#tired of them bringing her back and holding her over peters head as if he didn’t finally get to move on. he loved her. he loved her so much | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blossom-hwa · 4 months

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Worn-Out Soles [2] | b.c

pairing: Chan x fem!reader genre: fluff, angst, fantasy, royalty!au warnings: kidnapping, injury, death word count: 12.1k notes: — this is a retelling of the 12 dancing princesses :) inspiration taken from the original fairy tale, the Barbie movie, and the retelling by Jessica Day George, Princess of the Midnight Ball. — mc in this story has multiple sisters as befitting the original fairy tale, but they are not blood-related for inclusivity reasons. In a world where magic lies in the arts, you are a princess of Terpsichani, the kingdom whose power comes from dance. Loved by many, you care for your country deeply, though in truth your heart only belongs to the palace's royal cobbler, Chan, who holds equal affection for you in return. It's a love that could never be, you both know, though it doesn't stop you from pining. But then you go missing on the final night of your kingdom's Moonlight Festival, leaving behind nothing but the memories of a final dance. When your sister brings news of your disappearance to Chan's doorstep, there's only one thing he can do. Follow you into the depths of hell to bring you back—or die trying. Part 1 >> Part 2 >> Part 3

To Spin a Yarn | Stray Kids Masterlist

The day after the Moonlight Festival, Chan finds himself up at the crack of dawn, restless and anxious when he should still be asleep. Last night was long, after all—after you bid him goodbye, he went to find his apprentices, who danced up and down the streets for hours before they tired enough to return home.

He went home before them, actually. He tried to enjoy himself the way you told him to, so he forced himself to stay out for a few more hours before he decided he was too tired to continue and left. But if he was tired, he would’ve been able to sleep. He barely got a few hours of that before he woke again, and again, and again.

It’s stupid, he’s certain. The Kereseian king wouldn’t do anything to you, not when he is a guest in your country. You said you would be fine and he should trust you. But for some reason, he keeps replaying that last moment over and over again.

“I will be all right. Really.”

Your words were so certain, so strong. He almost believed you. But he knows how you feel about the Kereseian delegation, saw the trepidation in your eyes about their arrival that you tried to hide. You did a good job of hiding it, but when you bid him goodnight, all Chan could see was that fear.

He hopes you’re all right.

The sun rises. Jisung and Felix awaken a few hours later, bags under their eyes from the long night out, and Chan does his best to hide his worry as he brings them tea and toast. Chan gives them the day off to recover and disappears into his workroom to try and get some things done. He can’t focus, though, so by the time evening has begun to set, he gives up and returns to the main room, where his apprentices are starting dinner. Their banter echoes off the walls as he comes in. It makes him smile a little.

Then a knock sounds at the door.

Jisung’s voice peters out from the kitchen. The two of them poke their heads into the main room, where Chan is also staring at the door. “Are we expecting anyone?” Felix asks.

Chan shakes his head. “Not to my knowledge.”

The knock comes again, louder this time. Faster, too. Frowning, Chan swings the door open and blinks.

“…Your Highness?”

Princess Yeji stands in front of the door, covered head to toe in a large, brown cloak. Her eyes peek out from beneath the hood and in them Chan sees a desperation reflected in his own. “Chan,” she greets, short and trembling. “May I come in?”

. . .

Chan leads the princess inside. Felix dashes back into the kitchen, mumbling something about tea, and Jisung dithers in the doorway before following his fellow apprentice. Yeji sits down on one of the chairs Chan offers and he takes the other, trying not to show how hard his heart is beating in his chest.

“My sister is missing,” Yeji begins without preamble.

Missing. The word echoes off the walls of Chan’s skull, over and over and over again until all he can hear is that one word.

“…What?”

“She’s missing,” Yeji repeats.

Flames of hell. Chan’s head starts spinning.

“She didn’t come back last night. They say they don’t know who took her, but I know. It was Kereseia.” Yeji’s lips twist. “I don’t have proof—I couldn’t give you anything concrete, I’m sorry—but if you saw the way the king was looking at her for the entire festival, how he spoke to her every time they met—” Her voice cracks and all of her composure shatters, leaving her face in her hands.

Automatically Chan reaches out a hand towards her shoulder before a voice reminds him she’s a princess! and he draws back. She is a princess, and he’s just her cobbler, but when Yeji heaves a dry, angry sob, he throws caution to the wind and places his palm against the cloak, patting her shoulder softly.

Felix comes puttering in quietly, Jisung not far behind. They place down tea, sugar, and spoons, then quickly disappear once more. As Yeji pulls herself back together, Chan pours the tea and extends her one of the mugs. The thick ceramic looks somewhat out of place between her delicate fingers but she accepts it with grace anyway.

“It was Kereseia,” she says again, unwavering. “I know it.”

Chan’s memory flashes to the one time he saw the Kereseian king, when he came to take you at the end of the dances Chan shared with you. White clothing patterned with red that reminded him of blood, but not more than the cruel look in the prince’s eyes and the sharp smile on his lips as he led you away, hand clutching yours with far more strength than necessary.

He nearly curses. He never should have let you go—should’ve fought, should’ve said something—

In the present, Chan forces down those thoughts and clenches his own hand, only letting it go when he meets Yeji’s eyes again. “I believe you,” he says quietly.

Her face crumples with relief. “Thank all the stars,” she breathes. “No one else believes me. Or they do, but they say not to point fingers when there is no proof.”

“I was with her when he came,” Chan admits, heart aching when Yeji’s eyes go wide. “She—I—we had been dancing for a while. I was just about to escort her back to the palace. But he—the Kereseian king—he came, and he said he would take her back, and she kept telling me to go, that she would be fine…” Guilt and anger clog his throat, and he can say no more.

Yeji takes his hand this time, squeezing it gently. “It wasn’t your fault,” she says, with so much certainty that Chan can’t help but almost believe her. “I know my sister; she wouldn’t have let you come. For your own safety. And I’m sure she wouldn’t have expected…”

Silence falls between the two of them, neither knowing what to say.

Eventually, Chan speaks. “Who do they think did it, if not for Kereseia?”

“I don’t know,” Yeji says. “But that’s why I came.” She looks him dead in the eye. “Please, Chan. Find her for us.”

Chan blinks once. Twice. Nearly laughs, but Yeji’s incredibly serious expression tears the potential humor out of his chest.

“Me?”

“Yes.” She swallows. “And I—I do not ask this lightly. If I wasn’t currently being kept under lock and key with the rest of my sisters all hours of the day, I’d do it myself.”

She would. Chan doesn’t know Yeji as well as he knows you, but he does know she’s one of the strongest and most stubborn of the sisters.

Which means she must be truly desperate if she’s come to him for help.

“I’m only here now because my sisters are distracting the guards. I’ll have to return soon.” Her eyes flicker over to the clock in the corner of the room, then back to him. “But—Chan. You wouldn’t have heard, but my father is to issue a proclamation to our land and others. Our military will continue to search for Y/N, but should anyone find her, they will be rewarded with her hand in marriage.” Yeji’s lip curls just as Chan’s heart twists. “I expect there will eager adventurers showing up at our gates soon, claiming they will try their own hand. None of them care for her. None of them want her back safely. And I don’t trust a single one of them to succeed.”

Chan tamps down a wave of jealousy and anger. “So why do you think I will?” he asks, voice barely steady.

“Because you care. Because you know who we face. And because you would want her back safely, for her own sake and no one else’s.” Yeji swallows hard. “I know I ask much of you, perhaps for you to risk or even give your own life. But you—my sisters and I, we may not know you as well as Y/N does, but to us, you are…safe. We trust you.” A tiny smile curves her lips. “You should know that when we first found out she was missing, Yuna asked me if you would find Y/N. You were her the first one she trusted.”

He almost smiles, his heart rising for a moment before it drops back into his stomach. “Your Highness, you honor me. But I’m just a cobbler. ”

“Chan.” Yeji puts her mug of tea down before fixing Chan in her gaze once more. “I don’t know who can bring Y/N back. I don’t know if she will ever come back. But you are the one I trust most to try.” She smiles a little, again. “And truth be told, I would prefer you as my brother in law over any of the other young, undeserving adventurers who might try to claim my sister’s hand without her heart.”

Chan’s heart thuds painfully in his chest. Every piece of him that cried with despair at the knowledge you had gone missing craves to listen to Yeji’s words, to throw caution to the wind and make for Kereseia as soon as he can to drag you from the kingdom’s depths. But a saner, perhaps more cowardly part of him advises caution, advises restraint—he could die doing this. And what of Jisung and Felix, then? What will they do in his absence?

But you’re missing. Possibly hurt. Taken by a king who has nothing human in him, who comes from a kingdom described only as having been borne from the depths of hell.

How could he stand to do nothing in the face of that?

“I will go,” he says quietly. Yeji’s eyes crack in relief, but he holds up a hand. “On one condition. I ask that someone watch over my apprentices when I am gone—keep them fed during a time when our business will be low and I am not around to manage things.”

“Done,” Yeji says immediately. “They will be well cared for.” Her face, pale and tight, shifts to the clock and back to him. “I must go now—the guards will start looking for me soon. My horse is outside. Please take him for your journey.”

“Hurry back, and be safe,” Chan replies, standing up. “And please know…” He swallows hard, his heart thumping with anxious resolve. “Your Highness, I will do all that I can to bring her back.”

This time, a real smile graces Yeji’s face when she looks at him—briefly, only for a moment, but Chan takes that smile and presses it into his mind, a reminder of the unbelievable faith she is bestowing on him to take on this terrible quest. “I know, Chan,” she says quietly. “You have my trust.”

. . . . .

Kereseia is at once exactly what you expected, and nothing you could ever have dreamed of.

Granted, you haven’t seen anything but the palace in which you’ve been imprisoned. Your door is locked from the outside, only opened when someone appears to bring you a meal, and your repeated requests to leave—if your initial screams can even be called that—are left unheard. But your rooms, and the few sights you saw as you were dragged to it, provide enough of a case study that only cement your conviction that this place is truly a kingdom of hell.

Black marble lines the floors, lanterns burning in sconces at regular intervals along cold stone walls. There were no windows in the hall they dragged you down and you wonder if there are any at all in the palace—if the inhabitants cannot see the light of day, then what is the point? Your rooms have none—not a single one. The walls are hung with the same lanterns you saw in the halls, orange light flickering and casting strange shadows on the dark marble floors. Crystal glints from the ceiling, hung in chandeliers that glitter coldly in the firelight, and the smooth silk sheets that cover the massive bed give you chills even as you wrap them around you for a semblance of warmth.

It's cold. So cold. In the back of your mind, you’d always thought of hell as some place blisteringly hot, full of fire and the smell of burning flesh. But here everything is cold, from the sheets to the walls to even the fire that burns in the lanterns—when you stretched a shaking hand to the one hanging above the bed, hoping for even a sliver of warmth, even though a bright orange flame burned in the center, the glass walls were cold as ice. And somehow, it fits together even more than the hot hellfire you’d put together in your imagination—hell as the absence of warmth and light, the things that keep the living alive.

And now it’s going to kill you.

Shivering, you pull the sheets closer around you, shivering as a cold area hits your cheek. You haven’t cried yet, though you half expected to—shock, you think. It’s all still hitting you and you don’t want to believe it. All you’ve done is sit here and shiver for what has probably been hours. Part of you can’t believe you’ve been sitting here for so long. The other part of you feels like you’ve been here forever.

You’re still staring into oblivion when a click sounds at the door. You almost stop breathing, eyes trained on the dark wood. Logically, you know the king won’t kill you. That he still needs you for his—disgusting master plan or whatever, to have a child who can walk in the sun. Until then, you should be physically safe. But irrational fear closes your throat at the sound and you have to force yourself not to wrap the blankets more tightly around you as the door swings open.

It's not the king, which releases some of the breath from your chest. But one by one, three servants enter the room, heads bowed, each dressed in the same black silk that covers your bed. Like a little funeral procession.

The door shuts with a click and a thud. You imagine the scene must look at least a little bit comical to an outsider—three servants standing in an unbroken line before the bed where you sit wrapped in sheets, trembling, nothing like the princess you’re supposed to be.

“Your Highness,” one of them finally says, bowing slightly. “We’ve come to ready you for the evening meal.”

Evening meal. Your stomach churns. You’ve never felt less hungry in your life. “I’m not hungry.”

She bows again. “His Majesty said you were to be there.”

You set your jaw. “And if I refuse?”

She doesn’t respond. None of them do. All they do is bow again, then leave single file, the same little funeral procession.

You blink. You’re not naïve enough to believe you won this battle, but you have no idea what’s coming next. Will there be armed guards? Will they force you to dress? What will the king do to have you with him at his banquet table?

You don’t have to wait long to find out. Only a few minutes later does the door swing open again, your heart leaping into your throat as the king himself steps into your quarters.

“Your Highness,” he says smoothly, no indication of how he’s feeling about your tentative transgression in his voice. “I hear you don’t wish to join me and my court for the evening meal.”

Something tells you he’s waiting for a reply, but you won’t speak. Can’t, really. Your heart still feels like it’s clogging your throat. So you say nothing.

“We prepared so much for you, too.” He comes closer and you fight the urge to shrink back. “So many festivities, to honor the arrival of our soon to be queen. Will you not even grace us for a moment with your presence?”

A chill runs up your spine as his gaze bores into yours. “I am not hungry,” you say quietly. “I am not feeling well.”

“No wonder,” he replies, and suddenly his face is in yours, one cold finger touching the skin beneath your eyes. You jerk away, but not before the chill of his skin ripples across your face. “Why, it looks like you haven’t slept a wink since you arrived. Are your quarters not to your liking?”

“They are fine,” you reply, forcing down the snarl in your throat.

“Then what could be ailing you, Your Highness?” His eyes glint with amusement and you want to slap him for it. “If you need help sleeping, I could send a physician to help you. They would not dare refuse, as you are to be my wife, and my queen.”

He’s smirking. He kidnapped you from your own homeland, dragged you here, locked you up, and he’s smirking.

Anger gives you the strength to sit up, to look the king straight in the eye. “What makes you so sure I will be your queen, Your Majesty?” you say, rage clouding each word. “If I died before we wed, before we could conceive…now, wouldn’t that be tragic? Even more so if it was by my own hand?”

Silence hangs in the air after your statement. You stare at the king, who remains expressionless.

And then he laughs.

“It would be tragic, wouldn’t it?” he agrees. You almost shiver at the tone of his voice. “But it would be even more tragic if a second princess of Terpsichani went missing, no?” Ignoring your sharp gasp, he continues. “After all, I chose you. You should feel honored, Your Highness. But if you were to pass so tragically before our wedded bliss on the next new moon, then I would simply have to choose another.”

Rage blurs your vision. “You have no right!”

“I have every right, on the contrary.” The smile disappears from his lips, leaving behind only the darkness in his eyes. “A bargain made must be fulfilled, one way or another. If you try to cut your end short…do keep in mind that it will not bode well for any other.”

It is—so hard to breathe. So hard to think. Memories of your sisters flash through your mind, blurring your thoughts—lovely, sharp-tongued Yeji, sweet Lia, innocent Ryujin, Chaeryeong, Yuna—you think of them, and then you think of this monster smiling at them, touching them—

All of the fight leaves you at once, leaving you to slump into the cold sheets of your bed, gasping for breath.

“I remind you again,” he whispers, right by your ear. You can’t even find the strength to pull away. “We are bound by contract, by fate.” The smile in his voice sickens you. “You have no choice.”

The words slap you in the face, one by one. And you can’t even argue.

He stands again. “I will see you for the evening festivities, Your Highness. Please don’t be late.” You hear his footsteps on the cold floor, then the door opening and closing, leaving you all alone in a cold heap on the bed.

. . .

You let the servants dress you, clothe you in dark silk trimmed with gold and silver. You let them brush makeup onto your face, adorn your neck and wrists with cold gems. You watch them take your rough white robes and pure white slippers somewhere you don’t know, and then you let them lead you through the winding halls, armed guards on each side, to the dining room, where the king himself waits.

You sit at the table among the sneers and cheers of the Kereseian nobility. You eat little, and speak even less. No one bothers to converse with you anyway, only ever congratulating the king on “such a lovely fiancée, even if she doesn’t speak much and comes from the surface.”

When the meal is over, you pray that the night is also over, that you will be allowed to return to your rooms and—you don’t know what, grieve or cry or sit in silence until you’re next called or until you pass out. You just want to be alone. But then the tables are cleared, nobility chattering away as they move into the next room, and the king is looking at you with that awful smile. “It is time for the best part of the night. I think you will enjoy it,” he whispers, guiding you toward the crowd.

Somehow, you doubt it. But your silence only invites him to continue. “We will dance the night away, you and I,” he says, grinning even as your stomach drops in fear. “It is time for the Midnight Ball.”

To your horror, the nobility are already looking at you expectantly as the king leads you into a huge, glittering ballroom. The ceiling must be five times your height at least, inlaid with gold and gems that sparkle coldly in the chilly light of the chandeliers, and as the chatter dies down, you can hear your footsteps clicking ominously on the floor.

The shoes the servants slipped upon your feet are nothing like the ones Chan makes you. The supple, bright satin you’ve grown used to, stitched with shimmering designs that made you feel almost fairy-like as you danced, has turned into stiff, dark silk that pinches your heels and toes. All your life you’ve loved dancing, loved every style you learned, loved spinning about any floor, weaving emotions in the air no matter where you were, and so it’s a completely new feeling to be walking onto the ballroom floor with nothing but cold dread in your heart.

In the center of the ballroom, the king lets go of your hand, turning to the crowd. You almost run. But you would be caught in an instant, and besides, you don’t know where to go in this labyrinth of a palace. So you only stay silent and miserable as the king speaks.

“Be honored,” he says to the eager room, “to witness the first dance of the Kereseian king and his soon to be queen. Two figures bound not only by rings, but by fate itself.”

Fate. You stare at the hand that the king has offered you, that word bouncing endlessly off the walls of your skull. This can’t be fate. This can’t be your fate—you can’t be sentenced to a life under the earth, to bear a child for this king’s hellish plans, to wither away in this kingdom of hell without a hope of seeing the sun.

But the hand proffered before you says otherwise.

Fingers shaking, you take the hand. Allow the king to bring you close. Allow his hand to settle on your shoulder blade, skin crawling where his fingers touch, allow his other hand to grasp your own. Only years and years of training keep your own hand steady on his arm, your frame as strong and sturdy as your heart isn’t.

Perhaps it’s stupid, but all you can think is that he didn’t even ask if you were to follow or lead.

“Come now, why do you tremble so?” he whispers as the music begins, haunting melodies echoing off the walls. “I’m sure you are a fine dancer, princess of Terpsichani.”

Before you can retort, he whisks you into the dance. Your feet follow numbly. And as he whirls you around the ballroom, the eyes of the crowd crawling all over you, you stop thinking. Let your eyes whisper, unseeing, over the decorations on the walls. Let your muscle memory take over for your mind. Force yourself not to feel, not to emote, not to cry, because if you think—if you show a single emotion on your face—he wins. The entire room wins. Your despair will keen so loudly in your movements, desperation rolling off you in waves, and they will all laugh. They will all smile. They will point and whisper and cackle about the weakness of this princess from above the earth, and though you can feel your heart shattering to pieces on the ground, you will not let them have that. These scraps of dignity are all you have left.

When you return to your room, having danced the night away, you remember nothing. You don’t remember his voice whispering in your ear. You don’t remember the other nobles spinning beside you. You don’t remember how your dance shoes could have been worn out in one night, how you could have gotten these aches and pains in your arms and legs. You don’t remember how you returned to your room.

You haven’t cried this whole time, not since you arrived. You didn’t cry during the hours you sat in silence on the bed. You didn’t cry during the time you sat at the evening meal. You didn’t cry on the dance floor during a night of dancing you won’t remember. But as you lie in bed between the cold silk sheets, feet aching with the pain of following, following, following a man with whom you never wanted to dance, the first tears slip out.

And they don’t stop.

. . . . .

Chan rides fast, as fast as he can, but halfway through the woods he has to slow down because it’s getting dark and his horse is getting tired. He’s needed a break for a while but just the thought of stopping for something as trivial as his own rest terrifies him, so he continues on until it’s clear he can’t anymore.

He’s not afraid of the woods, even in this unfamiliar territory. He used to play in the trees as a child as his mother and father foraged in the grasses, and before he found his calling as a cobbler, the woods near his home were one of the places where he truly felt alive. Even now, with the weight of Yeji’s words and your situation on his back, the darkening woods comfort him, in a way.

It’s been two days since Yeji came calling—two days of nonstop riding south, to where the legends say an entrance to the Kereseian kingdom lies. The kingdom is underground. Chan isn’t quite sure how he will enter, even where exactly an entrance might lie, but he’s brushed that off for now. He’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.

With a sigh, Chan dismounts his horse and leads it to a nearby stream. While he drinks, Chan unpacks the small bag of things he brought for himself. He doesn’t have much food left, but he should be close—and at that point, food will probably be the least of his worries. Sinking down under the shelter of a large tree, he lets out a breath, feeling fatigue overcome him as he bites into a chunk of bread.

Then a branch snaps.

Chan whirls around. It’s not unheard of for people to live in the woods, but he didn’t pass anyone on the path and assumed this area was deserted. An animal, perhaps? Or—

A small, stooped old woman hobbles out from the path. “Hello there, traveler.”

Chan swallows down his surprise along with a bit of bread and nearly chokes on it. “Good evening, my lady.” He cringes as soon as the words leave his mouth—he has no idea who this old woman is or her title, if she has one—but better to be more polite than necessary, he supposes.

“My, you have manners.” She smiles up at him with surprisingly bright eyes. “I don’t suppose you would have anything for an old woman such as I to eat? I’ve been traveling all day and haven’t had time to try and find a bite.”

A few hunks of bread, a few chunks of cheese, some greens he gathered on the short stops for water he took on the way. He has no water now, but he can refill that in the stream. “I don’t have much,” he says humbly, patting the ground next to him, “but you are welcome to share what I have, my lady.”

She sits down with a groan that Chan feels in his bones. “You’re a kind young man,” she says as he spreads out the remnants of his pack. “I thank you deeply.”

He bows his head briefly. “The pleasure is mine.”

They don’t speak much as they share their meal, only when Chan refills his flask and offers it to the woman. When they’ve finished their small portions, the woman leans back with a satisfied sigh. “Thank you kindly, young man. You’ve been good to an old woman. If you’ll come with me, my hut isn’t far. I don’t have much, but I’d like to give you something, if you don’t mind. As thanks.”

Chan weighs the old woman’s words. It’s strange that she showed up in the middle of the woods—without him noticing, too, and he’s been on the path the whole day—but she doesn’t seem to be malicious. He broke bread with her and she seemed kindly enough then. It’s true that she could turn on him in an instant now that he has nothing left to offer her, but that would be a lot of effort when she could simply go on her way without offering him anything in return for his food. He wouldn’t have thought twice about it if she did.

Anyway, she reminds him a little of his grandmother from when he was little. So Chan only nods with a smile, then bows his head in thanks. “I would be honored, my lady.”

Together, they trek through the forest, Chan leading his horse by the reins. By the time they reach what seems to be her home, a small hut deep in the forest, the sun has set entirely. The old woman waits patiently for him to tie up the horse, then leads him inside.

If the hut seemed small from the outside, the inside seems even tinier, cluttered with knickknacks and trinkets and old furniture that, strangely, still looks like it’s in some semblance of order. “Sit, sit,” she says, gesturing to an overstuffed chair that Chan gingerly settles into. It’s so soft, and he’s been so tired after days of traveling and sleeping in the forest, that when he blinks he’s almost tempted to fall asleep right then and there.

She sits in front of him, eyes gentle. “You look to be on a journey, young man,” she says, not unkindly. “A very important one. Would you tell me what it is?”

It’s a pointed question. Not one that Chan expected to be asked. Looking into the old woman’s eyes, he has the strange suspicion that she already knows the answer, but for some reason wants to hear it from his own lips.

Well, it’s not as if he expected to travel any more this evening. Before he met her, he was just going to settle right where he was and sleep until dawn. Swallowing hard against the lump rising in his throat, Chan speaks. “A…good friend of mine. She has been kidnapped, and I have reason to believe she was taken by the Kereseian king himself. I’ve come this way to find her and bring her back, if…if I can.” His voice cracks on the last word, and then he falls silent.

The old woman’s expression doesn’t change, though her eyes seem to turn a touch softer. “You’ve traveled far, young man. And you’ve done well.” She leans forward, presses one of his hands between her wrinkled, warm fingers. “You are devoted to your friend, and I have no doubt she is devoted to you in the same way."

There’s no mirror in front of him, but Chan can tell his cheeks are reddening nonetheless. It doesn’t stop the old woman, who only smiles knowingly before she continues. “I am a witch, young man. A practitioner of the magic beyond that of the arts that your people have been blessed with. My powers are not as strong as they once were, but I can help you with your quest. Give me but a moment.” She rises and walks to what looks to be a small closet set into the wall. Chan watches her rummage around some more, then come out with what looks to be a piece of cloth. As she brings it closer, Chan sees that it’s a short black cloak trimmed with pale gold thread. A gold clasp fastens the throat. When she sits back down, she extends it to him.

Chan takes it. Up close, he can see that it’s a bit small, perhaps just large enough to cover his shoulders, but the material is warm and seems sturdy. But it’s also just a cloak, and try as he might, Chan can’t understand what she gave this to him for.

She seems to anticipate this, though, if the glint in her eye says anything. “Put it on. And take care to do the clasp properly, or it won't work.”

He settles the cloak around his shoulders, surprised to find that it fits quite well. His fingers fumble around the clasp for a moment, but the second it clicks into place—

His arms disappear. So do his legs. And while he can still very much feel his limbs and knows that he must exist based on the indent he’s still leaving in the armchair where he sits, every part of his body is invisible.

Before him, the old woman smiles broadly. “It’s an invisibility cloak, young man. Take care to use it well.”

Chan unfastens the gold clasp, watching in amazement as he shimmers back into view. The rush of adrenaline that had come with turning invisible hasn’t gone, but he reluctantly tries to hand back the cloak anyway. “I shouldn’t take this from you, my lady,” he says. “Such a magical item should be treasured. I’m sure you could barter or sell it for some food, or whatever else you might need.”

She pushes it back to him. “This cloak is not for sale,” she says firmly. “It should be given to the one who needs it most, and I have decided that it is you. How do you plan to go sneaking around the Kereseian palace without it, hm? If they catch you, you will be dead for sure, and no one will be able to help you then. Not me, and not your dear friend either.”

Unfortunately, she has a point. Try as he might, Chan can’t think of any other way he’d be able to go around the palace unnoticed—this invisibility cloak would be a blessing. So he takes it, folds it neatly, and bows deeply to the old woman. “I thank you deeply, my lady.”

“No need for thanks.” She waves off his words with a grandmotherly smile. “Now, I will give you two more pieces of information to aid you on your journey. Listen closely.” Her eyes turn serious. “The kingdom of Kereseia feeds on dark magic. Dark magic, when caught, is easily destroyed—simply burn it with a clean flame in an iron fireplace.” She points to her own fireplace, one wrinkled eyebrow raised. “Unfortunately, it is not easily caught.”

Chan lets out a short, despairing laugh. Of course. “I figured as much.”

“Do not be discouraged yet.” She holds up a finger. “The dark magic of the Kereseian king is concentrated in two places—in his crown, and in the ruby he wears around his neck. Destroy these and you destroy him, and his palace to boot. No matter what contract binds your friend to him, it will be null and void if his magic is gone.” Her eyes crinkle in a sly grin. “There isn’t much he can do if his kingdom has collapsed, his source of magic disappeared.”

A crown, and a necklace. Chan swallows hard. “There is no doubt he keeps these on his person at all times, I assume.”

“You would be correct,” she agrees, and Chan’s heart sinks. It’s not as if he expected anything different, but still. “The rulers of Kereseia have never been fools, evil as they are. But you are intelligent, young man, and you have a good heart.” She smiles, and Chan takes some small comfort in the crinkling of her eyes. “You will find a way.”

Chan isn’t sure why she has so much faith in him, but he tries to take heart in it all the same. “Thank you, my lady.”

“I’m not finished. There is one more piece of information I must impart to you.” A glint comes to her eye, and Chan finds himself leaning in. “I will now tell you how to get into the kingdom of Kereseia itself.”

. . . . .

Day three dawns—metaphorically—as miserably as the past two. When you wake between the cold sheets, only icy fire lighting your room, all you can do is sigh and wish you hadn’t woken up at all.

It’s bad enough being trapped in an underground world where there’s no light or warmth, far from the home you’ve known your whole life. What makes it worse is that, apparently, there’s just nothing to do except wake up late, dress for the Midnight Ball, and dance with someone you’d normally not go near with a ten foot long spear.

Ha. When you put it like that, your situation almost seems funny.

You swallow a bout of hysterical laughter just in time for several servants to enter the room, each with the same countenance of a pallbearer that they all seem to have around here. Not that you can blame them—you think you’d feel pretty grim too, if you had to serve Kereseian nobility all day. They dress you in the same dark colors you’ve been wearing for days, then bow out with a whisper that your lunch will be brought in soon.

When they leave, you press a hand to your heart. Try to slow your breath. It doesn’t work, not really—your heart has been racing since the first day and it never quite calmed down—but you can trick yourself into thinking you’re not quite hyperventilating. Not just yet.

Another knock sounds, and you wait in silence as a fourth servant brings in a tray of food that you know you’ll leave mostly untouched. She bows herself out, and you eye the tray with trepidation. It probably all tastes delicious, but you’re about as hungry as you are delighted to be here.

“Your Highness.”

What.

Your already racing heart spikes and you let out some combination of a yell and a cough, clutching your chest. For a moment, you watch the door in case someone comes inside to investigate the source of the voice. But no one does.

Heart still beating way too fast, you survey the room with a careful eye. There should be no one in here except you, but you swear you heard a voice—

“Your Highness,” the same voice whispers, and then a familiar face appears out of nowhere, unclasping what looks to be a short black cloak from around his neck.

You gape. You’re dreaming, you must be. There is no way Chan, your cobbler, is standing in front of you in your quarters in the palace of the Kereseian king. You’re hallucinating. You’ve gone mad. The darkness of this place drove you insane and now you’re seeing things.

But the hallucination is so real as it steps forward, eyes shimmering with what look like real tears. It keeps coming closer, and you can’t bring yourself to blink the vision away, and then it gently takes the two of your hands in his—

You gasp when warm skin touches yours. Warm, so warm, so gentle and so familiar.

It must be real.

Chan barely manages to catch you when you stumble into his arms, desperately trying to muffle your sobs into his shoulder. He’s shaking too, you realize, holding you with at least as much trembling fervor as you hold him, and for what could be seconds, hours, days, you clutch him, sobbing, hearts beating together this time as one.

“How?” you croak when you finally have the breath to speak, daring to raise your eyes to the apparition-turned-human before you.

He takes in a shuddering breath, a trembling smile on his lips. “I had some help.”

Attention rapt, you listen as Chan tells you how Yeji came to his home to tell him of your disappearance, how he set out almost immediately after. He tells you of two days of nearly nonstop riding, stopping only for water and to rest at night. He tells you of the strange, kindly witch who gave him the invisibility cloak as thanks for sharing a meal, then told him where and how to find you.

“There is an opening in the earth that the Kereseian king does not know,” he says, describing a dark cave hidden from the sun, the opening framed by two large rocks with a strange, metallic glow that came from trees of silver down below. “I only had to go down the opening, and then I found myself on one of the streets outside the palace.”

“And you snuck in with just the cloak?” You shake your head in amazement.

“Well, I can be very quiet when needed.” He smiles almost shyly, and your heart skips a beat. It’s incredible how you’ve calmed with just his presence, your heart no longer racing a thousand miles a minute. “We need to get you out of here, now.”

Your stomach sinks. “I can’t,” you whisper, heart aching when Chan’s eyebrows furrow in confusion. “I—I don’t know the details. But my father made some sort of…bargain, I suppose, with the Kereseian king’s father. He and my mother had trouble conceiving, apparently. Enough that he sought a contract with the king.” You swallow down the disgust crawling up your throat. “In the end, in return for a child, the Kereseian king asked for one of his daughters. For his son.” Weakly, you spread your arms in some sort of attempt at humor. “And he chose me.”

Chan’s expression speaks of horror. “Your father knew of this?”

“I don’t know how much he knew of the current king's plan, but he certainly failed to warn me.” You laugh bitterly. “But the point is, Chan, I can’t leave. The king would only take one of my sisters instead, and I will not let that happen.”

“That won’t happen.” You open your mouth to argue, but Chan smiles slightly, cutting you off. “We may not be able to get you out tonight, but the witch also told me that if we can destroy the king’s source of power, whatever…contract keeps you here will be void.” He looks at you earnestly. “He wears a dark crown, apparently, and a necklace with a ruby. Have you perhaps seen them?”

A dark crown, and a ruby necklace. You think back to the past three nights of dancing with the king and fight the urge to shiver. “I have seen the crown,” you say slowly, remembering the heavy circlet of black metal and gems that always shimmers upon his head. “The necklace…” You recall a large ruby almost glowing on his chest. “Yes, I have seen it too. I do not see him much throughout the day, but every night…he always wears them.”

“Every night?”

“For the Midnight Ball,” you say quietly. “He…we dance. Together.” You fight to hide the revulsion from your face.

To your surprise, Chan almost looks like he might cry again. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness.”

“Why do you apologize? None of this is of your doing.” You press his hands between yours. “And, Chan, do not call me Your Highness. Call me by my own name, please.” Your voice trembles, but you raise a hand when he tries to speak. “If I had my way I would have asked you sooner, but I know your bounds of propriety. But you came all this way for me. You came to save me.” You swallow hard, tears pricking your eyes again. “We are on equal footing here, and forevermore I will owe you my life.”

“Don’t say such things,” Chan whispers. “You owe me nothing.”

“But I do.” You smile wetly, brushing a tear from his cheek. “So please, at the least—call me by my name, Chan.”

For a moment it looks like he will still argue, but he doesn’t, only replies with a wobbly smile that is more beautiful than any gem you have ever seen. “As you wish…Y/N.”

You can’t help your own smile as you bring him close again, arms wrapping around his chest. “Thank you, Chan,” you whisper, voice unsteady with emotion.

The two of you stay like that for a while, just breathing together, then Chan gently continues. “The witch told me that the crown and necklace are where the king’s dark magic is concentrated,” he says quietly. “If we can take them somehow, all we need to do is burn them in an iron fireplace, which she has in her home.”

“He always seems to be wearing them, though.” You press your lips together, thinking. “You might need to take them while he sleeps. Unless he wears them both even then…”

“It’s worth a try,” Chan replies. He sets his jaw. “If I can try and slip in with this cloak and take them then, I’ll get you out and we can escape.”

“It’ll be a long wait,” you warn. “The Midnight Ball lasts all night, until dawn. Only then will he return to his rooms, if he even does—I do not know his habits. But…” Your narrow your eyes. “At night, the servants will come to dress me for the Midnight Ball. When we leave, you must leave with us. Of course, wear the cloak. Come to the ball invisible, and you will see the crown and the ruby so you know what to take, and when the night ends, follow the king to his chambers. He has to go there at some point. Then, when he falls asleep, you can take them.”

“You’re a genius,” Chan breathes. “Yes, hopefully this should work.” Suddenly, he frowns. “But how will I get you out? Your door is locked.”

You purse your lips. “He must have a key somewhere,” you conclude quietly. “I expect he keeps it on his person, since he has…he’s come before.” You ignore Chan’s look of concern. “You may find it in his room. But I will also try to see if I can keep the door wedged open slightly, or something.”

Chan doesn’t look entirely happy. You can’t fully fight the worry lodged in your own chest either—this isn’t a completely foolproof plan. But it’s about as good as you can get, and you say as much to Chan, who agrees.

“Tonight, then,” you say, forcing down a surge of hope that tries to spread through your chest.

“Tonight,” Chan echoes, squeezing your hand. “We’ll get you out of here.”

. . .

You’re more nervous than you’ve ever been. The servants have dressed and prepared you for the evening festivities, and now you’re out the door. Chan disappeared a while ago, and the last you felt of him was the soft press of his hand against yours before he vanished. The cloak is truly extraordinary. As the guards lead you down to the banquet hall, you send good wishes to the witch who gifted it to him.

It feels like you’re in a daze, almost, as you run through the motions of the evening. No one speaks to you as per usual at the meal, and when the king takes you to the center of the ballroom for your first dance of the night, you accept his hand blankly and let your muscles take over. All the while your heart is racing like no tomorrow, beating so hard you’re terrified the king will hear it, but he doesn’t say a word about it the whole night, which gives you hope.

Until the ball ends, and he says he has something he’d like you to see.

Immediately your throat seizes. He’s caught Chan. You don’t know when, or how—the king hasn’t left your side all night—but he caught Chan and he’s about to show you his mangled body or corpse—

Shut. Up. You force yourself to breathe. “As you wish, Your Majesty.”

If your voice is a little more stilted than it usually is, he says nothing.

The king leads you in the direction of your rooms. Between the confusion and the terror of Chan possibly having been caught, you can hardly breathe, can barely take in what he’s saying as you pass through the myriad of rooms and halls, but then he leads you down a different path from the one you usually take. Finally, he stops in what looks like it would be an atrium if there was sunlight in this damned place. A fountain stands in the middle of the round floor under a high, vaulted ceiling, clear water running gently into the basin.

It's rather beautiful, really. If only it weren’t in such a dark place.

“Your Highness.” The king extends you a hand, that cruel smirk still embedded on his face. “May I have one last dance here, tonight?”

Your chest tightens in a mix of relief, apprehension, and exhaustion. Because if he wanted to show you that he’d caught Chan, he’d hardly do it while dancing, right? But also, why couldn’t he just ask for this dance in the ballroom? And you’re tired, so tired—your feet and legs ache like no tomorrow, and all you really want to do is lie down. You stare at the hand. “My slippers have already worn out, Your Majesty.”

“They’ll hold for one more dance, I’m sure.” He takes your hand even though you never accepted. “Why do you look so put out, hm?”

It wouldn’t do you any good to tell him the real reason—that he repulses you and you want nothing to do with him, ever—so you settle for a half-truth to change the subject. “You never ask me if I am to follow or lead.”

“Oh?” He spins you into frame. “Is that something I was supposed to do?”

You meet his eyes. “It is customary in my country, where all who dance with partners learn both roles.” It is a sign of respect and consent, you don’t add. That the one who asks another to dance must accept the other’s preferred role.

“Well, I have only learned one role,” the king responds nonchalantly, eyes glinting with malice. “And it is not as if I will ever do anything but lead in this partnership. What would you do, either, but follow?” Then he laughs as though this is the funniest joke in the world when you feel like you’ve just been punched in the gut. “Now, dance with me.”

It takes all of your self-control not to slap him in the face or pull away. You remember that Chan was to follow the king back to his chambers and pray that he isn’t witnessing this, and that if he is, that he doesn’t let his sense of justice push him into doing something rash. “As you wish,” you reply, monotone.

Inlaid on the atrium floor are twelve circles of white marble placed evenly around the fountain. Slowly, you begin to waltz with the king through the circles, shoes sliding ominously over the stone, wondering—why couldn’t he just do this in the ballroom where you were dancing before? But then something shifts beneath your feet and only years of training keep you from stumbling into the king, though a yelp escapes your lips—

“Keep dancing, Your Highness,” the king says, cruel amusement in his voice.

Embarrassment rises in your cheeks but you continue to follow dutifully, even as it becomes clear that the marble circles are rising, forming something of a winding staircase that rises over the fountain. Your heart leaps in your throat and in a moment of weakness you clutch at the king’s hands because gods and stars above, it feels like you’re going to fall.

But you don’t fall, and the staircase continues to rise until the vaulted ceiling itself begins to open, as though by magic. A small gasp escapes your throat as you take the last step onto the final circle, the king spinning you once, twice, three times as the ceiling fully opens, letting in—

Light. Very little, for the sky is still mostly dark, but the gray light of dawn has just begun to streak through the sky, filtering through the ceiling’s opening and bathing you in a soft glow. A choked noise escapes your throat and when you raise a hand to your eyes, you find there are tears.

It’s been too long since you saw sunlight, even as weak as this.

“This will be my wedding gift to you,” the king says, breaking the spell. Suddenly you remember you’re not on the surface of the earth, where you belong, but underground in a land of hell where an evil king controls your access to the sun. “On nights where I am pleased with you, I will take you to the surface. Of course, the spell will only be activated if you dance with another on these stones, and who else would you dance with but I?” He laughs, malice in his voice, but you’re trying to fight the rise of hope in your chest as you think of another with whom you might dance on these stones—

Chan. If the escape goes wrong, if you’re running out of time—you can escape here. Via this staircase, to the sunlight.

You force yourself back to the present in time to hear the end of the king’s deluded speech. “I cannot walk in the sun, of course.” His lip curls in a way that is anything but friendly. “That witch on the surface made certain of that. But you, with our child…” Suddenly his face is in yours, his hand cupping your cheek. “Someday, Your Highness, you might walk upon the earth’s surface with our child on your hip. Isn’t that a lovely thought?”

Gods and stars above. You pinch yourself hard to avoid doing something stupid—like throw up. Or scream. “Quite,” you grit out, fighting a wave of revulsion. “How kind you are.”

He laughs again, like you’re the most amusing person he’s ever met. It makes you sick. “Take a good rest then, Your Highness,” he says as he leads you down the staircase, the steps disappearing along the way and the vaulted ceiling closing on itself, leaving you with only the cold flames of the underground once more. “I will see you tomorrow night.”

As he turns away, you’re certain he doesn’t hear you whisper, “Hopefully not.”

. . . . .

Quietly, about ten paces back, Chan follows the king down unfamiliar corridors and through unfamiliar rooms to reach the king’s own quarters, all the time forcing himself to pay attention to the route and not to think about the cavalier way the king treats you, like you’re some sort of…exotic pet, or something, come to entertain him in this palace.

“On nights where I am pleased with you, I will take you to the surface.” Chan nearly broke out of his cover right then and there to punch this king in the nose. But he didn’t, because if anything you have the first right to do that, not him. And because that would mess everything up. His goal tonight is to get you out of here—not to have the two of you locked up. So he forces himself to stay invisible and silent.

If he’s being honest, Chan doesn’t think he expected himself to get this far. Sneaking into the palace was a nerve-wracking thing on its own, and sneaking around the palace is even worse. He’s quiet, but even his shoes have heels, and he breathes, and generally makes some amount of noise no matter how silent he tries to be. So as he steps quietly behind the king and his little retinue, all he can do is pray, and breathe, and pray some more.

They stop in front of a massive black door, inlaid with silver and sparkling gems. Chan gapes—this whole palace is full of luxury of the likes he has never seen, and he’s seen many beautiful things, working for your kingdom—but pinches himself to focus when two guards pull it open. The king steps inside, and before the doors close, Chan manages to slip in too.

The room is built similarly to yours—dark floor, dark walls, no windows at all. Lanterns of the same cold flame that light up the whole palace are arranged along the walls, spilling strange shadows onto the floor. Unlike your room, though, there are treasures hung everywhere—gems, drapes, suits of armor. They look like spoils of war. Chan ducks behind some sort of ceremonial tapestry as the king’s servants undress him, ready him for bed. All the while he’s still wearing the dark crown upon his brow.

Chan covers his mouth to muffle his breath as the servants leave the room, leaving just the king. Slowly, too slowly, Chan watches as the king lifts the crown off his head, then places it in an elaborate case by the bed. He closes the case and with a quiet snick, like it was locked. Which it very well might have been. Chan panics for a moment—how is he going to get it out of the damn case?—but he forces himself to breathe. He might not need to. If he’s lucky, he’ll be able to burn the whole case with the crown in it. With bated breath, he waits for the king to take off the necklace, too.

But he doesn’t.

In horror, Chan watches as the king simply lies down on the bed without taking the necklace off. As the king’s breath evens into sleep, Chan fights the urge to start screaming. So close, but so far—

Breathe. Small steps. He can get the crown, at least. Heart in his throat, Chan tiptoes towards the king’s bed and picks up the case. It’s somewhat bulky, and extremely ornate. The gems and gold encrusted around the rims weigh it down and he can see that there’s no keyhole, only a large dent in the metal. It makes Chan wonder how the king locked the crown inside, because when he tries to open it the lid won’t budge. Still, while it’s a bit large, it’s not so heavy that he can’t carry it. Chan slips the case into his bag and tucks the whole thing back under his cloak, where it all disappears from sight.

Something catches his eye as he turns back to the king—a glint of silver. Chan leans in closer. It’s a key, hanging around the king’s chest on a thin chain.

Maybe the key to your rooms.

It almost seems too good to be true. Chan glances around the room, but nothing similar to a key catches his eye. If the king is keeping a key on his person, then it must be important. There must be a reason.

He bites his lip. There’s the key, and the ruby necklace. The key he might be able to get—the chain is thin, and looks like it could be snapped with enough force. The ruby, however, is large, and the chain that supports it is far too thick for him to try and break.

But he has to try.

Blood rushes in Chan’s ears, his heart thumping so loudly he fears the king might hear him. Slowly, slowly, he extends a hand to where the silver key lies, gingerly picking up the key itself. His heart nearly stops when the king rustles in his sleep, but he settles again, and Chan takes a deep breath. Careful. Gathering the key in his fist, he wraps a short piece of the chain around a finger and grabs another section. Praying hard, he jerks the chain.

Two things happen. One, the chain snaps, leaving Chan with the key in his palm.

Two, the king’s eyes snap open.

Chan almost gasps out loud. Just in time he presses a hand over his mouth, muffling any noise he might make. The king looks around, head jerking left, right as Chan backs away as slowly as his trembling legs will allow, hardly daring to breathe. Don’t notice me, he prays. Don’t notice, don’t notice, don’t notice—

The king looks down, at the broken chain on his chest. Then he looks left, to where the crown case has disappeared.

Shit.

“GUARDS!”

The doors rush open. Chan doesn’t think twice before sprinting out, clutching the bag beneath his cloak.

. . .

When you returned to your rooms that night, you didn’t sleep. You couldn’t—out of anxiety, of course, but also because Chan was supposed to return, and you needed to be awake for whatever happened next.

You didn’t expect to hear shouts and screams so soon, though.

Footsteps storm down the hall as cries of confusion ring off the walls. In your room, you freeze—what do you do? Do you just wait? What else could you do, when only a key can unlock your door from the outside, a key that no one would ever use—

No. You steel yourself. With the confusion now, if anything, this is the perfect chance to escape.

Mustering three days’ worth of condensed fear and rage, you open your mouth and scream.

To your surprise, it works almost immediately. Barely have you finished your second cry, throat raw with the effort, then do the doors swing open, Kereseian guards looking inside with confusion. Calling upon all the terror you’ve shoved away over the past few days, you swing an arm out and whirl in front of them in half a semblance of a dance, biting back a smile of satisfaction when the guards’ eyes blow wide with terror. “There is someone in my room,” you half gasp, half scream. “There is someone in my room—I felt them touch me—HELP ME!”

The guards step inside gingerly, eyes still wide with your manifested fear. You slip through the open doors and pull them shut against their cries of confusion.

The corridor isn’t quite empty, though it isn’t full of noise yet either. You stay near your room, back to the doors, praying with some sort of insane hope that you’ll blend in with the dark walls. Then a hand touches yours and a shriek builds in your throat—

But when you turn around, there’s nothing, and your heart melts in relief.

“How did you get out?” Chan’s voice hisses past your ear. His hand grabs yours, begins pulling you down the hall.

“I’ll tell you later,” you hiss back, weaving through the growing confusion. “Where are we going?”

“Where I came in from.” Chan gulps audibly. “It’s a bit far—”

“STOP THEM!”

No time to think. Ignoring his noise of confusion, you pull Chan in the direction of the atrium. “Circles,” you gasp, praying he understands. A gasp of recognition comes from his direction as you screech to a stop by the fountain, fumble for his hand, pull him into frame. “Just—follow me!”

You lead Chan into the fastest dance you know, spinning through one circle, two, then three, then four. Between adrenaline and the slowly rising steps and your haphazard spins of the Apollonian waltz—your instructor would have a fit if she saw you—you can barely step without stumbling, thoughts a mess beyond the rush of blood in your ears. Your heart is pounding so fast, sweat in your eyes, and Chan trips over one of the rising stones and you barely catch him in time and all the while the vaulted ceiling is opening, the pink light of dawn slowly beginning to filter into the atrium, filling it with blessed sunlight—

Hope begins to blossom in your chest, just as a hand grabs your ankle and pulls you off balance.

A shriek rips itself from your throat as you trip on the steps, banging your leg hard against the stone. Sharp pain streaks up from your ankle and you have just enough time to wonder if you broke a bone before your head hits the steps too and the world explodes into dizzying stars and in the moment all you can comprehend is that someone is dragging you down, while another hand is pulling you up.

You glance down. The movement sends your head spinning. But it doesn’t take much thought to process the grim face of the Kereseian king lunging forward on the steps below you, your ankle clutched in his iron grasp.

“Don’t let go!” Chan’s voice whips past your ear, clashing with all the fear and adrenaline shooting through your brain. Your hand is in his and you clutch it like a lifeline, trying to drag your leg out of the king’s grip, but it’s too much. Too tight. And all you can do is look at where Chan should be, his invisible grasp tying you down to earth, but you’re slipping, slipping—

And then, to your horror, the face of your cobbler flashes into view, one end of the invisibility cloak dangling off his shoulders.

A gasping laugh sounds beneath you. You barely register it as coming from the king. “So your lover came to save you?” he cackles, nails digging into your skin. Something wet trickles down your leg and you think it might be blood. “I thought he was just a friend.”

Part of you wants to fire back a witty retort. The other part of you knows that between the adrenaline and the pain, you couldn’t think of one if you tried.

“Chan, go,” you gasp, voice raw. “You need to go!”

He grips your hand harder but you know it won’t last. Already your hold is slipping, palms slick with sweat, while the king’s grip remains all too steady. “I’m not going to leave you behind,” he says between gritted teeth.

It’s the wrong moment. Completely the wrong moment. But in this faint pink light of dawn, you can’t help but think that he looks like an angel, sent by the stars and gods above to help you, to save you. Your own guardian. Your own love.

“I know,” you say, and for a moment a real smile curves your lips. “I trust you.”

Chan realizes what you mean to do a second before you do it. You can see it in his eyes, the way they widen in horror just before you let go.

The king stumbles, unprepared for the sudden loss of tension. He falls, and then you fall, tumbling down the stairs that are already beginning to vanish as no one dances. “GO!” you scream to the blurry figure of your love still standing above, stock still with horror, and you thank every god above when he whirls around, takes the last few steps, and disappears out of the ceiling just before it closes.

For a long moment, all you can do is lie where you are on the floor of the atrium, gasping for breath. All of the previous confusion seems to have disappeared, leaving nothing to break the silence except for your gasps of pain.

A shadow looms over you. Your head aches something awful with every movement you try to make, but you force yourself to lift it, to stare the king in the eye. Triumph briefly runs through your veins when you see that he looks worse for wear, even if not as badly as you feel. His pale face looks burnt—from the rays of dawn, you realize. It must be part of the curse that keeps him underground if even the faintest sunlight can burn him. He winces slightly as he steps forward. Something must have happened to his legs too, perhaps when you let go of Chan and the two of you fell.

“What an attempt at escape,” he sneers, and any triumph you just felt freezes into cold terror in your veins. You keep yourself rigid as he lowers himself, face entering your vision until it’s all that you can see. “I give you everything you need, even provide you every avenue for dance, and this is how you repay me.”

You swallow hard, tasting blood. You must have bitten your lip in your fall. “You kidnapped me against my will from my own home, and took me beneath the surface where I can no longer even see the sun,” you snarl back. Your head hurts so much you think you might throw up and every so often there are two Kereseian kings instead of just one, but you force yourself to continue. “How else did you believe I would act?”

“You could have made things so easy for yourself if you had just kept silent and gone with it,” he hisses. “Maybe I should just marry you now, hm? It wouldn’t matter if you tried to escape then.”

The thought fills you with terror but one piece of information keeps you sane. “You won’t marry me until the new moon,” you say, each word dragged physically from your throat. “It’s not customary. Not for your royalty.”

“Who’s to say tradition can’t be broken?” The king laughs, high and insane. Your heart nearly stops. “But I suppose we will keep tradition intact for now. In the meantime, though, I suppose I will need a new way to keep you from escaping.” He smiles, the knife blade curve of his lips so cruel. “Any ideas?”

If your mind were sound, you might have tried to throw words into his face. But you can barely keep yourself from passing out in pain, let alone summon something articulate from your lips, so all you do is spit in his face.

It’s a little easier to think when you focus on the tiny sense of satisfaction you get when he flushes with anger.

“I see your leg is already injured.” His snarl turns into a smile, diabolical and cruel and suddenly your veins feel cold, your mind clear, too clear as he steps around you, wiping his face almost delicately. He stops next to the leg that burst into pain when you fell. The one you think might be broken.

And stomps hard on it.

The world explodes into a dim haze of pain, black spots blurring the edge of your vision. You hear someone screaming and vaguely you think it might be you. But it’s too hard to think, too hard to keep the flood of tears back, and you can taste blood on your lips and your tongue—

“Break the other one.”

Briefly, you think, there is no way I can feel more pain than this.

You're wrong.

Screams echo in your ears, and you’re not sure if it’s just your mind shrieking or if the raw, animal sounds of your throat are actually bouncing off of the dark, marble walls. It doesn’t really matter. Nothing matters. The pain in your legs is all you can feel, all you can see, taste, and hear—

Your body is a ball of fire and it won’t stop burning.

“Don’t worry,” the king croons in your ear, one disgusting finger flicking a tear from your eye. “I’ll have you healed before our Midnight Ball—my court wouldn’t want to lose their new favorite form of entertainment. For all your useless body is worth, you do dance beautifully.” He laughs and the sound only makes your head pound more. “Take her back to her rooms,” he says, addressing someone else you can’t see. Vaguely you’re aware of someone picking you up, then more animal sounds of pain from your throat as your broken legs are made to hang loosely in the air. Your vision is coming in and out now, the room flickering in and out of focus. Finally, you close your eyes against the world, barely registering as someone drops you on the floor, and with a final burst of pain, your mind falls shut into blissful unconsciousness.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

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harryspet · 2 years

Text

butterfly kisses | p.parker

[Warnings] dark!grey!peter parker x reader, innocent!little!reader, daddy!caregiver!peter, dominant x submissive, blackwidow!reader, avengers compound/young avengers au, ddlg, age regression, oral sex (female recieving), dubcon!! sex, mental manipulation, reader has ptsd, grooming?, unprotected sex, little editing

A/N: [model in banner is @/enchanted_noir, gif credit to @/defendingwarrior]

In which Peter finds out your little secret and takes advantage.

word count: 5.3k

taglist: @cherienymphe @lovelynerdytraveler @hollandsdream @micki-smiles @buckybarnesplumwhore @arts-ismything @saharzek @what-is-your-wish @brattypeony @hermayonegg-blog @buckysugar @mischiefmanaged011 @visintaes @watercoolerpaint @disaster-rose @slutforsebstan @doozywoozy @oneoftheprettynerds @xoxonotme @winterbuckystan1917 @simpformarvelmenandwoman @hallecarey1

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Yelena was practically unstoppable, giving both Bucky and Sam a run for their money. She was faster than them, leaving them spinning whenever she rushed past them. They thought they had her at one point, Bucky’s vibranium arm wrapping around her neck. She was quick to bring her elbow back into his chest and then her fist to his groin. Bucky doubled over but Sam quickly approached with fists raised. She seemed to land all her punches but also take each one that Sam landed with the most grace you’d ever witnessed.

She tried to trip him, kicking her legs behind his own, but he brought her down with him. They rolled together before he had her pinned beneath him. She thrusted her lower body up, weakening his stance, before grabbing his own arm, pushing it against his chest and pushing him into the mat. As Sam’s head hit the ground hard, he’d clearly accepted defeat.

“The groin shots are cheap, Belova!” Bucky was still reeling in pain. She eyed you, a tired smirk on her face, as she took in her victory.

“It’s only fair. You’ve got a hundred pounds on me and I’ve got the ability to kick you in the balls,” You smiled at her words, watching as Yelena helped Sam off the ground.

You heard footsteps beside you and soon you were looking to your left as Peter Parker claimed the space beside you, “Did you see that?” The question became rhetorical as you noticed his wide eyes and the way he was staring at Yelena, “That was just the third round. So far Yelena’s in the lead.”

“Damn,” Peter cursed though it wasn’t very intimidating on his lips. You only really saw him as the kind, sweet guy who charitably helped you and Yelena adjust after moving to the new compound, “Are you gonna go next?”

You instantly shook your head although you realized your answer might seem strange considering the sports bra and leggings you were wearing. You’d put on workout clothes but hadn’t quite gotten the courage up to train yet, “Yelena is way better hand to hand than me,” It wasn’t a lie but you’d spent your entire life training hand to hand. You grew up in The Red Rom just like she had and were trained by the exact same people. You’d gone toe to toe with Yelena as well and you used to be able to hold your own with her.

The look on Peter’s face was curious, like he wanted to know more, but he didn’t press the specific topic, “I was gonna box and I’m in need of a sparring partner if you’d like to help me out,” That didn’t give you much room to turn him down so you nodded hesitantly.

You hadn’t told anyone, only Yelena vaguely knew how much you were frightened of the training room. This place wasn’t at all like the Red Room, you weren’t being beaten or mind controlled into submission. Despite all that, you were afraid of going into survival mode and never being able to escape it again.

“It’ll be low pressure, I’m way less intense than those guys,” Peter continued, placing a hand on your shoulder, as if he sensed your unease, “Plus, I need way more practice fighting without the webs. I get so used to being in the air sometimes that I forget how to manage on my feet.”

You followed him to the wall on the far right that held all the equipment. You eyed a set of white, 12 ounce fighting gloves but Peter stopped you before you could grab them, “First, jump rope,” He held two sets of jump rope in his hand. One set black and the other green, “What color?”

“I like green,” You admitted and that seemed to amuse him.

“Y/N!” You heard your name shouted across the room. You turned to see Yelena wrapping a towel around her neck, water bottle in hand, “I’m gonna go pass out but movie night later with Kate?”

You raised your thumb, “Enjoy your nap, I’ll see you later!”

“Enjoy Peter, I’ll see you later,” She winked very badly before she turned on her heel.

You turned back to Peter, your face warm with embarrassment, “She’s funny,” Peter commented.

“When she’s not being annoying,” You responded, taking both handles of the rope and stretching it out before you, “Annoyingly clever and annoyingly good at everything.”

Peter narrowed his eyes, “I heard Miss Nat recommended you both for positions in the new Avengers initiative.”

You shrugged, “So?”

“So, that means you’re probably annoyingly clever and good at everything too. You just haven’t shown everyone yet.”

“Maybe so,” Those words were all you’d give up to him. He probably had a point but this environment didn’t really allow for deep thinking for you. You thought you might turn around at any moment and see rows and rows of brainwashed agents behind you.

You followed his lead and his pace as he began to skip the rope. You weren’t in your best shape, you could feel it already, but you were keeping up. At first, you regretted choosing to stand directly in front of him but the eye contact slowly became less awkward, “This is kinda easy, Peter” You admitted.

“How. Are you. Speaking. So Easily?” Peter spoke through gasping breaths. Soon, you were increasing your pace as you felt you could go faster. You ended up going way faster than Peter, spinning in circles, as you tried cool tricks.

Peter was trying to keep up with your pace but eventually he had to stop, holding on to his knees as he tried to catch his breath. You slowed down soon after, not wanting to be any more of a show off, “So I was right,” He decided, “You’re good at that.”

You hated the work you used to do but you were reminded of how much you liked the adrenaline rush that came with being physically active. You were far from how you used to be but perhaps the world didn’t need another trained killer, just someone trying her best.

After your warm up, you and Peter went on to actual boxing. You went back and forth with one person holding the punching mitts while the other practiced combinations. This exercise reminded you of the time you lost to one of the other widows in a sparring match. You were taught the importance of being fast on your feet so your opponents blows can’t land effective blows as well as how to land an effective blow despite having a short reach. She made you chase her around the mat, exhausting you, so she could overtake you.

The punishment for the loser was always for every other widow to form a line and one by one land a punch to the loser’s stomach. You remembered the different colors of bruises that your stomach turned and how your mouth tasted like blood for days. The times when you were forced to hurt someone else were even more imprinted in your mind.

Peter realized you weren’t giving it your all, your mind clearly having gone elsewhere, “Hey, hey,” He put down his hands, closing the gap between you. As he came closer, and despite the kind look on his face, your anxiety went through your roof, “What’s wrong? That was good!”

You nodded, “Yeah, I-I just got distracted . . . sorry.”

“That’s okay. You wanna take a break?” You were already taking off your gloves.

“I think that’s enough for me today,” You spoke curtly, stepping away from him. You knew you’d start hyperventilating soon and you didn’t want anyone to see the person you turned into when you were stressed, “Thanks for this, P-Peter!”

His concerned eyes were on you as you walked, a little too fast, away from him.

“Yelena! I told you I didn’t want to watch this!” You pushed her shoulder as she maniacally giggled. After a jumpscare, you’d completely spilled your bowl of pretzels and M&M’s which Kate was now on the floor cleaning up.

“What? That wasn’t even scary!”

You didn’t understand how a movie about a party clown killing a bunch of school aged children wasn’t nightmare material. Kate clearly didn’t like the movie either but she wasn’t nearly as skittish as you, “I’m picking next time,” Kate announced, “Something we would all actually like.”

“No fun,” Yelena pouted, rolling herself off of your bed. You all rotated who would host movie nights and tonight it took place in your room. You were always an accommodating host, having crochet each of the girls their own special blankets, and lined your dresser with bowls of their favorite snacks. Fairly lights flicker above your bed but the cozy nature of your room served as a sharp contrast to the movie you watched on the screen mounted across the room.

“I want something romantic,” You argued, “Maybe a rom com or a historical romance like Pride and Prejudice.”

Yelena rolled her eyes.

“How about a romantic thriller?” Kate asked you, ignoring the blonde assassin’s usual behavior. You nodded eagerly, “Okay, cool. I’ll do some research!”

“I think it’s time for me to turn in,” Yelena faked a yawn.

Kate grabbed her arm, dragging her towards the door, “C’mon grumpy. Night, Y/N!”

You waved her goodbye, hearing Yelena shout as she was dragged out of the room, suddenly chipper again, “Night, Y/N!”

You enjoyed spending time with your friends especially now that you and Yelena had become so close to Kate. When they were gone, you missed their company but you knew you needed your nights to yourself. You began your nightly routine, switching the TV from the credits of a horror movie to the Disney logo.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.? Lock bedroom door, please,” After hearing the click of the lock, you released a deep breath, “And run a bath, please.”

You cleaned up any remnants of your friends, folding up their blankets and placing them inside the ottoman near your couch. You kept all the tools for your regression in a secret compartment of your closet. You knew it was unlikely that someone would go rummaging through your personal belongings but you liked the security of F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s system.

Picking out pajamas for yourself, you chose a pink, care bear onesie and pink socks. You laid it out on your bed before getting undressed. When you finally got to sink into the bath, you felt the stresses of the day melt away. It was a bubble bath, of course, and you loved the mindless task of constructing figures with them and giving yourself mustaches and crowns.

You were already slipping into your headspace. You’d desperately wanted to be here especially after training with Peter.

After your bath, you were now trying to practice your skin care in front of the mirror. For years, you barely looked at yourself in the mirror, thinking it would be easier to live with yourself if you dehumanized yourself as much as possible. It was rare that you’d let your eyes wander to your lower stomach where you could see the straight incision scar that traveled from beneath your belly button to your public area. Your own exposure therapy didn’t seem to be working as tears sprung in your eyes everytime.

You left the bathroom, deciding that you’d braid your hair into a protective style without a mirror. You dressed in your pajamas, grabbing your favorite stuffed animal, a green frog, and burrowing yourself into your sheets. Tinkerbell was playing on the television and at the end of the movie, when Tinkerbell helps bring spring to the mainland, almost always helped sink you into your headspace even deeper.

It was the middle of the night and you should’ve been sleeping but you had a craving for ice cream. You’d set a rule that you’d always stay in your room when you were in little space but little you often had a mind of her own. You padded to the door, softly asking Friday to open the door, before you checked if the coast was clear. In your pink socks, you tiptoed to the kitchen, holding Prince Naveen close to your chest.

The compound was quiet and you assumed each of the other Avengers were either fast asleep or keeping to themselves. You never knew Tony Stark but you were quite grateful for his technology … and his money. You weren’t sure what kind of life you’d be able to make for yourself if you didn’t have this opportunity.

You rummaged through the freezer, finding a half-eaten container of sherbert ice cream. The color was pink like your onesie so it was a no brainer that you’d choose this to dig into. You shut the freezer before finding a big spoon in one of the drawers. You climbed onto the kitchen counter, making yourself comfortable, as you began to dig in.

“Y/N?” You perked up to see a brown eyed boy staring at you from across the kitchen. He was dressed in a compression shirt and sweatpants, the former highlighting an extremely muscular chest and arms. His figure was even more exaggerated as he crossed his arms. He grinned at you, taking in your appearance, “Is this something Yelena made you wear?”

You frowned, confused, “I’m Love-a-lot Bear.”

Peter looked even more confused than you, “Oh . . . and who’s this guy?” He came closer and you felt a bit annoyed that he was interrupting your ice cream eating. You scooped a bite into your mouth, kicking your legs in happiness as you tasted the deliciousness.

You looked down at the frog stuffie sitting beside you, “Prince Naveen. He got turned into a frog but I’m taking care of him.”

“Like in that movie …” He raised an eyebrow.

You nodded, “Princess and the Frog. Have you seen it?”

“Once, I think.”

“I’ve seen it about …” You calculated it in your mind, “Fifty-four times. I can quote it word by word. Do you want to hear? The Evening Star is shining bright, so make a wish and hold on tight, there's magic in the air tonight-” You began to sing but Peter shushed you as your voice got louder.

“You’re gonna wake everyone up,” He whispered and you looked down, cross eyed at the finger that was now pressed against your lips. You nodded and he slowly removed it.

“Oops,” You whispered, “Why is everyone sleeping when there’s ice cream to eat?”

“Y/N … did something happen to you?”

You shrugged, other more pressing things occupying your thoughts, “I don’t think so … I just wanted ice cream. I better get going because I left all my other stuffies and they can get into trouble when I’m not watching them. Plus, I’m watching all the Tinker Bell movies.”

You hopped off the counter, “Do you want to come?” You felt like you could trust him and that’s why you wrapped one of your hands in his. He didn’t answer with words but he followed you, grabbing your frog that you almost left behind, as you led him to your room, “What’s your name?”

“You don’t remember?” You looked at him with innocent eyes, “Peter, my name’s Peter.”

“Like Peter Pan?” You smiled.

“Yeah, like Peter Pan.”

Peter paid close attention as you introduced him to each one of your stuffed animals. Each one had a name and a short backstory. You told him how you liked to get a new one every time you were in the city. Before he saw your room, Peter never would’ve guessed you’d like any of this stuff. You were quieter and more humble than Yelena but Peter knew you were just as strong. He wasn’t sure why you were acting this way but he wouldn’t deny a chance to get closer to you.

You also explained the entire Tinker Bell franchise to him, introducing him to every character and the politics of Pixie Hollow, “Did you grow up watching these movies?”

You shook your head, yawning, before you rested your head on his shoulder. The two of you sat closely on the couch, your legs sprawled over Peter’s lap, “I didn’t get to be smaller… for a long time. I like being like this, Peter.” Of course you weren’t watching Disney movies growing up as a little girl in the Red Room, Peter suddenly realized. Peter’s mind was reeling, not truly understanding how you seemed to be a completely different person.

You fell asleep soon and Peter knew he couldn’t spend the night here. He couldn’t risk someone seeing him coming out of your room and he certainly didn’t want the other version of you waking up with him in the bed. This version of you didn’t seem to recognize him so would you even remember he was here?

Peter carried you to your bed, tucking you in, and placing your favorite frog in your arms. He held your cheek in his hands, feeling the soft skin there, and admired the features on your face. He liked you before he’d known just how innocent you could be. He imagined your hand in his again, he could still feel the softness of your hands and the warmness in his heart.

Peter wanted to grow to love you.

The next morning, Peter was working in the lab with Bruce. He’d skipped breakfast, not sure if he was ready to face you after what happened last night. You’d gone from sparring partners to cuddle buddies so quickly that Peter was worried he’d imagined the entire thing last night, “Mr. Banner, sir?”

The man looked up from his laptop, “Yeah, Peter?”

“What do you know about trauma responses?”

“I’m not a psychologist, Peter,” He folded his arms, his eyebrows scrunched on his forehead.

“But you’re a genius, right?”

Bruce gave him an amused look, “Why are you thinking about trauma responses?”

“Well … would it make sense for someone who went through a traumatic event … or had a traumatic life, for them to sort of revert back to a younger age.”

“Age regression?” Peter nodded as Bruce caught on, “I’d consider it a coping mechanism maybe for illnesses like PTSD. I’ve seen it used as a therapy technique. It allows the person to go back to an earlier state that may have been less traumatizing for them. I imagine this could be voluntary or involuntary depending on the case.”

Peter sat with his words for a moment, “And how do you think someone could . . . help another person that’s age regressing.”

“If it’s a good coping mechanism that’s working for them, I imagine any kind of support would be good. Being there for that person, however they need. Hopefully they get outside support from a mental health specialist for whatever is causing the regression,” Peter nodded, “You’ve met someone like this.”

“Uhm . . . yeah,” Peter answered, “Someone I met in the city while playing Spiderman. It’s not a big deal. I’m just curious.”

Bruce didn’t push the subject further.

Your work was interrupted by Kate knocking on the glass door that led into the room. Both you and Yelena were standing behind her and you seemed to be laughing and talking together, “Pete, we’re going to the city! You coming?” Kate shouted through the glass.

“You all have got a big mission tomorrow,” Bruce warned, not looking up from his laptop.

“We’ll probably be back before late,” Peter stood from his seat, a mischievous look on his face, “No worries.”

Bruce hummed as if he wasn’t sure that he believed the young Avenger.

“I’m sorry I ran out of training so fast,” Peter was shocked to hear you say. You were sitting beside each other on the train, an awkward situation that Yelena and Kate had arranged themselves, “I get overwhelmed sometimes.”

“Right,” Peter nodded nervously, “It’s okay. I get overwhelmed sometimes too, you know.”

“Really?”

It really seemed that you hadn’t remembered him being with you last night. Peter half expected to see you in a onesie again, chatting away about Disney movies and desserts again. Instead, you were dressed like a normal, twenty-something who was going to the city with her friends.

“Yeah, sometimes I’ll see something or hear something that reminds me of my Aunt … or Mr. Stark, and it doesn’t matter what I’m doing, I just feel like I’m gonna hyperventilate. Like I can’t get air properly into my lungs and I start sweating … and I just get irritable and not fun to be around. And when it’s over, I just feel embarrassed.”

Something flickered in your eyes, something like understanding, “I get embarrassed too. I suppose it’s just a chemical thing. Fight or flight, I mean. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“You’re probably right,” Peter’s smile was weak, “It’s just hard losing people.”

You nodded in agreement, “It’s hard not having anyone to lose.”

Peter wondered if you remembered the family that you were taken from. Peter even wondered if you considered looking for them, “Friends are just as important as family sometimes. It’s good that you have Yelena and Kate.”

“That’s true. Maybe we should be better friends, Peter,” Peter’s eyes turned to you quickly, a bit of wonderment on his face, “If you want, I mean.”

“Hell yeah,” Peter spoke a little quickly but he was encouraged by the warm smile that grew on your face, “I have places around Queens I want to show you guys.”

Peter showed you all where he grew up and the four of you enjoyed sandwiches from Delmar’s for lunch. Next, Peter wanted to show you guys his favorite part of Queens. The museums. Initially, Yelena took a hard stance that going to museums would be boring but even she was entertained by the cool exhibits at the science museum Peter showed you around.

You and Peter talked so much. Much more than either of you expected. You were practically glued to his lip just the same way Kate was always glued to Yelena.

You went to an art museum next, joining an already established tour group in the middle of their own tour. Peter watched you walking around the gift shop in wonderment at all the handmade knick knacks that were for sale in order to support the museum. Peter approached you, a gift bag in hand, “I got you something.”

“What?” You blurted out, confusion evident in your features, “You don’t need to-”

“Just look,” Peter pulled out the miniature figurine he’d just purchased. It was of a small green frog sitting underneath a red mushroom for shade.

Your eyes widened, “Oh, Peter!” You took the figurine carefully in your hands, your voice going up several octaves as excitement filled you, “It’s so beautiful! Look at the little mushroom! How did you know I loved frogs?”

Peter lied, “I just thought you’d like it.”

“You really didn’t have to. I don’t deserve-”

“You do,” Peter assured you, “Keep it, please. It’s for you.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck as you hugged him, “Thank you,” The way his hand pressed into your back sent shivers through you.

“Are you gonna take good care of it?” Peter knew his words came out slightly patronizing and he could tell he might’ve embarrassed you slightly but you nodded shyly in response.

“I will, I promise.”

When Peter knocked on your door a few nights later, the compound was quiet. All that he could see in the dark hallway were sparkling lights shining beneath your doorway. When the door opened, he was glad to see Smaller you, “Peter Pan,” You greeted him, your voice soft and sleepy, “Hi.”

“Hello, little one,” You looked pleased with the nickname, “Or should I call you princess?”

Peter closed the door behind him, taking in the fact that you were only in a white t-shirt, pale blue panties and fuzzy socks, “Both,” You angled your head at him, “But I’d like to be a fairy princess.”

“I should’ve known.” There was something so alluring about being with you in this state. It was like being with you at your most vulnerable state and Peter liked being the only one who knew about Smaller you, “What have you been doing up so late?”

There was no Disney movie playing tonight but F.R.I.D.A.Y. was playing a soft melody of classical music. Peter wondered why you’d made that choice. You grabbed his hand, bringing him over to your own desk to show him what you’d been working on, “Drawing,” You answered, showing him the array of papers, pushing the scatter crayons out of the way, “Look at these, Petey. Look.”

Two of the photos were quite familiar. One was a drawing of a small frog sitting beneath a mushroom and the other was two people standing together near what he assumed was an art exhibit. The girl was wearing a plaid shirt just like she had the other day and the boy was wearing a black jacket.

“It’s me and you,” Peter said.

“It is?” Your doe eyes looking up at him threatened to make him melt there on the spot, “Will you take me there?”

“Of course,” Peter agreed, “We’d look so cute together.”

“Yeah,” You beamed, “But I’d wear a pretty dress.”

“And I’d look like a frog in comparison. It would be perfect.”

“Don’t say that, Petey,” You squeezed his hand, “You look like . . . can I tell you a secret?”

Peter nodded and you motioned for him to lean down so you could whisper in his ear, “I think you like a handsome Prince.”

Peter chuckled at that, “Do you?” You nodded and Peter whispered into your ear next, “I won’t tell anyone your secret.”

You looked away shyly. You showed him the rest of the pictures and Peter encouraged you to put all the crayons back in the proper spot back in the carton.

“Are you ready for bed yet?” Peter asked you, “It’s getting really late.”

You frowned, “I don’t like sleep. Can we stay up? Maybe we can play pretend?”

“Why don’t you like to sleep?”

You just shook your head, letting go of Peter’s hand, so you could rummage through your closet and find something else to do, “We could play a card game!”

Peter faked a yawn, walking over to your bed, “I’m really tired, Y/N. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Or a board game!”

“I’ll just sleep and you can play a game. I have some special sleepy dust I got from a fairy friend of mine. It’s gonna help me sleep,” Peter climbed into the fluffy white sheets of your bed, knowing your words had definitely caught your attention, “I guess you won’t need any, princess.”

Peter heard your feet pad over to the bed, “You have a fairy friend?”

“Yeah. I went to outer space once and I met one,” Peter shrugged, “On their planet, lots of princesses and princes have trouble sleeping because they have nightmares.”

“Oh,” The look on your face was doleful, “I get bad dreams like all the time. Would it work on me?”

“C’mere and I’ll show you,” Peter patted the spot next to you. You were hesitant as you climbed in the bed with him, “Lay down on your back for me.”

You did as he said, laying on your back with your head resting against a pillow, “And close your eyes for me, little one.”

“But I’m scared-” Peter pressed his hand to your waist, looking up and down your body. Being so close to you with so little clothing … Peter’s idea turned darker than he originally intended it to be. He was helping you, that meant he could help himself a little too.

“I’m here, don’t worry,” As you slowly close your eyes, Peter took the opportunity to let his hands wander even further, “I’m going to sprinkle the dust over you now. Keep your eyes closed.”

Peter could feel you growing slightly impatient, “Petey, I don’t feel anything yet-”

“Of course you can’t feel anything yet, silly. I haven’t activated it yet,” Peter parted your legs, climbing over your body and settling between your legs, “I want you to call me something, okay? To help the fairy dust work.”

“What is it?”

“Call me Daddy.”

“But you’re not-”

“I am, I’m taking care of you, right?” You nodded, “Then that’s what you have to call me. Especially for the dust to work. Understand?”

“Okay … okay, Daddy,” The word couldn’t have sounded any better on your lips. Peter’s hard-on was already pressing against the fabric of his boxers. His fingers travel beneath your panties, softly feeling your folds. Before you could say another word, Peter’s lips were pressed to yours, swallowing your concerns and then eventually your whimpers.

Peter made his way down to your breasts, pulling your shirt up so they were exposed. He attacked the sensitive buds with his tongue, which seemed to bring you even more pleasure than the gentle fingering of your clit. He could feel you growing wetter, leading him to his fingers traveling to your sensitive hole.

“You’re so beautiful, princess,” Peter said as he kissed over your stomach, including the scar that brought you so much anguish, “Daddy’s gonna take care of you. Make you real sleepy.”

When Peter first slid your panties to the side and pressed his mouth to your hole, your eyes shot open, “Stay still, little one,” Peter spoke with his mouthful. You tried your best not to squirm as the touch brought you an overwhelming new feeling of pleasure.

You wanted to smile, to laugh, and to scream all the same time. It was his softness and wetness pressed against your own softness and wetness. He kissed you down there in a way that was difficult to describe but you could feel a slow build starting in your toes till it all completely rushed to your head. Your body was experiencing waves of pleasure and you were glad when he removed his mouth so you weren’t tortured further.

Peter watched you ride at the orgasm. He pulled down his sweatpants and boxers with urgencies before grabbing your arms and pinning them above your head. He pressed his tip against your interest, his eyes looking darkly into yours as he slowly pushed inside, “Daddy,” You winced, “P-Peter – Daddy, it hurts!”

“I know, princess,” Peter grunted, “You can take it all, I know you can.”

Peter was right, you somehow stretched around him and that feeling of tearing soon subsided. Now, all you felt was completely full and completely at his mercy. You were trapped beneath him which meant he could set the pace for how fast he wanted to go. You started to only think of him inside you, of that primal pleasure that he was unlocking and the complete warmness that filled your skin.

“Oh, you feel fucking amazing,” Peter pressed his forehead to yours so he was as close to your as possible. You felt his own eyelashes fluttering against yours, “You feel so good. Tell Daddy you love it.”

“I–” A hard thrust, “Love it, Daddy. I-I love it.”

You were so tight. Impossibly tight. He had to remind himself to not spill over to fast and he slowed his pace but fucked you even harder. When he felt you tightening around him, he felt safe in releasing inside of you.

Your eyes closed as you tried to catch your breath. Peter fell beside you, and just like he’d promised, you felt like you could sleep for the next few days. Peter pulled the comforter over your body, pressing himself into your tired figure. He admired you closely, his nose rubbing against yours as his lips hovered above your own.

“I sleepy … Daddy …”

“Goodnight, little one.”

Peter laid there until dawn and all he could think about was how pretty you looked when you came.

#Dark Fic #dark fics #dark peter parker #dark!peter parker x reader #peter parker x black!reader #black!reader #little space #yelena belova #kate bishop #peter parker #dark!spiderman #mcu smut #peter parker smut #avengers smut

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whatitshouldvebeen · 7 months

Note

Can I request Nubbins x fem reader? She has friends who don't want Nubbins near her because they don't like the way he is. But when Nubbins is with the reader it is pleasant because she does not judge him or treat him badly. How would he manage to have her all to himself and not let anyone ruin it?

I don't know if Nubbins would be possessive and rude like Johnny or if he is more passive...

Nubbins x Reader

The Only One that Counts

Contains; fluff, derogatory names

"Guys, cut it out," you say, shooting a glare at your two best friends.

"Seriously though, what do you see in him? Everything about him is weird, even his name. Who names their kid Nubbins?" Emily says, snickering.

"Maybe I like weird," you interject.

"For your birthday, he got you a dead possum with a lightbulb in its mouth. He's twisted," Joey adds, looking more concerned than anything.

You cross your arms. "That was cute! Pulling the tail turned it on. I named him Henry."

"You have a dead giant trash rat named Henry by your bed," Joey says flatly. "See why we're concerned?"

You shrug. "Not every girl wants chocolate and makeup. I like his little crafts. He's really creative."

"He's gonna turn you into a lamp next if you're not careful," Emily says. "I heard he cuts himself for fun."

"Guys, just stop. I'm happy with him, okay? Isn't that enough?"

Both Emily and Joey look incredulous, shaking their heads.

"Don't you see we're trying to protect you? That guy's whole family is messed up. Have you seen his giant brother? What if being a giant retarded freak runs in the family? Do you want giant retard freak kids running around the house?" Joey says, as if he could think of nothing worse.

"I'm tired of listening to this," you say, fuming. You stand up from the bench and glare at your friends before turning your back, a tear streaking down your cheek.

–

"Y-your friends want you to leave me?" Nubbins asks, cocking his head. The two of you are sitting in the sunflower fields as the sun rises, painting the sky pink. He doesn't seem upset, just curious.

"They think you're dangerous," you say, looking down at your joined hands and running your thumb over his. You can't bring yourself to tell him what they've said about his brother.

"W-well," Nubbins laughs, smiling. "I mean, I am. Grandpa wouldn't think I'm the best if I w-wasn't!" He pauses, then squeezes your hand. "But, 'course I'd never hurt you!"

"I know, Nubs, I'm just sad my friends are so judgmental," you say, sighing and leaning against his shoulder.

He uses his pocket knife to etch into the dirt between his feet, drawing your initials beside his. "Why does it matter w-what they think?" He pauses, looking up at you worriedly. "Y-you aren't gonna listen to them, are ya?" He asks, as if the notion hadn't occurred to him.

"No, of course not!" you soothe, instantly erasing the worried expression off his face. "I just don't like hearing them talk bad about you and your family."

"I could cut out their tongues!" he offers cheerily. "You ever had tongue pudding? It's real good!"

"No no, please don't," you giggle, and he laughs wildly, his whole body shaking beside yours.

Nubbins, still in a giggle fit, nuzzles at your ear before nipping it, making you laugh and shove him away. He lunges after you, tackling you to the dirt and touching your nose to his with a loud "boop!" A wild grin lights up his face, and you pull him down for a kiss, surprising the man into a fleeting moment of stillness.

When you break the kiss, he stares at you in a stupor before sense returns to his brain, and he blinks rapidly, his earlier grin returning. "Wow… sometimes I forget we can do that. Talk about crazy; your friends musta never had a kiss like that. Well, probably 'cause they never kissed you," he peters off, pure adoration in his eyes as he holds himself over you.

"You're so sweet, Nubbins," you say, kissing the tip of his nose. "I love you."

His face flushes pink, and he traces your lip with his thumb, cradling your face in his hand. "I l-love you too."

Nubbins doesn't care what anyone thinks but you. As long as he knows you love him, he will never get jealous.

#nubbins sawyer #tcm nubbins #nubbins x reader #tcm #tcm game #texas chainsaw massacre game #texas chainsaw massacre #hitchhiker tcm #hitchhiker x reader

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elisysd · 11 months

Text

Glowing Review – Maisie Peters

Masterlist - Previously - Next Chapter

This here's a plot twist 'cause I'm not the sort to be certain a lot Ran for the trenches and there you were humming strawberry fields

“So now you know everything.”

There was a long silence, during which neither of them moved. Lyanna's gaze was fixed on the wooden floor of the yacht, while Charles seemed lost in thought, staring straight ahead. And then finally Charles got up and headed inside the boat before returning, a bottle of vodka and two shot glasses in his hand.

“I usually save that for important occasions, but I think we both need it after what you've just told me.”

She simply nodded, grabbing the shot Charles was handing her before drinking it down. Another long silence followed only broke by Charles a few moments later.

“Lyanna… I just want you to know that I think you’re the bravest person I’ve met. What you went through… it’s disgusting. Honestly, I don’t have the words. Thank you for trusting me with your story.”

“You don’t want to run away?”

“I want to give you a hug. That’s the only thing I want right now. Let me hold you.”

She moved slightly closer to him, their shoulders touching. The Monegasque driver put an arm around her, pressing her against him before nuzzling her hair and kissing the top of her head. Her hair smelt of apples and vanilla, a scent he found comforting, reminding him of the smell of his childhood home. He felt the young woman settle more comfortably against his chest and he began to think that he would stay in this position forever if he could. He would freeze time if given the chance.

He didn't want to get out of the bubble they had created. It would mean going back to reality, which he didn't want to face. Because whatever he thought about it, time was running out and he would soon have to say goodbye to her, something he couldn't bring himself to do. His mind was looking for any way to persuade her to stay in Monaco, close to him. But he knew it was futile. She had to leave sooner or later. And he would have to resume his season. Summer was almost over. And he found that a cruel outlook.

“Charles? I’m tired.”

“Yeah, me too. A lot of emotions today.”

“Yeah.”

He let her get up and gather her things, still in silence. She needed space and Charles wanted to give it to her. It was late when they arrived at the residence. Charles walked her to her door and seemed to detect in the young woman a reluctance to say goodbye.

“You want to say something, Lyanna?” he asked her softly.

“I just want to say thank you. For the dinner and most importantly for listening to me without interrupting and judging me. You don’t know how good it felt.”

“That’s wat true friends are here for.”

“Most of mine left when the pictures and video leaked online. I usually have low expectations when it comes to people.”

“I hope I can show you that I won’t be one of those fake friends.”

“You’ve already done it.”

She smiled faintly to him. Their eyes locked in for a moment and Charles could see in them all the sadness that she kept bottled up inside her. But he saw something else, a light behind it. It was faint and barely there but he swore he could see it. And he was determined to make it grow.

“Goodnight Charles.” And before closing the door on him, “And count me in for the football game, I’ll be there.”

And just like that, Charles was the happiest man in the world.

As for Lyanna, she strangely felt good. Of course reliving what happened all those years ago shook her but less than she thought so. The support and care she saw in Charles words and gestures really comforted her in trusting him. Maybe it was time for her to let down the walls that she spent the last years building around her. Not all of them, but at least some. She didn’t have much time left with Charles and she would not forgive herself if she was spending it hiding, scared of what people might say. Because, at the end of the day, she was happy around Charles and it was all that mattered.

It was what she explained to her best friend when she had her on the phone the next morning.

“Okay, I get it, he makes you happy and don’t get me wrong I’m glad to see that you are making new friends, it’s about damn time, but I still think that being associated with him will only create drama and I’m scared for you. You sure you’re ready for it?”

“I know that people are going to talk but I know where we stand. I spent these past few years being scared of being in the public eye and what good did it make?”

“If you’re sure I’ll support you one hundred percent. By the way, did you talk about what is going to happen when you’ll leave?”

Lyanna sighed and swallowed, trying to find the best possible answer.

“I’m dreading for this moment. It’s going to be tough. I’m really going to miss him but I guess we’ll stay in touch. With social media and phone calls it’s easier. And we are both busy, him especially, so I don’t think he will think about me very much. He has races to win and people to make proud. But we’re not there yet. He is playing a football game for a charity next week, it’s an important event. A lot of attention is to be expected. I heard there was going to be the Prince of Monaco. I’m stressing out a little.”

“Well look at you girl, aiming high. Who knows maybe you can try to see if there are some single royals. Plural. One for you and one for me.”

“Stop it! Laughed Lyanna. I’m not looking for love.”

“Maybe not you but I do. So don’t be selfish!”

“You’re impossible.”

“But you love me.”

“Indeed, I do.”

A few days later, in the Louis II’s stadium changing rooms, Charles met up with Pierre again and gave him a quick recap of the situation with Lyanna, omitting of course to tell him what the young woman had confessed to him a few days earlier. He was pleased that she had agreed to come, knowing what it could mean. But nothing could ruin his mood; he felt that their friendship had taken a step forward.

He hadn't seen the actress since their dinner, both of them being very busy, but they had still found time in their respective schedules for a few texts, here and there, to check on each other. Charles knew that she was meeting up with Kika, with whom she would be spending the match. Then he planned to meet her just afterwards to introduce her to Joris and Antoine, his two best friends and closest associates. Finally, if all went well, they would all go to dinner together in an Italian restaurant. Arthur and Carla were also due to join them. Charles just hoped that Lyanna wouldn't feel too uncomfortable and overwhelmed in the middle of all those people.

“My god, you’re so whipped” said Pierre jokingly when Charles confessed his thoughts.

“I’m not!” he defended himself.

“Come on man, admit it. I’ve never seen you acting like that with a girl. Not even with Charlotte. And you were already acting like an idiot when se was around. I’ve never thought I would ever say that, but with Lyanna, it’s even worse.”

This stopped Charles in his tracks. He had never taken the time to think about his attitude towards Lyanna. Everything was so simple and natural with her. Of course he could understand his friends and brothers teasing him, but for him it was more to annoy him than to make him face reality.

“I’m not in love with her.” he felt it necessary to point out.

“Never said you were. But, be honest, do you really only have friendly feelings for her or is there more?”

Charles didn't have time to answer before they were called to the field. This discussion went round and round in his head during the 90 minutes of the match, resulting in numerous mistakes, clumsinesses, slips and other falls on Charles' part. He couldn't claim to be particularly good at football, but today was much worse than usual. But at least he knew it would make people laugh.

Between two stray balls, he looked for Lyanna in the crowd before finding her at the edge of the field laughing with Kika. His steps naturally led him towards her, and pretending to stretch, he took the opportunity to wave to her before heading off in the opposite direction.

As for Lyanna, she had been very apprehensive about her arrival, thinking that it would only rekindle the rumours, but she was pleasantly surprised to see that nobody seemed shocked or cared to see her there. She ran into a few fans with whom she took photos and exchanged a few words, before meeting up with Kika. The young woman's presence immediately reassured her and put her at ease. The two young women spent the afternoon laughing about Charles and Pierre, certainly not forgetting to take photos of their falls.

And the time flew by. Pierre was soon reunited with his girlfriend and Lyanna decided to abandon them to give them some privacy. They would all meet up again later anyway. She looked for Charles and was not surprised to find that he was probably the most sought-after person at the game. It was the first time she had really realised how popular Charles was and how much people liked him. When she saw him kneel down in front of a little boy to sign a T-shirt and take a photo, she couldn't help but feel a little emotional.

Not wanting to impose, she stood back and watched him for a few minutes. It was finally one of the two men beside Charles who noticed her and nudged the driver, whispering something in his ear. Charles turned his head towards her and immediately started trotting in her direction, followed by his two companions.

“Lyanna, hey. So, did you enjoy the game?”

“It was… an eye-opening experience.” She answered, amused.

“I knew that my amazing skills in football would impress you.”

“I won’t comment on that, I don’t want to bruise your ego. That would be a shame.”

“I like her Charles, she is fun.” Said one of his friends.

“By the way, these guys are my two best friends and work with me on my social media. Antoine, Joris this is Lyanna.”

“Nice to finally meet you! Charles could not stop talking about you.” Joris introduced himself.

“Come on, that’s not true!” Charles tried to defend himself.

“You specifically told us to not embarrass you in front of her today, or you would not hesitate to fire us.” Commented Antoine.

“As if he didn’t achieve that on his own today. Imagine driving cars at high speed for a living and not having the reflex to put your hands in front of you when you're falling headfirst. That would be concerning.” Teased him Joris.

“You guys are really trying to get fired.”

“And how would you manage your socials, hum?”

“Lyanna. She is an actress; she can help me. And she would be less mean than you.”

The banted kept going for a while on their way to the restaurant, under Lyanna’s amused gaze. When they arrived, the waiter greeted them before directing them to a long table at the back of the restaurant. Carla and Artur had already arrived and rushed over to greet them. Lyanna noticed the young blonde giving her shy looks and decided to move towards her.

“Hey, I’m Lyanna. You must be Carla.”

“Yes, sorry if I’m being awkward. I’m a huge fan of your work and I admire you so much that seeing you here… it’s weird. But a good weird.”

“Thank you. I love your dress by the way.”

From afar Charles spotted the two girls’ interaction and a slight smile appeared on his face, immediately spotted by Arthur who joined his brother.

“Family reunions would be a blast if they were present. We'd have the most stylish girlfriends in Monaco. And they seem to get on well together. Two perfect sisters-in-law.”

“For sure, yeah.” Whispered Charles.

“Ah ha! Got you!”

“Got me what?”

“To finally admit that you pictured Lyanna as your girlfriend. Pierre! Come here! I did it!” Arthur exclaimed.

“I did not say such things!”

“You did not deny anything when I mentioned girlfriends, plural, while talking about Carla and Lyanna.”

“I mean, Lyanna is a girl and we’re friends, so…”

“And he goes back to denying stage… Charles you’re a pain in the ass.”

Truth was that on late nights, particularly those last few days, after Lyanna’s confessions, he had found himself thinking of the actress in ways that a friend was not supposed to. He thought of how nice it would feel to be comforted by her arms and her sweet words after a bad race. He thought about how nice her hand fitted in his. How easy it was to talk to her about his deepest and darkest thoughts. And more than once he wondered how her lips would feel against his and how her body would fit between his hands. But then reality sunk in and he had to remind himself that it was not in her plans to stay in Monaco, to have a relationship and that she made it clear, more than once, that she was seeing him only as a friend. And he accepted that. And it was okay for him. And he would not dare to change that, because even if he was painfully aware that he started to catch feelings for her, their friendship was way to valuable for him to mess it up. But all of that, he wanted to keep it just for himself because if anyone knew about it, he would not hear the end of it.

Dinner went wonderfully well, although Charles was quieter than usual. Lyanna was engaged in an intense discussion with Carla and Kika, while Pierre and Joris debated the latest Louis Vuitton collection. Arthur and Antoine, for their part, were bent over Charles's brother's phone, fascinated by what he seemed to be watching.

And then it was time to go home. Lyanna promised Carla to keep in touch with her and invite her to the premiere of her film as soon as she could. She exchanged a few words with Pierre, laughing, and she didn't forget to take Joris and Antoine's numbers so that she could give them some references for cameras and good microphones to improve the quality of the content created around Charles. She fitted in perfectly with Charles's inner circle, much to his delight. It was as if she had always been there.

And just as naturally, she approached Charles and his car, assuming they were going home together. The Ferrari driver opened the door of his Pista for her before saying goodbye to his friends and getting in. Finally they were alone.

“Charles are you okay?”

“That should be me asking you that. I’m the one that throw you with people that you barely know.”

“They were all really nice and I already knew Pierre and Kika. But really, you’ve been exceptionally quiet tonight.”

“Don’t worry. I just have a lot on my mind.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

With his eyes fixed on the road, he shook his head to tell her no.

“We had a nice night; I don’t want it to end on a sad note.”

Lyanna nodded understandingly. A silence fell.

“I’m leaving the day after tomorrow for Netherlands. I managed to get you a paddock pass. Before you say anything, I don’t want you to feel pressurized to come. You don’t have to; I know you are busy and you planned to go see your family. But take it. If you ever change your mind. It would mean a lot to me to have you here.” He blurted out.

“Charles…”

“Don’t give me an answer yet. Take your time.”

“Thank you. It’s actually my last day of shooting tomorrow. I’ll be busy all day, but if you want to, I can come to your place after and we can hang out. One last time.”

“I would love that.”

He looked at her and smile softly. She did the same, her eyes a little glossy.

“Hey, Lyanna. I’m still here and I won’t let you cry tonight, okay. Let’s save that for tomorrow.” He reassured her, putting a hand on her knee and squeezing it gently.

It was late when they arrived at the residence. There was not a sound around. He walked her to the door, hands in his pockets, staring at the floor. The atmosphere was strange, heavy. The weight of last times weighing down on them.

“So... see you tomorrow, then?” asked Lyanna.

He nodded. The actress put the key in her door, opening it and turned around. Without a word, she suddenly threw herself at Charles, making him wobble slightly. She buried her face in his neck and held him as tightly as she could.

“Thanks for being you Charles and for tonight. And for so many things that I can’t put into words yet. You don’t have any idea how important you are to me.”

“Let’s keep emotional speeches for tomorrow okay.”

“You are right, it’s just that I don’t know if I will be able to tell you all that I want to say without crying.”

Charles detached himself from her before leaning over and kissing her forehead tenderly wile cupping her left cheek to erase a few tears that were already streaming down her face.

“I don’t want to leave you crying, Lya.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Just emotional. I had an amazing day and I had fun; I don’t know why I’m being sappy. I will see you tomorrow anyway.”

“If you’re sure… I’m not far away if you need anything.”

“I’m okay Charles. Really. Go get some sleep and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She didn’t let him answer as she closed her door behind her.

====

If you want to be part of the taglist let me know taglist: @zendayabelova @purplephantomwolf @ru-kru @dakotali @blueflorals

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #fiction #writing #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x female reader #cl16 #cl16 x reader

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in-need-of-gally-content · 8 months

Text

|Chapter•Ten|

•|Masterlist|•

(M/n) was growing tired of these dreams, and they kept getting more vivid every day, even so, there wasn't much he could remember after waking up, but his feelings were very much real, and too intense.

He was just hoping not to snap at anyone that had nothing to do with him being mad.

Staying still and taking deep breaths, he laid back on his bed, staring at the ceiling and his mind wandered to the first few days he was around, working together with Gally and the rest of the Builders to make this place for him to live.

It was weird to think that he had been around for two weeks, it... Didn't feel like it.

Especially when he thought about Gally and his-

With wide eyes he sat up, shaking his head in an attempt to erase the idea of having feelings for Gally. Not that there was anything wrong with liking Gally but... There was something he couldn't understand. Even if he felt his tummy tingling every time he thought of Gally, the possibility of him liking him back didn't bring him joy, or made him feel overwhelmed, it was something that made him wonder if he could be good enough for Gally...

"This is stupid," he mumbled to himself and decided to stand up, he looked out the window and saw just the slightest bit of sunshine lighting up the Glade. (M/n) yawned and grabbed his bag, he just had to go get his water and wait for the doors to open. Easy.

///////

"Why is it so shucking hot?" Minho complained as he stopped jogging, taking his water bottle to drink from it, and (M/n) doing the same. For some reason, the weather had gotten worse as the hours passed, and now with the sun at its highest spot, as it hit afternoon, they felt like they were roasting alive.

"Has it ever been this hot before?" (M/n) saw Minho gulping his water down, and he was afraid that they might run out before making it back to the Glade.

Minho groaned, feeling his thirst just slightly satisfied, "Yeah, but it's a gradual build-up, today is just hot for no shucking reason," he looked down at his half-empty bottle, before staring at (M/n), "We should head back, we might end up getting heat stroke, come on."

The way back to the Glade wasn't any easier, they had decided on walking instead of running and were holding their bags over their head to try and block the direct sunlight. They walked in complete silence, taking the occasional gulp of water, trying to make it last until they made it out of the Maze.

And maybe an hour or so, they arrived, accepting gladly how the temperature appeared to lower now that they weren't surrounded by concrete and stone. This time, Gally wasn't around to give him snacks, probably because he wasn't expecting him to be back just yet, well, not like he minded, the thought of seeing the tall blond made him feel a little bit anxious.

"I'm gonna help the others with the Map," Minho announced right before heading to the map room, but stopping as he turned toward the Homestead, "I need some cool water first," (M/n) laughed and nodded, following after him to do the same.

With a glass of cold water in hand, he walked back outside, lifting his hand to his hair and pushing it back, holding it there, away from his face as he drank. He took a few, slow steps in the direction of the arrangement of hammocks, when he heard the voices of Peter and Jason.

"That shucking greenie would be nothing if it wasn't for Gally... He's always there to defend that," (M/n)'s jaw clenched, and he leaned over the corner slightly, seeing them folding laundry. Well, Jason seemed to be the one doing everything, seeing as Peter was laying on his hammock near him.

"Yeah, I bet he's trying to get in her pants," Jason added with a snort and Peter rolled his eyes, taking a sip of his water bottle.

"Well, who isn't?"

Taking a deep breath, (M/n) headed back inside, putting the now empty glass down and pacing around, trying to calm himself down. He was mad and anxious, hearing them talking about him made him mad, but them doubting that any other guy was his friend just because they wanted to was what made him anxious.

He knew better than to believe the assholes being assholes again, even if it was behind his back, it had been a rather quiet and peaceful week not hearing them or acknowledging their comments.

"Oh, Newt?" He heard Fry's voice around the corner, coming from down the hall.

"Yeah?" He barely heard Newt's voice answer back. (M/n) turned around to leave, he didn't wanna overhear anything he wasn't supposed to-

"Can you chop some wood for me? I'm running low on logs for cooking," -that might work...

(M/n) walked out and walked around the opposite side of the Homestead, away from the hammocks. There was the pile of sticks and tree trunks, waiting to be cut for wood fire. And the hatchet for it resting against the stone Maze walls.

"Well... Let's get working."

//////

"Hey, Gally!"

He frowned and looked over his shoulder. Newt was heading his way with a slight jog. He simply hummed in response when he got close enough.

"Could ya go chop some wood for Fry?" Gally nodded and stopped petting Bark, apologizing briefly for disturbing his sleep as he stood up. While Gally headed to the pile by the garden supply hut, Newt went in the opposite direction.

Squiting under the bright sun, his green eyes looked at the Maze Doors, and he glanced at his watch to see the time. There were a few hours left until (M/n) came back, so he was glad to have something to do in the meantime besides petting and playing with Bark, he just hoped the heat wasn't too bad in there.

He continued his way past the Homestead with his sight now turned to the ground, noticing how worn his boots were getting, thankfully he still had two other pairs a little less worn in his room-

Thud!

The familiar sound of the wood being chopped caught his attention, making Gally look up and he saw him.

(M/n) wiped his brow with the back of his hand, sweat glistening his skin under the afternoon sun. His hands secured his grip on the handle of the hatchet and he swung his arms back and over his head, successfully chopping another log.

Gally was confused, when did he come back? And why didn't he know? Well, probably because he had been spending all morning with Bark, keeping each other company.

"Greenie?" He asked loud enough for him to hear, approaching him with arms crossed over his chest.

(M/n) had a deep frown on his face, he looked mad, but his voice sounded nice and gentle when he spoke, "Hi, Gally."

He really wondered if something happened, something in the Maze or before that? He wanted to know.

Carefully approaching him, Gally leaned against the Maze wall, "Everything alright?"

The way (M/n) looked at him briefly told him what he needed to know, something was bothering him, but he seemed troubled and unsure.

"It's not important, don't worry," Gally pursed his lips and observed how (M/n) brought the hatchet down with full force, small pieces of wood flying away as the log was cut.

"Well, it isn't nothing if it's making you annihilate those poor logs," (M/n) couldn't hold back the small chuckle that escaped him, realizing that yeah, he had chopped pretty much every single log there was, he might've been angrier than he anticipated.

He placed the sharp end of the hatchet down against the tree stump that worked as a table for chopping logs, and he placed his hands over the other, squinting as he looked at Gally, debating if he should say anything.

"It's just..." Gally looked at him expectantly, and he almost regretted saying anything, "It really is nothing, Gally, don't worry-"

"How unladylike, she-bean," this voice was rather new to him, so he had to glance over his shoulder to know who it was. Stan, the Keeper of the Sloppers, stood there, staring at him in a way he didn't like, "Shucking hope not all girls are like you, damn disgusting."

His fingers gripped tightly the handle in his hands, and he turned back, ready to chop the remaining few logs left, but he noticed Gally having other ideas. He looked ready to go after him and teach him a thing or two about respect, but (M/n) held him back, releasing the hatchet to place both his hands on his chest.

"Gally, stop, it's not worth it," the blond frowned and looked down at him, his fists clenched on either side of his body.

"I'm not gonna let him talk that way about you, (M/n)," keeping a firm stance, he continued to hold Gally back, his arms shaking from all the recent use of cutting wood, feeling weaker as he tried to maintain Gally leveled.

"Just let it go, he wasn't the first one and won't be the last one to talk to me like that, okay? He's just... A shuckface," the way Glader slang sounded coming from the greenie made him smile, it was odd in an adorable way, and Gally felt his anger subside as he realized that (M/n) was grimacing after saying 'shuck'.

He chuckled and walked back, picking up a few logs in his hands to bring back to the Homestead.

"Well, you'll show them who's boss when the next greenie comes up," Gally's wide smile made (M/n)'s body and mind relax, smiling back and grabbing a couple of logs and sticks as well.

"I will, I've been trained by the best guy around after all."

They laughed playfully as they approached the Homestead, completely ignoring nearby stares on them.

//////

As they were approaching his tree house, his eyes saw Bark peacefully eating food from his bowl, and for the first time, he noticed the fully built dog house under his room. He hadn't been paying attention to his surroundings lately and he almost smacked himself for his carelessness.

But before he could praise Gally for the amazingly cute doghouse he built -he assumed Gally was the one that built it- Bark saw him and ran at him, jumping onto his arms while releasing happy barks and whines.

Thankfully, he was able to catch him and keep himself up on his feet instead of going down on the dirt, he heard Gally's laugh, and (M/n) simply kept walking with Bark in his arms, setting him down once they stopped by his ladder.

"I missed you too, boy," Bark licked his face when he knelt to his height, keeping his paws on (M/n)'s shoulder as a way to keep him steady while he continued giving the human all of his love.

He tried to free himself from Bark's hold, but the dog was resilient in letting him go, so (M/n) gave up and instead chose to play with him, otherwise he wouldn't let them go up to his room.

Dinner wasn't gonna come around until a few hours later, so he had time to spare, to be able to play with Bark until he got tired enough to sleep, and then spend some time with Gally.

The three of them played for about an hour and a half, until Bark laid on the dirt, panting while still wagging his tail, although more slowly and calmly. Gally sat with him, patting his head and back, while (M/n) made his way up the ladder, entering his room and sighing as he pushed his hair back, fanning his face with his hand at the heat he felt.

He spotted the origami tied to the rope on top of the bookshelf, his journal still there where he left it the last time he used it, and an unknown cardboard box that he didn't remember being there before, but his name was written on it, and he thought of the camera.

With excited hops, he walked closer to it and grabbed the box, opening it and being greeted with bubble wrap. He popped one with a smile before taking the device out.

(M/n) held the camera with careful hands, turning it around and inspecting it, observing it and feeling like some part of his memory came back, but nothing he didn't know already. He set it down and grabbed the box, there was something inside it still. Three small boxes with films for the Polaroid were there, along with a small note on the bottom.

It had written simple instructions on how to put a new film in the camera once the one already inside ran out.

He was excited to try it out, but it was getting dark out, so he would have to pictures in the morning.

Oh, the origami!

(M/n) tied each end of the rope with some ivy holding the wood wall together, and he observed how it looked. The slightly opened curtain behind him let in some light through the leaves, making pretty shadows on the wall, and he couldn't resist it.

Grabbing the camera, he raised it to his eyes and snapped a picture of his newly decorated wall.

He held the picture when it came out and he set it on the bookshelf, waiting for it to appear.

He really liked the fairy-like look the picture had, making him smile. (M/n) placed the camera on the shelf next to the books and opened his journal to keep the polaroid safe. He wasn't sure how, but he was gonna keep all the pictures he takes there, he'll attach them to the paper somehow.

"Oh, (M/n)!" Gally's voice called for him from outside, and he stepped out the door with a loud hum in response, "Have you carved your name on the wall yet?"

No, he hasn't... Woah, somehow he forgot about that entirely. Well, probably because he felt like he won't ever fully be welcomed in the Glade.

"Nope," he said while going down the ladder. As soon as he stood on the ground, Gally gripped his wrist and started pulling him away from his tree, taking him in the direction of the name wall.

"Let's go then!"

//////

Carving his name on the wall was funny, Gally kept suggesting where he should place his name, and he complained if he picked a spot too low or high, until finally, (M/n) got Gally to admit that he wanted their names to be close to each other.

And something about that was almost too cute for (M/n) to handle.

But in the end, his name was carved as closed as it could be to Gally's, who was slightly bouncing in place the whole time it took him to get it done.

Moving his hair away from his face, (M/n) turned to look at Gally after placing the tools inside the box kept against the wall, and even with the natural light fading away, he swore he saw him blushing.

"Oh?" He leaned closer suddenly, catching Gally off guard, but his quick reaction time made him capable of turning away and start walking toward the Homestead, where dinner was waiting for them, "Hey~, your face is all red, Gally~."

He closed his eyes tightly at the teasing tone the greenie had, and cleared his throat.

"Well, it's hot today so it makes sense, greenie."

(M/n) squinted his eyes at Gally's retreating figure, not missing how the blond subtly rubbed his forearm to create friction and warmth, as the temperature had lowered in the past hour.

"Whatever you say," he mumbled without losing his teasing tone and he started running instead of walking, "The last one is a rotten egg!"

Not being one to back away from a challenge -even from a light-hearted, unserious one-, Gally took off running after the greenie, who playfully pushed him to prevent him from getting there first, getting a push in return from Gally. Their laughter echoed in the Glade, catching everyone's attention as they saw them jogging while holding the other back and trying to trip each other.

Fry smiled at the sight, while many others felt uneasy at the sight of an overly joyful Gally.

Newt felt a subtle pang in his chest at the sight and sound of them looking so happy together, and he had definitely lost his appetite by now, so he stood up from his seat and walked out of the dining area, barely hearing Fry telling him 'good night' as he walked past him, inevitably meeting Gally and (M/n) face to face, making eye contact with the taller blond before turning the corner and heading to his room down the hallway.

//////

With the sunlight of a new day shining down on the Glade, (M/n) finished his makeshift camera strap, and safe belt for his journal as well. He secured tightly the camera strap to his wrist and his journal across his chest, walking out of his treehouse to start taking pictures.

Starting with a close-up of Bark's cute face, and of his house from ground level.

(M/n) walked around the Deadheads for a short while, debating whether he should easily climb the Watchtower to take more pictures, or make his life harder by climbing a tree instead...

He chose the tree.

Finding a comfortable enough spot on a branch, he started taking scenery shots of the Glade, keeping each one safe in his tightly closed journal. And after feeling like those were enough, he began making his way down.

He was a couple of feet up the tree now, and he could easily jump off the branch instead of climbing all the way down, but he heard Gally's distant voice. (M/n) was about to call out to him as well, when he thought of doing a little prank on the blond, it wouldn't hurt anyone...

Except himself if he can't hold himself or if the branch breaks under his weight.

He waited for Gally to walk past under him, thanking that he was hidden with the leaves, before scooting back slowly, making sure he would have some grip with his legs around the branch. And when he was ready, he called him.

"Gally!"

He frowned and turned around, looking everywhere he could see without moving from his spot. (M/n) sounded awfully close to him, but he was nowhere in sight... Maybe he was going crazy and was imagining the greenie calling for him just because he wanted to see him.

Shaking his head, he took a single step forward, before he was suddenly met with (M/n)'s face too close to his. Only upside down.

"Boo," the greenie muttered as he swung himself back, his body balancing back and forth as he watched Gally fall to the dirt with a yelp, making him smile with mischief and chuckle at his unamused frown.

"So funny," he said in response to (M/n)'s mocking laugh.

(M/n) watched how Gally started getting up, trying to shake the dirt and grass off his clothes, and he simply swung himself while chucking quietly every few seconds.

Swinging... Swing...ing...

"Swing!" The sudden raise of his voice made Gally flinch, watching curiously how (M/n) lifted himself and made his way down the tree, as quick and nimble as he's never seen him. He observed confused how (M/n) opened his journal, cursing when the polaroids almost fell off, but he managed to keep them secure as he flipped to a clean page and did a quick sketch of a piece of wood with ropes and tied to a branch, "Look."

He walked until he was standing next to Gally, showing him what he had managed to create in less than two minutes. It was rather rough, but he could see what (M/n) envisioned.

"Just let me..." Gally reached for the pen in (M/n)'s hand, their fingers gracing and skin touching. His breath got stuck in his throat and he tried to not think about the goosebumps covering his skin or the heat coming off of (M/n)'s body. His hand moved quickly, fixing minor issues on the greenie's sketch, too focused to notice the bright look in his (e/c) eyes as he looked up at him, "Done."

He handed (M/n) his pen back, and looked at him, making eye contact.

Time seemed to slow down as they stared into each other's eyes, feeling like they were the only ones around and how nothing else seemed to matter. It was scary how they realized that they could stare endlessly at one another.

And even though it felt like forever had passed, the truth was that merely ten seconds had gone by, when they broke their staring, looking away with heated faces and pounding hearts.

"Do you think we could..." (M/n)'s voice for quiet as he turned to look at Gally again, "Build the swing today?"

Gally opened his mouth to speak, seemingly at a loss for words for a few seconds, "Y-yeah, yeah... I think so," he released an uncharacteristic nervous laugh and took a step back when he realized that they were still standing really close to each other. (M/n) laughed back and nodded, starting his way toward the shack with the stuff they needed.

"Well, let's start, then!"

//////

"Be careful!"

(M/n) looked up at Gally as he made his way up the tree, the blond simply huffed and nodded a couple of times, "I know, I know," he responded, reaching up to hold onto another sticking out piece of the tree trunk.

They were done building the seat for the swing -after enjoying some lunch-, they had found a good tree in a spot where everyone could see it and anyone could use it, and now, Gally had denied (M/n) going up to tie the ropes to the branches, with the excuse of how he could fall and hurt himself.

... As if Gally wouldn't.

Even so, (M/n) had decided there was no point in arguing with Gally, especially when he already was halfway up the tree. He kept an eye out for him, worrying about his wellbeing, he definitely didn't want Gally to fall off and get hurt.

"Okay, I'm done-" Gally's voice got cut off when he shifted his weight around, slipping off.

"Gally!" (M/n) went to him immediately as he hit the ground with a loud thud, kneeling next to him and helping him sit up, keeping his hand under Gally's head.

With a groan, Gally rubbed his head as he managed to sit up, resting his back on the tree he fell off from, "I'm good, don't worry."

(M/n) huffed and attempted to help Gally stand up, "Even if you are, you hit your head, let's get some ice for it, come on."

Knowing the greenie wouldn't stop bothering him about it, he nodded and accepted his help. But he felt a sharp pain shoot up his left leg when he put pressure on it to stand up.

"Shuck..." He cursed and tried not to make it too obvious that he couldn't walk, or simply stand up for that matter, but he really couldn't handle the pain, making him pull away from (M/n)'s grip and fall back onto the ground, "I think I shucked my ankle."

(M/n) thought of what to do for a moment. Making Gally walk was out of the question, and it's not like he could ask others to help get Gally to the med room. So there was only one solution.

Carry him. He wasn't sure he could do it, but he could definitely try. Worst case, they pull each other forward fighting through their pain, which would be pretty funny.

"Alright, get on my back, and I'll get you to the med room," he said while crouching in front of him, he doubted Gally wanted him to carry him in his arms like a princess after all, so a piggyback ride should be enough.

However, he underestimated how stubborn Gally could be. He chuckled in response, and shook his head no, "I'll be fine, greenie."

(M/n) stood up and silently observed how Gally tried to stand up on his own, and he did manage to, thanks to the tree, but the blond realized there was no way he could walk all the way back to the Homestead. And he locked eyes with (M/n), who was still staring at him.

"Just let me help you, doofus," Gally sighed in defeat at the sight of a determined greenie, and simply shrugged.

"Fine," (M/n) stepped closer to him and he dropped his arm around his shoulders.

Gally was just thinking that (M/n) was gonna drag his ass back to the Homestead, but he heard him sigh, "If you want..."

Before he could say anything, (M/n) was bending his knees and reaching his arm under his legs while keeping a hold around his waist. And Gally soon found himself being carried in his arms. His eyes were wide open as he was frozen in silence, completely freaking out internally while his face started heating up at the realization of how easily (M/n) seemed to be able to hold his weight and walk.

He got swept off his feet. Literally.

The way to the Homestead wasn't as embarrassing as he would've expected, probably because he had decided to completely hide his face against (M/n)'s neck as he was taken to the med room.

"Clint! Jeff!" He called for both of the Med-jacks, hoping that at least one of them would be around to help him.

(M/n) walked into the room and placed Gally down on the nearest bed, and right behind him, Clint walked in, followed by Jeff.

"You need anything, greenie?"

"Everything okay, greenbean?"

He looked over his shoulder while he finished getting Gally comfortable.

"Yeah, yeah I'm alright, but Gally said he might've messed up his ankle," both Med-jacks looked at the blond on the bed, who was looking down and away, unable to see his face, but they noticed the tip of his ears colored red.

"Okay, I'm gonna check on it."

//////

Turns out Gally twisted his ankle, and now, after receiving help going up the stairs to his room, he was laying on his bed, his leg elevated and with some ice to help the swelling, an elastic bandage compressing around it.

He had been in his room for ten minutes, and he was bored out of his damn mind, he couldn't stay still another second.

"Hey! Get back on the bed!" (M/n)'s voice echoed off the walls the moment he walked in, and Gally thought- he really contemplated the idea of just doing whatever the shuck he wanted, but he had promised (M/n) he would rest until his ankle got better. But only if he stayed with him until then, otherwise he was gonna go crazy.

He laid back on his bed, hissing as he moved his foot to place it back where it was, only to have (M/n) doing it for him.

"I have a sprained ankle, I'm not a newborn baby, (M/n)," (e/c) eyes looked at him, a frown on his brow.

"Do you wanna get better quick or not?" Gally sighed deeply and rolled his eyes before nodding, "Then be good and do as I say, Gally."

(M/n) walked toward the desk Gally had in his room and grabbed the chair, bringing it next to his bed. He sat down and reached for the books he had placed on the floor previously, opening one and glancing at Gally, who was extending his neck to try and get a look at the book in his hands.

"Wanna read it with me?" Gally stared into his eyes, and hummed with a nod, watching (M/n) as he moved the chair closer until it was pressed to the bed, lowering the book enough for him to read it alongside the greenie.

The book was interesting, and soon he realized it was a romantic story, he didn't really mind that, but his neck was hurting and he ended up boldly laying his head on (M/n)'s lap, "Could you read it out loud?"

He spoke so quietly (M/n) barely heard him, but he let out a soft chuckle and started reading the words printed on the pages.

Gally felt his body relax as (M/n)'s voice and words filled his mind, focused on the story he was telling, not minding the fingers playing with his hair as he read.

"I can't sleep. I can't think, I can't do anything but think about him," Gally blinked slowly, feeling like he was about to fall asleep, but not letting himself do so, "At night I dream of him, all day I wait to see him, and when I do see him... My heart turns over and I think I will faint with desire..."

(M/n) blinked a few times as he finished reading the paragraph, feeling his whole body tingling, and his heart pounding. Unknowingly to him, Gally was feeling the same.

Did they really just realize their feelings for each other because of a few sentences in a book?

They almost couldn't believe it, especially when they had been trying to ignore or get rid of them. So...

What's gonna happen now?

#gally x reader #gally x y/n #gally x male reader #the maze runner x male reader #the maze runner #the maze runner x reader #tmr gally #gally the maze runner #gally maze runner #ftm reader #trans reader #trans #will poulter #will poulter x reader #will poulter fanfiction

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tarrenterror25 · 8 months

Note

also what if miguel falls asleep. at his desk or on a couch or on somebody's shoulder. guard down eyes closed. "i'm just gonna rest my eyes a bit--" *snooork mimimimi*. what then

The poor baby 🥺💕

Miguel one hundred percent falls asleep at his desk; head resting in his palm, elbow on the desk and his eyes just close. He'll wake up like every few minutes and every little sound or Lyla suddenly saying something will jolt him awake, but he's so tired and he'll switch arms, change positions thinking that'll keep him awake, but he still falls asleep.

Peter finds Miguel sleeping in his chair; arms crossed and head tilted down, breathing soundly and Peter makes sure that no one bothers the boss man for awhile.

Sometimes, the gang catches Miguel completely in a non-defensive sleep position in his chair; head back, open mouth snoring, arms loosely over his chest/stomach or off to the side. It takes ALL of Hobie's strength to not do something every time.

I don't think Miguel feels comfortable being far from his office/lab since that seems to be where he monitors all the multiverse stuff so he for sure sneaks in the Spider-Therapists' office when he goes to lunch for a nap on the couch.

Just imagine-

This hulking 6'9" 300lb man trying to lay on the chaise lounge. He's fallen off a few times off the side of it. He definitely pushes it together with another couch/chair in the room.

Miguel thinks no one knows, but everyone knows he's napping in there. Peter brings him a blanket and pillow because with those neck muscles the man needs the head support.

Imagine-

Miguel standing next to someone during a mission briefing and while someone's talking he just-

He's totally pretending that it didn't just happen and out of embarrassment doesn't make eye contact with the person. Arms crossed, eyes forward, a deep inhale/exhale through his nose and a few good blinks to wake himself up though his eyes are clearly still half lidded with exhaustion.

˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚ Bonus ˚₊𓆩༺🕷༻𓆪₊˚

Remember how Peter kept telling Miles to hold Mayday and that is was very rejuvenating? Yeah, he's said this to Miguel before and probably finally got Miguel to hold her then quickly "left" (not really) and Miguel has fallen asleep holding Mayday.

Self projecting a bit here, but I've got a kiddo and it is incredibly difficult for me to fall asleep BUT as soon as I so much as close my eyes near kiddo (while holding them or what have you) it is GAME OVER. Oh, I'm just gonna lay here with them and then I'll get up and go back to doing-ZZZZZZZZZ. Everytime.

Miguel is no exception, I don't care how tough he is, he falls asleep with that baby on his chest or in his arms from time to time.

#miguel o'hara thoughts #miguel o'hara blurb #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara imagine #spiderman 2099 #soft miguel o’hara

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walviemort · 2 years

Text

You Owe Me [6/6]

Tired of losing Lost Boys to Hook’s sword, Peter Pan decides that the pirate will be replacing the ones he took—the old-fashioned way: by growing (and birthing) them himself. As Killian grapples with these unexpected pregnancies, it will test not only his body and his endurance, but especially his heart. (Eventual Captain Swan)

Aaaaaand here it is—the final chapter! Thanks for going on this little adventure with me :) Hope you've enjoyed it; I know I have! And thank you again to @sancocnutclub for the inspo—hope it lived up to your idea!!!

rated T / 5.3k / part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5 / AO3

Some time later, Killian was awoken to the quiet sound of someone laughing—or, rather, trying to hold back laughter.

And then, with slightly more urgency, to the feeling of tiny appendages pressing on his bladder.

He attempted to sit up, but something was blocking his way—and further quiet chuckling soon commenced. Blearily, he blinked his eyes and then rubbed them, bringing into clarity the image before him: a bump that was quite a bit larger than it had been when he fell asleep, thus inhibiting his attempt to move normally. And beyond that, Emma—watching him with humor sparkling in her eyes.

“Well I’m glad you find this funny,” he quipped, awkwardly turning himself so he could sit up sideways. “Any chance you could help me up?” he asked once he realized that there was a reason he’d never slept on anything lower than his bunk in any previous pregnancy.

“Sure,” she said, still laughing, and came over to offer her hands. He ignored the skip his heart made when their fingers touched, or the way she didn’t hesitate to grip his hook, but he did briefly worry if his increased heft would pose a problem.

Thankfully, it didn’t, though he did sway forward a bit once he was upright, bumping his belly into her. “Oof, sorry,” he quickly apologized. “And thanks.”

She rubbed her own stomach. “No problem; just tell that kid to calm down.”

“Would if I could,” he replied, massaging a spot on his belly that appeared to be under attack. “Beg your pardon, but I need to excuse myself for some, ah, relief.”

Emma’s eyes went wide. “Too much information.”

“Not that kind!” he quickly exclaimed. “The normal kind.”

She was holding back another smirk. He just shook his head and shuffled off to find a private spot in the trees.

His belly had definitely popped out as he slept; he wasn’t sure exactly how long he’d been out, but if he’d been around the five-month mark before, he was past seven months now. His tunic was holding on but it did nothing to hide his stomach.

And bloody hell, was the little one active. Before he joined the others, he took a moment to study the bump, not wanting to subject them to such an odd sight and to preserve what little of his vanity remained. The stretch marks he saw upon lifting his tunic were not surprising, nor was it that his navel was slightly popped out. He certainly still had a ways to go, but from what he could tell, things were progressing well. And the babe was eagerly pressing in all directions; he could make out the distinct impression of hands and feet.

But—was it just him, or was he feeling more than four limbs?

He felt around and took as quick a stock as possible, and he counted at least six tiny hands and/or feet pressing against his belly, and could feel a couple more moving against his ribs.

“Shit,” he cursed. “Fuck.”

“Hook? What’s wrong?” Emma sounded concerned as she ran towards him; he quickly pulled his tunic down.

“Oh, Pan’s just as much of a lying bastard as ever,” he griped. “It’s twins.”

“What? You can tell?”

“How long was I asleep?”

“Like, four hours or so?”

He shook his head in disbelief; that only put him past the six-month mark. “If it were only one, I wouldn’t be this big yet,” he said, cupping his bump. “And I know what twins feel like. There’s definitely two.”

Emma stepped a bit closer, hands outstretched. “Can I?”

“Be my guest.” He didn’t exactly sound gracious, though.

His annoyance dissipated a bit under her touch as she gently traced the curve of his belly with both hands. She smiled a bit, but he could see the look of shock when came to the same realization. “Holy shit, there’s two.”

“I told you.”

“So how much is this going to suck for you?”

“An awful lot.”

She hummed a moment. “Would a whole bunch of mangoes help?”

He smiled a bit at her effort. “They certainly wouldn’t hurt.”

Back at the camp, Regina was up, and the others were stirring. “What was that about?” she asked, looking somehow pristine despite their surroundings.

“Demon arsehole child put bloody twins in me,” he grumbled, then tried to bend over and grab a mango off the pile near the fire only to find he couldn’t.

He bit back an uncharacteristic whine, but Emma was quickly at his side, grabbing a couple for him.

“Are you sure?” David asked sleepily from his and Snow’s bedroll. (“Again?” he heard Tink complain, but he was more focused on clarifying for David.)

“I think I know just how many sets of limbs are attacking my kidneys,” he snapped back.

“It might not have been on purpose,” Snow offered optimistically. “Identical twins are spontaneous.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like we have access to an ultrasound machine in this jungle to find out,” Emma replied.

He wanted to ask what language Emma was speaking, but Regina chimed in. “Actually, I thought this might happen. The spell you described him using—it’s notoriously imprecise.”

Killian raised an eyebrow; that must have been why she seemed curious when he described it earlier. “And just who have you been knocking up, your Majesty?”

“No one, but I remember reading about it, and hearing about others using it. Egg cells are very tiny; it’s not hard to accidentally get more than one. Just be glad it’s not four in there.”

Everyone shuddered.

“It also doesn’t necessarily guarantee they’re boys, if that was what Pan wanted,” Regina added. “With that spell, the odds of one or the other are the same as in natural conception.”

“Better hope at least one is,” Tink said. “Pan’s never had much use for little girls.”

“Which means he’d make me do this again until he got a boy,” Killian sighed, then glanced down at his bump. “One of you better have a penis.” Snorts of laughter filled the clearing, but he wasn’t kidding.

“So, wait,” Emma started. “Where did the…eggs and everything come from?”

Regina blinked. “Damn, I hadn’t thought about that. Did he say?” she asked Killian.

“He made a point not to answer that question, though I can confirm that some came from me.”

The four women all suddenly glanced at their midsections, then his. And a rather pregnant pause settled over the group.

He just sighed and shuffled to the nearest log and plopped down, then massaged his bump; he was a patient man, but the next several hours were suddenly daunting.

A sliced mango appeared in his vision, held out by an apologetic-looking Emma, even though she had little to do with his situation (as far as he knew). Still, he gave her a small smile as he took it from her and thanked her.

She took a seat next to him as he began to munch on (well, devour) the fruit, slowly picking at her own. It was clear she didn’t know what to say, and he was unusually speechless, too. Until the babes started to move even more, at least, seemingly in reaction to the mango.

“Bloody hell,” he cursed. “Can’t you kick at something other than my ribs?” he chastised his belly.

“Guess they like mango, too, huh? Like father, like kids?”

He chuckled, but it stalled. These were really his kids—he was really their father.

And Pan was going to take them away from him.

“Oh shit, what’s wrong? What did I say?”

He sniffled and looked over at Emma, suddenly aware of the fact he was crying. “Sorry; just—they’re mine.”

“Y…yeah?” Emma said, not connecting the dots.

Tink filled her in, though. “He was just a surrogate for the others; they weren’t technically his, even though he carried them.”

Emma’s mouth dropped in surprise. “So these…oh, wow. Oh, shit.”

“Yeah,” Tink agreed. She knew what losing them would do to him.

Snow jumped in. “Well, what can we do to keep them away from Pan? There has to be something.”

Regina was starting to look annoyed, and while Snow’s optimism was appreciated, he knew it wasn’t an option. Sadly, he shook his head and replied, “That wasn’t part of Pan’s deal, and it’d be worse to break it. Gods only know what might happen to Bae, or Henry.”

He could see a look of resolve set in Snow’s brow, much as he’d seen it in Emma’s in the past, but it was a case of losing the battle in the hopes of still winning the war. He glanced across the circle at Tink, who was giving him a sad, knowing smile.

And then he needed to relieve himself again, so he awkwardly rose to his feet to take care of that. Emma tried to help him, but he waved her off; he needed a moment alone.

Or several. He found a mango tree just past the treeline and spent a fair bit of time grazing, as it were, and trying to focus his thoughts on something other than the two little ones tag teaming his liver.

He was somewhat aware of the babes’ continued growth; every now and then, he had to change his stance, and he started to feel some practice contractions. His bump looked to be about where it was when he was full-term with his single pregnancies, which he believed actually put him around the seven-month mark here; roughly six hours to go.

Eventually, footsteps sounded on the detritus of the forest floor; it was Tink. “How are you doing?” she asked.

“As good as I can be,” he said quietly. “Mango?” He hoped offering her one might distract her from whatever serious conversation she was here to have.

“Snow still thinks there’s a way to intervene,” she said as she accepted it. “But we know that’s a lost cause.”

“Aye, though I appreciate that she wants to try.”

“This is definitely his cruelest trick yet.”

“Of that, we are definitely agreed. I…” He swallowed. “I don’t think I’d have consented if I’d known this was part of it. Apologies to Bae, but this one is going to be harder to get over.”

“I’m readying my shoulder to cry on,” Tink said, attempting to make things light. “Or would you rather use Emma’s?”

He glared at her, but she wasn’t wrong.

She took a couple bites of her mango, then asked, “Whose do you think they are?”

Try as he might not to, his mind had wandered that way. “Honestly, I don’t know; I can see a reason why he might have chosen any one of you. You, given our history; Regina, considering we’ve had a rocky relationship thus far. He’s aware of my feelings for Emma and why that might be especially painful, but it’d be a cruel twist for it to be Snow and for these to be Emma’s siblings.”

“You’ve thought way too much about this.”

“I’m a captain, lass; it’s what I do. Wouldn’t have made it this far otherwise.”

She nodded in agreement, then chewed on another piece of fruit and, if he wasn’t mistaken, another question. “Who do you want it to be?”

That was both a loaded question, and incredibly simple. “Emma, as bittersweet as that might be.”

Tink patted him on the shoulder with an odd smile, and walked away. He was slightly confused, until he looked in the other direction and noticed Emma, who, but the somewhat shocked, somewhat bashful look on her face had overheard.

“Emma,” he breathed, then tried to take a step towards her, only to stumble somewhat.

To very little surprise, she turned and ran.

“Emma, wait,” he shouted, attempting to follow as quickly as he could. By the time he got back to the clearing, she was dragging her mother away in the opposite direction. David, confused, followed them with his eyes, then looked back at Killian.

“What did you do?” he barked.

“I thought I was having a private conversation with a friend,” he said, “but I suspect she was aware it wasn’t so private.” He stared daggers at Tink.

“Well excuse me for trying to do some matchmaking; it’s not like any of us can do much else while those infants are growing,” she tossed back, clearly amused with herself.

Killian huffed. “I’m taking another nap.”

David and Tink helped him stack a few more bedrolls on top of his own, and he promptly passed out once he got comfortable (which took thankfully less arranging than he anticipated). Not even dreams reached him as he rested deeply—and he needed it, given what was to come.

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

He had no idea how long it’d been when he was awoken by another practice contraction, but he did feel fairly rested—although his attempt to stretch was interrupted by the weight about his midsection. He rubbed his stomach, just realizing how taut the fabric of his shirt was, and blinked his eyes—to see Emma sitting on the nearest log, watching him again.

“What was I doing now?” he grumbled.

She smirked. “Just sleeping peacefully. But those two little ones were putting on a show.”

“That’s not surprising.” They still seemed to be wriggling about as much as they could, much to the chagrin of his internal organs. He was past the point of caring about what kind of noises he made as he shifted to a sitting position, nor that just that bit of movement had him out of breath (but at least it could be attributed to the fact that two tiny sets of feet were pressing on his lungs). “Is everything alright?” he asked; her face had quickly fallen.

She glanced around, as if to make sure they were alone. “Did you mean it, what you said to Tink?” she said quietly. “About wishing I was the mom?”

He swallowed, but he didn’t quite know what to say, other than a simple “Aye.”

Emma looked down at her hands, wringing them a bit. “The hardest thing I’ve ever had to do was give up Henry. Even if I knew he was going to have a better life than I did, there was part of me that desperately wanted to hold onto him. I couldn’t…I couldn’t even look at him, because I knew I wouldn’t be able to let him go. And I know I wouldn’t be able to do that again,” she concluded, finally looking up with stony resolve in her eyes.

He nodded. “I know what you mean. Even if I wasn’t the biological parent of the other babes, I still became far more attached than I should have been, even knowing I couldn’t keep them. Hell, the first one, I don’t think I actually considered it until he was out. But it’s been harder to watch them leave each time. I’m…I’m already bracing myself for the worst,” he admitted.

Emma got off the log and took a seat next to him. “Well, I never thought I’d be interested in a guy who has that in common with me.”

Killian froze. Was she actually…did she just say…?

Before he could form anything resembling a sentence, she was turning his head toward hers and placing another kiss to his lips. He pressed back toward her as much as he could, which was painfully not enough. And rudely, another practice contraction broke them apart, making him hiss at the ache.

Emma stayed close, and her hand wandered across the lower curve of his belly, fingering the hem of his shirt. “Can I?” she asked softly.

“If you want, though it’s not the prettiest sight,” he answered; he could only imagine what his stretch marks looked like now.

She shrugged. “I dunno; the bump is kind of cute,” she smiled.

He blushed, but nodded his assent, and she carefully pulled up the tight fabric, her hand warm on his stretched skin until the tunic was bunched on top of his oversized belly. And then she proceeded to gently massage his strained muscles, while also feeling the babes move around. It was oddly, quietly intimate.

He probably could have fallen asleep again with the way he was melting under her touch, but he had his own question for her that wouldn’t let him rest. “Why did you run, love?”

She paused her ministrations for a moment, but then continued on. “Because that’s what I do; it took me by surprise, and honestly, I don’t generally do well with feelings and declarations of them, even if I was technically eavesdropping.”

“And why was that?” he teased.

“Just checking on you!” she insisted. “But. My mom gave me one of her patented hope speeches. And my priority is absolutely Henry and saving him, but…that doesn’t mean I can’t explore some other opportunities while I’m at it.” She let her hands rest on the sides of his belly. “But I have to ask you one thing: Did you do this to save Neal for me? Because you think that’s something I want?”

He glanced down and traced his considerable bump with his hand. “I can’t say I didn’t take your relationship with him into consideration, but it was mostly my own history with Bae that made me do that. I abandoned him here once; I couldn’t do it again.”

“Okay. Because he’s not the one I want anymore.” And she placed another peck on his cheek. “Let’s do this thing.”

She hopped to her feet and held her hands out to him—an echo of where they were after his last sleep, but he was considerably larger than he was then, which meant he needed her help even more. At least she knew to step back once he was upright, lest he accidentally knock her over as he regained his balance.

The vain part of him wanted to cover up his exposed belly, but he was also sweltering and it soon wouldn’t fit anyways, so he just left it; let them stare.

And stare they did, to no surprise; how often did they see a man who appeared to be eight months pregnant with twins? “Thank goodness twins aren’t genetic on my side,” he heard Snow mutter to David. “One baby was enough.” She was rubbing her own stomach, though he couldn’t tell if it was in memory or sympathy.

Emma asked him if he wanted to sit, but he had a hunch that if he did, he’d never get back up, even if his ankles were aching. But leaning against a tree seemed to help, and Emma was determined to keep him hydrated and sated with mangoes.

The next few hours were thus spent, Emma tending to him, the occasional contraction and waddling around the camp, Tink and Snow apparently pulling together some supplies for birth, and Regina seemed to be running a constant inspection of whatever spell she’d placed around the border of their clearing—in an attempt to hold back Pan as long as possible, she explained. (She got a very maudlin smile from him at that.)

Much like his last accelerated pregnancy, the moment his belly dropped was visible, though obviously different from that time given the extra passenger he was carrying. David just happened to be watching as it occurred, though, and audibly cringed; Killian’s own groan as all that weight shifted from higher on his frame to right on top of his hips drew everyone else’s attention.

“It’s gotta be soon, then,” Emma estimated, feeling around his stomach to assess the babes’ position.

“Bloody hope so,” he muttered, bracing his hand on his lower back with the shift in his center of gravity. But the practice contractions had been far from consistent yet, so he’d have to wait for that, he supposed.

“At least it won’t be another three-day labor,” Tink offered, trying to lighten the mood, he could tell.

“Aye, and I suppose it’s less intense than 5 minutes,” he agreed.

Emma and Snow exchanged wincing looks of pain. “As if we needed any more convincing that Pan was sadistic,” Snow decided.

If he’d been keeping track right, Killian was finally approaching the 24-hour mark since taking the deal with Pan—one of the longest days of his life (even worse than any spent in labor). It had certainly had its ups and downs, but he just wanted it to be done.

Blessedly, the contractions did start to come a bit more consistently, though he could tell he still had a ways to go. The first sharp one made him hiss, and Emma rushed to his side and began to rub his back and tell him to breathe. He obviously knew what to do at this point, but he appreciated the care. She wasn’t far from him as his labor steadily progressed, but he could tell she was giving him space—which he appreciated.

However, he was the one to reach out for her once his water broke, especially since it was later in his labor than any previous ones. And if he wasn’t mistaken, he could feel the first of the babes settling into birthing position.

“Is it time?” she asked, her voice almost panicked.

“Y-yeah,” he answered, sounding equally shaky. “They’re coming—soon.”

She started to guide him to Snow and David’s tent, which apparently was serving as the delivery room. He only just made it before the strongest contraction yet brought him to his knees.

Briefly, he was worried about propriety as Tink started to help take his pants off (how they even managed to stay on was a mystery), but there was nothing to be done for it. Snow, bless her, at least had managed a blanket to cover him, though he did have to wonder if there was any sense to it.

But then it was time to push, and any other thoughts were forgotten.

Emma was on his right, holding his hand; Tink was on the other side, and both were giving constant encouragement. Snow probably had the worst job of catching the infant (or at least, the most graphic), but she at least didn’t seem to mind. He was vaguely aware of David and Regina standing guard beyond them, but his world narrowed to those immediately around him and his present situation—and breathing and pushing.

And pain—so much pain.

But he wasn’t about to flag now, and kept on, until there was finally relief—and the sound of an infant’s wail.

“It’s a boy!” Snow shouted as she scooped the baby up. “Oh, and he’s perfect!” She brought him up for Killian to see, and oh, she wasn’t wrong; he was crying fiercely and were he not still in the middle of something, he ached to soothe the boy. Immediately, he noticed the odd shape of the little lad’s ears—the same as Killian’s own, heartbreakingly proving his parentage. He reached up for a moment to brush the bit of colorless fuzz on his head, but then another contraction came and he had to bear down once more.

Snow passed the boy off to David and quickly clipped the cord, then got ready for babe number two.

This one was coming much slower than their sibling. “They’re stuck,” he may have complained at one point, but was only met by assurances to the contrary.

He was in the middle of the hardest push yet when Pan arrived.

David’s sword was on their foe near as soon as Pan had uttered a syllable. “Well, what do we have here—wait, what?” He’d started to leer at the baby, until he was distracted by the continued commotion coming from Killian. “I thought I only gave you one; where did that one come from?”

“You, you dumbass!” Regina shouted, but Killian lost track of any further conversation as he made his last few pushes and finally—finally—he was done. The only reason he didn’t collapse backwards was because Emma and Tink were holding him up.

“It’s a girl,” Snow called out, almost reverently, and she passed the babe up to Killian.

“A girl?” he gasped as he took the little lass into his arms. He knew it was a possibility, but suddenly facing the reality was completely different.

Oh, she was beautiful—fussy, but he could tell there was a fierceness about her. She too had his ears, but there was something else familiar in her face, even if it still had that squished quality that many newborns had.

“A girl?” Pan griped, sounding almost disgusted—though it may have had to do with watching Snow cut the second cord. “What am I supposed to do with that? I have no use for a girl.”

“Then can I keep her?” Killian asked without thinking, and rather desperately—which he immediately realized was a mistake.

“Of course not,” Pan practically laughed, and then both babes were instantly transported to his hold.

Everyone around Killian jumped into action, ready to take the babies back, but didn’t get very far before he froze them all in place—all but Killian.

“Please,” he begged, the same as he had each time before, but impossibly more desperately.

“That wasn’t our deal,” Pan reminded him smugly. “So now you have to choose: do you want to know where Baelfire is, or do you want to know the mother of these babes?”

“Both,” he quickly replied, after thinking a moment. “You said one babe for one question, but I just gave you two; I think that entitles me to know both answers.”

Pan glowered, clearly annoyed, but then sighed. “I suppose that’s fair. Baelfire is in the Echo Caves, and the mother is Emma. So good luck with all of that.” And disappeared.

As soon as he was gone, everyone was unfrozen and took a moment to regain their bearings, but Killian simply collapsed and let the heartbreak wash over him.

Tink quickly reminded him he wasn’t quite done, and somehow, she, Emma, and Snow got him through the afterbirth process—but that was all he could handle, and he fell apart in their arms.

Despite his own intense heartbreak, he didn’t miss the tears brimming in Emma’s eyes as well. But he didn’t have the mental wherewithal to dry them.

Not for the first time, he cried himself to sleep after losing his babes. He wasn’t quite sure which blonde head he faintly saw pressing a kiss to his brow as he drifted off, but he thought he smelled Emma’s soap.

Blessedly, his sleep was dreamless; gods only knew what kind of nightmares he’d have had otherwise.

—---------------------------

When he eventually came to, he wasn’t surprised to find that his body was almost back to normal; only a small bit of his postpartum bump remained, and just a few lines showing that he’d carried his babes. He was still sore, but he’d wasted enough time being asleep when he could be out there trying to rescue them.

Someone had put his pants, vest, and jacket next to where he slept, so he quickly dressed and rejoined the group. Regina seemed to have taken over the leadership role for the time being, and Emma quietly sat next to her parents, looking somewhat withdrawn.

He took a seat on her other side and tried to give her an encouraging smile when she looked over at him, but he was sure it was bittersweet at best. Emma did return it, though, and then reached over to squeeze his hand.

They should talk, he knew, but she quickly volunteered to get more firewood with her father, and then he was left alone again. Regina took the opportunity to catch him up on their plan, but where she’d at first been chomping at the bit to dive headlong into rescuing Henry, he now found that he was the impatient one.

“I can worry about saving Bae when I know my babes are out of that demon’s clutches!” he hissed.

“I know how you feel, but consider this: Pan already has one of the Savior’s kids, so there must be a reason he needs another. That’s probably a good thing. So let’s keep moving forward.” He didn’t like it, but her logic was sound.

Later, as he led the way to the Echo Caves, he got that moment alone with Emma he’d been wanting. “How are you doing, love?” he asked quietly; they were ahead of her parents but not by much.

“I should be asking you that,” she deflected. “You’re the one who just delivered twins.”

“Aye, but I’m fairly certain you heard the fact that they’re your twins, too. And I also tend to wear my heart on my sleeve; you don’t as much, though I can tell you’re upset.”

“Of course I’m upset! I’m just also…overwhelmed,” she admitted. “I came here to rescue one kid, and now I apparently need to save three. That’s kind of a lot.”

He stopped and reached for Emma’s hand, making her pause as well. “Just worry about Henry. Trust me, I have enough worry about the babes for both of us.”

She gave a half laugh, but nodded. “Easier said than done, though.”

“Oh, I’m well aware.”

They continued on, but she didn’t let go of his hand. “What do you think we should name them?” she asked. “We can’t just keep calling them ‘the twins’ or ‘the babes’,” she went on, mocking his accent.

He hummed. “I honestly haven’t given it much thought; I only got to name a few of the others, and it was never something I considered, knowing I wouldn’t be able to hold onto them. And the only boy-girl twins I can think of that I’ve read about are Artemis and Apollo.”

“That’s a bit much,” Emma commented. “What about…Luke and Leia?”

“I’m not familiar with that pair,” he noted.

She smiled. “You will be.”

He grinned back. “Luke and Leia it is.” They were sweet names, he thought, and just hoped they would get to use them.

————————

They rescued Bae with relative ease, considering the situation. He didn’t seem too happy about the development between Killian and Emma, but eventually accepted it, and helped with their plan to get off the island.

By making a deal with (most of) the Lost Boys, they were able to get to Pan—and most of the boys (including all the ones Killian had birthed) were headed back to Storybrooke with them.

And in the end, Killian, Regina, and Emma were able to rescue all of their kids—Henry and the babies—from Skull Rock, where Pan was attempting to enact his plan.

Few things in Killian’s life had been as satisfying as capturing Pan inside Pandora’s Box, where the demon would hopefully stay for a long, long time.

But it was quickly eclipsed by once again holding his daughter, while Emma held his—no, their—son, and Regina gave Henry a long-overdue embrace.

(Thankfully, Henry took the news of his new siblings in stride.)

And once they were in the ship, flying out of that accursed realm, Killian was finally able to let out a sigh of relief. They did it. They rescued the boy and everyone was returning home relatively unscathed. Hell, they’d been able to save several more, in addition to their newest passengers—who were sleeping in their mother’s arms as he manned the helm.

Bae took over the wheel, and he relieved Emma of one of her charges—Leia, judging by the bow that someone (either Tink or Snow) had put around her head. There was still a lot to figure out once they landed, and he was looking forward to reuniting with the boys he’d carried once everyone got settled in Storybrooke. But for now, there was a peace he hadn’t known in centuries, and he sighed happily as he stood next to Emma.

“What?” she asked, though she was clearly also contented.

“I’m just happy we all made it out,” he said.

She moved closer to him and rested her head on her shoulder. “Me too. But that’s not all, is it?”

“No,” he admitted. “I’m also thrilled that I never have to be pregnant again.”

They shared a quiet laugh, and sailed into their new future—together.

————————————————–

thank you so much for reading! tagging a few: @wyntereyez @jennjenn615 @superadam54 @ashley-knightingale @justsomewhump @teamhook @mathiaskejseren @88infinity88 @mischievousgraxaim

#captain pan #cs ff #killian mpreg #you owe me #My ff

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witchofimber · 2 years

Text

Fracture

This is a fragment of a planned, longer work that I’m probably never going to finish. I already posted one snippet of it on here (which is repeated in this story), but this puts it into a longer context.

FRACTURE: November 1981

“The boy should be at his aunts,” says Dumbledore.

Remus says nothing. The noise of St Mungo’s prohibits speech. From far away; hushed voices, footsteps pressing circles into the worn carpet, the clatter of shaking hands putting down cups of tea. He can just about make out Shacklebolt’s voice, but not the words. Further away – distant screaming. Peter’s mother. And inside this room, the same sounds that have been playing for the last five days. There are no beeping heartbeat monitors in St Mungo’s. There is only a green line over Lily’s chest, rising and falling. Sometimes when Harry makes a sound, Remus swears it spikes. Harry in his arms, the smallest thing he’s ever seen. And now Dumbledore.

“You know they won’t let you keep him, Mr Lupin.”

“Lily’s still alive. I’m not keeping him. I’m – borrowing him. Holding him.”

“And yet – “

“I’ll fight you on it. Lily and – they left a list of who should execute their estate if they were incapacitated. It was – Peter and me. Peter’s gone, and – I’m the only one left. So I have their money, and I’ll fight you on it.”

The light flashes over Dumbledore’s half-moon glasses, turns them hard as silver. Silver rattles his teeth and sends shooting pains along his nerves; silver makes the wolf inside him cower; silver are the eyes of the man they have dragged into Azkaban, the man who left Lily comatose at their front door and James Potter dead by his son’s crib.

Dumbledore sighs. “The boy is in danger.”

“Voldemort’s dead.”

“His followers are not. And – forgive me for bringing even more gloom into a situation that is already dire – we still don’t understand what happened in Godric’s Hollow, or how the Dark Lord disappeared. The fact that his followers believe him gone does not mean he will never return.”

“I can keep him safe,” he insists; thinks you can’t even keep yourself safe; thinks even monsters protect their young; thinks James, oh James, I will pay this penance for the rest of my life. I’m so sorry.

There is an opalescent sheen over Lily’s tiny body. A cocoon of spellwork, rebuilding the charred remains of her nervous system from scratch. She doesn’t move. Remus had asked the mediwitch if that meant she wasn’t in pain; the mediwitch had looked at him for a long time, stroked Harry’s head and left without a word.

“We’d have to hide you,” says Dumbledore. “We know the Death Eaters are targeting Harry. You’ll have to miss the funeral.”

James will be buried alone. But James would pick Harry every time.

“Ok.”

“And you’d have to stop visiting here.”

Lily, third year, during a study session around midnight when they were both loopy with lack of sleep. She’d told him how her grandmother had died in a Muggle hospital, how the people there even cried quietly. It’s awful, and it’s wrong, she’d said, because you’re sitting there feeling the most intense grief of your life at ten, eleven years old, and it should drown out everything, but you can’t even just focus on your sadness because at the back of your head there’s ‘this is a hospital, have some decorum.’

But, that same night: I think my sister hates me. I can see her hating me more with every passing year.

“But what about – “ if – “when she wakes up?”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Harry still doesn’t have any hair. He’d been born almost completely hairless, and Lily, tired and beatific, had nudged James and said looks like those Potter bald genes are kicking in early. James had rocked Harry, tears streaming down his face, and choked out but he’s so beautiful, he’ll be the most beautiful little bald man in the world.

“I’ll do it,” Remus promises. “I’ll keep Harry safe.”

---

They’re in a cottage at the edge of nowhere and Harry’s screaming with the gusto of a full-grown man.

“I’m sorry,” says Remus. He is on the floor, and in one hand is a bottle of milk and in the other is a shiny little wooden man with a rictus grin and charmed cymbals in his painted fists, crash crash crash, and Remus in between with an equally rictus grin and tears streaming down his face. There is probably snot on his upper lip as well, but he’s too immune to being moist to notice. That’s something nobody tells you about infants – just how much time you spend time squelching. There’s milk and mush and shit and puke and tears and snot, and occasionally Harry just seems to produce various weird damp spots without doing anything. Add to that all the crying that Remus is doing and one day they’ll just drift away, Alice in Wonderland style.

“Hello?” There’s someone outside, and Remus grabs his wand and has the door open and the tip under the stranger’s throat before he recognises the voice, the face – Arthur Weasley, in a crumpled purple suit, with two bags of groceries on each arm.

“I’m only supposed to walk the perimeter,” he says, “but I thought to myself I bet Dumbledore has no idea how much stuff babies need, so I picked up a few things – nothing that would set off any alarm bells if I was being followed, don’t worry – oh my, is that Harry? He’s got big lungs, hasn’t he?”

He nudges past Remus into the kitchen, bellowing, “Don’t forget to ask me the question!” after him.

“Uh, ah - “ Remus potters after him, wonders if it’s morally acceptable to obliviate Arthur before he reports back to Dumbledore about what a terrible parent he is. “I don’t - fuck, give me a second - “

“How about this,” says Arthur. “My coat turned yellow on the night of Alice Longbottom’s twenty-second because Peter had spilt a drink down the back of it, and you were tipsily trying to clean it up before I noticed. You thought I didn’t see you, but I did. Will that do?”

Remus scratches his ear. “I’ll pay for the coat?”

“Ah, I never liked it. Present from Molly’s parents. Hello, little man, what’s got you so upset?” He scoops up Harry, who’s now resorted to thrashing anything around him – the floor, his toys, Arthur’s chest – with his tiny fists.

“I don’t know what to do,” says Remus, right back on the brink of tears. “I’ve changed him and fed him and burped him and walked him and – I can’t do it. I don’t know what he wants. How the hell could I know what he wants?”

“Oh, Remus,” says Arthur. “Sometimes babies just scream. You’ve got to remember that they’re very small, and very scared, and they don’t know what any of their feelings are.”

“He wants his mum and dad.”

Arthur nods. “I’m sorry, lad, but he probably does.”

Remus slumps over and puts his head between his knees.

Arthur’s voice is soft over the sound of Harry’s screaming. There’s something calming in his cadence, and Remus lets himself drift into it, float away.

“Bill was a very easy baby, you know. We got ridiculously lucky first time out of the gate. Should have seen it coming with Charlie – nothing that charmed can hold. He got sick a lot. That was the worst of it. You become this sort of – irrational nightmare, standing over a crib and being told it’s just a cough but knowing, knowing, that something’s seriously wrong with your baby and it’s probably your fault. We were wrong, of course, it was just a cough and it was nobody’s fault, but that paranoia never really leaves you. Percy was the opposite – too quiet. We kept on missing these big developmental milestones. You know the sort of thing; wouldn’t look at us, wouldn’t smile. His shapes and numbers and sounds were all on track, but it was like he didn’t notice us. Eventually Molly just sat me down and said, ‘Arthur, our son’s just a little odd, and we love him fine.’ George and Fred were surprisingly easy, given what terrors they turned out to be. I think twins can sort of amuse themselves, you know? Ron’s a stoic little chap, but when he wails, he wails. And then as soon as you think you’ve calmed him he’ll start fussing again. Ginny’s too new to be much of anything, but she’s got a ferocious grip – if she gets your finger it’s like being tussled by an octopus.”

“Harry hates me,” mumbles Remus.

“He doesn’t hate you. I don’t think babies even have big, complex feelings like that – hate, love. I think they just know safe and not-safe, and sometimes something spooks them. You have to remember that the big, blurry blobs he trusted to keep him safe have disappeared. They usually come when he screams. It’s going to take a while to learn that they – but he’s got you. You’re doing ok.”

“I was drunk the night they died.”

“Ah, lad. You’re – what, twenty-three? Quite a bit younger than I was when I had my Bill. You’re doing better than me, I can promise you that. Tell you what – if Dumbledore thinks it’s safe, how about I bring some of the boys round for a playdate? You can’t imagine how happy Molly would be to get some of them out of the house. I’ll bring Ron, and maybe Percy – we’ll stick him in the corner with a book and he’ll happily ignore us. I’ll save the twins for when you’re feeling a bit stronger. And then we can have a cup of tea and a chat while they throw blocks at each other. Does that sound ok?”

“The house is a mess, I couldn’t – “

“I’ll bring you a picture of the Burrow next time as well, and you can see what a real mess looks like. It takes a village, you know that, don’t you? Gid and Fab – Molly’s brothers – used to do what they called ‘the three-week blitz.’ Three weeks after the birth they’d come to the Burrow, hand me a beer and Molly a sleeping potion, and whizz round the whole place with a bunch of cleaning spells.”

Harry had a village, and now it’s dead. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he says instead, because he heard about the Prewitts, knew them on sight – two big, identical Viking-types, the sort of lads he’d seen outside the pub in Wales after a big rugby win slamming back pints, men who would have been threatening if they weren’t so obviously nice.

“Thank you,” says Arthur. Harry’s calm now, and Arthur lays him back into Remus’s arms. “Well, there’s a lot of that going around.”

---

The first time Remus heard Harry’s name was three years before he even existed. They were stoned in James and Lily’s first flat, and Sirius was waving James’ seventh-year jotter in one hand and laughing until he cried.

“What you have to remember – “ James made another one-handed swipe for the jotter, the other hand still pleading at Lily – “what you have to remember is that I was seventeen, and – Sirius, give it back – very in love, and perhaps my taste wasn’t fully formed – “

“Ah, and now you’re a mature old man of nineteen,” said Remus.

“Thistledown Potter,” sang Sirius.

“For a boy or for a girl?” said Pete.

“God, does it matter?” said Lily. “James, in what universe would I have agreed to any of these names for my kid – “

“Hey, these are old family names, some of them are traditional – “

Remus leaned over and snatched the book from Sirius. “Oh yeah? Hey Padfoot, do you remember any Bowie Potters on the family tree?”

“Your great uncle, I believe, wasn’t he James?” Sirius stopped jumping around and fell onto the sofa next to Remus, half in his lap. “Second cousin of – ah, here it is – Zepplin Potter. Are we about to find a Ramones Potter somewhere on the list?”

James raised a finger as if to argue, and then lowered it, abashed. “Ramona. For a girl.”

“I can’t believe I’m in love with you,” said Lily. “I’m going to name my kid something nice and normal. None of this weird pureblood shit.”

“Good shout,” said Remus, pulling the joint from Sirius’ mouth, “otherwise you might end up with something really out there, like – I don’t know – James.”

“Fuck off, Remus. Me and Pete are the only ones here with a proud family tradition of normal nomen- nomen- ugh, name-stuff.”

“Nomenclature,” said Remus, which earned him a middle finger from Lily.

“Isn’t your sister called Petunia?” said Sirius.

“Petunia,” said Lily, with a grand and sweeping air, “does not count as a person. Anyway, I’m going to pick something as aggressively mundane as I can. Bob or Sally or Harry.”

“I like Harry,” said Pete.

James scoffed. “Harold, surely. Shortened to Harry.”

“Absolutely fucking not, otherwise he’ll grow into the sort of person who ends proclamations with surely.” Lily planted a kiss on James’ nose and snuggled softly into his arms as she gestured at Remus and Sirius. “Anyway, what about you two?”

Remus turned his head into Sirius’ hair. “Darling, are you pregnant? But you told me you were on the pill.”

“I’m baby-trapping you,” said Sirius, and kissed him firmly on the nose. “Gotten tired of waiting to see you make an honest woman out of me.”

“You could always adopt,” said Lily. “Do you want to?”

“Not sure,” said Remus, who was dimly aware, through the wavering mist of hash, that this conversation was dangerous.

“We’ll just be the cool uncles to Harry-not-Harold Potter,” said Sirius. “Teaching him how to ride a motorbike and giving him his first tattoos.”

“And I’ll stop them from doing that,” said Pete.

And after that it became a running joke, the kind that peppered all their conversations until they were nearly incomprehensible to outsiders. Lily, asking Remus if he really needed that much firewhisky for one party – Ah, Lils, I’m saving it for Harry-not-Harold’s first birthday. Sirius won a shitty plastic watch in a Muggle claw-machine and proudly presented it to James to save for Harry-not-Harold’s seventeenth. Pete ducked out of the office early to meet them for a pint – I told them I was needed for babysitting duties. If anyone asks, Harry has a terrible cough. James, pissed as a lord, had snorted and declared loudly that his son had the lungs of an ox, how dare you importune – is that the right word? – how dare you DENIGRATE the Potter family name. So by the time Lily stood up at a dinner party with a glass of sparkling apple juice in her hands and announced that she was pregnant, it felt like Harry had always existed between them.

Like they’d spun him up into being together.

---

“Read about it in a Muggle parenting book,” says Arthur, beaming proudly at Ron and Harry. They’re painstakingly transferring ping-pong balls from one bowl to another, spoon by spoon. Occasionally they get confused and start transferring the other way, re-filling the original bowl. Arthur and Remus, by unspoken consent, have decided to let this happen.

“They’re terribly clever, these Muggles,” says Arthur. “All sorts of ideas as to what to do with babies. With Bill, I think I mostly just walked around the house and pointed at things, telling him the names. He used to love the bathroom when he was a little ‘un. Always got very excited when I pointed at the taps. Now it’s so difficult getting him into the bath that half the time I just aim a strong Augamenti at him when he’s on the back step.”

“You make fatherhood sound so fun.”

“Oh, you’ve got a lot to look forward to.”

“It’s not – I won’t be there for that bit, Arthur. Lily’s going to wake up.”

Arthur’s giving him a strange look, and it feels like a fist to his sternum. “She will, Arthur. She will.”

“I know,” says Arthur. “But you’ll still be around, won’t you?”

“I’m not his dad.”

“Remus. I know you loved James. But Harry doesn’t have a dad anymore. He needs you.”

And Remus stares at the floor and tries very hard not to cry, until Harry flicks a ball into his nose and gives him an excuse.

#remus lupin #harry potter #wolfstar #jily #sirius black #arthur weasley #james potter #lily evans

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ihaveacorgi · 9 months

Text

Sirius finds his way to the astronomy tower sometime in seventh year. He and Remus fought, and he thinks it might be over this time.

He screams into the night and throws a bottle of Fire Whiskey over the edge. He doesn’t hear it shatter. He starts to cry then. Blacks don’t cry! He hears in a voice that sounds like his mother’s. The black family madness is finally catching up, he thinks as silent tears keep running down his cheeks. He wasn’t a loud crier. He could never afford to be.

He sits down on the edge with his feet dangling over and pats all of his pockets for a cigarette. He had loaned them to Remus. Sirius lets out a harsh laugh and instead begins twisting one of the rings on his finger, watching as the tears drip onto his jeans.

He looks up as he feels a presence next to him. It’s Reggie. “Fuck off, Reg.” His heart isn’t in it.

Regulus says nothing as he holds out a pack of smokes, no filter and definitely muggle.

Sirius takes one and lights it with a snap of his fingers. It was a wandless magic trick he’d perfected in fourth year, partly to impress Remus and partly to show off for girls. “What would mother dearest say if she knew her perfect little Regulus was smoking muggle cigs?”

Reggie shrugs. “I don’t give a shit about the politics.”

“Why, then?”

“You know why, Sirius,” he says, lighting his own cigarette and taking a drag.

Sirius has so much he wants to ask his brother, so many questions running through his head that he may never have the chance to ask again. “Can I see it?” he asks instead. He knows, on some deep level that Regulus had taken the Mark. He can’t bring himself to believe it, not unless he sees it.

“You don’t want to,” Reggie replies. Sirius looks over at him, his vision still blurry from the tears, and he looks young again. He looks like he did when they were both kids, before Hogwarts and before the threat of the war loomed so closely overhead, like a executioner’s axe. The tears fall, and his vision clears enough, and the boy before him is Regulus Arcturus Black, heir to the House of Black. He looks more tired than he should, at only sixteen. He looks worn out and exhausted.

“They could protect you, Reg. I could—”

Reg scoffs. “It’s too late for me, Sirius. I’m going to die, and it’s going to be for nothing.” Regulus blinks, then, and seems to realize what he’s said. “Goodnight, Sirius.” He walks away. Sirius wants to call him back. To make him stop, wait, stay, but he stays quiet. He gets the feeling that this is the last conversation he’ll ever have with Reggie, but he ignores it. He stays out until sunrise, and, as he turns to leave in the early morning light, Sirius sees a pack of cigarettes, left for him by his brother.

He puts them in his jacket pocket and forgets about them.

* * *

Sirius sits at the top of the astronomy tower, a bottle of Fire Whiskey in hand. School’s out for the summer. Lily and James are in hiding, and Sirius isn’t the secret keeper. It’s Peter. It should be Remus, but he doesn’t know if they can trust Remus. He doesn’t know who he can trust, other than James. He doesn’t even trust Dumbledore, and isn’t that something.

He’s wearing the old leather jacket that he’d forgotten in the castle sometime at the end of seventh year. He absentmindedly pulls out a pack of smokes and lights one, inhaling the unfamiliar brand and coughing a bit at the taste. He looks down at the carton. They’re Reggie’s cigarettes.

He looks up at the sky and finds him up there, the heart of the lion. “It’s you and me again, isn’t it. I guess I can trust you, huh? You’re dead. You can’t tell anyone about James and Lily. I know you always hated him. Hell you might’ve liked him, if you gave him a chance. They had a kid, you know? He’s almost one. Cutest little fucker. Looks just like his dad, expect for the eyes. I bet he could even make you smile. Right little seeker there in the making, you’d think it was so cute. Or maybe you’d just murder him because of Lily’s parents. Or just because your ‘lord’ said so. Cause that’s what you did, right? He said jump and you asked how fucking high.”

Sirius takes a drink and a few more drags of the cigarette. He’s quiet for a while, and it feels like he’s waiting for something that will never come.

“Did it mean anything?” he finally asks. “You said it wouldn’t mean anything, so why’d you let it happen? You know what, fuck you, Reggie. Fuck you! Fuck you for staying in that place and fuck you for dying! Fuck you for being just like them! Fuck you for letting them do that! Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!” Sirius was screaming by the end, just like Mother, says a voice that sounds a lot like Regulus. Sirius doesn’t throw the bottle, this time, but it’s a near thing. “Why, Reggie? Why’d you let them kill you?” Sirius whispers, Why’d I let them kill you? he doesn’t.

He watches as Regulus disappears behind the horizon. “I’m sorry, Reggie,” he whispers to the night sky, hoping that somewhere Regulus can hear him and praying at the same time that he can’t. He puts the cigarettes back in his pocket, and, later, when he’s the only soul left awake, he takes the passage to Hogsmeade and Apparating first to London, then to the English coast, then as to near the small Black cottage on the coast of France as he could get without tripping any alarms. It was a place where he and Reg had been allowed to spend summers sometimes, away from Orion and Walburga. It was Reggie’s favorite place when they were kids, and he used to love splashing in the waves. He’d always been a good swimmer. Sirius tosses the pack of cigarettes into the waves. There’d never been a body they could bury, so this is the best he can do, to lay Reggie to rest. The family had a funeral, but Sirius doubted Reggie would’ve liked it. He wouldn’t want to be stuck in the Black Family Mausoleum, no matter what he’d done for the Dark Lord. Sirius hopes Reggie’s free. He watches the cigarettes sink and thinks about staying in France. Leaving the war behind. Taking Lily and James and Remus and running far away from the Dark Lord. Instead, he takes one last look at the ocean and whispers “goodbye, Reggie,” as he Apparates away.

#my post #wolfstar #sirius orion black #regulus black #regulus arcturus black #sirius black #remus x sirius #remus lupin #james potter #the noble house of black #the noble and most ancient house of black #black family #black brothers #marauders #marauders era #padfoot

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yesitsmewhataboutit · 2 years

Text

Savory

তততততততততততত This fic works for any Peter

Peter Parker x Reader

Your house is supposed to be empty Monday morning, so you a Peter plan to sleep in and stay together, but things never go as planned

Warnings⚠️: suggestive but other then that tooth rooting bath + toaster type fluff, a dash of angst but nothing bad

Masterlist

»»——⍟——««A/n: Check out my Senses Headcanons for more bout his senses around you

̶̶̶̶ ̶«̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶̶ ̶«̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ Requests open　 ̶»̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶ ̶̶̶ ̶»̶ ̶̶̶ ̶ ̶

You walk through the halls with a big smile on your face as you see Peter. You walk up to him at his locker and wrap your arms around his waist, a bright smile on your lips when he turns his head to you. "I have news!" you cheer.

"What's up?" he asks, closing his locker and leaning against it, giving you his attention.

"My mom said they changed her schedule, and she'll be going into work on Mondays now. So that means her and my dad will both be gone! You'll be able to stay longer when you come in Sunday night from your 'business,'" you tell him, taking his hand in yours.

"What about your brother and sister?" he asks.

You shake your head. "Cameron will be with some friends for the weekend. To kick off the summer. And Chyan sleeps until noon and will be minding her own business."

It's the last week of school. After these next three days, it'll be summer break. Until now, Peter would go on patrol and then stay with you every few nights, leaving early in the morning before anyone else woke up and then meeting you at school. Even on the weekend, he'd have to leave relatively early, but now, he could stay, especially since nobody else should be there.

"Well, I look forward to it," Peter says, smiling as he leans down and kisses you.

"Hey, look! It's Penis Parker is kissing a girl!"

You pull away from him and roll your eyes, turning to the idiot in the hallway. "Eat a dick, Flash."

Your eyes are heavy and close every few seconds before you force them open again. It's around 2:15 am, and you're sitting up against the wall on your bed, waiting for Peter. Patrol always took him a while. On an off night that New York streets would be quiet, he'd get in around midnight, but tonight isn't one of those nights.

The sound of your window sliding open jars you awake again, and you look around and see the familiar boy in red climbing through your window. Once he has his footing, Peter pulls his mask off, showing you his cute tired face. "Sorry. Did I wake you?" he asks in a hushed voice.

"No," you shake your head, "I was waiting for you."

Peter gives you a smile and takes off his suit, setting it on a chair in the corner of your room and moving to the drawer of your dresser that's filled with some of his shirts, sweats, and shorts.

He slips on some shorts and walks over to you, climbing in bed and laying down, opening his arms for you to curl into, loving the way you melt into his embrace. He holds your head on his arm, his other hand wrapped around you and rubbing your back.

Peter lets out a content sigh and snuggles closer to you, his eyes already starting to shut. Before he drifts to sleep, you speak up, getting his attention.

"My mom gets off at 2, but usually she'll stop and maybe go to the store and get food and stuff, so she isn't back until a little after 4, so you can stay until then," you say, running your hand around his bare chest. Peter hums, opening his eyes slightly and bringing his hand to stroke your cheek, leaning down and pressing his lips gently to your head. "You're warm," you smile.

"And you're cute," he says, holding you closer.

"Goodnight, Peter," you say gently.

"Goodnight."

It's no secret you sleep better when you're in Peter's arms. You don't know why, but any night he stayed over, you always felt so relaxed, happy, and safe it's just something about him. But nothing is perfect, so sometimes, even when he slept over, you'd wake during the night and struggle to get back to sleep.

You don't know what time it is when your eyes open, but it's quiet, and the darkness of your room tells you it's still night. Both you and Peter had moved around a little in your sleep. You're now laying on your back, your arms holding Peter's arm that's curled around your torso, holding you to his body. Peter has his head buried deep in his pillow, quiet breaths coming from his mouth.

You squirm in his hold, trying to get comfortable again. "Ya ok?" you hear Peter slur from the spot next to you.

"Yeah, sorry," you say quietly.

"It's ok," he yawns. "I woke up a few seconds ago when you started to."

You hum and smile at him, looking at his peaceful face. His eyes aren't open, but he's fully aware of you, and his arm moves to rub circles on your stomach.

"M'just a little hot," you say, starting to squirm off one of the layers of blankets.

"Oh," Peter says, pulling his arm from you and starting to scoot over some.

"No, no," you put your arm out and stop him, "you don't have to move away." Even though you were hot, it'd have to be a rare circumstance for you to be willing to sacrifice cuddling with Peter.

Without a second thought, you push the top layer of blankets off you and pull off your shirt, moving back to Peter's chest and curling on him. You and Peter have changed in front of each other countless times, but still, feeling your bare chest against his makes Peter blush.

Peter moves on his back, letting you snuggle to his chest and relax, a content sigh leaving you as you close your eyes. "Perfect," you say, barely above a whisper. Peter smiles, watching your eyes flutter closed as you fall asleep.

You wake again to the same scene, darkness, and the warm feeling of Peter holding on to you. You open your eyes, stretching and turning over, of course, Peter following. "Are you awake, or is that your reflexes?" you ask quietly, not wanting to wake him if it is only his reflexes.

He quietly laughs. "I'm awake."

"Sorry," you pout, "I keep waking you."

Peter shakes his head gently. "You were only asleep for like 2 minutes. I could tell you weren't fully asleep yet, so I waited."

You smile. "You're so sweet."

You settle on your side, Peter's chest against your back, his hand rubbing up and down your arm, wanting to help you fully relax. You snuggle back into his warm chest, feeling him curl his body around you, letting you feel protected by his body.

Peter holds you, rubbing your arm and cooing quietly. "Relax, babe. I'm right here. I'll be right here." It takes a few minutes, but soon your breathing evens out, and you fall asleep, Peter following soon after.

The next time your eyes open, it's morning. You lay in silence, a smile tugging your lips as you're surrounded by nothing but silence and love, feeling Peter pressed behind you, his chest rising and falling against your back as he sleeps.

You bring your hand up and stroke his arm. He'd shifted up in his sleep, his hand's now resting on your exposed breast, which you didn't mind, knowing he didn't do it on purpose, and either way, it felt nice to feel his hand on you.

While in thought, you feel when he wakes up, shifting closer to you and moving around a little. You can tell he gets confused when he feels his hand on something, giving your boob a few squeezes before retreating his hand, realizing what he's holding. He lays his hand just below your breast, leaning over and nudging your neck as if it didn't happen.

"Morning," you say, your voice still slightly raspy and broken. You turn around in Peter's arms, looking up at his face only a few inches from yours, smiling at the blush that covers his cheeks.

He dips his head, kissing your cheek and laying his head on your shoulder. "This is nice," he says, tightening his arms around you.

"Yeah," you say, smiling and wrapping your arm around his neck and running your fingers through his hair, his eyes closing and body relaxing on top of you, melting into your touch.

You stay like that for a few minutes, neither of you speaking, only savoring the feeling of being able to stay with each other during the morning. You reach for your phone with your unoccupied hand, looking at the time, seeing it's only a little after 10.

You put your phone down, feeling Peter shift his lower half, letting out a quiet grunt. His brows frowned, showing his slight discomfort. "You ok?" you ask, moving your hand down from his hair to his neck, rubbing it gently.

"Yeah," he says. He moves his head up next to yours, and he can see your face, giving you a sweet smile. You smile back, leaning to kiss him for a moment. You pull away, laying your head on his shoulder and snuggling closer to him, closing your eyes and relaxing again.

Whenever Peter stayed the night with you, wherever you both were, he had a habit of always sleeping on whatever side was closest to the door. Just another way of showing how he wants to protect you. The only time he didn't sleep on the door side is if where the bed you guys were in was located close to a window, which in his mind is more dangerous than a door.

In your room, your bed is right next to the window, so naturally, that's the side Peter slept on, meaning when his spidey senses started going off, he immediately snapped his eyes open, glaring at your closed door.

You feel him tense, his arms pull you incredibly close to his chest, and you see the intense look on his face. "What's wrong?" you ask.

"You said it's only us and Chyan, right?"

"Yeah..." you say.

"I hear footsteps," he says quietly.

"It's probably just her." Peter shakes his head, knowing that it can't be her, able to tell the difference and now hearing the separate heartbeats.

He can't think to act before your mom walks through your door, phone in hand, about to ask you a question. You and Peter jump, both your eyes going wide as she pauses when she sees you.

Her expression changed to the 'mom look of disbelief.' You want to say something, but when you're mouth opens, nothing comes out. You three stare at each other, and it feels like an eternity before your mom turns and leaves the room.

"Oh no," you whisper, scrambling out of your bed, diving to get on clothes.

"I thought you said she was at work!" Peter whisper yells, sitting on the edge of your bed as you throw him a shirt.

"She was! She said they were changing her schedule!" you say back, throwing on a pair of sweats and his shirt. "Oh god," you whine, already forming things in your head of what could happen.

Once you have the clothes on, you stand, looking at Peter sitting on your bed. "I can't go out there," he says shyly.

You're confused at first, but then it starts to click in your head why he'd be reluctant. The squirming earlier, the uncomfortable look, plus the way he's sitting on your bad. He has morning wood.

You sigh, trying to come up with a solution. "Just stand behind me or something. I can't go out there without you," you say with pleading eyes.

Peter huffs, looking away for a second, knowing he can't ever say no to you. "Ok, ok, let's go."

Peter stands, and you turn to your door, but before you walk through, he stops you again, grabbing your arm to get your attention. "You're wearing my shirt," he points out.

"Oh, I always wear your shirts around them," you shrug.

"You do?" he asks, a smile trying to tug his lips. You laugh lightly and roll your eyes, turning to walk again.

You both walk to find your mom, seeing her in her office. You walk inside, nervously playing with your fingers and trying to find the right words. "Um, we weren't- we weren't doing anything," you say shyly. Your mouth feels dry.

"You can talk to your father about it when he gets home," your mom says.

Your eyes go wide. "Wait, mom, come on, it's not like that! I just- we aren't- I'm still a virgin!" you blurt out during the panic. "I- I mean, we haven't- it's not- me and Peter like to sleep together," you stutter out.

Peter stands behind you with wide eyes as he looks between you and your mom, unsure if he should say something. "Mom. I like laying in Peter's arms and cuddling with him when I sleep. I sleep better with him," you mumble, looking down at the floor, refusing to look at her, feeling embarrassed to say that out loud, the fact your saying it to your mom. She looks at you two, glaring. "Sorry," you add.

"Mhm. Yeah, ok. That's fine. You guys can go," she says, turning away from you and back to her desk. You look up, not knowing what else to say, so you turn and look at Peter, who immediately turns around and walks toward your bedroom. You walk through the door, a ping of hope in your stomach that maybe you'll get out of this without getting in trouble. "That doesn't change anything. You'll still be talking to your father when he gets home," she yells from her office.

Your heart drops, and the only thing you can do is pull Peter back toward your bed and curl on his lap, hiding your face in his chest and hoping it'd all go away, or at least not go as wrong as it is in your head.

Masterlist

You can read my Senses Headcanons for more about how his senses are around you

Ahem: @novaresque

#peter parker x black!reader #peter parker x reader #Peter Parker #peter parker spiderman #peter parker fluff #peter parker imagine #peter parker oneshot #mcu fluff #tasm peter x reader #tasm!peter fluff #tasm peter parker #tobey!peter parker #black!reader #poc!reader #peter parker x poc!reader

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cjsinkythoughts · 3 years

Text

Inner Conflict

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 3586

Warnings: !FATWS SPOILERS!, Cursing, Some Angst, Some Fluff, Sam and Bucky being idiots, Mentions of PTSD, Anxiety, and Depression

A/N: Here’s Part Three to my FATWS Series, which I’m making a masterlist for that you can find Here.

Uh…it’s a little long, and I apologize for that. It doesn’t even encompass the whole second episode, only the first half, so a Part 3.5 will be coming out later today probably (it’s my day off work so I have all day to relax and write!) I tried not doing a line for line rewrite of the episode, but there are quotes from the show in here. Mostly it’s Reader’s thoughts and feelings towards what’s happening while conversations are going on around. Reader’s backstory is a bit more unfurled. It’s more action packed and more scene-for-scene of the episode than the previous two. Less emotions shared and less hurt/comfort type of thing, but that’ll be back in the next part probably along with more scenes not in the show. The next part I’m planning won’t be as long, it’ll mainly just be the Couples Therapy scene and a bit more angst with her and Sam and her and Bucky.

Because there’s four more episodes and I don’t know what’s going to happen in them, I’m kinda hesitant on spilling out exactly what is going on with the Reader and what her role was on the original team, but we’ll get there. Also, I wasn’t expecting to be writing multiple pieces for one episode, but if the other episodes are as packed as this one, prepare yourself for more parts than anticipated. We’re already on Part 3 and I’ve got Part 3.5 coming. Just bare with me as I don’t know what’s going to happen in future episodes! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy it!

(Not beta’d so excuse any mistakes.)

!SPOILERS UNDER CUT!

Walking out of the shower, ruffling a towel through your hair to dry it off, you froze at the sound of the TV. A sigh left your lips. It’s all he’d been doing the last few days - watching the news. Keeping up with the tour for the new Captain America.

You peeked out of the small bedroom to find Bucky sitting on the floor, brow creased as he watched John Walker talk to the Good Morning America hostess.

“You shouldn’t be watching that.” You spoke up, leaning on the doorway, still patting your hair dry. He glanced over to you, taking in the towel wrapped around you, before looking back at the TV. Seeing you like that wasn’t anything new. “Buck, I’m serious. Brooding over it won’t make anything better.”

“What do you want me to do?”

You let out a sigh, shifting your feet and biting your lip as you thought about how to respond. “I-I haven’t figured it out yet. But obsessing over the new guy-”

“Aren’t you mad?”

You frowned at his question, his eyes meeting yours once more. “I told you already that I am.”

He tilted his head, which he did when he was confused, his eyes narrowing. “Why don’t you show it? Why aren’t you screaming or cursing or crying or something? You, of all people-”

“Because it won’t help anything, Buck.” You shook your head, pushing off the wall. “I want to. But if I let myself go down that road…” Dropping your gaze to the floor, you take a breath, collecting your thoughts. “This is such a complicated situation, James. I’m being contacted left and right for a statement on the new Captain. People trying to see my reaction. Senators trying to get me to meet with him. I can’t let myself snap. I can’t.”

He scowled. “They’re still bothering you?”

A dry chuckle escaped your lips and you nodded. “Makes me miss the days when no one knew who I was; when I was the behind-the-scenes seventh Avenger. But I made that choice to come out, and I have to deal with the consequences now. Blowing up will only-”

“Even though I never met him…he feels like a brother.”

That one statement stopped you in your tracks. Bucky’s head whipped back to the TV, his jaw ticking, his nose scrunching up.

“Did he really just say that?”

Bucky merely nodded, his chest heaving as he tried getting his breathing under control. “Feel like snapping now?”

You purse your lips as you held in the tears stinging your eyes. After composing yourself, you moved over and grabbed the remote, letting out a tiny sniffle as you did so. You tentatively touched Bucky’s shoulder, silently asking him if he needed anything from you. His response was to open his arms, so you quickly got down besides him to hold him.

“He is my brother, doll.”

“I know, Buck.” You pressed a soft kiss to his head, which rested against your bare shoulder.

Your bare knees are pressed harshly against the wooden panels of the floor, and you’re twisted awkwardly, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. As long as he was comfortable, you would take the uncomfortable position. As long as he was being held, you would take the soreness it would leave. As long as you could help him be some sort of okay, you would take not being okay in this position.

You two sat like that for a few more moments before your phone buzzed. You gave a sigh, pulling back and holding his cheeks in either hand. He wasn’t crying, although he was on the verge of doing so. You’d seen him cry before, so you knew he didn’t mind. For you it was a different story.

Bucky had maybe seen you cry twice since the whole Blip thing went down. And one of them was over the phone, so he didn’t see it so much as he heard it. You didn’t let yourself cry in front of him. Or anyone, for that matter. It was a part of you. The only person you ever felt comfortable enough around to cry in front of…wasn’t there. And you couldn’t change that.

“We’ll figure it out.” You told him, nodding gently and letting a small, sad smile quirk the corners of your lips up. “Okay? We’ll figure it out.”

The clench in his jaw loosened as your fingers worked circles into the hinge, making him relax and nod back. You pressed a tender kiss to his forehead before standing up, moving across the room to where your phone was on the counter. You assumed it’d be another government official or news reporter, so you were slightly shocked to see ‘Sammy’ flashing up at you.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you read his message, a slight pout forming on your face.

“Doll?” Toned arms wrapped around you, warm and cool, his chin setting on your shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Sam. He needs my help with something.”

“I’m coming with you.”

You turned in his arms, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Why?”

He shrugged, licking his lips. “You might need help.”

“Bucky, you can’t go if you’re just going to yell at him.”

“I won’t.”

You studied his features. He was lying, you knew that. Of course he was going to snap at Sam for giving up the shield. He was mad and they got on each others’ nerves every chance they could find, so of course he was going to.

But you still found yourself saying yes and telling him to go pack a bag. You were never able to say no to Steve and it seemed that got passed on. What a nuisance it was.

****************

And you were so right. It was the first thing he said once Sam came into view coming down the stairs.

“You shouldn’t have given up the shield, Sam.”

“James.” You squeezed the hand he was holding, voice pleading for him not to do this right now. He huffed, stepping back to let you greet Sam properly, giving the man a hug. “Hi, Sammy.”

“It’s been a while.” Sam commented, pulling back and holding you by the shoulders. “You look good. Not that you’ve ever looked otherwise.”

You gave him a small smile. “You do too.”

“Thanks for coming. I know it’s short notice, but-”

“It’s fine, Sam. Really.” You insist.

Sam nodded, before eyeing Bucky. “Did you have to bring him?”

“Samuel-”

“This is wrong.” Bucky cut in, staring Sam down, falling into step besides him as the man started heading outside.

“James-”

“Hey, hey. Look. I’m working, all right?”

You rolled your eyes as the two started arguing, stopping your stride to take a breather. You used to joke about babysitting them, but it didn’t feel like a joke anymore and you were getting tired of it. All the bickering for no reason. The contempt they held for one another. Steve made you promise that you would look out for them, and you were trying, but they weren’t making it easy.

When you joined them again, you raised an eyebrow at the direction the conversation turned. How the hell did they get from arguing about the shield to what a wizard is?

“Ahh! Haha! A sorcerer is a wizard without a hat!”

You gave Sam a look as he babbled about how he was right. “Sorcerer Mickey has a hat. Isn’t that, like, how he gets his powers and everything?”

Bucky grinned at you. “Thank you!”

“Excuse you!” Sam scoffed, pointing an accusing finger at you. “We were having a conversation!”

“Yeah. A stupid conversation I just ended. Now I’m gonna be in the plane. Feel free to join me when you’re done being idiots.”

They both spluttered, but you were already walking away, leaving no room for arguments. As you loaded onto the plane, you spotted the Lieutenant whom Sam mentioned who had been helping him out with missions. Torres, you thought, remembering his name from a previous phone call with your friend.

“You Lieutenant Torres?” You asked, walking up to him.

He blinked, before his eyes widened, a grin appearing on his face. He seemed young, which you were perfectly okay with considering you’ve been working alongside old men for the past decade. It was always nice to work with a fresh face, which you found after you started working with Wanda and Peter.

The thought of the two youngest members made you falter, not having heard from either of them since Christmas almost six months prior, but you quickly recovered yourself, shaking away the worries you had for them.

“You’re Y/N Y/L/N! I’m a huge fan! I’ve read all your files!”

Chuckling a little, you held out your hand. “Most of those are heavily classified.”

He ducked his head with a little blush, rubbing the back of his neck after shaking your hand. “I, uh, I might’ve…used connections.”

“It’s okay.” You reassured him, throwing him a wink. “I won’t tell. Can you tell me what’s going on? Sam didn’t exactly explain the situation.”

He nodded, getting into ‘work mode’, something you’ve seen in most military men, informing you of their recent missions and the group known as the Flag-Smashers and giving you a file on them. He was in the middle of telling you about his solo mission in Germany when your two fellas came in, sending each other small glares, but remaining quiet.

Bucky caught your eye and sent an apologetic look your way, to which you just smiled at before turning back to Torres.

“Well I’m glad you’re okay.” You told him once he was done.

“Oh yeah. It wasn’t that bad.”

You laughed and nodded. “I’m sure. You seem like a tough kid.”

He smiled, before looking around and jabbing his thumb behind his shoulder. “I-I’ve gotta go, but-”

“We can talk later.” You promised with a grin.

“Really?!”

“Of course! I have a feeling we’ll be working together more, and I like getting to know who’s gonna have my back.”

He beamed and nodded, walking backwards. “That’d be awesome! Talk to you later then!”

You giggled as he turned around and jogged off, pumping his fist in the air. You turned to a grinning Sam and nodded towards where Torres left. “I like him. Seems like a nice kid.”

“He is. Very energetic. A little reckless, but he’s got a good heart.”

You hummed, the smile falling from your face as you flipped through the file Torres gave you. “So…Munich?”

“Yeah. Listen, I’m sorry again for taking you away from the search, but-”

“Search is off.” You informed him quickly, not looking up. “Until further notice.”

The plane went quiet, before Sam cleared his throat. “So…no sign of Wanda yet, then?”

You shut the file, looking up at the men whose features were laced with concern. “I’m gonna go talk to the pilot. Behave while I’m gone. No pushing each other off the plane.”

“Doll?”

You were stopped by the hand that grabbed your wrist as you passed Bucky. You shot him another smile, knowing it wasn’t convincing enough for him, but it being the best one you had. “I’m okay. I’ve just gotta ask him some questions.”

************

Opening your mouth to stop him, you groaned when Bucky jumped out of the plane before you could speak. First Sam jumps without sharing the plan, then Bucky jumps without having a plan. Or a parachute. Or wings. Or anything.

Torres looked at you, but all you could do was shrug. “I dunno what to tell you, kid.”

“You’re not gonna do that, are you?”

“No.” You reassured him, shaking your head. “I’m gonna wait ‘til we land like a normal person and take my bike. I just have to pray that they’ll wait to do anything stupid until I get there.”

They didn’t wait. You’re pretty sure they didn’t even think about waiting. By the time you got to them, they were fighting - and losing, might you add - to six really strong people on top of two semi trucks.

Because why wouldn’t they?

Oh, oh. And on top of that, the fake was there, throwing the shield. The shield that didn’t belong to him. The shield that meant so much more than he would ever know.

“Hi, doll! Sorry we started the party without you!” Bucky shouted from where he was hanging off the edge, that close to the street and getting his head torn off by the tire.

“I’m so tired of babysitting you two, you know that?!”

“Oh! Sorry we’re such an inconvenience for you! Blame him! He jumped the gun!” Sam shouted, coming to fly next to you as you rolled up your sleeves, standing on your bike, using one hand to steer.

“Can I get a little help already?!”

“Sam-!”

“On it!”

Knowing that no matter how much they pissed each other off, Sam would make sure Bucky was okay and vice versa, you focused on getting to the top, where Walker and a buddy of his were struggling a little bit.

You climbed up to the roof of the semi no one was on, wincing when you heard your bike skidding across the pavement. There goes half your salary.

You couldn’t dwell on it for very long, considering one of the guys appeared in front of you. You recognized the fighting - the strength - and faltered, a memory resurfacing at a very bad time.

“C’mon, honey. You can do better than that.” Steve grinned at you, holding out a hand to help you up.

“Excuse me for not having super strength, Rogers.” You huffed out, taking it and letting him pull you up.

“You don’t need to be stronger than me. You just need to be smarter.”

“That’ll be easy.” You teased, stretching your arms before getting into your stance again. “You’re a dumbass sometimes.”

“Yeah, well, who chose to be friends with this dumbass?”

“Everyone needs a dumbass for a friend.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “So I’m your dumbass?”

“If you want.”

The grin he shot you made your heart skip a beat. “If you’ll have me.”

You blinked, but Steve wasn’t in front of you anymore and you weren’t in the gym in DC.

The guy caught the punch you distractedly threw and twisted your arm, making you cry out, kicking him in the back of the knee and flipping him over your shoulder.

You went to kick him again, but he caught your leg and threw you against the side of the other semi. You were able to grab onto where Bucky had ripped through the side, but you winced as the metal cut through your palm. Sam had just flown under the trucks, taking Buck with him, and you knew when a fight wasn’t worth it, so you quickly moved around the truck, letting Walker and his pal distract the Flag-Smashers, before letting yourself fall onto the side where the grass was.

You wanted to lay there, to catch your breath and curse yourself for getting distracted. You hadn’t had a flashback like that in a while. But you didn’t let yourself. You had to make sure the guys were okay.

Standing up made you cringe; you could feel the throbbing in your shoulder from where it was no doubt dislocated and your leg was aching, the muscle probably pulled when the guy threw you.

“Doll!” You turned, seeing Bucky and Sam sprinting towards you a few yards down the road. “Hey, hey.” Bucky immediately had his hands hovering over you, scanning your body. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, shoving his hands away. “I’m fine.”

“What’s wrong with your shoulder?”

“I think I dislocated it.”

Sam frowned. “What the hell happened?”

You gave him a weird look, starting to limp across the field to where you noticed a side road earlier. “They were super soldiers, Sam. And we got our asses kicked.”

“Yeah, but you know how to fight a super soldier-”

“It’s been a while.”

“Bullshit.” Sam side stepped in front of you, making you stop. “What happened?”

“I-I just got distracted, okay?”

“Y/N. Look at me.” Bucky took your face between his palms, eyes worried. “Are you okay?”

You nodded. A tired sigh left your lips and you looked anywhere but his eyes. “Yeah. I’m fine. Just hurting. My leg, I think I pulled it or something-”

“C’mere.” Bucky turned and crouched down, making you blink.

“What?”

“You shouldn’t be walking. We don’t wanna make it worse.”

“But it’s just a strain, it won’t-”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Just get on the man’s back, Y/N.”

You bit your lip before sighing and carefully climbing on his back. He shifted you gently, making sure to hold your leg with caution, leaning his head into yours when you hooked your chin on his shoulder. “You-you don’t have to talk about what happened. Just-just know that when you do…I’ll be here, okay?”

You nodded, moving to press your nose against the column of his throat. “Okay.”

But you could never tell them. How could you? How could you tell the world’s longest POW that you were having nightmares? How could you complain to an Air Force vet who served two tours in Afghanistan and watched his best friend get blown out of the air that you were having flashbacks?

You weren’t sure if it was PTSD or anxiety or depression. Maybe all three. It didn’t matter, though, because you didn’t want to admit it. You wouldn’t admit it. No one thought the Blip messed you up that badly. No one thought Steve leaving did that much damage. And you were okay with that. You were okay with them thinking you were healing - that you were fine - because they needed to see that it could be done. That they could be fine, too. Especially the men walking, Sam teasing Bucky per usual.

It wasn’t until a horn honked that you allowed yourself to be pulled out of your thoughts. A scoff left you when you realized who it was, switching the side you were laying on so your cheek pressed up against the cool metal of his left shoulder, facing away from the jeep.

You tried ignoring the guy as he talked about working together and shit, taking a shuddering breath, making Bucky squeeze your uninjured thigh. There was no way you were working with him. You couldn’t. It’d be like betraying Steve and you didn’t need that on top of all the other things you were dealing with.

You couldn’t deny the need for a ride though. The airport was 20 miles away and you were hurting pretty bad. You suspected that was the reason the guys relented, Bucky tenderly setting you down in the jeep between him and Sam, careful of your injuries.

You stared at your lap as Walker and Sam talked shop. You understood where they were coming from, you were always able to see both sides of the coin, but it didn’t mean you were going to willingly work with him.

“I got mad respect for all of y’all, but you were kind of getting your asses kicked till we showed up.”

You scoffed at that, finally raising your eyes to meet Walker’s friend’s. “Like you were doing any better?”

Bucky reached over to grab her hand that was resting on her lap. “You know, I’ve been trying to get in contact with you.” Walker faced you, eyes raking down your form. Bucky shifted in his spot, but you ran your thumb over his knuckles before he could do or say anything stupid.

“Yeah. I know. My phone hasn’t stopped blowing up for a week. Thanks for that, by the way.”

Walker frowned. “If you just answered-”

“I don’t care who you are. I don’t care what you’ve done. I’ve been a little busy doing my job to blow smoke up your ass on national television. Sorry if my saving people’s lives has been an inconvenience for you, but some wannabe playing dress up isn’t my top priority.”

Walker’s brows furrowed and he was about to say something, when Bucky cut in, asking his friend who he was. You were already that close to jumping out of the jeep, when the guy, Hoskins, told you three that he went by ‘Battlestar’.

If the situation wasn’t so aggravating, you would’ve laughed when Bucky immediately told the driver to stop, opening the door before the car even stopped. “C’mere, doll.” He murmured, lifting you up into his arms bridal style, before walking off, tuning out Walker as he shouted after you two.

You pouted a little when you saw Sam still talking to the guy. “What’re they talking about, Buck?”

“Some nonsense about him not replacing Steve. Just trying to be the best Captain America he can.”

You laid your head against Bucky’s chest. “The best Captain America is Steve. He can never be Steve.”

“I know, doll.”

“Steve told me once that all he was trying to do was be a good man…it’ll always amaze me that he didn’t see he was the best.”

You missed the distraught look Bucky shot towards you, the look in his eyes almost heartbroken while you talked fondly about his best friend. The tortured scrunch to his features seemed to melt away at your next words, though, and he held you tighter as you curled into his hold.

“Just like it amazes me that you don’t know how important you are to me too, Buckaroo.”

2K notes · View notes

natsfirecat · 3 years

Text

Bring You Back

pairing: Natasha Romanoff x fem reader

summary: r and nat have happily been together for over a year, until everything comes crashing down. now, nat and the avengers will stop at nothing to get back the r they know

genre: angst w happy ending

word count: 10k

warnings: swearing, cheating, mind control/brainwashing, setting things on fire, Supergirl references, two sentences that could potentially be interpreted as implied smut but that wasn’t my intention, lmk if i need to add any more

A/N: this is set in the same universe as Operation Fire Widow but you don’t need to read that to understand this!

also this is kinda proofread, and by that i mean it’s 2am and i read over it but i’m tired and not thinking straight so the proofread doesn’t really count

”I swear, if you two don’t get married then I won’t believe in love anymore,” Carol said as she sat down on the chair across from you and Natasha.

You smiled as you felt your girlfriend’s arms around you tighten.

Carol couldn’t help but smile proudly at the two of you.

You had been together for a little over a year, but you had been crushing on her for months beforehand. Carol, being one of your best friends, had been part of the big plan created to get the two of you together. Things didn’t end up going as planned, but of course it all worked out in the end.

“Does anyone want a blanket before it starts?” Wanda asked as she entered the living room.

Carol and Peter both nodded at her, but Natasha simply shook her head.

“I have my blanket right here,” she whispered into your ear.

You grinned, then closed your eyes. You purposely used your pyrokinesis to heat yourself up to just the right temperature so your girlfriend could be warm.

She leaned forward, planting a gentle kiss on your neck, causing you to giggle.

In the past year that you were together, Natasha evidently found out about your love for Supergirl.

It took some convincing, but eventually you were able to get her to binge watch the show with you so she could catch up to the live episodes.

“Y’know, you’re kinda like Kara if you think about it,” Natasha had told you. “You’re a happy little ray of sunshine, but you can also be a powerful badass when you want to,”

You smiled at her, giving her a quick kiss.

“I think you’re like Lena,” you replied, smiling at her. “You don’t have powers, but you’re still a badass and the team would basically be lost without you. You’re also super smart, and not to mention the fact that you both have gorgeous green eyes. Plus, you and Lena both act like you’re all dark and scary, but deep down you’re a softie,”

She rolled her eyes at the last sentence, prompting you to giggle before kissing her once again.

“So if I’m Kara and you’re Lena, then that means that you have reason to ship Supercorp now!”

“I already ship them, detka.” She told you, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Lena clearly makes her smile a lot more than Mon-El ever did. I wish he never came back in the first place, but Lena did right by making the device that required him to leave Earth,”

“I’m so proud of you.”

Now, Natasha had caught up so she could watch the episodes live with you Carol, Wanda, and Peter.

The current season wasn’t great, but you had been watching it since the pilot of the show first aired and you certainly weren’t going to stop now.

“Damn it,” you heard Natasha whisper as William appeared on the screen. “I don’t want to see him,”

You smiled, then placed your hands over hers, which were currently resting on your lower stomach.

“He’s just taking up screen-time that should be going to Nia, or Alex or Kelly,” she said to you.

You nodded in agreement, softly rubbing your thumb over her knuckles.

You leaned back father into her, allowing her to place a few kisses on your head.

“I love you, Natty,” you said softly, looking up at her.

“I love you too,” she whispered back, unable to stop the smile on her face.

“Hey, lovebirds!” Carol said, pausing the show. “Do your little sappy couple stuff later, we’re about to get a Supercorp moment,”

You breathed out a chuckle, then turned your attention back to the screen.

After the episode ended, Natasha insisted on carrying you back to your shared bedroom because of how tired you were.

You nodded, allowing her to effortlessly pick you up and take you upstairs to bed.

Luckily, you had decided to wear your pajamas before going down for Supergirl, so you didn’t have to change now that you were as tired as you were.

She gently set you down on the bed, climbing next to you as soon as she changed into her own pajamas.

Her arms had become your home at this point. You scooted yourself closer to her, placing your head underneath her chin as you wrapped your arms around her.

A yawn escaped your mouth as you began to entangle your legs with hers.

“Natty?” You asked her, not quite ready to fall asleep yet. She nodded for you to continue. “When do you think Bucky’s gonna ask Steve out? I can tell he likes him. Maybe we should do something for him like my friends did with me last year,”

Her breath had hitched the moment you mentioned Bucky’s name.

“What?” You asked her, eyes opening wider now.

“I don’t think Bucky likes Steve,” she said. Not in her soft voice she normally used with you. But with her voice she used with everyone else.

“What makes you say that?” You asked, your smile faltering a bit.

“He just doesn’t,”

“And how would you know that?”

“Don’t worry about it, let’s just go to sleep.”

You backed away from her, raising yourself up so you were on your elbows now.

“Why are you being so defensive?”

“I’m not!”

“You are,”

“Y/N I told you, don’t worry about it!”

Her eyes had widened, and she almost looked afraid. And that made you afraid.

“Natty, what’s going on?”

She said nothing, but broke her eye contact.

“Natasha,” you said, your own tone changing a bit too. It wasn’t your happy, cheerful tone you had most of the time. It was the tone you used while on the battlefield, or during interrogations. “Tell me what’s going on right now.”

“I can’t,” she said at almost a whisper. Tears formed in her eyes, threatening to fall down.

“Tell me, or I’ll ask Bucky myself,”

“No, don’t!” She begged. “Please don’t! It didn’t mean anything! You’re the one I love!”

Your heart fell, as she practically confirmed your fear.

You were wide awake now.

“No,” you got out. “No it’s not true,”

You pulled yourself out of her grasp and got out of the bed. You sped-walked down to the end of the hall, Natasha following after you.

Your fists were balled so tightly, you were sure your nails would leave a mark; they were almost drawing blood.

You had to take a deep breath before knocking on his door, you didn’t want to set it on fire.

“Yeah?” He asked, opening it. His smile fell as soon as he saw Natasha’s tear-struck face.

“What did you guys do?” You asked shakily, looking between them.

“You told her?!” Bucky said angrily.

“No, no, no, no, no,” you said softly, your stomach already twisting. “It’s true?”

“I promise it didn’t mean anything,” Natasha cried desperately. She pulled your arm back, flinching at the heat radiating off of it, but she didn’t let go. “It was only once, we just had a bit too much to drink, and-”

You pulled your arm out of her grasp, already feeling the tears falling down your cheeks.

“When?”

“Two weeks ago,” Bucky answered, earning a glare from Natasha.

“Y/N, baby, please,” she said as she reached out for you again. “I love you, and I want you,”

You couldn’t even look at her.

Without another word, you made your way back to your bedroom. Not the one you shared with Natasha, but the one you had before you and her got together.

At this point you began to hyperventilate. You could hear the banging coming from the other side of your door, but you weren’t going to open it.

You lay facing down on your bed, letting the sobs escape as your breathing only got faster.

Before you knew it, the pillow you were clinging onto had completely caught on fire.

“Shit,” you said, shaking it to try to get rid of it.

Unfortunately, your grip on it only made it worse. So you tossed it onto the bed.

Bad idea.

Now the entire bed was on fire.

“Oh, fuck it!”

Luckily, Tony had used his nanotech to upgrade all of your suits. So with a tap to your watch, your fireproof superhero suit began to appear.

If you could smother the flames with something that wouldn’t catch on fire, maybe it could work.

It did not.

The fire alarm was now going off.

“Fuck, shit, fuck,” you muttered.

You closed your eyes, holding your hand out to attempt to use your powers to put the flames out, but it didn’t work. You could still hardly breathe, and your vision was still blurry with tears.

Finally, you fell to your knees, letting out a scream that carried so many emotions.

When you opened your eyes, the flames were gone. Your hands were shaking, your chest was burning, and the fire alarm was still going off, but the flames were gone.

You let out a shaky sigh.

You stood up, ready to open the door, but you stopped yourself right before you grabbed the handle.

You couldn’t be here anymore. You wouldn’t. Not after what she did to you.

You figured you’d call one of your childhood friends, and stay with her for a bit. You two had always had one another’s backs, so you didn’t doubt that she’d help you.

You made your way back to the door, silently praying that no one would still be waiting.

You wish had half-come true. Natasha wasn’t right outside your door anymore, but she was down the hall heading toward you. It looked like she was carrying something to open your door, since she wouldn’t have been able to do it herself with the material it was.

You quickly broke eye contact with her, then dashed down the other end of the hall. You heard her footsteps, but you didn’t stop running.

“Y/N, please!” She called, finally catching up to you as you stood outside yours and her bedroom door.

“Get away from me,” you choked out.

You just needed to grab your phone so you could call your friend. You needed your phone so you could get away from the person who had caused you all the pain you were feeling.

You opened the door, wasting no time in finding your phone right where you left it on the nightstand.

Unfortunately, your eyes met hers as you turned back around.

“Please, let’s just talk about this! Y/N, I love you!”

“I wish I believed that.”

You brushed past her, leaving her stunned.

You couldn’t face anyone right now. Once you got to your friend’s place, you’d text your other friends and let them know that you were safe.

But for now, you exited the building without another word.

You were thankful for your fire powers at this moment. You could see your breath in front of you, so you knew it had to be cold for anyone without pyrokinesis.

Once you got far enough away from the compound (you knew you were far enough when you could no longer hear the fire truck that had automatically been sent over by F.R.I.D.A.Y.) you pulled your phone out, and scrolled through your contacts until you found your friend.

You clicked the call button, holding the phone up to your ear.

“Please pick up, please pick up, please pick up...”

The phone rang a few more times as you waited for her, but you never found out if she actually picked up or not; as you suddenly lost consciousness at the feeling of a blow to your head.

Part of you tried to fight whatever was happening to you, hearing the voices as your body was dragged around. But the other part of you thought about what Natasha had done to you. That part didn’t fight.

And that part won.

6 months later

”We have intel on a HYDRA base formed near here, responsible for multiple civilian casualties and experimentation,” Steve told everyone.

Natasha had been staring at the empty seat at the table, once filled with your presence.

“Nat,” Steve said to her, sighing.

“What?” She asked, being brought back to reality.

“Look, Nat,” he said softly. “We need you for this. We need the whole team.”

She said nothing, but nodded at him.

She had to restrain herself from shifting her gaze back to your empty chair. She also had to restrain herself from looking at anyone but Steve to avoid everyone else’s lingering glares.

Most missions didn’t need the whole team, but because no one had been to this base before, they didn’t know what to expect. Because of that, it was better to be prepared and have the whole team rather than risking a few people for what could be too much for them.

The base was only about 30 minutes on the Quinjet, so definitely within somewhat close proximity.

Steve sent Wanda and Natasha down first.

Neither of them said anything to each other. Wanda had hardly said two words to her at all since you left. She missed you, and she blamed her for your leaving.

Tony and Carol followed close behind.

Natasha held her gun at her side, holding it up at every corner they passed.

Of course, she wasn’t really thinking about this mission, or about HYDRA.

She was thinking about you.

She was thinking about how you would go out of your way to hold her hand while she was nervous on missions. She didn’t get nervous until you.

Before you, she never really felt that she had a reason to be nervous.

But once she was with you, she would always get scared that she wouldn’t make it back to you, or you wouldn’t make it back to her.

Even after you left, her nerves didn’t go away.

With her powers, Wanda could sense Natasha’s anxiety. She was pretty good at hiding it, but her thoughts were loud enough for Wanda to tell otherwise.

They rounded the next corner, making their way into a room filled with computers.

“We’re in,” Wanda said through her earpiece.

Natasha made her way to one of the computers, and began to type away to get what they needed.

If she hadn’t been the cause for you leaving, Wanda, along with the team in general, would actually feel bad for the assassin. She hardly went on missions anymore, unless they absolutely needed her.

She could hide her emotions when people looked her straight in the face, but they all knew that she had been miserable since you had left.

Before you, she didn’t smile very often. When she did, it was usually just a small grin. But once she was with you, she couldn’t help but smile almost all the time around you. She wouldn’t hesitate to fully smile with you, especially when you were always smiling at her.

“Oh my god, Natasha,” Wanda said, letting out a long, frustrated sigh. “For just one second, could you stop thinking about…”

Natasha perked up when she noticed that Wanda didn’t finish her sentence.

She turned around to see what she was looking at, causing her jaw to drop instantly.

“Y/N…”

“Let go of me!”

“No! I don’t belong here!”

“What did you do to me? Why can’t I use my powers?”

“Get away from me!”

Your cries echoed through everyone’s ears as you were restrained in a small cell.

Your plan was to burn the two redheads before they could get HYDRA’s important files, but they had failed to inform you that one of them had powers too. Except her powers allowed her to constrict you in mid-air as you fought against her.

She eventually put you into some sort of trance, so you wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone.

You weren’t sure why everyone was looking at you the way they did, but you figured it had something to do with them being Avengers.

In your months as a HYDRA agent, they always warned you of the Avengers. They said they couldn’t let you get anywhere near them.

You weren’t sure why, I mean, you could literally control fire with your mind. Had you been paired against anyone other than the redheaded witch, you would’ve easily won.

“Y/N,” came the voice of Captain America.

“That’s not my name. I don’t know who Y/N is,” you replied, sending him a harsh glare.

“Y/N, we know this isn’t you. We’re going to do everything in our power to get you back,”

You scoffed,

“This is who I am. Why don’t you just kill me and get it over with? Especially since you haven’t even given me the liberty to be able to defend myself, by taking my powers,”

He sighed,

“We’re not going to kill you. Tony designed this cell to counteract abilities like yours. It’s not doing any damage to you, but you won’t be able to use them. We can’t allow you to have your powers while you’re like this,”

“Then just fucking kill me!”

He sighed again.

“I’m going to leave you in here for the night, but we’ll be back tomorrow,”

He waved goodbye, and even gave you a small smile.

You weren’t sure why he did it, but you only glared back.

“I can’t do it, Clint,” Natasha said, pacing around in circles.

Clint was the only one who didn’t completely shun her and shut her out after finding out what happened. Part of him wanted to, but he knew she needed somebody. Even if it was just one person. And if that one person had to be him, then so be it.

“You don’t have to do it now, especially since she’s not… the Y/N we know. But you can’t avoid her forever.”

“She left me. For all we knew, she could’ve been dead. She made no contact, she clearly didn’t want us to find her. I thought…. I thought she was gone forever. But now HYDRA has her, and it’s my fault.”

“Nat, you can’t blame yourself for this. Her abilities are unique, so it’s not surprising that they would target her like this,”

“It is my fault. If I hadn’t… done what I did, if I hadn’t been so fucking stupid, she wouldn’t have ran off like that. She wouldn’t have been taken.”

“You’re right, you were fucking stupid. But you didn’t cause HYDRA to take her and mess with her mind. That’s on them, not you,”

She shifted her gaze to the floor as tears began to form in her eyes.

“I’ve missed her so much, Clint,” she said, her voice breaking. “I wish I could take it all back. I wish it never happened. I wish I could just hold her in my arms and never let go,”

He took a step closer to her, then wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close as she began to sob.

Just then, Steve began to make his way back, passing the kitchen.

“Anything?” Clint asked as he walked by, still holding Natasha close as she continued to cry.

Steve gave a solemn look, then shook his head no.

When he saw the way Natasha was crying, he felt a pang of sympathy for her. Yes, she had broken the heart of one of the nicest, and overall universally liked person, but he couldn’t help but want to comfort her in this moment. She was once his friend too.

Instead, he continued to the meeting room to consult the rest of the team and inform them of your state.

Steve kept his promise about returning. He was only there for a few minutes before Tony Stark stood in front of your cell.

He looked like he was about to throw up.

“So,” he began, stepping forward. “Do you know why you’re here, any of this look familiar to you?”

“God, for someone who’s supposed to be a genius, you’re really fucking stupid,”

“Look, whatever HYDRA’s told you isn’t true. They’re filling your head with lies. Both literally and figuratively.”

“Sure they are,”

“Well then why don’t you tell me what all you remember of your life before HYDRA?”

“Nothing,” you said with a shrug. “But that doesn’t mean they’re lying to me. They’re the ones who gave me my pyrokinesis, which you took from me, but the memory loss was a side effect.”

“They didn’t give you your powers, Y/N, you got them when you were a sophomore in college. Freak accident with something that wasn’t supposed to be in your chemistry class, but it ended up working out for you. You became an Avenger two years ago,”

“Don’t call me that. Don’t call me Y/N.”

“Fine then. What would you like me to call you? What name did HYDRA give you?”

“I don’t have a name. I have an identity.”

“Alright then, what’s your identity?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Cute. Alright, that’s enough for now,”

He left you. It seemed you had annoyed him enough.

No one came by for the rest of the day.

Well, that’s not entirely true. One person, who looked like he was just a kid, stopped by to slip food through the tray.

“Here you go, Miss.”

He didn’t call you the same thing Tony and Steve did. You were grateful for it.

But as soon as his eyes met yours, they instantly filled with tears and he ran out.

You had always been well-liked among all the Avengers, but Tony began to have a soft spot for you when you became friends with Peter. You were a bit older than him, but you always acted like a big sister to him, and thought of him as your little brother. Soon enough, Tony began viewing you as a daughter figure.

He didn’t like the idea of Peter going in there with you, but he was outvoted when the kid volunteered to bring your food.

He knew he was right when he saw him running back, rubbing his shirt against his eyes to wipe away the tears.

For the next week, it became a routine. Steve and Tony would come by, and try to get you to talk, but ended up just going in circles. You were beginning to wish they actually had killed you.

But after the first week, something changed. Two women walked in.

You recognized one of them as the redhead who used her powers on you, and the other was a taller blonde who looked vaguely familiar.

“What now?” You asked, sitting against the wall.

Neither of them made clear eye contact.

“You’re the one who suspended me in the air while your teammates fucking captured me,” you said, pointing at Wanda.

“We didn’t capture you, HYDRA did,” she told you.

“That seems to be a common theme going around, and it’s getting tiring. But you know what? Go ahead, tell me more about how they’re lying to me when they’re the ones who made me into what I am today,”

“We’re not here to talk about HYDRA,” Carol said, looking up.

“Oh? Well then by all means, do continue,”

She took a deep breath in,

“You were more than our teammate, you were our friend. So if you’re tired of us telling you that your life is a lie, we’ll tell you about your life here,”

You shrugged. You were bored. If what they said would keep you entertained, then you didn’t have a problem with it.

“I was the one who trained you with your powers. When we found you, you could hardly control them at all. You had run away from everything and everyone, trying to isolate yourself so you wouldn’t hurt anyone. The instant we saw you, we knew you were a good person. You had this look in your eyes-”

“Oh really?” You asked. “Where’s this look now?”

“Gone. Buried somewhere in your mind, along with the rest of your memories,”

You between both of them,

“Tell me why you’re really here,”

The truth was that Wanda believed she could somehow try to use her powers to get your memories back by searching through your head. She stood there, staring at you, trying to find anything that would show your old memories, but there was nothing.

If that wouldn’t work then it couldn’t hurt if they at least attempted to tell you a little bit more about your life here.

“I was there when you controlled fire for the first time, completely on your own. You were in control. You couldn’t believe it, but all I remember is feeling so incredibly proud of you. We kept working together, and soon, I was able to call you one of my best friends.”

You could see her crying, and you began to feel for her. You weren’t sure why; she was an Avenger. An Avenger who betrayed HYDRA nonetheless, but part of you wanted to comfort her.

“I’m sorry,” you said. You instantly regretted it. You couldn’t let them manipulate you like this.

“When I joined the team, you were the most welcoming person here. You had joined just a few weeks before me, but I could tell that everyone already loved you. It didn’t take long for me to love you too.” Carol said, her eyes filling with tears too.

They had to be lying, but you weren’t sure why part of you felt such a pull toward them. It had to be part of Wanda’s mental manipulation. That was the only explanation you could think of.

“The boy,” you began. “If what you’re saying is true, I-” you stopped yourself. “Y/N, was also close with him, right?”

“Yeah,” Wanda told you. “You and Peter become close fast. You originally bonded over TV shows you both liked, which turned into a thing for the four, and eventually five, of us to watch together,”

You still didn’t fully believe them, but if hearing about your supposed life would entertain you, then you’d keep listening.

This pattern also lasted a week. They would come in for about an hour per day, and tell you stories about your life here.

They told you about the time Wanda decided to teach you guys how to bake. You decided that waiting for it to heat up took too much time, so you held the pan in your hands and heated it up with your powers. They ended up burning to a crisp.

They told you about the time all of Peter’s friends ended up being out of town for his school dance, so you agreed to go with him. Wanda and Carol had managed to sneak in as well, to check on the two of you but everything ended up being fine.

They told you about the time you tried to high-five Tony after a mission, and his suit registered you as a threat at first because of how you jumped up to meet him, so it ended up blasting you 20 feet.

They told you about how you once calmed down the Hulk and turned him back into Bruce simply by smiling and waving at him.

They told you about the time where Steve made a political comment, and you slammed your hand on the table and spent the next two hours educating him on important political topics. They said you had practically radicalized the man from the 40’s.

One day, neither of them came in. It was surprising, as you had actually begun to slightly enjoy their company. Slightly.

Instead, Peter came in. He looked a little less nervous than the first time, but he managed to look you in the eye.

“Y/N…” he said.

Your stomach turned as an idea popped into your head. It was a terrible idea, and would most definitely hurt him. But it would get you out of here. It would allow you to get out, and get back to HYDRA.

“Peter!” You said, perking up in a high-pitched voice.

“Y/N?” He was confused now.

“Peter, Peter, Peter! I remember now! It’s all coming back to me! We were friends! Close friends, you were practically my brother! I remember it all!”

You strained yourself to keep your face smiling and optimistic.

He turned his head to the side, thinking about it.

It had to work. He had to believe you so he would let you out.

“Peter, I remember going with you to your dance! Your friends weren’t there, so I went with you. We ended up having a great time, especially when Wanda and Carol made an appearance too!”

He reached forward, about to open the cell when he stopped himself.

He wanted to believe you so bad. He wanted his sister back.

“Tell me about the little boxes,”

This had to be a code of some sort. Shit.

The Y/N they were describing seemed to be a bit clumsy, losing control of her powers and getting blasted by Tony while trying to high five him. You could picture Peter being similar to that too.

“I tripped over a bunch of tiny boxes, and then you fell right after me. We ended up laughing about it for hours,”

He sighed, looking away from you.

The truth was that little boxes were a Supergirl reference. You and Peter were both generally optimistic people, so you had confessed to each other that there was a lot of pressure with that to keep up the team’s spirits. So when you both saw Lena talk about how she uses the little boxes as her coping mechanism, you both knew it was unhealthy.

Luckily, you came up with a healthy version. You both could keep up your optimism with the team, but you had a free pass with each other. Undoing the little boxes, if you will.

He couldn’t bring himself to look back at you. He couldn’t believe he almost let you trick him like that.

So he walked out without another word.

Tony was waiting for him, and immediately pulled him in for a hug when he saw his face.

“I thought she was back for a moment,” he said. “I thought we got her back,”

Tony let out a long sigh. No one could get through to you, not even your best friends.

They only had one option left now; Natasha.

“You can do this, Nat,” Clint told her.

It had been four weeks since you’d been in your cell. Over a week since anyone from the team tried talking to you. She was the only option left.

She didn’t want to do it at first, she still didn’t.

But Clint eventually convinced her. He told her that she owed it to you to at least try. Whether it be out of her love for you, or because she hurt you, she owed it to you.

He walked with her until they reached the door. From there, she had to go on her own.

She walked down the hall, holding her arms around herself.

She took a deep breath, then finally stepped in front of your viewpoint.

You sat with your back against the wall, eating the last bit of your lunch.

“Hey,” you said, giving a simple wave.

She tried to steady her breaths before looking directly at you.

“You were there when they took me back here,” you told her. “I remember. You were at one of the computers, and I was about to attack you and Wanda before she suspended me in the air and you guys brought me here,”

“Remember anything else?”

“No. Were you someone important? I thought they were done sending in all of Y/N’s friends,”

“We weren’t friends,”

“Oh?”

“I loved you. Part of me always will,”

“You mean to tell me that I pulled the Black Widow? Okay, now I know you guys are lying to me,”

“Peter, Wanda, and Carol were the ones who devised the big plan to get us together. They wanted to figure out a way for me to need your warmth, so you could be my personal heater. It didn’t go like that, and you accidentally burned me while we were dancing. Then I found out you liked me, and the rest is history.”

“You got with Y/N after she burned you?”

“First of all, I know you didn’t actually mean to burn me. Second of all, I had liked you for some time too. When we first met, I instantly felt this pull toward you. Your smile made me feel things I never thought I could feel. You always went out of your way to make me smile. I thought it was because you were like that with everyone; but as soon as I learned about your feelings for me, I couldn’t believe it. I called you down the next day to ask you out, and that’s when we had our first kiss,”

“Sounds great,” you said nonchalantly, knowing it hurt her. “But if you claimed to love me so much, why didn’t you look for me?”

Her breath hitched.

“Oooh, I hit a nerve there,” you said with a chuckle. “What? Did it happen in the middle of a fight or something?”

That’s when the reality of the situation hit her. Yes, she would do everything in her power to get you back, but would you still want her even when she did get you back? You were right, you had left because Natasha had broken your heart. How would she face you again once you remembered it all, once you remembered what she did to you?

So she changed the subject.

“Did the others tell you about your favorite shows?”

“They told me that we would all watch shows together, but didn’t give specifics,”

“Your favorite was Supergirl. I always thought you were a lot like the main character, Kara. You just had this sunshine in your eyes, just like her.”

“And now?”

“Well, I guess you’ll see once you get to the sixteenth episode of season one.”

“When I get to that episode? So you’re resorting to TV shows for my memory?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, which brought her even more pain.

“I thought you wouldn’t mind the idea, I imagine it gets boring for you in here,”

“No, no, you’re right, it does. Look, if you want me to watch it, I’ll watch it, but…” you burst into laughter again.

It was pathetic how the Black Widow was so determined to get her sweet little Y/N back.

But, you were willing to let her try. You couldn’t wait to see it crash and burn.

“You really think I’m like Kara?” You asked her the next day as she came to see you. “I’m five episodes in, and she’s the most annoying character ever.”

Natasha sighed. She’d get you back eventually.

“Look, I’m just saying that they could’ve made her more interesting. Like, she has the potential to do so much more but instead all she does is be giddy and fake quirky.”

The truth was, part of the reason you had loved Kara so much originally was because you were able to relate to her in a way because of your powers. She suppressed them for years, just as you had tried to, but eventually embraced them and became Supergirl. Even if it was fictional, it’s a big part of the reason you found the courage to learn how to use your powers and become an Avenger. And of course, you did happen to have a personality just like hers.

Now, all you could do was roll your eyes at the character.

A few days later, Wanda eventually came back. She had a few brownies with her.

“What’s this for?” You asked her.

“You wanted to surprise Natasha with something sweet after she came back from a mission, but you couldn’t do it on your own. You had already made three failed batches, so you knocked on my door at 2:00 in the morning asking for help. I wanted to say no, because I was asleep and didn’t want to get up. But I saw the look on your face, and I just couldn’t say no to you. So I got up and helped you make them. They ended up turning out, and Natasha loved them.”

“And you’re giving me this because you think it’ll jog my memory?”

“Partially, but it’s also because I still care about you, Y/N. Even while you’re like this, I know my best friend is in there somewhere. I made them, and it didn’t feel right not to try at least,”

You shrugged as she slipped them through the opening to give them to you.

You took a bite, and instantly closed your eyes at the taste.

“Oh my god, Wands, this is amazing,” you told her as soon as you swallowed.

She had the biggest smile on her face. Not because you liked the brownies, but because you called her Wands.

You were coming back.

Two weeks later, Natasha was making her daily trip to you. You smiled at her, happy almost happy to see her.

“God, Lena’s so pretty,” you said to her. “Her eyes are just perfection,”

Natasha let out a chuckle,

“Glad to see you still have an appreciation for green eyes,”

“How could I not? I really hope Kara gets with her,”

She laughed again,

“Come on, I have a surprise for you,”

“What?”

She smiled, then unlocked your cell door. You turned your head, giving her a confused look.

She stepped into your cell, holding a bracelet of some sort.

“As much as I’d like to fully trust you to take you outside of your cell, I can’t. So this replicates the energy in this room, keeping you from using your powers,”

You shrugged, then held out your arm for her to put it on.

Once it was secure, she motioned for you to follow her.

She led you through the compound, resisting the urge to grab your hand and interlace your fingers with hers. She knew you would come back eventually, and all she wanted to do was hold you in her arms when you did.

“Anything look familiar?” She asked with a hopeful tone.

You felt a pit in your stomach as you shook your head no. You gave an apologetic look, then continued following her.

She said nothing, continuing to lead you through the compound until she opened a door, leading up to the roof.

She gave you a smile, then turned her head toward a blanket and pillows with a basket full of food.

“What’s this for?” You asked as you sat down across from her.

“I dunno, I wanted to do something for you. You’ve been confined to that cell for so long, I figured it’d be nice to bring you up here,”

She reached into the basket, then handed you a peanut butter sandwich.

Her smile widened as you took a bite out of it, and you couldn’t help but return her smile.

She reached across, and placed her hand on yours.

“I’m sorry,” she said immediately, starting to pull it back. You gripped it tighter so she wouldn’t pull back.

“It’s okay,”

You didn’t have your memories, but you knew that you and Natasha were a thing. It amazed you how the woman with a deadly reputation gave you such a soft smile.

Holding her hand felt familiar. It felt like home.

And you loved hated it.

“Why are you doing this, Natasha?” You asked her, rubbing small circles on the back of her hand. “Don’t tell me it’s just another effort to jog my memory,”

She looked down at your intertwined hands for a moment before meeting your eyes again.

“Because I love you,” she said honestly. “You were my everything, Y/N,”

You smiled at her again, feeling fluttery nerves build up in your stomach.

So you muttered something in Kryptonian.

“What was that?”

She pulled away, staring at you wide-eyed.

“What?” You asked, disappointed she pulled her hand away.

“You didn’t learn that from HYDRA,”

“What are you talking about?”

“What you just said to me, it’s a made up language,”

“All languages are made up,”

“No,” she rolled her eyes. “It’s Kryptonian, from Supergirl. You and Peter taught yourselves the language from online websites. You always called me that after you learned it. You’re remembering,”

She grabbed your hand once again, then leaned in closer. You reached out and grabbed her other hand, so you had both of your hands connected to hers between the two of you.

“My beautiful sunset,” you said in English this time.

She leaned forward even closer, inches away from closing the gap between yourselves.

“Wait,” you told her, pulling back. “I don’t have all my memories, but I know that we were together.” She nodded for you to continue. “I also know that there was some sort of fight before HYDRA. I need to know what happened, Natasha,”

Her breath became shaky as she disconnected your hands,

“Not now,”

“No, I want to know. I need to know. Because as much as I hate it, I’m feeling something for you. But I don’t want to, especially if I don’t know what happened. So tell me,”

She took a deep breath in, then stood up.

“I think we’ve spent enough time here, let’s take you back,”

“No! Just tell me what happened!”

“Don’t worry about it, let’s just go back.”

“Why are you being so defensive?”

“I’m not!”

“You are,”

“Y/N I told you, don’t worry about it!”

“Natasha,” you challenged. “Tell me what’s going on right now.”

“I can’t.”

That was three days ago, and Natasha hadn’t come to see you since. You missed her.

You had continued to binge your way through Supergirl, almost finishing the fifth season.

“I killed my brother for you! For our friends, don’t you understand what you’ve done?” You quoted perfectly. It didn’t surprise you at this point. You had those memories, and they would show up. But you couldn’t think about any past memories, sometimes they just showed up; like this scene and like the Kryptonian.

Your thoughts were interrupted as you looked up to see a man you hadn’t talked to before,

“Ah, the Winter Snowman,”

“Winter what now?”

You laughed, turning your body to fully face him.

“I know who you are. HYDRA’s beloved Winter Soldier. I just think Winter Snowman is funnier. So, what brings you here?”

“I haven’t talked to you yet,”

“Why’s that? Did we not like each other or something?”

“We were friends,” he told you, looking at the floor. “Once, I was up in the middle of the night because of nightmares, and you happened to be up too for whatever reason. You saw me, and made me hot chocolate. When you saw that I wasn’t exactly okay, you hugged me until my breathing evened out and I was okay. After that, it became a routine for you to make hot chocolate every time I wasn’t doing so great. Sometimes we’d sit in silence, and sometimes I’d talk to you. But you were always there. I could always trust you.”

You smiled, realizing that you really were an incredibly nice person before HYDRA.

“So why haven’t you come to see me yet? Natasha’s been the most, except for the last few days. What’s been stopping you?”

He took a deep breath in,

“I came to apologize.”

“Apologize? What for?”

“I’m part of the reason this happened to you. I’m part of the reason you left.”

“Really? I thought that was Natasha. All I know is that something happened between her and me and she won’t tell me,”

“She did hurt you, through me if you think about it. I still hate myself for it. I’m so, so, sorry, Y/N. I don’t know what came over me, but all I know is that I would take it back if I could.”

“No. Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

“I’m so sorry.”

He left as all the pain and emotion came to your chest. You could see your vision blurring as tears started to form.

“No,” you said softly, falling to your knees.

Your breathing got heavier as you practically crawled to the glass.

“Get me Natasha!” You cried, banging your fists against the wall. “I want Natasha here!”

Tears began to stream down your face as you continued banging. You weren’t sure how long it was like that, but she eventually came running.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. had alerted her that you were in distress and calling for you. She assumed you had somehow gotten hurt, especially since you were huddled on the floor.

She opened the door without hesitation and sat down next to you.

“I’m here,” she said gently.

“Tell me it’s not true,” you said, your voice breaking.

Her heart dropped.

“Tell me you didn’t make me think what we had was real, just for you to cheat on me with Bucky. Tell me you didn’t make me fall in love with you for it to be fake.”

“It wasn’t fake, Y/N. I did love you! I still do.”

You scooted away from her.

“Stop lying. Just tell me the truth; did you or did you not cheat on me with Bucky?”

She let out a few shaky breaths, feeling her own tears form.

“I did.” You let out a sob at her words. “I did and I regret it more than anything. I don’t know what came over me. All I know is that I want you and I wish I never did it,”

You let out a few more sobs as you cried harder.

Out of instinct, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around you as you sobbed into her chest.

“No.” You told her. “Get away from me. I don’t want comfort from the person who’s the reason for my pain.”

She nodded, wiping her own tears away.

“Y/N, it was the biggest mistake of my life. I’ll never forgive myself for it, but I still love you so much. You’re everything to me,”

You stood up, your harsh glare meeting her once again.

“You were right, Natasha,” you said to her. “I am like Kara. Because just like her, I gave my heart to a lying jackass. Get out and get away from me.”

You weren’t sure why it hurt so bad. You hardly had any of your memories together. But part of you knew that you loved her. Part of your mind never stopped loving her, even while you couldn’t remember her.

Sobs escaped your body as you held your knees to your chest. Natasha hated seeing you like this. She hated it even more so because she was the reason for it.

She wanted nothing more than to comfort you and hold you until you felt better. But she knew she couldn’t.

As she took a step toward the door, she glanced at you one last time, wondering if she truly lost you forever.

Carol came by to see you after she saw both Natasha and Bucky sulking.

Like Natasha, she had no problem entering the cell and sitting by you. Steve had advised everyone to keep a safe distance from you as your memories were still primarily HYDRA. He wanted you to fully come back just as much as everyone else did, but he couldn’t risk the safety of the team.

But as soon as she saw your red eyes and tear-struck cheeks, she could give two shits about Steve’s warning.

She sat down next to you on the bed, gently putting a hand on your back to let you know that she was there.

You practically jumped into her arms, allowing yourself to cry once more as you clung onto her.

You sobbed into her chest for a few minutes as she slowly stroked your back.

“Sorry,” you muttered, pulling away from her. “I think I might’ve ruined your shirt,”

She gave a soft laugh, then wrapped an arm around you.

“Don’t worry about it,”

“Why’d she put so much effort into getting my memories back if she knew I would find out and get hurt all over again?”

Carol sighed, gently squeezing your shoulder.

“I think part of her hoped, and is still hoping, that you’d forgive her,”

You scoffed,

“Once a cheater, always a cheater. Even if I remember everything, I’m not getting back with her. God, no wonder I left in the first place,”

“We were all worried about you, y’know. You left without a word. Tony tracked your phone, and found it shattered on the street a few blocks from here. We thought it meant you didn’t want to be found.” She told you. “If we knew you had been taken by HYDRA, we never would’ve stopped looking,”

“What happened while I was gone?”

“We all knew it had something to do with Natasha. She always acted like she was fine, but her eyes were constantly red and puffy. We also heard crying from her bedroom. A week or so later, she blew up at Bucky in front of everyone, so we all found out,”

“What happened then?”

“We hated them for it. We wanted nothing to do with them. I glared at Natasha any chance I got. How could she do that to you? I lost my best friend because of her,”

You let out a sniffle, then looked up at her to see that she had started crying too.

“I’m sorry for leaving you,” you said, hugging her once again. “I don’t clearly remember it, I have bits and pieces. But I should’ve at least talked to you guys instead of leaving like that,”

“It’s okay. You’re here now, and I’m not giving up on you.”

A week later, to your own surprise, you had called for Natasha again.

Both Wanda and Peter had made individual visits to you. You were grateful for them as they hugged you tight.

Wanda had suggested that you talk to her one last time to get some closure. She also said that it could help with your memory.

You were reluctant to the idea at first, but eventually agreed as you realized that the memory process was getting you nowhere at this point.

So you stood by the glass, waiting.

When she arrived, she almost couldn’t believe that you wanted her there. She thought that maybe you just wanted to scream at her, but then she saw your calm and collected face.

“I only called you here ‘cause Wanda thinks getting some closure could help with the memories,” you explained right away. You didn’t want her thinking that you had forgiven her.

She nodded, biting her tongue to prevent herself from crying.

You pointed to the door, indicating that you wanted her to come in.

She nodded again, opening it and standing a few feet away from you, arms crossed.

“I just need some answers,”

“Okay,”

You inhaled deeply, closing your eyes. You balled your fists, feeling your nails against your palms.

“Why did you do it?”

“I wish I knew.”

“Oh come on, you have to at least give me more than that,”

“I’m sorry, Y/N, but I genuinely don’t know why I did it.”

“Then tell me how it happened,”

“Are you sure? You said that this could be helpful for your memories, but I don’t want this to cause you any more pain than you already have,”

“I’m sure. Just tell me,”

“Alright,” she let out a slow breath. “You were on your way back from a mission. I had been missing you, so I was staying up late so I could see you as soon as you landed.” Her voice began to shake, but you motioned for her to continue. “While I was waiting, I assumed I was the only one up. So I decided to pour myself a drink, since there was still about an hour and a half before you’d get back. Bucky ended up coming down a few minutes later, so I poured him a drink too.”

“Really? You’re using the drinking excuse?”

She didn’t reply to you, but continued anyway.

“Something didn’t feel right, physically. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I ignored it and instead focused on how I would be seeing you soon. After around 30 minutes, something really felt off. I was about to get up and try to do something about it, but he got up at the same time. One minute we were just standing there, the next we were kissing. I wasn’t sure what had come over me. I didn’t know why I was doing it, but I didn’t stop. After it happened, I felt sick about it; literally. My eyes had turned red, and I just felt so nauseous-”

“I remember that,” you interrupted her. “I remember you had red eyes and weren’t feeling good. I thought you had gotten a cold, so I took time off training to stay with you. Of course, it was just you feeling guilty about being a cheater,”

“I couldn’t face what I had done-”

You interrupted her again,

“Wait a minute, you said you had red eyes and something felt wrong while you were with Bucky, right?” You said, she nodded in response. “Did the drink taste normal?”

She shook her head no,

“It didn’t, but I didn’t really focus on that. I was busy thinking about seeing you again,”

“Who all has access to the drinks?” You asked, your heart rate quickening.

“What are you talking about?”

“Just, take me to the security room and let’s look at the tapes for around that time, but a bit before,”

She wasn’t sure where you were going with this, but she opened the door anyway.

“You’re not gonna restrain my powers?” You asked as you had made it around halfway down the hall.

She shrugged,

“I don’t think you’re gonna hurt me or anyone here,”

You returned her shrug, then walked ahead of her until you reached the security room.

Once you arrived, you smiled, realizing that you had made it there on your own from your memories of this place.

You sat down in front of a computer, and began typing away at the security tapes.

“There’s a missing one, a few hours before,”

She turned her head in confusion.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.” she said, “Do everything you can to retrieve this file,”

“Right away, Miss Romanoff,”

“If I’m right then…” you began, but didn’t finish. You didn’t want to get your hopes up.

A few minutes later, F.R.I.D.A.Y. found the deleted file.

You pressed play, showing what had happened that day.

The HYDRA agent had memorized everyone’s schedule. The majority of the most powerful Avengers were currently on a mission, and the others were training; so this was the window.

He had hotwired a car Tony had left at a bar parking lot, when he was too drunk to drive and had to be taken home by a taxi, and then forgetting about the car altogether.

The agent used this to pull in without security questioning it.

He made his way to the back of the building, then spotted a slightly cracked window. He used that as his opportunity, reaching his hands under to fully open it up.

Once he climbed in, he then went to the kitchen.

Due to training schedules and timing, it was likely that no one would be drinking tonight except for the target.

So he took the bottle, opened it, then sprinkled a powder into it.

He then closed it, and put it back where he left it before leaving the room and coming to erase his tracks.

“HYDRA’s told us about that powder before and the effects of it, it makes you susceptible to suggestion. They’ve modified it so they can give specific commands just from taking it.”

“So what does that mean,”

“They knew we were together, they knew I had powers. They knew I’d be devastated if you cheated, and hoped that maybe I’d leave.” You started, staring at her with a mixed expression. “It’s starting to come back to me, the fire alarms had gone off that night. That was their signal that it had worked, and I was hurt. They took that to their advantage, and found me in my devastated state and took me.”

“What are you saying, Y/N?”

You smiled. It was the same smile you used to give her before everything happened. You took a step toward her and cupped her cheeks.

“You didn’t cheat.”

Your moment was short lived as you instantly fell to your knees, hands around your head.

Everything was coming back to you now.

“It’s pathetic, and never gonna happen!”

“Oh come on, you guys aren’t gonna actually freeze the room, right?”

“Oh my gosh, um- it’s not what it sounds like! I promise, it’s-”

“You should watch Supergirl with me,”

“Can you not go easy on your girlfriend during training?”

“Of course I’ll be your personal heater,”

“Natasha… I love you. I really do. It’s okay if you don’t wanna say it back, but I thought you should know.”

“My beautiful sunset,”

“You’re my home,”

“Natty,” it was the first time using that nickname since you’d been back here. “Natty, I remember everything now,”

She bent down to you, running a hand through your hair.

To say she was relieved was an understatement; she had just found out that the biggest mistake of her life wasn’t even her fault, that she didn’t betray you like she thought she had. And, the love of her life had finally completely come back to her.

You instantly began crying, leaning your forehead against hers, wrapping your arms around her neck.

Without thinking, you crashed your lips onto hers. It wasn’t a pretty kiss by any means; it was desperate, and wet with tears. But neither of you seemed to care.

“I love you so much,” you said between kisses. “I’m so sorry for everything I said to you.”

“It’s okay, you didn’t know, no one did,” she wrapped her arms even tighter. “I love you too.”

If either of you had been thinking straight, you would have alerted the team that you had gotten your memories back and didn’t need to be locked up anymore.

But you weren’t. All that was on either of your minds was making up for lost time.

She picked you up effortlessly, holding you tight. You wrapped your legs around her waist, keeping your lips on her skin.

She carried you all the way back to her (and now yours once again) room.

Once she set you on the bed, she reconnected your lips in a messy but meaningful kiss.

She crawled on top of you, planting kisses everywhere.

“I love you,” you told her again.

“And I love you,”

And those were all the words either of you needed right now as you continued showing each other just how much you loved and missed one another.

Hours later, you lay on the bed completely wrapped around her. Your face was buried in her neck as your limbs tangled with each other.

You both shot straight up at a knock to her door.

“Natasha,” came the voice of Steve. “Y/N’s missing.”

“About that…” she said. “There’s a lot I need to tell you guys.”

She hopped off the bed, keeping her hand connected with yours.

You met Steve’s worried eyes when she opened the door, tightening your grip on Natasha.

The conversation with the team ended up going well. Everyone apologized for how they had been toward Natasha and Bucky after learning that it wasn’t their fault.

And of course, they were ecstatic that you were back.

Carol, Wanda and Peter, ran toward you and all tried to hug you at once, resulting in a dog pile. Eventually, everyone else joined too, only making the pile bigger.

You met Bucky’s eyes, and gave him a smile. He seemed relieved, then smiled back at you.

The rest of the day, everyone continued making sure you were okay, and Tony had already started a plan for finding that HYDRA agent.

Bruce wanted to do a checkup, which you agreed to. Natasha held your hand the entire time, which made it a lot harder for him to do what he needed to. Despite this, he couldn’t bring himself to tell her to stop. You had both suffered so much these past few months, so if you wanted to hold hands right now, then so be it.

“Y’know,” Natasha began, pulling you into her lap. “We haven’t had a proper date in so long. Obviously it’s too late to go anywhere, but we can have a night in and watch last week's episode of Supergirl if you’d like. I haven’t watched it since the last time, and I really have missed my favorite blanket. So, what do you think?”

You turned around, kissing her instantly. It was a long, deep, needed kiss. You couldn’t get enough of each other now that you were back.

Once you pulled apart for air, she smirked at you.

“So I’ll take that as a yes, then?”

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