#but seriously. not a good measure of someone's actual blood pressure. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

angels-creative · 3 years

Text

Flash Thompson, First Aid Extraordinaire

Summary: Just barely managing to stumble through, Peter had all but a second before his knees buckled and he fell face-first into the rug beneath him. Breathing heavily, he could feel someone placing a hand on his shoulder, someone turning him over, but his eyes had already started to shut and he couldn't figure out who it was. / "Parker?" he heard, before he lost consciousness. "What the f—?" (Or, Peter tries to get help after being injured on patrol, and accidentally reveals his identity in the process.)

Words: 1.8k

Warnings: Heavy blood mention, fear of blood, mention of dying, improper first aid.

Notes: This is a collab between @goldenavenger02 (Susz) and I. We wanted to write a Flash redemption fic before NWH, so we did! Happy reading!

AO3 Link

Peter knew that he had been walking for far too long.

School had gotten out early that day and, after finishing up some homework and decathlon practice, he'd decided to go on late-night patrol. But now, as he glanced down at the giant gun shot wound in his side, he realized he probably should have thought things through. Crime was always higher on school days than it was on the weekend (thanks to the criminals figuring out his time was limitless from Friday to Sunday), and by the time he had decided to go out, it had been nine at night-- well past dark.

Despite the dizziness getting to him, though, Peter kept walking. He could feel the wound bleeding steadily, the crimson red liquid seeping and squishing beneath his fingers, but he needed to get to MJ's. 'Her house is just a few blocks away,' he told himself. She would know what to do; and as soon as he stopped putting pressure on the wound, he knew it would be game over, so at least he would be safe and with someone who could help him.

After staggering along the sidewalk for a few more minutes, Peter cast a web over his injury, shook his hands clean of the still-fresh blood, and, for good measure, dried them on his thighs. Then, he started to climb. His vision was going in and out, and he needed to be fast, because if he passed out on the side of a building, then there was a good chance of him either getting seriously hurt, or of no one ever finding him, and he knew May would be happy with neither.

Finally making it to the fire escape, Peter took off his mask and blew out a breath of exhaustion. He was so tired... but he needed to open MJ's window. He was literally right outside.

'Open the window,' he told himself. 'Open it before you pass out right now.'

Or, now that he thought about it, maybe that was Karen talking to him. 'It would make more sense,' he thought to himself. But, either way, Peter listened to the voice in his head and willed all his strength into forcing the unlocked window open.

Just barely managing to stumble through, Peter had all but a second before his knees buckled and he fell face-first into the rug beneath him. Breathing heavily, he could feel someone placing a hand on his shoulder, someone turning him over, but his eyes had already started to shut and he couldn't figure out who it was.

"Parker?" he heard, before he lost consciousness. "What the f—?"

—

Flash Thompson was having a... decently good day.

After arriving to school a little bit earlier than usual (thanks to his father's brand new Lexus LS) for a study session, he had gotten an A on his Spanish exam and had even managed to answer a few questions in decathlon practice, despite Parker actually showing up for once; and, now, after all that had happened, he had gone home and was hiding out in his room, under his father's strict instructions not to "badger his way into their dinner party."

He had just wanted a chance to prove himself.

Nevertheless, though, Flash had listened to his father and did as he was told. Pulling open his laptop, he had created a Google Docs document and was about to get a head start on his Othello essay, when something thumped from behind him.

'God,' Flash thought to himself as he ran a hand through his raven ringlets. He was just about to get started on his homework, after being let down yet again, and the last thing he needed was a bird crashing into his window. It had already happened a few weeks, maybe a month ago, and it freaked him out when it did. He was not looking forward to cleaning it up again.

Closing his laptop for the time being, Flash rolled his swivel chair backwards and was fully prepared to go get the broom, when he turned around and his eyes widened to the size of saucers. Of all the things he could have seen, he did not expect to see Spider-Man, passed out on his bedroom floor, and bleeding out onto his burgundy Bakhtiar rug.

'What. The. Hell?' Flash thought to himself. A superhero was in his room! And not just any superhero, but the one he had been idolizing since forever! What was he supposed to do?

'Checking to see if he's conscious might be a good start,' his brain told him.

'Oh!' Flash realized. 'Right!'

Dropping what he was doing, Flash dashed over to the man (or boy? Flash didn't know how old he was, but it seemed right to guess he was in his twenties), and knelt beside him, not knowing where to touch, or even if he could touch him at all. He had no experience with blood, or injuries, or anything in the medical field, but if a superhero came to him for help, he'd gladly give it to them.

"Mr— Mr. Spider-Man?" he asked, amazed by his presence, but also uncomfortable with the amount of blood that was rushing onto his rug. Just looking at it made him sick and dizzy, but Flash steeled himself and reminded himself that he needed to focus on the matter at hand. "Are... Are you okay, sir?"

He didn't get an answer.

That was okay, though! Or, at least, that's what Flash told himself. Judging by the amount of blood the guy was losing, he shouldn't have really expected much of an answer anyway.

Trying to remember what he had learned back from their first aid unit in PE, Flash grabbed a pair of (clean) socks, so as not to get any blood on him, and slipped them on. Then, taking a deep breath, he reminded himself to focus!, before he laid a hand on the superhero's shoulder, and rolled him on to his back.

His eyes grew wide, and Flash held back a gasp.

'Of all the things that could've happened to me tonight…'

"Parker?" he exclaimed. "What the f—?"

—

Ned was not expecting a phone call from Peter at twelve in the morning on a Monday night. But, Ned was also nothing, if not a good friend, so he answered it anyway.

"Peter?" he asked, as he threw his comic book to the end of his bed. As a result, it bounced off the bed frame and fell to the floor, and Ned sighed at the fact that, if he actually wanted to finish it, that also meant he'd have to go and get it. "Dude, what are you doing up? It's too late to be…"

Expecting to be asked for notes from math class, Ned was partially surprised, but mostly concerned, when Flash's voice came over the phone. "Ned!" he said, frantic. "Listen, dude, I— I'm sorry for calling so late, okay? But this is an emergency, and I could really use your help if you'd be willing to give it!"

Ned sighed. “Flash,” he started, “if this is about Chemistry class, I already told you, I’m not giving you my notes—”

“No, no, this isn’t about notes!” Flash explained, and Ned couldn’t help but pick up on how worried he sounded. It was so weird hearing Flash so panicked, when the guy was usually so cool and collected. “I— I need help! Or, we— we need help!”

Before Ned could ask who “we” was, Flash continued. “You know Peter, right?” he asked, before realizing his mistake. “Parker? Oh, wait, of course you do, what am I—?”

“Flash,” Ned stressed, his anxiety increasing. As he balanced his phone between his ear and his shoulder, Ned started to look for his set of keys. Flash was never one to call him, not in a million years, unless it was a life or death situation and, if it was, he wanted to be prepared. “What’s going on?”

“Parker just tumbled through my window and collapsed, that’s what’s going on!” Flash shrieked, and Ned held the phone away from his ear, opting to click the speaker button and set it on his desk. “I— I don’t know how hurt he is, but he’s losing a lot of blood, Ned. Like, a lot. And I’m trying my best to— Oh, God.” Ned heard a groan. “It’s getting on my carpet!”

“Flash,” Ned stressed again. He had finally managed to find his keys and was now getting his shoes on as he spoke. “Calm down,” he coached, “okay? Deep breaths, Peter is going to be fine, and so is your rug.”

“But—”

“But you’re going to need to keep him from bleeding out until I can call someone and get there. If he loses too much blood, he’s going to go into shock. Do you have anything you can use with you? A towel, or a washcloth?”

“Yeah, yeah!” Ned heard another groan of disgust over the phone, and then some rustling. “Okay,” Flash replied. “Okay, I got, um, I got a towel, and some tape, but that’s all I have. We— We have a first aid kit downstairs, but I can’t go down there, my parents are having a dinner party, and my hands are covered in blood.”

“Okay— wait,” Ned questioned, confused, “your parents are having a dinner party at twelve in the morning?” ‘That’s way past dinner time,’ he thought to himself.

“Yeah!” Flash answered, holding back another disgusted grunt. He could see, could feel the blood soaking through the Turkish towel, and the cotton socks he was wearing, and it did not feel good. In fact, it felt awful and appalling, and Flash distantly wondered to himself if humans were even supposed to have that much blood in their body. “And it’s important, so I can’t exactly screw it up for them!”

“You’re not going to,” Ned said. “I’m going to call someone, and we’ll be there as fast as we can. Ten minutes at the earliest, and half an hour at the most. Can you keep him alive that long?”

‘I don’t have a choice,’ Flash thought to himself. ‘Do I?’

Instead of saying that out loud, though, the boy just nodded and applied more pressure to the gunshot wound on the superhero’s stomach. But, then, he remembered Ned couldn’t actually see him, and, after blowing some hair out of his face, gave him a verbal answer. “Yeah,” he agreed, though it seemed like he was talking to himself more than anything else. “Yeah, I— I got this, I can handle that.”

“Good,” Ned said. Grabbing his jacket off a hanger, he had then turned off his bedroom light and made his way outside. Flash’s house was only a good ten, twenty minute trip from his, but if Peter was bleeding out, Ned knew that he could go into shock, and he wanted to get there as quick as he could. “I’m going to be there as fast as I can, but just keep putting pressure on it. And Flash?”

“Yeah?”

“Breathe. If you wanna keep Peter breathing, then you have to be breathing, too."

‘Right,’ Flash thought to himself. That was probably a good idea...

#our flash fic!!#peter parker #hurt peter parker #peter parker whump #ned leeds #flash thompson #flash thompson redemption #blood loss #gunshot wound #writing #writing stuff #goldenavenger02 #angel writes #Susz writes too!#marvel #mcu

48 notes · View notes

selfawarejester · 3 years

Text

Okay, okay but like... imagine if someone decides to challenge Blue Team to a “Without A Recipe” — which works perfectly because Spartans don’t exactly have prior baking/cooking experience and are extremely competitive (*cough* Looking at you, John, Kels. *cough*) and once you bait those two, Linda and Fred go along out of boredom and slight peer pressure (poor Fred).

Kelly starts off strong — she knows what ingredients she wants, her measurements are sort of alright, and she’s making good time. John takes a while to decide what he wants exactly, but once he’s gotten the idea set in his mind, he catches up with the same intense look on his face as he does the Spartan Jungle. His ingredients are varied and impressive, but he might be putting in way too much butter. And chocolate. And peanut butter.

Linda had decided to simply experiment and picks up Lasky’s hot sauce — cue the audience freaking out and getting silenced by a single look.

“I have this under control, calm down.”

Fred is just... very confused. He keeps changing his mind about what ingredients he wants to use and the measurements he wanted. Sarah swears that you could see the gears turning in his head furiously. Roland is seriously concerned by his blood pressure as John and Kelly are making it worse by jetting past, trading barbs.

John is quietly but surely losing his damn mind when they’re standing by the ovens, and the cookies are all melting into one giant square.

“What... why? Too much butter? But Linda and I used the same amount.” He’s gritting his teeth so much, you can hear it without enhanced hearing.

Tom is being very patient in explaining that the pepper in Linda’s hell-cookies probably absorbed all of the butter, to which John just inhaled deeply — and everyone thinks he’s about to yell — and just seethes “...okay.”

Fred burns himself while leaning over to look into the oven, which is how Kelly finds out that she burned her cookies.

“It said 150 for 20 minutes, so I thought why not 300 for ten? No, no, it’ll work, it’ll- fuck.”

Linda’s weird spicy cookies actually turn out wonderfully! Sarah chokes eating them because she’s not expecting the pepper, but Tom takes out half a tray all by himself.

Fred’s cookies didn’t have enough salt, but it was still pretty good — baked well, the chocolate was a nice touch. No one was expecting mint chocochip to come out well, but it was surprisingly nice.

John’s was burnt at the edges, and came out very chewy (Tom held it up and it started dropping in the middle — too much butter indeed.) but the peanut butter and the chocolate was 🤌 <edit: he probably had to chop it up into cookie squares as well>

Thorne was sitting in a corner, nibbling on a few, muttering that there was no way this should come out as well as it did.

Kelly’s was pretty... brown when it came out — very crispy, very crumbly, but her frosting helped make it edible. You could barely taste the chocolate in hers. (All you could really taste was smoke, but no one told her that.)

She very angrily agreed that John and Linda had tied to win, after trying them. She was pouting for the rest of the day, though.

Fred was just happy it was edible, sequestering himself to one of the tables and decompressing after all of that.

#does pepper absorb butter??? idk #halo #fred 104 #gabiwrites #halo shitpost #halo headcanon #halo headcanons #kelly 087 #linda 058 #thomas lasky #tom lasky #sarah palmer #spartan thorne #john 117 #master chief

147 notes · View notes

polaroid15 · 3 years

Text

Febuwhump day 20 - Betrayal

Summary: “How bad?” Tony asks.

“Not bad.”

“Pete-”

“I’m serious! I’ve gotten ten times worse as Spider-Man.”

When Tony looks at him, it’s gentle, and it nearly brings him to tears. “But you weren’t Spider-Man, buddy.”

Or, Peter just wanted a coffee.

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29138196/chapters/72739866

------

It’s not everyday that Peter is pistol whipped in the face by a Starbucks customer.

Today, however, is that day.

He’s at the front of the line, finally, and just as the cashier hands him his change a man wearing a crudely cut ski mask shoots two bullets into the ceiling. Everyone screams, ducks, and through the mass panic Peter hears his handful of change roll across the floor.

“Are you kidding me-”

“EVERYONE ON THE GROUND!”

Peter listens, trying his best to keep calm as he assesses his surroundings. The store has six customers and two employees. Another masked individual joins the first, also holding a gun.

That they’re not afraid to use, apparently.

Slowly and praying not to draw attention, Peter’s fingers close around the watch Tony had given him for his birthday and presses the side button three times. He’s only used the distress signal once before, and Tony had been at his side to help within a matter of minutes.

These idiots won’t even know what hit them.

The first man crosses behind the counter and shoves his gun into the barista’s face. “Open the register.”

For a minute, Peter thinks she’s going to refuse, her eyes set with anger and fear. As if getting the same sense, the man with the gun presses the barrel hard against her cheek and she whimpers. “Now,” he repeats, and she obeys with shaking hands.

Even though she complies, the man steps closer, his trigger finger tensing as the first inch of the barrel practically disappears into her face. Spidey sense screaming, Peter stands carefully, hands outstretched, “hey, hey. Come on man. Ease up. She’s doing what you asked-”

“On the ground,” the second criminal yells at him, spit flying from his mask. Peter freezes on the spot, eyes glued on the trembling barista. For one terrible moment, he’s brought back to a dark alley, his hands pressing down desperately on Ben’s chest.

“The register’s open,” Peter reasons, “let her go.”

“Looks like someone’s trying to play hero,” the first robber sneers. He pushes the barista aside and she falls onto the floor with a strangled yelp. “Grab him.”

Peter doesn’t flinch as the man’s accomplice obeys, digging strong fingers into his bicep and dragging him out of line. His back is brought against the man’s chest and the gun is pressed into his throat. He swallows at the pressure and keeps his eyes trained on the first man, who’s stuffing a duffel with cash.

Outside, there’s sirens.

“Damn it!”

The first man slams the empty drawer closed, throwing his gun out widely, “which one of you called the police?”

Peter almost laughs. Almost. “Are you kidding? You would’ve heard it if someone called. It’s a small room, buddy-”

A sharp pain in his face nearly sends him crashing to his knees. Blood pools onto his tongue but he keeps it there, not wanting to scare the other customers. Through the aching pulse in his head he hears a couple of them gasp.

“Not the time to be smart, kid.”

“Well you’re the ones who decided to rob a Starbucks of all places.”

Before Peter can even suck in a breath, he’s hit three more times, all where the first blow had landed. This time he does fall, and the man kicks him in the ribs for good measure when he’s down. The force of it has him gasping and somewhere in the distance Peter hears a kid crying.

Don’t think about Ben, don’t think about Ben.

“Police are here. Damn it. What do we do?”

Peter hears shuffling as he tries to reorient himself, his head spinning like a top. He only makes it to his elbows before his jacket is grabbed at its shoulder and he’s manhandled to his feet. He sways but stands his ground, wiping the blood off his chin with his sleeve.

“We take him with us.”

Peter doesn’t have the energy to argue as he’s dragged to the entrance by his neck. Through the glass and a rapidly swelling eye, Peter sees a semi circle of police, completely closing off an escape. He thinks he sees a flash of red and gold, too, but he can’t be sure.

“Walk, kid. No funny business.”

And he does, grateful, above everything else, that no one got hurt.

With a forceful shove, Peter is thrown out of the store, the grip on his neck still strong. He knows it’ll bruise in the shape of fingers, that he’ll stare at it in the mirror later and shudder at the memory of the touch.

“Drop your weapons!”

Peter yelps as the back of his knee is kicked in, forcing him to the ground. One of the men grabs his hair, forcing his head back, and sticks his gun underneath his chin. “Make another move and the kid gets it!”

It’s only now that Peter realizes his eyes hadn’t been playing tricks on him. Tony is here, standing on the sidelines of officers, his eyes blown wide with panic before his expression is cut off by his helmet.

He feels too dazed to be relieved.

“Let the kid go!” he hears one of the officers yell.

“Let us go!”

Peter chuckles again, and he’s not sure why. He feels warm blood dribble down his chin, and the grip tightens in his hair until he’s sure it’s going to be pulled right out of his scalp.

Whatever the men holding him had thought this was going to go, it must not be working, because one of the hisses a “get up” in his ear. Peter tries to listen, but he feels shaky and weak, and mostly just lets himself be dragged. He ends up back against the man’s chest, the gun pressed so forcefully into his temple that the opposite side of his head nearly touches his shoulder.

Only now does he let himself be afraid.

He could die.

Not as Spider-Man, not as a hero, but as himself. Right now. At Starbucks, of all places.

In front of Tony.

His mentor would never forgive himself.

“Walk,” the man hisses in his ear, and Peter stumbles obediently along with them as they step away from the door. The police follow them with their guns but otherwise don’t move.

“Where are you going to run?” Peter chokes. “It’s already too late.”

“Shut up.”

“There’s no way out of this.”

“I said shut up!”

Peter gasps when his head is hit again, his vision whitening at its edges. He must slump because the man struggles to keep him vertical. Somewhere in his fall Peter hears a familiar blast of repulsors and the hostile touch leaves him instantly. He falls to the cement, barely managing to catch himself on his elbows.

There’s a sudden rush of movement and Peter winces at the sheer loudness of it all. He hears muffled curses, boots hitting the pavement, the hostages inside the store cheering-

“Peter?”

And then there’s Iron Man, crouched down beside him and lifting up his chin gently with a metal-clad hand. Peter blinks away his double vision and musters a weak smile. “Hey man,” he wheezes, “coffee break?”

Tony doesn’t laugh like Peter hoped he would. Instead, he feels the armour shift under his arms and he’s lifted up, up and away. He jams his eyes closed at the sudden vertigo and lets out a tense breath when they land together on a nearby rooftop. In a second Tony is out of the suit and sitting beside Peter, his hands ghosting over the blood and bruises on his face.

“Concussion?”

“Look at my face. What do you think?”

“Cut that sass, kid. I have enough for the both of us. Anything else hurt?”

“Uh, my pride?”

“Ha. Funny. Now tell me the real answer.”

Peter sighs, and somewhere in the middle chokes on the blood in his throat. It makes his ribs flare and the wince he makes must be enough for Tony to piece two and two together.

“How bad?” he asks.

“Not bad.”

“Pete-”

“I’m serious! I’ve gotten ten times worse as Spider-Man.”

When Tony looks at him, it’s gentle, and it nearly brings him to tears. “But you weren’t Spider-Man, buddy.”

He sighs again and this time it’s easier. He lays down against the pavement in hopes it’ll stop the world from spinning while Tony hovers beside him like a worried mother hen. “Didn’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

“So let me guess,” Tony says, “you smart mouthed them.”

“Yep.”

“Course you did.”

Peter groans, poking gingerly at his swelling eye. He can barely see out of it anymore, which is highly unfortunate. “I lost my change. And I didn’t even get my drink.”

“Well, you’re alive, so that’s something.”

“Starbucks is expensive, Tony. I was treating myself.”

“I’ll buy you the whole damn Starbucks company if it’ll stop you from getting your face smashed in.”

Peter laughs at this. It makes his ribs burn. “Deal.”

Tony is quiet for a minute. “Feel up for a flight back home?”

Home.

He smiles.

“Only if we can pick up a coffee on the way.”

“Good God, kid. Look at these grey hairs. No seriously, I want you to look at them.”

Peter huffs out a laugh, head lolling slightly as Tony pulls him back up by his arms. Before they lift off, Peter is surprised when Tony wraps him in a hug. He blinks, then relaxes into it. It feels as if some of his pain is leaking into Tony.

He feels better.

“Thanks for coming,” he whispers.

Tony pulls away, ruffling his hair softly, his scalp still sore. “How couldn’t I? You were smart for once in your life and actually used the panic button I gave you-”

“Smart enough for a coffee?” Peter smirks, a cut on his lip stinging.

Tony looks at him solemnly and shakes his head.

“Grey hairs, Pete. Grey hairs.”

#febuwhump #febuwhump2021 #febuwhumpday20 #peter parker #tony stark #irondad #irondad fic #hostage situations #hurt peter parker #gun violene #protective tony stark #protective peter parker #peter parker whump #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending #tony stark acting as peter parkers parental figure #hope you enjoy! <3

176 notes · View notes

robininthelabyrinth · 4 years

Text

Light on the Door (ao3) (WWX in the Nie sect) - on tumblr: part 1, part 2

“Absolutely not,” Nie Mingjue said.

“I know this has come as a surprise to you,” Jiang Fengmian said, and his voice was calm and pleasant the way it always was. Reasonable. “But you must understand that –”

Nie Mingjue held up a hand. “Perhaps I was unclear, Sect Leader Jiang,” he said. “Let me clarify: absolutely fucking not.”

Jiang Fengmian was not an easy man to anger, nor did Nie Mingjue truly want to do so: he needed as many allies in the inevitable war against the Wens as he could manage. If he was smart the way Jin Guangshan was always encouraging him to be, he would soften his words, smile, try to make things palatable – but he was not Jin Guangshan, and he had never bent on a matter of principle.

Especially not when the principle was small and young and still unsure of himself underneath his bravado, afraid of losing all that he had gained in a single moment.

“His father was my right hand,” Jiang Fengmian said, a rare frown creasing his face. “The Jiang sect would raise him as his father had intended.”

“His father is dead,” Nie Mingjue rebutted. “And before he died, he was a rogue cultivator – your Jiang sect has no claim here.”

“Legally, no,” Jiang Fengmian said. “But morally –”

“He joined my Nie sect willingly,” Nie Mingjue interrupted. His hands are clenched into fists behind his back: of course this would be the thing that Jiang Fengmian refused to bend on, it was different when it was his family that died, their legacy he wished to see fulfilled, and never mind about the murderer that still walked free and unhindered even by mere criticism. Never mind that that had been a father, too. “As is his right. If he wishes to go, I will not stop him –”

There was a moment there where Jiang Fengmian looked pleased, as if he thought Nie Mingjue was giving in.

“– but I do not understand him to want to,” he finished. “And no, before you ask, I will not let you bully him and bribe him until he does as you wish; as long as he is part of my Nie sect, he will be protected even from that.”

“Am I not even allowed to make the offer?” Jiang Fengmian asked, clear challenge in his voice. He even permitted his qi to flare up, cultivation acting to suppress those in the area – absolutely inappropriate, a tremendous breach of etiquette that could only barely be ascribed to Jiang Fengmian’s emotional state rather than a deliberate desire to intimidate.

Nie Mingjue kept his back straight despite the pressure. No one would blame him for faltering, not even his sect elders; the pressure was immense, and he was in the end only sixteen years old, his body not yet fully formed or even fully grown despite him already being taller than Jiang Fengmian –

But he had his pride. His pride, and Baxia, and the Nie sabers did not bend for anyone.

“Sect Leader Jiang,” he said, allowing his rage into his voice. “Control yourself, or you will not see him at all.”

Jiang Fengmian closed his eyes briefly, recalling his power; there was a hint of apology on his features when he opened them again – perhaps it really had been a mistake. Either way, it didn’t matter.

“Do you know what that sort of pressure can do to someone who’s not yet of age?” Nie Mingjue demanded, crossing his arms. “If Wei Ying was harmed because of you –”

“I would never hurt Wei Ying! Or any other child!”

“Perhaps,” Nie Mingjue said, omitting to mention that by some measures he already had. “Perhaps not, if he refused you; you’re not exactly demonstrating dignity in the face of being told ‘no’ right now.”

Jiang Fengmian’s eyes narrowed, but he couldn’t say anything – he had, in fact, been intolerably rude. He took a deep breath, calming himself forcefully, and then focused on Nie Mingjue.

“His father was my closest friend,” he said, and there was a touch of real pain in his voice. “His mother was very dear to me. I only wish what’s best for him. If he comes back with me, I would make him a direct disciple –”

“So will I,” Nie Mingjue said.

That got a reaction out of Jiang Fengmian beyond anger and selfishness.

“A direct disciple of your Nie clan?” he asked, clearly shocked. “But your clan – there’s only you and your brother in the main line!”

“I’m aware.”

“You don’t seriously mean that you would risk the inheritance of your sect –”

“I have already announced it to my sect,” Nie Mingjue said. “Three weeks ago. If what you want is what’s best for him…other than stories of his parents, which you could give him without taking him away, is there anything else you can find lacking and insufficient in my Nie sect?”

“I didn’t mean to insult you,” Jiang Fengmian said, suddenly belatedly cautious.

“You did,” Nie Mingjue said flatly. “You persist in treating me as a child when I am a sect leader, the same as you. I have told you that the answer is no, and that the answer will remain no. You are in Qinghe, Sect Leader Jiang; if you’re going to insult me to my face, I suggest you pick better ground.”

Jiang Fengmian bit his lip and looked down. “You will not let me take him.”

“I will not,” Nie Mingjue agreed. And then, because Wei Ying really did deserve to know his parents, he added, “But I would be willing to consider something else.”

Jiang Fengmian looked up. “What do you mean?”

Nie Mingjue shrugged, having just thought of the idea himself. “You have children around his age, don’t you? Send them to the Unclean Realm for a season, and I’ll send Wei Ying and my brother to the Lotus Pier for another season in return – it’s not an uncommon arrangement to build relationships between sects.”

An extremely old-fashioned and out-of-date one – nowadays, heirs would only go for long-term visits if there was a real reason to go, like Teacher Lan’s lessons; even the Lan sect, which was close allies to the Nie, would only come to visit for a few weeks.

But it was something he could offer. Something that would make clear to Wei Ying that he wasn’t being abandoned or given away or sold; with Nie Huaisang by his side, he would always remember that he was a part of the Nie sect first and foremost, and get some good experience in the world besides.

“I would like that,” Jiang Fengmian said slowly. “Yes – I would like that a great deal.”

“We’ll work out the details, then,” Nie Mingjue said. The sooner this meeting was over, the better; he wanted to go scream and hit something. “Is there anything else?”

“One more thing.”

Scream. And hit things. Many, many things.

“Yes?”

“You call him Wei Ying,” Jiang Fengmian said. “Have you thought of a courtesy name for him yet?”

He had offered the man an inch and he was trying to take a mile, but Nie Mingjue could see the desperate hope on his face, the need for him to leave some mark of the Jiang sect on Wei Ying – to honor his parents’ legacy or to make up for having failed them, it didn’t matter which.

Perhaps this would convince the man to finally drop the issue for good.

“I would be willing to listen to any suggestions you might have,” Nie Mingjue finally allowed, still hedging in case it was something really inappropriate. “What did you have in mind?”

“Wei Wuxian has a good ring to it,” Nie Huaisang said thoughtfully once the horrible meeting was finally over and they could creep out of their hiding spot to stretch their legs. It was getting a bit cramped in there. “And I suppose it really was the very least da-ge could do, after having all but told him off to his face – especially since the Jiang clan really is quite powerful. I’m really very proud of da-ge for managing to keep his temper as well as he did; we should do something nice for him in return. Don’t you think?”

He paused for a moment.

When he didn’t receive a response, he frowned. “Wei Ying?”

“Is that what a direct disciple means?” Wei Ying said, staring blankly at the wall in front of him.

“What?”

“A direct disciple,” Wei Ying repeated. His face was frozen stiff, maybe from shock or something. “You said it meant I’d be a member of the family.”

“That is what it means.”

“Yes, but you didn’t – you never said – being a direct disciple puts me in line to inherit the Nie sect?”

“Well, yes,” Nie Huaisang said, scratching the back of his head a little. He had no idea why Wei Ying was behaving so strangely. “I mean, the Nie clan runs the Nie sect, and we’re the Nie clan, so joining the Nie clan obviously means – ”

“There’s nothing obvious about it!” Wei Ying exclaimed. “You have cousins! Cousins and aunts and uncles and – there’s so many of them I can barely even keep count –”

“Branch families after many, many years,” Nie Huaisang said with a shrug. “But Qinghe Nie doesn’t make everyone with a drop of blood in them a direct disciple; you have to be part of the main family for that.”

“But…!”

“But what?”

“It’s your sect,” Wei Ying said. “My surname isn’t even Nie!”

“Well, first off, stop assuming you’re going to inherit the sect because that requires both my brother and I to be dead,” Nie Huaisang said. “Which we have no current plans to be. Secondly, if you did end up as the only direct disciple left, you’d be required to marry in with one of the cousins and have Nie babies before you were allowed to actually be sect leader. So for the sake of your future marriage, you have to keep us alive –”

Wei Ying grabbed him into a hug.

“Thank you,” he said, and Nie Huaisang very nobly decided not to complain about how his tears and snot were getting his very nice robes all wet. “I don’t know why you want me, but you do, and – thank you.”

“Of course we want you, you’re great,” Nie Huaisang said, delicately patting Wei Ying on the back. “Look at you, not just one sect wanting you, there are two fighting over you; how many people can say that…?”

“He wants my parents, not me,” Wei Ying said. “If I went there, he’d love me for them, and if I didn’t have anyone else, that’d be good enough – but da-ge picked me for no reason at all, and you grabbed onto me just because –”

“I mean, I did have some ulterior motives, I do so much less saber training now that you’re here –”

“Just accept the compliment.”

Nie Huaisang grinned. “Okay, fine. Besides, you can finally stop saying you need to pay me back now!”

Wei Ying pulled back and wiped his eyes. “How’s that?”

“Didn’t you hear da-ge? You’ve just gotten me a free vacation to Yunmeng for a whole season! It’s going to be great!”

“I hope so,” Wei Ying said. “We’ll be spending a lot of time with the Jiang sect heirs…I hope they’re as nice as Lan Zhan.”

Nie Huaisang patted him on the shoulder. “Just accept it now, Wei Ying. No one’s ever going to be as perfect as Lan Zhan in your eyes.”

“Shut up. Do you know anything about them?”

“The Jiang sect heirs? There’s a girl and a boy, that’s all I know. They’re too young to be the subjects of gossip, though, so I can’t tell you anything about their likes and dislikes.”

“That’s fine,” Wei Ying said. “I guess we’ll find out when we see them.”

“Your dog is wonderful,” Jiang Cheng said.

“Thanks,” Wei Ying said, beaming. He liked the other boy already. “Yours are pretty great, too!”

“They are, aren’t they?” Jiang Cheng said, face lighting up. “This one’s Jasmine, and this one’s Princess, and the last one’s Lovely!”

“Mine’s Xiao Bai! And he’s big enough to be three dogs all together!”

“No kidding! I’ve never seen a dog that big! Why’s he that big?”

“Dunno. Da-ge says he’s a sheepdog from the mountain, and they get really big there.”

“Do they have to fight bears or something? I bet he could fight a bear.”

“Well, maybe if he had to,” Wei Ying said. “Unfortunately, I kind of raised him into a glutton, so now all he wants to do is lie around and eat meat –”

Xiao Bai barked.

“...and he knows the word for ‘meat’.”

“He’s so smart,” Jiang Cheng said, reaching out to rub Xiao Bai behind the ears. “Such a good boy –”

“Please tell me you like something other than dogs,” Nie Huaisang said to Jiang Yanli, who hid a giggle behind her sleeves. “Please. I can already foresee the rest of the season going like this.”

“Well, dogs are very distracting creatures,” she said, her eyes curving into crescents. “They’re warm and furry and all that. But I’d be happy to talk about something else with you…do you like painting?”

“Very much,” Nie Huaisang said, interest piqued at once. “Do you paint?”

“I’m average,” she said with a small shrug. “But I enjoy it. You’re welcome to join me, if you like – I don’t think A-Cheng and Wei Wuxian are going to stop anytime soon.”

“A-Ying can do it for hours all on his own,” Nie Huaisang said mournfully. “He used to be afraid of dogs, you know? I almost miss those days…can we really go paint?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t we?”

“Well, I mean, I don’t know. We were sent here to learn, weren’t we? I thought it’d be lessons all the time. ‘Go to the training field!’, that sort of thing.”

Jiang Yanli smiled and visibly resisted the urge to pat his head. “Some lessons are taught outside of the training field. Do you know the motto of Yunmeng Jiang?”

“Uh,” Nie Huaisang said. Memorization had never been a strong point. “I mean…”

“It’s ‘attempt the impossible’,” Jiang Yanli told him. “To live bravely, without restraints on your heart.”

“So,” Nie Huaisang said, trying to parse it, “you get to do whatever you want?”

“Not quite,” she laughed. “But we get more freedom to govern ourselves than most, yes. I don’t train too much – I don’t have much talent, you see.”

“Neither do I!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed, beaming. “But da-ge’s always pushing me to do better, work harder, try more…”

He trailed off when he saw the wistful, almost envious expression on Jiang Yanli’s face.

“…don’t you like not being forced to cultivate?” he asked, a little hesitant.

“Your brother loves you very much,” Jiang Yanli said. “He only wants what’s best for you. He pushes you because he thinks you can do it.”

Nobody pushed her because nobody believed in her, she meant, and even Nie Huaisang – a devoted good-for-nothing – felt awkward about it.

She didn’t even have a sword.

“Well, don’t worry,” he said, clumsily trying to offer some comfort. “You’re coming to Qinghe next season, aren’t you? You’ll get more than your fill of people pushing you to do things there!”

“I’m sure,” Jiang Yanli said, not sounding as if she believed him at all. “But for the moment – do you want to go paint? And perhaps later we can convince A-Cheng and Wei Wuxian to go shoot kites while we pick lotus seeds.”

“That sounds like an excellent plan,” Nie Huaisang said. “And maybe we can go to the market and see if they have any fans? I have a collection, you know.”

“Well,” Jiang Yanli said, smiling again. “If you have a collection, then of course…”

“I’m not sure I’m entirely suited for this, Sect Leader Nie,” Jiang Yanli said, breathing hard.

“I don’t see why not,” Nie Mingjue said, putting Baxia up on his shoulder. “Take a walk around the yard so you don’t get cramped while your heart-rate comes down, then we can start again.”

“Sect Leader Nie, with all due respect, I wasn’t really intending on picking up something new – much less saber, which isn’t even practiced in the Jiang sect.”

“Well, you have to train in something, you didn’t bring your sword, and all we’ve got are sabers,” he pointed out with a shrug. “What else were you planning on doing while you were here?”

Jiang Yanli smiled a little. “Feminine activities?”

Nie Mingjue let his eyes drift over to the nearby field where three of his aunts were pulverizing a training model that looked almost startlingly similar to one of his uncles.

Jiang Yanli coughed as if she could hide the laugh. “I admit I was more in mind of – cooking. Or sewing, or painting…”

“You can do that in your free time,” Nie Mingjue said briskly. “Nie Huaisang sang your praises in every one of his letters; the least I can do to repay you is making sure you get the full benefit of your time here. Consider it a gift.”

Jiang Yanli did not seem especially pleased by the gift. Her face did exactly the same sort of ‘thanks I hate it’ twist as Nie Huaisang’s.

He wondered idly what excuse she was going to try next. She might not realize it yet, but she wasn’t going to have any more luck than Nie Huaisang had ever had.

“Sect Leader Nie…don’t you think I’m too old for this?”

He stared at her. “You’re joking.”

“Most sword cultivators start in their childhood –”

“You’re fourteen.”

“It’s more difficult to pick things up once you get above ten,” she said with a shrug. “There’s nothing to do about it –”

“Pick a skill you’re good at,” he said. “Any skill, and teach it to me.”

She stared at him. “What?”

“You’re not that much younger than me, and I can still pick up new things,” Nie Mingjue said. “You teach me a skill, and I’ll teach you one, and that way we’ll be fair – and if I really can’t pick up yours and you really can’t pick up mine, then, and only then, will I admit that you have a point about our ages.”

Jiang Yanli still seemed uncertain, although she also looked somewhat intrigued. “Sect Leader Nie…what’s the point?”

“What’s the point of what? Of cultivating? You’re a cultivator, aren’t you? Isn’t that point enough?”

“I’m not going to ever be an outstanding cultivator,” she pointed out. “I’m going to be someone’s wife, someone’s mother –”

“We’re literally cultivating against the heavens,” Nie Mingjue interrupted her. “Aren’t you Jiang sect people supposed to attempt the impossible? You can be someone else’s and still be yourself.”

He’d never been very good with words, retreating when possible into silence, but something about what he’d said left a mark.

“Very well,” Jiang Yanli said, and raised the practice saber she’d already adorned with a pink bow – a clear sign that her subconscious had committed to it, even if her mind hadn’t yet caught up. “I’ll take you up on that bet, Sect Leader Nie. Saber, and then you can join me in the kitchen to cook.”

Cooking? Cooking was fine, he could do cooking –

“And we’re not making barbeque.”

…maybe he couldn’t do cooking.

Whatever. That was a problem for later. Nie Mingjue lifted his saber and bared his teeth at her in a grin. “This time,” he said. “Make an effort, will you? I’d like to break a sweat sometime today.”

Her eyes flashed, and she attacked.

“You two are going to get along and that’s final,” Wei Wuxian announced, hands on his hips. “Now I’m going to get us some snacks and while I’m going you guys are going to get over yourselves, you hear me?”

He made a show of storming out the door, but the second he was outside he waved his hand furiously to send a passing servant to get the snacks and crept back to listen.

Neither Jiang Cheng nor Lan Zhan was his shidi – that was Nie Huaisang – and of course no one could match his da-ge, but he loved them both very much, so they had to get over this inexplicable rivalry they had.

They had to!

“…very special,” Lan Zhan was saying.

“I know,” Jiang Cheng said. He sounded unusually serious – unlike Lan Zhan, who was always serious (except when he was being teased, in which case he was delightfully flustered). “He’s just – I don’t know. It’s hard to share, you know?”

“En.”

“It’s…let me tell you about my sister.”

Wait, why were they talking about Jiang Yanli? She was great, but not relevant to the issues here.

“When she first came to Qinghe, she got into a bet with Sect Leader Nie over…I don’t even know what. She practiced the saber a lot. And then she took one of the sabers home, and she kept practicing with it – my parents were pretty confused, but they mostly let her do what she likes, and Mother was pleased that she’d at least started cultivating something even if it was the wrong thing – and…she’s happier now. Like a candle lit for the first time.”

“…I understand,” Lan Zhan said, which, good for him because Wei Wuxian was totally confused. “It was the same for me. The first ray of sunlight in the morning.”

“Yes! Exactly like that.”

They were quiet for a few moments.

“I suppose,” Jiang Cheng finally said, sounding rather begrudging about it, “that sunlight is meant to be shared.”

“En,” Lan Zhan said. “We are all equal under the sun.”

“I could manage equal,” Jiang Cheng said. “As long as we’re the same, yeah? Best friends.”

There was a brief pause, and then – “Best friends,” Lan Zhan echoed. “Agreed.”

Wei Wuxian couldn’t help himself: he burst in through the doors at once. “You can’t be each other’s best friends!” he exclaimed. “You’re my best friends!”

They both looked at him, eerily identical long-suffering expressions on their faces, and then they looked at each other, and then for some reason they both nodded to each other like they were sealing some sort of pact.

“Okay, it’s all decided,” Jiang Cheng said. “We’re all best friends from now on.”

“All of us?” Wei Wuxian said hopefully. “Both of you?”

They nodded.

“And Nie Huaisang, of course,” Wei Wuxian said. “We can’t leave him out! He’s my shidi!”

“We wouldn’t dream of it,” Lan Zhan assured him.

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng said. “I guess second place to the Nies isn’t bad, if it’s shared.”

“Xiao Bai,” Lan Zhan said.

“…third?”

“Suibian.”

“Fourth.”

Lan Zhan nodded.

“What are you two even talking about?” Wei Wuxian complained, but not really – he was too happy. He threw himself in between the two of them, wrapping an arm around each one. “I leave you alone for less time than it takes to make a cup of tea and suddenly you’ve got some sort of secret code…”

“Don’t worry, you idiot,” Jiang Cheng said, rolling his eyes. “We still like you the best.”

#mdzs #wei wuxian #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #jiang fengmian #jiang yanli #jiang cheng #lan wangji #my fic #my fics #light on the door

443 notes · View notes

mochegato · 4 years

Text

Pixie Spy

Chapter 3

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Adrien was resting lightly on the hotel couch as he waited for Marinette and Constantine to return from their mission. It probably would have been wiser to just wait until the morning to check on Marinette but he wanted to be available to leave immediately in case something happened. Plus he wanted to see Constantine before he went home so he could make sure they all agreed on the next steps. Which led to his current position in their base of operations, covered in popcorn from an overturned bowl, in front of a table full of caffeinated drinks that hadn’t been as effective as he was hoping, the credits for the latest movie in his movie marathon rolling by on the television, and Plagg snoring loudly atop the overturned bowl.

Their Base of Operations was a penthouse room in Le Grand Paris Hotel next to Chloe’s room. She had convinced her Daddy she needed to have the extra room so she could have a gym and meditation area nearby. After all, was she really expected to share a gym with other people and their germs? Did he have no concern for her health at all! Did he want her to get sick? And with the whole Hawkmoth situation, she needed to meditate to relieve stress. Did he really think there was any way she could relax sharing a meditation area with other people!? Stressed people had trouble focusing in school. Did he want her to fail out of school? Did he want her to be stressed out and stress eat? To be sick and unhealthy and uneducated and miserable and get AKUMATIZED? Again? Is that really what he wanted for his only daughter?

The speed at which he caved was a personal best for Chloe and will forever be used by the team as a measure of speed, “yeah, that was fast, but not like meditation room fast”. And if the room she selected just so happened to have a balcony the heroes could use to swing in on and an extra bed they could use to collapse into after a tough fight and gym mats that could be used for sparring and a fully stocked refrigerator and pantry with the snacks the kwamis liked best and soundproofed walls (I mean honestly how was Chloe supposed to be expected to meditate in an unsoundproofed room?), it’s not really anyone else’s concern, now is it.

However, after hours of watching bad movies, the resolve he had earlier in the night of staying up until they returned had waned and he had involuntarily drifted off to sleep. It was almost sunrise and not long after that was when he would normally wake up for the day. Thankfully, he didn’t have anything scheduled for the day to ‘work on a large project’ with Chloe all day, so he would be able to sleep in and try to catch up. But as it was, he was running on almost no sleep for about 24 hours, after a full week of late nights and early mornings preparing for tonight, and consequently he was a little out of it. So perhaps he should be excused for having a very loose grip on reality at the present moment.

As soon as the portal opened behind his couch, he bolted up sensing the change in pressure more than reacting to any actual sound and immediately collapsed back on the couch when the sudden rush of blood made him dizzy. He blinked heavily as he watched Marinette and Constantine walk through the portal. He kept his focus on the portal behind them, mesmerized by the shimmering waves it created and still trying to get his hazy brain to focus on the present even after the portal had closed. He rubbed his eyes and squinted, still not sure if he was dreaming or conscious or if the two were bleeding together. “Is that… did you bring me a cat?” he asked in an uncertain voice still trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

“A what?” Marinette asked whipping around. “Oh for God’s sake. Seriously, cat. You’re not allowed to eat the kwamis,” she chastised the cat who dutifully ignored her and jumped onto the coffee table in front of Adrien to get a better look at the new kwami he had discovered, knocking over a few of Adrien’s drinks along the way.

Constantine huffed out a single laugh and tossed a cigarette into his mouth as he made his way toward the balcony, “Persistent little bugger. Good luck with that. I’m going out for a smoke.”

The cat cocked his head to the side and stared at the kwami. He cautiously raised his paw toward him as if to bat at him and started making chirping noises at him. When Plagg didn’t respond to the chirping, the cat moved a few steps closer to the black cat kwami and tried meowing at him.

“Back off fleabag,” Plagg hissed eyeing the infiltrator hostilely, “there’s already one cat here and I don’t share.”

“Only one?” Tikki asked amused.

“He doesn’t count his isn’t a real cat,” Plagg spluttered out motioning towards Adrien.

“Neither are you,” Adrien pointed out blithely.

Plagg flew into Adrien’s face to glare at him, “Look here you little…”

“Relax Plagg, I’m sending him back now,” Marinette interrupted rolling her eyes. “Voyage,” she called out picturing the Batcave and moving her arm to create a much smaller, cat sized portal she could push their stowaway through. She attempted to pick up the cat, but he apparently had other ideas. He twisted smoothly out of her hands, struggling to stay near the kwami. “Ugh,” Marinette grunted after a few more failed attempts, “Stop being a liquid!” she ordered the cat who continued to ignore her, but still rubbed against her legs on his way past her. “Tikki, Trixx, can you help out here?” she asked exasperated.

“Sure thing,” Trixx chirped and Trixx and Tikki flew around the cat’s head, gaining his attention. Once they were sure the cat was paying attention to them and willing to follow their movements, they both flew toward the portal at top speed, splitting up just before going through the portal. The cat raced after them but wasn’t quick enough to change his direction in time to avoid the portal. His momentum and Marinette’s well timed push caused him to slide through the portal. As soon as he was through, Marinette closed the portal, sealing him on the other side. They may be data thieves, but they were not cat thieves and she was not in the mood to deal with Plagg’s territoriality.

Marinette called off her transformation and collapsed into a large arm chair, letting out a long, tired sigh as she pulled off her shoes and tossed them on the floor. She rested her head against the back of the chair and closed her eyes, trying to meld with the chair and become one. She was ready for this night and this mission to be over. She didn’t even want to check that they got the data, she just wanted to go to sleep and never think about this night or blue eyes ever again. The gala was the past. It had no place in her future. Except that after all the information she had so stupidly shared both in the cave and at the gala, to a member of the Batfamily at that, they could definitely expect an immanent visit from the Batfamily and they would have to be prepared for that.

Adrien glanced over at Marinette amused at her exhaustion. He hoped her exhaustion was due to her having fun at the gala. Maybe she had met someone, at least for the night. Or maybe she had been able to network a bit. With the dress she had… his eyes widened as he suddenly noted her dress. That wasn’t what her dress looked like when she had left. That wasn’t a good sign. She was in the escape plan version of the dress, the shit-went-to-Hell version of the dress. It was supposed to be a last resort option. Well shit… On the bright side, that version of the dress was a lot more appealing and would have gotten more attention, so she might have gotten something out of the night after all. He shook his head and plastered on a fake smile, “So, how did it go? Was the mission a success?”

Marinette opened one eye to glare at him, the effect of which he thought was quite impressive considering she was only using one eye, honestly. “How did it go?” she repeated back to him in a belligerent tone opening both eyes to fully glare at him. “How did it go? How do you think it went?” she asked moving her hands up and down over her body indicating her dress.

“It looks like you got to show off that amazing design. So… any commissions? Get any phone numbers? Get the data?” He tried again still with a forced optimism.

“Oh he got the data alright,” her voice was dripping in false sweetness before switching to venom. “From the batcomputer in the Batcave as he was stealing it from Batman.” She replied intentionally avoiding the commission question because like hell was she going to hand him that win.

“What?!” Adrien exclaimed in shock.

“Yeah, that was the mission. Keep eyes on Batman while Constantine stole from him.”

“But you were supposed to keep an eye on the Waynes…”he commented confused.

“Exactly,” she confirmed with an acerbic smile.

“Wait… what! Bruce Wayne is Batman!!” he jumped up off the couch.

“Yep” she said popping the p.

“Shit,” he ran his hand over his face and collapsed back on the couch.

“That was roughly my response as well but with a lot more hostility and cursing.”

“But, I don’t understand… doesn’t he know Batman? Haven’t they worked together before? Why would we have to go through all of this if it was his friend?” his brain was still waking up and this was a lot to process and clearly his brain was not ready to do so.

“That is an excellent question my young Padawan,” she stood up moving closer to him.

“I’m older than you,” he interrupted with an annoyed look, but Marinette continued on ignoring him.

“And who does Constantine avoid at all costs?”

Adrien thought about it. They didn’t know Constantine extremely well, but they had managed to get a pretty good feel for him, “Legal authorities, debt collectors, his exes…”

“Exactly,” she interrupted “and since he doesn’t consider Batman a legal authority based on having worked with him before, and he doesn’t owe him money…”

“Oh my God!! He was screwing Batman!”

“It would seem so,” she nodded picking up one of the drinks on the table and contemplating the benefits of drinking it vs just saying fuck it and going to bed now.

“All that stuff we did? All that prep work, all that studying, the planning, the stress, the lost sleep, it was all because he wanted to avoid his ex?” Adrien needed clarification on this because they had gone through a lot in the last few weeks, unnecessarily so if that was true. Why had they allowed Constantine to help them again?

“He wanted to avoid him but get him involved with us. He figured this little undercover operation would achieve both.”

“Wait, how was you going to the Gala supposed to help?”

“Oh that’s another brilliant part of this clusterfuck of a night. The whole ‘stay undetected’ proviso was a fake out. The entire point was to get noticed. That’s why he sent me instead of you.”

“But, I’m famous so me going would have done that better.” Adrien couldn’t figure out if none of this made sense because his brain was still turned off or if it really didn’t make any sense, but Marinette’s reaction seemed to confirm that it wasn’t just him that was struggling with this.

“He didn’t just want us to get noticed, he wanted one of the bat boys to get invested, and he thought that was more likely if it was me rather than you. Apparently I look a lot more pathetic than you, so I worked better in his little plan,” she grumbled before smirking at him. “Personally, I think he vastly underestimated your ability to flirt and apparently the oldest brother is something of a slut so you could have possibly gotten a date out of it or at least a make out session. You should talk to him about that.”

Adrien stared at her as she ranted, trying to process everything she was telling him. One phrase caught his attention though, “which one is the oldest one again? Is he the one with the hair and the eyes and the…” he motioned toward his shoulders trying to indicate broad shoulders and firm body, “the gymnast?”

“Yep, that’s the one,” she nodded.

“Shit.” Adrien looked dejected. But turned back to her with a rakish smile. “So did his plan work? Did one of them ‘invest’ in you?”

“Not in me… ugh” she fell onto the couch. “So, on top of everything else, the brother we thought was dead? He’s very much alive. A wonderful fact which Constantine knew and I discovered WHILE I WAS DANCING WITH HIM! I mentioned the Hawkmoth situation to him in a very vague way before I knew who he was, which I would never have done if I’d known who he was, and I would have known if Constantine had fucking TOLD us about him.” She shouted toward the balcony.

“So…” Adrien prompted her.

“He seemed invested in stopping people getting hurt when I ran out, not in me.” She clarified, though whether she was trying to convince herself or him, she wasn’t sure.

“… you were dancing with him?” Adrien cocked his head to the side and gave her a smirk. “How closely were you dancing, exactly?”

“It wasn’t… that’s not how… It wasn’t like that. I was using him as a cover to get onto the dancefloor to observe the Waynes.” She floundered, her cheeks starting to turn pink as she forced down the ‘not close e-fucking-nough’ that wanted to break out.

“Don’t let her lie to you like that,” Constantine said coming back into the room. “She and Jason were getting cozy.”

“You were not there. We were NOT getting cozy,” she lied through her teeth, pointing a threatening finger towards him. And they certainly hadn’t been as cozy as she would have liked, so it isn’t really a lie, only kind of a lie.

“How cozy were you getting? Should I start planning a shovel talk?” Adrien grinned, enjoying every second of this.

Marinette sputtered at him, her blush turning darker, “This is not about my non-existent love life, this is about Constantine’s fucked up sex life. It is about him going though all this so he could avoid having to talk to his ex. He could have just asked Wayne for the information if he wasn’t so focused on his stupid little lover’s spat.”

“It wasn’t a lover’s spat.” Constantine corrected offended by the suggestion.

“Just a prank on your boyfriend then?” Marinette hissed at him, “at the expense of our time and Parisians’ sanity.”

“He isn’t… we aren’t… I have never and will never sleep with Batman. God, of all the vigilantes to suggest… I mean not the worst but not even when drunk and desperate.”

“You’ll screw a shark but not a bat?” Adrien asked with a cocked eyebrow.

“Okay, first I didn’t screw a shark, I got screwed by a shark, a lot. There is a difference. I highly recommend it actually... well maybe not to you two sunshine children… but the loud, blonde one seems like she might be into having fun.”

Adrien made a gagging sound and Marinette turned away quickly, shuddering and closing her eyes against the thought of Chloe and… anything. She didn’t want to think about Chloe doing anything with anyone. “I think I need to scrub my brain with bleach.”

“Second,” Constantine continued on, pretending he wasn’t enjoying their reaction to his statement, that it wasn’t the exact reaction he was trying to illicit, “ew. Too much drama involved. And, I’d still like to know how you found out about that anyway.”

Marinette looked over to Adrien to answer but noticed he was completely lost in thought, probably still trying to think of something to take his mind off of Chloe before glancing over to Plagg. Plagg looked up from the pillow he had settled on and shrugged, “you smell like fish.”

Adrien cocked his head to the side still deep in thought. “So… does that make him a Furry?”

“What the hell, Adrien! Is that really the focus here?” Marinette exclaimed hitting him on the shoulder. She was desperate to stop thinking about Chloe but Constantine doing anything with anyone was not an improvement over that. On the bright side, she wasn’t thinking about the gala anymore but God, at what cost?

“I mean, sharks don’t have fur so… finny?” he said still looking at nothing while he thought through the implications. “But furry is a reference to their skin and shark skin is made up of denticles, really tiny scales, so… scaly? No, that doesn’t sound nice. ‘Furry’ sounds cute, being into non-mammals should get a cute name too. Yeah, finny is definitely better. But since, a bat is a mammal, sleeping with the bat would’ve made him a furry. So he’s a finny, not a furry.” He said with a nod, proud of himself for working that out.

Marinette stared at him incredulously and ran a hand over her face, “Never has your scientific experience been more inappropriately utilized.”

“Oh no, you don’t know the conversations Red Cap, Glasses, Skater Girl, Monkey Boy, and he have. It gets much more inappropriately utilized and quite often.” Plagg said with an evil grin.

“You’re both wrong. Furry refers to people in costumes meant to evoke an animal. One really is a shark and the other isn’t trying to actually look like a bat so neither qualify, if we’re getting technical.” Constantine said leaning against the arm chair, arms folded over his chest. “As much as I like to discuss people’s sexual proclivities, is that really what you want to discuss before I leave? No better questions you want to focus on before I go?”

Marinette was almost grateful for him voicing his concern and changing the topic. Almost. Because she knew his concern wasn’t with staying on topic. The waste that the last two weeks were stood as testament to that fact. He didn’t care about wasting time. He had a point he wanted to make and he wanted their attention for it.

She wanted to get mad at him. She wanted to lecture him, but everything about this night was messy and frustrating and aggravating and it was all his fault so he didn’t get a pass even if she knew he was trying to help. At this point in the night… morning? God it was so late. At this point in the morning, she just wanted to drop it and let sleep wash away the night and the memories. Thankfully, she had Adrien. And Adrien takes Parisian suffering just as personally as she does.

Adrien looked at Constantine in feigned naïve confusion, “What did you want to focus on? How you made us unwitting accomplices to stealing from a superhero? How we are now on the Justice League’s radar as possible villains? How you lied to us the entire time you’ve been working with us? How you manipulated us against our express wishes to try to force our hand? How you ignored all of our expertise and thought out conclusions and instead of talking with us, played games with ours and other Parisians’ lives? How you wasted our time? During which time approximately 3 million Parisians died as a result of 8 akuma attacks. Which one did you want to focus on right now?”

Constantine rolled his eyes and huffed out a breath. “Dramatic much? Two weeks and one or two more deaths for someone who has already died a dozen times isn’t going to make much of a difference, but getting Batman involved might.”

“It makes a huge fucking difference to the people going through it. One more on top of so many others can be enough to cause a break that might take years or decades to recover from, if they ever do, to drive someone irrevocably insane. It makes a difference to the child who lost their innocence because of it.” Marinette hissed at him, suddenly very much awake.

“You swore to keep the Justice League out of this,” Adrien growled next to her. “That was the one condition. We were very clear on our opinion on the matter. You agreed. You swore you would abide by our rules.”

“I agreed to abide by the rule. I never said I agreed with it. I swore I wouldn’t communicate anything with or to them. I didn’t,” he said pointing to Marinette, “Spots did. And us being there did. I didn’t break anything… I just bent it a bit and if you’re asking me for my opinion…”

“We didn’t,” Marinette snarled.

“…I think that rule needs to be finessed. An exception made,” Constantine finished ignoring Marinette’s interjection.

“You don’t get to make that decision, you don’t even get a say. This is our city. You don’t dictate the terms here,” Adrien gave Constantine a dark look, rising from the couch to his full height. “You’re welcome to give advice. You’ve certainly had more experience with magic and fighting, but you didn’t do that. You didn’t offer your opinion or advice. You manipulated us and the situation to force us to do as you want. You involved Batman. That is...”

The rest of Adrien’s rant was interrupted by the sound of Constantine’s phone ringing. Constantine pulled out his phone and grunted as he saw the caller id, “Bollocks, speak of the Bat and the Bat shall appear. Took longer than I expected. He must be slipping or he isn’t worried about you.”

“What are you doing? Turn your phone off so they can’t track you.” Marinette ordered hurriedly jumping up when he didn’t immediately turn it off only calming down when he had turned it off. “And why wouldn’t he be worried about me? I am very worrisome.” She defended herself.

“I can attest to that,” Adrien nodded from her side.

She glared at him, then shook her head and cleared her throat, “I mean, good. We don’t want them to show too much interest. The less interest the better. Maybe if we make it hard to find us, they’ll just move on.” She winced as she finished saying it, not even believing it was an option herself.

“Yeah, that’s not going to happen and they’re going to know I’m in Paris.” Constantine scoffed.

“Probably, but they don’t have to know you’re in this room. Just leave it off until you leave. And remember you aren’t going to tell Batman anything.” Adrien ordered him pointing his finger towards him and levelling him with a steely look.

“Oh well thank you so much for your permission,” he snarked at him. “And just to be clear, I’ve been abiding by the no speaking rule… more or less, but this is Batman. It’s a losing battle. He’s going to find me and I’m not getting tortured by one of his kids for you. They’re all pain and no pleasure.” He opened his coat to put his phone back in his pocket and discretely sniffed the air between his body and his coat and furrowed his brow. He looked up and saw the two watching him. He stood back up nonchalantly. “And my advice is it’s a good idea for you to talk to him. He can help.”

“Does Batman have some insight into magic that we don’t? Or the ability to control his emotions? Would he respect us and listen to us? Is he trustworthy?”

“No, God no, that’s laughable, and fuck no. But what he does have is detective skills and a shit ton of backing money.”

“But we can’t trust him,” Marinette clarified.

“Sweetheart, you trusted me so… your judgement is suspect to begin with. I would have trusted him before I trusted me.”

“We needed you for your knowledge of magic, the history, the limits, how to wield it, how to manipulate it, where to find more information on it… and how to steal that information.” Marinette conceded the last bit. “That offset the trust factor. Batman doesn’t have any of that to offer.”

“I’m just saying…” he sighed quietly, “think about it. Or one of his kids. You could let one of his kids come or help you from a distance. They really are good detectives and you kids really do need a break. You’ve been doing a good job, but until you find Hawkmoth, this isn’t going to end. You won’t be able to move on. You could use a good detective for that. They don’t call them the world’s greatest detective for no reason.” He stopped to consider the title for a minute, “although Tim might actually be better than Bruce and better at controlling his emotions too.

“But your best bet might just be Jason,” he grinned devilishly at Marinette as she fought her blush. She was not going to blush just at hearing his name. She had more control than that, damn it. “It sounds like you’ve gotten his interest in the project already. He’s a good detective too, some experience with magic, and if he trusts you, you can trust him. He’ll have trouble with his temper so you’ll have to keep an eye on that, but you won’t find a better fighter.”

“Oh, that sounds like a great combination to have here, amazingly skilled fighter with no capacity for anger management,” Marinette bit at him. “That’s not Hawkmoth’s ideal candidate or anything.”

“Hard to control though, the best have tried. Even if Butterfly Man tries, he’s your best bet at resisting it,” he said knowingly. “And as tough as he looks, and is, he’d give the skin off his back to help someone in trouble, especially a kid.”

“Isn’t the phrase ‘shirt off his back’?” Adrien asked with a raised brow.

“He’d be more upset about the jacket. Just consider it. Maybe the information we got will be enough, but you can use all the allies you can get on your side. And maybe you could use a new approach, a new perspective.” Constantine sighed and looked back at the two teens noting the darkening bags under their eyes. “Now, get some sleep, you look like hell.”

“Personal knowledge?” Adrien quipped at him.

Marinette rolled her eyes, “You better be careful. If anyone were to hear you now they might think you give the slightest care about someone other than yourself. What would happen to your reputation then?” He huffed at her and she smirked back at him.

“I’ll just have to be extra careful to show my true feelings around other people, so nobody gets confused.” He responded.

Marinette hummed in response. He wasn’t fooling anyone and everyone there knew it. She sighed and stood up, calling for her transformation. “Voyage” she said quietly and motioned near Constantine to open a portal to his next destination.

“Let me know when you get it deciphered. I’m just a voyage away if you need anything. And if you need someone to talk to… definitely don’t be afraid to think better of calling me,” he said gruffly. Marinette rolled her eyes at him. “And think about what I said,” he said looking her in the eyes with a meaningful look. She nodded in understanding and offered a quiet “Good Night and thank you” to him. He turned to give a small nod to Adrien before walking through the portal.

“Want to talk about anything?” Adrien asked coming up behind her and bumping her with his shoulder.

Marinette shook her head, “We can talk about everything later. There isn’t anything you need to know right now. Let’s just go to sleep. It’s been a rough night.”

<><><><><>

“Constantine turned off his phone before I could get his exact location.” Tim called out loudly not bothering to look up from his spot in front of the computer in the Batcave. He hadn’t left his seat since returning from the gala. He had barely waited until the limo was stopped before jumping out and reporting immediately to the batcomputer. Unlike the rest of the family, he hadn’t even bothered to change out of his suit from the gala yet, too focused on trying to glean all the information he could from the breadcrumbs Constantine had left behind.

They needed to track down that girl and figure out how much of a threat she was to them. She had already proven herself to be a clear and present threat and they needed to establish if she needed to be neutralized. First priority was Constantine though. He seemed to be pulling the strings and had broken into the cave for a very specific reason and they needed to know what he knew and why he did it. That meant figuring out what files he had accessed and where he was hiding.

“Were you able to get a general vicinity before he turned it off?” Dick asked coming up behind him. Unlike Tim, he and the rest of the family had changed out of their suits and into pajamas before they started the post mortem on their night.

“Of course,” he scoffed at the audacity of the doubt. “He didn’t turn it off that quickly. He’s somewhere in Paris.”

“He likely left it on so we would know where to start our search,” Bruce nodded knowingly. “Did he leave us any messages?

“Just this note,” Tim motioned toward a section of the screen with a typed message, ‘You need to up your security. Your move, Bats.” Bruce sighed and rubbed his temples.

“What did he get?” Jason demanded from his spot leaning against a wall.

“A file on something called a ‘Miraculous’.” Tim responded.

“What the fuck is that?” Jason asked annoyed. Something had to make sense tonight, just one thing. Sooner or later, something had to make some fucking sense.

“I’m not sure. There isn’t much here. Or rather there is a lot here but only a small portion of it is in a known language. The part I can translate says the Miraculous are magic jewels that grant powers that are potentially devastating on a global scale. The rest is in a language that neither the computer nor I have ever seen. I’m running translation algorithms but not getting anything... yet” Tim answered distractedly, still trying to read as much as he could as he was talking.

“It says they wield a lot of power. The League had plans a couple hundred years ago to try to steal them from something called ‘The Order of the Guardians’ but before they could enact their plan the Order’s compound was destroyed by an unknown force. The League surmised it was a power of the miraculous. They found no evidence of survivors or the miraculous. They were able to gather some texts from the ruins, scans of which is what is in the files, but without the miraculous themselves, it isn’t much good. There isn’t any translation offered so either we didn’t get that file from them, they weren’t able to translate it, or they gave up on trying to translate it.

Magic. Mother fucking Hell. There went any hope Jason had of anything making sense. Nothing ever made sense or went their fucking way when magic was involved.

“Any indication what that has to do with this girl or Paris?” Dick asked.

“None, but if I had to guess, which I do, I would say they are being used in Paris.” Tim responded.

“It isn’t like the League to give up, especially on something that could grant them power on a global scale.” Bruce noted.

“Agreed. And there would have been reference to a translation here if there was one, so they likely were never able to translate it.” Tim nodded.

“That isn’t a good sign for us.” Jason commented.

“They aren’t me. I’ll translate it. Give me a week.” Tim said confidently.

Dick stared at the video of the earlier events in the cave playing on the far side of the screen. “What do you think the odds are that the portal thing was somehow related to the Miraculous? She seemed to have to transform to use it.” Dick noted.

Bruce nodded, “Good point. Tim, go through the information in the files and the video and write up a summary,” Bruce ordered Tim. Turning to Jason he said, “What do you know about her?

He snorted, oh now they fucking trusted his intuition. He thought through the night with her. She hadn’t said too much during the first part of the night, but he was a detective damn it, and a damn good one so he didn’t need words to figure someone out. She had been fidgeting, she took care of the sexual assaulter quickly and discretely but hadn’t tried to fight Jason when he grabbed her later, she helped cheer up the kid with him, she kept up with his banter, she had a brilliant smile and looked gorgeous when she blushed… that probably isn’t relevant… accurate but not helpful in this particular situation. She had figured them out after just observing them for a few minutes, she had cursed the hell out of Constantine and was damn sexy doing it, she said people were depending on her, she had somehow arranged a way to change her dress unnoticed with people around and looked hot as hell in both dresses. It all came together to help form a personality profile in his mind and make the room feel significantly warmer.

“Has Anxiety. Can protect herself but doesn’t like using violence. Kind. Witty. Creative. Smart, like Tim level smart. Dick Syndrome, shouldering the blame for everything that happens around her. Does not like being lied to or manipulated. Not wealthy. Don’t think she was invited and she definitely didn’t want to be there.” He listed off.

Tim nodded along with the last part using it to springboard into another way to track her and Constantine, “Likely acquired by someone else who gave it to her, probably Constantine. But since we would have recognized Constantine’s name and clearly he was trying to go under the radar on this, he asked someone else to get it.” He rolled the chair to the left and focused on a different monitor while starting the search for the list.

“Do we know if anyone asked for a ticket last minute?” Dick asked jumping on Tim’s train of thought. If they could figure out who Constantine was working with they could ask them questions, get some leads.

“I’ll look through the invitation list and see if anything stands out,” Tim responded.

“This seems like a waste of effort, whoever that is probably doesn’t know anything more than Constantine wanted a ticket,” Jason countered. Why was this the focus? The more important thing to focus on was what she said about Paris, not how she got in.

“Whoever it is may be working with them as well and may know something. It’s worth at least a look,” Dick explained. “Anything else?”

Jason rolled his eyes, at least it meant they were looking into it and finally taking it seriously. “She said there has been a supervillain in Paris for the last 5 years. The data Constantine was getting was related to that. That data was supposed to help them fight the villain. She said people were counting on her, which makes me think she’s a hero there….” he turned toward the sound of Damian scoffing as he made his way into the cave. “And Alfred likes her better than Demon Spawn.” Jason smirked turning back towards the rest of the family.

“I will get my katana and gut you. I only just succeeded in calming Alfred enough to rest.” Damian glared at Jason.

“Yeah, because he was upset he wasn’t still with her,” Jason snarked quietly, but loudly enough for his words to be heard by everyone in the cave.

Tim chortled from his spot at the computer, “she does seem to have a way with demonic creatures, doesn’t she? Constantine, Alfred… maybe we should send Demon Spawn to her too. She can tame the Hell Spawn.” He kept his focus on the computer as he made his comment missing Damian’s face shift from anger to rage. Jason snickered at the comment, pushing Damian over the edge after all the comments and events of the night.

Damian jumped up from his chair to rush toward Jason, yelling something about a hussy and sullying. Honestly, Jason couldn’t make out his exact words. Tim only glanced back with the briefest of looks before returning to the computer. Damian attacking Jason was nothing new. It always ended with them getting separated before any real damage could be done and Jason chastised for defending himself because ‘Damian never meant to actually kill or seriously damage anyone during the attacks. It was more of a venting session for him’.

Damian lamented that he hadn’t prepared properly for a confrontation as he rushed toward Jason. He had prepared for bed, like the rest of the family and had left his katana and weapons in his room. The weapons he used for patrol were on the other side of the cave, too far away to be of use right now. But he was confident he didn’t need weapons to best Jason.

Damian jumped on the meeting table just at the last moment, using it as leverage to add height to the flying kick he sent towards Jason. Jason anticipated the kick, Damian had been dumb enough to announce his attack, expecting everyone to react as they normally did. What he didn’t anticipate, what none of them anticipated, was for Jason to not be in the fucking mood. This was a long night already and the only good part of it they were belittling and to top it off Damian was attacking him again and no matter how it ended, he was going to get in trouble for it.

Just as Damian’s foot was about to land on Jason’s face he pushed it to the side and twisted, redirecting Damian’s momentum, causing him to crash harmlessly to the floor. Damian jumped back up and ran at Jason. He threw a punch to his side just a beat too slowly. Jason twisted slightly again, just enough for the fist to fly past him then encouraged Damian’s momentum with a slight push of his own causing Damian to slam face first into the ground. When he stood back up, ready to try again they could hear Dick in the background starting to intercede but Jason was too pissed to listen or to back down peacefully and Damian was still looking for a way to vent his frustration.

“Stand still you giant oaf,” Damian screamed at Jason, running at him again. Jason squared up against Damian and punched him in the center of his chest. Damian went down hard as all the air left his lungs. Before he could take a breath Jason pulled him up by the back of his shirt, bringing Damian’s face close to his own, “how many times do I have to tell you, don’t start a fight you can’t finish, Shorty” he hissed at him before letting him drop.

Dick was next to Damian before he hit the ground checking him to make sure he was okay. “What the hell, Jason! Was that really necessary? He wasn’t trying to hurt you. You didn’t have to hit him that hard. He was just letting off steam.”

“Then he should have gone after a practice dummy, not me. And he should stop acting like a little jealous, elitist bitch. I don’t understand why you dislike the galas so much, Damian, you’re right on track to be exactly like all those people there. And for the record, if I’d wanted to hurt him, his sternum would be shattered right now instead of just bruised.”

“How dare you, you dimwitted, boorish, buffoon!” Damian hissed out, still breathing heavily and unable to yell. “You’re so ready to defend that uncultured streetwalker over your own family. You have no loyalty and no honor.”

“Way to prove his point, Demon.” Tim muttered from the computer.

“Alright, enough,” Bruce glared at Jason and Damian. “We don’t have time for this. Jason and you too Tim, Damian is a kid. You’re adults. Stop baiting him.”

“Y’all are going to have to decide if he is a kid or a vigilante assassin because you seem to blur the lines a lot. Is he a kid or a tool to achieve your vengeance?” Jason seethed at the two older men in the room.

“As amusing as this show is and as much as I would love to hear the answer to that question,” Tim interceded, “let’s bring the focus back to the matter at hand; Constantine exposing us and bring a stranger into the cave. I started looking for evidence of heroes in Paris and whatever she may have told you, I can’t find any news on any villains or superheroes in Paris or even France. The only thing I have been able to find is a note on an official Paris city calendar about a Heroes Day to celebrate heroes. But, it doesn’t specify particular heroes though so it could be everyday heroes or even heroes anywhere on Earth. And we have to consider the very real possibility that she played Constantine. If there was anything going on in Paris, let alone for 5 years, we would be able to find something, anything, but there is nothing.”

“Whatever else you want to say about him, Constantine is a good judge of people, when someone is playing an angle and when they are on the level, when that angle is really bad and when it’s just ‘bad’. He didn’t break in here and leave that message for no reason. The Miraculous is in play in Paris. We need to decide what we are going to do about that.” Jason retorted.

“That inept excuse for a hero clearly isn’t doing a proper job of handling it. We should intervene and handle it for her. Show her what a hero really looks like.” Damian responded snidely still hunched over a bit. Jason glared at him.

“I’ve already taken you down once today, kid,” throwing the term in Damian’s face as a taunt, “I’ll do it again. And if you believe that, then you also believe there is something going on there. You’re admitting she was telling the truth.” Damian scoffed in response and looked away.

“We know almost nothing about the situation in Paris. The League’s notes said the Miraculous’ power could potentially affect the entire planet. At the very least, we should gather as much information as we can on it, talk to the heroes there if there are any, see what we can do to help.” Dick suggested calmly.

“Them,” Tim corrected. “The files indicated there is more than one miraculous.”

“And each one can affect the entire planet?” Bruce asked concerned.

“It is unclear from the data available.” Tim responded.

“Constantine’s phone was definitely in Paris, he left it on so we would know to go there. He’s too experienced to make that mistake. It was a clue about what our next step should be. We should follow it.” Dick observed.

“So we are deciding to do exactly as the deranged dullard wanted us to do and playing into his plans,” Damian muttered from his spot at the table. After everything that had happened that night they were going to just let him win. “Brilliant plan.”

“There is too much at stake to ignore it. We follow the leads we have. So we go plain clothes as reconnaissance, see what we can pick up by being there, but bring the suits so we can meet with the heroes there if we find something. Dick, you and Damian can stay here and watch over Gotham while we are gone.” Bruce ordered, standing up to end the conversation.

“I’m going too. Someone has to keep that wench from turning Todd against the rest of us.” Damian responded coldly.

Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose. He was not in the mood to deal with this right now. There were too many unknowns. “Fine. I’ll ask Clark to be on call as backup for you Dick. The rest of us go to Paris tomorrow. Use the rest of today to get ready.”

“I’ll make the arrangements, Master Bruce.” Alfred announced from the doorway.

Chapter 4

Tags:

@loveswifi @mystery-5-5 @dreamykitty25 @ira-sairain @wannajointhecrabcult @susiej1118 @casual-darkness @ertyzeta @mandy984 @darkthunder1589 @chez-pezeater @emilytopaz @mermaidreject @dramatic-squirrel @thenillabean @alysrose-starchild @phoenixperegrinebitch @nickristus-dreamer @goblinwhoships @i-wanna-be-a-ninja @valeks-princess @2confused-2doanything @redscarlet95 @icebluedolphin2365 @inarachi02 @unrepentantgeek @maybe-nonsense @theymakeupfairies @smolplantmum @moongoddesskiana @thehufflepuffranger-blog @fusser90 @spyofthenightcourt @jayverca @animegirlweeb @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @consumeconstantly @lozzybowe @novicevoice @random-fandoms7 @acoolspacegirl @laurcad123 @dast218 @frieddonutsweets @maribat-is-lifeblood @elements1999 @g-arya

I think I included everyone who asked to be tagged. I’m sorry if I missed anyone. Please let me know if I did.

Tags for the following people didn’t work. Let me know if I messed your name up or something.

@nik-nak-3

@our-preciousss

@no-username2544

#maribat #jasonette #Pixie Spy

388 notes · View notes

theres-someone-to-write-about-it · 3 years

Text

Winx Club Characters

Musa: audio processing issues. Uses her magic every day subtly to boost volume or base but sometimes when people talk too much or too low it’s hard for her to understand. She also uses sign language a lot and uses her headphones to maybe raise the volume of background noice so she can hear it or completely tune everything out. Wind chimes all around the room. Spoken word poetry can turn into a blood bath. Use the vibrations of peoples words as a weapon against them. I can’t picture her as straight either. At the very least bi if not full lesbian or maybe even demi.

Flora: beautiful, wonderful, sweet Flora who is calm under pressure and in crisis and shows her love to her friends by understanding them. She’s the first to learn sign language the moment she meets Musa. Maybe learns in secret and surprises her. She’s not passive and gets distracted with her plants sometimes but they require a lot of tending to.

Layla (Aisha): ‘Magic shapes and shifting tides’. They’re able to manipulate water at the molecular level. Creating the form of objects as needed for useful things. Always always swaying. Sea legs are constant and they trip a lot but in a boat or in the water, they’re incredibly graceful. Always has a water bottle. They’re similar to Stella in their moods are affected by the tides and sometimes they butt heads about it. Ebb and flow. They’re royalty too so they gets the pressure and always tries to be better even sometimes to a self destructive level. Nonbinary!! As hell!! They have no shape!

Stella: strong Leo energy, fiercely loyal to her friends even when she can be self involved. She’s the sun and the moon. Always know a what time it is and where the sun and moon are. Great at directions which is why she’s a mentor. Show her being a mentor to all of them not just Bloom. Fashionista but not in a snobby stuck up or even brooding way. Royalty vibes are important but not because it’s weakness. Being unkind is weakness. Not sticking up or standing by people who need it is weakness. Her entire being is affected by the sky.

Techna: so logical and analytical but amazingly adaptable. Software engineering mindset of effective problem solving. Is the second to learn sign language for Musa and recommends technology to help. Would create an optimal watering schedule for all of Floras plants and a catalog for Stella’s clothes if asked. The touchy feely stuff is not her/their thing but she/they supports them in her/their way. Feels connected in the city and almost lost in the country where technology is scarce. Definitely a tech geek and the one for recommendations. I can’t picture Techna as cis but they are definitely ace.

Bloom: a good relationship with her parents who told her much earlier she was adopted. Can get heart burn a lot and coughs. Runs warmer than everyone and is definitely the cuddle buddy on the couch. Sagittarius energy with the passion burning inside but she doesn’t let it run away with her. She knows it’s a new world and she’s excited to learn about it. Can be narrow minded and focused on one thing when other things are happening that might deserve attention but has deadly accuracy with her words and magic. She’s determined and stubborn sometimes to an annoying degree. But I can’t picture her ever loosing her temper so where she says something hurtful to her friends. She measures her words carefully even when tensions run high and could never hurt them like that. But also she’s ruled by passions so if her heart isn’t in it, it shows. Pansexual. Can’t change my mind.

Sky: strong and intelligent leader type first and foremost. Happy go lucky. I wanna say Cancer sun with a Sag moon and maybe a Taurus rising. Cause he’s sweet and in touch with emotions but is able to be grounded and see things clearly with a little passion thrown in there. His family and friends are his world. He takes being a future king very seriously but also isn’t afraid to have fun. All American boy Chris Evans honestly. That’s the tweet.

Riven: not a piece of shit stoner dude. He can be the brooding bad boy whose pretty cocky and who one enjoys taking down a peg. But at the end of the day he’s a secret ride or die. He loves his friends and does little things to show it that don’t really show it. Like taking the time to learn some new tech Timmy is working on so he can talk about it with someone but also as a way to flex his brain. Trains with Sky whose probably the best so he can be the best and protect him. Would absolutely play the sacrifice play but in a last minute you’d never see it coming way. Annoyingly chaotic bi energy.

Dane: as much as I don’t really know how this character fits into the overall show. I like his potential he was never given so I’m gonna give it to him. He’s a soft boy from a kingdom that’s actually dealing with bad shit. He’s been through horrible things and honestly wanted the academy to learn just more than he already knows and deals with. He’s tough and strong and great in a fight. But also doesn’t give two shits about toxic men questioning why he enjoys the greenhouse. Because it’s shit you need to know my dude, what’s gonna kill you or heal you when you’re in a realm with a completely different ecosystem. I want him to be at least 60% gay and have that never be something that’s mentioned without him in the room. Like he gets a boyfriend? Maybe he already has one? Chill! Now onto how he would absolutely break your legs if you were talking about any of his friends. Low key maybe Phillip Hamilton vibes...

#winx musa #winx #winx club #winx techna #winx bloom #winx stella #winx dane #winx timmy #winx sky #winx aisha #what I would do #headcannon #winx live action #winx cartoon #modern winx

28 notes · View notes

petri808 · 4 years

Text

Hauntober prompt Vampires

Nalu requested by @mccnfairy

“You guys are leaving already?” Natsu questions the group of girls as they get ready to leave his Halloween house party.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be back later.” Lucy pats the man on the cheek. “There’s just one more place we wanted to check out tonight.”

“Oh, okay cool! Just be safe out there, lots of creeps out tonight.”

“We will,” this time it’s Levy who responds with a giggle. “Besides, we have an Erza. Pity the fool who dares to harass us.”

It had really been a silly idea, but why not have a little spooky adventure this All Hallows’ Eve. The friends, Lucy Heartfilia, Levy McGarden, Erza Scarlet, and Cana Alberona had heard about this abandoned old mansion at the edge of town that was supposedly haunted. According to Levy’s research, the structure dated back to the days of the Civil War and may have been owned by a plantation owner killed by his slaves in revolt. Of course, there was no way to confirm it because town records seemed sparse or missing from those years and most of it became folk tales passed down through the generations.

At one point a haunted house attraction was actually run inside the building, but as of the last six years or so, it had been left vacant with only a fading ‘For Sale’ sign outside its massive iron gates. Until recently, that is. Someone has actually bought the property and according to the large sign out front it would be demolished in three weeks to make way for a new apartment complex. Hence the girl’s temptation to check it out before that happens.

“Be careful,” Erza warns the group. “We don’t know how structurally sound this place is.”

The four girls armed with flashlights slowly make their way into the creepy building. Every hair on the back of Lucy’s neck stands up as soon as she enters; she shivers. This was such a bad idea...

Wham!

The front door slams shut behind them causing everyone to jump and scream.

“I-It’s just the wind,” Erza reasons. “Just stay close everyone.”

All the nervous energy made the sounds around them seem heightened. Every creek of a floor board or scuttling of creatures through the debris. Broken windows allowed wind to funnel through creating eerie drafts to tickle their skin and the groans of the building were like fodder for a horror movie. But they pressed on, determined to explore.

‘There’s no such thing as ghosts,’ Lucy reminds herself. It’s all just made up stories to keep kids in line. She had no reason to believe that supernatural creatures existed.

“Look at all this stuff left behind,” Cana remarks as they pass through what used to be a kitchen. “It’s all the haunted house props.”

Even in the dark they could see fake blood splattered or holes cut in the walls for actors to pop their heads through. Rubber body parts, broken skeletons, old looking medical equipment, basically every cliche thing you could think of. Different props for different themes.

One by one they make their way through the first floor of the house. It was such a huge place. Sitting rooms, pantry’s, a game room, bathrooms, dining hall, a living room, and that’s just the first floor! A grand staircase took you to the second floor which had one long hall way leading to all the bedrooms, then further to a second staircase that took you to the third floor servants quarters and attic.

By the time the girls had made it to the second floor, their guards had been somewhat lowered. Despite the creepiness of the old building, there was nothing really paranormal to scare them. Lucy began to trail behind out of curiosity, stopping at each bedroom to take a better look inside. Some of the rooms still held old furnishings from a bygone era. Large postered beds and ornate dressers or armoires, oil lamps, and old ripped paintings on walls. She could imagine how grand this home must have looked in its hay day.

But when Lucy steps out of the room she was in, the sudden realization that she was alone fuels a wave of goosebumps to ripple along her arms. “G-Guys?!” She couldn’t even hear any of her friends voices. Oh no! Where’d they go? Upstairs? Back down stairs?! The house was as still as death, no more creeks and groans, just the empty darkness beyond the beam of her flashlight or moon glow filtering through the windows.

She books it back downstairs to the front door as the safest alternative. Eventually her friends had to leave, so she’ll just wait there patiently for them. While she waits, Lucy turns on her phone to distract herself from the silence. It was Halloween after all, and social media was flooded with photos of parties and trick or treaters.

A soft shuttling sound causes Lucy to stiffen up. ‘It’s just a mouse, it’s just a mouse, it’s just a—’

Measured thuds, boots over wooden floors in her direction! Wait! None of them were wearing boots! Lucy spins around with her flashlight gripped tightly in her hand. “W-Who’s there!” She gasps as the beam hits a human chest not three feet from her. “Natsu?! What are you doing here?!” But he was dressed differently. His hair was slicked down, wearing an old style black suit and shoulder cape like the dapper dons of the 1800s.

“Why, I live here, that’s why,” he grins wide, his pearly fangs catching the beam of her flashlight.

Was his fangs longer than she remembered? “What are you talking about?! We just came from your house.”

“Oh, that’s just one of my other homes. This,” he motions with his arms, “is where I lived centuries ago. You see I have to maintain a sense of normalcy to blend in.”

“Haha,” Lucy’s hands fall to her hips. “Very funny mister class clown. You’re just messing with me.”

He strides over without hesitation and grips her chin between two fingers, lifting it to meet her eyes. “Am I now?” His eyes grow hooded, amorous as his lips hover centimeters above her own. “It was I who started the rumors to peak humans curiosity. An easy way to lure victims for me to feed on.”

Lucy’s breathing slows and falters at the seriousness of his tone. This was nothing like the silly jokester they’d come to know and love! “Oh my god,” she breathes out. Her fear response screaming in her head but her body was frozen in place.

“There’s no god here tonight,” Natsu utters, then quick as a flash bites Lucy’s neck.

She screams with bloody intent as her heart pounds and pulse drowns out all sound, mind latching on the pain... that wasn’t there?! What the?!

Just as quickly as he’d bitten her, Natsu pulls away from the stunned woman, holding his stomach from laughter as she frantically checks her neck. “I so got you good!”

“What?!” Lucy screams and launches herself at him, pounding her fists against his chest. “You scared me on purpose?!”

He only laughs harder from her weaker strikes. “One of the guys overheard your plans and it was too tempting not to. I-I didn’t know which would end up the victim, but you came out first.”

“Omg so mean Natsu! You really scared me!”

When he focuses away from the amusement and realizes the true panic still left in the girls clouded eyes, Natsu felt a prick in his heart. Crap, maybe he’d gone a little too far this time. “Shit, I’m sorry Lucy, it was just a joke.”

She crossed her arms with a frown. “Well it wasn’t funny!”

At that point, more thuds coming streaming down the staircase. “What’s going on?!” They hear Erzas voice asking as the rest of the girls make it the first floor. “We heard a scream from the third floor and came rushing down.”

“Just a stupid joker,” Lucy points at Natsu. “He even fake bit me!”

“Wait, what?” Erza steps forward as Cana and Levy hold their breaths. “Natsu, you did what?!”

He pulls the fake vampire teeth out of his mouth and holds it up, “it was just, I was only teasing. Come on, it’s a Halloween prank.” When he sees Erzas eye brow raise, he holds up his hands. “Truce? I’m sorry!”

“Tch, you better be,” Lucy spits back. “Better make it up to me somehow.”

“I’ll do anything.”

“Take her out on a date!” Cana blurts out.

“Dinner and a movie!” Adds Levy.

Lucy squeaks in blushing embarrassment. “W-Wait! Hold up, that’s not what...”

“Pfft, I’ve been dying to do that since freshman year!” Natsu laughs and clasps his hands together in hope. “Whatdya say Lucy? I promise I won’t bite this time.”

With the other woman applying pressure through looks and hand gestures. Lucy groans and rolls her eyes. “Why do I feel like this was all a set up?!”

He pouts and gives her a puppy dog expression. “Is that a yes, or no?”

“Oh ya damn goof, I’ll go out with you, but yes! If you bite me this time I’ll return the favor!”

“Promise?”

#hauntober #nalu #vampire prompt #natsu dragneel #lucy heartfilia #nalu Au #nalu fan fic #nalu fanfiction #fairy tail

64 notes · View notes

anythingandeverything1d · 4 years

Text

Congratulations

“(y/n)” the nurse called out from the door. You stood up and walked over with an anxious smile. She handed you a clip board of medical information that you needed to update and then said she would grab you once it was completed and turned into the desk. You sat back down in the waiting room and flipped through the pages. Ugh I wish my mom was here...am I allergic to anything? I mean I don't think so but maybe Im just unaware of it..I don't remember having surgery-well my tonsils were removed but does that count? You were filling out the page to the best of your ability when your phone buzzed. You looked down and saw his name flash across the screen before immediately ignoring the call. You rushed to finish the paperwork and handed it in as the nurse came back. “Ready?” she asked.

“Yeah.” you followed her down the hall where she took your height and weight before escorting you into the room. You hopped onto the chair and anxiously tapped your foot as she checked your temperature, blood pressure, and oxygen levels. After finishing up she sat on the stool and smiled.

“So, what are we here for today?”

“Uh...” you looked at your feet and shifted in the chair. “I think I may be pregnant.”

She smiled and nodded, “when was your last period?”

“My period tends to be irregular but the last one I had recored was around two months ago.”

“Okay, were you on any kind of birth controls, or using any type of contraceptives?”

“I was on a birth control, am on a birth control but I missed a few days while I was on vacation which is when I believe this all happened.”

“Okay. Have you had any symptoms other than your missed period?”

“No, not really.”

“Okay. Have you taken any pregnancy tests at home?”

You nodded, your brain flashing back to that day.

*Tears were flooding down your cheeks as he grabbed his last hoodie from your closet. All you wanted was for life to stop. You wanted him to say its okay, to make a change in the relationship, to stay. You sat on the bed crying as he walked out the door for the last time, taking with him every once of happiness you had. You ran to the bathroom, physically sick from the situation. It wasnt until you were hunched over the toilet that you realized the box of tampons had gone unopened. Missing periods was normal for you, they had never been regular. There was a slight doubt in your mind though. You had never missed a period more than once, so the fact that you were going on two means something was wrong. You had been under a lot of stress though, the distance, the lying, the excuses, all of it. Wiping the snot running from your nose, you had gotten up, washed your face, and thrown on sweatpants and a sweatshirt. You had mustered the courage to drive all the way to the drug store, purchase three pregnancy tests, and drive home. You had gotten three, you wanted to be sure. You wanted to be positive before making any other decisions. You sat on the bathroom floor after peeing in a cup and dipped each end, turning them over so you couldn't see the lines. You set a timer on your phone and closed your eyes. The only thing that could've possibly made this situation better was having him here. Of course he was gone already but you could still dream right? When the alarm on your phone went off you anxiously flipped them all over. Picking the first up and squinting you saw the dreaded double lines. Picking the second one up: dreaded double lines. And the third: PREGNANT in bold. You dropped them all on the counter and threw your phone. Of course, of course this this happens. He leaves and I end up pregnant with his baby..just like the movies except he won't be coming back. The rest of the day had been a blur. You had kind of just ignored the fact that there were three positive pregnancy tests in the bathroom. When your friend Luke had come over, you had cried into his arms. Cried about him leaving, about the break up, and finally about being pregnant. “(y/n) if you have positive pregnancy tests you need to call him.”

“No. I can't do that. Im not doing that.”

“(y/n)...hes the father, he deserves to know.”

“I may not even be pregnant though..they come up wrong all the time.”

“Not this wrong though.. this seems pretty sure.”

“I mean I've been stressed lately maybe its just a hormone thing.”

“I think you should go to the doctor and check. And if you are then you need to ball up and tell him. Seriously he needs to know”

You had nodded and cried some more before Luke left. Then you had called your doctor and made an appointment.*

Now here you were answering questions about your sex life and body. The nurse handed you a cup and showed you where the bathroom was. She said the test would take only around ten minutes but that she would be coming back to the room to do a blood test as well. Great, what a fun day... You quickly peed in the cup, leaving it on the counter for the nurse and wandered back to the room you had been assigned. Your hands were sweating and you felt dizzy. Having your blood drawn was probably your least favorite thing. In fact, you fainted almost every time. You checked your phone and thought about texting him...instead you texted Luke and told him how terrible the doctor was and that you were going to die while having your blood drawn. His only response was “lol” and you rolled your eyes. Typical guy.. The nurse came back in with a smile and sat down. “Well it does look like you are in fact pregnant so congratulations! We want to do a pelvic exam and ultra sound today just to see where everything is at and then have you come back for a blood draw in the future.”

“Thanks.” you smiled and relief flooded your face. At least you didnt have to have your blood drawn today. On the other hand, you were pregnant, which was a whole other nightmare in its own. Not that you hadn't wanted and dreamed of having kids. You just thought it would be under different circumstances and that you would be married.

“Im going to leave this gown here if you just want to change real quick we can do an ultrasound and hopefully see where the little baby is at.” She left for a minute and you quickly changed, your warm body freezing against the chair. When she came back in, she had an ultrasound machine on wheels. She started with the pelvic exam, lightly pressing all around your pelvic region. Satisfied she got out a tube of gel. “This is going to be cold at first.” You had nodded and watched as the clear gel squirted out and the ultrasound machine rubbed against your skin. You watched the screen as she moved it around looking for the baby. After what felt like months, she found a small white dot looking blob and smiled. “There it is...looks like you are measuring around 2 months right now which makes sense to when you thought everything happened.” She looked at you and smiled. “I know it can be a lot to take in..I’m guessing this is your first?”

“Yeah...its just a lot I guess.”

“It is, but it gets easier. Want to hear the baby’s heartbeat?”

You smiled and nodded. She pressed a button and you heard soft thumps. Tears slipped out of the corner of your eye and you wiped them away. “Thats pretty cool.”

She smiled and nodded before handing you a towel. “You are all set to go, we will have the pictures at the desk where you can make your next appointment. It was nice meeting you (y/n) good luck on your pregnancy and congratulations again.” You smiled and thanked her before climbing back into your clothes. 2 months pregnant...theres a living being in there...my baby...mine and Harry’s baby...oh god, what am I going to tell Harry? At the desk you scheduled another appointment and the receptionist handed you a picture saying congratulations. You looked at the little pea shaped blob inside you and grinned. Thats mine...thats inside me.

Luke surprised you by standing at your car door with an ice cream sundae. “Soo did you faint? did you die? did you live?”

You laughed, “Yeah I lived. I didnt have my blood drawn at all actually.”

“Oh? Why’s that?” You took the sundae from him and smiled taking a bite, the hot fudge melting in your mouth.

“Because of this.” you waved the picture in your hand and he grabbed it his mouth dropping.

“Is that what I think it is? Do you have an alien growing inside you?”

“Lukeee seriously”

He laughed and looked into your eyes. “Okay okay but wow, a baby. That’s amazing. How are you feeling about it?”

“I feel like it hasn't sunk in yet....but that I’m really happy. I mean Ive always wanted a baby...why not do it now? I don't need a man in my life. Im a strong and independent woman.”

“That you are, but don't worry you will have me too. Im going to be a great uncle, its the best job anyways. But uh- are you going to tell Harry?”

You shrugged your shoulders and continued eating. “(y/n)...it is his baby right?”

You rolled your eyes and nodded. “It cant be anyone else's.”

“So then you're going to tell him.”

“Idontknow” you mumbled, your mouth full of ice cream.

“You have to..you know he would want to know.”

“Theres a lot I wanted to know and he didn't tell me so I’m not sure yet. I haven't decided anything.”

“Okay...” he gave in and hugged you. “I’m happy for you I really am.”

You hugged him back and smiled. “Thanks. I’m glad you're here...I’m glad I have someone to go through this with. And I’m so so glad you brought ice cream.”

“It’s okay. What are friends for right?” You nodded and jumped in the car after saying goodbye. You didn’t quite know who to call yet so you decided to just enjoy some time with yourself. You did the only logical thing you could think of after finding out that there was a baby inside you: you went shopping. You picked a local baby store and walked in, looking at all the onesies, furniture, blankets, binkies, and bears.

“Hi! Anything I can help you find today?”

“No, thank you I’m just looking.”

“Okay well we are having a two for one deal on onesies and bibs so make sure to check those out.”

“I will thank you.” you smiled at the girl working but she kept looking back at you.

“Are you (y/n)...the girl dating Harry Styles?” she asked shyly.

“I was dating him, not anymore actually.” She nodded and gave you the look, you know the one of pity and sorrow? You went back to shopping looking at all of the little outfits, there were so many choices. You also had no idea if you were having a boy or a girl..something told you it was a boy but obviously you had no clue whatsoever. You decided on a cute grey onesie with little animals on it...gender neutral. You also grabbed a cute binkie that had a stuffed bear attached to it.

“These are super cute.” the girl said while checking out. “There's a whole collection that goes with this if youre interested.”

“No, that's okay this is enough for now?”

She nodded and wrapped the stuff in a bag. “So how far along are you?”

“Not very far, only a few months.”

“Well congrats! I hope everything goes smoothly and I hope to see you back here soon for more stuff.”

You smiled and nodded. “I for sure will be back.”

You drove home, your phone blowing up the entire way with twitter notifications, instagram tags, and more. Inside you scrolled through it, only to find pictures of you shopping for the baby clothes. Your name attached to headlines stating you were expecting but not far along. Great...this is not what I need...how do they even know.... you were scrolling through more twitter notifications. Harry’s name was now being brought into this. Another daddy in One Direction? Harry Styles Expecting? ugh...this literally cannot be happening.. and then everything got worse.. Harry’s name and photo popped up on your screen as he called. “Harry?” you answered anxiously.

---

Part 1 of my new series, hope you all enjoy! Goal is to have another part posted tonight or tomorrow! This is kind of just an intro to the story, I’m hoping to have them be a little longer but let me know what you all would rather: longer and less stories (may take more time to upload) or shorter and more stories (updated a little faster)

Let me know what you think so far and what you think will happen.

xoxo

#one direction #one direction fanfiction #directioners #one direction imagines #Harry Styles #harry styles fanfiction #harrystyles #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines

235 notes · View notes

alexlabhont · 4 years

Text

I didn’t mean to fall in love with you

Chapter Eight.

Book: Queen B - Choices (Universe)

Pairing: Poppy Min-Sinclair x Trans!Male MC (Beck Hughes)

Genre: Canon re-write (Because I can)

Rating: Anyone can read it, really

Tags: @dopeyouth @theymakemegayer @save-me-the-last-dance @poppysmc (If anyone want to be tagged in, just tell me)

This is me trying to write by and for the Trans community, specially FTM community, meaning, trans guys, but I actually took the liberty to use They/them pronouns for everyone out there who´s interested (Also, the name Beck was the most neutral one I could find, trying to use the cannon Bea Hughes)

If you have any comment, PLEASE BE RESPECTFULL and patient with me. This is also my first english fanfic and english is not my mother language, so... i’m sorry fo the grammar errors

CHAPTERS

Chapter seven

ONE-SHOTS

Just a dance (Zoey x MC)

——————————————————————

When Poppy told that guy to send a pic of her and Farmsville kissing to The T, she wasn't trying anything but to declare a message, to make clear to everyone in Belvoire, especially to that Wonder Warden Wade of theirs, one little thing: Beck was hers now.

But no.

As usual, things with Beck were completely out of her control, whenever Poppy did zig, somehow Beck always managed to do zag. And this time "Zag" were lots of photos where Beck was hanging out, laughing and even hugging Zoey Wade. Sharing classes, walking side by side. Being together.

Students were talking, The T was speculating. That girl’s happy face making fun of her right from inside the photos and that stupid threat of hers didn’t. Leave. Her. Mind! That New Money was winning, and there it was just one person to blame: Beck Hughes.

So when she finally saw them in the hallway, she was decided to tear them down for good, hiding behind her reputation, behind a failed plan, when she knew deep down herself that she was mad for something else… Sometime hurtful…

But it all went down to shit when what she saw a few seconds later was Beck’s back hitting hard against the wall, and that stupid animal grabbing them by the clothes. For a moment, she completely forgot how to breathe, a loud gasp taking all the air in her lungs, and the pain and rage clutched her heart with such a lightning force and speed that Poppy couldn’t understand; all she knew was she couldn't stop looking at the scene, wanting so badly to be in the middle just to kick his balls so hard that they'll stop working forever. The strawberry blonde really tried to end the fight sooner, but that bunch of assholes that Belvoire had as students started to stand around as disgusting moths, hungry for a fight, so the last thing Poppy saw of the attack for a moment were Beck’s smile and then the pain written all over their face.

And that was it.

She could feel her blood boiling, something weird taking over her body. She was familiar to this feeling, the blonde felt it each time Farmsville proved to be a pain in her ass… but this one's was stronger, deeper, and incontrollable. Her nails were eager to meet Carleton's face until nobody could recognize him ever again. But when she finally got there it was Beck who was doing her job, smashing their fists against his face over and over, growling each time. A quick twist.

Naturally, that bastard was expelled latter that day, everyone totally noticed it because… well… she had her ways. And although it was one less problem without him, that didn’t make up for Beck’s rib.

Yes, she literally dragged them to the hospital to get that X-ray, what was that I'm-Tough-I'm-fine shit? Who were them? Rambo? Beck had that stupid frown through all the way, like a spoiled baby, but it didn't matter, because now everyone was sure that Beck didn't have a broken rib. They were fine.

“Told you.”

“I don't fucking care, Hughes. Now hold that tongue of yours, would you?” The silence she asked for only lasted two seconds.

“You know I told you.”

“Oh, my god. What are you, five?” she rolled her eyes quickly. “Why are you so mad about it anyways? Of course I needed to know if you were ok!”

“I told you I was fine!”

“You’re not a fucking doctor!” Neither of them giving a shit about the driver hearing the conversation. “You don't have anything to prove when it comes to your health!”

She said, why it was not basic information? Why was it something so hard to swallow?

“Poppy?” God, this one just won't stop, right?

“What now?” The blonde didn't even bother to look at them, focusing her attention to what was outside the window.

“You’re right.” Wait what? “I shouldn't be upset about it. After all... You were just taking care of me, so… Thank you.”

Poppy will never admit it to anyone… but that weird but honest and beautiful smile she received made her tremble a little~ bit. Just a little bit. It was kind of like seeing them for the very first time, discover them, a fraction of their very own core shown to her…

But anyways

Right after that, just right after all she did, after that fucking day Poppy hadn't heard a word from that bastard.

So all Belvoire may be asking themselves: what was doing the great, the beautiful, the one and only queen Poppy Min-Sinclair walking through the campus with a fruit tree in hands? Obviously not her hands, an employee's hands, but whatever. Same thing.

Well, the answer was simple: Nobody, and that’s nobody…, could ignore her. No one. Poppy can and do ignore people, but be ignored? Hell, no. She hadn't seen Beck in school neither, no text messages, no social media updates, nor shit, so she was going to pay them a visit, giving them something that surely will make them to never forget about her.

So yeah, a fruit tree. That was an acceptable get well gift, right?

Poppy knocked at Beck's place, waiting, of course, for a quick answer… and waiting, and waiting… and waiting.

“Ms. Min-Sinclair…” shyly spoke that man whoever he was. “Can I put the tree down for a second?”

“No.” Maybe if it were any other time the guy could do it, but not today. Today, when she was going to deliver it personally. Today, when she was giving one of the very few gifts meant from her kind spot. Today, when she was getting angrier and angrier because she hated to wait.

She knocked again. Harder this time, but the results were just the same. And that's when something weird started to happen. Yes, she was still angry, but a stitch-like feeling started to grow inside her. She knew for a fact that Beck was in there, the doctor was clear: They needed to rest and there it was no absolutely way Zoey would let them do anything else. So they had to be there.

“Maybe they're taking a nap or something. Nothing weird, right?” She thought while her eyes wandered through the hall, searching for some magic and very hidden way to get inside the dorm. Because maybe… maybe… they weren’t sleeping.

“No. They’re fine! They’re just doing something stupid like playing the ukulele or whatever musicians do.” Her mind chuckled a little, if she could joke about it, then there it was nothing bad going on… But it didn't work quite well. She was starting to feel preoccupied.

“Er… excuse me?” Poppy turned, a deadly, cold, scary glare piercing that poor bastard's self so hard as the blonde knew she was capable of, making him tremble. It would've been funny if it wasn't for the situation.

“You have exactly two seconds to tell me why anything you have to say is relevant or I'll fire you. Starting now.”

“There’s some guy behind that corner watching us for quite a while now.” The employee said, the strawberry blonde followed the man's sight direction, what kind of creep were stalking them? Seriously, fucking weirdo.

To her fortune in at least this case, Poppy recognized that nerdy, greasy hair guy above a pair of glasses and a suspicious look behind them. Ew, Benji What’s-his-name. Well… desperate times call for desperate measures…

“Hey you!” Poppy called him as demanding as only someone like her could be. “Come closer.”

“W-why?” He asked, reserved.

“Because you’re last place and I basically command you. So stop talking and get your pimpled ass over here.” The guy walked towards them, looking hurt, angry maybe, but who cares? It wasn't her fault he was a looser that nobody cared about. Eat or be eaten, there’s people in this world with the potential to be a force of nature, and there it was people like Benji as well. They’re just there to be used. “I need you to open this door for me. ASAP.”

“What?! But that's against the dorm's ru…!”

“Excuse me, do I look like I care?” Poppy was pretty close to lose her patience completely, but she managed to behave a little, after all he was right. If they get caught, most likely the problems would arrive sooner than later. “Just do it and you're free to leave. Nobody’s gonna know.”

“God, they’re gonna know…” he whispered, playing with his own fingers, making then crack. “But let’s make this quick, ok?”

“That is so what I actually asked you to do, you dumbass.”

Benji looked around like if he was about to rob a bank or something, Poppy rolled her eyes at this, tapping her foot to try and give him pressure to do the job in that instant; the only “big move” he did was swiping his master key on the door, then nudged it open with his foot.

“See? It wasn’t that hard, wasn’t it?” Poppy said, not even looking at Benji. “Now disappear before someone see us talking.”

The strawberry blonde didn't even know if Benji did go away or not, she just went straight into Beck's bedroom, opening the door of the first room she saw.

Bingo.

Beck was sitting on their bed, their laptop over their lap; a pair of big, black professional headphones covering their ears and little Fran--- Pepes comfortably sleeping, snugging next to Beck’s feet. When they saw her, their eyes went wide, taking off the headphones completely surprised and confused, a what's going on written all over their face, especially when the employee came along with her gift.

“Poppy? What the…? How the hell did you…?”

“Shht.” She didn't let them finish, chuckled a little of the incredulous expression they had. The reality was that, now that she knew Beck was ok…, she was… weirdly relieved… and pissed, but that's something she could deal with latter. “I want you to place the tree over there… next to the window… perfect! That would be all. You're no longer required.”

The employee left the room almost immediately, the sound of the principal door closing was the only indication that both of them were completely alone.

“Well… are you going to tell me now what are you doing here or not?” Beck spoke.

“I was just passing by and suddenly I wanted to come. Why? Is there a problem?”

“And what's with the tree?”

“It’s a get-well gift from yours truly.” Poppy shooted a playful wink, receiving a flicker of their eyes, disbelieving.

“A tree?”

“It’s a fruit tree.”

“Right…” Beck said, sarcastic painting their voice as they put their headphones around their neck, placing their attention on the screen once again. Like… hello? Poppy was right there!

“I was knocking for a long time out there. Where are your manners? Did you leave them in the farm?” She joked trying to make them mad, while petting Pepes softly, who kept sleeping as if nothing happened right after opening one eye and closing it again.

“No, sorry. I didn’t hear you… How did you get in?”

“I have my ways.”

“Gosh, that’s so messed up…” Beck murmured, their gaze still on the laptop.

“Seriously? That’s it?”

Feeling like a fool, Poppy clenched her teeth. She was waiting for Beck to do something, to look at her again, to ask her to leave, anything! But no, they kept tapping and clicking while biting the insides of their cheeks.

“Jesus, Hughes!” tired, Poppy walked towards them and took drastically their notebook away...

“Hey!”

… and replaced it with herself, sitting over Beck’s lap trying not to hurt their rib. They were warm, pajamas still on, messy hair and even though the bed was made, you could tell they hadn’t gotten up from there in a while.

“Give me that back…” The determination was in their eyes, but Poppy knew better. She knew for a fact they didn’t want her to obey. Their hands around her waist, the whisper in which they were talking and that dork yet attractive smile on their lips were telling otherwise.

“No.” She said. “I came all~ the way here just to see you. The least thing you could do is give your full attention to me.” Poppy demanded.

“I thought you were just passing by.” Beck said, a mocking grin lighting up their face.

“Just shut up already.” She said, causing them to laugh a little.

“Make me.”

Oh… that’s new.

But she was happy to oblige, so she kissed them. A spicy, hot kiss where her lips and her tongue played with theirs, trying to take control, to make them forget about the whole world, their own name, and focus on her taste, her touch on their neck, her fingers caressing their skin, traveling down, discovering Beck’s clavicles… but it was hard, because she wasn’t the only one trying to take over the other one… Beck was doing it so as well, so how could Poppy concentrate if she could feel the warm moves of the tip of their fingers tracing an intense map on her back, that she could almost feel as if it was on her bare skin? How can she prove herself superior when Beck’s slow bites in her mouth, savoring her, burned so good?

“How are you feeling, Tushi-face?” Poppy murmured, ending the moment just before she completely loses control. This was still a plan, and the blonde always had to be the one who they can’t live without. She needed them to be hopelessly devoted to her to make it work, not the other way around. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

“Nor a little bit.” Beck took a deep breath, regaining their lost air. But there it was: that lamb face. “I was just trying to pick a good song for an audition.”

“Audition? To what?”

“A metal band. You know, some… stuff.” Poppy frowned, why would them wanted to be on a band? Beck had recognition on their own, fans all over Belvoire and, she can surely bet, even New York. Beck didn’t need anyone else, that’s why she had choose him. Because she knew the potential they had alone. Together… they both would be the power couple of the entire school… and, with her guidance, even more than that.

“Why would you do that?” Poppy asked. Beck responded with a shrug.

“I don’t know. Sounds fun. Besides, there is going to be a battle of bands and I want so badly to show them who's the boss...”

That’s when Poppy saw it for the very first time. The spark on their eyes made of ambition, confidence… arrogance.

“I see…”

All this time, she thought Beck was one of those people that just were going with the flow. A diamond in the rough who couldn't see its real potential… But she was wrong all along… There were more on Beck than they show, and she just figured it out a little more. The music was the answer all this time. She should've seen it before.

“Uhm… Ok. Just pick a song that reminds you of me.” Beck cracked a chuckle, letting their mind wandering thought their music repertoire.

“Oh, I think I have one.” They suddenly said with a playful grin on their face. “I’m sour candy … so sweet then I get a little angry, yeah… Sour candy, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah…”

“Seriously, Hughes? Blackpink?” They didn't care, they even closed their eyes and kept on singing, dancing their arms in a funny, annoying way.

“I'm super psycho, make you crazy when I turn the lights low… sour candy… yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah…”

That was it. Two can play the game just fine.

“Ask me to be nice and then I’ll do it extra mean… tteutbakke pyojeong hanae neon danghwanghagetji...” Poppy sang suddenly, surprising Beck so hard that she couldn’t help but laugh a lot because of their face. “Oh, honey… let me close that for you.” The strawberry blonde used her hand to gentle taking their jaw up. God, how can they be so cute while being dumb?

“You speak Korean?!”

“What kinda question is that? Do you actually know what the Min on Min-Sinclair means?”

“I-I mean, yeah. I just didn't want to assume… what does it mean? That thing you sang?” The blonde raised an eyebrow.

“I thought you knew.” Beck shook his head, that surprised look still into their eyes, but now had a taste of interest and wonder… A chance that she didn't miss. “Well… it actually means this…” Slowly, like a panther hunting her prey, Poppy reach out for Beck's neck, pouring out sweet but dangerous kisses over their skin… Oh, their reactions… Beck sigh, shaking a little, their body was tense, but slowly begun to relax, enjoying the attentions.

Both of their hands started to touch Poppy's body, eager, needy, intensely. Beck's caressed burned more and more over her body to the point where the blonde couldn't take it anymore. She needed them to take her clothes off…

Beck kissed her lips hungrily, tasting her as if they were starving, gripping her hips while doing so. She grinded down on them, stealing a gasp from their lips in between the kisses, driving her mad. Poppy needed to touch them, to feel them, so she put her hands under their shirt, enjoying the burning skin of their actually hard abs… touching careful and slowly up, and up…

“No, Poppy, wait…” Beck suddenly said, nervous and sounding a little scared. Confused as fuck, Poppy moved a little away, shooting them a question-mark-look. What happened? She wanted so badly to ask, but the stupid door opened abruptly, an annoying voice right behind it.

“Beck, I'm home! I got you some soup…”

Zoey was literally in the house. The stupid look on her face when she realized what was happening make Poppy really angry.

“Fuck you, Wade. Don't you see we're in the middle of something?” Something clicked inside the girl, because her astonished expression chance in one second to an indignant one just before slapping the door.

“Shit…”

—-

#poppy x mc #queen b choices #choices #trans #ftm #malemc #queen b benji #poppy min sinclair #bea hughes #Beck Hughes #choices stories you play #choices poppy #choices queen b #choices queen b mc #mc x poppy #queen b

50 notes · View notes

forasecondtherewedwon · 4 years

Text

The Stripping Point

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E (explicit sexual content) Word count: 6387

Happy Birthday, @spiderman-homecomeme!

Summary: Peter's ready to turn his new hobby into a profitable sideline. Unfortunately, he writes down his very first client's address incorrectly and shows up at the wrong house.

MJ opens the door to find some guy dressed as Spider-Man and decides the best way to mess with him is to let him stay. Almost immediately, she loses the upper hand.

Quarantine puts people out of work. A lotta people at first, then less, but never Peter. He keeps shooting for the Bugle, lugging his camera all over the city (instead of squeezing onto buses and subway cars that never really get that much less crowded) while he breathes heavily through his mask. He only takes pictures at outdoor spaces to try to avoid both crowds and loners who hassle him for taking preventative measures during the pandemic. They’re stressed, he gets that, but Peter doesn’t wanna be anywhere near conflict. Spider-Man, on the other hand… Well, when he puts on that mask, it’s pretty much business as usual. He appreciates his face covering more than ever and, hey, it’s cool to do a job with social distancing built in.

His gratitude for the web-slinging side-gig only increases as the weeks of pandemic life stretch into months and Jameson starts ordering him back into situations that are just plain stupid from a health perspective. Never mind that he got kinda accidentally stabbed the other week. It’s a totally different set of dangers. Peter resists the new assignments and because Jameson’ll be in deep shit if his number one Spider-Man photographer makes a fuss about working conditions (and because people are getting so desperate for employment that he can pay a new hire even less than Peter’s paltry freelancing rate), the Bugle shells out for another photographer to cover the work Peter won’t do. Good for Peter’s health, bad for Peter’s bank account―which is already whimpering with hunger pangs from sitting near-empty after paying rent. This gets him thinking. It might be time to turn his early-quarantine hobby into his mid-to-late-quarantine money-maker.

Yeah, pandemic hobbies! By April, it seemed to him like everybody was picking something up. Bread-making, yoga, sewing masks for healthcare workers left criminally under-equipped. The hobby Peter picked up, well… it’s a little different. He began practicing it indoors (obviously), by himself, and with skills gained from reading and watching material on the internet. In those ways, it’s a lot like other people’s hobbies. In some other ways, it’s very, very different. Like, instead of putting on specialized clothing like an apron or yoga pants, Peter’s hobby requires taking clothes off. It’s stripping. Peter’s hobby is stripping.

A few things led to him picking that over sourdough or Sun Salutations. Peter loves not only old movies but also old music. Old movies with iconic dance scenes? That’s, like, the perfect combo. He spends a lot of his downtime playing music in his apartment and, when he’s not wiped or injured, dancing along. He figures it’s good for his mood as well as his fitness. Seriously, he can only do so many chin-ups on the metal bar braced in his bathroom doorframe (which is starting to crack). Patrick Swayze’s solo routine from the end of Dirty Dancing is way more fun, even if Peter did tear the knees on a couple pairs of sweatpants because of it. The more music he listened to, the more he started freestyling his own moves in between those of leading men. It was that―trying to create something good of his own―that helped him understand the routines he watched. He figured out the balance between precision and sex appeal and somewhere in there, he realized he was performing for an audience in his head. And what this imaginary audience wanted wasn’t always the goofiness of acting out Risky Business and sliding across the short strip of bare floor between his kitchen and living room in socks, underwear, and a white shirt. Sometimes, the audience wanted him to lose the shirt.

At that point, Peter was once again wandering out of what he knew. He was comfortable with movie dances, had a little of his own repertoire, but he lacked this extra element of storytelling; it was the one that took him from fully dressed down to boxers and socks without tripping and struggling and falling into his meager possessions. That was when he turned to the internet and confronted the fact that he wanted to learn how to strip. If he happened to stumble into related tutorials on how to give a lap dance, who would know? Who was there to judge Peter as he performed for an empty kitchen chair, dragging his hand along the back and body-rolling to buck his hips towards where someone’s face would be? Yeah, it was kinda embarrassing while he was learning, but he had the endurance to try a move over and over until he nailed it, the strength to draw out isolated movements like twitching his hips to keep his butt drawing circles on the lap of his invisible patron, and the overall coordination of, well, Spider-Man. Which ends up being the most important piece of all because, when Peter decides to take his show on the road (or at least out of his tiny apartment), his ‘stage’ name requires about a second of thought. Spider-Man. He’ll go by Spider-Man. He laughs his ass off when he thinks of it. It’s fucking genius! Spider-Man stripping as himself is the last thing anyone would ever suspect!

Naturally, Peter can’t use any of his actual Spidey suits. Those would probably give him away. Also, he’d feel weird about having Karen’s voice in his ear while he flexed his abs next to somebody’s head. Fortunately, after a little digging―which turns into a lot of digging and leaves his room a mess of comingled clean and dirty clothes―he finds his original suit. The zip-up hoodie plus sweatpants one. Yeah, its technological capabilities are basically zero, it’s a little grimy, and too tight, but he doesn’t need it to do anything besides come off. The wear-and-tear will lend genuine-fake authenticity to his character and the snugness around his more developed muscles (it’s been a decade since he wore it last) will make it… sexier? He guesses? The most important thing is the mask, which is the only part of his costume he won’t strip off. Apart from his underwear, obviously. He’s not that wild.

He gets to work cutting a vertical line up each leg of his sweatpants, then sews in snaps. Boom, tearaways. They look kinda shitty, but if he’s any good at all, whoever he dances for shouldn’t be staring at loose threads.

So Peter has his moves, his costume, a few songs in mind, and no engagements. Oh, he thinks he can figure out how to get jobs, it’s just that he somehow keeps coming home, sitting down to compose his ad, and then doing something completely different instead. He’s truly scared witless. Nobody’ll see your face, he chants in his mind to psych himself up every time he’s heading home to his apartment. Still, he freezes at his laptop. There’s nothing about his body that he’s ashamed of―he uses it every single day to help people as Spider-Man. Maybe it’s that, this time, he’d be using it to help himself. Is he a monster for making a buck off his superhero persona? Peter holds onto that question for about a week until the date to pay rent is approaching and his bank account shudders in horror. Ok, money’s tight and he hasn’t been hit by a car lately, so he won’t freak anybody out with road rash or bruising or more of his hand-sewing to close gashes. With a little self-pedicure here and hair-removal there, Peter looks at himself in his bathroom mirror and decides this is as good a time as any.

He advertises online and his hands are still trembling when he gets a call from an unfamiliar number ten minutes after his ad goes live. The ringing phone actually makes him jump. It’s probably a telemarketer, or a wrong number. Nobody would call him with a job this fast. He was counting on having at least a day to sit with the choice he made. Peter fumbles for the phone and answers. For the next minute and a half, he struggles to hear the woman’s voice over the blood rushing in his ears. She thinks he’s the Spider-Man Stripper. He is the Spider-Man Stripper. This is hilarious and terrifying and oddly similar to the brief moment of freefall between slinging one web and the next as he darts around Midtown. Her friend’s birthday party, she tells him, two days from now. Something else she planned (Peter’s adjusting his sweaty, slipping grip on his phone and misses the details) fell through and if he can be the entertainment for a half-hour or so it would save both the party and her friendship. Not to add extra pressure, she jokes, laughing. The sound Peter makes is a weak echo. So can he be there? Is there space in his schedule? He pretends to check that ‘schedule’ so she doesn’t think he’s a total amateur. Yep, yep, he has an opening for her. She has an opening for him, she flirts back, making his eyes go wide as he clutches the phone. God, why couldn’t his first gig have been for some 22-year-old’s bachelorette instead of this middle-aged-sounding woman who possibly wants to eat him alive? By the time she’s telling him her address, Peter’s hands are shaking worse than ever, he can’t immediately find a pen, and she reels it off to him way too quickly. He’s scrawling the address on his arm and right as he opens his mouth to ask her to repeat it, she hangs up. He peers at his arm doubtfully. Should he call her back for confirmation? No, he doesn’t have the guts. Anyway, he can figure this out. The street name was Woodman, right? Or was it Woodlawn? And the number was 712. Or 271. There was definitely a 7 in there somewhere. And his client’s name was… Lisa? Lana. Maybe Linda?

Peter cradles his face in his hands and groans. When his phone starts ringing again―different number―he frantically declines the call, then deletes his ad. One job at a time. Even that, he now thinks, seems ambitious.

―

MJ’s glad she’s not the one throwing this party together. As Liz’s best friend, it’s Betty who took the reins, organizing and then scrapping everything more than once as New York moved from phase to phase during this pandemic. The end result is still less than what MJ knows Betty wants; ideally, there would be more than a handful of guests and things like shiny helium balloons and fancy desserts would be hand-delivered to Liz’s front door on the day of the party. Instead, MJ sits on the arm of Liz’s couch as she inflates yet another latex balloon the good old-fashioned way: blowing it up by mouth until she’s dizzy.

Cindy stomps over and plops down next to her, snatching a balloon from the party pack of 50 (and Betty insists they need them all). She’s been banished from cupcake decorating. MJ would offer a word or two of sympathy, but balloon duty has the prior claim on how she spends her breaths. All she can do is toss Cindy a plastic tiara (Betty bought one―just one!―reading ‘Mom-to-Be’ for Liz, but the online shop screwed up her order and sent two dozen ‘Birthday Girl’ tiaras in its place) after tying off her finished balloon. MJ’s already wearing one. Meanwhile, the tiara-less Mom-to-Be is being driven around the block a million times by her cousin because they’re having the party at Liz’s place and Betty wants the decorations to be a surprise. Liz’s husband, more simply, was banished for the entire day. MJ originally thought they could’ve put him to work, since it’s pretty hectic, but she’s too oxygen-deprived to worry anymore.

Finally, Betty declares from the kitchen that she’s frosted her final cupcake. MJ begs for a reprieve from balloon-inflating and Betty, feeling accomplished and generous, agrees they probably have enough balloons now. Cindy casts her half-inflated one away in disgust before going to help Betty clean up baking ingredients and do dishes. MJ does her best to shoo the balloons to one side of the living room, then carries spare chairs in because their couch won’t fit everyone. Fortunately, they’ve all been recently tested for illness and been vigilant hand-washers and mask-wearers since then, so at least she doesn’t have to find a way to keep every seat six feet apart. She’s just positioning a final chair, still a little out of breath from the balloons, when the doorbell rings. In the kitchen, Betty screams.

“IT’S STILL A MESS IN HERE! STALL HER!”

“’K!” MJ agrees.

She kicks a couple stray balloons out of her path and goes to get the door. They weren’t supposed to come back to the house until Betty texted, but maybe they got tired of driving around, or Liz started feeling carsick. MJ knows she’s been pretty delicate her entire pregnancy with twins floating around in her uterus like a pair of nausea-inducing astronauts.

As she opens the door wide, she sucks in a deep breath to call out a sarcastic ‘Surprise!’ But it’s not Liz and her cousin. It’s… a guy? In a red and blue costume. She thinks it’s a guy. She can’t even see the person’s face, but when MJ reaches up to self-consciously adjust her ‘Birthday Girl’ tiara, they tilt their head and seem to follow her movement.

“Oh! I’m here for you! You’re… not what I was expecting.” It’s a masculine laugh. Young. Nervous.

She crosses her arms suspiciously.

“You’re not what I was expecting either,” she accuses.

“Shit,” he mumbles. “I guess it was supposed to be a surprise.”

What? Betty might have planned a few surprises for today, but MJ does not recall a dude in a mismatched sweatsuit being one of them.

“Guess so,” she says slowly.

“Sorry, I’m, uh, Spider-Man.” He gestures to the costume. Well, she can kinda see the very distant resemblance to what the real Spider-Man wears; there is a crudely-drawn spider on the chest.

“Uh huh.”

MJ’s suspicion is shifting into amusement―this guy really seems to think he has an invitation―when Cindy comes up behind her. MJ darts a look at her friend and is glad Cindy’s no longer sporting her own tiara. No need to confuse this poor… Spider-Man impersonator.

“What’s up?” Cindy asks, poking her chin over MJ’s shoulder, happier now that she’s fled the tasks Betty continually assigns.

“Hey,” says ‘Spider-Man’. “I, uh, I was hired to, uh, dance for the, um…” He gestures at MJ’s tiara. “…birthday girl.”

At ‘dance,’ MJ’s eyebrows shoot up. She looks quickly at Cindy and realizes she’s going to say something. Cindy will handle this how she handles any inconvenience or anomaly: with forthrightness and concision. She’ll have this faux-venger hitting the road before MJ can blink. With a short, friendly laugh towards Spider-Man, MJ angles herself to block Cindy from view and locks eyes with her friend. Cindy’s face says, What are you doing? We don’t know this guy. MJ’s counters with, Let’s see how this plays out. Cindy rolls her eyes, but nods, so MJ steps away from her again.

“As long as you haven’t traveled outside the country in the last fourteen days or experienced symptoms of fever, etcetera etcetera, come on in,” Cindy invites, gesturing Spider-Man through the doorway. “I’m so sorry, but we were running a little behind with the food, so I have to disappear back to the kitchen. But why don’t you get started for her?”

“Cindy,” MJ hisses as she closes the door. “You have to stay.”

“I believe the man said he was here for the birthday girl.”

Cindy smirks and they both glance over to see that Spider-Man has found the speaker and connected his phone. Something catches MJ’s eye and her gaze skims down his leg. What’s up with the side of his pants?

“I’m not the birthday girl,” she reminds Cindy in a panicked whisper. “There is no birthday girl.”

“Well, in her absence, it looks like you’re the one getting her presents. Careful with that one.”

“Because it seems fragile?”

“Because I feel like it’s the kind that comes with a big package.”

Cindy pokes MJ hard in the side and flees when she squirms away. MJ glares after her. Yes, she’s curious about what the hell this impersonator’s doing here in that crappy costume, but it’s so much easier to be curious when she can observe something unfolding without actively having to participate. What she was thinking was that he’d come in and the three of them―Betty, Cindy, and herself―would see how far this went before something either gave them away as not being the people who ‘hired’ him (so he claims), or the guy crumbled under the quavering weight of his own anxiety. Nothing about his look or his manner announces experience. Now, MJ’s on her own as she takes a seat in one of the chairs she brought in. She crosses her legs, bobs her foot, and hopes to hell that Spider-Man’s a breakdancer.

“Listen…” she begins to say, leaning forward to address him, but as she speaks, he turns up the volume and her uncertain voice is drowned out by chimes tinkling above throbbing bass. Oh no.

It’s the tempo that scares MJ. She thinks she could deal with a rabbiting drum intro or the bright squeal of quick fingers on an electric guitar. This song is tauntingly slow and it’s obvious, by how Spider-Man turns in her direction and walks to her with measured steps, that what she’s about to experience will look nothing like handstands or the worm, nothing youthfully, recklessly acrobatic. It’s also clear that she’s in this alone now because the guy putting his back to her and swirling his hips with agonizing slowness as the gravelly vocals come in is in some kind of zone she can’t follow him into.

When I look in your eyes… the song goes. …I can feel the fire.

Nope, MJ’s outside of this, in the real world, where she hears him lower the zipper on his sweatshirt. When he rotates to face her, taking his time, she finds her hands are gripping the seat on either side of her thighs.

A see-through disguise can’t conceal desire.

Spider-Man’s disguise is hardly see-through―seriously, he must’ve been sweltering in those sweats on his way here―but it’s open now, from his clavicle down to where the band of his pants grips his taut abdomen. He probably can’t hear the groan that pushes out of her mouth when she’s just trying to exhale. God, please let the music cover it, MJ thinks. His hood’s still up as he steps even closer to her chair, subtly twitching his hips in her direction, and the ends of his sweatshirt dangle, flashing glimpses of more chest, more abs. MJ swallows and reminds herself that this is all kind of a joke. That she’s the one indulging him and they’ll laugh when this is over. She’ll apologize for the mix-up and he’ll shrug it off as he accepts monetary compensation for his time.

I’ve been readin’ your lips… the singer announces in a louder growl. Spider-Man abruptly strips the blue sleeves from his costume, leaving his torso bare beneath what’s now just a hooded red vest. He’s a fake superhero, but those arms are the real deal. Wow. …they don’t need no translation.

He widens his stance, drawing her eye down to his solid-looking thigh, then slides his hand across her shoulder to grip the back of her chair. His hips roll forward and she instinctively uncrosses her legs. With the extra room, Spider-Man briefly presses his thigh to hers. It scrunches the hem of her dress up before dragging it back down as he retreats. It’s reasonably innocent, likely not even intentional, but heat flares up MJ’s face like one of the candles she might blow out if this were actually her birthday. Honestly, she keeps forgetting it’s not.

They want more than a kiss, I come to make my donation.

Ok, she feels more than just thigh when he glides higher on her lap. MJ automatically flicks her gaze lower, because he’s a stranger and right in her space, and it lands on his groin. Spider-Man bucks suggestively and MJ immediately raises her eyes from the bump in the front of his close-fitting sweatpants. Jesus, is it warm in here? Somebody should do something about that before Liz gets home, fiddle with the thermostat or, or something…

So turn out the lights! the singer’s voice rockets up and goosebumps ripple up MJ’s arms as Spider-Man’s hands smooth down them in his fingerless gloves. He bounces low into a crouch and can’t be more than an inch away from the fabric of her dress as he rolls up her body, face in her lap for, I’m goin’ down slowly. Her pounding heart and rapid breathing almost push her boobs into his forehead when he reaches her chest.

Don’t tell me what’s right, just tell me you want me.

When their heads are level, Spider-Man surprises her by sitting lightly on her lap, nearly chest-to-chest. He takes her hands in his―MJ’s sufficiently stunned to allow him to break her grip on the seat―and guides them to his head, making her push his hood off. It’s strange to feel the mask under her palms. Wondering what his hair looks like really shouldn’t be a main concern right now.

Oh, tell me you want me. Just tell me you want me, want me, want me!

The more insistent the song becomes, the more persuasively Spider-Man gyrates in her lap. Sliding a hand over his head shouldn’t be this seductive without visible hair to push his fingers through, but the way his arm bulges with the motion makes up for it, in her opinion. MJ doesn’t know what to do with her hands. They hover in the air between their bodies.

Let’s make it, baby! the song explodes as he thrusts forward powerfully, throwing his head back.

Well, let’s make it, baby!

His hands go to his shoulders.

Well, let’s make it, baby!

He works his vest off, revealing the rest of his chest.

Let’s make it, baby!

He flings the vest toward the sofa. MJ doesn’t know whether or not it lands there. She doesn’t turn to look. This is… more muscle than she’s ever seen in person on a single human body. Once more, he takes hold of the back of her chair, but it’s with both hands now and his forearms squeeze her in, compelling her to lean forward as he grinds across her lap, forward and back, to, Come, come, come a little bit closer. His face angles into her neck; she feels his nose brush her skin through the mask. She can hear him breathing and it electrifies her. The only reason she clamps her thighs together like she does is to give him more room to straddle her. Really, it’s for his comfort, as a professional. Because this is all just… very professional.

She hasn’t determined where to lay her hands, which is fine because he has another use for them.

I wanna play doctor, the singer drawls while Spider-Man brings her hands to his pecs. Is his heart beating as hard under there as hers is right now or is she imagining it? He effortlessly takes gentle hold of her wrists and encourages her hands down his body. She doesn’t even notice when he lets her go to peel the gloves from his hands and push his sneakers off, leaving MJ to trace the thick, defined ridges of his abdomen.

It keeps gettin’ harder, harder, harder to keep it away!

With the end of the line, Spider-Man rips the sweatpants off―a series of metallic popping sounds too close together to count. Not that counting’s on her mind. Eyeing the cherry-red boxer-briefs that are even tighter than the sweats, she swallows. She can’t remember how to exist on the outside of this. She can’t find the door. Believing that this guy―who’s not really Spider-Man, just like she’s not really a birthday girl―understands, that they’re sharing the scorching intimacy she suddenly feels, is naïve. MJ is not naïve. She just can’t exactly explain why what should be an obvious (skillful, but obvious) pantomime of sex is working on her like real foreplay.

I wanna taste the sweat…

She swears he’s breathing harder than the dancing alone can explain when he palms her knees and pries them apart. Her legs are slack and willing. She is sweating.

…that’s runnin’ over your body.

Tucking his fingers into the backs of her knees, Spider-Man jerks her forward on her seat. It raises her hem to mid-thigh and her pulse to low orbit. He hikes her legs around his hips and she crosses her wrists behind his neck without guidance as he stays in what has to be a strenuous squat to body-roll. Everything comes forward in a delicious wave, from his shoulders to his crotch. From lots of angles, it probably looks like he’s fucking her into Liz’s kitchen chair.

In actuality, there’s no contact between them―not anyplace interesting―until…

Get the sheets all wet!

MJ doesn’t know if his hips nudge between her legs accidentally or intentionally on an overzealous roll. She’s never been given a lap dance before! Is this right? Is this permitted? He seems ready to run with it, repeating the action with greater certainty.

Yeah, I wanna make ya feel nau-nau-nau-nau-nau-nau-nau-naughty!

When the singer quits stuttering out the word, Spider-Man lifts MJ right off the chair into his arms. She inhales hard, desperate for air as the song returns to, Let’s make it, baby! And let’s make it, baby! Well, let’s make it, baby! And let’s make it, baby, baby! He has one hand grasping the underside of her thigh, the other clutching the middle of her back. He thrusts toward her through the chorus, shy of nudging the way he did before. The motion sways MJ fairly gently, thanks to his sure grip and ability to carry her weight with ease, but she might as well be tumbling around inside a washing machine for all she currently knows of up and down.

The animal urgency of the chorus drops down to the slow lull of instrumentals and Spider-Man sets MJ on her feet. She just about rolls her ankle and plans to never admit this made her weak in the knees. As irregular drumbeats keep her on edge, he sneaks around behind her and takes her wrists, raising her arms over her head as she fights the instinct to turn and stare at this guy’s mostly-naked body. She hasn’t dated anyone since before the pandemic, but it’s more than that. While she holds her arms up there, Spider-Man rocks against her from behind, the inside of his thigh rubbing the outside of hers, messing up her skirt, confusing her heartbeat. His hands clamp down on her hips and work them in a circular motion with her ass pressed directly against him.

Wait.

―

Peter’s hard. Of all the things that have definitely gone wrong (having to make up a routine from scratch after blanking in the face of a woman 20 years younger and 500 times more beautiful than who he expected to find) and probably gone wrong (he hasn’t shaken the exhilarating feeling that he’s almost certainly at the wrong house), this is the most serious. He’s in so, so far over his head and sinking deeper, metaphorically, as the woman he’s wrapped around cautiously returns the pressure, pressing his erection.

He was so nervous after meeting her that he went straight to setting up his music and forgot to ask for her name. It’s not like he can casually ask now. It feels like things have gone too far for that. Wasn’t he supposed to feel some layer of detachment, doing this? Stripping’s supposed to be a part-time job, like taking pictures for the Bugle. Maybe he’s too used to caring about people to set himself apart from this. Maybe it’s the shock of her youth and the feeling of touching a real-live person after practicing with an empty chair over months of physical distancing.

Maybe he’s just horny.

The instrumental section goes on and on and Peter yearns. This is a job, he thinks, running his hands up to her waist and back to her hips. As the musical intermission’s finally drawing to a close, he improvises again, scooping the woman up into his arms in a bridal carry just to eliminate the sweet friction against his dick. Where does he go from here? He knows what the tutorials told him, what really gets the target of a lap dance/strip show going. Could go with the couch and push his red vest aside, but the soft rug underfoot beckons.

Now turn out the lights! Bon Jovi rasps as Peter moves gradually to his knees and nuzzles his masked face into the woman’s chest because, at this point, why the hell not? She smells so good. He hears her gasp, then her fingers dig fleetingly into the back of his neck like she wants to hold him there. But she lets go and he lays her on her back in the valley created by leisurely-migrating silver balloons. The light refracted on the woman’s face is crisp and ethereal.

Don’t tell me you love, love me, no… Just, just tell me you want me.

Peter springs on top of her, arms braced and locked, and performs an exaggerated horizontal roll, his hips close above hers. This is the million-dollar (or, like, twenty-dollar) move. The one that unambiguously mimics sex. Though it’s so overstated, so dramatic, the tutorials claimed that, by this stage, the person being performed for would be so wound up, so aroused, that they’d just about believe it was the real thing. He watches the woman’s shaky breathing and flushed cheeks, feels her hands caress his abs, and thinks he’s doing pretty damn good. Too bad he can’t count this as a performance. The desire he feels when he lowers himself closer to her is not an act.

Don’t tell me you love me.

The skin-tight front of his underwear skims her dress. And, though she should really keep her legs out straight to do her part in preserving the distance between them (because he’s fucking failing), she slides her foot along the floor, raising her knee. Peter snatches hold of that knee with the feeling that they just signed some kind of contract and grinds himself against the fold of skirt between her legs. The woman’s chest heaves as she pants. His balls ache for him to stop playing.

Oh, tell me you want me, want me, want me, want me, want me, want me, want me! Bon Jovi and Peter’s sex drive demand, from a rumble up to a scream. Let’s make it, baby!

The woman beneath him tosses her head and bats away a balloon that clings to her hair. Her birthday crown’s askew.

Well, let’s make it, baby!

Peter’s hand is on her ribcage, too near her breast.

Well, let’s make it, baby!

He huffs, loud inside his mask, as he thrusts against her like she’s not some accident, like she asked him to meet her here. For this.

And let’s make it, baby!

Distinct lyrics burst into a high, expressive shriek of noise that sounds enough like a woman being pleasured to send a tingle up Peter’s spine. He grinds down hard, gripping the woman’s hip. By the second shriek, her back’s bowing, her hands commandingly squeezing his arms. By the third, she’s moaning as she rocks against him, tearing an appreciative grunt from him in response. The fourth shriek finishes her right before the song. Peter’s breathing hard on top of her, on the jaw-clenching edge of climax himself, feeling her writhe as the music fades out. It just leaves the two of them here, damningly entangled.

After a long silence, his playlist moves on. Peter stares down at her another few seconds as she strokes her fingers across her mouth, then her eyes snap to where she can’t see his through the goggles.

“Oh shit,” he mutters.

The woman laughs awkwardly like those two words are an understatement for the degree to which this has not gone as planned. She didn’t even know the plan, but anyone would know this was not the intended conclusion―a stripper dressed up in a novelty Spider-Man costume should excite, entertain, inspire lust. But he should stop short of dry-humping his client to completion. Yeah, that has to be an unwritten rule someplace. Peter really shouldn’t have needed to read it to know better though. This has just gotten incredibly out of hand and he has no idea what to say or do.

“LIZ IS ON HER WAY!” a female voice yells from the back of the house, maybe the kitchen that the other woman vanished into earlier.

Peter jerks to his feet, still rigid in the front of his underwear. He thinks the woman he just, uh, danced for is requesting help up, but she’s actually pointing. He looks and sees the bathroom just off the stairs.

“I’m good,” she says. “Go before Cindy sees you.”

Snagging his pants from the floor and the vest portion of his sweatshirt from the couch, Peter bolts for the bathroom as the woman sits up from the rug. Inside, his hands quake with adrenaline as he zips his sweatshirt and refastens all the snaps on his pants. He does his best to adjust things so his waning erection’s not too obvious. For a minute, he yanks the mask from his head and stares at himself in the mirror as he breathes. This is not the side-hustle for him. This was his first and last gig as the Spider-Man Stripper.

Mask back on, he returns to the front room to find the woman he was grinding all over standing with her arms crossed protectively as her friend appears to grill her under her breath. They both look at him as he stuffs his feet back into his shoes and grabs his gloves and the blue sleeves of his sweatshirt. He’ll just carry them. If he stood here and began redoing them, he’d probably die from mortification before he got the last snap snapped. He collects his phone, stopping the music mid-song. He doesn’t know what’s playing. Could be his favourite song in the world and he wouldn’t be able to hear it right now over the volume of the look his ‘birthday girl’ is giving him.

“I’ll just, um, show you out,” she offers, shepherding him away from the woman he takes to be Cindy. She doesn’t volunteer anything about the other person, Liz, who they seem to be expecting.

“Great.”

He’s thankful that Cindy gives them a little space and doesn’t follow. They pause in the entranceway. The woman presses two fifties into his hand, avoiding eye contact. Peter clears his dry throat and nods, closing his fingers over the money because he’s more uncomfortable about the idea of prolonging this with a back-and-forth over him saying it’s too much while she insists than he is about the idea that she’s kinda paying him for sex, even if thinks she doesn’t mean to.

She pulls the door open and Peter jumps aside for two women, one very pregnant. There’s a flurry of voices all of a sudden and when he slips outside onto the step before someone can ask who he is and what he’s doing here, he doesn’t expect the birthday girl to come after him.

“MJ,” she blurts out.

He grins under the mask.

“Peter.”

He never gets to tell people that when he’s in disguise, but she doesn’t know he really is Spider-Man. The honesty feels good.

“So, that was…”

“This wasn’t supposed to be… Um,” he starts again, swinging his arms slightly. “That was my first time. Doing this. I’ve never done a routine for anybody before, so I want you to know I haven’t, like, done that with a bunch of people. I’ve never done this. And I think, uh, based on what happened in there, that I probably shouldn’t.” Peter’s laugh is strained. “I really don’t―”

“Do you want my number?”

He chokes.

“What?”

“I… thought I might as well ask,” she says, clearly self-conscious, looking prepared for rejection.

“No, of course I do,” Peter tells her quickly, holding out his phone. “Please.”

“Ok.” MJ gives him a quick smile, then looks at his screen as she adds herself as a contact. He’s grateful she’s the one putting the numbers in. He really can’t be trusted with that. Peter’s not nervous now, just excited as he thinks about using the money she gave him to buy her dinner.

Though he’s pretty sure he knows the answer, he says, “This isn’t the right house, is it?” as she hands his phone back. She laughs.

“No.”

“Yeah, I… kinda had a feeling.”

“Hey, whoever she was, her loss was my gain,” MJ says bluntly, then blushes hard. Peter chuckles to himself, looking down.

“Ummm…”

“Well, I should get in there. Baby shower.”

“Right, yeah, sure, you gotta.”

“But call me.”

“I will. I definitely will.”

“Maybe you can even show me what you look like without the mask,” she says.

Peter nods, body nothing but a cage for a butterfly swarm, then turns. Behind him, he hears Cindy’s voice as MJ steps back inside.

“Did you just give him a hundred bucks?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s what you owe me for going in on the stroller!”

“I’ll go to the bank and take out another hundred right after the party if you want,” MJ offers, sounding unconcerned.

“But a hundred bucks? MJ, he was here for ten minutes!”

“Trust me, Peter earned it.”

“Peter?! That’s Spider-Man’s name?”

“Cindy, come on, he’s not actually Spider-Man.”

The door shuts. Of course he’s not. Peter could no more be Spider-Man than he could fall half in love with a woman simply because of the way she smelled and the fact that she wouldn’t let him off the hook for a lap dance. He starts down the sidewalk with a skip, smiling wide beneath his mask.

#my writing #spideychelle #spideychelle fic #spideychelle fanfiction #peter parker #peter x mj #peter x michelle #peter parker x michelle jones #michelle jones

61 notes · View notes

of-another-broken-heart · 3 years

Text

I guess it’s time for another pointless update about the worsening state of my life.

I’ll get the rosy stuff out of the way first.

I finally got in the shower today.

It took 2 days of chilly autumn-like rain for me to be able to rest enough, and then not be overheated into useless exhaustion and nausea, to do it. But I got in the shower. I shampooed my hair, several times, to get through the summer heat sweat and oil. I did conditioner, twice, because I am losing hair and what’s left is thinning pretty badly. I rubbed a bunch of soaked dead skin off my body with just my hands. I tried to finish off a bottle of body soap that I got... years ago. I unloaded an unreasonable amount of soap onto my loofa and made suds and scrubbed for a while. I’ll never feel fully clean until I can actually soak and rub everything off, but it’s better.

A couple days ago, I asked mom if we could go to the beach for a little bit. It had been hot. Unbearably hot. It was evening by the time I asked - still before sunset, though. So we went for a little while, an hour maybe? I waded into the water up to my knees. It was cold. Tide was going out, nearly at low. I don’t love the beaches here. The sand is coarse. There are loads of rocks and shells - plenty with brutal sharp edges. And I didn’t bring water shoes with me. But I hobbled across the rocks and shells, and slimy low-tide seaweed, and the muddy silt in the shallows, to stand up to my knees and just... enjoy the cold water. My mom went in a little deeper than I did. She brought water shoes and a clam rake, so she went clamming. I started feeling some vertigo and retreated back to the towel mom had laid down on the sand. I had brought a book - one of the thyroid books I checked out months ago, and still haven’t finished a single one - but instead I took out my phone and checked some messages, and took a few pictures. Mom brought up 14 good clams. We didn’t linger much after that. The sun dipped below the trees, evening flies and gnats started to come out. We headed home. Mom made some linguini with clam sauce tonight. And some baked clams.

And that ends the rosy stuff.

I’m still plagued with uncontrollable preoccupation with a manipulative, abusive, probably narcissist who took my years of recovery from the last person who fucked me up, and threw it all in the trash, and doesn’t give a single shit about any of it. Someone who knows the language of the damaged and abuses it to get what he wants out of people, and throws them away the instant they don’t fit his desires, or prove to have morals more durable than his lies.

I still miss the biggest lie. The fake person. It will never not hurt, that I fell for a falsehood. That I was so easy to trick and trap and use and abuse and discard. I hate how happy I was, just briefly, and how I’m going to pay for it, for years now.

My heart is failing. There’s no way around it. I’m in bed half of every day. I am taking every possible measure within my grasp to “manage my stress” and none of it has had any real impact on my blood pressure. I try to avoid things that stress me out. Socio-economic struggle is not some scratchy sweater you can choose to remove, though - it’s the air in my lungs and the blood in my veins and I am stuck with that. I “avoid salt” in the way that I always have - by barely eating, because of guilt and shame and poverty and, now, relentless nausea. I “cut back on alcohol” the same way I always have - poverty makes it very easy to be unable to afford it, and if you don’t have it, you can’t drink it. I am “managing my weight” the same way I always have - which is to say, alternating between rolling my eyes at the baseless suggestion, and starving myself in the ways I already mentioned.

My systolic pressure is always high. Always. Even at my lowest readings, it falls in the “Elevated” category. Diastolic varies. It’s usually the high end of normal, but creeps over the threshold sometimes. Pulse has been... weird. Most of my readings were in the 70s, perfectly normal. Recently, with the heat and humidity and relentless stress, I’ve had irregular and elevated heart beat. Still hasn’t crossed 100 bpm (the limit for “normal”) but it’s gotten close.

I have my next doctor’s appointment in a few days. Tuesday. It’s giving me anxiety. I never phoned in to update about the trazodone or lisinopril like I meant to. I want my fatigue taken seriously, and I know it won’t be. I have some tests I’d like to know the results of, and I feel like my requests will get denied, just like my requests for COVID tests were.

I just want a real answer. I’m tired of trial after trial after trial, wasting literal years of my life, and costing what remains of my health, because doctors and western medicine in general would rather I remain undiagnosed and unhelped than concede to an incurable condition that can’t be “exercised” away.

CFS. I meet every criteria. I have met every criteria for years. Even the “loophole” part about symptoms being chalked up to other conditions - even that doesn’t actually stand up any more. Because I have been in treatment for those conditions, and the symptoms persisted, which means there is something else going on and it’s CFS.

It’s summer. We’re poor. We’re trapped here. It’s hot. Unbearably hot. We don’t have A/C. I don’t, anyway. I am a living stereotype, I am stuck in an unfinished cement block basement, surrounded by dust and dirt and cobwebs and moths and beetles and spiders and assorted flying biting things, always. We have humidity here. High humidity. Wet-bulb temperature is low here, the humidity is so high. Human thermoregulation relies on sweat evaporation, and high humidity means evaporation doesn’t happen, which means lower temperatures in high humidity are just as dangerous, even fatal, as higher temperatures in dry air.

I’m alone. I’m so fucking alone. I’m trying, like a crazed person, to reach out to people, every single day, to feel less alone. But the instant the conversation is gone, I’m crying. Because I’m still in this basement, a thousand miles from anyone who cares about me, lit by a single shitty bulb

- not even in the ceiling any more, no! The switch jammed, the pull cable doesn’t toggle into the “on” position any more, so the ceiling light is just an outlet now. At least it didn’t die outright, or I wouldn’t even have my computer, or chargers, or tablet, or phone. It’s my only outlet. But I went nearly a week in total darkness, because we’re poor. This isn’t our house. None of us are electricians. We can’t fix the thing. So my mom, on a day off, when i managed to be awake while the sun was barely still up, snaked an extension chord through the house’s foundation, to plug in an old heat lamp (with a normal bulb, not a heat bulb) and that’s what I have now.

Everything gets worse. Never better. I’m going to die here. And sooner than later. Because my health is getting worse, rapidly, too.

#personal #krash showered

4 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Level Up, Chapter Nine (Branjie) - Holtzmanns

(read on ao3) (full fic)

Vanessa’s watching her opponent’s arms like a hawk, coiled in front of their face ready to shoot forward at any moment. She’s looking for an opening, a chance where her opponent falters for just a second, where there’s a chance for her to land a clean hit, in and out, ending up with the points that she needs to win.

It’s strategy. It’s a game. It’s absolutely exhilarating.

AN: Thank you guys so much for the love on this fic so far, I really appreciate it! Every single review makes me so happy to know that you guys are reading it and enjoying it and have something to say about it. It’s the best thing to come back to as a writer. After a month, here’s chapter nine! Hope you enjoy, and as always, let me know what you think. Writ as usual is the best beta <3

Silky had asked Vanessa once about what goes through her mind when she’s in a match. What she’s thinking. And truth be told, even when Vanessa’s in it, it’s hard for her to really decipher everything.

When Vanessa’s in a fight, the world seems to slow down around her. She’s aware of every blink of her opponent’s eyes, every bead of sweat that is dripping from their temples to their eyebrows onto their cheeks. Vanessa’s watching her opponent’s arms like a hawk, coiled in front of their face ready to shoot forward at any moment. She’s looking for an opening, a chance where her opponent falters for just a second, where there’s a chance for her to land a clean hit, in and out, ending up with the points that she needs to win.

It’s strategy. It’s a game. It’s absolutely exhilarating.

This first fight feels pretty standard, so far shaping up to be what she’s prepared for. Vanessa’s unravelling the opponent’s tells with each minute that passes, and now, by the third round? She knows that the girl’s first instinct is to feint and jab high before actually going for a lower blow, and that she’s likely to block hits with her right. It’s all too easy for Vanessa, really, to land hit after hit by striking one step ahead while the girl is feinting a high punch, leaving her midsection wide open. Vanessa switches up her stance every time the girl’s shoulders relax for a second, because she can hear Brooke’s voice in her head lecturing her about the importance of being as comfortable attacking with her left side as much as her right and more dominant side.

It’s a puzzle that never fails to make Vanessa’s blood pump faster - her eyes narrow just a little bit more with every combo she can successfully throw at this girl, every hit that she blocks and counters with attacks of her own because she’s able to predict when the girl is going to strike. Each trill of the whistle that signifies the end of a round is a jolt in her ears, barely calming the electric current that buzzes along her limbs, keeping her on her toes even when she’s pulled to the side of the ring by Brooke in between rounds.

“Keep it up for this last round and you’ll be in the clear.” The approving tone in Brooke’s voice makes Vanessa stand up just a little bit taller as she tries to catch her breath, still bouncing on the balls of her feet. “She looks like she’s getting a bit worn out, too. It’ll be easier to land hits the more off kilter she is.”

Brooke tilts her head slightly towards the other side of the ring where Vanessa’s opponent and her coach are huddled, and it’s hard to miss the slight pout and downturned lips on the girl’s face, perfectly complimenting the furrow of her eyebrows. Her shoulders slump almost comically, and the way that she huffs and crosses her arms is reminiscent of the child beauty queens on Toddlers and Tiaras.

“You’ve got this last round,” Brooke reaches out, squeezing Vanessa’s shoulder as she winks when the referee blows his whistle, “so finish this match and let’s get ready for the next one.”

It doesn’t feel like a victory when the round ends and the referee hoists Vanessa’s fist into the air, declaring her win without a single word. The approving nods of the judges around the ring don’t mean much, not yet, not when winning this match is just a stepping stone onto the next one, where she’s going to have to face someone new and start the process of unravelling their tells all over again like she’s just finished doing with her first opponent.

The screen at the far end of the hall tells Vanessa that it’s only ten thirty. The tournament has only just started, and one successful match isn’t something to celebrate just yet, not when she has more to go. Still, it doesn’t stop her from squealing when she sees Monique leaving a fight of her own, the shit eating grin on her face telling Vanessa that she’s just won her first match, too.

“Bad bitches! Two bad bitches. Tell me, how does it feel to kick ass on this fine morning?” Monique spins in place and her excitement is contagious, any tiredness from Vanessa’s first match evaporating on the spot.

“It feels fucking fantastic, is how it feels. We just need Eye of the Tiger playing for the full dramatic effect.” Vanessa snickers.

“That’s old school. Play WAP and then we’ll be talking.” Monet slides up behind them, and Vanessa can’t help but double take at the sweats and sliders she’s in.

Monet catches the look and shrugs. “Bombed my first match. Got my ass whooped. But it’s whatever, I’m just gonna be here in the comfort of my sweats while watching y’all. My day’s gonna be easy.”

Vanessa reaches out to pat her shoulder, but Monet shakes her head. “Honestly? Pressure’s off for me now. I get to watch the rest of y’all stress.”

“Y’know, she’s got a point.” Monique raises an eyebrow, and Vanessa can’t help but let out a snort.

“You’re gonna keep fighting. No giving in because you wanna sit in the stands with Monet in your sweats.”

“You’re no fun.”

Monet pulls out her phone. “I’m gonna grab some food ‘cause I’m ‘bout to pass out. Anyone want anything?”

“I’m coming, my next match isn’t for another hour,” Monique grins, “so plenty of time to digest.”

Vanessa, though, shakes her head, because the thought of food feels almost foreign right now, not when she’s still so worked up and with her next match being so soon. “I’ll hold off. Maybe later.”

She waves her friends off and cranes her neck to look around the hall. Brooke had excused herself to the bathroom at least fifteen minutes ago, and the fact that she’s not back yet makes Vanessa wonder if she’s been held up. Is there really that long of a line for the bathroom at a boxing tournament?

Except there’s no line when Vanessa finds the bathroom, and Brooke’s not inside the enclosed area when Vanessa peeks in, fixing her flyaways in the mirror. When Vanessa pushes the door open though, stepping back out into the hall, she sees why she really didn’t have to go into the bathroom in the first place.

Brooke’s surrounded by what looks like a small army of athletes, tucking their hair behind their ears and batting their eyelashes and Vanessa doesn’t know what’s funnier - the way they’re all clamouring to get a word in or the way Brooke looks like she’s smelled something terrible.

“I can’t believe Brooke Lynn Hytes is here-”

“Are you ever gonna make a comeback?”

“You were like, my favourite boxer when I was a kid-”

The chattering blurs together when Vanessa peeks at Brooke’s expression, the polite smile on her face not quite hiding the way her brows are climbing higher and higher on her forehead. She’s at a bit of a loss of what to do - maybe Brooke doesn’t mind the commotion and doesn’t necessarily want to be rescued, but on the other hand her foot is tapping a beat on the floor that’s getting faster and faster. She’s getting twitchy.

Vanessa’s about to take a hesitant step forward when Brooke turns in her direction, and the relief in her eyes is palpable as they widen upon seeing her.

“What should I do?” Vanessa mouths, trying not to draw the crowd’s attention towards her, as a girl shoves a flyer and sharpie in front of Brooke’s face for her to autograph.

Brooke shrugs, taking a step back when another girl tries to take a selfie with her, blinking at the brightness of the flash. “Improvise!”

Well, there’s no time like the present for Vanessa to foray into an acting career.

“Oof. Ow.” Vanessa cradles her wrist in her other hand, trying her best to convey a wincing expression on her face. She’s about to limp, before realizing she’s pretending that her arm is hurt, not her leg.

There’s a reason Vanessa got the part of a tree branch in her third grade class play. It had required her to do absolutely nothing to sell the part.

Lucky for her, Brooke’s more than willing to step up to bat. “Vanessa! Are you hurt? Shit, excuse me, pardon me, just have to check on my athlete, coming through-”

Brooke pushes her way through the athletes until she reaches her, and Vanessa pretends to wince again for good measure. “Oh no, we better get this checked out before your next match, can’t have it giving out on you, can we?” Brooke spins to face the athletes, an expression of fake sadness on her face that Vanessa has to admit is pretty convincing. “So sorry to leave, it’s been wonderful to meet you all! But the sport always comes first, you know how it is. I’ll see you all around!”

Vanessa grabs onto Brooke with her other hand and practically sprints, ducking past the other coaches and spectators and athletes and pulling Brooke into the first empty hallway that pops up. Brooke nearly skids past her, recovering fast enough to find her footing before leaning against the opposite wall.

“Holy shit.” Vanessa gasps out, her giggles interspersed with the way she’s still trying to catch her breath. “Did you just-”

“Carry that fake injury plot on my back? Yes I did.” Brooke grins as she bends over, her hands resting against her knees as she tries to regulate her own breathing.

Vanessa sticks out her tongue. “Now that’s no way to treat someone saving you from a wild pack of fangirls, is it? Seriously though, I didn’t expect that.”

“Shit, honestly, me neither. It’s not that something like that hasn’t happened before, it’s just…it’s been awhile since it has.” Brooke lets out a breath. “I was used to it back in the day, competing all the time. But it’s been awhile since I’ve been in a place like this, where people actually know who pro boxers are.”

“You telling me you used to be smooth and suave while handling crowds?” Vanessa raises an eyebrow, trying to picture the sight of Brooke however many years ago.

“Don’t act like it’s that hard to believe. I totally was. I just gotta get that mojo back if I’m gonna come to competitions with you and have to say hello to people. Either that, or wear a disguise. Dress incognito.”

Vanessa snickers. “Ah, the life of a niche famous person is so hard. All the adoring fans. How are you ever going to survive it?”

“Shut up.” Brooke shoves Vanessa’s shoulder, but she’s laughing too, shaking her head as she does. “Seriously though, thanks. I appreciate it.”

“No problem, Princess Diana. Or Taylor Swift. Which paparazzi-favourite celebrity do you prefer?”

Brooke rolls her eyes. “The better question is, let’s see which one of us has her next fight in hmm, let me check my watch, fifteen minutes. Don’t make me make your warm up exercises a bitch.”

“Whatever you say, Lady Gaga. Hey, you could sing her song Paparazzi with all this media attention you’re getting, couldn’t you?” Vanessa flashes Brooke a grin before turning on her heels, practically sprinting back to the competition area before Brooke can retaliate in any way.

If nothing else, at least Vanessa’s keeping her humble. Never too good to have a big head.

The second match of the day is almost easier than the first - the girl falls for her feints almost too easily, giving Vanessa the chance to land clean hit after hit, and she’s barely breaking a sweat when the referee blows the whistle to end the final round. The referee lifts her fist up and maybe it’s the cheering of everyone around the ring watching them, maybe it’s the way he yells out her name as the winner, but Vanessa’s heart is still pumping at the speed of light, the rushing of blood loud in her ears and she feels like a fucking rockstar.

The best part, though? Brooke. At the edge of the ring, she has a sparkle in her eyes and a smile on her face that Vanessa can feel in her soul. Brooke cheers along with everyone else but there’s something about having her approval that feels different. Right. It’s enough to make every morning practice, every rep and extra minute of sparring worth it, just for the clap on the back that Brooke gives her as she helps her over the ropes of the ring and onto the ground.

“Fucking killed that.” Vanessa doesn’t mean to sound cocky but it’s hard not to when she feels like a million dollars, having obliterated both of the opponents that she’s faced so far.

She’s just left the ring but she wants more, because her muscles feel as if they’re laced with electricity that can keep her going for two, three, four more matches. The sensation is addicting and Vanessa almost feels drunk on it, the desire to win again almost an itch that she can’t scratch.

“Not gonna lie, you really did.” The pride in Brooke’s eyes is hard to miss but there’s a hesitancy too, one that’s hard to miss with the purse of her lips.

So Vanessa shoots her a questioning look. “What? Did I not do as well as I thought?”

“Just…be careful. Don’t get overconfident too early, especially when you have another match still left in the day. Letting your guard down means your next opponent is going to have an easy in.”

Vanessa wrinkles her nose. “Yeah, yeah, I know. It ain’t over ‘till it’s over. I’m still allowed to be pumped, though.”

“Didn’t say you aren’t,” Brooke tugs on one of Vanessa’s braids lightly, “but remember that you’re not done yet. Trust me, I’m speaking from experience.”

“You’ve let your guard down too early?”

“Every time I thought I had a match in the bag because I did fine on earlier ones, I didn’t. And I always paid for it majorly.” Brooke’s pointed look makes Vanessa want to scowl, because she’s not that cocky. She’ll be ready for the next one.

Just like she’d been for her first two matches of the day.

Vanessa makes her way towards the plastic chairs that Kameron and a handful of athletes from the gym have taken over, plopping herself down beside Asia with a grin.

“Made it through to the finals in my division.” Vanessa holds up a hand and Asia returns the high five immediately, though she’s biting her lip, her eyes looking a little wild.

“Why do you look like you’re about to puke?” Vanessa raises an eyebrow and Asia shushes her almost comically, slinking down in her chair.

“Can you not be so loud?”

“What, bitch?”

Asia pulls her hood up over her head, mumbling something under her breath that Vanessa can’t hear. Vanessa scoots herself closer until her and Asia are close enough to bonk their foreheads together.

“Speak up.”

“KameronandIkissed.”

“What?”

“Shh!”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Vanessa mumbles under her breath, trying to resist the urge to rub her temples, “how? When? Where? Did you swap spit out here on the chairs? The fuck?”

“What? No!” Asia whispers, making frantic shushing gestures with her index finger. “She was giving me a pep talk before my second match. In the hallway. Which happened to be empty.”

“And decided it would be best to end with a makeout session?” Vanessa feels like she’s about to explode because holy shit. Asia’s crush on Kameron isn’t exactly a secret and quite frankly, it’s always looked reciprocated.

But a first kiss before a match? Damn.

“It wasn’t a makeout session! Who do you take me for?” Asia sputters but Vanessa raises an eyebrow, and snickers when Asia seems to deflate. “Okay, maybe it was a bit. But I won the match and now it feels like I can’t even look her in the eye because the last thing we did before the match was kiss.”

“So what? Go kiss her again, dumbass. It’s not rocket science.” Vanessa feels like Dr. Phil, with her friends’ love lives. First Monique and Monet not figuring themselves out and now Asia in a tizzy over Kameron.

But Asia’s crossing her arms. “She’s a coach! I can’t just go and kiss a coach.”

“Hate to break it to you, but you technically already kissed a coach.” Vanessa snickers, trying her best to hold back the urge to wiggle her brows.

“Shut up.” Asia grumbles. “I can’t believe I can never talk to her again.”

“Never again-what do you mean, never again?” Vanessa nearly falls off of her chair as she leans forward, poking Asia’s shoulder. “Go talk to her and also make out with her. In fact, Kameron’s looking over right this second.”

The subtle looks that Kameron is throwing in Asia’s direction are hard to miss when Vanessa knows what to watch for, and she just wants to let out a little yell under her breath. Because something’s happening. Vanessa doesn’t know what, exactly, but if anything, she loves watching the show.

“What? She is? Shit, I gotta hide. She won’t see me if I slide off the chair and crouch, will she?” Asia’s beginning to slide to the front of her chair and Vanessa snorts, reaching out a hand to grab the back of her hoodie.

“You’re not exactly invisible, and it’s going to look way more suspicious if you do that.” Vanessa tugs on Asia’s hoodie, revealing her face again. “What’s the harm in talking to her?”

“Because then we have to talk.” Asia groans, dropping her face in her hands.

Vanessa reaches out to pat her shoulder. “I know you’d rather kiss her and all that, but you’ll have to talk eventually, y’know. You’re sitting in shotgun and navigating for the ride home.”

Asia lifts up her face to scowl. “First, I wouldn’t rather kiss her. Okay, maybe I would, but still. Second, I’ll just get Monet or Monique to navigate. I’ll hide in the back or something.”

“No you won’t. You’re going to talk to Kameron on the drive home about the kiss. And then go kiss her again.”

It’s foolproof, really. Straight out of a romantic comedy. Should be easy enough to execute.

“I’m never coming to you for advice again.”

Or not.

“You’ll thank me later when the two of you are together.” Vanessa grins, an expression that grows when Asia groans.

Vanessa has to tell Monet and Monique about this, because they’ll have to figure out a way to get Asia into that front seat. If any one of them is going to end up with a boo, it may as well be Asia. Despite her spooked horse tendencies.

Vanessa’s gotta ask Brooke about it. Maybe Kameron’s telling her about it too, from the way the two of them are deep in conversation only a few rows over. Not that Vanessa gets the chance to do so, because when Brooke’s getting up out of her seat and handing her a protein bar, they’re on their way to the last match.

It’s not too worrisome. Vanessa will be fine, just like how she had been for her first two matches. She takes a swig of her Gatorade in their corner of the ring as Brooke wraps up her other hand, feeling the energy growing in her limbs the closer and closer the clock overhead ticks to the start of the match. The crowd is bigger than those from her first two matches, seven to eight rows deep around all sides of the ring and it makes the excitement bubble higher and higher in Vanessa’s stomach. Reaching the finale in her weight class is one thing. But winning this match and thus winning her weight class?

It’ll be even better.

“Feeling alright?” Brooke grabs Vanessa’s other hand once the first one is wrapped, her touch delicate as she covers Vanessa’s knuckles for the third time that day.

Vanessa would be lying if she said that she doesn’t feel her heart beat just a little bit faster every time Brooke does up her wraps for her, but she can’t think about it now. Not during a tournament. Not when the first round of her last match is coming up in a few minutes and she gets to kick ass all over again.

So she shrugs. “Feeling just fine.”

“Good. So stay alert, look for her tells, and take her down using her own game.”

The girl across the ring is intimidating, Vanessa will give her that, with a sleeve of tattoos on one arm extending all the way to her fingers. She doesn’t look too afraid herself, fastening her gloves with her teeth while her coach gives her a pep talk of her own. The girl’s coach towers over her, but then again, it doesn’t mean much when Vanessa isn’t blessed in the height department either.

But Vanessa can beat her. Just like she’s beaten her other two opponents today.

The girl shoots her a grin as the referee beckons the two of them closer, the gold mouth guard she’s flashing almost akin to a grill. Vanessa’s hands are up and protecting her face and abdomen before the whistle blows, because she’s ready, and-

Damn.

The girl is fast, with a jab and a cross and an uppercut as soon as the round starts and Vanessa blocks them just in time, letting out a breath when the girl steps back. But she’s fine, it doesn’t matter if the girl is fast because Vanessa is too, and the combination that she throws at the girl with her hook is enough to land a clean hit against the chest. But then the girl is back and in Vanessa’s space and too close but she’s most definitely in the right spot to crowd her and land a bunch of hits that make Vanessa scowl as she retreats, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

The pierce of the whistle is almost welcome, as Vanessa flops onto the stool in her corner of the ring. Brooke’s handing her a water bottle and patting her forehead with a towel and her raised eyebrows make Vanessa shrug.

“So not the best start to a round. I’ll get there.”

“Crowd her space first. She’s trying to catch you off guard, so you need to be in there before she’s ready. You can probably get a few in with jabs and a backhand before she’s realized what’s happening.” Brooke reaches out a hand for the water bottle once Vanessa’s finished, taking a swig herself.

Vanessa rolls out her neck, wiping the sweat off of her forehead with the back of the glove and it’s just as well because the whistle is blowing again, pulling them back for another round.

Except that the girl figures Vanessa out too easily. She’s hitting back in the mere milliseconds that Vanessa’s guards are down, landing hits that will count in her favour and it’s frustrating, being a second behind. The girl takes advantage of every time that Vanessa pauses and takes a second to strategize, breaking through her train of thought every time with a hit that Vanessa should be able to block and counter with a combination of her own. But it’s feeling impossible when Vanessa’s attempted hits turn into fumbles, when all she can do is try to block the girl as best as she can.

“Fuck!” Vanessa’s scowling by the next break, dropping her head between her knees because this is wrong, not how this match should be going.

What the hell is she doing wrong?

“She’s getting in your head. Don’t let her do that.” Brooke’s crouching beside her, a hand on her knee and Vanessa wants to shake it off, because everything feels prickly, the energy previously flowing her limbs now acting like currents that are slowly setting her on fire.

Vanessa sits back up, leaning against the ropes of the ring. “How the fuck not? I can’t focus ‘cause she’s too fast and I’m crashing ‘cause it’s been a long fucking day, and I can’t do this.”

Maybe it’ll be less embarrassing if Vanessa throws in the towel now. She’s clearly in over her head, and it’s too much and maybe if she leaves with her tail in between her legs she can preserve a small shred of dignity without getting her ass whooped even more in the process.

“You’re not giving in that easily, are you?” Brooke’s raising an eyebrow and Vanessa wants to growl. “Thought you had more in you than that.”

“I do, I just…fuck.” She can’t go and give up when Brooke’s looking at her like that. Not that she would, anyway, but for a second, the option is tempting.

Vanessa is just going to crumble into pieces during the course of the match instead.

Brooke turns her chin towards her. “Listen. She’s not invincible. This is just me in the gym, pushing you just a little too hard when you’re tired. Nothing more. That’s all you’re facing right now.”

It’s easy enough for Brooke to say, Vanessa supposes, when the whistle blows again to signal the next round and her opponent is looking as fresh as ever, already bouncing on her feet. Vanessa feels like she’s stuck in molasses, her limbs sluggish as they fight against an invisible force and her brain just a second behind. She’s blindsided by hits that she’d be able to block easily in the gym, counter with a few of her own, but right now?

She’s fighting worse than someone who’s never boxed before.

Everything is too loud, too blinding around her as the third round ends and she slumps on her stool in the corner of the ring, dropping her head into her hands. The lights are too bright and there are too many people watching the match and all Vanessa wants to have is the ability to disappear into her brain and hide away and turn everything around her off.

There’s a hand on Vanessa’s knee, and when she opens her eyes Brooke is looking at her with a sympathetic expression and she hates it. She doesn’t want to have to see it, because it means that Brooke also knows that she’s in deep shit in this round, that there’s no way to come back from it. Instead, both of them get to watch this slow descent towards a loss that almost feels worse than if Vanessa was hit with a knockout. She gets to see the foundations of her boxing skills break down one by one, all because now she’s faced with a little bit of pressure that she can’t face up against.

She knows that Kameron, Asia, Monet, and Monique are in the crowd, along with the rest of the athletes from their gym. There’s other competitors that Vanessa hasn’t met yet, more coaches and spectators here just for the entertainment of it all. There’s even television cameras because the tournament is being broadcast on some offshoot sports channel on cable and god, the fact that people Vanessa doesn’t even know are seeing her in this state?

She hates it.

The referee’s whistle is piercing, cutting through her thoughts and bringing her back to the stool she’s on, the cheering of the crowd, and most importantly, her opponent who’s already bouncing on her feet and ready to go.

She still has one more round to go.

Fucking hell.

Tags: branjie, brooke lynn hytes, vanessa vanjie mateo, lesbian au, boxer au, holtzmanns, level up

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #lesbian au #boxer au #holtzmanns #level up

11 notes · View notes

carriagelamp · 4 years

Photo

September Book Roundup, back-to-school edition aka The Season Of Red apparently?

Here is a selection of the books I’ve read this month. Summer is over, so the little bit of brain power I had managed to scrape together is quickly disintegrating, so enjoying the hodge podge of stories.

Binti

This was probably my favourite book that I read this month. It’s a novella I first heard about hear on tumblr and went to find a copy in my library. I have since bought the collected trilogy so I can read book two and three at my leisure because it was honestly just that friggin cool. This is exactly my flavour of scifi and I tend to be very very picky about the scifi I consume. It’s about a girl named Binti, a member of the Himba people (a real group of indigenous people from Namibia). They are a people well known for their mathematical and technical prowess, but due to their strong connection to their homeland and the earth they choose not to travel through space like so many other humans do. However, when Binti secures a position at Oomza University, the greatest university in the galaxy, she chooses to go against her family’s wishes and traditions in order to set out into space to attend. Everything is ruined though when her spaceship is attacked by a hostile alien race and everyone is killed but Binti, who must rely on all her intellect and abilities if she wants any chance at survival.

A seriously cool book with great world building – it really successfully introduces readers not only to the fictional scifi world and races of the novel but also to the culture and traditions of the Himba people. It’s a quick read, and feels like a cross between Dead Space and Tamora Pierce. Would totally recommend a read.

Fake Blood

A Canadian graphic novel. It was a goofy cute read. It’s about an awkward group of friends in middle school, and one boy with a crush on one of the girls in his class. Knowing her love for vampire stories, AJ decides, like any self-respecting middle schooler, to try to pretend he’s a vampire. Naturally nothing goes right and some things go wrong in unexpected ways. It’s funny and cute. Nothing amazing but it was a cozy evening read.

The Last Book On The Left

I’ve been listening to this podcast a lot since my friend recommended it to me and finally decided to read their book. For those that don’t know, The Last Podcast On The Left is a immaculately researched comedy podcast that’s hosted by Ben Kissel, Marcus Parks, and Henry Zebrowski, and explores the darker realms of human nature. Ghosts, paranormal, aliens, cults, and of course serial killers. In this book they collected several of their biggest name serial killer series, did some renewed research, and put together a book that is both informative, irreverent, gross, and very funny, complete with some really amazing illustrations by Tom Neely. A very cool read (and listen, if you decide to check out the podcast instead), I really love how they tell these stories without idolizing or romanticizing the people they talk about. Their humour always makes sure you know exactly how much of a pathetic loser these people are. Fantastic true crime, from someone who has never really felt the need to read about true crime before.

Midnight Sun

I won’t harp on this one, everyone is already going to firmly have their opinions here. I grew up on Twilight, I was reading them as they came out, and I still love them. Were they dumb? Oh my god yes. Did they have problems? Sure, they came out in 2005 it was part and parcel. Were they also a really fun for a thirteen year old to read? Absolutely, I don’t regret it. Sometimes teenage girls should just to get like things without being mocked.

Anyway, I am off my soapbox now (can you tell this is still a raw spot for me?) I unironically loved this book! Getting to see Edward’s perspective was really cool, and since he can read minds it essentially let you get the perspective of everyone else around him too. The Cullens family is a great set of characters so it was really cool to see more of them, and I was very impressed by how Stephenie Meyers took a YA romance she wrote in 2005 and was able to make it feel updated and more appropriate for a 2020 audience even though she couldn’t actually change any of the events themselves. So fans of Twilight, don’t be ashamed, go read Midnight Sun and have the shameless fun you deserve. Is there anymore appropriate book for the bizarre ass year that was 2020 than a return to this goofy nonsense?

The Paperbag Princess

(and Up, Up, Down, and Robert Munsch in general)

I’m back in schools so I’m back to reading children’s book! And honestly, and of you that don’t occasionally sit down and read a kids book out loud don’t know what you’re missing. Anyway, Robert Munsch is a Canadian author, and one of my all-time favourite children’s authors. It surprised me to learn he isn’t as well known in the States apparently? I don’t know if that’s changed or not, but he is a Canadian staple for a good reason, his books have ridiculous premises, are specifically written to be fun to read out loud, and have beautiful, involved, and hilarious illustrations. The Paperbag Princess is one of my absolute favourites, and as a kid it was one of the first stories I had ever read where a princess is the one saving the prince… and then telling the prince to piss off when it turns out he’s a jerk. Up, Up, Down is another favourite I reread this month, because it’s just hilarious funny and makes a fantastic read aloud with kids. Some other Robert Munsch I reread this month include: Mmm, Cookies, More Pies, Ribbon Rescue, Just One Goal, and Andrew’s Loose Tooth. You just cannot go wrong, for kids or adults.

Pit Pony

Another Canadian staple while I was growing up. If you’re a young adult know who went through the Canadian elementary school system, you probably had your entire heart ripped out and stepped on by this chapter book. It’s a historical fiction that looks at the economic hardship, debt slavery, child labour, and animal abuse that was tied to coal mining in the Maritimes. Finding a copy was harder than I would have expected give how pervasive it was a decade or so back, but reading it again was a pure shot of nostalgia.

Seeking Refuge

A graphic novel written by a German-born Canadian about a Jewish girl who flees Nazi-occupied Austria by way of Kindertransport to become a child refuge in England. It follows her as she is moved from host family to host family as the war continues to pick up and gradually makes it’s way to the United Kingdom as well. It’s very poignant and the pencil-sketch illustrations are an interesting change to a lot of the graphic novels that are out right now. This story is still aimed at a younger audience, so it never gets too brutal but it still is a hard hitting story, especially with everything else going on right now.

Silver Spoon #9/10

I know I’ve talked about these books before, but my library got some more since I last read them, so I’m continuing my way through the series. It’s about a teenaged boy who, after having a breakdown from the pressure he was feeling to study and succeeded, decided not to attend an academic, urban high school, but rather to apply for an agricultural high school so he could live in the dorms, far away from his parents. The series just gets more and more heartwarming as it continues. It’s all about failure and overcoming and how worth can be measured in different ways, and about family and understanding each other and coming together… but also about the realities of farming which aren’t always very nice, especially when it comes to finances and survival. It’s written by the mangaka behind Fullmetal Alchemist but I’ll be honest… I think I like this series more. It is honestly one of my all time favourite manga series, it just has so much heart.

Ruby Finds A Worry

aka Ruby’s Worry apparently? I can’t figure out why this has more than one title. I actually read it in French not English, so for me it was Le Souci de Calie. Regardless, this was a nice little picture book for talking about worries and anxieties with children… especially with the amount of Covid stress a lot of kids are dealing with. It explains in a really nice way how talking about anxieties are often the best way to make them more manageable, and how pretending nothing is wrong can just let it grow bigger and bigger. A good explanation for kids and possible a good reminder for adults.

War of the Realms: Journey Into Mystery

I read this because the Mcelroy family wrote it so I figured Hey! Why not give it a go! And I’m glad I did. Their brand of humour was all over it, and it made the story a delight to read. I don’t follow all of Marvel’s weirdness, so I didn’t actually know most of the characters (Miles and Kate were actually the only two I was familiar with) but they do a great job of introducing the characters and making them all feel distinct and interesting. I absolutely adore the Dog of Gods (God of Dogs) who is a very very good boy. And Miles is absolutely always a delight so you can’t really lose. It’s a single book that I think is a part of a larger plotline that I have zero interest in. This book is a fine one to read though if you don’t mind jumping into the middle of the action and just getting swept along for the ride. Also Mcelroys!

Witcher Omnibus

Bleh. Absolutely not worth it. All the misogyny and Dumb Bullshit that I hate in the original books and from video games in general. Honestly, Witcher III did way better by its characters than most of these short stories. The only one worth reading in it is Curse Of Crows – that one was actually really enjoyable, probably because it was about Ciri and had an actual fucking woman on the writing team. (Seriously guys what were you thinking with Fox Children that’s literally just a story from Season of Storms but done worse. Fuck off.) If you like The Witcher, go read Curse of Crows and skip every other story in this book.

Billy Stuart: Les Zintrépides #1

Another French (Quebecois) book I read, though I believe you can get it in English as well (Billy Stuart and the Zintrepids). It’s a chapter book / graphic novel hybrid, and was honestly a fairly fun little read. It’s in a similar vein to Geronimo Stilton but done much better in my opinion. The humour was funnier, the characters felt less like caricatures, and while it still used stylized fonts it was also less intrusive and eye-strainy than the Stilton books. Also when the story suddenly pivots into the main adventure and mystery of the series? Fantastic. Was not expecting a hell-beast to appear part way through the story. Very interested in reading more.

Over all, it was cute and funny, and I can see it being a good next step when children have read their fill of the Stilton series and want something similar but possibly a bit more involved and coherent.

24 notes · View notes

kca1516 · 4 years

Photo

Summary:

Draco and Y/N are rivals...until they are most certainly not.

~~~~

This is a oneshot (with potential to be expanded on) where the reader and Draco are enemies through their years in Hogwarts. One day Draco's insult goes too far, and the reader starts avoiding him. Outraged and jealous, Draco tracks her down and forces her to tell him what's wrong.

She finds out not everything is as it seems.

(Gryffindor!reader)

Warnings: Smut, light dom/sub, dom!Draco, angst with a happy ending, slight dub-con (at one point the reader tries to escape from where draco has her pinned, this leads into the smut but the smut is consensual) also this was edited quickly so mistakes will pop up hear and there

This fic can also be found in full on ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26475127

Hope you enjoy the Final Part!

A crisp hint of mint fanned along your face as he held you down. He had removed the hand cupping your lips when he had grabbed for your arms, but you were still left speechless.

“Answer me, flower,” Malfoy demanded, body all but covering your own.

You had no wiggle room to escape, or turn the tables on him. Though you tentatively tested for slack, you already knew he would never make it that easy for you.

Your brain was already running wild with ways to throw his plot back in his face.

Oh, how you had missed this.

In just a week you had managed to forget the precise way Draco Malfoy made your blood boil for a fight, needy to spit in his face and tear him down to nothing. You had been longing to fall into this role, craving what you had gone too long without.

“What the hell are you doing, Malfoy?” you sniped, knowing it would only make him stir crazy.

Avoiding his question, and talking back? You were in for a show, but now way in hell would you have ever let him get answers from you so easily.

“Taking to hiding in darkened corridors isn't your style. How you do love an audience.”

He shoved your wrists down on the wall again, sending a jolt through your body. Hatred bubbled like tar within your veins.

“You don’t want to play games with me right now, flower,” he snarled, “maybe if you had bothered to so much as glance at me this week I wouldn’t have been pushed to such drastic measures.”

Maybe for the first time ever, Draco was mad at you. Truly mad at you.

Good.

Even from the first fight between the two of you there had always been an element of enjoyment you’d both deny, but this was different. This was the collision you had both been waiting for, and exhilaration lit your nerve endings.

“Answer the damn question, what the hell has been up with you.”

You answered with enough cheek that you knew would spur on the clouds gathering in his stormy eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I am terribly flattered you were so bothered by my presence...or lack thereof.”

You glowed with satisfaction, knowing you had caught him. On one hand, he’d have to admit that he had been keeping tabs on you this week in order to get answers. On the other he could save his dignity and brush you off, but he’d have to let you and your well guarded secrets go.

You should have known Draco would always be ready with a third option.

Eager to take the power back, you quickly found one of his hands wrapped precariously around your neck. With his newfound leverage, he tipped back your head so it scrapped against the stone’s behind you. Your breath hitched as a fire erupted low in your abdomen.

Long, spider web fingers splayed possessively along your skin. The light pressure trying to convince you that you had no control in this situation.

He would get what he wanted one way or another.

You couldn’t find it in yourself to be that upset about it.

Even though your right arm was free now, you knew better than to take it from where Draco had left it. Though you made sure he knew he hadn’t won yet.

��Pinning me down isn’t going to make me magically know what you’re throwing a bitch fit over,” you pointed out.

You could have sworn you saw the beginnings of a smile because of it, but any hint of laughter quickly turned back into a scowl. That worried you. He really wasn’t going to let this go until he had answers, and you didn’t know if you could stomach giving in.

“Pinning you down might not stop you from lying, flower, but it does make you quiver. That might just make it worth it.”

Your jaw dropped just enough to let him know he had caught you off guard. As much as you didn’t want it to, your heart beat wildly against your chest. Hard enough that you wouldn’t be surprised if Draco felt it, too.

A mirroring pulse drummed up somewhere else as well, you firmly ignored it.

“I-I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” you managed to say, though you knew you weren’t fooling anyone.

You were going to stick to your story until you couldn’t anymore

That’s what snapped Draco back into his rampage, and you almost felt sorry for it.

“Don’t know what I’m talking about?” he said, a growl to his words, “how about the fact that you’ve been avoiding me for a week? Or when every time I call your name you disappear? How about the fact that when I was finally able to track you down you were all but snogging Potter in the library? Tell me one more time that you don’t know what I’m talking about, Y/N, and we are going to have a serious problem.”

Despite Draco having just admitted to being jealous over seeing you with Harry, ammunition you could have so easily used to get yourself out of this interaction, that wasn’t what stuck in your mind.

No, you were too busy mulling over the fact that he had just called you by your first name.

You didn’t think you had heard him, seriously, call you by your first name since your first year together.

It was always flower.

Goddamn flower in his attempt to knock you down with the ridiculous pet name.

Where once you had made the mistake of letting on that it bothered you, now you had grown used to it.

It had become almost comforting hearing him spit the title like a curse. It had become ridiculously enticing the way it dripped from his tongue so naturally. You would even admit to dreams where he had whispered the name in your ear while he explored your body.

So when he shouted your first name, it slammed you back down into reality. A reality where you were hurt, and wounded, and the truth was he didn’t care at all. His pet had stopped playing with him, and he had come to find out why. That was all this was.

You viscously cut away the longing that had sprouted inside of you like poisonous weeds, and closed yourself off from Draco. The gentle circles his thumb was making against your jawline came to a sickening halt.

You knew he could tell that something had changed.

“No,” he said, almost to himself, “stop it. You’ve never run from me before.”

If you bothered to notice, you might have heard the pleading desperation in his voice, but you were oblivious to the true meanings of his words. Rightfully, you were too blinded by the persona he had adopted well enough to fool even you. You saw nothing but a self centered, egotistical bastard with nothing but ice lining his bones.

“Fuck you, Malfoy,” you sneered, “fuck you, let me go.”

You began struggling against his grip, despite knowing you wouldn’t get far. Nonetheless, you brought your hand down banging it against his chest in hopes to push him away. You didn’t know if you could bear letting him see you crack and fissure.

Draco wasn’t going to let you go anywhere. He quickly recaptured your wayward wrist, and pushed his hips forward to keep you from bucking. Whatever vulnerability he might have shown you before was gone.

A wicked chuckle fell from his lips. A shiver trailed down your spine.

“Did you really think that would work, flower?” he said, “God, I’ve let you get away with too much; you think you can bite back at me like that? Remember that day in the hall, when you thought it would be wise to threaten me. You pushed your wand against my throat.”

You shivered, falling still as you remembered. It had been the memory you had been fixated on all damn week.

He took your silence as answer.

“It would have been so easy to grab your wrist and twist, unarming you without even using a spell. I wanted to pull you in so your back was to me, and lift up your skirt so I could paint your ass red. Then once I had you crying I’d give it to you good. The way you’ve been begging me to give you for years.”

Your breath hitched.

All those times the two of you had cursed, and screamed, and bantered with each other. You realized now more than ever that it had always only been foreplay.

You had never actually thought it would lead anywhere. For the first time, he was bringing into light the unspoken truth between the two if you.

You both knew that should you give into it, nothing would ever be the same.

A week ago you would have given in like you craved to now. A week ago you would have eagerly let him paint bruises on your skin. A week ago you would have never looked back.

We are a different breed.

You couldn’t unhear it.

You were not his toy to play with and then discard once he made a fool out of you.

His forehead was resting on the side of your head as he breathed promises of release, of relief, in your ear.

But you weren’t done yet.

“Sure I wouldn’t be too disgusting to you,” you spit out cold and detached, “are you sure you’d be able to stomach having someone like me? Someone who’s barely more than dirt when compared to the all mighty, pureblood, you?”

You felt him freeze against you, and any hope you had of this being real crumbled. A cold, detached laugh fell from your lips, though you couldn’t feel yourself release it. Tears burned in your eyes, and this time you weren’t strong enough to resist them.

“That’s what I thought,” you murmured, unafraid to catch his eye now that he had broken your heart, “let go of me, Malfoy. I am not your animal.”

Draco didn’t move, you weren’t sure that he could.

He could only stare at you, watching you shatter as if he was seeing you for the first time. Like he had finally found the final piece that completed the puzzle.

You started fighting his hold as a sob escaped you. You hated that even now you didn’t feel panic rise in you, even like this you trusted him. You struggled, and tried to kick and bite at him, but he just stood there pinning you. He was barely moved by your efforts as he let you wear yourself out.

Finally, with a frustrated cry you stopped. You dropped your head, defeated and unable to stop the river clawing its way into your splotchy cheeks. Humiliation, that’s what it was.

“There you go, flower,” Draco said, oddly gently, “let it out, I’m here Y/N.”

“Shut up,” you all but hissed.

One of his hands reached down to firmly grip your chin. Draco jerked your face upwards so you couldn’t escape his gaze as he stripped you of your defenses until you were left bare.

“You know better than to speak to me like that, flower,” he said, “I’ll let it slide only this once, but I mean it when I say I’m done letting you get away with the disrespect.”

To your surprise, your tears became sluggish until they came to a halt. You felt more focused than you had in days. Is this what happened when you finally let yourself give in?

“Now,” he said, gentler, “I need you to know this, Y/N, you were never supposed to hear what I said to Blaise that day. Just not for the reason you’ve concluded, though I can’t blame you for coming to the conclusion you did. Hearing him-”

Draco all but snarled.

“-hearing him talk about you like that makes my blood boil. Same way it kills me to see you and Potter cozying up in the library or at dinner or-”

“What’s your point,” you cut in, voice soft and hoarse from crying.

But a sliver of defiance, the thing that had drawn Draco to you in the first place, crept in.

Draco shot you a promising smirk.

“I had to shut him up,” he continued regardless, “I’m not proud of this, but I said the first thing that I knew would put an end to the topic. I’m not saying it was right, but it’s the truth. If you really think I view you as nothing more than an animal, a pet to parade around, you’re wrong. You’re mine Y/N. You’ve been mine since the first time I lay eyes on you, and I am very possessive of what belongs to me.”

You wanted to believe him.

You wanted to believe him so bad.

He was confirming every secret thought you’d had concerning the Slytherin. You were his, he was yours. That’s how it had been for so long. Now you had forgotten what it was like to pretend any differently.

But the spit of his insult didn’t leave you so easily, not when you had obsessed about it for a week. The balm of his promises could only do so much. You had to make sure he was telling the truth.

“Why should I believe you,” you said simply.

Draco dragged his touch down your arms until he was cupping your face, knowing you weren’t going anywhere, not now. He rested his forehead on yours, gently brushing the tips of your noses together.

“Let me show you that I never meant a word of I said that day. You’re mine, Y/N.”

Your gaze traveled past the slope of his nose to his lips whispering sweet words that warped your brain, and pulled you deeper into fantasy the two of you were living now.

You knew what he was insinuating.

For once, you didn’t care. You didn’t care if he was lying, or if he would drop you tomorrow. Thunder rumbled outside, and if this was the only time you could have him, you couldn’t pass up this chance to make him yours.

You pushed forward, giving your answer with a brush of your lips against his. It wasn’t a real kiss, more like a preview, but it unleashed a tidal wave you wanted to drown in.

Draco growled as you pulled back before he delved in any deeper.

“I can’t be gentle with you, flower,” he said, “tease me and I’ll tear you apart. Make sure you know what you’re getting yourself into.”

Now it was your turn to smirk. You’d had just about enough of him thinking you were completely helpless, and at his mercy. He had control only if you gave it to him.

“After all this time, and you still believe that I want it gentle?” you whispered against his cheek, breathing him in with a hunger that matched the swell of his pupils.

You hated him.

You still didn’t know if he was telling the truth in concern to the Blaise situation, but the need inside you had grown too strong.

“I’m going to ruin you, flower.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

The words had barely fallen before his lips crashed into yours, and by then none of it mattered. It didn’t matter if he was lying, or if you hated each other, or that you hadn’t talked in a week. Not when he was licking wide strips into your mouth and possessively biting at your lips.

Draco’s hands dug into the flesh of your hips, and you knew that there would be bruises by the morning. They were only a preliminary of the ones he had promised to write into your skin, but you knew those would have to be saved for a later date. For now you were content to devour each other as your worlds aligned perfectly.

He untucked your shirt from your skirt, and trailed his hands to the underside of your breasts. You whined softly, making it very clear that you wanted his hands to continue their ascent. However, Draco didn’t plan to give you everything you wanted, even if this was his way of apologizing.

He hummed against your lips.

“Did you really think I’d make it that easy for you?”

You nipped at his kiss swollen lips, now a deep pink.

“Did you forget who's apologizing right now?” you replied.

A sudden moan of pleasure-pain fell from your lips as Draco effortlessly slipped his hand under your bra cup and ruthlessly pinched your nipple.

“Oh that is beautiful, flower,” he said, all too smug as he rendered you speechless, “I’ve been wanting to put you in your place for so long.”

“Draco,” you moaned as the pressure never gave up, and he started in on the other one. Your hands gripped at his arms to steady yourself, even as you pushed your chest into his touch despite the zipline of electricity that heated your core.

“Shhh, there you are,” he said gently removing his hands, “but you aren’t wrong. I did promise you an apology, and I plan to follow through.”

Before you could even process what was happening, Draco Malfoy slipped down to his knees before you.

Your cheeks heated as you realized what he was about to do.

You greedily took in the sight before you.

Draco was stunning.

The smell of rain and static swept the hallway, ruffling his hair as a flash of light illuminated his sharpened smirk.

Draco slowly rolled up the sleeves of his black button down, revealing the veins that danced and entwined up his arms.

“I always knew you’d get on your knees for me one day,” you quipped, trying to seem unaffected.

Neither of you were fooled.

You were met with a sharp sting as Draco’s open hand came down hard on the inside of your bare thigh. You bit your lip to hold in the moan, though no one would have been able to hear it over the pounding of the rain that had just begun.

“Watch your cheek,” he said, grounded in reality while you felt like you were floating even though he had barely touched you yet.

“Yes, Draco,” you said, breathy and hazy.

His hands came to squeeze at your thighs before going higher, and hooking in the waistband of your underwear. You imagine they would be meeting the floor soon enough.

“Good girl,” he said and ripped the fabric in two.

You felt a gush of slick coat the beginnings of your thighs as a soft moan left your lips. No one you had been with before had ever taken so much control with you. You were coming to find that it might have been why those relationships didn’t last.

“You like that flower? Like being my good girl?”

His thumb came to rest on your clit. He began to make slow, tortuous circles with the pad of his thumb while one of his fingers came to tease at the beginnings of your entrance.

“Fuck, Y/N, your soaked. I guess that answers my question.”

You were barely able to hear him with the way you were working so hard to keep your noises to yourself.

You were in a public hallway afterall. Abandoned or not, anyone could come walking along and stumble upon them if they weren’t careful.

Your silence was not what Draco wanted.

Suddenly, his touch was completely gone from your person. You couldn’t hold in the gasp at the loss of touch.

“No,” you pleaded, legs shaking from the pleasure taken away from you.

You didn't care that it only fed into Draco’s superiority complex; you needed him back on you now.

“So needy, flower, you’re so goddamn needy, but I did make you a promise. I’m going to eat you out until my face is glistening, and you’re going to put your hands in my hair. If I don’t think you’re being loud enough I’m going to stop for thirty seconds, and we’re going to start over again. Got it?”

Your knees almost buckled, and you would have fallen if he wasn’t already balancing you.

“But there could be people-”

“Let them hear. Let them know just how good I’m taking care of what’s mine.”

One of his hands wrapped itself around your knee, and true to his word he hiked it up to his shoulder. Using one hand to balance your hip, and the other to help elevate your leg, he looked up at you. Despite your position there was no second guessing exactly who was in control.

“Are you going to be loud for me? Are you going to be my good girl?”

As if in answer your hands found their way into his hair, sorting your fingers through each strand.

Thunder rattled the castle.

“Yes,” you said meekly.

“Yes, what?” he urged, biting at your inner thigh until you knew he must have broken skin. You keened high and loud in the back of your throat.

“Y-yes, Draco,” you moaned as he licked the bruise.

“One day I’m going to leave my mark on every inch of your skin.”

Without any more hesitation he pulled your hips closer to his mouth and delved in. Your breath escaped you accompanied by a high whine in your throat as his lips closed around your clit. He played with the nub before opening his mouth wider so his tongue slithered down to your opening.

“Fuck, Draco,” you all but screamed.

He didn’t waste time, thrusting his tongue deep inside you. He caressed your walls as if to gather up every last drop hidden inside of you.

He pulled his tongue out right as you began to thrust your hips into his mouth.

You whined momentarily at the loss before you realized he had removed one of his hands from your waist. Two of his fingers probed gently at your hole before thrusting in hard. It didn’t take him long to curl the pads of his fingers so they brushed the spot inside of you that made you wail.

“My good girl,” he said as he emerged from underneath your skirt, his face dripping, “my flower.”

“More, Draco please,” you cried over and over with every thrust of his fingers.

“Who am I to deny you,” he said, and dove back in.

Now each thrust of his fingers was met with him tonguing your clit. His teeth scraped the knot of nerves every so often to make you tighten the hold you had in his hair.

The tightening in your gut began to build with every sloppy thrust of his fingers.

“I’m close-so close,” you all but sobbed, “Please-just a little bit-”

Draco added a third finger. Your walls stretched to a new limit, as his tongue continued to play with your clit.

You thrust down hard, and your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

With a flash of lightning you cried your final release.

You exploded onto Draco’s fingers and tongue as he worked you over, making sure not to take out his fingers until your walls spasmed with oversensitivity.

Gently he removed the stimulation.

He was all too composed for your liking. Not when you looked the way you did with your hair knotted, your clothes a rumpled mess, and your knees about to give out on you.

“Finally found the perfect way to get you to agree with me,” Draco said as he licked your slick off of his fingers.

Proving his point, you didn’t have the energy to fight back.

“Draco,” you said, as your knees finally gave out.

Right before your ass would have hit the ground, and probably broke your tailbone, a body was there to steady your own. Draco brought you down slowly, and situated you so you were leaning against his chest while he leaned against the wall.

“There you are, flower. It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he said gently, kissing the side of your head.

You couldn’t help but lean into it, even as your doubts began to trickle back in.

“Draco,” you said, making your tongue work even though it felt sluggish in your mouth, “tell me this was real, even if it’s a lie.”

A hand came to wrap around your throat, giving you something real to latch onto as you came down from your high. His hand turned your head so you could see him.

“This was real, flower. Now that I’ve got you, I’m never letting you go. This is only the beginning. Rest now, the storm has only just begun.”

His arms came to wrap around you, and even though the two of you were seated on the cold ground, you felt warm and alive.

You kissed the underside of his jaw as the rain poured from the sky outside.

The End

#draco x reader #draco fuckingmalfoy #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x reader #draco x y/n #draco x you #draco #malfoy #draco malfoy fic #draco malfoy fanfiction #ao3 #AO3 fic #ao3 writer

25 notes · View notes

littlekatleaf · 4 years

Text

Buried in a burning flame is love and its decisive pain (9 of 10)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

As Junkrat followed Roadhog into the cabin, he hunched into his jacket. Wished he could just disappear, but had to face the consequences of his cock up. Always rushing in… Shut it, told the voice. Her voice. Wished he knew how it worked, so he could turn it off. Head throbbed like Rein’d been at it with his hammer. Pressed the heels of his hands against his eye sockets. Mech hand’s chill felt good, but the pressure did fuck all to relieve the headache. Worse, though, was the disorientation of seeing her alive and in the flesh all these years later, when he’d almost convinced himself she’d been a figment of his imagination, a piece of fever dream from the infection after losing his limbs.

“Fawkes.” Morrison’s voice burst through the sat comm, sharp and grating - clearly ready to give him a gobful.

Junkrat startled. “Yeah.” Everyone else’d fucked off. Even Roadie’d left him to the dressing down. Some bodyguard he was.

“How can I impress upon you the seriousness of the situation? You ignored my orders…”

“Pig’s arse!” Feeling like shit or not, wasn’t about to take it without an argument. “Ya just asked where Lena was, an’ assumed I’d send her. Said the device needed retrieval, didn’t specify by who.”

A long pause. Not even a sigh. Then, “Technically you are correct. However…” Morrison’s voice buzzed in his ears like a mozzie. Everything feeling fuzzy again and his chest ached where she’d hit him with whatever her light shit was. And his fuckin’ nose was itching. Absolutely not gonna start sneezing in the middle of Morrison’s big speech. He scrubbed at his nose with his wrist and held his breath.

Lena passed the doorway and mimicked Morrison’s ‘blah blah blah’ face. To Junkrat’s disappointment she didn’t interrupt, just kept walking. Had to swallow inopportune giggles else it’d just give him more shit to bitch about. Sheila was right - dipstick always ran on at the mouth. And if he didn’t shut up soon, Junkrat was pretty sure he was going to fall asleep leaning against the wall. Instead, he interrupted.

“Look, I know I fucked it up. Lena made it abundantly clear. How ‘bout we skip the yellin’ and go right to the punishment?”

“I am not your father, Fawkes.” “Fuckin’ right ya ain’t.”

“But I am the commander. You’ve been with us long enough to know how we work. Yet you continue to operate as you’d been, as though Rutledge is the only one you can trust.”

“Goes without sayin’, don’t it?” Junkrat shrugged. “Least I know long as Roadie gets his dosh he’s gonna be there when I need him. Ain’t gonna go jack on me. Can’t exactly trust a bloke gives you a choice between workin’ for a clandestine organization and the lock up.”

Morrison sighed, rubbed a hand over his scarred face, then surprised Junkrat with a small chuckle. “You’ve got a point. But the choice is still yours, Fawkes. If you are dissatisfied with your responsibilities -- if you feel you are overly burdened by the opportunity to turn the tide toward good -- Lena will deliver you to the authorities in London.”

“Call that a choice,” he grumbled, but the possibility caught his attention. Might be able to convince her to drop him off far enough from a cop shop to have a chance of escape. Could claim he jumped her. Hell, could actually jump her - and how disturbing was it that wasn’t his first thought? You know what happens when you let your guard down, Jamison. When you start to trust. Whatever they might tell you… you know the truth.

He did know the truth. All too well. “Gotta talk about it with Roadie.”

“This offer isn't for him. Just you.”

Junkrat frowned. “Ya gonna keep my... bodyguard?” Swallowed back the other thought, other wish. Why wouldn’t they? Here’s the opportunity they’ve been waiting for - prune your dead weight, as they’ve wanted from the beginning. And Rutledge can return to his beloved quiet.

“We need people who are committed to the cause. For all of Rutledge’s… lack of perspicacity when it comes to your jobs, he’s demonstrated more than enough dedication in his life before you.”

Well well. I wonder what, exactly, Jack knows about him that you, for all your years together, do not. Junkrat ground his teeth. He don’t know nothing ‘bout Roadhog. Nothing.

Unless he did. The idea sank to the pit of his stomach where it sat like lead. Didn’t care that Roadie had a life before him - because of course he did - but the idea that he might have talked about it with Morrison, of all people, and that they might have some common ground, besides being old grey-haired dills. Pissed him off. Of course they have things in common, you utter child. You are not exactly the pinnacle of intelligent conversation. Rutledge is far more than he’s ever let on to you.

Let that pass. Who gave two shits about ‘intelligent’? Thing he hated was Roadhog’d shared something about his past, about who he was. About things that mattered. And he hadn’t shared them with Junkrat.

Junkrat’d never pressed him about the time before they met. He’d heard rumors, of course, everyone in Junkertown’d heard about Roadhog, Queen’s biggest, cruelest, most blood-thirsty enforcer… But in their years together Junkrat had begun to realize that some of the rumors were just that and nothing more. Not to say Roadhog wasn’t any of those things - he was all of them. When he needed to be. Junkrat knew Roadhog, knew Roadie… but Rutledge… Mako… he didn’t know. And Morrison… fuckin’ Morrison… did.

“...Fawkes?”

Junkrat blinked. Shit. He’d apparently kept talking and seemed to be waiting for an answer. But couldn’t for the life of him figure what. Took a breath to answer anyway, and suddenly the sneezes he’d been fighting off burst out. “H’gnxt! … H’gnxt!” Just managed to pinch them back, maybe the comm’d miss the sound? And maybe Morrison’d dozed off too, not to see.

“Ah. Lena mentioned you were ill.”

Of fucking course. Junkrat scowled, muscles tightening along his back. Wanted to argue it, but suddenly felt like more trouble than was worth. Especially since Lena’d already said. So he sighed, and muffled the following coughs into his sleeve. “Yeah.”

“We can revisit this when you recover.” Morrison’s voice changed. While it wasn’t warm, exactly, it had lost the edge and bordered on kind. “Do you need Angela to check in?” His eyes narrowed, like he’d be able to read the truth of what Rat said through the screen.

“Nah, I’ll be right. Just gotta sleep.” No call to bring out the big guns, so to speak. Like her name implied, Mercy was the epitome of compassion, but she was still a doctor. Still a scientist, at bottom. Last thing he needed was poking and prodding.

“Very well.” A pause, then, “Let me know if you decide to take the offer.”

The comm connection dropped and Junkrat sagged back against the wall. Fuck. Was all fucked up. Didn’t even need her voice tellin’ him it was his fault. Course it was. Needed to fix it, but how? Had no idea where she’d scarpered off to with the bomb.

What about Morrison’s offer? He’d sounded serious, like it was honest. Maybe that was the solution - let Roadie stay here, help the do-gooders. Forget this… whatever it was between them. And he could… what? Serve his time? Go back to his old life? Without Roadie… what was his old life? He rubbed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose. Couldn’t think through the bloody fog in his brain. Sleep would help, but damn - getting to the bedroom felt like a lot of fucking work at the moment. He closed his eyes. Maybe a short nap right here.

“Didn’t think Morrison would actually kill you,” Lucio said, startling him back to himself. “And through the sat comm no less.”

Junkrat snorted. “Still alive, but was a close thing.” He sighed, stretched in an attempt to work the aches out of his body. “Don’t mean to be an arse but I gotta lie down. Bloody fuckin’ knackered.”

“It’s all good. You got meds? There’s stuff in my kit if you don’t.” Lucio hesitated, like he wasn’t sure of how Junkrat would take his words. “And Hana made me promise to tell you that the bed offer was honest.”

Junkrat raised a brow and was rewarded as Lucio’s cheeks darkened in a blush.

“Just for a nap. We’re gonna be busy.”

The other brow joined the first and Lucio smacked his arm.

“Playing video games, asshole.” They laughed together until Junkrat shuddered into a sneeze.

“Huh-r’isssh! Isshew! Fuck.” He sniffed. “I'm disgusting. Not gonna get plague germs in yer bed. Comfortable where I am.”

“Saúde.” Lucio put an arm around him. “You’re not disgusting.”

Junkrat looked at him over the tissues he was using to blow his nose. Then wrenched forward with yet another sneeze.

Lucio laughed. “Okay -- you are disgusting but it’s fine. It’s just the way it is sometimes.”

“Glad to provide amusement.” But even though he pouted, the warmth and weight of Lucio’s arm around him settled his churning thoughts and without really meaning to, he found himself leaning into Lucio. He sighed. “Any chance yer sonic amplifier could get rid of this fuckin’ disease?”

Lucio shook his head. “Doesn’t work that way, unfortunately. It’s only a stopgap measure - keep someone going until their own body can do the work. Sorry, man.”

“Nah, no worries. Sorta figured.”

“Sucks that you’re sick on Christmas.”

Junkrat bit back a groan. Shit - forgot. Christmas. The surprise. Wished he’d chosen an inside sort of thing, but sleep’d take the edge off, least enough to get through the rest of the evening. “It’s a hell of a Christmas gift.” He squinted at the clock. “Would ya mind waking me in a couple of hours?”

“Sure…?”

“Don’t want to end up sleeping straight through - got the fireworks to set off.”

“You sure you still want to do that? It’s gonna be freezing.”

“Not exactly a Christmas prezzy if it’s not on Christmas, is it.” Didn’t want to admit Lucio’s point. He shivered just thinking of going back outside. But the explosions would be worth it. And these were gonna be bloody fantastic. Worked on ‘em way too hard for way too long to be put off by the fuckin’ wog.

“If you’re sure…”

“Thanks, mate.” Pushed himself away from the wall, away from the disquieting comfort of Lucio’s arm and made his unsteady way back to the bedroom.

Where he was disgruntled to find Roadhog sitting on the cot, clearly waiting for him.“Can’t believe you left me to Morrison’s tender mercy.” Even as he spoke, realized it came out more pissy than he intended, but better to be on offense than defense.

Roadhog, of course, just looked at him. Waited.

“Had to give me shit for fuckin up. An’ not trusting them.” Shook his head. “Can ya believe that? Blackmails us to join Overwatch and then is all up in arms because you’re the only one I trust. Like I’m going to depend on any of them when they’re only keeping us around for the demolition.”

Roadhog huffed what sounded suspiciously like disagreement but didn’t say anything.

“Practically killed me. Had to have Lucio rescue me.”

“Sounds like a job for a healer.” Roadhog’s shrug was visible in his voice.

Junkrat surprised himself with a laugh. “All right, ya got a point.” Still shivering, wrapped his arms around himself. “Would ya move; really need a lie down.”

“Take the bed.”

“But ya ain’t gonna fit on that tiny thing.” Gestured at the cot with his chin so he didn’t have to let got of himself.

“I’m not going to sleep in the middle of the day. And you’re sick. Need to rest. Take the bed.” Roadie’s voice was firm, not up for argument. Which was, truth be told, fine with Junkrat. Every aching muscle in his body longed for the comfort of a real mattress. No springs poking him in the side.

“Thanks.” Shrugged out of his jacket and flopped onto the mattress gracelessly. Everything fucking hurt. His muscles, his bones, his hair, his eyeballs. Even his missing limbs. However the hell that worked. Taking off the prosthetics felt like too much work, only to have to put them back on again in a couple of hours. He curled onto his side, wrapping the blankets tight around himself until he was cocooned, and waited for sleep.

And waited. He rolled over, hoping to ease the ache in his back, but laying on his stomach hurt his chest. Rolled back. Waited. He was still fucking cold. Shoulda left the jacket on. His head throbbed in time with the beating of his heart. And he kept feeling like he needed to sneeze, but the urge left off just before explosion.

The room was quiet, ‘cept for Roadhog’s breathing, his own sniffling, and every now and again a page turning. From elsewhere in the cabin a murmur of voices, one of Hana’s video games, music. Lena’s voice, pitched and exited, chased by the darker alto of Emily. Once Mei laughed. Life going on.

Without you. Yeah, and? They clearly don’t need you. They are happy without you. Don’t need them either. Perfectly fine here with Roadie. But even as he thought it, the cot squeaked, then Roadhog’s boots crossed the room and the door clicked open and shut.

You were saying? Laughter in the voice.

Fuck off. Didn’t mean anything, Roadie leaving him here. Or maybe it did. Maybe it meant he’d tied himself up in knots for nothing. Made things other than they were. Always doing that - chasing imaginings, random sparks. Could be one of those times. Snow falling behind his closed eyes, cold seeping through his jacket, his pants, and Roadhog’s non-answer to his question, ‘really don’t think now’s a good time’. Never a good time to tell someone they weren’t nothing more than a job. ‘Specially when they’d clearly confused the bit of comfort they’d taken in each other for something else. Something more.

Shut up, told himself - brain, voice, all. Tugged the blankets over his head. Maybe it would block everything out.

His fitful doze broke when a hand cupped his forehead. Didn’t need to open his eyes - knew the size of it, the callouses, the slight smell of leather and smoke. Roadie. Tried not to think about how good it felt, cool and dry against his own damp heat. “What,” he asked, still half asleep. Voice came out a croak. Cleared his throat, tried again. “What ya want?”

“Lucio said you wanted to be woken. Sent some… Tylenol? Looks like paracetamol or something.” Rattle of pills in a bottle, then clunk of a mug being put on the nightstand. “Mei brewed you a medicinal tea. Smells like moldy leaves, but she swears her Mum always cured her with it.” Another clink, spoon against bowl. “Lena made you soup - chicken noodle, apparently. Less likely to taste like bog water, but I haven’t tried it myself. Presumably she’s a better cook than you. Hana sent a couple fingers of whiskey to wash down the tea. And Satya knitted you this. Said you don’t need to kill anyone?”

Junkrat forced open his eyes to find Roadhog holding up a single mitten, knitted in garish orange and yellow, head tilted questioningly. He coughed a laugh, muffling it in his sleeve. “She knows how much I hate the cold.” Not gonna go into it, not even with Roadie. He sat up carefully, waiting to see which of his body parts protested the movement. All of them. Meds better take the edge off or this was gonna suck. He clenched his muscles against a shiver. The rectangle of window was black - sun had gone down while he slept.

Junkrat shook a handful of pills from the bottle but before he could swallow them all, Roadhog was taking some away. “Oi, what’s the deal?”

“Just two.”

“I wanna feel better faster.”

“Not how it works.”

Junkrat grumbled but gulped two down with the horrible tea Mei gave him. Nearly gagged on it. “Guess she ain’t forgiven me for the bodgy crack,” he said ruefully. Taste on his tongue like compost. The whiskey burned off the taste - and several layers of the skin of his throat as well. Coughed to clear the sting.

Luckily the soup Lena’d made was better than anything he ever managed. Couldn’t taste much, but the heat was soothing to his throat, the noodles soft but not slimy, and even though he couldn’t finish the whole bowl, it settled comfortably in his stomach and he felt warm for the first time in ages. Too bad he was gonna have to go out again. The meds had driven the headache back to a dull throb and when he pushed himself up to stand, he felt solid. He pulled his jacket back on, then tugged on the mitten from Satya - the wool surprisingly soft and not as itchy as usual.

“Oddest mitten I’ve ever seen,” Roadie pointed out as Junkrat wriggled his fingers. She’d ended the hand part at his knuckles.

“Nah, it’s genius. Can still work with the wires an’ all.”

#oversnez #snezfic #constitutionally incapable of writing shortfic #hey it's almost Christmas again soooo #penultimate chapter bitches #party time! Need some fireworks?

9 notes · View notes