather than feel scared, I feel emboldened seeing Asra like this, in this light, in this intimate room. "I deeply care for both of you."

"Is that why you wanted a private self-reading?" He asked softly.

I nod.

"What did the cards say?...If you don't mind me asking."

"I did a Situation, Action, Outcome spread. VIII of Cups, reversed. Temperance. Ace of Cups."

He looks thoughtful for a moment, understanding reaching his eyes as his body relaxes slighty. A smirk plays at his lips. "He ended it, huh? I'll have to help you get him back. That is, if you want." Asra's eyes search mine with intensity and care. "I'm willing to see where this goes, I'm interested-- if you're okay with it."

He gets up from his side of the table and comes over to mine. I nod, trying not to beam with giddiness. At my failed attempt at supressing a smile, he laughs, tenderly tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. Leaning down and taking my hand, he whispers, "Let's go find Ilya."

#julian devorak #arcana fluff #asra #asra x julian #asra x apprentice #asra x reader #julian x reader #julian x mc #julian x asra x mc #arcana

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twentiethcenturymoviesandtv · 4 years

Text

Running Scared: The Story

So Running Scared is a buddy-cop movie, right?

Well, heck, you might say. If it’s a buddy-cop movie, I may as well not read the plot description. A by-the-book cop is forced to work with a wild-card cop to catch the criminal and save the day, while learning to respect each other. The boss gets mad at them, the car gets destroyed, they’re pulled off the case, and solve it anyway, breaking procedure in the process.

Okay, so you’re not wrong about that second half. Got me there. Buddy-cop films tend to not have a whole lot of variety when it comes to cliches, but then again, the same could be said of most genres. And hey, cliches aren’t necessarily bad.

Before you write off Running Scared as just another attempt to cash in on Beverly Hills Cop, though, there are a couple of things to consider: for one thing, there’s no ‘by the book’ cop. And these two certainly aren’t being forced to work together. These guys? They’re good friends.

Let’s take a look at the setup. (Spoilers below!)

Two undercover Chicago cops, Danny Constanza (Billy Crystal) and Ray Hughes (Gregory Hines), spot two criminals they recognize: drug dealer Julio Gonzales, and one of his associates, ‘Snake’. Gonzales, recognizing the pair, drives off before the two can investigate further, but before he does so, he gives Snake a briefcase, which Snake runs off with, and I’m sure is totally legitimate.

Danny and Ray pursue Snake to his third-floor apartment, where they threaten him with a search warrant. And physical harm.

“Listen, Snake, here’s the situation: I have this gun here. Now I am going to take the gun out and I am going to shoot a lot of holes in the door. If you are standing in front of the door, what can I tell ya? Some of the holes are gonna be in you. Ya catching my drift, Snake?”

Snake lets them in.

The pair open his case, and discover what was so important in there: $50,000.

Unfortunately, possessing $50,000 isn’t evidence of wrongdoing in and of itself, and Danny and Ray can’t make an arrest. Danny, having an idea, steps outside the apartment, onto the balcony, and makes an announcement to anyone in the neighborhood:

“This block is being designated a Neighborhood Watch Area. There’s a guy up here named Snake. He’s wearing garage-sale clothes and the top of his head looks like a parakeet. He also has FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS in small bills in a briefcase. As his neighbors, it is your responsibility to make sure there are no suspicious characters or evil perpetrators lurking in the area who would seek to do him harm. Again, FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS in small bills, tax free, in a briefcase right in this apartment. Which has a really cheeseball lock! You can bust your way in there, bop him on the head, take the money, nobody would know! So it’s UP TO YOU. Thanks a lot, have a good day.”

Snake, realizing the tough spot he has just been put in, punches Ray in the face so they have an excuse to book him.

While the pair take Snake to the station, they discover that the money in the briefcase belonged to Julio Gonzales. After a few stops, one at a funeral for Danny’s aunt and the other at the scene of an apparent rooftop jump, the pair take the criminal in.

While at the station, Danny’s ex-wife, Anna, comes in to give him some news: she’s getting remarried to a dentist. During this discussion, a lawyer comes in with a check for $40,000 for Danny, left to him by his deceased aunt. Danny is left, presumably, with a severe case of mood whiplash, as he still clearly has feelings for Anna, and is now saddled with quite a bit of cash.

At this point, the plot decides to get going.

See, as it turns out, the ‘suicide’ from earlier wasn’t quite what it seemed. For starters, the victim was a cop, and he didn’t die as a result of the jump. He was drowned first. And seeing as it’s pretty hard to die from jumping off a building after you’ve already died from drowning, the captain of the precinct puts Danny and Ray on the case to figure out who did the police officer in.

The pair decide to use Snake to get to the bottom of it, and convince him (via withholding all but $5,000 of his $50,000) to lead them to Gonzales, planning to get enough evidence to arrest him. Snake agrees, (again, reluctantly) and leads them to the meeting place, a cargo ship. While there, they discover that Gonzales is in possession of a box of Uzi machine guns. During the meeting, Snake pretends that he is in danger, and Danny and Ray rush in, only to be surrounded by Gonzales’s men. Gonzales announces that he plans to be the next godfather of Chicago, and has one of his lackeys shoot Snake. As the guns turn on Danny and Ray, two detectives, who have been serving undercover in Gonzales’s gang, announce their identities, and after an ensuing gunfight, arrest most of the gang except Gonzales himself. After another brief chase, Danny and Ray corner and arrest Gonzales and take him in, clearly expecting to be praised.

Back at the precinct, Captain Logan chews the pair of them out for busting the undercover operation and then needing to be rescued like rookies. He also orders them to go on vacation.

So, they do.

To Key West, Florida, to be exact.

While they’re there, during their Good Times Montage, Danny decides to quit the force, and convinces Ray to retire as well, so they can open a bar in Key West with the money left to him by his aunt. Ray agrees, and after their vacation, the pair return to Chicago to deliver their 30 day notice.

They also find out that Julio Gonzales is out of prison on bail.

Enraged, the two vow to not leave the force until after they put Gonzales away for good, and set off to find him, intending to be a little more careful this time. On top of that, however, Captain Logan has given them a new assignment: training their replacements before they go, the same two undercover officers from the previous bust.

After an incident involving Gonzales getting away again (This time with Danny and Ray’s pants), the duo are left empty handed (aside from Gonzales’s impounded car, which is towed after Ray spray-paints a no-parking zone around it).

This is probably what the captain is talking about when he tells the two cops they’re ‘training’ that he better not catch them doing anything like what Ray and Danny do.

Armed with a new and improved version of the beat-up car they’ve been driving, (including updates like bulletproof windows, which unfortunately do not roll down) Ray and Danny follow a tip from a criminal to where Gonzales is expecting a shipment of cocaine. When they get there, however, there are already police officers on the scene, who discover a packet of cocaine estimated to be worth $3 million. The credit for this find goes to the two undercover cops Ray and Danny are training, and the two are further irritated by the fact that Captain Logan is already treating them like they’re retired. As the pair head off, they are stopped by a drug agent, who has examined the cocaine and determined that it’s an inferior grade, and, in all likelihood, a decoy for the real shipment.

At this news, Danny and Ray immediately head off to try to find the real shipment, and when they see Gonzales meeting with a priest and nun at customs, they assume that the drugs must be in the area. Gonzales spots them and drives off, leaving the priest and nun at the platform. Ray and Danny, driving their police car disguised as a taxi, pick the two up and take off after Gonzales, leading to a chase scene on railroad tracks. In the chase, Gonzales’s vehicle is destroyed by an oncoming train, but he manages to get away. Danny and Ray are left with the priest and nun, who they suspect of smuggling drugs inside the ceramic containers within the suitcases they carry.

At first, they appear to be wrong. At the station, when no drugs are found within the containers, Danny and Ray apologize for being mistaken and the priest and nun are released. However, the two discover that while there are no drugs within the containers, the ceramic containers themselves are made of pressed cocaine. The partners get a new lead on Gonzales’s location, and head out for a stakeout.

Par the course for this film, this doesn’t go especially well either. Gonzales has arranged a trash compactor truck to meet them there and destroy their car (with them in it) if they refuse to return his drugs for a bribe, which, of course, they do.

The pair escape through the back window in the nick of time, but they’re too late. Gonzales is gone. The next day, Ray and Danny take Gonzales’s impounded car out in search for him, and later that day, Anna comes to Danny’s apartment to give him an insurance policy she found, and the two have an argument about Danny’s immaturity.

“You can’t be a kid your whole life, you’re gonna have to grow up!”

“Why? I don’t like grown ups.”

After their heated discussion, Anna leaves the building only to be kidnapped by Gonzales’s men, used as a hostage, offering a trade: Anna for the drugs. If Danny doesn’t comply, Anna will be killed.

Lucky guy that he is, Gonzales has just hit Danny’s Berserk Button.

“If you hurt that lady, you’ll never be dead enough.”

Danny agrees to the trade, and with Ray’s help, takes the drugs from the evidence room as they prepare to take Gonzales down. The plan shakes down like this:

Danny is going to enter the meeting place, the Illinois State Building, with the drugs while Ray sneaks in through the basement. The two plan to arrest Gonzales after the trade, rescuing Anna in the process.

Considering the way their plans have been going so far, it’s not far off to bet that things go wrong, and sure enough, it doesn’t quite go according to plan.

The only way up from the basement turns out to be the window washing rig, which compounds Ray’s job quite a bit. Meanwhile, during the trade, Gonzales orders one of his underlings to open fire on Danny and Anna, both in transparent elevators right next to one another. Danny orders Anna to drop to the floor and shoots the underling as Ray enters the building, hanging from the window washing rig. At the same time, the undercover cops the pair are training enter as well, and a shootout ensues, all set against the lovely backdrop of Christmas decorations.

Danny rescues Anna, taking her to safety before returning to the action. He and Ray take out Gonzales, even though there’s some contention over who fired the fatal shot, Anna and Danny lovingly reunite, and the two cops decide that Chicago still needs them, and not to retire after all.

Thus ends Running Scared, competently wrapping up loose ends with a happy finale for all on the right side of the law (except for maybe the dentist Anna was going to marry). If I were asking if this was a ‘competent’ ending, I would have nothing more to talk about.

But I’m not.

I’m asking if it’s a good ending.

Or indeed, a good movie in general.

Let’s start with that second one, actually.

Running Scared is chock full of cliches and tropes. From the angry police chief to the car getting destroyed, it merrily tromps through its plot, checking off traditional buddy-cop story devices one by one, except for the biggie: there is no conflict between the cops themselves. They are in total agreement in everything from procedure to their personal lives. There is no ‘real’ arguing, there is no distrust or rivalry. They are very close friends.

Does one subversion make for a good movie? No, not by itself. But the way this film emphasizes that subversion really does elevate it, in my opinion, to something special.

The story? Not that original. The setting? Eh, if you wanted a good look at Chicago, you could just as easily pop in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off or The Blues Brothers. The action? It’s the ‘80s. It was everywhere, and there were plenty of movies with more action than is found here.

In the case of Running Scared, the uniqueness of this film really comes from how the characters interact with the story, rather than the story itself. Specifically Danny, who the film seems to be a little more centered on, especially during that final act. Which seems kind of odd, considering the fact that on first glance, there really doesn’t seem to be that much character development for him, or anyone at all for that matter. But on a closer look, it’s a little different than that.

See, the interesting thing about Danny is that his life drives the plot. It’s his inheritance, his bar, his ex-wife that’s been kidnapped, and his immaturity that caused the split in the first place. Ray, as central and important as he is, mostly tags along and helps Danny out. When it comes to the actual story, it is Danny’s relationship with both Anna and Ray that brings everything together. It is his believable warm, easy chemistry with both characters that, in my opinion, puts this on a level comparable to, but different than, other buddy-cop films of the day.

Once again, at first it can seem like there’s no development in the movie, and after all, isn’t character development what can make or break a film?

Absolutely.

It’s not overt, but there is a subtle shift in Danny’s behavior throughout the film as he takes more and more responsibility for his actions, acting, as it were, a little more mature. While ending the film still largely a Deadpan Snarker Cowboy Cop (much like his partner), the kidnapping of Anna and her words to him before it happened change his attitude for the final act of the film. He takes the situation completely seriously, arguably for the first time in the movie, and demonstrates to Anna that he can be a grown-up, especially when it concerns people he cares about. Danny’s mildly Man-Child ways are brought up a few times in the film, about as consistently as the subplot involving his ex-wife who he clearly still cares for, his development is less about him becoming less of a wild-card cop than it is him taking responsibility and taking his job, and his life, a little more seriously. Is it pointed out? No, not really. In fact, you kinda have to squint to see it. The change is pretty subtle, and it’s a little rushed, as it takes place during the equally rushed last act of the film. For all of its good points, the movie does have a tad of a pacing problem towards the end.

However, it does make a difference. At the end of the story, the characters decide not to retire, to continue protecting the city. That wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying an ending as it is had it not been for the slight changes in the protagonist, notably Danny (whose idea it was in the first place) and his increase in maturity. Also more satisfying as a result is his reconciliation with Anna, again, not as effective if it wasn’t for the actual display of responsibility.

Back to our questions.

Is Running Scared a good movie, and does it have a good, satisfactory ending?

Very simply: Yes, to both.

Is it great? No. It’s by no means a work of art, but it’s not really supposed to be. It’s supposed to be a funny buddy-cop movie, and at that, it very much succeeds. It gives us some likable characters, a competent story, and enough chemistry and laughs to more than make up for the heap of (not inherently bad) cliches that fill the script. In some ways, it’s very much a standard buddy-cop film. In others, it’s just a little different, making for a combination that sets this film a little apart from the rest.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, stay tuned for more articles on some of the other facets that make up Running Scared, and don’t forget that my ask box is always open for discussion, suggestion, question, or conversation. I hope to see you in the next article.

#Running Scared #Running Scared 1986 #1986 #80s #Film #Movies #Action #Comedy #Crime #Thriller #Buddy Cop #R #Billy Crystal #Gregory Hines #Jimmy Smits #Darlanne Fluegel #Peter Hyams

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mentis imperium

WHO: Peter Parker, Jihl Nabel, NOVA medical staff and agents WHEN: New Year’s weekend WHERE: NOVA base, New York City TRIGGERS: assault, drowning, electrocution, suffocation, mind control, death, torture SUMMARY: After the new year, Peter goes to NY to give Aunt May a long overdue visit. NOVA uses the trip as an opportune moment to catch themselves a spider.

NOTE: If there are any forgotten triggers to be added, please feel free to let us know and the proper edits will be made.

Jihl: A woman's scream broke the air around New York, she ran as fast as possible, shoving open the door to the roof of a skyscraper as a man, crowbar in hand, followed menacingly, corralling the young woman to the corner of the roof where she was forced to balance on the edge, "Help! Heeeeeeeeelp me! Somebody please!" she sobbed between screams as the man grew ever closer, the driving cards and people walking below utterly oblivious to her peril.

Peter: There really was no government agency, especially one so backwards as NOVA, that would keep Peter from wearing his suit and going out to help people in need. No amount of revealed identity would do that, either, but it did make superheroing a little more difficult. That being said, he couldn't ignore a cry for help, especially when he was able and willing. The woman could be heard from quite the distance and it took him no time at all to reach the building in question; the assailant had a crowbar. Good, he would be easily disarmed. This didn't look as if it would take too long, which was a relief, he thought, as he swung onto the scene (Aunt May would be relieved to see him on time for dinner, for once). His focus squared itself on the woman in peril and the man ready to bash her senseless.

Jihl: The woman continued to scream as she teetered on the edge of the building as the man swung his crowbar at her midriff and she jumped to the side, barely keeping her balance as she clawed at the ground, the man was about to finish her when Spider-Man appeared and he instead turned his attention to the hero, "Fucking freak!" he bellowed, charging and aiming a strike at his head.

Peter: People were predictable. They also tended to get angry if their plans fell through, which was exactly the emotion portrayed on the assaulter's face — the rage was palpable, but Peter paid it no mind as he quickly shot out a stream of webbing from his right shooter. It stuck to the crowbar, he pulled, and it flew out of the man's hand into his own. He ducked and swung the bar to trip the guy; before he fell to the floor of the concrete rooftop, Peter struck him with barely a bonk to the back of the head, knocking him out in one swift motion. Easy. It was easy. The crowbar left forgotten by the assailant's feet when he turned to the woman, "Are you alright, miss?"

Jihl: The man went down easily, completely outmatched by Peter's superior skills and lay unconscious on the roof while the woman heaved herself off the edge of the roof, "P-please, he's m-my husband." she begged, "I-I didn't, I d-didn't think I- ... I-Is he?" she asked, tears in her eyes as she gestured him to check on the still man unwilling to move any closer.

Peter: Husband. Peter looked from her to the man and sighed. "He's your husband?" He asked, unable to stop the repeated question from finding his vocal chords. "He's okay, still breathing. I just knocked him out... He might have a knot the size of a baseball, but he'll be okay. Do you have anywhere safe to stay right now?" Peter asked as he triple checked the guy's pulse, just to be sure and to put the woman at ease that her husband was indeed okay. This lady needed marriage counseling — or a divorce lawyer.

Jihl: While Peter spoke platitudes in regards to her 'marriage' the woman wasted no time and stepped forward, her heart still racing, adrenaline and fear pumping through her, she grabbed the crowbar from the floor and brought it down with a sharp crack across the top of Spider-Man's head. Dropping it immediately after and reaching to grab something from her pocket.

Peter: Okay, most people were predictable. This woman, however, was not. Peter couldn't tell what her motives were — he could only feel fear. No doubt due to his own tiredness and paranoia, his spider sense had failed him. He realized that the moment he felt the crowbar connect with the back of his head. The pain was immediate and he stumbled away from the body, just to its left and dropped to his palms and knees. One of his hands reached up to rub the now sore spot as he turned to look at the woman behind him; the clang from the crowbar hitting the ground rung out again. Questions sprung up, his mouth moving to open, hidden behind the mask; he wanted to question her, but he didn't get the chance.

Jihl: It wasn't enough, down but far from out she needed to act quickly. The woman succeeded in pulling a can of what looked like a kind of spray from her pocket and stepped forward, aiming it directly at the mask of Spider-Man's costume and pressed down. A small hissing noise filled the air as a transparent gas spewed from the nozzle aiming directly for the wounded hero's face.

Peter: The spray was something reminiscent of the Joker's laughing gas despite its colorless appearance, though it felt different than the stuff that clogged the airways of that horrid fun house. Peter coughed as he squeezed his eyes shut; he had made a move to distance himself between him and the woman, but he had already inhaled too much of whatever was in that can. His spider sense was on high alert now, so much so that he had a blinding headache — or maybe that was just the blow to the head. "Wh-why?" He asked when he was able, when he felt his coughing subside, and shot the can out of her hand in a feeble attempt to save himself. "What's in the can?" He urged, but he could already feel himself growing a little... funny.

Jihl: It was a simply spray, synthesized from the venom of a Venezuelan spider, ironically, to induce a paralysis that left the victim unable to move but utterly aware of what was going on around them, so while breathing and other internal functions would continue, outwardly Spider-Man would be a threat no longer. "To protect the world." the woman answered, still somewhat shaky from her ordeal but it was necessary, the threat had to be real or this one would've known, his freakish senses worked that way. "A gas." she told him, moving to her unconscious cohort and looking him over, he'd be fine. She grabbed a phone from his pocket and pressed and held the one key, the signal was now sent. "One to keep you still." she finally added, looking back at him.

Peter: "Protect-," he had to laugh; the sound came out wryly as he tried to stand. The tips of his toes tingled. Peter already knew what exactly was in that can, before she even had the nerve to tell him it was meant to keep him still. "You have a backwards way of doing that, lady," he offered as he stumbled and dropped back to his hands and knees. "You can't protect the world... Not like this. If you..." Once more he tried, and once more he fell — his legs gave out from under him. He would have run, would have swung off the side of the building if the gas hadn't worked so quickly to incapacitate him. "What do you want with me?"

Jihl: Seeing as he was already struggling to stand she saw little fear in taking a few steps closer to him, "You may think that way right now, but don't worry, all will be clear soon." She stopped before him and smiled, "You see, you have been chosen for a glorious purpose, you will help protect humanity moving forward and lead the way for others. Be grateful." She told him simply, crossing her arms as the sounds of footsteps could be heard coming from the still open door from the roof back down to the building.

Peter: What the heck was this lady going on about? "News flash, lady, I kind of already do that," Peter retorted, now unable to feel the remainder of his legs; he held himself up with his forearms, though he could feel the numbness start to creep up his back. Every inch of him was falling asleep. "D'you think I run around in tights for fun?" He was grasping now, trying to reach for an out even if his spider sense was glaring a 'dead end' kind of sign. "C'mon, can we work something out..." Peter offered when he heard the telltale sound of footsteps fast approaching. "If you let me go, I'll... I'll make sure you and Casanova over there get the help you need, just. Just rethink this... Please..."

Jihl: She smirked, "You do it when it suits you, all you heroes do that. I had a brother who believed in you and he died when New York was hit in an alien attack. So much for heroes then." she watched him struggle with no sympathy, "Please. You think I care? He's an ass and frankly he deserved this. NOVA have made me a good deal here, and all I had to do was endure one more beating." As she finished speaking the armed NOVA soldiers broke through the door, led by one man, though it was difficult to tell since they all wore helmets. "Richards, take Mrs Karson and her husband downstairs." One broke from the pack and hefted the unconscious man over his shoulder then jerked for the woman to follow, which she did. The leader stopped before Spiderman and tilted his head, "Normally we'd let the paralysis take its course but in case this goes sideways we can't have you knowing where you'll be taken. So we're gonna have to knock ya out Scum." he said, his slightly muffled voice still able to convey indifference, even hatred towards Peter.

Peter: "Not that it's going to make any difference to you," he didn't much have hope that his words could sway her mind, "but that's not who I am. I'm sorry about your brother... But I know the Avengers did their best... If it wasn't for them, maybe we'd all be dead, or worse." This sucked. This sucked the big one. While the soldiers invaded the rooftop, Peter tried his best to crawl away using only his hands; his arms had given out not too long before. When the woman left with her weirdo husband, Peter frowned at the man and his extended bravado. "You guys have to be, like, the nicest baddies ever. Never had anyone give me a play by play before. Seriously, so nice. I'll be sure to give you guys five stars on Yelp."

Jihl: Though it couldn’t be seen, the figure rose an eyebrow under the helmet with the others incessant rambling. Honestly, why the Colonel had selected him as one of their targets he’d never know; it can’t have been for his personality. Rather than say anything first, he simply took a step closer to the all but paralyzed would-be hero, swung his leg back and kicked him hard right in the gut. “You talk too much.” Followed after, “I’m telling you this since you’ll be doing the same when you help us achieve our goals.” He reached into a pouch at his belt and withdrew a small bottle and a cloth. “Now, let’s finish this.” Using his foot again, he kicked Peter over so he was lying on his back and stood over him, taking his time with unscrewing the bottle and wetting the cloth with its contents.

Peter: Despite being paralyzed, Peter could still feel everything, including that good morning kick to the gut. It stung and he definitely heard something crack - either that or just wishful thinking. "New recruits?" He parroted when he was turned over onto his back so he could look up at the man. "What do you people want with me...?" Peter asked as a million and one thoughts raced through his mind; there didn't really seem like an out right now. He had on his classic suit - there were no toys or gadgets hidden inside. It was just spandex. "Wait, are you using chloroform? How cliche."

Jihl: They'd been very selective about which poison they were going to use to capture these individuals; it needed to incapacitate them but leave them completely lucid at the same time, luckily, as their leader so often said, for every task there's a perfect tool. "You'll find out soon enough. But it won't matter. In the end you'll want to help us." he shrugged with the cloth in hand and bent at the knees to loom over Peter, "If it works. Now don't try anything stupid like holding your breath to fake it, you'll just waste all of our time." the muffled voice deadpanned and the soldier reached down and yanked Peter's mask off before pressing the cloth against his face.

Peter: Despite the warning, Peter couldn't help but retract when the cloth was brought to his face. He even tried to shake him off, but without the use of his body, it was hopeless. There was a last glance to the sky, hoping that there was someone, anyone, flying overhead. No such luck. A final instance of fear in his eyes passed over before they closed slowly as he drifted off. There really was no way out of this right now. He didn't have a tracker on him, he didn't have a hidden mic or secret weapon. He didn't have backup. He was alone.

Jihl: Honestly, it had all gone much better than expected. The Karson's were dealt with, a murder-suicide, tragic really, but no witnesses could go unchecked. Peter was brought to a secret NOVA facility on the outskirts of New York, he was stripped and clothed only in black boxers while unconscious before he was strapped into what appeared to be a large, tank-like structure surrounded by dozen's of beeping monitors. The lights were low, the computer screens providing most of it and before he was sealed into the tank Peter was once again injected with a milder version of the same paralytic drug, he'd be able to move, barely, nowhere near his full strength. Once all was set up, Jihl Nabel walked into the room and sat at the head of the control panel, waiting for the other to come too, it shouldn't be long now; then the true work could begin.

Peter: Peter felt like crap - and unfortunately, his body was still groggy, sluggish, incapacitated. He could breathe fine, which was a miracle considering the thick, tight straps holding him upright. His eyes were slow to open and his vision blurry; he groaned when he came to and tensed his muscles. He could feel the binds holding him down. Nope, didn't like this one bit.

Jihl: Jihl waited until she saw signs of life from the man, only then did she rise to her feet and walk towards him. “Mr Parker.” She greeted, “My name is Jihl Nabel. I’ll dispense with pleasantries and get right to the point. Your powers are too great to be left to you to handle. NOVA exists to keep the world safe and will do that with your help. Simply put this process you’re about to undergo will see equipped with the ability to perform necessary tasks on NOVA's behalf when the time comes.” She was blunt and to the point while she pressed several control buttons on the panel next to him.

Peter: Peter dipped his head back and watched her through barely open eyes. His hands clenched and he strained against the binds again, but to no avail. "Process?" He had to chuckle at the thought of it, "what are you gonna do, brain wash me?" It was a joke, but Peter really had no idea what they were planning. It did sound like brainwashing, though, and that only made him feel all the more nervous.

Jihl: “Yes.” She nodded after a short pause, “To a degree. It’s more akin to installing a sort of code in your brain that will be triggered by a specific set of code words which then overwrites your conscious desires in favour of the task you'll need to fulfill. Dr. Covington helped us perfect the serum behind it. Though, you see, it requires a deep erosion of the subjects strength of will do fully take effect; hence why you’re here.” She finished pressing buttons and looked up at him, “You’re going to be put through dozens of scenarios even your body won’t be able to cope with until eventually you’ll give in and the serum will have full access to your mind. Then you’ll be ours when we need you.”

Peter: When she confirmed just a silly, fleeting thought, Peter's smile fell and he pulled again, getting nowhere. There was an urgency now to get free, to get out and away from this woman. "No, no. You can't do this. This isn't... this isn't right. There's going to be a lot of people looking for me... when they find out what you're doing here..." He didn't know what to say, really. What was someone supposed to say to finding out they were about to be brainwashed? To be turned into a pawn? It's not like there any kind of stage directions. He wanted out. He didn't want to become a part of this. "You can't do this."

Jihl: “You see I’m afraid I can. Several powers and authorities higher than myself have given me permission. Even NOVA answers to the government Mr. Parker. The people who’re looking for you won’t worry, you’re already away visiting your dear aunt, yes? And you won't even be with us a full day. By the end of this you'll simply think you took a nap somewhere then go back about your business.” She pressed a final button and water began to bubble up into the tank, rushing past Peter’s shins, “This is but the first step of many but, it works very well. For all your strength you, like so many others, require air to function. We’ll kill you a few times this way and bring you back: the trauma will work well to erode your will.” She finished methodically, her face expressionless as the water rose to his waist.

Peter: His heartbeat thrummed steadily within his chest; he could hear it in his ears. They were going to brain wash him and use them as they saw fit. He strained again, hoping to break free, but his muscles still felt fatigued, loose, weak. He couldn't get out, even as the water continued to rise past his hips and around his belly. The water was cold and he gasped at every new inch of untouched skin it met. Kill him a few times? Kill him? Peter shook his head quickly, urgently, desperately, "You won't get away with this... you can't. How can you not see how wrong this is?"

Jihl: She sighed, “As I have already explained Mr. Parker I shall and already have. The government controls every aspect of its populace’s lives even if they do not think it so.” Jihl paused and added, “However that doesn’t mean we’re not in agreement. Frankly I’d rather this not be the case, humanity should defend itself not require freakish golems do it for them but, alas,” she spread her arms as the water reached Peter’s shoulders, “The decision is out of my hands.”

Peter: "Freakish golems?" Peter scoffed and shook his head again, "All we're doing is trying to help everyone. At least, I know I am. We're not monsters to be controlled... we want the same things," he urged, though he had a good feeling his words fell on deaf ears. Maybe it was stoic expression on her face, void of all emotion as the water continued to rise. It reached Peter's neck and tickled the underside of his chin.

Jihl: Jihl was quiet for several moments before she spoke, "That may well be true, Mr. Parker. But alas, it's not my place to question and frankly an uncontrollable animal can turn at any moment. There's no guarantee you may not turn on society when it suits you, as countless others have done." she told him as the water reached just up to cover his lips, "And much like a golem, I'd rather you lack the capacity to disobey when you must be used."

Peter: Unfortunately for her, the water kept Peter from giving her his two cents. But that also meant that panic would soon ensue the moment his body couldn't stand the lack of oxygen. It likely wouldn't be for a while; as easy as it would be just to drown and not have to deal with this, that was probably what she wanted. She had said 'a few times', which meant she wanted him broken. She wanted him weak so they could use him. He couldn't let that happen - Peter had to fight. His will had to be strong, otherwise, he was theirs and his power set was too strong to fall into the wrong hands. That was easier said done, as he could feel the first tickling of urgency after a good chunk of time. His body had been relatively still up until that point. Now, he started to squirm - toes and fingers clenched as dark brows furrowed down.

Jihl: It was something of a reprieve from his incessant self-proclamations as the water shut him up. From here it was just a matter of time. His body, bring so unnaturally strong, would likely take some time to succumb to the effects of oxygen starvation but, with repetition his overall strength would weaken; the body was easier to break than the mind, but when the former went the latter became all the more malleable. When she saw him begin to move, unable to help himself she finally spoke, "Two minutes already, Mr. Parker, your stamina really is quite remarkable."

Peter: Her words coaxed his eyes open; two minutes, was that all? Despite the start of a burn in his lungs, her compliment only steeled himself. He frowned and stilled his squirming, determined now to at least frustrate her.

Jihl: Well, she had to hand it to the man, Johnny Storm had been long gone by this point, but then stamina wasn't quite his forte. She checked her watch again after a period and raised her brow, "Four minutes." Then flicked her gaze back up to him.

Peter: This wasn't a competition, though Peter could hold his breath for much longer than that. Unfortunately, with a blow to the back of the head, a kick to the gut, and a weird, paralysis drug, he wasn't going to be able to showcase that. Not like that was his goal or anything. Peter had his head bowed down and hands clenched tight. His toes splayed out and his jaw tensed. All he wanted was to breathe, but he couldn't, not even as his lungs screamed desperately. They burned; a few air bubbles escaped from his mouth.

Jihl: She had to admit, her curiosity as to his stamina was peaked; if NOVA were forced to use the very thing they stood against in order to achieve their goals it couldn't be denied there was potential in spades. He was clearly struggling though it seemed was determined to stand against her to the end; a strong will, impressive. But like the sea eroded a little more of the shore each year so too could Mr. Parker's urge to resist them be beaten down to nothing with little more than water. "Six minutes." she said, shaking her head slightly, "I don't know if you've this kind of power usually or are just attempting to outlast my patience." Regardless, he wouldn't win.

Peter: At her words, Peter thrust his head back quickly. The distraction in movement was a nice reprieve from the ache in his chest, thought it only lasted a blip of time before he was aware of how painful this really was. His vision started to go; it went dark and black spots danced around the outside of his sight, threatening to blind him completely. The urge for opening his mouth and inhaling kept coming in shorter and shorter bursts until he couldn't take it anymore. Peter breathed, but the only thing that came was water. It was like a zap, like a jolt - it burned and the pain was excruciating and his mind rebelled against every inhale of water. It didn't take long for everything to go dark. Peter didn't feel anything anymore and, honestly? It was kind of nice. He'd fought for so long, through everything, and to simply rest felt good. As if it were something he'd wanted for a long time.

Jihl: She watched as, finally, the man gave into his body's needs and his mouth opened, body jerking as it received only water and no air. It wasn't until his jerking stilled that she looked at her watch, "Seven minutes two seconds." And hit a button to drain the tank, the water all but vanishing instantly. With a few more button pressed the glass slid down and three NOVA staff ran in; the slab Peter was attached to moved forward and tilted so he was horizontal and they immediately performed CPR, given his natural stamina she no doubt he'd be saved and less than a minute later he was spluttering and the slab was moved back into the place, the glass panel sliding up as though nothing had happened. "And again Mr. Parker." she signed, pressing buttons so water once more was pumped into the tank.

Peter: It felt like an eternity before he saw the light again - no, that wasn't right. Did he not die? He hadn't exactly expected them to be able to bring him back to the land of the living so easily; how long had he been out for, even? That discouraged Peter as the slab was situated back into a standing position and the tank was returned around him. Her words only served to upset him further even as he continued to choke up water. "D.. Don't I get, uh..." Peter coughed and pressed his head back; his next inhale earned himself another sputter. "Bathroom break?"

Jihl: She raised an eyebrow, "Still making jokes? Seems we've got a long way to go. Though if you are serious by all means go in the tank, it'll only get drained out after you die again." she crossed her arms and waited for the water to make it's way up, recalling his previous time and doubting he'd hit the same again. This alone had been enough to make Mr. Storm susceptible to their drug (even if it hadn't been perfected) but she wondered if it would be enough for Mr. Parker.

Peter: Peter had to chuckle at that; he supposed now he could understand why Wade and Bobby made jokes all the time. It made everything easier. It felt like it took half the time for the water to reach his chin this time, or maybe he was just too fatigued to have a solid grasp on time. Peter inhaled deeply just before the water passed his nose and eyes and forehead, but he hurt. His lungs hurt, his head hurt, his body hurt. He ached everywhere and there was no grace point in between. No second to catch his breath or take a nap and try again. That was the point.

Jihl: It was true, they did make it quicker the second go around, and it would be even faster the third, they didn't have time to waste eeking out what he knew was coming, that could be saved for their later attempts. "I wonder, Mr. Parker, if this time you'll bother to resist at all? There's little point considering the end is inevitable. Why not simply give in?" His body was being pushed to its limits, his mind would soon follow and in that came NOVA's victory.

Peter: Regardless of the muscle aches, he strained against his binds as he shook his head; he always had been defiant, especially towards authoritative figures; it was just his nature. This woman was no different. His head hung, chin to his chest as he tried to hold onto it. He didn't want to give in. He wanted to be better than that. He didn't want to give her the satisfaction of breaking him.

Jihl: She sighed, honestly she'd not expected any different, "Very well, then we'll wait. And you will die again, for a time, and again, and again, as long as it takes." And when he was performing the task required of him this would all be work well done. "Three minutes." she told him idly.

Peter: Die again. He was just going to die again and again and again until he succumbed. He felt nothing short of hopeless, but that didn't mean he was going to just give up. Peter didn't do that. He couldn't. He couldn't let NOVA win so easily - he had to give them some kind of fight. Peter lifted his head and shook it, trying desperately to ignore the white hot pain in his lungs. Once more, he found himself giving in to the water.

Jihl: Second verse same as the first, though not even five minutes this time; his physical stamina was surely being worn down yet he remained defiant. Once she had him back in place, alive and the water rising past his waist again she spoke, "Do you understand yet? Mr. Parker? This will continue until I decide on a different method of pain or you submit your will to NOVA. We are here to protect the world for humans. Just accept this as a new stage in your life." It was the best a freak like him deserved.

Peter: Peter was tired. No, he was exhausted. His hair hung down, wet and sopping, but he couldn't bring himself to care. His vision was blurry and his shoulders slumped as he gasped for breath; the water moved faster now. He nearly whined when the water reached his chin again, but he inhaled once more. He was so tired, so very tired, but just laying down and taking this wasn't an option. He was sure his fingers were bruised from how tightly he clenched his fists and his feet stuck themselves in a cramp due to the clenching of his toes. Peter went again; his body convulsed as it took in water, spasming in its restraints. He died again and that likely wouldn't be the last.

Jihl: Not even two minutes this time. It was progress, and it would do. Now things could move onto the next step and she would see how they did. Of course her medical team easily revived the now exhausted Mr. Parker but this time rather than being put back into the tank she figured that his sopping wet form prepared him for their next stage. Keeping the slab horizontal she detached several small nodes that ended in suction cups and while the man struggled back to consciousness she attached them to his forehead, two on his chest, two on his abs, two on his thighs and two on his shins. "Mr. Parker, I believe this should serve to chase away the cobwebs." And with that she twisted a dial and sent a strong electrical current coursing through the nodes into Peter's body.

Peter: There were only bits and pieces from what he could remember during his removal from the tank. He became familiar with the slab, but the nodes that were attached to his wet skin felt foreign. He didn't have much time to think about it, however, until he felt a familiar jolt of electricity course through his body. Electro, Max, was still stronger by a long shot, but in his exhausted state, it seared. The scream that escaped him roused him back to consciousness, but he very much wished he was drowning instead. This pain was worse. It was so much worse.

Jihl: Jihl winced slightly at the noise of his scream, "Suffice to say you're awake. Though I don't think I care for that noise. Try to keep the screaming to a minimum would you." she gestured and her medical team entered, attaching a plastic drop of sorts into Peter's arm, the clear liquid from the bag entering his blood stream, "This is the drug that will overwrite your free will and make you useful to NOVA, Mr. Parker. In your current state it has a stronger chance to take full effect but as more of you is worn away its hold will only increase." she explained, giving him a few moments so that the truth could sink in before cranking up the electricity once more, this time at a stronger level.

Peter: Peter's mouth hung open as she continued to assault him with shocks, shocks that seemed eager to split him in two. He didn't feel the industrial strength needle break through his skin. His entire body tensed when she cranked it up; his back arched up off the slab as much as it was able as a string of pained sounds escaped him. They hadn't given him anything to bite down on, so his teeth and jaw hurt from the clenching, but she was relentless.

Jihl: "This will all stop soon, Mr. Parker. The drug will only take longer if you go against it every step of the way. Simply give way to it and this will end." She closed her eyes again for a moment and sighed, "Would you prefer if I just gagged you to muffle the noise? I've a press conference this evening and I'd rather not attend with a headache caused from your stubbornness."

Peter: A tear slipped of its own volition from the corner of his eye and roll down the side of his face and into his ear. His eyes rolled shut from the pain and constant stream of electricity.

Jihl: She rolled her eyes at the tear, "Really, Mr. Parker? Reduced to tears? I at least had respect for you despite my hatred before this began but now? Have some dignity." Honestly, this was who her superiors wanted as a living golem for NOVA? They could clearly defend themselves against him, she could kill him right now and save the world the trouble. Her anger at the situation was enough to have her cranking up the voltage even higher for the next round of electrocution.

Peter: The tears hadn't been a part of the plan, but he didn't have much of a say in how his body reacted to the raised voltage. It seemed to be too much, then, as his body gave up from having fought to keep himself awake for so long. He hadn't realized he'd truly passed out until he woke up still in the middle of being electrocuted. His nose felt wet - so did his ears. Blood. His throat felt raw from the screaming, but the pain continued even through the hoarseness of his voice until the sounds ceased to come out of him.

Jihl: Well, honestly that may have been enough. He was a crying mess and the drug was all but fully pumping through his bloodstream. Now it was likely a matter of waiting and he'd soon be theirs. "Well, Mr. Parker, you wouldn't be my choice of soldier, pathetic as you are, but my superior wants you so here we are. Can you feel it yet? Under all that pain the power of NOVA? Give in to it, and this will end; that's all you need to do. You want to obey me now, don't you?"

Peter: Peter's brows knitted together in response. Good, he wasn't the soldier she wanted, so he found whatever voice that remained and screamed again - he knew the sound annoyed her, he knew it grated on her nerves. It was the least he could do. But, on another note, he could feel what she was talking about. Under all the pain he could feel... it wasn't necessarily power like she spoke of, but more of an obedience. Yes, he did want to obey her, but god, he couldn't. He wouldn't.

Jihl: She huffed a sigh and walked a few paces away, returning moments later with simple duct tape because like hell if she was going to get a headache from this one's yelling. Without pause she ripped a large piece of and slammed his head against the slab before pressing the tape over his mouth, "If you're going to act like a fool I'll treat you like one." she murmured, giving him another shock simply because she could, "Give it time Mr. Parker, not too much longer I shouldn't think. You'll break, and the first thing you'll do is thank me for how much I've helped you."

Peter: Peter grunted when she smashed his head down against the metal slab and slapped a stretch of duct tape over his mouth. He screamed behind the tape as another tear slipped down his cheek - he hated how easy it was to make him cry. Once the shock was over, Peter lolled his head to the side, eyes heavy and lips bloodied and dry. Sure, giving in would be so easy, and for a split second, he felt himself going. He felt himself give in to the drug; a blanket of ease seemed to pass over him before his eyes squeezed shut. He couldn't - he almost fell over. He almost succumbed to it. God, he had to be stronger than that.

Jihl: She watched him appear calm, too calm all things considered following his intense shock but sadly it didn't last and he continued to resist. But, it wouldn't be much longer now, the serum would win out, Dr. Covington and NOVA's science wouldn't fail. "It felt good, Mr. Parker, you know it did, you can feel that calmness for the rest of your life if you simply give in." Honestly, the shocks probably weren't needed anymore but with him gagged the yelling was manageable, so she cranked it up again.

Peter: Peter's eyes shut tight again when she raised it even more. He passed out, though when he finally came to, his screams dropped down to muffled groans; that calmness eased itself over him despite the pain and hurried breathing. His hands released their clenched fists, though one of his index fingers scratched at the slab beneath. The blanket smothered him, pressing itself into him, into every nook and cranny that was available despite his mental urges for it not to.

Jihl: Though her expression remained impassive Jihl felt some sense of triumph when the other's pain filtered down and he seemed to relax to a larger degree. She stepped closer and with not preamble yanked the gag from his mouth in one movement, "There. You feel it now correct? You're slipping away, soon it will be over, no need to resist, Mr. Parker."

Peter: The removal of the tape was abrupt and painful, but it felt good to have his mouth free again. He did feel it, and yeah, it felt good. But it felt too easy, too good. Peter sighed; he had mulled over whether he should just give in to it or not a few times before he settled on chuckling softly to himself. His heavy lidded eyes turned to look up at Jihl and he smiled, the expression weak and barely there. Blood caked the inside of his nose and ears and it stuck between his teeth. "Screw you, lady..." he whispered.

Jihl: She narrowed her gaze at him but otherwise didn't seem to react until she methodically pulled off another piece of tape and slapped it over his mouth, then cut off another piece, pinched his nose and sealed it shut to suffocate him, honestly it seemed the serum made more progress when he was barely conscious anyway, "Hold that nasty thought." she told him quietly. And once he was in her thrall the little bastard would be apologizing immediately for his disrespect.

Peter: The tape wasn't much of a surprise, but when she placed a piece of tape over his nose, he just let it happen. There wasn't much to panic over - suffocation had been done before. He felt the familiar burn when his body realized he couldn't breathe, couldn't take in oxygen. As his consciousness slipped away, he could feel more and more of the drug hit him. He felt light, angry, yet calm, and as much as he internally screamed at himself to not give in, to fight, he didn't want to. Peter gave in to it just as he passed out.

Jihl: Honestly she was beginning to suspect this was the simplest method of attaining their goals; too many of these freaks were just ridiculously impervious to traditional methods but they still needed oxygen to function. When his struggles gave in she ripped the tape off and once more the medical team worked to revive him. "I suppose by this point I'd have broken a few of your bones but you're simply too strong for that; this method works best. Each time you come back you're more overcome, it won't be long now."

Peter: Jihl's words came in a little muffled when he came to. Blood stuck itself to the inside of his ears; he supposed that could be the culprit. Swallowing proved to be difficult - between the drowning and excessive electrocution, his throat was raw. Dry mouth was a pain and so was the rest of his body. Honestly, he was a little surprised he hadn't peed his underwear yet. Peter was too proud to admit this, but the first few times he had ever been electrocuted, he peed himself. Not this time, however, perhaps his focus on will helped him out a little. Not like that mattered; Peter felt himself slip away, anyway. He was tired, so very tired. Too tired to keep up the fight. He felt a disappointment in himself, but she had put him through the ringer. He had died more times than he likely would in his life - and he had initially hoped that would only be once. It was natural that he was too exhausted, he tried to rationalize with himself. He was worked too hard, and now he needed a rest. Peter felt another tear slip down the side of his face as an ease smoothed over the pain and worry in his eyes. "... I obey," came his breath. The light in his gaze seemed to dim, as if it too was too tired to keep going.

Jihl: She was prepared to go over this as many times as needed, frankly the work was degrading and she believed humanity could damn well look after itself, but no. Instead they were supposed to use these people to do it for them. It went against the principles she believed in but what could be done? Her Superior knew better than she and Jihl had followed him almost all her life, there was nothing else to be done. She let out a slow breath when the other's spoke, it seemed they were finally getting to the end oh this drawn out irritation. "Good." she pressed a few more buttons and the medic team returned, removing the needle from his arm and readying another. Out of curiosity to see how progress she spoke, "Un-cuff him." And without hesitation Peter was released of his bindings, "Offer your arm to the medics Mr. Parker, we're giving you a second dose to ensure your complete cooperation."

Peter: It was nice to be uncuffed, but his body hurt terribly. Right now, all he wanted was to rest, to sleep this off until his accelerated healing kicked in and did its job. Peter licked his cracked lips and tasted the blood there - her command had his eyes drawn to her and then to the medic to his other side, the one that was going to stick him with a new bag of... drug. A brain washing drug. Peter felt the need to comply, to obey, but he couldn't bring himself to put his arm out. All he could do was look at the needle - despite the drug taking over, he could still feel himself fight. It made him pause. "I...." He looked from the needle to his arm and then back to the needle, "I... can't." He wanted to, and his arm flinched forward, just slightly. Just enough to be noticed. "No... n... no. I can't," he urged and tried to sit up quickly, which only elicited a sting that spread through his whole body. He winced and cried out in pain, but damn it, he tried.

Jihl: The medic's made to back off as he began to resist but Jihl merely narrowed her eyes and raised a hand, "Hold." he told them, and they remained. "You're only hurting yourself Mr. Parker. Once you accept the next dose you'll be able to rest and from there likely heal these wounds in a few hours." Yet one more way his freakishness manifest. "Hold. Your. Arm. Out." she told him clearly and slowly, eyes looking him over lazily.

Peter: Peter dropped the back of his head to the slab and sighed. His eyes felt heavy and his head pounded; his chest burned and everything hurt. Part of him wished he were dead. Without his say so, at least consciously, he shakily held his arm out for the new needle - and the new bag. He looked on with fear, yet his mouth set in a firm line and jaw clenched.

Jihl: She nodded when he complied, "That's better." Though fight was still there, it could be seen in his eyes and any show of free will couldn't be allowed to remain, not if the safety of humanity was to endure. With a gesture her medic injected the next needle and hooked up the bag, this serum would piggyback of the first and course through him all the more quickly. "You tried, Mr. Parker, but as expected, it wasn't enough. NOVA thanks you for your soon to come cooperation."

Peter: The prick of the needle felt like nothing - he was too weak and too numb. Everything hurt too much. Now, all he wanted to do was pull the needle out and run, but once the drug entered his blood stream again, the will of his arm died. He couldn't bring himself to lift it. Nor could he bring himself to say anything witty - all he could do was close his eyes. This wasn't how he wanted to spend a Saturday.

Jihl: Jihl left the medics to do their work. It would be easy now, he wouldn't resist any further. "Give him a third infusion, just for added safety," she instructed them, "I'll check on him in a few hours when he's more healed." she had other subjects to continue this work with, frankly it was one of the few things she'd rather not leave her underlings to do alone, just in case. She planned for them to redress and move the drugged up Spider-Man to a NOVA training room to finish this exercise. With his suit on he'd be placed inside with half a dozen of her better soldiers and this would be a final test to ensure their drug and its affects had taken. Jihl moved to a room just beyond the training area, a large reinforced window with a sound system in front of her to enable communication it the other space. "Gentlemen, do you hear me?" she spoke into the microphone, her men all confirming with nods.

Peter: This was a bad time, indeed. He’d been beaten to a pulp, so black and blue and swollen that his face was unrecognizable. He’d been drowned, electrocuted, stabbed, shot, blackmailed, tortured, and just plain broken. He’d never been brainwashed, though; he didn’t know what it would be like. He was under the impression that he wouldn’t feel anything, or he wouldn’t notice. Right now he still felt like himself, even as they pumped him with another dose of whatever psychosomatic drug they’d cooked up. That likely would change. He was moved, then, from the torture chamber they had him in to a different room, one where there were already people inside. From the looks of their gear, they looked like agents, grunt men. Peter could only catch snippets of his surroundings as his body continued to heal, though he could feel his resolve slip as their drug coursed through his veins. He could hear her voice, could feel the heartbeats of everyone else in the room and the way they each nodded in affirmation.

Jihl: There wasn’t much left to be done. All being well the programming should have taken effect and at the use of the trigger words he would fall into the state they required of him and have no memory of what he’d done or even of the facility and his experiences here. With her soldiers giving her the go ahead and Mr. Parker still unresponsive Jihl stepped closer to the microphone, eyes on the freakish man and waited a few moments. She opened her mouth and spoke, calmly and clearly into the microphone once again. “Emeritus acquisition.” It was a string of words he’d be very unlikely to hear as he went back about his life but some she could easily work into a NOVA speech for him to overhear down the line. They should take effect immediately so she lent back and observed, waiting to see if their efforts had born fruit.

Peter: There wasn’t much to Peter’s thoughts as he lay limply on — well, he wasn’t really too sure what they had put him on. Judging from the look of the lab they tortured him in, it likely would be a cold slab. People like them tended not to focus on pleasantries or comfort, so he wouldn’t put it past them to just stick him on some frigid hunk of metal without a second thought. They did drown him, after all. When her words filtered out into the room and snaked its way around the other agents in the room, Peter felt them start to fade into the distance. The people, the words, everything. There was nothing but darkness, an emptiness that struck him, that washed away any coherent thoughts that threatened to break whatever facade NOVA had created for him. He couldn’t fight it. It was as if a switch had been toggled somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, prompting him forward and off of the poor excuse for a bed. He could feel his body move onto his feet, but after that? He waned out, drifting slowly into a sea of inky blackness, falling backwards until he was swathed in nothing but a cold warmth. It cradled him, nearly affectionately. Peter moved, but without his say so, and quickly incapacitated the agents situated around him. They each fell to the ground heavily during their turn, his punches hitting hard enough to splinter bone. The sound of his knuckles connecting with their bodies had been palpable. Still locked in, Peter stood in the center of the fallen group and slowed his breathing back to a respectable pace, eyes staring and unwavering, though hollow as he waited for more.

Jihl: Jihl had been told this would work, properly this time around. They’d worked this process on Johnny Storm some time ago and while they’d had some initial success they agent they’d send to speak his trigger word close enough for the man to hear had returned with no success. The programming had faded. Though the failure had provided their scientists with the information they needed to ensure the programming would last now. She watched as his body tensed, seeming to become perfectly still, before the sprung (quite literally) into battle. Her agents were skilled, not her best (she wouldn’t risk them to this freaks mindless assault… yet) but they should have been able to hold their own. As it was, Mr. Parker was like a man possessed and flipped around, downing her men with brutal efficiency until they were lying motionless on the floor. Not dead (yet anyway, though none of those wounds looked lift threatening) and he moved back to the centre of the room, breathing heavily from his exertion. Jihl looked over to her chief scientist who, despite attempting to look calm had eyes shining with her success. “Good work.” She told the other. “Can we move him like this?“ ‘So long as he doesn’t see anyone in NOVA agent armour he won’t attack. I’ve had all agents evacuate the halls. Set him free from the programming and he won’t remember any of this.’ she informed Jihl. “Good. Then lets set our little weapon free.” Jihl took off her jacket and pass, leaving her in pants and a blouse, no marking to identify her as NOVA from sight alone, and stepped into the room. “Mr. Parker, follow me.” she ordered, beckoning with her hand and walking from the room, expecting him to follow.

Peter: Again, there was nothing but blackness. Nothing but a void of emptiness in the vastness of space. Peter didn't even know who he was anymore. He could only stare, straight ahead, and rolled his shoulders. He tensed when the door opened, ready to attack again, but there was no indication that she hailed with NOVA, so he eased down. He hesitated at her gesture, but he had no reason to doubt her, to question, so he followed her silently out the door. Her face was familiar to him, but he wasn't sure if it meant she was a friend or a foe.

Jihl: This part was easy. Honestly Jihl preferred the little irritant like this. Having been prepared all corridors they moved through were free of any agents in NOVA dress so nothing would set off the now functioning programming in Peter's mind. She gave him some civilian clothes, told him to dress to hide his suit, walked him out of the building (disguised in the city of course) and handed him off to another agent in civilian dress. "You know what to do." The agent nodded, 'this way Mr. Parker' They said voice soft and kind, deliberately none threatening as they led him several blocks away, into an office building and up to the roof. They walked him out onto the open space and asked him to remove the civilian clothes then hand them back. Lastly, they put his mask on for him and made their way back towards the door. Just before walking through they clearly spoke "Emeritus acquisition." Knowing it would take a few moments for him to 'reset' and give them time to close the door and walk back into the office. Spider-Man would awaken as though nothing had happened.

Peter: The journey to the drop off location had been forgotten. The climb to the roof had been forgotten. Changing out of the clothing they had provided for him had been forgotten. Once those trigger words were uttered, everything that Peter had just experienced - the kidnapping, the torture, the conditioning - would be forgotten until they needed him again. When the words were spoken Peter blacked out and dropped to the floor of the rooftop, clad once more in his suit. By the time he'd wake up the sun would have already set. He'd be on the way to Aunt May, and apologize for the absence. She'd chalk it up to superheroing and give him a lecture on being careful. And about returning her calls. He'd chalk it up to nothing - he had no answer, no guess, not even a fragment of an idea as to how he lost a whole day. He just couldn't remember.

#discord thread #d: jihl #d: mentis imperium

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seouledbysisi · 4 years

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Ambitious Dreams

Chapter Ten

“So, what’s one emotion that you are feeling that you’re comfortable talking about today?”

The room became a bit tense. “Bold of you to think that I feel anything anymore.”

Pen scraping across the paper became vivid. “I know you feel something, Minkyum.”

Marz chuckled unenthused. “What makes you think that?” He had finally got the nerve to go to therapy. He didn’t really believe that talking to someone about his feelings was going to magically heal him.

“Because everyone has feelings. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t. So pick an emotion and let’s talk through it.” The therapist told him as she crossed her legs and stared at him.

Marz was having trouble trusting the process. “How do I know that this is even going to help me? I don’t want to keep talking about this shit when nothing changes!” He became defensive.

She shrugged. “You don’t know for sure but I can tell you this, you won’t get better by not talking about it. It’s better to find ways to cope than to drown in sorrow for the rest of your life. Take a chance and set yourself free.”

He took a deep breath. “Resentment.” He whispered.

She nodded and wrote something down. “Tell me more. What has happened to make you feel that?”

“I resent myself because I’ve allowed someone to break me down more than I break myself down.”

“Who is this person?”

Marz eyes turned red from escaping tears. “My ex. She believes that we lost our child because of me.”

“Do you believe that?”

He paused for a moment. “I know it was because of me.”

“So why wouldn’t she blame you when you also believe that you’re the cause?”

Marz stood up. “I’m not doing this! This isn’t helping!”

“Sit down and listen. Do you want to change things for yourself? Or do you want to live in this nightmare forever? It’s your choice. Take your pick!” Her voice had so much authority in it that he had to sit back down.

“It’s just- I was driving. Someone hit us from behind and I- I lost control of the car. I didn’t mean for it to happen! I swear I didn’t.” He cried like a baby. His emotions were everywhere. He had never just openly talked about the accident in itself. Not in detail.

“You lost control because someone else hit you. You couldn’t control the outcome of that wreck. You’ve got to stop blaming yourself for the inevitable. You have to forgive yourself. Destiny is designed either way and for some people it’s not always sunshine but it happens and we have to figure out how to get through it. Okay?”

Marz covered his face, his cheeks red as a rose. “How do I get through this? Every time I close my eyes I see the look on her face. The look of horror. The look of anger. . .at me; as if I killed the child with my hands.”

“Why do you think she blames you?”

Marz thought for a moment attempting to gather his thoughts together. “Because I never wanted a child that soon. We were 20. I wasn’t ready for that type of responsibility, neither of us were. She was so happy though and I just couldn’t feel that way. I didn’t want anything bad to happen but I’d be lying if I said I wanted it.”

“How did you feel when she told you that she was pregnant?”

Marz looked up at the therapist with dead eyes and in a breath he answered, “Trapped.”

Nova stopped at the cafe down the street from her job. “Can I have a large Matcha Tea?”

The barista nodded and rang her up. They exchanged cash and Nova stepped aside to wait on her beverage.

The chime on the door sounded off.

“Good morning.” A dark haired korean woman with tattoos galore acknowledged her as she strutted her way to the counter.

Nova simply nodded in her direction with a small smile. Boy, was she in a good mood. She thought as she watched how giddy the lady was. I wish I woke up that happy.

“Nova?” The barista called notifying her that the drink was ready.

She grabbed it and headed for work.

After sitting at work for two hours with no assignments she wondered if she could maybe pick up a load off of someone else. She hated just sitting there and not being productive at all, so she decided to do the best thing possible and be proactive. She knocked on her boss’ door and entered.

Esmee looked up from her computer screen and smiled. “Yes?”

“Well you didn’t give me a lot of duties today so I’m finished and I was wondering-“

“Could you leave?” Esmee assumingly finished her sentence.

Nova shook her head frantically. “No, actually I was wondering could I pick up some work from someone else? If there’s any help to be done. I want to make myself useful while I can.” She sighed.

Esmee smiled. “I knew I liked you. If you keep this up you won’t have an internship, you’ll have a legit job! Go find Elle. She should be leaving soon to head to a variety show. She has to style a few people. I’m sure she could use some help.”

Nova nodded with a smile and walked towards the door. “Also, thanks for being so understanding with this-“ she pointed at her belly who hadn’t gotten much bigger but she felt huge regardless. “I know it’s an inconvenience for you so I do appreciate you for letting me stay.”

Esmee stood up from her seat and walked closer to Nova. Her heels click clacking against the tile. “Things happen, it’s apart of life but I know you’re dedicated to this company and most of all to your creativity and I can’t afford to lose that. I like you on this team and I wanna try and keep you as long as I can.”

Nova nodded with a appreciative smile and walked out of the office to find Elle.

She wrapped her arms around the friend. “How’s one of my favorite people in the world doing?”

Elle grinned from cheek to cheek. “Really good actually. Well sort of but that’s another story for another time.”

Nova cocked an eyebrow up. “Well we can always talk about it on our way to the variety show?”

Elle gave her a peculiar look. “Huh?”

“I had a small workload today and I’m not willing to just sit here and do absolutely nothing so Esmee said I could go with you and help!” She clapped her hands attempting to portray Elle’s level of positivity.

Elle giggled. “Well this exciting. This is the first time that we get to style someone together!”

“I’m just assisting, I’m not trying to take your spot, you know that right?” Nova reassured.

Elle placed her hand on her shoulder. “I’m not Lee. You’re not my assistant, we’re partners today. So anything you want to do we can do!”

“See that’s why I love you. You treat like somebody.” Nova smiled.

Elle pinched her cheek. “Because you are somebody! Somebody special if you ask me.”

They headed for the elevator and a guy with a bouquet of flowers stepped off and headed for the front counter.

“These are for a Nova.” He stated with a smile.

Nova stopped the elevator doors before they closed and stepped off. She was confused. “I’m Nova!” She stated and walked towards him.

He smiled and handed her the flowers. “Well these are yours!”

She handed him a tip and examined the bouquet as he disappeared.

Elle couldn’t hide her excitement. “Aww, let me guess it’s from Ash?!” She clapped her hands.

Congratulations on your pregnancy! - Secret admirer.

Nova’s breath caught in her throat. Those definitely weren’t from Ash.

Elle noticed the look on her face and knew something was off. “What’s wrong?”

Nova passed her the greeting card.

Elle’s eyes widened. “Who else knows?”

“No one but us! And I know y’all wouldn’t say anything.” Nova placed the flowers on her desk and they headed out.

She grabbed her phone as Elle sped down the freeway keeping pace with the traffic.

Ring.

“Hello?” Ash picked up. “You okay?!” He really hadn’t expected her to call him so he figured something may be wrong.

Nova hesitated for a moment.

“Nova? You there?” He could hear her light breathing.

Nova sighed. “Out of curiosity, you haven’t made an official statement on the pregnancy yet, have you?”

“No! I’d never do that without notifying you first. Why?”

“Because I received flowers today and the card read congrats on the pregnancy. Who would do that?”

“Well I haven’t told anyone I swear. The only people I thought knew was the guys and Nori and Elle. Well and our parents but who would they tell? They’re not even overly excited about it like that!” Ash was confused.

“That’s my point! No one knows so why the fuck did I get these flowers? It’s just strange.” Nova rolled her eyes.

“I don’t know. I just know I haven’t said anything yet but speaking of that I do think I should do some damage control soon by telling my fans before they find out by way of someone else. I just want to be open and transparent with them and I want them to share in my happiness. I want you to be comfortable too though.”

Nova inhaled deeply. “Do what you have to do. I know your career is important and I don’t ever want to mess things up for you. I’ll be fine. Either way they’ll know eventually.”

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?”

“I mean what other choice do I have? I’ll be fine, Ash.” She giggled a bit.

“Okay well I’m at the studio so I have to go. If you need me you know where to find me, although I don’t think you’ll ever need me-“ he sighed. “It’s always worth a try though.”

Nova shut her eyes for a moment. Honestly she wasn’t even mad at him anymore. That feeling had subsided a while ago, she just wasn’t ready to let him know that. She liked the attention he was giving her. She liked that he felt some of her pain and as selfish as it sounded it made her feel just a tinge better about their situation. “Why you gotta sound like a little sad puppy when you say shit like that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I am sad. I’ll talk to you later.” He hung up.

They pulled up to the broadcast studio where the variety show was taking place. The sidewalk was busy with people walking everywhere.

“This street is always so busy with people. I feel so claustrophobic.” Nova said as she helped Elle carry some things in. As they were approaching the door it swung out almost hitting them.

A girl was rushing. “Oops!” She said with an apologetic smile.

Nova stared at her for a moment. “Where do I know you from?”

The lady shrugged. “I may just have a familiar face.”

Nova looked down at the girls hand and she was carrying a coffee cup. “Were you at the cafe this morning?”

The girl raised an eyebrow. “Maybe, maybe not.” She hurried away.

Elle stared after the woman. “Was that weird or is it just me?”

“No, it was definitely weird!” They both walked into the building.

Nori’s phone began to ring as she sat at her computer editing pictures. Ash.

“Uh- hello?” She answered. He didn’t usually call her so this was strange.

Ash chuckled. “I need a HUGE favor!”

“Mhm? Keep talking.”

“So, I want to tell my fans about the baby but I don’t want to just tell them. I want it to be special...”

“Okay? So why are you calling me?” Nori was a bit baffled that he called period let along talking about the pregnancy.

Ash sighed. “You’re a photographer so I was thinking you could set up a pregnancy reveal photo shoot of us and I could release the picture personally to my fans.”

“Hm, that sounds feasible. Actually it’s a really cute idea but how are you going to get Nova to agree to it?”

“That’s the hard part but I think if she doesn’t know where you’re taking her then she can’t possibly say no when she gets to the shoot, right?”

Nori chuckled. “I can get her there for sure! Getting her to agree to the pictures is a different story but I’ll try my best. When though?”

“Like next weekend? It’s the only weekend that I’m not booked for a few weeks. Are you available?”

Nori sighed. “You’re kinda like family so even if I wasn’t I’d just have to rearrange some things.”

“You’re a lifesaver! Thank you so much!”

“Don’t thank me just yet. Thank me when we get the pictures done.” She said and clicked the phone call off.

She leaned back in her chair and thought about places to take the photos. Her phone pinged.

I think we need to talk.

She stared at the message for a couple of minutes. Not really knowing how to respond. Not really knowing what the text even meant. Hyoeun wasn’t the talking type of person so she knew this had to be serious and she really wasn’t expecting it to be a great talk.

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maraudergirls · 5 years

Text

12 Days Of Falling In Love ( Harry x Hermione )

Merry Christmas @hermione-who ! We love you so much and we hope you enjoy this fic of ours.

read on ao3 now?

On the right side of the fence where Santa and His Jolly Elves are singing their carols, a majestic pine tree has been planted in a corner. Plastic reindeers circle it, stiff in their pause that suggests they are probably dancing. The one with a red nose is nudging a pile of kaleidoscopic, sparkling card boxes.

The row of heavily decorated backyards extends itself infinitely, along Puddifoot Street. Some feature three feet tall angels holding out bowls of candies -- that must undoubtedly be real --, other have a miniature, feisty city that takes half of their space. Red, green, and gold colors are everywhere, sprinkled with snow from yesterday night’s fall. There are even some Santas hanging from gutters, or half-stuck in chimneys.

A loud whistling sound calls Hermione back to her kitchen, and she is glad to tear her stare away from the scene.

If asked about herself, Hermione would say there is not much to say.

She works at an elementary school where most of the kids ignore her, except when they need to go to the bathroom and have to raise their hands to get permission. Her fellow professors, which are more experienced -- a professional way to say old as mummies -- tend to avoid her too, except when favors need to be granted.

She has lost contact with her university friends after moving to the south, and has struggled for a time to find other mates, before abandoning the hope on behalf of her job. Getting up at six and leaving your workplace at seven in the afternoon doesn’t really leave you any time to do anything.

The only reason she actually likes Durmstrang Elementary School is the Christmas break. It starts on December 13th, for no other reason than the institution’s tradition of sending everybody home for the twelve days before Yule.

A thick column of vapor rises from the beak of the kettle, and Hermione pours the boiling water in the color washed teapot with a hum of approval.

Her kitchen, like the rest of the house, is bare, empty of decorations.

She doesn’t hate Christmas.

She has some amazing memories of eggnog evenings with her father, or of opening the Advent Calendar with her mother. Winter was her favorite time, as a child.

She mechanically walks toward her desk, in an angle of the living room, and puts her steaming cup down. Rolling her sleeves up her wrists, she tucks her tongue out, looking for the bookmark she set yesterday. And ends up irritating herself.

With her bad habit of falling asleep on her documents, she never remembers what her bookmark looks like, let along in what book she puts it.

“I know you're here somewhere,” she whispers, turning her Advanced Psychology of the Human Species manual in her hands.

Outside, the wind flirts with the naked branches, swooping over the fresh snow to carry its coolness under the doors and in the little cavities of the houses. The road is quiet, respectful of the concentration that the woman needs to-

Wait.

The road is not quiet.

A light laughter spreads itself over the fences that delimit the perfectly aligned gardens, and reaches Hermione's ears. So used to live in total silence during Christmas break, she's taken aback by the simple sound of it.

Except for the Lupin family, which owns the house right next to hers, nobody has children at home at this time of the year. And, every Christmas break, the Lupins send their Teddy -- who’s enrolled in the same school where Hermione works -- to Center London, to spend the first part of the holidays with his godfather.

Hermione stretches her ear, but the laughter has vanished. Maybe she just daydreamed about it. After all, her last class was only yesterday.

She gets back at fighting with her pile of books.

Studying is her way to get out of reality, to forget the world around. It used to be reading, before. She loved when Aunt Marjorie took the time, at the end of her day, to go through a couple of fairytale chapters with her. She would do se when her parents were too busy to come home before she went to bed. She used to love those moments, those stories.

But she has grown up. Tales of princes on their white horses and fighter princesses are over for her. Getting her Psychology degree is her main goal at the moment.

She has always dreamed of opening her own studio, to help kids who struggle with familiar issues. She has seen so many. Has been one herself.

The few people with whom she still has some interactions have told her countless times that, unless she becomes a mother, it will be impossible for her to understand the intricate reasonings of families.

That’s bullshit.

Women do not have to have children to be useful.

Plus, her classroom has become her field of observation, and she has gotten used to pre-teen mindsets.

Still, one point on which she agrees with those uninvited opinions is that she won’t be very skilled to treat couple problems, even after passing the exam. She absolutely has no experience on the matter.

“About darn time,” she mutters, finally getting a grip on the plastic wrapping that she stuck in the chapter 7 of Psychology of Women .

The title of page 164 reads: The Early Stages of Falling In Love .

A groan escapes her throat.

Not the topic she wanted to work on today.

She grabs her cup of tea, resigning herself to today’s subject, but chokes on the liquid when a muffled thud echoes from her roof, followed by several others and loud shouting.

Definitely, Teddy hasn’t gone to Center London this year.

Ignoring the noise seems the best to do, but she has to give up after five minutes of trying.

The wooden floor, stiff because of the cool weather, creaks under her steps.

Pushing the curtains aside, she peeks at Puddifoot Street. Behind her empty flower pot, there is a coat of snow on the little alley that links her house to the next one, and some blurry people seem to get great advantage of it.

She had never witnessed Mr. Lupin playing with Teddy during winter. She had assumed that the man with scars like tattoos all over his face suffered from a rare health condition, preventing him from staying outside too long in a cold climate.

Pulling her woolen sleeve to the window, she erases the mist that gathered on the glass panel.

When the transparent surface is finally clean, she leans forward, but only has the time to catch a glimpse of a pair of glasses framing green eyes -- that most certainly don’t belong to Mr. Lupin -- before a loud crash makes her start.

The fragments of the pot that was resting on the window frame two seconds earlier are now decorating the concrete floor that borders the house, the only place not reached by the snow last night.

Shit. Aunt Marjorie’s pot.

With hurried steps, Hermione exits the warmness of her interior. The atmosphere attacks her through her light clothes, stinging her ribs with its icy claws. Wearing only slippers and a pajama under her sweater, she does not dare to kneel down, but her constatation of the disaster is still the same.

She feels a bit dizzy. Not because of the cold.

It was a horrible pot, heck yes. But her and Aunt Marjorie had had a good laugh when they had bought it. And this was what mattered.

She feels like crying, but the dryness of the air doesn’t allow her to.

Her Advanced Psychology of the Human Species manual would probably define her as slightly deranged because she’s mourning a flower pot.

Lost in her illogical reverie, she doesn’t hear the steps behind her, crushing the snow in a prudent cadence. She only gets out of her trance when something heavy falls on her shoulders.

“I’m sorry.”

Hermione turns around, and the jacket that the boy had put on her back falls down. He bends to retrieve it, and shakes it before offering it again to her. “You’ll get one hell of a cold if you stay out here with barely a-”

His voice trails down, and Hermione suddenly remembers that she’s wearing pajamas bottom. She grabs the coat, and wraps herself in the hot leather, blushing madly. It’s a relief to feel the soft texture of faux-fur around on her neck.

She looks up at the man, about to mutter a ‘thank you’, but his embarrassed expression is a reminder of why she’s outside while it’s below zero.

“You-”

“I’m sorry,” he repeats. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

He tries to scratch his neck, but his muffles make it awkward. Hermione could almost smile, but-

“Blimey,” the boy whispers, noticing her chattering teeth. “You should get inside and have a hot chocola-”

“Yeah, I’ll do.”

He narrows his eyes a little, as if thinking that she’s not the type of girl that would make herself some hot chocolate.

“I- I was about to make some,” he adds. “And, I want to apologize for-” He gestures toward the reddish bits on the floor. “But make sure you decide quickly, because you’re about to turn into an ice cube.”

Hermione scrutinises him, his face, his green eyes that seem to send sparkles into the fizzy weather. She doesn’t know him. Where’s he from, first of all? He just materialized from thin air. The only thing she knows is that he was having a snowball fight with the Lupin child, two minutes ago.

The wind lifts some snow around them, and the tip of her nose seems to turn an awful blueish color.

Questions for later.

“Ok for the hot chocolate.”

xxx

It’s weird, isn’t it?

Hermione, the plain-life psychology student and model teacher, drinking a hot Christmas beverage in the house of a stranger. And doing so while wearing pajamas.

“Remind me of your name?”

The guy is leaning backwards on the kitchen counter, cuping his mug with both hands. His glasses’ lenses are whitish, reflecting the cold light of the window. He observes her from behind them.

“I haven’t told you.”

He looks down. “Right.”

She doesn’t remember his, even if he told her.

He had opened the door of the house next to hers, letting her in before him.

Once inside, he had held his hand out, muttered his name and something like “we forgot to present each other properly,” but she had not paid much attention. Hurried steps had scuttled away on the floor above.

He had led her to the kitchen, and started breaking down some cocoa bars, almost suffocating in the awkward silence.

The only bit of conversation was the “here you are,” “thanks,” exchange of courtesy.

The breaking of Aunt Marjorie’s pot hit her hard, but now she forces herself to look at him with less resentful eyes.

She had already noticed his deep green eyes, but her stare trails on his fine traits, brown pigment, and messy hair. Something about his shyness makes him appear skinnier than he actually is: there is no way to ignore his broad shoulders after a second glance.

Common people would describe him as being very cute.

She sees him more as… interesting.

“It’s Hermione.”

Both of them look to the door. A frail, blue-haired kid is eyeing carefully from behind the frame.

“What, buddy?” Interesting guy lays his cup on the table, and kneels down, so Teddy has to look down at him.

“Her name,” he points at her face. “Is Hermione.”

Messy-hair looks up at Hermione with his intense stare. She hasn’t seen him smile yet, but she guesses that he terribly wants to. And finds herself wishing he would.

For science’s sake, of course.

“Your secret is revealed, I guess,” he says.

For some reason, the kid’s presence makes her much less angry. Or is it Green-eyes’ dimple, which he’s finally showing with a wide grin?

She shrugs, and can’t avoid to reflect his expression. “It was not a secret.” She takes a short sip of the hot drink, turning to Teddy. “So, Lupin, who’s the man who broke my pot?”

And she nods toward Dimple-smile.

Teddy’s mouth contracts in a grimace. After looking better at his hair, Hermione notices the purple points. She knew that the Lupins were- quite original, but she would have never guessed that… it would be at this level.

“I broke the pot, Ms. Granger,” he admits, wrinkling his nose, as if he was gulping down something bitter. “But my godfather likes to take the blame for me.”

Hermione’s lips part in surprise. She had always assumed that Teddy’s godfather was a 50-years-old greyish man, passionate about bridges, and with an enormous collection of old stamps and creased plaid shirts. Not somebody like Broad-shoulders.

Not somebody as cu- interesting.

“He takes the blame for you?”

Teddy nods, recovering his mischievous expression. “Yeah, a lot. Especially if it’s an excuse to invite a pretty lady to dr-”

“Do you want some cocoa, buddy?”

Chocolate-skin, who had been silent until then, quickly rose, before his godson could finish the sentence. But the kid’s laughing eyes are enough for Hermione to get the whole meaning.

Teddy shakes his head, and sprints out in the corridor.

“Little pain in the neck,” the godfather whispers, before calling out, “Teddy, you forgot-”

“Sorry, Ms. Granger!” shouts the kid, already halfway up the stairs.

Then, he bursts in a wave of giggles, and his steps echo on the floor above.

Interesting-guy turns to Hermione, his face skin a darker shade of brown.

Coffee, she thinks, is a beautiful shade.

A cherub ‘awwws’ from a corner of her mind, but she shakes him away very quickly.

“I guess your secret is uncovered now,” she teases. Her host looks very confused, as if fearing that she’d believed what his godson said. “About always covering up Teddy’s little mistakes.”

“Oh! Er- yeah.” Relief can really be seen in histhe eyes , Hermione thinks. “Well, what’s the point of being a godfather, if not?” They smile together. “I’m- very sorry for your pot.”

For a second, she had forgotten about it.

“Don’t worry,” she shrugs it away. “I can’t hide that I was very attached to it, but- it was just an object, right?”

Green-eyes nods, and offers her an encouraging grin. “Do you want some more chocolate?”

And, Hermione still wearing pajamas, and Messy-hair melting more nectar of Christmas, they resume their drinking, slowly getting deep in a conversation about anything and everything.

“Don’t you like the holiday?”

Ugh. The question she dreaded.

“It’s not-” The bottom of her cup, with its little grains of cocoa swimming in a puddle of brownish milk, suddenly seems very interesting. “It’s not that I don’t like it.”

It’s just too hurtful.

The man feels that the question makes her uneasy, but how can somebody not like Christmas? Maybe there is something he can do for her. “Your house is the only one empty of decorations on the street, and your sweater,” he points his spoon at the blue wool under his leather jacket, “Is obviously not Christmassy.”

Even if she knows her old jersey by heart, Hermione still grabs the textile between two fingers, and frowns at it, “I don’t see what you can reproach to my sweater. It’s very good and warm-”

“But it’s not Christmassy.” His spoon falls back inside his cup, sending drops of the beverage in the air like little fireworks. “Something needs to be done to fix that. And what about your front yard? I brought a lot of light garlands that we can’t use here, we’d overcharge the house. I can help you to-"

“It’s very nice of you,” she stops him with a sigh, “But I don’t have time for mistletoes or golden ribbons in my living room. Plus, the only other organic form of life that would enjoy them is my cat, and he would throw everything to the floor anyway.” He’s about to reply, but she doesn’t let him. “Where are Teddy’s parents?”

The green eyes twinkle with a special glint, the one that sparks up when somebody accepts a challenge. This topic’s conversation is over. But just for now.

“They have gone to France for a few days, visiting Dora’s family. They’ll be back on the 17th.”

It’s nice to celebrate with someone , thinks Hermione. But the thought is gone as quickly as it had manifested itself. A red light in her mind flashes: SWITCH TOPIC.

“Is Teddy’s hair- bicolor?”

To her hesitant question, Interesting-guy bursts in a loud laughter.

“He just dyed it, two days ago, before his parents left.” He shrugs, lessening the importance of the action. “He wanted to look like his favorite character from this- wizarding book. And Dora’s quite young and open minded, you know. She dyed hers too, bubblegum pink.”

It’s hard for Hermione to imagine her neighbour with a neon mane. “Did Mr. Lupin-?”

The man has to spit his drink in the sink, coughing and laughing simultaneously. “Oh, that would the best gift I’d received in years. But unfortunately no, he hasn’t dyed his hair too.”

Hermione would have found his behavior disgusting, in other circumstances, but she smiles. It’s true that imagining Mr. Lupin with green or red hair would let no one impassible.

A draught runs along Puddifoot Street, precipitating snow down from the roofs, shaking the windows, and moving the decorations in the backyards. The 24-carats-smile Santa is now facing the house number 34, also known as the Lupins house.

At Hermione’s home, the bookmark is still laying open on chapter 7 of Psychology of Women.

Chapter 2: Day 2

Her steaming cup of tea is patiently waiting between the pile of books and stack of revision papers, tempting her with its bitter-sweet smell. The street has been really quiet for the whole morning: not a sound, not a laughter to be heard. In other conditions, it would have been the dreamed setting for a day of study.

But Hermione is not really in the mood for sitting down. One of her fingers slides between the curtains, and pulls them apart, just enough for her eyes to fall on the outside.

Naked, sad, upsettingly grey. And empty.

She sighs.

The snow has melt down, leaving behind its characteristic muddy soil. There is not a soul to be seen, it’s still too early for --regular-- school vacations, and too impossible for-

Oh, honestly. What was she waiting for. It’s not as if this kind of distraction could happen everyday. Plus, it was just some civility between neighbours.

Still, what a c- interesting guy, that… What is his name again?

She had heard Teddy going on about his godfather for hours sometimes, at school, and now she can’t even identify him. Ugh. If she was used to complain, she would say it’s because Advanced Personality Psychology occupies too much of the available space in her mind.

She struggles to find bits of memory that could help her putting a name on the messy hair and cute dimple smile.

The dimple smile… It had captured her attention when he had said his name…

No. No. Not the smile. She was angry… And then, it was the chocolate. And she’s just very tired from her week of revisions. This is why she can’t remember his name.

Nothing else.

But when the doorbell rings, her heart jumps to her ears. It takes all her self-control to refrain from swinging the wooden panel open.

“Yes?” The chillness, so contrasting to her cosy inside, burns the point of her nose as her eyes meet a very green stare. “Oh, Harry…”

She remembers his name, actually. Minds can be quite tricky.

Her hands cling to the doorknob without her notice, her body hiding in the introvert security of her home. All she can do is lower her eyes, in a very embarrassed way.

And she can’t even explain why.

The man’s smile falters a little, his eyebrows bow slightly. “Er- Am I- Am I bothering you?”

“What?”

Boy, he could speak louder.

Well, she could be a little less distracted too.

“I-” He hesitates, taking a step back.

This is when she notices that he is hiding something from her vision. And that she has kept him waiting for a good minute in the cold weather.

“Oh, I’m really sorry! I’m such a terrible neighbour. Where do I leave my brain some days?. If I just- You should probably- Oh well, what a mess I am.” Her tone is full of clumsy apologies, which brings his side smile back. “Come inside, it’s freezing here.”

She opens the door widely, and the winter wind hits her comfortable living room meanly, causing a window shutter to slam in some place of the house.

Harry has the common sense to close the door, pushing it with his feet as he gladly steps inside, amused by her sudden awkwardness.

Meanwhile, Hermione is still releasing her little moment of embarrassment with a flow of words. “I just rarely receive visits, you know, and they are mostly from colleagues who bring more material, so I do not have any Christmas cookie in the oven. It must sound horrible to you, but I don’t even have milk to make some hot chocolate. You’ve been so nice to me yesterday, what are you going to think of me now th-”

His hand on her shoulder makes her start.

“Don’t worry,” he whispers, his eyes anchored in hers. “I don’t think anything about you except that you seem very nice.”

His smile is warm like a summer breeze. On the spot where he touches her clothes, her skin seems to be melting under the soft grip.

Her muscles relax.

He doesn’t think she’s a cruel neighbor, so everything’s fine.

“And we can still fix the whole thing about the cookies,” he adds, pointing with his chin toward the kitchen’s open door.

Is he offering to cook with her? It would be a disaster, she can’t even tell a spatula from a spoon. If he let anything of it slip in front of Mrs. Lupin, the whole neighborhood would know about it.

Last thing she wants is to be reputed as an unfamous cooker.

“I- I don’t think it’s- The fact is-” She holds her breath, blushing a little. “I was actually going to study.”

That did sound rude.

Harry’s smile vanishes, his shoulders slump. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to annoy you. I just thought- I don’t even know what I thought.”

He grins sheepishly, hoping that his delusion is not too noticeable. He takes a step back, when he remembers about the secret object behind his back. Bringing his hands forward, he reveals a pretty pottery with chirping birds and butterflies carved on its surface.

“That’s- I know it probably can’t make up for the emotional attachment,” Hermione stares at the earthy vase in amazement: there was a world between Aunt Marjorie’s horrible trinket and the gift that her neighbor was holding out to her. “But, well, we broke yours, yesterday. It only seemed fair to get you another one.”

She feels his eyes on her face, and grabs the pot, her fingers tracing the reliefs. The little bumps tickle her skin.

Harry faintly clears his throat. “I guess that I should go now. Leave you to your studies.”

The dimple on his right cheek attracts her attention. It definitely is a cute dimple, that shakes Hermione from her surprise, only to remember that she was being very disagreeable to him.

“Oh, wait!” She bites her lip. Thinks about her uselessness in a kitchen. He probably assumes that she’s quite skilled, and he’ll be very deceived when he’ll realize the contrary. “This is- This is very thoughtful. Thank you.”

Harry’s eyes recover a bit of their sparkles. “It was Teddy’s idea,” he shrugs.

Something in his fleeing stare makes Hermione smile. You can’t lie to a Psychology student. “Oh, you know, I’ve always considered Teddy an incredible boy,” she smiles. Harry grins, maybe convinced that his little lie worked out. Hermione suddenly feels a wave of sympathy rolling in her chest for the messy haired godfather of his turbulent neighbor. One of those waves that pushes you to consider stuff you’re reluctant to do. “You know, about the studying, it can wait. Cookies are crucial in Christm-”

A phone rings, cutting her sentence midway. The man drops his stare to his jacket pocket, and extracts his flashing device from it.

“Talking about the dev- angel,” he mutters, pressing the green button with a smirk. “Teddy! Did you burn the house down?”

Hermione internally laughs: she has lived too long next to the Lupins to discard this possibility. But any amusement disappears from her traits at Harry’s creased brow and doubtful humming.

“I get it, buddy. I’m coming over.” He hangs up, and she somehow dreads a bad news. “Teddy is not feeling very well. I have to go.”

“Oh.”

“You’ll be able to study.”

He scratches his neck, and Hermione notices the muscles of his arms that stir his clothes. She becomes very conscious of the pot’s weight in her hands.

“Great,” she whispers, then bites her tongue. She had built up some courage for the cooking actually.

“Er- I’ll see you soon, then.”

With a few steps, he is out of the door.

The tea is now cold on the table, but Hermione doesn’t notice it. Not for a good fifteen minutes, during which she watches the ghost of his shadow on the door, and wonders when ‘soon’ will be.

Chapter 3

Hermione highlights a page of her textbook, murmuring the definition softly, hoping she’ll remember it. Memorizing has always been her strong suit, but when said mugging includs learning about a supposed theoretician who was absolutely barmy on several counts, she finds it ridiculous.

When she'll finally get a degree and have some status, she’ll make some serious changes in the psychology field.

Huffing as her mind goes off track for the second time in a row, Hermione slaps herself. First, she had been thinking about the rare event of Harry stopping by, and now, she was thinking about her superiority over sexist researchers. Her eyes fall on the clock which announces she’s been dreaming for almost an hour.

“Focus. You’ve got this. Now, why do critics view statistical hypothesis testing as-” She’s cut off abruptly as the doorbell rings.

She can’t help it then; she groans. She severely doubts it can be Harry so it must be someone from work. Not expecting anyone, she’s tense as she walks to the door.

Peering through the whole, she lets out a breath of relief as she sees her neighbour, Harry. His eyes are cast upwards like he’s cursing the existence of Olympus, and there’s a hue of pink on his nose.

When she opens the door, it feels like deja-vu. She tucks a curl of hair behind her ear and stares at him expectantly.

"Hi!” He says loudly, wincing immediately. “Good morning.”

“Good morning….Do you want to come in?”

“Yeah. That would be nice.” Harry shoves his shoes and trails after Hermione like a puppy. “I was wondering if you-if you liked the vase.”

It’s obvious that he wanted to ask her something else, but she eases herself on the chair across him. She tucks her feet closer to her body and lets it go. “Oh. I did. Thank you. You didn’t have to, honestly.”

“I did.” He replies immediately. “I’m glad you like it. Teddy helped pick it out. He was very sorry about the whole mess.”

They lapse into an uncomfortable silence. Hermione considers if she should offer him food or perhaps, a drink. When he coughs awkwardly, she snaps her gaze to him

“Er-” Harry begins, and then laughs breathily. “This is so uncomfortable. I’m sorry. Do you want me to leave?”

“No.” Hermione's own surprise is mirrored on Harry’s face. “Your company is appreciated.”

“Right. Yours is too.” Harry stares at the room, face merging into shock. He does a double take, and Hermione almost laughs at the pure dread he sports. It’s the face of a seer when the stars are aligned in a way she wished hadn’t occurred. “Please tell me there’s a Christmas tree somewhere.”

“I’m afraid not.” She rolls her eyes. “I wasn’t lying the other day.”

Harry smiles at her sheepishly. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m used to being a huge fan of the season. I’m surprised other people are not. May I ask you something, though?”

“Shoot.”

“Don’t you miss celebrating the festival?” Harry asks cautiously, already regretting his question, worried that his stress on the issue might irk her.

“Not really.” Hermione shrugs. “I told you yesterday why and I don’t really have the spirit for it. Truth be told, I wish I did. My parents don’t know what a total Grinch I am.”

“It doesn’t need to be like that!” Harry pipes up. “I’ll help you get your Christmas spirit back. It’ll be my gift to you. Please?” he adds when she stills looks unconvinced.

“I don’t know.”

Hermione thinks about the statistics of the opportunity. It would be nice, she reflected, having a Christmas tree up for once. Maybe, the change of decor would help her study more efficiently. She quickly constructs a row of pros and cons in her table, but her decision is made up as she sees that damnable dimples on Harry’s face -- which, honestly, should be illegal.

“You’ll help me, right? I have a Christmas tree on the cupboard and some ornaments so we don’t need to worry about that.”

“I will.” Harry jumps from the seat and shrugs off his coat. “Oh and Hermione? Remember when decorating, we go big or we go home.”

Hermione frowns at him and pouts.

It doesn’t do her any good as Harry continues to laugh, bending over and clutching his sides in a vain attempt to tranquilize the stiches. “Oh my god. You’re just so cute and smol.”

Her height has always been a subject of discussion. Even past twenty, people still refused to believe she was anything but a teenager. Just now, she had tried reaching the top tiers of the tree but, unable to do so thanks to her height, she has resorted to glaring at the branches. And obviously, Harry finds that particularly amusing.

“I’m 5’2!” Hermione protests fiercely. “That’s a perfectly reasonable height.”

“For a fairy, maybe.”

The man coos when Hermione pouts again and, frustrated, she stretches, trying to reach the tip of the Christmas tree. Arms wrap around her waist and there’s a tug in her stomach - a protest against gravity before she’s suspended in air.

Letting out a squeak, she cries. “Put me down!”

He laughs and she can feel the warmth of it on her lower back. “Put the ornament up first, Hermione!”

Floundering like a fish, Hermione hastily places the star and Harry sets her down, carefully. Scrambling away from him, she places a hand on her heart and glares at him. “Harry James Potter!”

Rubbing his neck, Harry provides her a sheepish smile. It never is a good sign when a woman called you by your full name - even if they do look as threatening as Tinkerbell. "Sorry. Seemed like you needed some help.”

“It’s fine. You just startled me.” Hermione claims, knowing that she’ll be rid of the feeling of his arms. Have they always been muscled? Now, she is just getting distracted.

After passing a reindeer ornament to her, Harry steps back to marvel their hard work, and she follows his example.

It’s not exactly what she would call a fairy tale Christmas aesthetic, but they did all they could with the limited decorations. And, it does look good in its own way. There are multiple tiers of gold lights that blink every few seconds, complemented with accents of rosy baubles. Wrapped with red ribbons and holly, the tree surely can’t be called naked.

Nothing in the house can, really. A Santa Claus figure stares at them with beady eyes from his perch on the table. The cushions on the lounge got replaced by festive ones - a plump red one with a snowman in the middle articulating the words Meowy Christmas! Banners strung with leaves and berries hang from the canopy.

A thrill of excitement shots down her spine. For the first time in years, her blood thrums with the joy of Christmas, and she revels in it.

The only hang up here, is that there is a lone stocking against the wall. Hermione mentally decides to buy it a companion. Her budding friendship with Harry implies that she would need a gift for him. Maybe, she could convince him to go shopping with her.

For now, she can imagine she is a princess in Disneyland. The string of lights above her certainly makes her feel like she is set up in a fantasy.

Funnily enough, the only decoration the house lacks, by the end of the morning, is mistletoe branches, and the both young people are careful to maintain that status.

Chapter 4

She swings the door open at exactly ten in the morning. Harry’s hand remains suspended in air, most likely preparing himself to rap the door.

He seems baffled to see her, as if her presence wasn’t expected at her house . It's Pride and Prejudice all over again, she thinks. Except she never disliked him. It was quite the opposite emotion that consumed her body. Even when he broke her pot, she still found him kind and cu- sweet .

“Good morning.”

“Hi.” Harry chimes back, stupidly and winces at the response. “Good morning. You look nice.”

Hermione laughs, a beautiful sound that reverberates through him. “I literally just got up.”

Harry gasps, sidestepping her and shoving his shoes off. “I stick to my point. And, I’m shocked, Hermione. Shocked is an understatement. Do you mean to tell me you just woke up? Eight hours after you were supposed to.”

“It was all for a good reason.” Hermione protests, adamantly. “I read an article where they instruct people to give themselves a rest day once a week. So, I woke up at seven.”

“You said you just got up.”

“From the table.” Hermione clarifies. “I was studying.”

“ Well .” Harry remarks sarcastically as he makes them a cuppa. Instead of the tea bag that he usually inserts, he sprinks a tablespoon of cocoa powder into their mugs. “That's a first.”

“What are you making?”

“Hot chocolate, Princess.”

Hermione’s eyes grow wide. “What did you just call me?”

“Princess.” Harry repeats, unabashed by her admonishment. “It suits you well. The first time I saw you, I thought your hair looked like Princess curls so.”

Stunned into silence, the most she can do is hum. “You know tea is better than hot chocolate, right? Tea fights cancer, all the while increasing your immunity, cardiovascular health, digestion, mental activity like improved concentration and focus and prolongs longevity. Don’t you agree with me?”

Harry doesn’t seem fazed by her argument. In fact, the mask on his face is akin to smugness. “While all that may be true, hot chocolate contains more antioxidants than coffee and tea . It lowers blood pressure. The antioxidant gallic acid is used to treat internal hemorrhages, prevents kidney disease and diabetes. The flavonoids help your body process nitric oxides which improve blood flow and prevents the formation of clots. Shall I go on?”

Beyond awed at his list, Hermione could only gape. Men like Harry, by their looks, managed to inflict cardiac arrests on a woman like herself simply by a glance . To discover that said man was intelligent as well was the cherry on the cake.

“How do you know all that?” Hermione asks, grasping for something witty to say but fails at it, rather spectacularly and wants to scream for ten hours straight. The approach of her question was blunt enough that it could be considered as offensive which in no way did Hermione mean for it to sound.

Thankfully, Harry waves the comment away. “I’m skilled at my craft, Hermione. A gentleman like me has many skills and talents.”

“Indeed.”

The underlying analysis of his sentence makes her swallow, nervously and makes her hyper aware of their positions. He’s barely a few inches away. Not a very appropriate distance for just a neighbour. Retracing her steps, Hermione misses the look of undisguised dismay that washes over his face.

By the time, she looks back at him, the moment is long gone. Setting their glasses on the countertable, Harry flashes her a dimple. “Better go get changed. Today includes another outdoor activity.”

Wishing she could groan out loud because that sounds far from fun, Hermione nods sluggishly and departs, pulling on some boots. Looping a scarf adorned with gold and red, Hermione makes a half hearted attempted to straighten her hair but when her hair reverts back to its original momentum, she realizes it’s a futile attempt and shuts her door.

“Thank you for the hot chocolate.” Hermione tries to express her gratitude, hoping she hasn’t managed to leave an unimpressed reaction on her neighbour. Judging on past experiences, she wouldn’t put it past her. Conversations in the real world short circuited her speech.

Harry doesn’t reward her with a response, instead bestowing her with a smirk. “Let’s go. Teddy’s thrilled. I’m worried about making him wait for some more time.”

“Teddy’s coming?” Hermione says with excitement, shrugging on her coat. The blue haired child often light up her day with his childish glee. Seeing him, always, causes her lips to tug upwards to form a grin. Perhaps, it was the motherly side of her but children were beacons of lights even on especially heavily exhausted days.

Harry sighs dramatically like a man who opens the fridge, only to woefully discover it empty of his favorite contents. “I knew you liked Teddy more.”

“I like you both equally.” Hermione teases which is a lie if she’s being honest. While Teddy is a light in her life, Harry is soon becoming the sun to her world. Ever since she was a kid, she was the type of person who ran headfirst into relationships. She had fallen too soon and too hard. It hardly surprised her that her actions repeated with Harry but she felt a bit different with him in the room: confident, relaxed and jovial.

Harry rolls his eyes and tugs her with a hand outside where they find a cross Teddy Lupin, arms folded over his chest and a single eyebrow raised that glared at them. If looks could kill, they would still be very much alive for despite Teddy’s best efforts, he still hadn’t lost his cute and chubby cheeks. It was like a teddy bear insisting he had committed a grave crime.

Hermione coos his name, wrapping the boy in a hug and spinning around. “How’s my favorite boy?”

“Why don’t you ask Harry?” He replies impishly, showcasing his milk teeth.

She taps him on the nose. “You’re my favorite everything. Your uncle prefers the worst drinks like hot chocolate.”

His eyes light up like a Christmas tree. “Hot Chocolate is the bestest best!”

A mock look of disappointment plasters on her face. “I highly regret befriending this family.”

“Nope!” The boy says looking unnaturally gleeful for his age. “You love us.”

Hermione narrows her eyes at the boy and when his smile is a mask of excellent innocence, she switches direction...right in time to hear the shriek of delighted laughter from the boy in her arms as a snowball whipped across her face.

Her eyes shut at the impact but once they open, they are deadly. “Harry. James. Potter. You have three seconds to get the hell away from me or else I will stab you so-”

Teddy giggles and burrows his face into her armpit. Caught off guard, Hermione sets the boy down, blocking his ears with a hand as she mouths a string of latin words to the sniggering man in front of her.

“Is that a challenge?” Harry spreads his arms wide open, ducking down to obtain a fistful of snow. “I doubt you’ll have much success.”

Hermione, for all her remarkability, has never been unable to back down from a challenge. It was her fatal flaw, some would say. Others would take it upon themselves to dare her with strange conquests.

There was only one line she daren’t cross; the education line. People had foolishly took it upon themselves to convince her to give up studying, fail and interfere with faculty . Would you believe the horror of it? Hermione certainly couldn't. It hadn’t mattered then, this quirk of accepting even the wildest and most ridiculous dares. Nothing did, really, when it interfered with studies. A firm believer in the truth that studying was prime and above all, she couldn’t let teenagers come in the way of her goal.

Yet, there were times when she was guilty of attending a party and getting drunk. It happened only once but the experience was vile enough to make A time when she had jumped in the pool from the first floor because someone had riled her up. To be fair, it wasn’t that much of a height but still enough for several jaws to drop.

And, that time when she had sworn off tea for a month . She still got nightmares over that one.

And, so when Harry stood there with an armful of snow, Hermione wasn’t merely considering participating in the fact, she stood analysing strategies and planning her victory dance.

“Teddy.” She says, hushed for this might be a top secret mission. The kite needed for triumph was dancing right in front of her...if she could just maneuver it to her advantage. With years on education that stressed on human behaviour, Hermione has enough confidence in her ability of analyzing people. She knows she can win.

“Do you want to join my team? I’ll buy you pancakes.” She adds smartly for if she knows anything, it’s that a Lupin cannot and will not refuse desserts. It goes against their morals. “I’ll buy you blueberry pancakes. With extra maple syrup.”

Based on the way his smirk decorates her face, Hermione knows she’s succeeded. Masterfully weaving her elaborate bid-pancakes for his cooperation- she’s secured a member who she knows-without a shred of uncertainty- will not betray her.

Teddy shakes her hand, growing serious like a businessman on his first day of work. Hermione exchanged a nod with him and looks at Harry who seems wary that she just had a conversation with his impish nephew.

“Hermione?” He begins, apprehensive, stepping away even though she’s empty handed and he has a weapon of snow. “Are you going to join?”

Careful, precise steps. Nephew and neighbour both descend the steps. After all, you can’t win a war on uneven terrain.

“Harry-” She states nervously, manipulating the timely case of events. He doesn’t know her the mechanism of the way her gears work in her head. She can win. She will win. She is Hermione Granger. The man looks at her captivated, waiting for her next move.

It’s not a very intelligent move for the next second, Hermione yells, “ Run !” to Teddy before she uses his flabbergasted movements to her advantage. Running like the devil’s on her heels and immediately, gasping because her lungs are weak things, she presses herself against a wall, sinking to the ground and capturing a mouthful of snow. Rolling it on her palm, she repeats the process and readies herself for battle.

Harry was so going down.

Blue lips and shaky hands were the result of playing with snow a few hours later. Despite her hands being practically immobile- She couldn’t even bend her fingers- there was nothing more satisfying than running around while screaming bloody murder.

There was a part of her that longed to return to her comforters and pull on her special winter socks - Christmas flea ones that had reindeers painted on them but it soon faded as another snowball pelted and smacked Harry’s face.

Despite his insistence, he was terrible at the game, constantly attacked by his nephew and Hermione. In fact, at the beginning, he just rested on the ground and watched the clouds in an overly dramatic manner.

After they had flung another snowball at his groaning mouth, Harry had resolved to best them-or at least, hit them once- but his efforts proved vain.

She can see his mop of hair behind a car that resembles a blanket of snow and wonders what’s next. In the same trapped position as he is, Hermione can’t risk giving away her cover.

Turmoil takes root in her, obnoxious enough that she only hears the incomer far too tardy. It’s the snapping of a branch that makes the following events appear in a sedated motion. Panic wills her up, instinct causes her to turn, and fate desires the first catalyst to be set into motion.

Harry stumbles thanks to the branch and Hermione tries to steady him which is pointless. Momentum and gravity grips them both and tugs them downwards. Harry, the precious man, tries to save her at the very least but all that he manages to do is elevate the damage. Both of them land on the ice with a sharp crash.

“Ooof.” Hermione grumbles, glaring at him but soon, softening as his eyelashes flicker at her like a giraffe. It’s spectacular that anyone could be so undeniable adorable. He had long eyelashes, she thinks dazed, hardly aware about her surroundings.

Perhaps, she should move her leg, the one that’s locking the boy against her. It’s very ridiculous, absolutely barmy and not at all like her.

“Hermione?” He breathes, a questioning look in his eye and she wonders if sleep deprivation isn’t a hoax after all for his eyes might, might have flickered to her lips for a second.

She steals the moment’s joy, wishing she could capture it and relieve it a thousand times for it feels like something she would want to remember. Her heart is beating unnaturally fast, a trait he’s yet to catch upon him and to think it’s because of him , of a man she hardly knows.

And, it’s then that the Oh settles in. The ‘Oh’ that girls dread to think about for it brings a whole bout of side effects. The Oh that she might find this man desirable .

It was insane.

Positively insane.

And yet.

Yet, she can’t look away from his eyes - emerald, a trapped image of evergreen forests and vivid leaving her breathless and reminiscent about growing pastures that blew in England. She’ never been much of a photographer or painter but the longing to sketch out the shocked expression etched on his face along with his slightly parted lips is salient.

Then, then his mouth opens and she realises what a complete and utter fool she is for this is her neighbour, her friend and she’d just been lying on top of him without his consent having been stunned into dumbness. Scrambling off him, her body rubs against the ice creating friction.

“Oh my God- shit- I wasn’t-I’m a disaster, putain .” Hermione swears, backing away like Harry’s a wild animal who accidentally provoked. “I didn’t mean to- I’m.”

“Um.” Harry states eloquently, brushing off the snow off his pants. “It’s honestly okay. I - It’s my fault.”

“You didn’t sit on me!”

Harry blushes and tucks his lips inwards embarrassed. “I would have done the same thing. God, no , that came out wrong. Not that I don’t want to sit on you but also, fuck. I short circuit when I panic and I’m rambling and can we just not talk about this?”

Hermione wishes she could escape the awkward silence that hangs over them like fog. “I-It’s alright. Yeah.”

They stand there for a minute or two, neither able to hold the other’s gaze, infinitely afraid to even think about how the contact might have sparked a tremor in the other. It’s times like this when Hermione has the maddening urge to flee and sink in her bed. Beginning a conversation is hard enough, sustaining it is a whole other story. It’s like looking at a mountain but then, having to climb it.

She’s delved deep in her lame excuses of social interaction when a cheerful giggle splits the air and the pair of them turn, the evolution of instincts dictating their movements and their denseness, apparently because they don’t’ have the common sense to imagine what might happen in a battlefield- a battlefield that has a ten year old kid who’s special expertise is causing havoc.

They don’t have time to run, to scream or run from the monster who’s flinging balls of snow on them at a million miles per second.

At least, Teddy didn’t betray just her. The boy, future spy and man who would write ‘How To Be A Crook’ 101’ turned on both of them.

Spoiler Alert: Harry and Hermione surrender..

Chapter 5

The first thing she does when the steady and loud pounding of her headache registers is swear. Despite the numerous books, self care books in particular that promote positivity especially in the morning, lining her shelf, she finds herself victim of not promoting the principle of a healthy lifestyle.

Her voice comes out as a rasp and she idly bounces the thought of finally singing like Chloe Kohanski and Miley Cyrus, but her throat resists the formation of a few syllables, so she disregards the fantasy.

Burrowing under the covers as tremors rack her frame, she coughs. Once, twice, thrice.

And, then swears once and only once because she doesn’t have the energy to follow it up with another colorful word, much to her dismay.

Her eyes slink shut and the lilac scent of her bedsheets lull her into a soundless lullaby. Rocking with shivers, and with a clenched jaw to ward off another coughing fit, the illusion of peace sent only by the season of winter carries Hermione to slumber.

When she awakes, a few hours later, she wonders if there’s a burglar in her house. There’s a substantially loud racket in her kitchen. The concerning matter is Hermione doesn’t care. Her head is positively swimming which is absolutely dreadful if she wasn’t, in fact, hallucinating.

Groaning as her feet pad across the floor, Hermione indulges in the fantasy of passing a stern dialogue to whoever disrupted her sleep. Perhaps, the intruder was a blessing in disguise as she now, severely, realized she needed to study. Revised, only, eight times, she lacked the self confidence required for passing the test.

“Harry?” She says, stunned, pausing at the foot of the staircase.

For it isn’t a robber nor a murderer but her neighbour, Harry who greets her with his infamous dimple cheeked smile and green eyes. His sleeves are rolled to his forearms, offering a radial view of the brown glistening skin.

“Hi!” He blinks, waving a spoon in her face, an attempt to greet. When he notices her fixed look, his eyes glance down at the silverware in his hand. “I, uh, was making soup.”

Hermione stares at him. “Um.”

An immediate motherly look washes his face and with a tone of horror, Harry fusses, “You’re sick, go back to bed!”

“I’m fine. I need to revise.” Hermione argues, already walking towards the kitchen, grabbing a book on the nearby desk.

The cough that trailed her declaration helped prove her point significantly. “Look, I’m perfectly ha-happy. Why are you making soup?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “It’s my mother’s famous soup. Always helps me when I’m on a cold. I don’t make it as well as she does but the main ingredients should make you feel slightly better, if anything.”

Hermione smiles at him, a touched smile that brightens the room. “Thank you. You’re the sweetest.”

Red blooms on Harry’s neck like roses in a greenhouse. Pride erupts in Hermione’s chest, a fiery little dragon, claiming victory for eliciting a flustered reaction.

Harry mutters his gratitude under his breath. “Get to sleep, yeah? I’ll wake you up when the soup’s done. You can study then.”

“Revise.” Hermione corrects, shuffling on her feet as she ascends the steps. “And, Harry? Thank you .”

“Mione? Fuck , you’re burning up.” Harry whispers and the volume sends another pang of pain through Hermione.

Nausea rises from the pit of her stomach and fills her mouth, drawing an empty gag. Not capable of much thought, she simply hums.

“Can you sit up for a second? The soup’s still warm. Mione?”

There’s one thing that Hermione is known for-her buck head stubbornness. It provided favorable characteristics in debates and very few managed to spar verbally with the prodigy for more than a few minutes. True to his credit, however, after much persuasion, Harry convinces her to sit up.

Blearily blinking up at him for he’s nearly a foot taller than her, she doesn’t protest when the spoonful of soup travels to her mouth, without her volition. Hermione sags against the bed frame, swallowing a few spoons. Tears flicker behind her eyelids like lamps as the heat stings her throat. Forcing herself to digest it, she’s relieved when Harry keeps the bowl on the table, at last.

“Get some sleep. I’ll wake you up later.”

His voice is melodious and warm and she’s tempted to listen to him but with much difficulty, she recounts his earlier promise. “Revise.”

“You can’t even open your eyes.” Harry remarks, a combination of exasperation and amusement. “How do you plan on revising ?”

In response, Hermione gestures for her book. Sighing, Harry stands up and jogs down the stairs before he returns. Firmly pushing her hand down, he scans the pages. The whole book, Advanced Educational Psychology is colored in fluorescent yellow and orange- a fact that makes him grin.

Unlike her textbooks, his pages were covered in doodles- of mythical dragons and yes , puppies- with various texts from his best friend, Ron.

“ Trait emotional intelligence or Trait emotional self efficacy refers to “a constellation or behaviour dispositions and self-perceptions regarding a-”

“You don’t-don’t have to read for me.” Hermione manages, trying to secure her hold on the book.

“S’alright.” Harry continues reading, after throwing her a charming smile. “Can’t have the star Princess exhaust herself, now, can I?”

Hermione’s glad she’s sick for a moment, solely because she can chalk up to the blush that stains her cheek on the fever.

And, Harry continues to read about emotional intelligence. Each word was submerged in that British accent Hermione’s come to love for the reaction it ignited on her skin - rows of goosebumps, adds to the challenge of focusing on the quality of the lesson.

Eventually giving up, she enjoys the way the man in front of her pronounces his r’s and l’s . It was hard to believe that men like this, indeed existed. Men who fed her soup and read her illegible notes. It appeared that some men, outside the fictional world, were pretty great too. Her last thought before she falls asleep is Harry.

Ringing blares through her lucid haze, jolting her from her nap. Hermione rubs her eyes and yawns, a mellow gold light shining and wrapping her form.

There’s another ring and Hermione picks up the phone, stifling another yawn.

“Uncle Harry! How was your first time being on TV?”

“Hello?” Hermione asks groggily, eyes growing as round as saucers when she looks at the phone. She’d assumed it was her phone but that was ridiculous because it wasn’t even her ringtone. In a lapse of judgement, she’d answered Harry’s phone.

Embarrassment and guilt flood through her blood. It soon is diffused by curiosity for Teddy’s words take meaning.

“Aunt Hermione? Is that you?”

“It’s me.”

“Are you and Uncle Harry finally getting married, now?”

Hermione chokes on air and coughs loudly. “What? Where did you get that idea from? Did Harry say anything? Never mind. No. The answer is no .”

“Bummer.” Teddy’s disappointed and childish voice grits through the bungled up connection.

“What do you mean bummer ?”

“Uncle Harry has a cr-”

“Mione?” Harry’s puzzled voice drowns out the rest of Teddy’s sentence which was the real bummer because Hermione was on edge. She’d half a mind to ask Harry to wait just so Teddy could finish but smiling sheepishly, Hermione hands him his phone. “It’s Teddy. Sorry, I answered. Thought it was my phone.”

Harry’s eyes widen. If she didn’t know better, she’d say he was sick on the way nausea grips him. Along with his red face. “Did he say anything about me? Did he know you were speaking?”

“Yes.” Hermione replies warily. “Why?”

His face immediately collapses in utter repose which adds to her confusion. “No reason. Hang on a sec’, yeah?..... Hey, bud….. I didn’t! Your Uncle Harry’ll talk to you later, okay? Mione’s sick and she needs the doctor…..I’m an amazing doctor, you rascal….Love you too.”

Hermione stands from the bed, rubbing the weeds of the lasting headaches. Brushing her hair which is a lost cause, she ties it with a band.

“Harry?”

“Yeah?”

Hermione wrings her hands together, staring him straight in the eye. “Did you have to go somewhere today?”

Harry winces. “Did Teddy say-”

“Can you answer the question? Where were you supposed to go?”

“I-Yes.” Harry draws a long breath and looks up at the ceiling, bouncing on the heels of his feet. “It wasn’t a major thing. Had an interview. They wanted me to cook something for them.”

“Where were you supposed to have the interview?”

“Buzzfeed?”

Hermione rubs her eyes. “Please don’t tell me you passed up Buzzfeed to take care of me?”

Harry looks outraged at any other scenario. “It’s just Buzzfeed .”

“Exactly! Buzzfeed .” Hermione throat protests the loud vocal and she visibly winces. Harry’s at her side in an instant. “You should have gone. I can’t even begin to understand. You’ll regret-”

“I won’t regret anything.” Harry holds her gaze and adds, fiercely. “You’re more important than any of those things.”

Hermione chest heaves as she exhales, shakily. Somehow, Harry had managed to claim title of best friend, crush and person who proclaimed the most romantic words ever said to her in a few days.

Opinions mattered to her which wasn’t very healthy and she’d gotten better at blocking out negative criticism on her teeth, her brains. An excellent feeling from someone she thought of greatly nearly sent her weeping.

Hermione memorizes his face for a heartbeat longer than a friend would, speechless beyond repair.

“Thank you.” She knows the words aren’t adequate enough. Nothing will be.

“S’not a problem.” Harry responds and his words are laced with gentleness as if it’s more than enough.

Perhaps, she was still dreaming. If dreams did indeed, take shape, Harry would live amongst fairytales. He was too good, too kind. to be true. Maybe, Harry was merely an apparition or a figment of her imagination for there wasn’t a possibility in all the realms of the world that Harry would look at her with such fondness and love.

But he was.

And, fuck , if she wasn’t screwed.

Biting her lip, she takes a step back, missing the disappointment that flashes across Harry’s face for a nanosecond before he masks it away.

“Want to watch a Christmas movie?”

Hermione’s hesitance is not abundant yet present. She had studied and revised. The exams were a couple of months away, though. Surely, she ought to-

“If you want to study, then we can do that.”

It’s the use of we that spurs her choice of an answer. “How about several movies?”

“Home Alone 1 is way better than Home Alone 2.” Harry states, scrolling through his phone. Showing the list of movies on his phone, he asks Hermione, “What are we watching first?”

“The crime is way better in Home Alone 2.” Hermione mimics, weaving a carefully crafted debate. “The pranks are ridiculous, surprisingly funny and they have the best toy story. How do you not like that?”

Harry laughs. “Have I ever told you how intelligent you are? You know how to appeal to my mind but nope, you can’t change my mind. I’m adamant in the belief that Home Alone 1 is unbeatable. Now, choose. Which movie?”

Hermione squints at the screen. “I don’t know. You’re asking a bisexual to choose something. This is going to take forever. You’re better at Christmas movies. You choose.” She admits reluctantly. It would be a lie if she confessed his reaction would not deter her.

“Well, love, you’re talking to a fellow bisexual. I want to say everything.”

Hermione grins at him. “You’re amazing, you know that, right?”

“It would help my ego if you kept saying it.”

“Did you know that the origin of ego is from Latin? It came from literally ‘I’ in the nineteenth century.”

“Mione.” Harry lets out a weak chuckle. “That’s all fascinating but which movie? ”

“Let’s watch all but in alphabetical order. So, stream A Christmas Carol first.”

“This is why we make a good team.”

Hermione hides her smile as she walks towards the kitchen, Harry following behind.

“What are we doing?”

“Popcorn?”

Harry scrunches up his face and pouts. The sentiments are reflected on Hermione’s face.

“How about tea and popcorn?”

A rush of affection for Harry consumes her. There wasn’t an honorable man who disliked tea. “Yes. We could have a sleepover or something. Build a fort, later on?”

“How about now ?”

The fort was an absolute disaster . Every spare linen, including Hermione’s long Russian coats and bedsheets- were thrifted to form a structure that tethered shoddily. They inspect the fort with great pride, however. It wasn’t strong enough to take on a rival army but seemed perfect for the two of them.

Harry crawls in and Hermione looks away, blushing as his butt is shoved in her face. She was not looking . She wasn’t .

Under the canopy of fairy lights that twinkle, Harry threw a blanket of hand knitted wool over Hermione. Mug in hand, they marvel at their creation. One of Hermione’s book cabinets support the fabric, included coincidentally, of course.

They crawl towards a common sofa, wondering if this was a good idea, after all. They felt like adults concluding the observation on the way their backs grumbled. Traitorous. Undependable and painful backs.

“May I read this?” Harry asks, eyes fixed on a shiny book. After admiring the summary, he passes a smile, “Romance and princes are my thing .”

Hermione nods, excitedly like a kid drugged on candy.

“When we got the letter in the post, my mother was ecstatic. She had already decided that all our problems were solved, gone forever.” Harry’s lips twitch upwards. “The big- wish we could have this kind of luck in the real world- BIG HITCH in her brilliant plan was me. I didn’t think I was a particularly disobedient daughter, but this was where I drew the line.”

Hermione lets out a snort when Harry wiggles his eyebrows at her imitating a walrus. “Am I a disobedient daughter, Mione?”

“Read the book, will you?”

So he did. For nearly an hour, Hermione heard, with great rapture, the inevitable love story between a prince and a commoner. The Selection was one of her favorite series. It had just the right amount of romance and suspense. It was the ninth time she wished she lived in a palace that contained a magnificent library within its walls.

His phone rang and Harry stops abruptly, in the middle of dialogue which was the greatest tragedy. He shuts the book and crawls to the TV.

“What are you doing?” Hermione crosses her arms and stares him down. “Aren’t you going to pick up your phone?”

“Nope.” Harry responds, having an internal battle with the buttons on the TV. “It was an alarm. We’re going to watch a movie now. Like we were supposed to do an hour ago.”

“Can’t we just read?” Hermione whines. “It’s much better.”

“What are we going to do with the popcorn?”

Hermione debates the issue with herself. “Fine. We’re going to read as soon as we finish the movie and that’s that..”

“Whatever you want, Princess. I recommend watching at least five movies, though.” Harry tugs his phone out of his pocket. “It’s very Christmassy.”

Hermione fixes him with a glare. “I’ll watch. As long as you admit Home Alone 2 was better.”

He throws her a wounded look and clutches his heart with a hand. “I feel so hurt . But because I want to watch the movie, I’ll say Home Alone 2….was better than certain other movies-like Home Alone 1. However, know that I will never forget how mean-”

She huffs. “Just play the movie, Mr. Dramatic.”

Swiping at the phone before he places it on the floor, Harry scoots closer to Hermione and leans his head against her shoulder.

“Happy Movie Watching.”

Hermione swallows and hopes it wasn’t as loud as she imagined it to be. “You too.”

If her voice appeared choked, Harry didn’t appear to notice. She resists the need to adjust, wary that her movement might push him away. His head tickles her a little and Hermione bites her lip. Taking a peek at his hair, she looks away, her head swimming with the conscious desire to ruffle it.

Willing herself to exercise some control, Hermione tries to focus on the melody bouncing around them.

“Why does it feel like we’re watching a horror movie instead of a Christmas one?”

“I guess it’s symbolism.” Hermione whispers back. It makes her think about times when she was a child and she’d play pass the whisper. She wonders if Harry and her could be friends as children. She’d like to think so. “At the end of the movie-”

“No spoilers.” Harry interrupts, grabbing the bowl of popcorn and passing it to her.

“Haven’t you watched this yet?”

Harry shakes his head, hair tickling her skin. “Not this film, nope.”

“How can you-” Hermione begins, pulling away from him slightly. “Never mind. You’re in for a treat.”

True to her word, Harry discovered that he was rather ridiculous and wished he had watched the movie earlier. A fond fan of magic, he was beyond delighted and fascinated as Scrooge flew. The elements of magic kindled the inner child in him.

Hermione would probably be set on fire if she said the light in his eyes wasn’t endearing.

As the credits for the third movie flashed, Hermione shut her eyes. Darkness had winnowed in, almost an hour ago but exhaustion only seemed to weigh her down now. Eyes burning, she drops her back on the floor, side eyes memorising the names of the actors.

“Want me to switch it off?” Harry asks, stretching as much as the proximity allows. After confirming the time, he tells her, “It’s almost nine.”

“Night’s young.” Hermione mumbles, face pressed onto the cold layer. “I’m watching.”

His chuckle is warm reminding her of the taste of hot chocolate drunk on a winter’s night. He drops his body next to her with a thump .

“How you’ll see?” She slurs her words together, hazy with warmth.

“You’re short, Princess.” Harry claims which it a total lie. She’s 5’2, a perfectly admirable height. If the rest of the world comprised of giants, it wasn’t her issue.

“Am not.” Hermione nestles into him, his warmth practically a soundless lullaby. And, into the arms of Morpheus, she crept.

The next morning she woke up to Harry’s snores and noticed her leg around his waist with his arm wound around her lower back. Psychology dictated their involuntary actions so she didn’t panic.

It was funny to notice how he seeked her warmth. The blanket was draped around her form while Harry remained bare, excluding his cotton shirt. As the blanket suspended on his body, her fingers brushed his skin, inducing electrifying shocks through bone and marrow.

Hermione carefully strived not to think about how she didn’t untangle herself from him despite being awake for minutes.

liked it so far? read the rest on ao3

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dictionarywrites · 6 years

Text

Like The Sun Married The Moon

4.5k. Complete. Rated T. DashingFrost.

A little 5+1 style story: five times the Avengers noticed Loki maybe had a secret, and one time it came out.

Then going back through the six in reverse.

My Ao3 | Send requests | Tip jar!

One: Tony Stark

It’s not that Tony’s interested. He’s not.

It’s just that Loki’s been here on Earth for what, nearly a year now? And he’s so comfortable. So confident. Sure, he’s under whatever spell that stops him from hurting people, and that’s the only reason they can really trust him, but the guy is just such a card.

Tony watches him as he laughs, taking a slow sip from his wine glass: the party’s buzzing, and Tony knows who invited him, because, yeah, Tony’s known all across New York in all the rich circles, and as much as he can get annoyed with stuffed shirts and demanding rich girls, a party is a party. But who the Hell invited Loki? This is an event with some of the richest, most upper-class people in New York, and Loki gets an allowance from SHIELD, but it’s nothing super impressive.

Loki can see Tony watching him, and he arches one dark eyebrow, raising his glass.

Tony strides across the room, and Loki murmurs quiet words to the men he’s speaking to, all fashionable guys with coiffed hair and floral shirts, and he comes closer. Loki’s well-dressed for the occasion, at least: he wears a suit in some kinda pastel lilac, the white shirt open and baring the column of his neck to the room at large. And the hair… God, Loki’s hair had been gross when they’d first seen him, greased back from his head, but now it’s well-washed and healthy, tied up in a loose bun with a few strands hanging around his face, the style effortlessly graceful. A new piece of jewellery shines through the shell of Loki’s ear, and a silver stud shines through the side of his nose.

(“Ooh, loving the new look, Reindeer Games. What, taking the time to rebel now that you’re out of the house?” Loki had laughed, the sound loud and wild and free.

“No one pierces anything on Asgard – even earrings are clipped on or held with magic. I could never do this before.” And that… That’d been wild, to hear from a guy nearly three thousand years old. Still new experiences to be found, even at his age.)

“You look like you’re having a good time,” Tony says mildly.

“I am,” Loki replies. He holds his wineglass like the prince he is, his grip delicate on the glass stem, and when he swills the liquid inside, the motion is practised and almost thoughtless, as if it’s pure instinct that makes him do it. “I like parties.”

“Really?” Tony asks, leaning back slightly. “Didn’t have you pegged for a big occasions guy.” Tony’s sarcasm only makes Loki smile, and he takes a slow sip of his drink. “What, you looking for a rich girl to take you home?”

“No,” Loki murmurs, slowly shaking his head. His gaze is momentarily far away, a little sadness shining in his eyes. It’s weird – Loki’s been planet-side for ten months, all-in-all, and he honestly avoids every single one of the Avengers when he’s not at work. Tony keeps vague tabs on him, knows that he keeps himself to himself in his little apartment in Brooklyn, knows that he uses his allowance just to get groceries (guy’s a health food nut, who knew?) and saves the rest, but Loki… It’s not easy to track him. Tony knows he goes places, and meets people, but it’s all but impossible to keep a surveillance on him, and yet he never wants to hang out with the guys from work. Tony doesn’t feel like he knows much more about Loki than he did when the guy first attacked New York. “I don’t partner myself with women these days.”

“Oh,” Tony says, feeling his eyebrows raise despite himself. Shit. “That, uh— How is Asgard? On the whole, um, the whole gay thing?”

“Not good,” Loki answers plainly. “But Asgard isn’t so good on me. It never has been.” Tony reaches up, dragging his fingers over the side of his mouth, feeling the warmth of his own hand against his lips. Loki’s hot. Tony knows Loki’s hot, and he knows damn well that he’s hot himself, and really, there’s no shame in trying—

“You know, uh, I’m not— We could always, uh…” Loki is staring at him, blinking slowly, and then he chuckles. The sound begins low in his throat, dark and slightly foreboding, and when he reaches out, patting the side of Tony’s cheek, his fingers are freezing cold. The condescension should piss Tony off, but instead it makes heat burst in his chest.

“I think not, Stark,” Loki murmurs.

“You know, it’s been nearly a year. I think Tony works. Or— Anthony, right? You wanna call me Anthony?”

“Anthony,” Loki repeats softly. His smile is nothing but fond, despite how patronising his tone had been a second ago, and he draws his hand neatly back, drawing his hand over his hair, tucking a loose strand of dark hair away from his face. “Don’t take this as an insult, but Midgardians… You are so fragile, and all of you so young. Such an interspecies union might be something Thor would take to easily, but not I.”

“We must all seem like babies to you,” Tony murmurs.

“Not babies,” Loki murmurs. “You are adults, each of you. But… Different. As a wolf is different to a fox.” And then Loki is moving across the room, taking up a conversation with a pretentious artist Tony always tries to avoid talking to himself: they greet each other like they’re old friends, touching one another’s arms, and it’s—

Weird.

Loki’s weird. But in a good way, Tony thinks, rejection aside.

Two: Steve Rogers

Loki isn’t a good man. Steve knows that. He’s also not as bad as Steve had thought in the beginning.

Loki is weaving magic upon the air, and every single kid in the classroom is watching raptly, every one of them staring up at the shimmering energy that gathers between Loki’s hand, making up the petals of a shining, transparent flower of gold and silver. It’s artful, poetic – it’s one of the most beautiful things Steve’s ever seen, and he still thinks of it an hour later, when the Avengers are done with the school visit, and when everybody else has started splitting off in different directions. And yet Loki… Loki has a faraway look in his eyes, a kind of sadness, and Steve falls into step beside him.

It’s funny – Loki works with the Avengers, and he’s one of them, sure, but Steve never sees him outside of their official appearances, or when they’re dragged into a fight. Loki’s a solitary kind of guy, it seems.

“You want kids?” Steve asks. Loki turns to him, surprise showing on his face.

“I have children,” Loki says. Steve stares at him, and Loki gives him an awkward smile, shrugging his shoulders. “I am once widowed, once divorced, Captain Rogers. Four of my children yet live, and two are long-since dead.”

Jeeze. No wonder the guy’s sad and distracted.

“Sorry,” Steve says. “I didn’t, um, I didn’t realise.”

“It’s alright,” Loki murmurs, his hands in his pockets. He’s comfortable in Earth clothes, it seems to Steve – more comfortable than Steve feels sometimes, with the subtle differences to the clothes he grew up with. “Perhaps I shall have more, one day. I don’t know.”

“You got anyone in mind to settle down with?” Steve asks, and it comes out so quickly, the flirtation hanging on the air. Loki smiles.

“Yes,” he says, and Steve reaches up, rubbing the back of his neck. Every time he thinks he knows something about this guy, it seems like he’s proved wrong.

“God, really just putting my foot in my mouth again and again today, huh?” Loki reaches out, and his cold fingers gently pat the side of Steve’s shoulder. He says nothing, and walks away.

Thing is… What, the guy’s got somebody in mind? Who?

Three: Clint Barton

“You ever gonna tell ‘em?” Clint asks. They’re in the laboratory in Avengers Tower, and Loki glances up from where he’s bent over some engineering schematics, making adjustments to some old designs they’d dug out of the SHIELD archives. Loki’s an engineer, it turns out – as good an engineer as Clint himself, even if he’s not gonna be patenting a million inventions any time soon.

“Tell them what?” Loki asks. He keeps his distance from Clint, and Clint likes it that way. It’s… Weird. The connection to Loki has been broken, Clint’s sure of that, but sometimes it’s like there’s a lingering instinct hovering in the back of his mind, to fall into step beside Loki, to obey orders…

Clint hates it. He hates following orders, hates the way he feels like he should be swearing fealty to Loki some days, but Loki doesn’t rub it in. He’d apologised, a few weeks after getting thrown down to Midgard, and offered Clint whatever “boon” he wanted, and Clint had just said to leave him alone – and Loki had.

“There’s— I don’t know what it is, who it is,” Clint says. “But there’s someone else. Someone you’re connected to, not Thor, not your mom. Someone else.”

“I’m not going to tell them,” Loki says at length. Clint reads the words on his thin lips, and inexplicably, they make him sad.

“No one hates you, you know,” Clint says. “Not even me. You can trust the Avengers. They’ll all have your back.” Loki’s lips twitch, and he looks up from the schematics, looking at Clint seriously. There’s a short pause as Loki seems to think over what Clint’s said, and then he brings his fingers up to his mouth and chin before bringing his palm outward: Thank you.

Clint didn’t know the guy could sign.

Four: Natasha Romanov

“Truth, or dare,” Nat says, leaning back in her seat, and Loki watches her for a long few moments, his lips quirking into a little smile. The party’s chilled out – sitting around the table, it’s Nat, Loki, Thor, Bruce and Clint, and it’s… It’s almost normal. Almost normal. It’s weird, to settle into the American lifestyle and just hang out with people after work, but today… Today had been pretty rough.

Maybe that’s why they’re all getting drunk together, playing stupid college games, so that none of them has to be alone with their own thoughts – maybe that’s why Loki had stuck around instead of slinking home like he usually does; maybe that’s why Tony had latched onto the excuse of Thor being down on Earth to celebrate.

“Truth,” Loki says.

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Nat asks, mildly. “You’re a God of Lies, right?”

“Equally, I am a God of Truth,” Loki says. “I am worshiped for deceit on three planets, but for honesty on three more.” Nat glances to Thor, wanting to judge if this is true on his face, but there’s something pinched about his expression, as if Thor doesn’t know if this is true or not. Loki isn’t looking at Thor; Thor is looking right at Loki, a kind of tired melancholy in his eyes.

“You’re worshiped on more planets than Earth?” Clint asks. “How many?”

“I believe it’s Ms Romanov’s turn to ask her question,” Loki murmurs softly. Thor stands abruptly from the couch, walking across the room to join Sam and Steve in the kitchen, and Loki presses his lips loosely together, closing his eyes for a second. He looks hurt. So does Thor.

Something easy, then – something simple.

“How many times you been married?” Nat asks.

“Three,” Loki answers cleanly, and then he walks away.

Five: Thor

“Is that true?” Thor asks quietly. “You are worshiped as a deity of honesty, on some worlds?”

“Yes,” Loki answers. It ails Thor, to see his brother so easily settled upon Midgard – he ought be glad, to see his brother finally so comfortable in his skin, to see Loki look almost content, but—

He hates it. Hates having Loki so far from Asgard, exiled forevermore; hates to see Loki with pieces of metal piercing through his ears and his nose, hates seeing Loki in foreign clothes and looking comfortable in them. Thor thinks of the times Loki would disappear from Asgard for years at a time, for decades at a time… He thinks of the time he had sought Loki out on the strange planet known as Koom, where Loki was lecturing in applied mathematics, and how Loki had reluctantly returned home with him after nearly eighty years; he recalls finding Loki in a flour mill on the planet Jafara, alone and unfriended, and how Loki had slunk back to Asgard as a cowed dog; he recalls the most recent time, on the golden sands of Hashtor, where Thor had said “Come home,” and Loki had laughed, and retorted, “I am home.”

“I wish you could come home,” Thor says softly.

“This is my home now,” Loki says. The two of them stand on a balcony, overlooking New York City, and Thor feels his heart ache. “How fare the Warriors Three?”

“Well,” Thor says quietly, thinking of how different it is, to travel the Nine Realms without Loki amongst them. It is preferable, in some ways – there is no mischief to be found, but in others… It feels stilted, unnatural, as if there is a part of them missing. Even Volstagg had agreed.

But it can never be the way it once was.

“And your parents?” Loki asks. The words cut Thor like a knife.

“Our parents,” Thor says, sharply. Loki draws away from him, and then he delicately shakes his head.

“No, Thor,” Loki says softly. “Your parents.”

“You would isolate yourself from all who love you,” Thor snaps, feeling fury flare within him. “Here you are, amongst these people, and do you allow any of them to be your friend? Once more, Loki, you have made yourself alone, and to what end?”

“Have you ever considered that I like my solitude?” Loki asks, his voice unerringly calm and cool. “You are glad to be a member of a rollicking band: I prefer to be alone.”

“You lie so much,” Thor mutters. “You deceive even yourself.”

“Perhaps,” Loki murmurs. “Sometimes a lie is kinder than the truth.” Thor cannot take it, and he stalks away, and when he returns, Loki is gone – back to his apartment on the other side of the city, where no one will speak to him, where no one will ask things of him.

Of course. Such is how it is.

There is no limit to how many secrets Loki will keep, if he is able.

Six: Bruce Banner

Loki lies very still in the infirmary bed, laid on his back. His eyes are closed, and Bruce leans over, gently patting the god’s face to try to get him to wake up. Loki groans in quiet pain, and Bruce presses his lips together, leaning away from him. Whatever Loki had done to win them the fight – and yeah, it had definitely been Loki who got them out of it, because he’d turned the damned demon to dust, and then dropped to the ground like a stone – it had taken a lot out of him.

Bruce knows it, because he can see all of Loki now. His true body is showing: the skin is a deep blue, with indents and markings on the skin, and there are scars all over his body. Dappled wet scars that must have been caused by acid are visible around Loki’s eyes, and there are pockmarks and tears around his lips, where once somebody sewed them shut.

But the weirdest thing isn’t that Loki doesn’t look like an Æsir anymore, or that Loki has scars. The weirdest thing is on his right hand, where a golden band shines on his ring finger, catching the light.

(“You’ve been married before, right?” Bruce had asked once. “Do you guys wear wedding rings?”

“No, that is a Midgardian tradition,” Loki had said quietly, but a little smile had caught on his lips, and he’d kept it for the rest of the day.)

The doors to the infirmary burst open, and Bruce presses his lips together. Loki is just beginning to stir into consciousness, and Bruce had hoped to get him awake before Thor arrived – but there’s a reason Bruce had sent word to Asgard as soon as Loki had gone down.

“Thor, I’m pretty sure he’s gonna be fine,” Bruce says. “He just—” Bruce freezes. The man striding into the room, his armour clinking, is not Thor. He has a muss of blond hair around his head, and a moustache and a little beard. “Uh, you can’t be—”

“Fandral,” Loki whispers, and he weakly raises his head, leaning into the gloved hand that cups his cheek. The stranger – Fandral – is leaning over the bed, and his expression is tortured, his brown eyes shining with pain. “I’m fine, you needn’t… You needn’t fuss so.” Loki is speaking hoarsely, and it looks like just talking is hurting him.

Bruce pours him a glass of water, taking a step forward, but before he can offer it out, Fandral has thrown both of his gauntlets messily onto the ground, and he takes the glass with a surprisingly soft hand, tipping Loki’s head up to take a sip of the water. Bruce doesn’t miss the glint of silver on his left hand, a ring…

God. Fandral turns away from Loki, giving Bruce a serious, consternated look.

“Healer,” he says quietly. “What ails him?”

“Best guess?” Bruce asks, awkwardly. “Magical exhaustion.”

“Correct,” Loki mutters. “I just need rest.”

“And you shall have it,” Fandral murmurs. Setting the glass aside, he moves to cup Loki’s cheek, tracing over the blue skin with gentle fingers. “I was so— Thor and Sif are abroad in Muspelheim, so t’was I that received the missive before it was brought to your mother… I ought to have come sooner.”

“I was your king,” Loki says quietly. “And you betrayed me.”

“And you didn’t betray me in kind?” Fandral demands, his tone harsh even as his fingers brush featherlight over his cheek. “Throwing yourself from the Bifrost like that, disappearing… I thought you dead. I mourned for you, in silence, knowing no one else could know the grief I bore.”

Bruce feels like he’s intruding, but he really has nowhere else to go. He can’t exactly walk out: there isn’t another doctor around just now, and he doesn’t want Loki on his own. He makes himself busy, looking at charts and Googling basic shit on his laptop, but beside him, it continues.

“And then when you were sent here, to Midgard, as punishment… I ought have resigned my commission immediately,” Fandral whispers. “I ought have retuned to Midgard once more, to be with you.”

“You can’t give up Asgard for me,” Loki whispers. “I can never go back.”

“Then I shan’t either,” Fandral promises, the words ringing through the room. And then he kisses Loki, soundly on the mouth, chaste but full of feeling, and Bruce wonders when the best time would be to interrupt them. He decides to wait until they stop kissing.

It takes a while.

Six: Bruce Banner

“Secretly married, huh?” Bruce asks a few days later, and Loki looks him in the face, taking in the lines of his expression, the uncertainty as he offers Loki a pill to take. Loki swallows it, tasting its bitterness on his tongue.

“I never imagined he could still love me,” Loki whispers. “After all that had happened.”

Bruce glances at him, and he hesitates for only a moment before he says, “Doesn’t seem like he’s the type of guy to back down once he loves something.”

“No,” Loki agrees. “That he is not.”

Fandral is arm-wrestling Sam Wilson, and the two of them are both as charming as the other, exchanging easy, comfortable words over their sport. The two of them seem evenly matched, with their strengths – Loki knows this is but another layer of charm on Fandral’s part, pretending himself to be weaker than he is.

His heart feels warm in his cool chest.

Five: Thor

Loki stands in between Fandral and Thor, shielding Fandral’s body with his own: he can feel Fandral’s heavy breathing against the back of his neck, feel himself shake, and he looks Thor in the eyes, unwavering.

The rage on his brother’s face is unspeakable, indescribable, and Loki stiffens further, keeping himself in place.

“How long?” Thor asks – nay, demands.

“Around a century,” Loki says. “We— You recall when I was gone for five years, and you retrieved me from Hashtor, the planet with the golden spires, and Fandral had been on a sojourn to Midgard? Fandral was with me. The whole time.”

“We couldn’t tell you,” Fandral says from behind Loki’s shoulder, but he isn’t foolish enough to step out. “Asgard would never accept a marriage between two men, least of all of its prince, and a member of its nobility.”

“So you hid it,” Thor growls. “So you hid it, from me, your brother, and you, Fandral – I thought us the greatest of friends!”

“And if you thought I was using our friendship to abuse your brother?” Fandral asks, his charming voice surprisingly sharp. “You would not have jumped to such a conclusion?” Thor freezes, for a second, and a little of the rage seems to fade from his eyes. “Thor… I love you, my friend, but we could not risk being discovered. There was no way to predict how the people of Asgard, how the Allfather, would respond.”

“Now, of course,” Loki says softly. “Such things are immaterial.”

“You mean to stay here, then?” Thor asks, looking past Thor, to Fandral himself. “With him?”

“Yes,” Fandral says. “A century in secrecy, and here… Honesty.”

“A shame, Loki, that you no longer consider us brothers,” Thor says at length.

“Who says I don’t?” Loki demands, surprised by the emotion cracking in his own voice. “We are brothers, Thor, through bond if not in blood.” Thor smiles, softly, his eyes glittering with warmth.

“Why, then,” he says in scarce more than a whisper. “Fandral is my brother as well.” Relief bursts in Loki’s chest like a Midgardian firework: he turns his head, catching Fandral’s eye, and when they laugh, it is as one, full to the brim with relief, and understanding, and love.

Four: Natasha Romanov

Three times married, he’d said – three times. Once widowed, from a Jötunn named Angrboða; once divorced, from a Vanir woman when their children had died – Sigyn. And still married, now, to an Æsir: Fandral.

Nat watches as Fandral and Loki sit on a couch together in the common room of the Avengers Tower, Fandral’s boots on Loki’s lap and one of Stark’s tablets in Fandral’s, the two of them playing either side of some game that looks suspiciously like a two-man version of Candy Crush.

Happiness radiates from Loki like heat, and Nat’s never seen him so happy.

He doesn’t avoid the parties any more, or the times when they chill – him and Fandral both come, and when Loki feels like going silent, Fandral talks instead. The guy is bright and flirtatious, always telling a joke, always telling stories, always full of vim.

It’s like the sun and moon have married each other.

Three: Clint Barton

“He’s hot,” Clint says quietly. “Kudos.”

Loki laughs, and he signs and speaks at the same time: “Thank you.”

Two: Steve Rogers

“You know,” Steve says mildly, “You always told me you thought nationalism was stupid.”

“I do,” Loki murmurs, amusement ringing in his tones.

“Oh, so you make fun of me being a patriot,” Steve says, his hand on his chest, “But him—” He gestures to Fandral, who is telling some cock-and-bull story of Asgard’s founding, a story Loki has heard a thousand times before. Loki’s lip twitches.

“No, I think his patriotism is ridiculous as well,” Loki murmurs. “Asgard and America aren’t so dissimilar – in their flaws, or their strengths. In an ideal world, melting pots of culture; in practice, colonial super powers, feared as much as they are loved.”

“He gave it up for you,” Steve points out. He doesn’t say it unkindly – if anything, it is intended as a kindness, and despite the discomfort within him, despite Loki’s uncertainty… Loki nods.

“I am to be worthy of that sacrifice,” Loki whispers: it is a vow.

One: Tony Stark

“You love him?” Tony asks.

“With all my heart,” Fandral murmurs. The two of them stand together, and Tony glances across the room, watching as Loki holds a group of real estate moguls spellbound in some story or other, gesticulating as he speaks. Fandral… Fandral’s a pretty cool guy. Tony had liked him right off the bat, liked his spunk and his easy manner, liked his sense of style.

They click.

“He said before… Asgard isn’t so good on gay people. Men who’re with men; women who’re with women.”

“No,” Fandral murmurs. “Others in the Nine Realms are like Midgard – Alfheim has no issues at all with such things, and Nidavellir couldn’t care less who you might bed. But Asgard has its traditions, its long-held prejudices…” Fandral is watching Loki like Loki is the greatest piece of art he’s ever seen, like he’s forever picking out new details he loves. Fandral’s glittering brown eyes are full of warmth, and his lips curve into a soft smile. “We married on a foreign planet, in the dead of night, beneath the light of two bright moons. We knew it would be a secret for the longest time, and it didn’t matter at all. So long as we shared our bond, all would be well.”

Fandral is turning the silver band on his left hand again and again, in circles around his ring finger’s base with his thumb. On his middle finger, there is another ring, this one made of gold with a red ruby carved into a coat of arms – a signet ring.

“I have been to Midgard once before, you know,” Fandral says softly. “T’was many years ago, many centuries… I fell to England, and could not get home, so I formed a band of good friends, and I married a princess then, too – her name was Marian.”

“Marian,” Tony repeats. “Like— Like Maid Marian?”

“Yes, that was her,” Fandral confirms, like it’s nothing. “They called me—”

“Robin Hood?” Fandral’s eyes widen slightly, and he leans back.

“Yes,” he says.

“Jesus Christ,” Tony says. “You know you’re… Famous, right? Like, I know that’s not the same as being a god, but everybody knows who Robin Hood was. You two—” Tony laughs, running his hand through his hair. “God. You really are made for each other, huh?” Fandral smiles, showing his dazzlingly white teeth.

“Yes,” he agrees easily. “I suppose we are.”

Loki is gesturing for Fandral to come over, and Fandral pats Tony’s shoulder as he slips across the room, putting one hand around Loki’s waist and easily falling into conversation with the moguls, like he’s meant to be here. And don’t they look a pair, Loki in his grey suit and Fandral in his gold, don’t they look—

Honestly, is it so bad that Tony could kinda go for both of them?

Huh. Maybe it’s a… Maybe it’s a thought.

FIN.

#fandroki #dashingfrost #avenger loki #marvel #fanfic #dictionary writes

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