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scuderiahoney · 18 days

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Oscar Piastri x Reader // In Motion Pt. 4

Summary: a very bad snowstorm, bears in the ice hockey arena, and a one night only poster board pick-me-up. 6.6k words

Warnings: mentions of physical violence, small mention of alcohol

“So. You and Oscar spent a lot of time together over the break,” Lily says, carefully.

You roll your eyes and set the glue stick in your hand down, sensing this is going to be a long conversation. “We were the only ones here for like, a week. And we were bored. And then Max showed up, so it wasn’t just us.”

Lily isn’t looking at you. She has a wine glass in one hand and a magazine in the other. The two of you are making vision boards, which Max had called “glorified collages” when he called five minutes ago to ask about family dinner for tomorrow.

Lily hums. “He’s just so… quiet.”

You shrug and take a sip of your wine. “He’s not, really, once you get to know him. He’s just… it’s easier for him one on one, you know?”

Lily nods. You nod, too, and lean over to pick up another magazine. You flip through the pages, looking for whatever sticks out. Your friends collect magazines and newspapers and fun posters and give them to you, and you hoard them for days like these. A little sun drawing pops out at you from the page, and you reach for the scissors.

You clear your throat. “Nothing happened, if that’s what you were trying to say. We just. We had some movie nights, played some video games, took a couple walks. That’s all.”

Lily looks up at you and stares. “Right.”

You stare right back. “What?”

“Did you want something to happen?” She asks, and you freeze, the magazine page half turned.

“What?” You ask again.

“You said nothing happened,” she says. “Did you want something to happen?”

You stare at the wine in your glass, the way the warm light of the lamp catches on the red liquid. Your stomach swirls. Did you want something to happen? He’s your friend. Your study partner. He’s your best friends’ teammate. Did you want something to happen? He’s a sweetheart once you get to know him. He holds your hand when you walk by the soccer field and he doesn’t push you when you can’t do it. Did you want something to happen?

You shake your head. “We’re just friends. We bonded over physics trauma. We were just bored.”

Lily nods and reaches for the scissors. “Okay.”

You want to say more to defend yourself, but you think that’ll be even less convincing. So you move your focus back to the vision board and try not to think too much about what she asked you. It doesn’t matter what you wanted, anyways. He’d never see you that way, and if he did, he’s probably too scared of his teammates to do anything about it.

…..

January slips away faster than you’d expected. It’s full of syllabuses and assignments and far too much homework for this early in the semester. You do a lot of it at the kitchen table in the guys’ house, sat across from Oscar even though you’re not in a class together anymore. It’s just nice to have someone to study with, even if he has no idea what you’re talking about when you whine about your biology assignments.

February brings with it the warnings of a winter storm for the ages. On a Thursday night, you sit on the couch in the living room, giving your homework a feeble attempt. The guys are back from an afternoon practice, and everyone is settling in for the evening.

“You know who we play next week,” Carlos says, leaning over the back of the couch and looking at you.

“Can’t remember,” you answer, not even looking up from your book. “Not the Badgers.”

The Badgers are the Timberwolves’ sworn enemies. The rivalry game weekend is one of the most anticipated events on campus. It’s marked on the calendar in the kitchen with a dark red X. It’s weeks away.

“No,” Carlos says, raising his eyebrows when you finally look up at him. “The Bears.”

For just a moment, you wonder what sort of significance that’s supposed to hold. They play a lot of teams. Most of them, they’re relatively civil towards. A lot of the players grew up together on junior teams, and they’re still friends outside of game weekends. You’re about to ask if he has beef with a Bears player when you notice Oscar’s stiff posture where he sits on the floor in front of the couch. He’s been half watching the TV, half working on homework. Then you remember.

Oscar played for the Bears for two years. That was his former team. The ones who treated him so badly he quit hockey. You blink up at Carlos and pray he doesn’t take the route you think he’s going to.

“You know who used to play for the Bears,” Carlos starts, a lilting tone to his voice.

Oscar turns over his shoulder with a grimace. “Play is a strong term,” he says. “I did a lot more sitting than skating.”

Carlos shrugs and wiggles his eyebrows. “I am just saying. Maybe we should be worried that Piastri here will go easy on his friends.”

“Not my friends,” Oscar says, quietly.

You slip your hand off the couch and press it to his shoulder blade, hidden from Carlos’ view behind blankets and cushions. Oscar relaxes slightly, and his eyes flicker to yours. Carlos is just trying to rile him up, probably. There might be a hint of truth to it- trying to test Oscar’s loyalty, which is stupid.

You turn to Carlos and blink. “Don’t you have somewhere to be? Like your own apartment?”

Oscar laughs and tries to disguise it as a cough, muffling it into his elbow. Carlos grins, gaze flickering between you and Oscar, mischief in his eyes.

“Oh, Bunny has claws,” he teases.

By Sunday, everyone is panicked about the impending snow. The stores sell out of all the essentials before you can even bother to plan the week’s family dinner. You and Max will have to make do with what’s left on the bare shelves of the grocery store. The aisles are packed with people. You’ve lost Logan in the fray.

“He’ll be fine,” Max says, trying to maneuver the cart around a small child. He makes a funny face at her, and she laughs. “He will find us, and if he doesn’t…”

“Oh my god, please sound more concerned,” you say.

He shrugs and reaches for a box of Kraft Mac and cheese.

“You have to be kidding,” you say with a glare.

He nods, looking at the grocery list again. “I am. We are buying more TimTams?”

Your face grows hot against your will. You snatch the list from his hand as he eyes you, brows raised. At that exact moment, Logan, your lifesaver, appears from the crowd.

“I got so lost,” he says, eyes wide. “This place is a madhouse.”

Max nods, and he looks around, set determination on his face. “Alright. Let’s get what we need and get out. Logan, hold onto the cart.”

Logan rolls his eyes. “I’m not a child,” he says, but he grabs the cart anyways.

By the time the three of you get in the car, the first few snowflakes are falling. Max sits stiffly in the passenger seat the whole drive, like he’s worried a little snow will send you into a violent crash. You make it home safely, of course, and unload the groceries together. Charles is sitting on the couch in front of the living room window, staring at the snow, a cup of hot chocolate in hand.

“It’s already pretty,” he says, softly.

You ruffle his hair. “Is there more hot chocolate?”

He nods. “Oscar’s making it.”

You head for the kitchen, bags in hand, and find Oscar and Alex huddled around the counter. You give them a smile as you unpack the groceries, and Max and Logan do the same. Oscar looks up at you, eyes bright.

“What do you want in yours?” He asks.

You stand with your hands on your hips, thinking hard. He’s got plenty of supplies- mini marshmallows and sprinkles and caramel drizzle and whipped cream. You shrug.

“Keep it simple,” you say. “A couple marshmallows and some whipped cream.”

He nods eagerly and gets to work. By the time your bags are empty, it’s ready. He hands it off to you with a happy smile- the whipped cream sits in a perfect spiral atop the mug. He looks so proud, and it’s such a sweet gesture, you almost lean over and kiss him right on the forehead. Almost, before you remember half his teammates are here, and Max is watching, and everyone is apparently suspicious. And that it would probably be a strange thing for you to do. You just smile and thank him quietly instead.

You head back into the living room with the mug, trying to shake his soft, proud grin from your brain. Charles is there, in the loveseat next to the window, and he pats the cushion, beckoning you to join him. You sink down, turning so you can look out the window, too. He tosses a blanket over your lap.

“He gave you more whipped cream than me,” he says, pouting.

You shrug. “Maybe he likes me better.”

Charles narrows his eyes at you. “Do you remember, a few months ago, when you thought he hated you?”

You nod. “Funny how things change, huh?”

Oscar walks in then, a mug in his hands. His gaze slips to the window, brows raising on his forehead, and he smiles happily. You smile, too and turn back towards the window as he walks over.

“Pretty,” he says, softly. “Wow, it’s really starting to come down, huh?”

You sigh. “God, I hope they cancel classes tomorrow.”

Charles sighs and sits up. “That reminds me. I have an assignment due at midnight.”

He stands up and stalks off, taking his hot chocolate with him. Oscar makes a sympathetic noise, but he doesn’t hesitate to steal Charles’ spot on the couch. You smile at him when he sits down. Both of you put your legs up on the cushions so you can stare out the window. You rest your head against the back of the couch and let your knee rest against his. Outside, Logan pulls up with a full car, having offered to pick up a few of the team members who didn’t want to walk in the snow. Carlos climbs out of the front seat and leans over, already trying to scrape together a snowball. Oscar sighs. You turn to look at him, and he’s got a look of apprehension on his face. You nudge your knee against his.

“What’s up?” You ask.

He shrugs. “Maybe they’ll cancel the games next weekend, too.”

He doesn’t want to play against his old team. From what he’s told you, you can’t really blame him. He’d hinted at a toxic environment when he first told you, but the longer the two of you have been friends, the more information you’ve pulled out of him. He’d mentioned something about a scar on his upper lip, how his old team captain had left it there when he pushed him onto the ice. Your heart breaks for him.

Under the blanket, you reach out and rest your hand on his knee, lightly. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”

He grins widely at that, and then hides it behind his mug of hot chocolate. You smile right back. Outside, Carlos hits Logan directly in the stomach with a snowball. The others are making their way towards the house. You brace yourself for the impending chaos.

Charles and Max cook dinner, and there are enough people in the house that you end up eating in the living room on one of the couches. Lando sits next to you, while Oscar sits on the floor in front of you, his back against the couch. The news is playing on the TV, and you all steal glances at the bottom of the display, where the area snow closures are being announced.

Max pokes his head into the living room from the dining room. “Snow’s getting bad. Anyone who doesn’t live here should probably go now, yeah?”

People begin to stand up. You almost follow suit, figuring it’s about time you headed back to your apartment, and not really wanting to walk in the snow. Lando grabs your wrist and tugs, though, and Oscar’s head whips around to look at the two of you.

“Maybe you should just stay,” Lando suggests, a small smile on his face. “It’s a storm warning, you know.”

You blink softly at him, though you sit back down. “Lan, I don’t have any of my stuff. I don’t have clothes to sleep in. I have an 8am class, and I don’t want to sleep on the couch and have a sore neck-“

“Oh come on, you know they’re going to cancel classes,” Oscar says, nudging your knee lightly.

“And if they don’t, I’ll go get your stuff,” Lando suggests. He pouts. “And you don’t have to sleep on the couch, I’ll get the air mattress out. C’mon. What if your power goes out?”

“When my power goes out, yours also goes out,” you remind him.

“But we can all be powerless together,” Charles chimes in from the other end of the couch.

You groan. “You guys. I’m an adult. I can take care of myself in a little bit of snow.”

You hear Logan’s car start up outside. You try to get up again, but Lando wraps his arms around your arm, and Oscar reaches for your ankles. You let out a squeaky laugh and try to break free just as Max walks back into the living room, brows furrowed.

“Max! Tell Bunny she should stay here,” Lando calls out.

Max blinks, eyes darting over the entire situation before he turns to look at you. “There’s a winter storm. You live alone. You are not going anywhere.”

You grumble, but you go limp anyways. Lando lets go of you and high fives Max as he walks past. Oscar holds onto your legs for slightly longer, and he squeezes your calf softly before he pulls away. You try to act normal about it, though from the side eyed look Lando gives you, you’re not sure you were successful.

Eventually, you head to the kitchen to help Max clean up from dinner. Lily, Alex, George, and Oscar sit at the dining room table, playing cards, while you and Max do dishes and Lando and Charles clean counters. When your eyes stay on the Oscar for too long, watching him laugh happily, the sink nearly overflows. Max nudges your shoulder.

“You can go hangout, if you want. I can do the dishes,” he suggests.

You shake your head. “M’fine. Just spaced out a bit.”

Max nods, though you can feel him watching you every so often. Lando and Charles start slapping each other with rolled up wet washcloths, and that distracts Max enough, at least for a few minutes. There’s music playing, and you hum along as the soapy water warms your fingers. When the dishes are done, Max ushers you to the dining room, and you take a seat in the chair on next to Oscar. Lando and Charles join, too, and you smile around at everyone. Snow is falling in the backyard, and the world feels quiet. Oscar’s fingers brush against yours when you both reach for a card, and you can’t help but smile. You’re exactly where you want to be.

At 9:30pm, just when you’re starting to yawn, and Lando is talking about going and setting up the air mattress, everyone’s phones go off. Little dings and chirps and vibration sounds echo through the dining room. Alex is the first one to open the email.

“Classes are canceled!” He calls out. “Snow day!”

The room erupts into chaos. Lando and Max hug each other, George stands up and cheers, while Charles collapses forward onto the table in relief. You turn to Oscar as he wraps an arm around your shoulders and shakes you gently. Alex leans over and kisses Lily on the cheek as she cheers. The joy in the room is infectious. Snow days have the ability to turn you all into children again, apparently.

Oscar leaves his arm around the back of your chair for the rest of the game. You try desperately to act like it’s not there, like you can’t feel the warmth of him on the back of your neck or the way his fingers brush against your shoulder. It’s consuming your thoughts, though, making it insanely difficult to focus on the card game at hand.

He’s one of the first to go to bed, and you miss the feeling as soon as he’s gone. You head up to bed eventually, and you pass Charles in the hallway on the way to brush your teeth. He gives you a sleepy half hug and stumbles into his room. You find yourself looking at Oscar’s door and wondering if he’s still awake, but you’re not sure what you’d even do if he was.

You wake up the next morning to Lando still out cold, snoring loudly into his pillow, and the early sun inching its way through the blinds. The air mattress is partially deflated, and you slide off of it and onto the floor with a soft thud. There’s a hoodie laying on the floor that seems relatively clean, and you pull it on. You know immediately it’s not Lando’s- it smells like a different laundry detergent and cologne, but it feels familiar and warm, so you leave it on. Then you wrap a blanket around your shoulders before you head downstairs.

Oscar’s sitting on the loveseat, still rubbing sleep from his eyes when you find him. He turns and blinks up at you, eyelids heavy. You blink back, long and slow, the way you’d been told to do with pet cats. It seems to work on him- he smiles. Without a word, you head for the kitchen.

You return with two mugs of tea, and he smiles up at you. He makes room for you to sit, and you do so happily, curling your legs under you and fully facing the window. It’s a winter wonderland outside. You can’t even see where the front yard ends and the street begins. Snow is still falling, though at a slower rate.

“It’s so… quiet,” Oscar whispers.

He stretches one leg out behind you on the couch, and bends his other knee up next to you. When you lean against him lightly, he doesn’t protest or move away. He just smiles.

You nod in agreement. “Pretty. I love snow.”

You blink a couple times and take a sip of your tea. Oscar’s leg is warm against your side. He reaches out to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. You sigh and let your eyelids flutter shut.

“Still sleepy?” He asks.

You nod. “Yeah, but the air mattress is deflating, and Lando’s snoring, so…”

“Here,” he says, and you blink at him in confusion.

Oscar’s hand brushes against yours where you’re holding the mug. Your grip falters, and he slips it from your hand and sets it down on the nearby table. Before you can blink again, he leans forward and wraps an arm around your middle. Then he uses it to haul you towards him, your back against his chest, side by side on the little sofa. You’re nestled between him and the back of the couch, surrounded in warmth, your skin burning up. You can feel the soft rise and fall of his chest behind you.

“Okay?” He asks.

You nod, too sleepy to form the words, too sleepy to worry about what this means or if it’s weird or if someone else will see the two of you and have questions. He lets out a little laugh, his hand slipping into the pocket of the hoodie you’re wearing.

“Is this my hoodie?” He asks. You shrug. “Think it is, there's a hole in this pocket.”

“It was on Lando’s floor,” you mumble, burrowing deeper next to him. “So it’s fair game.”

He laughs, but he lets it go. You rest your cheek against his other arm and bask in the softness of it all, blinking at the falling snow and the soft morning light. Sleep scratches at the back of your brain, and as much as you want to fight it, as much as you want to stay present, it melts over you. The last thing you feel before you fall back asleep is the press of his cheek against the top of your head.

When you wake up, he’s in the kitchen, talking lowly with Alex. There’s a pillow wedged behind you to keep you from falling over and off the couch, and the blanket is pulled up around your chin. You don’t blame him for getting up, and you’re a bit relieved that he seems to have done it before the rest of his roommates are up, because you might have never heard the end of it. Though, when Lando rolls out of bed and joins you on the couch, with Max not far behind, and the three of you squeeze onto the little sofa together, you wonder if they’d have even questioned it. Maybe they’d have seen it the same as this- friends curled up on a slow morning, sharing space and warmth. Maybe that’s all it was for Oscar, too. You’re probably the only one who felt butterflies over it.

Oscar pouts when he walks in and sees his spot taken, though. Behind him in the doorway, Alex meets your gaze with a smirk, eyebrows raised, and you start to wonder again. Eventually, the rest of the people in the house join you downstairs, and you all start to make snow day plans. You close your eyes and listen to them talk. Whatever they come up with, you’ll enjoy, you know it already.

…..

Unfortunately for Oscar, the snow clears, and the first game against the Bears goes forward as planned that week. It’s a mess. The Timberwolves are up by two by the time they’re halfway into the second period, but the Bears are playing like, well, bears. Not a lot of penalties, but cheap shots and bad moves and what looks to be exhausting hockey. They’re frustrated by their own inability to score by the third period, and that’s when the claws really come out. The refs send a Bears player to the box for slashing. He gets back on the ice, and then another one gets called for tripping. There’s a few minutes left, they’re down a player, and they’re desperate.

When Oscar gets locked into a battle for the puck with his old team captain, you hold your breath. He manages to bat it away and send it skidding towards Max, but his helmet and face mask get shoved askew in the process. Somehow, you just know. Everyone in the arena follows the puck, but you watch as the captain on the other team rips his gloves off. You grab onto Lily’s arm and watch his fist connect with Oscar’s jaw. The Timberwolves bench erupts into chaos. The fight is over before it even starts, because Oscar just pushes the guy away and doesn’t swing back. The team captain gets sent to the penalty box. Oscar gets his helmet back on and gets back in the game.

An hour and a half later, you sit at the kitchen counter in their house, a mug in front of you. The house is quiet. You’re not sure why you’re still here- Lando went to bed a while ago, and Max had retreated to his room even before that. You’d made the excuse of staying to clean up the dishes, but now you’re just… here, still. Waiting. You should really go home. It’s bordering on midnight. If you walk home much later than this and any of the guys find out, they’ll be pissed.

The front door creaks open. Soft footsteps echo down the hallway, and you look up from your mug of tea. Oscar doesn’t seem surprised when he walks into the kitchen and finds you sitting there. He stops in the doorway, shoulders dropping. There’s a bruise shadowing his jaw. You wince.

“It looks worse than it feels,” he mumbles.

You stand up from the stool and head for the fridge. You can hear him walking closer as you rummage around in the freezer, finally finding one of the ice packs they keep in there. On a whim, you also reach into a cleverly disguised bag of frozen peas, and come out with two chocolate dipped ice cream bars. When you turn back to Oscar, items in hand, he looks perplexed.

“We have ice cream?” He asks, quietly.

You smirk. “Max hides them. But he can’t keep secrets from me. He won’t mind.”

He takes a seat on the stool, and you flip the switch for the overhead lights. He grimaces.

“I already had it looked at,” he says, brows furrowed. “Trainer said it’s fine.”

You hum as you step closer, pretending your heart doesn’t thud in your chest when you come into close range. “I know,” you say, reaching up and placing the ice pack against his face gently. He hisses. “This is actually an interrogation.”

His hand comes up to hold the pack, fingers brushing against yours. He laughs, then winces. “Yeah? What about?”

You drop your hand to your side. “Why didn’t you fight back?”

He sighs heavily, looking anywhere other than your face. You roll your eyes and open one of the ice cream bars and hand it to him. Then you sit down on another stool, facing him, before you open your own ice cream, too.

“I don’t wanna get suspended,” he shrugs. “And I don’t really fight.”

You decide not to bring up the guy at the party last semester and the way Oscar had been ready to punch him. “Even if they hit you first?”

He nods and makes a little noise. You wonder if he ever fought back when they were on the same team, or if he just accepted it. Your heart aches for him. He shrugs again, eyes flickering up to yours. He looks so sweet, despite the harsh kitchen light, despite the purple tinge on his skin, even more with a bit of chocolate in the corner of his lips. You take a bite of your own ice cream in the hopes that it’ll cool you down.

“Just never felt worth it,” he admits. “I don’t know. Some people are in it for that, for the hits and the fights and the… aggression. I just like hockey. Besides, the guy got a penalty. So now he’s out for a game. That’s better than getting a hit on him.”

The tone he says the guy in is interesting- like he’s distancing himself, like it’s easier if he pretends it was just some guy and not the captain of his old team. You overheard some of Lando and Max’s hushed whispers. You know the guy said some shitty things about Oscar on the ice. And tomorrow, he has to play the rest of the team all over again. Oscar takes another bite of his ice cream and purses his lips.

“I’m okay,” he promises. “And if the guys think I'm going easy on them because I have some weird sense of loyalty, I’m really not.”

“Oh, Osc,” you say quietly, shaking your head. You reach across the gap and press your hand to his wrist, the one holding the ice pack. “Nobody thinks that.”

He shrugs. “Carlos was-“

“Carlos was being a dumbass, but he doesn’t really believe it,” you promise. “After the game, all they were worried about was you. That’s it.”

He lets out a huff and takes another bite of his ice cream, cracking through the chocolate shell. “I don’t wanna be worried about.”

You almost pull your hand from his wrist, but as soon as he says it, he winces, closing his eyes. You wait, rubbing your thumb against his skin. He takes a deep breath. You press your finger to his pulse point, and his breath hitches. You watch his shoulders move.

“I don’t mean that. It’s nice. Just. Had a bad day,” he says. “And we have to do it again tomorrow.”

You nod and squeeze his wrist. “That’s the shitty thing about the way college hockey works, huh.”

He nods. The ice pack bumps against his face, and he hisses. You muffle a laugh and reach to put your hand over his to steady it, keeping your grip gentle. He inhales through pursed lips and closes his eyes. He slips his hand off the ice pack and lets you hold it, and blood roars in your ears. It feels so trusting. Strangely intimate. His hand falls to your knee, and you try to breathe normally. You’re probably failing miserably. You swallow all the feelings down and try to come up with something to say.

“Tomorrow is a new day,” you remind him. “We can wake up and pretend today never happened. A new game, a new start.”

He sighs and closes his eyes. “I can try.”

“That’s all anyone could ask for,” you tell him. “That’s all you can ask yourself for.”

A wavering smile crosses his lips. You take a bite of your ice cream to stop yourself from leaning in to brush your own lips against his cheek. The two of you eat the rest of your ice cream bars in the peace and quiet, under the fluorescent kitchen lights. His hand stays on your knee, barely there, just resting. Your fingers go numb holding the ice pack, but you don’t complain. You can hold this for him, for a little bit. He’s holding onto enough.

…..

You wake up on the couch the next morning with an ache in your neck, because by the time you finished the ice cream Oscar insisted it was too late for you to walk home, and you hadn’t wanted to wake Lando by sneaking into his room. Upstairs, you can hear the guys starting to wake up. Soon they’ll be donning their suits and heading to the rink to get ready. You push yourself to sit up and run a hand through your hair. Then you head for the front door.

Once you’re home, you call Lily. “I have an idea,” you say, ”and I need your help.”

Lily, to her credit, doesn’t ask a lot of questions. You’re sure she sort of understands what’s going on without having to ask, but you’re grateful either way. The two of you shuffle into seats in the arena, eager to watch. You’re wearing your jersey today, hoping it brings good luck, and you’ve both gone full out with lines of blue face paint under your eyes.

When they come out onto the ice, Lando’s the first one to spot you. He does a double take, nudging at Max’s shoulder. They both stare, heads tilted. You can’t blame them. Instead of your normal seats, the two of you are in the front row, right down by the boards.

You’d sit here every game if you could, but the tickets are outrageously expensive on a college student budget, especially when you can sit in the student section for free. Today, though, you’d splurged. There’s a poster board sitting at your feet that you’ve worked painstakingly on all morning. It needs to be seen, and for that, you need to be up close.

Lily lets out a squeak when Alex skates over. “Oh! Hi!”

You roll your eyes affectionately at your friend as she makes hand gestures at her boyfriend through the plexiglass. It’s too loud for them to hear each other, especially through the glass, but Alex’s big smile says more than words ever could. For what’s definitely not the first time, you find yourself wishing you could have what they have. You want someone to smile like that when they see you. You want to feel that giddy feeling.

Lando skates over, tapping his glove against the glass. You just shrug and laugh. He points at the poster board. You shake your head, and he rolls his eyes. It’s not for him. He’s not the one who needs it. Out on the ice, Oscar’s next to Charles, heads bent together as they stretch. Max skates over and points at you, and from this close, you can see Charles' affectionate eye roll, and the way Oscar smiles. He goes from apprehension to adoration quite quickly. Something turns in your chest. Lando, who’s still standing nearby, quirks a brow, and you wonder how plainly it’s written across your face.

While they’re all looking, you take a deep breath, pick up the sign, and raise it above your head. Alex bursts into giddy laughter, Lando’s shoulders drop, and Oscar’s face lights up like the sun.

Kick Some PiASStri, it says. The letters were cut out of magazines and glued down this morning, and you’re still a bit worried it’s not dry enough, but it seems to hold for now. Max and Charles bump their heads against each other as they laugh. Oscar shakes his head, absolutely beaming. It’s a new game, a new start, another day, another chance. And maybe, what he needs is a little bit of encouragement. A reminder that there are people rooting for him.

He skates over, playfully shoulder checking Lando, who’s talking to Alex, now. Oscar takes his stick and scoops up a loose puck off the ice. He flips it over the barriers to you, and you catch it, shrieking at the temperature when it lands in your hand. It’s nearly as cold as the icepack you held to his face the night before.The bruise on his jaw is visible as he looks at you through the glass, but he’s smiling so wide all the same.

He yells something. You can barely hear, but between that and the lip reading you’ve learned to do after years of watching hockey, you think he says something about his “number one fan.”

You just smile and laugh and hold the puck up in the air, hoping the giddy feeling in your chest isn’t painfully obvious. He puts a glove against the plexiglass, and you place your hand there, too, and you know you can’t but you swear you feel the warmth of him. It’s probably just your brain playing tricks on you. He shakes his head, then pats his hand against the clear surface, and then he takes off across the ice.

When you turn to Lily, she’s smiling knowingly. “That was…”

“Shut up,” you grumble, rolling your eyes. “I don’t wanna hear it. He just needed some encouragement.”

It seems to work. He’s on fire that night, skating across the ice like it’s exactly where he belongs. You’re proud to be there, proud to hold the poster up when he scores, proud to call yourself his friend.

After the game, you find yourself in the back hallway of the arena, waiting. You can hear the music in the locker room from here, can hear the intermittent shouting and cheering from the guys. The other team is long gone. Lily’s back at the house already, getting things ready for the inevitable big party they’ll be having after a win like this. The poster you’d made leans against the wall.

Oscar’s the one to find you. His smile seems permanently set on his face tonight. His hair’s a mess, towel dried and sticking in every direction. “You kicked ass,” you call out.

He doesn’t stop at the socially acceptable distance apart. He walks close, so close you have to lean your head back just slightly to look him in the eye, so close that you can smell his shampoo and see the freckles on his cheeks. His hands are in his pockets, and your heart is in your throat. There’s something wild in his eyes. The bruise on his jaw is dark, almost blue now, and you reach up to brush a finger against the outline of it. He blinks and pulls his hands from his pockets.

“It was nice to see you in the front row,” he says.

Your pulse is pounding. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. Those tickets are expensive. Just needed to make sure you could see the sign.”

He juts his chin out. “Yeah?”

You swallow, then nod. “Yeah. Did it work?”

He doesn’t answer. He just reaches out, and his hand lands on your hip. His other hand comes up to cup your cheek, thumb brushing under your eye, and you hold your breath. His eyes search your face, darting between your eyes and cheeks and lips. You lean closer, closer. His cheeks are rosy and blotchy, from the game and the post game shower and- and maybe, from this, too. Is he feeling it, too? Is his heart racing, is he holding his breath, are there butterflies swirling around in his stomach?

Just when you think you can’t hold your breath any longer, he closes the gap, pressing his lips against your cheek. You wonder if he can feel how warm your face is beneath his lips, if he can hear the way your heartbeat picks up. It’s just a kiss on the cheek, but you let your eyes fall shut anyways, let the warmth wash over you, down your spine and all the way to your fingertips and toes. This is better than a thank you, better than anything, really.

There’s a loud bang of a door being flung open, and both of you break apart in a rush. You wobble, and he does his best to keep you steady. By the time you stand up straight, the two of you are standing a respectable distance apart, and the door to the hallway swings open. It’s Carlos, first, followed by the rest of the team. You try to compose yourself. Oscar’s face is bright red.

“Bunny!” Charles calls out, eager and bright eyed. “We won!”

Oscar backs away when Charles rushes up to hug you. Nobody comments on his red cheeks, or the poster sitting at your feet. You’re sure they’d teased him about it, but they won the game, so anything that got them there is seen as a good thing. Max is the next one to wrap you up in a hug, and soon you’re being pulled along in the stream of hockey players, out towards where the rest of their friends and families wait, out towards the walk back to the house where the party will already be in motion.

“Your face paint is smudged,” Lando says, pointing at your cheek.

You laugh and brush Lando’s hand away from your face. Out of the corner of your eye, you watch Oscar wipe his thumb on his pants, as discreetly as possible, and your heart flutters in your chest. There’s a blue streak of paint left behind on the fabric. It’s some sort of evidence that it really happened. It’s enough, for now.

Later that night, when you’re falling asleep in Lando’s room after a long night of celebrating, you think of deep blue bruises and bright blue face paint, and how much you wish you’d gotten the chance to mix them both together. It would look nice, you think, as you drift off. Paint smudged on his rosy, freckled cheeks. It would’ve been nice.

You dream of Oscar. You’re definitely not complaining.

a/n: happy oscar’s birthday to all who celebrate! 🥳

Series Taglist: @sourskywalker @ivyvlair @gwginnyweasley @annispamz @bearlul @aresriiots @ggaslyp1 @putting-it-into-parc @black-fireproofs @smilinlemon @arieslost @floralkoi @vicurious28 @likedbygaslyy @rorabelle15 @bwormie @treatallwithkindness @fandomnerd11 @adhxmoony @insunia @mindflay3r @talking-raw @colmathgames2 @assholeinatrenchcoat @saachiep81 @venusacrossthestars @v1naco @anthonylockwoodandco111 @whalebursoot-main @ellen3101 @k-pevensie28 @ninifee1802 @not-nyasa @pleasecallmeunhinged @andruuu28 @aceofwordsandarrows @dreamsarebig @secretunnels @ginsengi @yayahnaise @f1petra @lovecarsgoingvroom @lalloronaisreal @fangirl125reader @tpwkmera @booksandflowrs @elizanav

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abbyshands · 2 months

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THE LAST OF US, and the israeli themes surrounding it

i'm very glad that people were able to see one of the previous things i published, where i complied a series of links that you can use to learn more of what's going on in gaza, how you can help, places you need to boycott, etc. however, at the end of the post, there is a large part of it that is DIRECTLY meant for people who play or watch the last of us, or play the last of us 2.

the last of us 2 in specific is not at all elusive in displaying the chilling themes we are seeing before us today. what boggles my mind, is that a select few individuals are choosing to keep publishing fics, reblogging them, uploading content that has NOTHING to do with what's going on, etc. also, you can't reblog one thing about palestine and claim that you care, then flood your account or people's home pages in fanfiction, especially during a media blackout. it just doesn't work like that.

i took the time to make a post discussing all of the israeli/palestinian themes that the games as a whole, but mainly the second one, display. if you are my mutual, a friend, a fan of my work, or a fan of the game or show, then i 100% demand you read this. if you can read fics for hours, you can spend time to read a post discussing the universe those very fics came from.

a lot of us are now aware of the last of us's nature in regards to the ongoing genocide, but not many people know the specifics of it. after seeing this post last night (the person who made this, you are an angel), i decided to take the time to dive into the specifics of the last of us 2's israeli nature, on a logical level, but also a moral level, using a list of sources to help me along, which will be linked at the end of this post. i will link the sources along the way so you know which sources i got my information from.

regardless of if this changes anyone's mind about ignoring the media blackout, or not giving a fuck about what's going on period, know this: regardless of how you feel, regardless of what you believe, from the river to the see, palestine will be free. at this fucking point, the people who are on the right side will keep speaking out and spreading awareness, regardless if you are here to do it with us. that's it. now, let's get into this.

UPCOMING DISCUSSIONS: neil druckmann, the last of us 1, the last of us 2, the last of us show and zionism in the show's cast, boycotting the game and show, and conclusion

NEIL DRUCKMANN

45-year-old neil druckmann, who was the co-director and co-writer for the last of us 2, was born in tel aviv, israel in 1978. according to the above source, druckmann was raised in a settlement in the west bank, where he was surrounded by violence on a daily basis. comics, movies, and most of all, video games, became an escape for him as a child, before he and his family moved to miami, floridawhen he was 10 years old.

to water down the full story that you can, again, read here, druckmann went to college to major in criminology. however, when he was in college, druckmann took a compsci course, that later lead to his major becoming coding as opposed to criminology. soon after, he knew he wanted a career that related to one thing: video games.

in the summer of 2013, the last of us part 1 was released, and it was renowned as one of best video games to have ever been made. in 2020, druckmann and nd released the last of us part 2, followed by the 2022 release of HBO's show based on the first video game. druckmann played a huge part on set, being not only the co-creator and co-writer of the show, but also having directed an episode himself. druckmann will remain involved in the second season of the show.

bringing up neil druckmann’s background is a crucial aspect of what’s upcoming in this post, hence why i wanted to discuss it at all. druckmann growing up in israel is one of the sole reasons the last of us was ever made at all, and not only that: it is the reason why the second game is the way it is, because neil druckmann planted his israeli ideologies right into it.

so, let’s speak on it.

THE LAST OF US 1

on the official the last of us podcast, neil druckmann himself discussed the last of us' link to the israeli-palestinian conflict, and now, genocide. the general consensus was that people will go ridiculously far for the people that they love. this idea of druckmann's was revealed when he discussed the first time the main character of the first game, joel miller, kills somebody to keep his daughter, sarah, safe from harm. this is one of the first scenes in the game prior to the time jump, where the pair's neighbor becomes infected, and attacks them. joel uses a gun to kill him so that the neighbor doesn't harm sarah.

the following is a quote i would like to copy from this link word for word: "Druckmann said he follows "a lot of Israeli politics" and compared the incident to Israel's release of hundreds of Palestinians prisoners in exchange for the captured Israeli soldier Gilad Shalit in 2011."

the plot of the first game, as neil druckmann explained, is based around a moral dilemma. he discusses how if joel had to kill a man to save a random kid, would he have done it? druckmann himself says, "but when it was his tribe, his daughter, there was no question about what he was going to do."

while the first game, in my opinion, isn't as heavily centered around israeli themes as the second game is, regardless, it is heavily crucial to note that the basis of the first game derived from a real-life incident involving israel and palestine, where hundreds of palestinian people (edit: i believe it is more than 1,000) were released from imprisonment, all in exchange for one israeli soldier. in the second game, the israeli-palestinian themes, if you look closely enough, scream out at you.

let's talk about it.

THE LAST OF US 2

"There is a common saying that if you seek revenge, you should dig two graves. Playing The Last of Us Part II is like being made to dig those graves with your teeth (Zacny)."

nd's 2022 the last of us part II is described down to the last letter in the above quote, albeit the game's utterly obvious israeli nature. in this post, the creator, rob zacny, goes on to discuss the game's theme of a "cycle of violence," and how the game reminds you in each grotesque encounter of the cruel ideology behind that. due to what occurs in the last of us 1, joel, basically, reaps what he sows when he is murdered for killing a surgeon who, along with the group said surgeon was a member of, the fireflies, was planning to perform surgery on ellie, who joel had since grown close to, in search of a cure for the infection that has plagued their world for decades. four years later, the second playable character in the game, who is introduced in the first half hour or so, abby anderson, kills joel to avenge the surgeon who was murdered, who happened to be her father. from then on, the game follows what, again, can only be described as a "cycle of violence." joel kills abby's dad, abby kills joel, ellie kills all of abby's friends, aims to kill abby in the final battle of the game, but spares abby when ellie's conscious morally attacks her for her decisions.

throughout the 24 odd hour gameplay, the player is allowed to play as ellie and abby, abby's parts of the game being arguably longer than ellie's. the idea this, i believe, is meant to introduce, is one of perspective: the player is meant to be loyal to joel miller once the first game has been finished, so when he is killed, they are inclined to make abby pay for it. however, abby's perspective, both in the past and as the present course of the game goes on, is meant to make the player understand why she did what she did. thus, the moral: there are no good guys in this game. every person is as equally bad as the following, and no one is innocent. however, when we consider the israeli-palestinian nature of this ideology and how it is presented in the last of us part 2, it simply doesn't work like this.

“I suspect that some players, if they consciously clock the parallels at all, will think The Last of Us Part II is taking a balanced and fair perspective on that conflict, humanizing and exposing flaws in both sides of its in-game analogues. But as someone who grew up in Israel, I recognized a familiar, firmly Israeli way of seeing and explaining the conflict which tries to appear evenhanded and even enlightened, but in practice marginalizes Palestinian experience in a manner that perpetuates a horrific status quo (Maiberg).”

when discussing the last of us part 2’s plot, one could 100% argue that there really aren’t good guys on the dual sides of the game. if you compare ellie and abby, you know that ellie went on a murder frenzy to get revenge on abby for killing joel. on abby’s side of it all, you know that abby wasn’t all that great before coming across lev and yara, and even then, she killed people to do what everyone in said world aims to do: survive. prior to finding lev and yara, abby had killed numerous people before, and did, as the player sees, handle joel very cruelly before she ended up killing him. here’s one more example, one that’s more random (but it’s simply to compare abby vs. ellie’s people, if you will): joel and manny. joel went on a cross country murder spree to keep ellie safe, and killed a building full of people at the end of the game to save her life. in regards to manny, if you recall a discussion that manny and mel had in the beginning of abby’s parts of the game, the pair are discussing a happening where a group aside from the wlf, the seraphites (which we will discuss later) attacked them because the wlf killed children who were a part of their (the seraphite’s) group. manny voiced how he would prefer to keep their people (the wlf) safe, and challenges mel, implying that those “kids” weren’t really kids, because they were the ones who attacked their guys (the wlf) in the first place. as a general consensus, manny kills several people throughout the course of the game, which can be inferred or seen by the player, making him, for the sake of what i’m getting at, a bad guy.

we see in the game how ellie and abby’s people are unanimously bad. the last of us is set in a world where laws and morals are thrown out the window for the sake of survival, so this is no surprise. however, this dual perspective, “no bad guy,” ideology simply doesn’t apply in the world today. you may compare ellie vs. abby, or joel vs. manny, or bring in more characters in the game, such as tommy, nora, etc, claiming that all parties are bad. that makes perfect sense. but think about it like this: if this is meant to represent the israeli-palestinian perspective, and i give you the scenario of a five-year-old child versus a full-grown IDF soldier, what would you say? isn’t there an obvious answer as to who is in the wrong and who’s not? maiberg is 100% right in claiming that the game marginalizes the real-life palestinian experience. abby, ellie, joel, manny, etc, are not real people. but the thousands of innocent children who have been killed for the ridiculousness and inhumane israeli regime are. you can’t say each side is equal in awfulness, not when one side is full of innocent men, women, and children, some of which could never make it into a year of their lives. not when if one side pauses their battle, there would be a ceasefire, but if the converse pauses their battle, they would all be dead.

“And then they cheered afterward,” Druckmann, who grew up in Israel, recalls. “It was the cheering that was really chilling to me. … In my mind, I thought, ‘Oh, man, if I could just push a button and kill all these people that committed this horrible act, I would make them feel the same pain that they inflicted on these people.’"

remember how i said discussing neil druckmann's background was crucial? it is. druckmann, who, again, was born in israel, told the Washington Post that the game's cynical themes of revenge and suffering is linked to the 2000 killing of two israeli soldiers (tw, lynching), who were killed by a mob (maiberg). allegedly, some of the incident was remembered in film, that druckmann watched, and in his interview, he explained his angry nature that came about in response to the video, and how he desired vengeance.

the last of us part 2 is mainly set in seattle, washington, where secondary main character, abby anderson, resides in with a militia group named the wlf (which we will also delve into later, alongside the seraphites). maiberg brings out how seattle, on a visual and mechanical level, is based around "a series of checkpoints, security walls, and barriers (Maiberg)." he notes: "[seattle] looks almost exactly like the tall, precast concrete barriers and watch towers Israel started building through the West Bank in 2000." here are side by side images for comparison:

now that we’ve discussed this, let us discuss one of most prevalent aspects of abby’s part of the story: the wlf, and the seraphites. the seraphites are a religious group, nicknamed “the scars” due to the scars the members of said group carve into their faces to display their membership, who the wlf, a makeshift militia group, runs into conflict with following the fall of FEDRA, the country’s former military. in a note in the game, a fedra commander explains that the city of seattle has been lost to the wolves (the wlf), who he names as terrorists. maiberg brings out the following: “Here, there are parallels to early Zionist organisations that fought British rule in the region. These organizations were also described as terrorists, and leaders of those organizations later became leaders in Israel, much like how Isaac, the leader of the Wolves, came to control Seattle. Other in-game notes, scenes of urban ambushes, and the bodies of executed FEDRA officers laboriously walk the player through the cliche "one man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter (Maiberg).”

maiberg also discusses a series of manners in which the fictional seraphites resemble real-life palestinians. here are the three ways he specifically discusses in his original post, but there are much more:

“The same note from the Seattle FEDRA commander that bitterly says the Wolves are in charge explains that it's now their responsibility to not only feed and shelter the people of Seattle, but deal with the "religious fanatics," referring to the Scars.

Later in the game, Ellie finds a location called "Martyr Gate," where the Scars' spiritual leader apparently died, indicating a religious significance of a specific and disputed location, and emphasizing the notion of martyrdom as central to their culture.

The Scars are able to get around Wolf patrols and various barriers around the city via an elaborate, secret system of bridges between skyscrapers. These function as a kind of flipped version of the underground tunnels Palestinians use to bypass Israeli blockades and other means of limiting free movement in order to get supplies and carry out attacks on Israel.”

one more post i would like to link is this one, the very reason i decided to make this in the first place. it captures the zionism in the last of us 2, along with the wlf vs. seraphite conflict, perfectly. i very much recommend you read it, as it explains it much better than i can.

the general consensus is this: the idea that the seraphites are equally as bad as the wlf, which implies that palestinians are equally as bad as israelis, simply doesn’t apply in 2024. as i said before: what is so vile and cruel about a newborn baby? a pregnant woman? an innocent man? NOTHING. part of the reason the last of us captures this so poorly is due to the apocalyptic nature of the world the game is set in. obviously, people would go rogue if their lives were put in peril by not only animalistic infected beings, but also humans. however, we live in a real world where laws and morals do, in fact, apply. this isn’t a video game where those are simply discarded. what the wlf and the seraphites did to each other in the last of us 2 could be any other day for them: but what israel is doing to palestine right now is a war crime, a genocide, and plainly vile.

THE LAST OF US SHOW, and zionism in the show’s cast

i don’t think i need to spend a lot of time here, because if you have made it this far, you are well aware of the real nature of the last of us and the last of us 2 already, so you must understand that the show is HBO’s take on the game’s story (which, need i remind you show-wise and game-wise, neil druckmann played a huge part in). i simply bring it up so that people are aware of the fact that the 2022 show is ALSO linked to the ongoing genocide, and the cast is a major part of that (however, if anyone would like me to delve deeper into the show, let me know, and i 100% will).

for the following season which is a sequel to the last, theorized to center around the happenings of the last of us 2, members who are set to play a few crucial characters in the game have been announced. this includes isabela merced, who will play dina woodward, ellie’s romantic partner for most of the game, alongside kaitlyn dever, who will play abby anderson.

many people freaked out when they realized kaitlyn dever will be playing abby, but not for the reason they should have been. if you are a last of us fan, you are well aware that abby’s muscles are a central aspect of her persona. yet, kaitlyn dever is on the skinnier side, and according to some, does not resemble abby.

but this is not the issue that is most crucial to discuss.

kaitlyn dever is a zionist, and so is isabela merced (i am under the impression that both of these claims are true, but i had trouble finding a source i deemed reliable enough to link here. if i do, however, i will). now, while i’m not here to riddle you with conspiracy theories, people believe this (zionism) is the reason kaitlyn dever in specific got the role of abby anderson (there is a separate actress, shannon berry, who more closely resembles abby, but made a post in solidarity with palestine. this is theorized to be the reason why she didn’t get the part, and why kaitlyn dever was announced shortly after this particular actress made said post). let us not also forget that ellie’s actor, bella ramsey, is also in support of israel, which can be seen here.

(edit: i was informed since making this that bella has a story on one of their social medias, showing their alleged support of palestine and calling for a ceasefire. i’m going to link this post where i spoke on it, so you aware of what i think on that front).

all of the previously provided information brings me to my final part of this post: boycotting the games, and boycotting the show.

BOYCOTTING THE GAME AND SHOW

i could go on and on about why this is so crucial, but we would be here forever. however, i’m going to paste in what i wrote in this post surrounding the topic of boycotting, as i personally believe i got it down quite well in regards to the last of us (the show and game). it reads:

"DO NOT BUY TLOU, TLOU REMASTERED, TLOU2, TLOU2 REMASTERED, OR ANY GAME FROM ND! neil druckmann has donated money to the IDF in the past. & where do you think he’s getting his money from? yeah, you got that. watch gameplays, pirate these games, or buy them secondhand. several shops sell used games. & for those of you who went and purchased the game anyway, knowing about all of this? fuck you.

if you think your $10 doesn’t matter, then think about this: okay, one person spends $10 on the game. whatever. but when 100,000 people do it? that’s a million dollars, going into the hands of a zionist, who is using YOUR money to help kill innocent men, women, and children. put that in your pipe and smoke it.

it is not just the games you need to boycott. HBO’S show also needs to be. follow this link to learn of more movies and shows you need to boycott, & the reasons why, including the last of us. let’s also not forget that dina & abby’s actresses are in support of israel, and BELLA RAMSEY, ellie’s actress, has also shown support.

boycott. the fucking. show. there are a million websites where you can pirate it, so you are not giving any of your support to it. resist."

what it comes down to is this: purchasing the game or watching the show directly from nd or HBO is not a must. spreading awareness and speaking out about palestine is. you are more than capable of not purchasing the game, or watching playthroughs, or buying the game secondhand, etc. you are more than capable of pirating the hbo show so that money is not made off of your engagement. it's not that difficult. i have said it once, and i will say it again: boycotting is a form of resistance, and that is the least we can do for those suffering in gaza as you read this. resist. people openly admitting that they went and purchased the game anyway simply make me sick. i hope you know what an awful thing to brag about that is, and how despicable of a human it makes you.

CONCLUSION

there's so much to discuss when it comes down to this topic, and it's possible that in the future, i will make a second part to this. however, for now, i really hope this does suffice. i believe knowing of the game's israeli nature is a step. but knowing the specifics is a leap, one that i need everyone engaged in this fandom to take, hence why i wanted to make this post at all.

i'm not saying anyone needs to quit liking the games or the show or whatever. i'm not saying you need to delete or throw away a game you spent $60 on. i've seen so many people who are way too dense to understand that. what i'm saying is that it's crucial you are at least AWARE of the content you are consuming. aware of why it even came about at all.

in my opinion, you can't separate the game from the roots. but you can remain aware of the inner workings of this world you've grown to love. you can keep spreading awareness about it, and you can do right by the people in gaza by discussing the ongoing genocide, and using your voice as much as you can.

i'm so lucky to have been able to gain a following on here in such a short amount of time, even if that following has gone up and down because i've chosen to post more about palestine as opposed to my previous content (granted, that fact won't deter me at all). i will keep using said following to keep speaking out for the people in gaza, and i encourage you to do the same. keep reblogging. keep speaking up. keep using your voices. the people in gaza need us. be there for them.

FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE 🇵🇸🍉.

LINKS AND RESOURCES:

neil druckmann | the official the last of us podcast | the not so hidden israeli politics of the last of us 2, by emanuel maiberg (i highly recommend you read the full post. it discusses several crucial details i didn't discuss in this post) | galid shalit prisoner exchange | Neil Druckmann Speaking on the Washington Post | 2000 killing of two israeli soldiers (TW: LYNCHING) | 'The Last of Us Part II' Is a Grim and Bloody Spectacle, but a Poor Sequel | Veiling Colonial Violence: The Last of Us Part II, Israel and the Erasure of Power (full disclosure, i did not read the full post. i merely needed the quote in the very beginning of it) | zionism in tlou2 | isabela merced | kaitlyn dever | bella ramsey's support of israel

PALESTINE LINKS

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inbarfink · 7 months

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Okay, so I already wrote a bunch of stuff about how that scene, although it is really sweet, is also kind of a Bad Sign for Simon - how he refuses to learn the Obvious Lesson from the Winterworld adventure (that being the Ice King again is probably a really really bad idea). But I want to talk about it also a little more about what it means for Fionna’s character as well.

Because while sitting around and wallowing in self-loathing is probably bad for Fionna, especially after being told that she shouldn't be allowed to exist, and Simon is right to try and get her out of her funk. It's also still worthwhile for Fionna to have some introspection about the Consequences of Her Actions. Because she and Cake really did not consider them at all at first. They have a sense of morality and an instinct towards heroism, but they also tend to kinda forget the fantastical worlds they visit don’t exist entirely for their fantasy and have kind of a Protagonist-Centered-Morality fallacy.

Most obviously you can see it in the market in Ooo. How Cake, in her excitement, damaged and hurt and even killed

A bunch of innocent marketgoers without even noticing. And then Fionna immediately jumped to Cake’s defense against these ‘weirdos’, who were actually just normal kinda-righteously-angry Oooian citizens.

It’s actually very similar to the whole Winterworld situation. Fionna’s assumption that she’s automatically the hero and protagonist of the story and black-and-white view of the situation and her tendency to kick ass first and ask questions later meant that she just recklessly injured a lot of innocent people.

(It might’ve been worse actually cause at least in Winterworld she was at least manipulated by an evil Wizard)

Fionna and Cake clearly have a great potential for heroism, but they do need to be a bit more considerate of the situation and people around them. And it does make sense considering that from their perspective - they’ve been living a very ordinary life up until now (and Cake was literally an animal. A very clever animal, but still not bound by the same standards of morality as the talking animals in Ooo). Action and adventure and fantasy stuff has been purely the realm of daydream and video games for them - and Fionna literally speaks about it in these terms.

(also, Fionna's Main Character Syndrome was undoubtedly validated when God literally told her that she was created to be the main character of her universe)

So yeah, it takes them some time to really process how to be heroes - they need to grapple with questions that Finn and Jake already kinda dealt with seventeen years ago. And actually a lot of those; how to resolve a situation without necessarily using violence, when does a 'villain' actually deserve sympathy and kindness, the importance of the larger context of any given conflict... their confrontations with Ice King all played a big part in that. It was never just him, but he was still a very major part.

And for Fionna and Cake right now, learning these lessons require some amount of personal introspection. So while it was a sweet attempt at comforting, I dunno if Simon’s little ‘the only problem with that universe is that this Alternative Me was terrible because he didn’t even acknowledge or remember Betty as the love of our life and the light of my entire universe’ thing is actually Good.

I’m not quite sure Simon is the best person to teach Fionna and Cake heroism 101, because he is so focused on the Crown Quest as the thing that brings back Meaning to his life, and because his fatherly instincts just kinda go “Sad Young Person???? MUST GIVE COMFORT!” and also on account of the kidnapping.

I’m sure Fionna is going to become the heroine she dreams about eventually, it’s just going to be a bumpy ride. The best we can hope for is that they accept Simon’s comfort, that she doesn't start believing that she is nothing but an Error for the entire universe like the Scarab claims, but don’t necessarily listen to all of Simon's his words either.

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silkscream · 1 year

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angel unaware

ꨄ︎ pairing: peter parker x silk!reader

ꨄ︎ synopsis: you’ve known peter since you were fifteen, shortly after you were both bitten by the same spider. it was too obvious that you’d end up loving him. as you drift apart during your first year of college, you’re not sure how much longer you can keep dancing in circles with him.

ꨄ︎ genres: best friends to lovers, angst, idiots in love, slowburn, mutual pining, hurt/comfort

ꨄ︎ tags: rated explicit/18+ (smut), alcohol usage, mention of drug usage, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), characters are 19, mild violence, gun violence (there is a school shooting in the beginning but there aren't too many details)

ꨄ︎ wc: 13.8k

ꨄ︎ notes: omg. happy valentine’s day y’all. i’ve been working on this Big Bertha for literal MONTHS and i’m so happy to finish it and share it with you. thank you for being around even though i haven’t been the most active; this is a gift to you <3

ꨄ︎ listen to the playlist!

The spider bit you first.

It isn’t until you’re fifteen that someone else finds out about it.

In many ways, you should’ve known. The symptoms, the hypervigilance, the strange, gradual transition of filling out your body. You blame puberty first, but this feels more than abnormal. It's almost as if it's bursting through your skin. The only other person who seems to mirror your coming of age is Peter Parker, whose twitchy nature exacerbates the longer high school goes on.

You keep your head low because there’s no reason for you to tell anyone about your powers. Not even the boy about whom you’re positive shares the same curse as you.

But then the videos come out. Red and blue lycra flying through buildings, a blurred figure saving cats from trees, webs shooting and swaying as onlookers stare like it’s a circus act. He calls himself Spider-man and you think it’s awfully corny.

You’d be a fool to think that you were safe from the antics of Avengers propaganda, rubble, and ash blocking your way to school on more days than not. You’d be a fool to think that you could evade the classic tropes of American violence that force the president to lament about "unthinkable tragedies" multiple times a year. At this moment, you’re a fool for getting yourself locked in a janitor’s closet while there’s an active shooter at Midtown High.

Your breath hitches when the doorknob jangles in front of you. On instinct, you stick yourself to the ceiling, far in the corner with your senses on fire. You’ve never actually had to attack anyone before. You aren’t entirely sure how this would play out with a gun involved.

Peter Parker’s labored breaths fill your eardrums, and without thinking, you shoot your webs directly at him. He stumbles, clumsily tripping over an empty mop bucket. He looks up at you in confusion. He’s wearing half of his suit.

"You. You just–"

"Shut the fuck up," you hiss, covering his mouth with your palm. In the darkness, your eyes widen. Someone is near.

It’s a stupid ordeal. The crime happening, this meet-cute, the way your senses feel haywire being this close to him. Both of you are holding your breath, your heart is pounding erratically in your chest, and blood is rushing through your ears.

The day ends with you and Peter making it out of the closet through a vent and the shooter getting subdued by the police. A troubled sophomore who barely knew how to use the gun in the first place made it easy for Spider-man to intercept the weapon the moment the kid raised his arms.

Peter follows you home that afternoon like a stray cat, babbling over a game of twenty questions that you aren’t in the mood to entertain. Somehow, his presence leaves your chest feeling warm and light, and you realize that you don’t mind the company. Twenty questions become routine.

He’s the only one who gets it, of course.

He tells you about the Avengers, ignoring the way you scoff under your breath. Secretly, you’re only a little jealous. Not because you want that kind of prestige or even a fancy suit, but because at least there’s a group of freaks out there who know. "How come you didn’t tell me?" Peter asks you. He looks small on your couch despite his sixteen-year-old sleeper build and the fact that he’s taking up more than half of your space.

"What do you mean?"

"If you knew about Spider-Man this whole time… why didn’t you say something?"

"What, like I was supposed to seek you out on the street with a mask on?"

He gives you a pointed look. "You had a feeling about me. In school. Didn’t you?"

You don’t answer, which, to Peter, is an answer in itself.

"I didn’t want to be any trouble. It’s my burden to deal with," you say slowly, blinking up at him.

Burden. Peter smooths the word over in his mind and watches the way your nimble fingers pick at the threads of your sweater. He suddenly feels guilty for pestering you with questions, especially after the trauma of today.

"It’s not a burden," he says carefully. You don’t protest, but he knows there’s a certain level of repression inside you that won't let you give this part of yourself up. As if his knowing about your powers would only be that — knowing. He keeps staring at your fingers.

"You don’t have web shooters?" He gestures to your hands.

"Comes from my fingertips."

"No fucking way. You gotta show me."

"You saw it today," you chuckle as you take a breath.

"Not really," he pouts. The amber-brown of his eyes is annoyingly irresistible, and you know it because of how hot the back of your neck suddenly feels. There’s a hint of a taunting smile on his face, as if he knows.

You take him to the fire escape outside your bedroom window. It’s barely past five and it’s already gotten dark. Luckily, your bedroom faces an empty alley.

"I’m not some circus act, just so you know," you warn him.

"Please," he tuts. "If anything, we both are. Two arachno-freaks."

"You should rebrand as that," you say with a grin.

You shoot a web to the fire escape railing above you, holding yourself up and swinging like you're in P.E. climbing a rope. You feel ridiculous, to say the least. You quickly shoot more webs after a quick scan of your surroundings to swaddle yourself in something resembling a cocoon. It hangs like a playground swing from the metal above.

"Holy shit! Does it ever… run out? Do you get web blocks? Does it come out of anywhere else–"

"I’m not answering that." Your cheeks heat up at the insinuation.

"Sorry, just curious." He holds his palms up in defense, then reaches to touch a fingertip to the silk holding you together. It feels soft like cotton candy and is much less sticky than what came out of his web shooters.

He asks you to swing with him, and for some reason, you say yes. You don’t like to swing very much, and if you do, you try to look for construction sites or abandoned scaffolding to evade attention. Tonight, however, the New York City lights look warm against the velvety backdrop of the sky, and you decide that flying through the air with someone else feels better than doing it alone.

____

He doesn’t understand your desire to stay under the radar. Whenever he brings it up, you take the opportunity to bring up the New York City disasters that have gone underway before the two of you even graduate. If anything, you’ve been a decent backup, but you refuse to be in the public eye. You don’t want to be Spider-girl.

But you don’t mind swinging around the city in your handmade suit, spun and woven together with the silk that flows straight from your fingertips. It’s one thing that Peter’s jealous of, but it helps him when he needs to patch up a wound when he’s on the go with you.

Peter comes through your window with a red gash on his thigh. You can smell him before you see him.

"Ugh, you broke the streak. Five days without a scratch. That’s a record for you, Parker," you sigh, already rummaging through your drawers for the usual first-aid kit.

"I’m fine." He winces as he crouches down carefully on the floor. You’ve gotten good at minding your business and not asking about his wounds, at least not ones that aren’t too deep into the flesh. He knows it would only hurt you if you knew.

"And yet you’re here."

"I wanted to see you. You know I always want to see you."

You open your mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. You kneel before him, pouring hydrogen peroxide onto the gash as you dab gently with a hand towel. He hisses and grabs your forearm with more force than he intends to.

"You’ll be fine," you reassure him gently.

"Yeah. I could've done it, you know," he says as he carefully holds your gaze.

"‘S’fun sometimes," you reply without looking at him. Carefully, you wrap gauze around his leg. "When I was little, my neighbor and I used to play House, but it always turned into, like… Hospital. And I’d pretend to be a nurse and take care of her, I’d tuck her into bed, and I’d give her lollipops from my Halloween stash for being a good patient."

Peter chuckles. He wobbles slightly as he stands up with your help.

"Am I a good patient?"

"Mm. A very brave boy," you say as you pat his cheek.

"What, I don’t get a treat?"

"Your treat is staying alive." You take him by the wrist towards your living room couch.

He doesn’t know what he’d do without you. It’s not right for him to think of you as an extension of himself, but he often yearns for your presence like a phantom limb whenever you aren’t on patrol with him. He realizes you're the yin to his yang.

It excites him, the images of you two that end up on the Internet. How good you look together. You, on the other hand, dread any semblance of perception by the world.

"People are catching on, you know. Ned found a subreddit on you the other day," Peter murmurs into your lap.

You snort, rolling your eyes the way you always do. You fiddle with the soft strands of his hair. It’s second nature to you. "Ned needs to reduce his screen time tenfold."

"Rabbit."

You sigh dramatically at the nickname. He’d adopted it after the many jumpscares he’d give you when he’d sneak into your room at night. You’d become so accustomed to him that your spider-sense would dull when it came to Peter. He was your source of comfort.

"What, Pete?"

"Why don’t you patrol with me?"

"You know why." It’s too stressful. Too public. Too many run-ins with death that you can anticipate.

"It’s better when you’re around."

"You’re a big boy, Peter," you murmur. Your hand slides across his scalp again, this time with your fingertips settling in the space behind his ears. You aren’t looking at him; instead, you are watching the documentary on the television at a low volume. He crumples at your touch.

"May says you’re my guardian angel. Every time something really bad has happened, it always worked out because you were there."

"I mean, it probably helps when you have another Spider-person as a backup."

"I think she’s right, though."

You don’t say anything. You’re tempted to reply with something sardonic or self-deprecating. You put too much faith in me. But you can’t – he’s looking at you with something that you can’t fathom. Something earnest and entirely too fragile. You have to look away.

He hums, sighing into a tattered copy of Hamlet. "I can’t deal with any more Shakespeare."

"You’re such a slow reader despite being a goddamn genius."

"Did you just say something nice about me?" Peter raises a brow.

"Oh my God, relax, Big Bang Theory."

He scoffs and swallows down a smart-ass remark. A grin lingers in his mouth as he settles back into the book.

____

You’re apart from Peter for the first time since age sixteen. You don’t tell him – you don’t tell anyone – but you decide on an out-of-state university because you don’t want to feel tethered to him. Your friends consider you and Peter a package deal, and yes, he’s probably the first real best friend you’ve ever had, but the gnawing inside of you telling you that distance is needed doesn’t stop.

You, the black sheep, are the antithesis of your hero of a best friend, despite being bitten by the same spider. You’ve always wondered if your story was supposed to play out like some sort of Shakespearean tragedy because of your bond with Peter, so you decide to take your mind off of it. At least it won’t be as painful as severing it completely.

It feels free to be away from all the chaos. In Rhode Island, you can focus on your art and fold your feelings away in a neat little envelope. You’d rather die than let any of that out, especially when Peter insists on such frequent FaceTime calls.

Sometimes, you fall asleep to the sound of his voice. He tells you about taking a train down to Providence in the middle of September to visit you like some kind of long distance boyfriend. The thought makes something in your stomach bloom and stagger in the same way. He doesn’t keep his promise – chem labs are already kicking his ass halfway to Thanksgiving break, not to mention the crime rate in New York City rockets beyond normal.

Thanksgiving comes, and both of you are the same. Peter is exactly as boyish as you left him three months ago, though his brown hair has grown longer and he wears blue-light readers to help with the mild headaches he gets from staring at screens.

He isn't attached to your hip like you expected. Your week off is filled with missed texts and a marathon of TV shows about broken women—the kind with dark humor and falling in love with priests.

The next time you see him, your roommate is out of town. It's not an unusual occurrence given how little she spends time in the dorm, always elsewhere with her new boyfriend.

Peter takes up so much space in your bed that you almost offer to push the two twin beds together, but the feeling of his warmth is too comforting. Propped against the wall, you’re hip-to-hip with him as you scroll through Netflix on your laptop.

You can feel him staring. It becomes routine, or maybe it’s your senses, but you can always tell when he’s merely observing you, watching you carefully like ripples on a pond. You've never really chastised him about it, but it doesn't help that you know he can tell when you're nervous. He has you memorized.

He likes the way you look when you concentrate. Sometimes, when you’re deep in thought, he likes to take his thumb and smooth out the ridges of your furrowed brows even though you end up swatting him away. When he does this now, you look up at him with wide, doe eyes.

"Still as indecisive as ever."

"I have to be, otherwise you’ll just put on Gilmore Girls," you scoff.

"You’re the one who showed me that!" Peter protests.

"And then it was the only thing you wanted to watch to the point where I genuinely considered locking you out of my Netflix account!"

He doesn’t bother to argue, instead resorting to poking you in the side. You squirm immediately, yelping as he continues. He flashes you a leering grin as you whine in dissent, flinching from the feather-like touch of his fingertips dancing across your skin.

"You’re so annoying," you huff, curling your body toward the wall.

"And you love it."

More than you’d ever know.

You pause, rolling your eyes at him. You contemplate kicking him again just to get a rise out of him, anything other than the short silence between you that feels more present than it should be. Your stomach feels warm at his proximity, but then again, Peter’s built like a human furnace anyway.

When you attempt to playfully shove him, he catches your wrist with quick reflexes until the two of you are tangled together. It’s easy to fight with him when you’re both running off the same biological fuel. When he ends up on top of you, you forget how to breathe.

The two of you stare at each other like this, as if frozen in time. It’s you who looks away first, then back to his big brown eyes, settling a palm to his cheek. You can feel how hard he is. You wonder if he knows.

It’s something you’ve only thought about in your subconscious, in dreams, or in moments when you’re bandaging his wounds. How would it feel to have his skin all over yours? It’s a selfish thought, but it rings in your brain without warning at times like these, times of such closeness. The spider bit the two of you for a reason. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.

It’s a curious thing for sure, but there are doors you don’t want to open yet.

"One episode and then I pick a movie," you mumble.

____

You don’t tell him about transferring when you come back for Christmas break. It feels embarrassing, despite knowing that he’d be ecstatic about the news. RISD proved to be too difficult for your one-track mind as you found yourself sleeping in more and more, flaking on the most rigorous of classes due to your mood. You’d successfully gotten into Pratt for the next semester and were fully moved out, thankfully. But when you see Peter in the arms of another, you wish you hadn't left.

You should’ve expected it, maybe. Peter had always had a thing for Michelle Jones but could never quite get past the friend zone. It seems as though your absence has nudged him further.

No, that feels too selfish to say.

But it’s still too difficult to bear in the loneliness of December, knowing that when the New Year’s parties hit, you’re still the black sheep. Even in a shiny little dress.

You don’t see him much over winter break, but he gets you a silver necklace for Christmas with a spider pendant hanging on it. It’s more sentimental than you expect, and it’s the nicest gift you’ve ever received. It certainly beats the Lego set you’d gotten for him.

Now, in your black cocktail dress, you smile dopily at Ned Leeds as the rest of the room counts down at the television, waiting for the ball to drop. It’s bittersweet when you remember last year’s countdown, in which Peter insisted the two of you swung out to Manhattan to watch the ball drop in person. You remember how much you wanted to kiss him then, but you didn’t. Thank God for his hero's anonymity and the impediment of his suit.

"Five, four, three, two, one – Happy New Year!"

Makeshift confetti falls to the ground as you watch him and MJ kiss. There’s enough champagne in your system for your heart to grow warm at the sight of it.

____

January is cold. Desolate. Even if you have your friends around you in New York, the place that feels most like home, you’ve come to realize. But there’s still something missing, something lacking. Like you’re inside a familiar place inside a dream.

You ignore the itch, learning to numb it with champagne. It worked on New Year’s, and now it’s been working for several weeks. You don’t leave your apartment.

Even though Peter Parker is a text or phone call away, you fade into the background of his life, watching him through newsreels and YouTube videos. You’re on his mind more than you’d expect. He doesn’t know why, though he does realize that your absence bothers him in small ways.

Sometimes, when he’s on patrol, he’s frustrated by his loneliness, especially in the dead of winter. You were never one to play the hero – he knew that – but it was still comforting to have someone to patch up his wounds or soften his fall. The webs that flow from your fingertips have always been strong, enough to form hammocks in between the corners of his bedroom or a makeshift suit.

And then there are the dreams. They feel real, vivid, and much too physical for something that his mind could conjure in his unconscious. You had only kissed him once before (in real life, that is), at a stupid basement party in the ninth grade, before the two of you were friends, but shortly after the initial spider bite. Although it’s something that’s only been brought up as a joke these past few years, Peter remembers vividly how hard his heart was pounding when the glass bottle landed on you after what felt like an excruciatingly long spin. He could never forget the feeling. He wonders if you feel the same.

It’s not something he should be thinking about right now. Especially when you’re not his girlfriend. He’d rather die a thousand deaths than have you know what you do to him in his dreams when you’re nothing but a reverie of your own silk-spun webs and soft, bare skin. You treat him like prey. He loves it.

Peter can nearly smell you, that sandalwood-citrus shampoo of yours, and your warm breath over his face. Your little whispers of praise, your tiny whimpers. The image of your eyes struggling to stay open while you’re underneath him is burned into his brain.

"I missed you," you say breathlessly. "Missed you so much."

God, how is this a dream? He can feel you so clearly. Until he doesn't, and he wakes up with a groan, an exhale, and an excess of sweat on his brow. Not to mention a dampness below him.

"Fucking Christ," he curses under his breath.

The ghost of you is on his bedroom ceiling, in the corner of his room. Something nearby smells like you, even though you haven’t been in his room in ages. This makes something in his chest hurt until he decides to get out of bed.

He wants to see you, but he feels guilty knowing what he's just dreamt about. He can’t help that the person that makes him feel the most human is the only other one who shares the venom in his blood.

Sometimes he follows you. It feels almost meditative for him to sit on a rooftop and watch you from the window of your favorite cafe, reading and writing and breathing. The brightness of his phone screen illuminates his face as his eyes scan over your contact. Your face smiles back at him, but there’s a distance considering the lack of texts between the two of you over the past month. He sighs as he zooms in on your location – the two of you had shared each others’ years ago and only found it convenient to keep.

Peter doesn’t know why he’s feeling all this yearning all of a sudden – sometimes he recognizes the feeling in his body and he thinks of you and he thinks of safety. Other times, like now, he knows that it only breeds guilt.

But he misses being quiet with you, misses the mundane intimacies of him poking you and you fixing his hair. All the small expressions you make with your face that only he notices. There’s something empty in the space he usually holds for you in his heart, and he doesn’t know why.

He has to see you. Maybe then, something in his brain will click, or he’ll see you as the old friend you’ve always been, and he can blame the heat in his body on his subconscious.

You’re predictable with your routine, because this afternoon, he finds you in your usual spot by the window at your favorite cafe again. You’re writing in your journal with your noise-canceling headphones on, so Peter’s presence is completely unknown to you. After he gets his coffee, he watches you from afar, just for a little bit.

As if on cue, you already know. The moment you skip a song and a millisecond of silence fills the space in your head, you feel him immediately. You always know when he’s around.

"Peter," you murmur without thinking. Your gaze is soft but carries the surprise of a deer caught in headlights.

"Hey," he smiles. "Mind if I sit here?"

He gestures to the armchair across from you, and you nod.

Peter knows how to coax your warmth from you, because within minutes, he has you talking about school, what’s on your mind, and why it feels better to be holed up in a cafe than sit miserably at home. You do the same for him, though you notice he’s more reserved for some reason – he’s tight-lipped about MJ, and doesn’t delve into the details of his hero work. He prefers to bombard you with questions instead, listening intently to your most recent fixations or the newest movie you saw alone in theaters.

"You replaced me yet, Rabbit?" he teases you.

"Never," you scoff, tipping your coffee cup to hide any embarrassment on your face. You haven’t heard him call you that in so long. "You know me. I’m a lone wolf."

"Pratt seems like your crowd though, no? No one at Midtown High was a match for you. You were way too cool."

"Mmm, true, yet you’re my best friend."

"Hey!"

Your laugh is like a song to him; he can’t help but smile ear to ear when he hears it.

"The only person who talks to me at school is this guy Cam from my ceramics class. He’s actually from Brooklyn so we took the train together to get home and he’s around for break, which is cool."

Peter’s face nearly goes cold at the sound of someone else’s name, though he stays composed.

"Fun. Are you two…" He gestures vaguely.

"We hooked up like, once, but I don’t really know where it’s going." You say it so nonchalantly like it’s an afterthought. You’re not even looking at Peter.

"If he fucks anything up, you know where to find me."

You smile, rolling your eyes in that bashful way you do when you shrug things off, and it’s more apparent to Peter now how much he adores all your little quirks and mannerisms. He realizes that he might have them all memorized.

"We’re actually going to a party tonight if you want to come. A friend of a friend’s birthday party in Manhattan, I think? I think her name was Anna?"

"Oh, my friend Gwen knows her and invited me!"

"Small world." You swallow down the image of Peter at the party with an ESU girl for a second, and it feels rough in your throat. But you’ll manage. You always do. "Is MJ coming?"

Peter shakes his head. "Ah, she’s in Philly visiting family. I’ll probably go with Gwen and her boyfriend Harry, though."

You feel shame in your relief. It’s sickening how much you have to bury your desire and your tenderness because you know better. You know that even though the two of you were bitten by the same spider, it doesn’t mean you’re necessarily compatible. Sometimes you think your attraction to Peter is some biological fluke determined by the cells in both of your bodies. And then you think, God, how can anyone look into his brown eyes and not feel a thing?

You're both warm in your chests as you part ways, waiting for your next meeting.

____

The night of the party, Peter revels in the sight of you wearing your spider necklace, which sparkles under the flashing lights of the penthouse apartment you’re both in. His mood dampens when he notices the tall boy attached to your hip like a guard dog.

It’s a stupid game and he knows it. The way he pretends not to see you or acknowledge your presence is cruel, but it feels safe for now. He doesn’t feel ready. He’s high off some gummy that Harry had given him an hour earlier, and it’s still fogging his senses, and even though he can be cloudy and nonchalant at this party, his paranoia precedes him. It feels like you’re everywhere.

He shouldn’t feel this way. Why does he feel this way? You’re his best friend and you have your own life that’s separate from his – he knew this would happen the moment he found out you were going to different colleges. Despite that, there’s a piece of you tethered to him that he can’t bear to cut off. It makes him feel sane, the parts of you that you’ve given him.

But now, he sees you laughing and swaying your hips with someone else’s hands resting on your waist and it makes his face burn.

"Dude," Gwen snaps her fingers in front of his face. Peter blinks back at her. "Are you good?"

"Yeah, sorry."

"Harry wanted to do a shot, you want to join?"

Peter nods numbly, following the blonde to the kitchen. He watches everyone else in the kitchen pour shots and drinks like they are rehearsed marionettes. Harry snaps him out of his daze once he slams down a shot glass full of vodka in front of him.

"Drink up, Parker!" Harry cheers.

The alcohol burns Peter’s throat, but he feels the head rush and the warmth. It feels good, makes him feel looser. Malleable. Invincible, maybe, if he took two or three more. But he knows he has to pace himself. He hates that his default setting is to look for you no matter where he is. But when he scans the room this time, you’re downing a glass of champagne alone.

Your body feels heavy at the moment, so you don’t register him plopping down on the couch next to you. You wake up to the sound of his voice as you always do.

"Hey, you."

"Hey."

Your glass of champagne is empty, so you take the beer bottle out of Peter’s hand without saying a word, and he lets you. He watches you gulp a bit of it down. Maybe you’re a little too drunk. Maybe you’re imagining the way his eyes scan your body.

You’re drunk enough to feel social, but truthfully, you’re deathly afraid of being alone with anyone right now. Being alone with someone would make you feel much too raw and vulnerable, so you convince Peter to introduce you to his friends that you’ve never met, and you try to cope with the fact that they look like they were cut straight out of a magazine.

"Peter talks about you all the time," Gwen gushes, sipping from her champagne flute.

"He does?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course," she nods incessantly.

"Only incredible reviews all around," Harry nods, drunkenly slinging an arm around Peter’s shoulders. The brunette smiles sheepishly, bashfully. You raise an eyebrow at him along with a coy smile.

"Should hope so," you tease. "He wouldn’t have gotten through high school without me."

It’s mostly a lie considering Peter was the star student and you were barely second to him. Maybe fifth or sixth. In a way, your words are true, because Peter’s agreeing with you.

You zone out as he starts a story from junior year and you have half the mind to chime in when needed. Harry suddenly puts a whisky coke in your hand and you don’t want to refuse out of politeness, but you know the mix of different alcohol will have your head banging in the morning. Peter downs half of his within a millisecond.

"What?" he asks when he notices you making a face.

"Since when do you drink so much?"

"It’s a party," he shrugs.

"Peter, when I brought you to your first party, you refused to drink anything that wasn’t a fruity canned cocktail. You won’t go near wine let alone whiskey."

"A semester at ESU changes you," Harry interjects. "He’s still a little fruity, though."

Peter chastises him as you and Gwen laugh. As the boys bicker, Gwen gets your attention. She asks you mundane questions, like your major, your zodiac sign, and what you thought of the season finale of White Lotus. You’re grateful when she beckons you to follow her to the kitchen to make another whiskey coke.

Her glossed lips twist to the side, eyes bright with a teasing glance. She has the ability to make you feel calm, almost excited to be there.

"He is obsessed with you," she sneers.

"What do you mean?"

"He just talked about you so much when we met him that I had to stalk your Insta, and I was like Jesus Christ, that makes so much sense. If I wasn’t with Harry I’d snatch you up myself. And then when I met his girlfriend and I was confused that it wasn’t you. Unless you’re doing that, like, exes-that-are-still-best-friends thing."

You blush and nearly choke on your drink. "Peter and I never dated."

"Seriously?"

You say nothing, only forcing an amused smile. You don’t know where to put her assumptions, but you sure as hell can’t keep them.

"I’m actually, uh, here with someone," you mutter, pretending to look around. Briefly, you lock eyes with Peter on the couch, who’s pretending to listen to Harry's rambling. Your eyes flit away quickly. "I think I might step outside for a smoke and look for him."

You don’t have to turn around to know that Peter’s eyes are following you. Or maybe you’re just drunk and projecting. Gwen’s bubbly nature makes her seem like the type to gossip, and just because your best friend happened to talk about you doesn’t mean that there was anything under the surface. But then you notice his slightly nervous energy tonight, the silver necklace around your neck, and the last time he visited you months before, when his body was so close to yours.

A pair of hands situate themselves on your waist and it makes you jump. The warmth feels different, as does the sudden smell of sharp cologne, and then you feel your heart drop the slightest bit when you hear his voice.

"Was looking for you," Cam slurs. You can smell the beer breath as he exhales on your neck, making you shiver.

"You sure? Because you’ve been MIA for like forty-five minutes."

You try to keep your voice even, sighing when he plants a kiss on your neck. Any animosity in your tone is completely ignored.

"I was catching up with some people that I wanted to introduce you to," he says, tugging you along by the wrist like a child. You pull up a chair to a firepit surrounded by a group of strangers, and the charade of icebreakers returns. There’s no point in remembering anyone’s name.

You think about returning inside to look for Peter or maybe Gwen and Harry, but being on Cam’s lap is distracting you. At some point, a joint a passed around, and the feeling of the boy’s arms around you makes it easy to melt into nothing.

____

You’re right. You always are. Peter Parker doesn’t drink, and he’s never drunk this much in his entire life. He’s been sitting in the bathtub for… how long? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that his senses were dulled to the point of detachment and he needed to get alone to ground himself.

He’s so out of it that he doesn’t realize someone’s knocking on the door of the bathroom, and his reaction time is too slow before Harry barges in.

"Are you hiding in the bathtub?" Harry squints.

"No, I’m just… hangin’ out," Peter stammers.

Harry snaps out of the facade of a confused daze and shrugs, unbuckling his belt with nonchalance in front of the toilet.

"Dude!"

"What? I’m turned around!"

Sighing, Peter looks around his surroundings. Generic brand shampoo and conditioner. A deformed bar of soap. A red solo cup with clear liquid. He remembers suddenly – he’d filled an empty cup he found with sink water before getting in the tub.

His brain swims with dizziness and mild nausea that mix up his stomach. Gulping down the water, his throat burns immediately, only to realize that it isn’t water at all. It’s fucking vodka and seltzer. Harry’s turned around again, cackling before washing his hands.

"Idiot."

"Fuckingshitjesusfuckingchrist," Peter groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You should just drink straight vodka at this point, man."

"Oh, I do," Harry agrees. He crouches down, squatting to meet Peter at eye level. A warm palm taps Peter’s cheek. "You good, bro?"

"Mmm," Peter nods. His breathing turns shallow as he hunches over, pulling his knees into his chest.

"Jesus, you need to get home, don’t you?"

"‘m fine. You go home."

"Gwen’s been nagging me to for the past ten minutes, so I might. I’d let you crash on the couch, but we’re getting up early to go upstate. How are you getting home, bro?"

Harry frowns when he realizes Peter is barely listening. "Pete!"

He grimaces at Harry’s constant fidgeting. With an annoyed sigh, he shoos the other boy away with flailing arms.

"Heard you," he slurs. "I’ll– I’ll share an Uber with Y/N."

Harry sighs with exasperation, pulling Peter’s arm forcefully to get him out of the tub and down to the living room of the house. Peter is dizzy in his vision, clumsy in his movements, but finds clarity when he glances towards the couch and sees you sitting there with furrowed brows.

"Peter? Are you okay?" you ask.

"Yeah, absolutely not," Harry says. "Gwen and I gotta head home and we’re leaving early tomorrow so he can’t crash. You guys are like, neighbors, right?"

You swallow a lump in your throat, briefly turning your head to glance back at Cam, then back at Peter. He looks at you with a guilty cadence, though his eyes lull with a tiredness that is unusual for him. He’s corpse-like, still hanging onto Harry’s shoulder like a lifeline. It makes the pit of your stomach stir.

It’s unlike him, to be this drunk. The only other time Peter has been this drunk was once in high school, when he was slurring his words all night and determined to clutch you like a teddy bear in his twin-sized bed. You recall his warmth and how his post-puberty figure appeared gargantuan to your body. Foreign, but warm. Comforting. When you think about taking Peter home tonight, you feel like you aren’t allowed to lay next to a body that doesn’t belong to you.

"Yeah, I’ll take him home."

____

"Coulda swung home myself," the boy mumbles. You hit him on the arm and give him a chastising look. Thankfully, your current Uber driver speaks a limited amount of English, not to mention the radio is on blast.

"You couldn’t have. You’re so fucking drunk, you’d kill yourself," you hiss in a low tone.

"Not if you were with me."

"Well, I wouldn’t be. I wasn’t even gonna go home tonight."

"Ah. Of course. Cam,” he exasperates. “Is he your boyfriend?"

You sigh. "No, he’s not."

"Right, you don’t… you don’t do boyfriends," Peter murmurs, rubbing his face with the palm of his hand.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing."

The car stops in front of Peter’s apartment building.

"Thank you," you say stiffly to the Uber driver as you drag Peter out of the car. The elevator ride is awkward and quiet, as is the fumbling of keys when Peter tries to unlock the door.

He leans on your body as you coerce him into his bedroom, with him thumping onto his bottom bunk.

"Jesus. I feel like if Richie Rich called you an Uber himself you could’ve easily made it up the elevator by yourself. Right, Pete?"

"Mhmm. He’s such. A worry wart. For some rea–" Peter makes a gulping sound that makes your face pale. Immediately, you grab his trash bin and place it between his feet.

"‘m not gonna puke."

"I think you might, Peter."

He pauses and examines you as you kneel in front of him. He’s so drunk, so awfully drunk, but he has enough sense in him to take the caution that the anxious voice in the back of his head commands. But fuck, you look so pretty. He doesn’t know what to do about it.

Peter takes a strand of your hair in his hands and curls it around his finger. His shallow breaths feel louder than they should be. Or maybe they’re yours. He can’t really tell.

"What?"

"Nothing," he shrugs. "I won’t vomit. I promise."

You sigh.

"I should get going–"

"Can you stay for a little?"

Swallowing, you nod. You get into bed with him, because, quite frankly, you’ve had your fair share of alcohol tonight, and laying down in Peter’s warm bed makes you want to melt off the bone.

"I'm sorry for fucking up your night." Peter turns to lie on his side and drapes an arm carefully around you. His hand is feather-bare on your hip.

"You didn’t."

"You were gonna go home with Cam."

"It’s fine, Peter. I wanted to make sure you were safe."

"Like a chore."

"Not like a chore."

"Yeah, okay."

He does that thing again – holds a strand of your hair in his hands. He runs his fingertips nimbly across your scalp as if he’s handling an injured bird. As if he’s afraid you’d bite.

Your eyes are huge, like flying saucers. He used to say that all the time, especially whenever you came to his apartment after experimenting with any new drugs. You only felt safe with him – you had told him that – and he took care of you and your big eyes and your tendencies toward erratic behavior. He always knew how to calm you down. And now, in your adult lives, you were doing it for him.

You let him keep his hands in your hair and he doesn’t know why. There’s a theory he wants to test – one that he dreams about even when he knows he shouldn’t. He thinks about it in vulnerable moments. He considers that maybe this is a vulnerable moment.

His fingertips trace your face between the edge of your eyebrow and the baby hairs on your hairline. He taps along your temple gently, smoothing across the softness of your skin until he sculpts down your cheek and jaw. He blinks once, then twice. And then he rests the pad of his thumb on the corner of your mouth.

Almost automatically, you part your lips. Your mouth is pink, dusted with a purplish-red in the center from the merlot you’d drank hours before, and he wants to lick it off you.

He feels your heart beating, too, and you can hear his. It's a loud bang that resonates in between your eardrums. It’s that shared venom that makes your bodies so acquainted with one another. You briefly consider whether a human body can overheat and burn away simply by being touched by another. You wonder how human the two of you can really be.

You close your eyes.

"What are you doing?" you whisper. Your voice is gossamer-thin, barely there, but you’re so close to him that he hears it so clearly.

"Whatever you want." His voice is dripping honey.

You shake your head, still with your eyes closed. Peter’s hand descends to your jaw, thumb on your bone, with the rest of his fingers warming up your neck. You feel like you might just choke on the feeling of it.

"No, that’s not fair. That’s not… okay."

"What?"

"You’re drunk, Peter. Don’t do that to me. Please."

"What am I doing?"

Your face scrunches up as your eyes open to look at him with a pained expression. You have to close them again. You don’t want to look at him. You want his hands off of you, so you push them away.

"You’re with MJ."

"I… I know."

Your face is crumpled as you inch out of his bed. You’re back to kneeling on the floor in front of him.

"Please don’t leave," Peter whispers.

"I’m tired. I’ll sleep on the top bunk," you mumble. You try not to let him catch you sniffling.

"Goodnight.” You don’t respond.

He falls asleep shortly after and smells your perfume even in his dreams. When he wakes up, he smells you. But you’re nowhere to be found. There’s only the cold air coming from a crack of his window left slightly open.

____

It’s not your fault, but you’ve broken his heart a million times. The night of the party was the most recent one. To be fair, he had also broken your heart. He was just too fucking drunk to remember most of it.

You’ve become a ghost, barely texting Peter back, and when you do, your responses are short and clipped. You don’t have much time to hang out, and he realizes he doesn’t either, not when he has MJ to spend time with along with his Spider-Man duties.

But he would make time for you if you wanted it. He wonders if you know that. He feels too ashamed to tell you that himself.

It’s been like this before, and he’s been able to cope. The way you’re on his brain and won’t leave —stuck on him like a parasite. It’s his fault, he decides, not yours. He knows he’s not being fair. Not to you, not to MJ, not to himself. But he keeps it all in and hopes it doesn’t boil over.

Truthfully, Peter wants to avoid everyone. He understands now why you abhor winter to the degree that you always have. The desolation is too much to bear when there’s not much sunlight in January to activate dopamine receptors, so Peter sleeps in longer than he should. Late enough for Aunt May to get on his case about it.

"Something’s up with you," MJ accuses him on a Thursday evening. It’s one of their ritual movie nights with pizza and wine.

"Huh? Nothing’s up," Peter shrugs.

"No, I know you. Something’s wrong."

"I’m fine, Em." A lie.

It’s a miracle that Michelle Jones sees through Peter’s bullshit because it means that she has the incentive to protect herself from any future bullshit that may break her later on. Peter is too numb to process any of it. There was the refusal of admission, the attempt to keep up the wall of his emotions, which crashed down soon enough by the time MJ was out of the door.

He thinks he should call you, but he doesn’t.

____

Peter is used to scrapes and bruises. He’s seen more than enough charred flesh than a nineteen-year-old should. You had never asked to be his caretaker, but over the course of years, that was what you became. His guardian angel.

He used to make excuses to come over after patrol, trying to coax you out of your nest of a room for just an evening. He'd always known you were far more talented than you gave yourself credit for when it came to spider abilities, but it felt more like a curse than a gift for you to bear.

Some nights, he dreams of you falling stories beneath him. Your face is covered in rubble and ash, and although his nightmares often start with this, he knows that somehow, it’s his fault. It feels visceral, the burning in his calloused hands. Torn lycra to show the dirt underneath his fingernails. Hot tears dripping.

He starts taking that Ambien you gave him years ago.

After that, each day passes like he’s trapped in a nightmarish purgatory. No, that’s an exaggeration. He’s just a victim of a New York winter, and he misses you more than he wants to admit to himself or anyone else.

"I can take care of myself." And with that, the image of you disappears.

"I know," he murmurs softly. He’s always known. It is insignificant in comparison to how badly he wants to take care of you if you let him. Your voice echoes in the cavern of his room. You get farther away by the second until you disappear completely, and he evidently wakes up.

Even in your worst state, he’s obsessed with your honeyed skin. It doesn’t matter the number of bruises or cuts – he caresses them all with his nimble fingertips, and he’s ready to kiss them until they heal. He thinks about this sometimes, how much he cares for you and your body. What he'd do if you just let him in, let him devour you however he pleases, and it disgusts him.

In his dreams where you’re hurt, he’s willing to sacrifice whatever he can so that you can revert to your clean, unbothered state. I’d never let anyone break you. It’s a prayer for him. One that he whispers in your ear whenever he can, at least in these dreams. In reality, he knows that he has to let you go because he knows you. Knows how much you want to be free and alone. How you can take care of yourself. You’re not a damsel in distress – you never have been. But Peter feels like he was made to care for you. It would gut him all the same regardless of whether you loved him or not, and he was willing.

When it’s real, he doesn’t know what to do. He didn’t ever think the two of you would be in this position.

He’s been in enough battles to know how these things end. Mr. Stark had walked him through it all and been by his side while the rest of the Avengers repaired the other broken bits of the universe.

Right now is one of those unique times, the quiet and wretched ones, where Peter is contemplating breath after breath before imagining the full picture. Shambles of the street he’s in. The ache of his bruised body and the blood that he sees from yours, that he shouldn’t have seen, because you said it yourself. You’re not a fucking hero. So why is your blood streaked on the palm of his hands?

The distance between you and Peter doesn’t matter – it never does. The moment you’d felt a dread stirring in your stomach, there was a sharp pain in your head that refused to leave unless the working adrenaline in your body was satiated. It wasn’t the same adrenaline that circulated within you from a night of debauchery – instead, it felt like poison. A compulsory kind of pain, a sharp jolt to your senses. Tonight, you’d felt Peter in danger, and it would’ve killed you if you couldn’t get to him. He'd been the destination you'd been dead set on by the end of the night because of your spider instincts.

The police broadcast was too muffled for you to understand much of it, but you picked out the parts where Spider-Man was mentioned and followed through on them. Although you didn’t fall into the shadow of his hero work, you still kept enough tabs on Peter to know where he would usually be on patrol. It wasn’t like he knew, or that you’d ever told him, but when he was starting out as another guard dog for the Avengers in high school, you needed to at least know his approximate location in the event that something went terribly wrong.

An explosion blasts in the center of a park, where the two of you would meet in the middle between Queens and Stark Tower. This is where you lay your courage down. This is where you find Spider-Man’s mangled body before anyone else does.

"Peter," you huff. "S’gonna be okay. You with me? I’m gonna make sure you’re okay."

He’s just less than conscious, the stretch of his animated eyes limited by his weakness. When he sees your face, however, his face glows – not that you can see it through his mask.

He says your name with a fervor that surprises you. His voice is raspy.

"‘m fine. I have to stay," he grunts, his pain palpable. You know that he’s telling the truth, but you don’t want to leave him alone in his misery.

"Peter. You’re hurt."

"You go home. I’ll come find you later. Just let me–"

"You’re fucking limping."

You had always carried yourself like a feather-like, lithe ghost. Quiet, whereas Peter was bold, despite the fact that his anxious nature had rendered him a boyish thing all these years. This is why he’s surprised that you carry him easily with your supernatural strength. He forgets that you have the same abilities as him. If anything, he’d think you were stronger than him in every way.

Even with his thick skin, he melts into something malleable, comfortable. The solace of your arms makes him feel better already.

A pang of small guilt rots away within him, knowing the circumstances of your last meeting. You’re too good. He didn’t deserve to be saved by you, to be patched up with your nimble fingers like he had been treated when he was younger and more naive.

"I can make it to my place, it’s okay," he rasps gently.

You don’t have to say anything, because bullshit radiates through the stern expression of your eyes, your mouth in a grimace. You had always been stubborn and today isn’t an exception. With your webs, you crochet a path for him toward your home, lifting and catching the boy effortlessly as you swing.

A gentle sigh escapes his mouth when the two of you crawl into the safety of your fire escape. The night is quiet behind you. When he looks at you, you have to look away, fixing your hair nervously or occupying your gaze anywhere but in his direction. His eyes are poignant in their longing, though you’re unsure of what he could be thinking. If he’s sorry about before. If he’s ashamed.

Your wispy webs wrap around the parts of him that hurt, but you wince when you check on him to see that the white fibers are slowly saturated with the dark crimson of his open wounds.

"Peter, you have to wash up," you whisper. "Shit’s gonna get infected. I can put some gauze on you after you shower."

He nods wordlessly when you ask him if he can manage the shower on his own. He feels vulnerable, and although your presence is always desired by him, he finds relief in the hot steam of your shower, alone with his thoughts. He’s still shaken from the explosion. Not completely catatonic, but tense. As if he isn’t in his body at all.

When Peter emerges from the bathroom, he looks like a stranger. Scars adorn his sides. Your face crumples at the sight of his fresh wounds.

"C’mere."

It doesn’t take you long to fix him up, cleaning his cuts and wrapping gauze around his stomach and chest. His quiet grunts startle you, as if he's a wild animal. Eyes screwed shut, brows cinched in pain. A heavy exhale and a mumbled apology followed.

You forgive him with a soft touch and a hushed whisper. He wishes the ache would stop. He wishes he could lie on your bed and have you whisper in his ear all night until the sound of your voice lulls him to sleep.

There aren’t many words exchanged, and you want to ask him why. If you did something. But then you think about the images on the news and his withered face, and you decide not to probe the sphere of trauma surrounding him. Peter has probably gone through more in the last twelve hours than you have in a week.

You stop him before he tries to make it out of your bedroom door and towards the living room.

"I don’t mind sleeping on the couch, I’ve done it before."

"It’s like sleeping on a rock, Parker. You just gone through God knows what," you chide. "Just… get in here."

As he breathes in and out, he nestles in your shoulder, his clean hair tickling your bare skin. There’s a nasty guilt that lurches from your sternum. As if you were the reason for his pain. For the state of his body. And you think back to the desperate look in Peter’s eyes the night you took him home from the party. Were you too cruel, then?

It’s like he steals the words from your mouth. He beats you to it.

"I’m sorry," Peter murmurs. His amber eyes blink up at you, unfathomable. You flash him a downturned grin.

"For what?"

"I feel like… there’s been a distance between us lately. And I don’t want that, because you’re my best friend. And now you’re taking care of me when you don’t have to. I just wanted you to know that I really appreciate it. That I, um, lo–," he stammers. He chews on his bottom lip. "You’re really good."

"‘m not all that good, Peter."

But of course, you are, he protests in his head. You are the moon and the stars and everything in between.

"I’m sorry for not being around."

"Not just your fault," you shrug. "Phone works both ways."

He knows you better than you think because, within seconds, his palm rests softly on your cheek, where he feels a hot tear.

"What’s up, Spidey?" he asks you. It makes you laugh.

"Shut up." You shake your head, trying to hide your face. The feeling of his thumb rubbing your cheek makes the tears flow even more. "I wouldn’t know what I’d do if something bad happened to you. If I couldn’t get to you. Or if you – if you were gone."

"I’m okay, Rabbit. We’re okay."

"Yeah," you chuckle, trying to hide your tears.

"Couldn’t get rid of me if you tried."

You feel warmer in his grasp. His small breaths fall on your arm as his body curls up next to you. He’s bigger than he’d been before back when you were teenagers. The jaw is chiseled and sharp. Not as soft and boyish as you once knew. With your senses, you can discern the steadiness of his heartbeat as his chest rises and falls into slumber. You fall asleep soon after, dreamless but full of warmth.

____

Waking up next to him is nothing new, but it’s been years. You never thought anything of it when the two of you were sixteen, staying up all night reading creepypastas and watching movies until you’d fall asleep on top of each other by four in the morning.

After a night’s sleep, Peter's sullen face is a bit brighter despite his dark circles. His limbs are entangled in yours, bodies fused together. Yin and yang. You can only assume that this is how it will always be.

You keep mental notes of him like trinkets. The uneven slant in his left eyebrow. The faint freckles dotted along his nose, the one near the corner of his mouth. The faint shadow of hollowed-out cheeks. Peter is still half-boy to you, and half-man, but you didn’t want to come to terms with it. Maybe he was something else. Half-ghost. Half-angel.

Slowly, over the course of a few weeks, he comes back to you again. Sitting together and reading at a cafe. The occasional 3 am swing. Walking around high at the 7-11.

"Did you like Rhode Island?" he asks over a joint one night.

You hum for a second, trying to come up with an acceptable answer. It wasn’t that you hated being in Rhode Island. It was that you hated being away from him.

So instead, you shrug. "It was nice to get away from everything. Providence is still a city, but it isn't as large as all this–”

You trail off, making a vague gesture with your hands. Chaos, Peter presumes.

"Less overwhelming?"

"Sure," you say, nodding. "I missed being home, though."

I missed you.

Peter passes you the joint. His brain feels fuzzy. Warm. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. He massages your ankle absentmindedly.

"I get it," he says, breaking the silence.

"You get what?"

"Wanting to leave. I've been thinking about it," Peter shrugs, his eyes squinting in the late afternoon sun. "Sometimes I wish we could pack our bags and go to the countryside. See some cows and shit."

We. We. We.

"There are cows upstate," you snort.

"You know what I mean."

"We can do a road trip."

"You can’t drive."

"I am aware and perfectly fine with being a passenger princess. In fact, I’m looking forward to it," you grin.

He yanks your ankle this time, causing you to slip from where you’re sitting on the pavement. Giggling, you swat away his hands, but he’s too quick, untying your shoelaces as you kick and thrash.

"Honestly, it’s probably better for society if you never get behind the wheel," Peter teases. He dodges you when you try to kick him in the shin.

"Oh, but you can be? You get so distracted so easily! Whenever you’d practice driving, you’d miss so many exits or be too anxious to merge on the highway."

"Okay, well, you’re just a force of distraction," he shrugs, throwing his hands up in defeat. "You have that effect on people."

You look at him quizzically, your eyes narrowing. If there’s anything behind his statement, he doesn’t show it on his face. Peter knows his cheeks are burning, however.

There are more moments like these. Ever since you’d rescued Peter that night, he’s grown accustomed to spending hours of his day idly looking for you, learning your class schedule, and following you home like a pet when it’s time to unwind. He stays for hours like he used to when you were kids, and although he always thinks he’s overstaying his welcome, you don’t seem affected.

You curl into him more these days, like a sunflower stretching toward the morning glow. There are more lingering touches, here and there. You have to remind yourself not to get too comfortable, but God, he makes it so easy.

So the burning question pops out during a marathon of Chainsaw Man.

"Does MJ care that we hang out so much?" you blurt out. He looks at you like you have three heads. Also, his mouth is full.

"Um, webrobrup," he mumbles. He frowns as he looks down. Hot Cheeto fingers.

You mock him, of course.

"English, yeah?"

He chuckles as he finishes scarfing it all down. He shyly licks his fingertips, and you have to stop yourself from staring at the way his fingers enter his mouth. Ugh, gross. This is hardly supposed to be hot.

"We broke up."

You keep a straight face. It’s not like you’re excited or anything. You realize you shouldn’t be surprised because… why else would he be so available to you lately?

"Shit. You really fumbled, then."

"Shut up," he laughs.

"Seriously. Who else is gonna wanna put up with you?" You both know the answer to that.

"It was mutual," he says, shrugging. "I’ve got all my Spider-man shit, she’s getting into a bunch of extracurriculars and even a research internship even though we’re literally first years."

"Classic MJ."

"Yeah."

"We’ll get you back on the market, buddy," you tease, patting his head like a dog. A coy smile lights up your features. It makes something inside him melt.

"I’m not a piece of meat."’

You click your tongue.

"Oh, right, you’re an insect."

"Hey, so are you!"

____

You used to think it was a kind of twin telepathy, the magnetism to Peter that you felt. Bitten by the same spider and entangled in the same web. You realize as you grow older that it’s more than a platonic bond. It feels like wanting to share the same skin.

Or maybe it’s the wine talking.

It’s not your job to keep Peter afloat at the party right now, but both of you remember too well how the last party went. He continually sips water in between gulps of whiskey like a paranoid freak, which you tease him about. Maybe it’s just the darkness of his eyes under this light, but his pupils look wide and dilated.

It’s almost March. You’d both endured a proper New York winter, which usually extends until April if you’re lucky, but global warming has other plans. It's warm enough for you to pair one of your favorite dresses with an oversized Carhartt jacket that used to belong to Peter before the bite bulked him up significantly. You fiddle with the black velvet wrapped around your body as you pretend to listen to banal conversations, leaning your head into Peter’s bicep.

You keep picking at loose threads obsessively. You think about your fingertips and their webs. You think that maybe you should take up crocheting to distract your hands from their restlessness.

Peter grabs your hand away from you, squeezing it slightly, not even looking at you. His flushed palm rests against yours. Gently rubbing your thumb between your finger divots

If you were a cat, Peter would imagine you purring right about now. He wants to take you into his lap, stroke your hair while the alcohol subsides in both of your systems. The thought of you on top of him causes his cock to twitch slightly. His rose-colored cheeks are from the whiskey, he reassures himself. An affirmation. He lets go of your hand.

He knows that this isn't the time or place for such thoughts, so he makes an effort to push the desires down. He knows they'll come up again when the whiskey leaves his veins, but at least he'll be of sober mind.

Christ, he feels like he's at a middle school dance. Especially when you run off with a spring in your step to socialize with some girls you recognize from school. The smell of your hair lingers next to him. It's sweet and slightly floral, a scent that makes him think of when you were kids.

His ears perk up like a dog's when you call his name, reaching out to him so that you can introduce your best friend. He has the right mind to be polite, even funny at times, but he knows he pales in comparison to your current charisma, which contrasts with your usual wallflower nature.

Peter likes watching you talk, and you like that he watches you so intently. When you know he's watching, it's easy to deadpan some drunken jokes and elaborate superfluous tall tales from your high school days. His eyes are bright, and his bottom lip is chewed in between his teeth.

Suddenly, he gets to be alone with you in the kitchen. Your scent permeates the air. He could drown in it.

“Rabbit," you whine petulantly. "Swing me home."

"How drunk are you?" he chuckles with adoration.

"Not very. Just tired, s'all," you respond with a yawn. You scrunch your nose. "Can I sleep at yours?"

Peter looks at you with a soft gaze. "Of course, angel."

Angel. He's never called you that before. You decide that you like the sound of it.

By the time midnight comes around, you're barefoot in his bedroom, black velvet spinning loosely around your figure. In Peter's blurred vision, you look like a friendly apparition, one that particularly favors "Champagne Coast" by Blood Orange.

"Come into my bedroom, come into my bedroom," you quietly sing along as you sway your hips.

"You're already in my room."

Your smile beams at him, huge and illuminating, and impossible to look away from. Peter wishes that he could bottle up this moment to revisit it, or maybe live in it for the rest of his life. The sweetest way to exist.

Your body sinks to his level -- no, collapses -- as you roll over his heavy frame and rest yourself on your back. Your hair fans out like you're underwater. Your lips are red and wine-colored, freshly bitten. When you turn your head toward Peter, his hand plays with the exposed nape of your neck, fingertips grazing the creases of your skin.

"You used to be so gangly, you know," you murmur. Your voice is lower than usual.

"Okay, well, I'm not anymore."

"I could totally still take you in a fight." Still refers to the times when the two of you would attempt something along the lines of combat training, if combat training was just you unleashing your hotheadedness with your mutant powers instead of with your fists. If you weren't so agile, maybe Peter would've had a chance of winning.

"I'd like to see you try, angel."

It's decided -- you are on top of him, knees bent around his waist as you wrestle. The fabric of your dress pools around your waist in a way that feels sacrilegious. Peter has his hand on your thighs, and his touch feels white-hot to both of you, so he closes his eyes, tries to focus on swatting you away like a bat instead. When he opens his eyes, he meets your devilish ones, gleeful that you've managed to pin his arms above his head.

It would take two inches to break this spell of separation. He keeps trying to keep this bubble intact because the last time he tried to pop it, the look on your face made him want to dig a hole and lay in it forever.

Peter feels sorry for many things. He feels sorry for the times he's intruded, when he's made Mr. Stark angry, for the times he couldn't be there for you. He feels sorry that you had to take care of him when he wanted to do that for you.

Right now, however, Peter doesn't feel sorry at all. The slight twitch of your pulse, the way you smell, the curve of your bare shoulders -- it's all too tempting for him to feel sorry for. So he kisses you.

He's surprised when you nearly bite him back. You inhale sharply, pressing your body against him as you let go of his wrists and rest your palms on his jaw instead. Your kiss is fervent, desperate.

His brow cinches in confusion when you pull away.

"Wha--"

"Fuck."

"What is it?" He frowns.

"I owe Ned twenty bucks."

"What?"

"I just remembered. At graduation, he was like, teasing me that we were gonna get together, and we bet on who would make the first move. I was just entertaining him, but you know how that kid gets about twenty dollars."

"So you thought you were going to make the first move, then?”

“I mean, yeah. How was I supposed to know that MJ was going to cuff you before I did?”

“You snooze, you lose, I guess,” he deadpans.

“You don’t even fucking deserve me, you little freak,” you taunt, tickling his exposed midriff.

“God, I know. I’ve known that for a while. Too bad I want you regardless.”

He smiles as he captures your lips again, tasting sweet and smoky at the same time. He coaxes you onto your back and you revel in his body heat and the way his large hands grab the plush of your thighs, pushing and pulling your skin taut. It’s so erotic that it almost feels dirty.

You kiss him back like he’s your last meal while you roam your hands under his shirt, then to his protruding collarbones, then experimentally, to the tufts of his chestnut hair. You pull a bit too hard due to your eagerness and he lets out a mewl that you never could’ve imagined to come out of him.

“You like that, don’t you?” you taunt darkly. “Is that why you always want me to scratch your head when we watch movies?”

“I don’t care what you do as long as you’re touching me,” he breathes out, like a confession. “Don’t care how you touch me, s’long as it’s you.”

A tepid blush soaks your face. You shut him up with another kiss. He licks at your bottom lip, groaning softly at the feeling of your soft body against his.

“You’re so pretty, Peter,” you whisper.

“You are.”

Before you can react, you hitch a breath in surprise when you find that his hands have fully reached above the hem of your dress and onto the bare skin of your hip, toying with the elastic of your underwear. You part your legs, bending your knees so that you can pull the fabric off.

He sighs as his fingers tease the slot of your cunt, which grows wetter and wetter with every touch. Your sensitivity makes you squirm a little. He can tell so easily that you’re falling apart for him. He loves it.

You nearly whine when he takes away his fingers from you. Instead, he towers over your body, pulling your legs toward him as he pulls up the hem of your velvet dress and cascades kisses on your knees. He slowly works his way up to your thighs, biting gently, then hard. Meanwhile, his hands roam the perimeter of your chest and your ribs, all soft and pliable for him. You’ll be delighted when you wake up to a bruise on your thigh stuck in the shape of Peter Parker’s mouth.

A shiver lacerates your lower body all the way up to your neck – you feel it, viscerally. All from his mouth. He slots his tongue onto the bud of your clit going slowly just to watch you squirm.

“Please,” you beg.

“Please what?” His eyes are as dark as the sky. As dark as your dress.

“Your– your mouth. I need it. Please. More.”

Peter’s grip on your thighs tightens as his face moves closer to your center, licking incessantly as you cry out. You attempt to muffle your sounds with your hand covering your mouth, biting the skin on your palm. Your blood is hot, pumping hard, all the way down to your swollen clit, and he treats you like a man starved.

“Oh my God,” you gasp. “More, please. Pleasepleaseplease.”

He listens to you, forcing his ring and middle finger into your cunt and curling upward. Your legs shake involuntarily when he does this and it takes everything in him to not stop just so he can see the look on your face head-on. You look so beautiful right now.

“Gonna cum, Pete. Fuck.”

He closes his eyes as he savors your sweet taste. He feels it when you cum as if it’s happening in his body, too. A jolt to the sense. A vivacious rumble. Your mouth is slack, jaw falling open with your eyes screwed shut as you finish, and Peter towers over you to watch. He’s never seen you like this. He wants to keep the image of it forever.

You thank him with a messy kiss, not caring about the remnants of your lipstick. Your hands attack him, teeth nipping at his earlobe as you help him undress. Soon enough, the two of you are naked together, limbs entangled and kissing without paying any mind to oxygen.

You take his jaw in your hand as if he’s a delicate thing. Easy to break. It’s your turn to tease, now.

“What do you wanna do?”

“You’re such a little shit,” he mumbles, but he can’t help but grin.

“Tell me about it, Spidey.”

“Want you, Rabbit, want to make you feel good.”

“And how exactly will you do that?”

“Gonna fuck you. I’ll make you cry if you keep being a little shit like this, too.”

There’s no time for a reaction. He’s on top of you, pinning you down, and he licks your collarbone up to your jaw as you whine like a newborn kitten. He spanks your ass and you have to your bottom lip to keep from being too loud.

“You want it that bad, huh?”

“Yeah,” you respond breathlessly. He melts at the sound of your voice, cooing softly as he playfully bites the skin of your cheek.

You love him like this, a burst of passionate energy focused on you and you only. His little angel. You remember your rabbit heart caged in your sternum fragile and thumping like an earthquake for him.

He pauses to give you another kiss, this time sweet as he licks up the bottom of your lip. You can feel him at the crux of your legs and you can feel the want pumping in your veins. Patience. Patience. Patience.

“You want me to go slow?”

“Of course not.”

You’re so relaxed in his grasp. Gooey with your desire that it might disgust you if you weren’t so enamored. You keep your eyes on him when he enters you – you want to see the look in his eyes.

Peter feels selfish wanting to tease you like this. He’s slow when he enters you, listening to your sweet exhales.

“Easy,” he warns. “‘m gonna take care of you, don’t worry."

Please floods your entire body like a heat stroke. You bend your knees upward and rake the smooth terrain of his back, lifting your hips up at the same time. He thrusts once, then twice, and already, he feels like he’s ready to unfurl completely.

“Fuck,” he groans. You’re so goddamn wet. Soft. Velvety.

“Don’t be shy, Peter,” you murmur. “C’mere.”

You keen into the way he buries his nose into your shoulder, shallow breaths uneven and erratic as he continues, losing control bit by bit as he goes on. His pleasure is the knife you twist inside yourself.

You gasp at the way he can carve you out, the way he knows exactly where to put his hands as he grasps for your body, like he’d molding you from clay. He drinks down your moans with his mouth, eyes fluttering at the impact of your cunt clenching him.

Peter props himself up now, moving his body backward so he’s perpendicular to your core. He holds you by your hips a little too hard, but you’d always liked it rough. You liked it when he would cuddle you or play with you or put his entire body weight on you. To smother was to be encased in something akin to love.

“Fuck,” he hisses, getting the hang of a constant rhythm. His hips slot with yours as his cock thrusts deeper into you, until he can feel the slight tremble of your thighs.

“You okay?” he asks, chest heaving.

“Yes, keep going. Keep going.”

You underestimate how fragile you are. A rough thrust almost has you there, until he pulls out of you like a stolen breath, and it leaves you whining.

“Pete.”

“Shh, I’m just trying to pace myself,” he breathes, jaw slack and glistening with sweat. “You feel too fucking good.”

“Come back or I’ll break your wrists.”

He chuckles, but you’re dead serious. You lift your body to him so you can pull his down, kissing him with a ragged hunger that’s all teeth and lust. He’s quick to match your vigor but with more tenderness than desperation. It makes you melt, how natural it is, how this is how it might’ve felt in a past life. Your bodies entwined in a way that’s proverbial.

He listens to you. Fucks you much rougher than before, giving in to what he wants, because he’s not sorry about how much he wants you. Your broken moans curl out of your throat and into his mouth and the feeling of him deep in you makes you feel like a balloon ready to burst from the pressure.

It’s like Peter reads your mind, because suddenly, his hand is around your throat. You’ve never looked more angelic to him than you do now, eyes half-lidded and your reddish mouth all lax.

“So fucking beautiful, I love you,” he mumbles against his mouth.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

All of Peter’s muscles are tense from holding back. Fuck, he doesn’t want to cum until you do.

Luckily, the way his cock stretches you out has you nearly drooling underneath him. He touches the deepest parts of your insides like he belongs there, like he was meant to be there, as if the way he turns his hips toward you is a vow in itself. You whimper at the feeling of it all and he nearly loses it.

“I’m so close,” you pants. Thank fucking God.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Cum for me,” he coos. “You’re doing so good. Fuck.”

Your gaze lingers on the shape of his mouth. You think about how his voice sounds when he calls you angel.

Your orgasm comes like a flower blooming, like a beam of light in the darkness. He feels it, too, so vividly like he shares your body. It feels strange how much he feels that he hasn’t felt before, and it makes him come undone right after you.

He pulls out of you and spills onto your stomach unceremoniously with something in between a grunt and a whimper. He’s all over you. You want to bury your body into his.

“Peter,” you whisper, your gaze languishing.

“Yes, angel?”

“I think I owe Ned fifty bucks now.”

He looks at you incredulously but you can’t keep the facade, bursting into laughter as he groans in annoyance and flops his body on top of yours.

“Ew, clean me up, at least,” you complain.

“Right,” he says, nodding. And he does, with a spare t-shirt from his floor absentmindedly while he shares a grin with you. “You serious, though?”

“Of course not,” you scoff. “Ned Leeds will never get anything over twenty bucks from me.”

He laughs and it sounds like heaven.

“You said you loved me,” you tell him.

“I do love you. I’ve always loved you.”

You could cry right now. Surely the influx of endorphins in your body is breaking the rest of your brain.

“I love you, too.”

You kiss him again, open-mouthed, teeth sucking slightly as his lips. He takes a fistful of your hair while his other hand caresses your jaw. It excites you when he breaks the kiss by pulling your hair. His cheeks dimple the slightest bit when he smiles at you.

“Don’t do that, you’re gonna get me hard again.”

“You have the stamina,” you shrug, hugging one of his oversized pillows to your chest.

“You’re cute.”

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“How come you call me angel now?”

Peter shrugs. He rubs his hands on your calves.

“You’re my guardian angel. Always have been. And you’re not allowed to complain about it being corny because it’s true.”

Peter is shy all of sudden as if he hadn’t just fucked you. His brown hair is tousled to bedhead perfection, messy and slightly frizzy, and the warmth of his skin radiates from the way his whole body seems to blush in front of you.

“I have a proposition.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Come on!” You nudge him, kicking him with your feet. You get off of his bed to rummage through his dresser drawers for an oversized t-shirt, just dodging his attempts to grab you by the waist.

“Okay. What is it?”

“We should use our webs next time.”

He blinks, smirking, indulging you for a second.

“Deal.”

tagging mutuals: @meliapis @cutetomholland @userholland @sparklingsin @tomdutch @userholland @vendettaparker @selfcarecap @simplykenni @uhlxis @cordiformity @sapphicsoie @seolaseoul @honeyspidey @logangarfield @justapurrcat @arachine @cocoamoonmalfoy @ohcaptains @aniqua

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #spiderman x you #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker angst #spiderman x reader #mcu!peter parker x you #tasm!peter parker x you #tom holland x you #tom holland x reader #tom holland smut #peter parker x you

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solar-wing · 2 months

Text

⚣ Protective Lover 🥰

⚣✋🏻 A/N → Another idea partly inspired off one of my previous Jason posts. Dude is the definition of scary dog privilege. "and my man, thank you to my man." WARNINGS: Jealous/Possessive Behavior. Minor Swearing and Threats of Violence. Cute Fluff.

⚣✋🏻 Summary → It's no secret: Jason is a jealous and possessive boyfriend. But, many don't think about the benefit that comes along with that. He's hella protective. Sometimes it's overbearing, other times, it's very helpful.

⚣✋🏻 Words → 1.4k

REBLOGS and replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 🥰

At some point, Y/N had gotten used to it. Was it annoying? Yes. Did it feel overbearing at times? Countless. Did he secretly love it and felt the world’s most (concerning) validation from it? Absolutely.

But, when looking at the situation and its circumstances as a whole, it made sense.

When he and Jason first started dating, there was definitely a vibe of him being a gruff but soft teddy bear who was clingy and needy for love and attention when with his chosen lover. But, when around literally anyone else who was not said lover or other people were in the same room as his chosen mate, he’d turn into the world’s scariest guard dog.

It was the general rule of Scary Boyfriend Privilege. Only the designated boyfriend could see their boyfriend’s soft and needy side. Anyone outside that got the ‘murderous if you get too close’ grizzly bear side.

Extremely hot and sexy, but it could be a bit (a lot) much at times.

Y/N tried to get Jason to calm down, always showing that he could take care of himself and there was no reason for him to worry. But, living in a city like Gotham and given the vigilante’s past (hence the aforementioned situation and circumstances), there really was no calming him down.

But let’s look on the bright side here. With said privilege and the kind of boyfriend Jason was, Y/N never felt more safe and secure in his life. It was like walking around a video game world with the most overpowered gear on. He was basically untouchable.

Examples? Why, of course!

When it came to school, Y/N always preferred studying and doing his homework with Jason since he would help him stay focused and assist him with subjects that he struggled with.

Y/N was not the first but certainly the loudest to say that Jason did not get enough credit for how smart he was. Yeah, he typically lived by street smarts, but he was big on book smarts as well. He just had to learn how to communicate the information in ways where it wasn’t confusing for both him and his boyfriend.

Plus, in dating Y/N, he learned the art and benefits of positive reinforcement which anyone could probably imagine taking a magnifying glass to their relationship, it was something the Y/N had to use a lot for Jason. Now, the vigilante was doing the same for his boyfriend by giving him little rewards for finishing his work and getting good grades like take-out dates, letting him play in his hair, and more often than not, a good dic-

PAUSE

Oh for fucks sake, are we doing this again? Why does it have to be PG-13? Well, no one said– Ugh…Fine.

A good fitness workout that involved lots of cardio, sweating, and soreness, but the good kind.

Happy?

But, the week of midterms turned out to be an equally busy week for Jason as well. He was knee-deep in a big crime plot and was getting closer and closer to solving the case. Y/N understood and didn’t want to get in the way of his boyfriend's duties. It still sucked though because it meant he wouldn’t be able to study in his apartment as he’d find way too many ways to get distracted. So, he had no choice but to study on campus, and figured what better place than the library?

Turns out there could have been better places.

Y/N was sitting at a large table by himself with various books in front of him along with his tablet and laptop reviewing his notes for a huge test he had the next morning. He wasn’t the only one who had the idea of going to the library to study as it was packed full of students trying to do last-minute cramming and studying.

Jason, as usual, called him to make sure he was okay and that he had gotten to the library safely even though Y/N was well aware his boyfriend had many different ways of tracking him and making sure he was where he was supposed to be. At first, he found it creepy, but when he got to know Jason’s family, he understood.

When Jason didn’t hang up the phone long after Y/N had already sat down and began reviewing, he decided he wasn’t going to hang up either, feeling more relaxed and calm while hearing his boyfriend’s voice and breathing through his earphones.

Now and then, Jason would call his name and check to make sure he was focusing and not slacking off or scrolling on social media and Y/N would turn and scold him for trying to check him when he should have been focused on fighting criminals.

“That’s the thing, babe. I can focus on more than two tasks at the same time. You, on the other hand, still can’t manage to focus on one task for more than 10 minutes without getting distracted by something else like your favorite song and flooding our apartment.”

“I told you to let the bathtub thing go!” Y/N whispered loudly into his earbud mic with a goofy smile on his face still.

“I will never let the bathtub thing go.”

They continued their playful back and forth while Y/N continued studying until he was interrupted by another student, a guy from one of his history classes. This guy was more or less a bit annoying and creepy and had been bothering Y/N for a while with his persistent quest to ask him out.

No matter how many times he rejected him, the guy always tried again and again. He never got forceful, or at least he never had the chance since Y/N always made sure there were people around or that he got to an area where other people were nearby just in case he tried something.

He wasn’t judging him, but he took Jason’s words and lessons very seriously when it came to his safety. He’d seen enough of his boyfriend’s cases where people didn’t take the necessary steps to keep themselves protected and safe because they didn’t imagine it would ‘go that far.’

The creep only left him alone when he saw Jason was with him. Truthfully, many people tended to steer clear of Y/N and his massively scary boyfriend whenever he was with them on campus besides his friends. They were even put off by Jason at times whenever they hung out with their friend cause they’d catch him at times giving them weird looks and glares if they touched or just got too close to his boyfriend for his liking.

Plus, after the one incident of the guy who tried to pick a fight with Y/N and pushed him, thus having to deal with Jason in the aftermath, everyone learned it was just better to steer clear.

So, when Jason wasn’t anywhere in sight, Y/N’s creepy stalker saw it as a perfect moment for him to try and make a move on his classmate, not expecting the very person he was hoping to avoid being on the phone the entire time.

It wasn’t until he saw Y/N unplug his earphones and hand him his phone that he realized he was indeed on a call, and after receiving possibly the most violently worded threat he had ever heard he decided there were plenty of other fish in the sea.

He handed the phone over to its owner before scurrying off like a scared mouse, Y/N watching with a confused but also amused and relieved look.

“Hi baby,” Jason immediately responded to Y/N’s ‘hello’ in his little delightful and excited tone whenever he heard his boyfriend’s voice.

“Jason, what did you say to him?” Y/N immediately asked.

“Hey! It’s babe, baby, sexy, honey, or Jay at the slightest to you, mister. Only my family calls me that.”

“Jason…”

“Babeee, stop it! I don’t consent to this treatment. No means no!” Jason protested in a whiny voice.

“You’re such a baby,” Y/N chuckled.

“Only for you, hot stuff. But we’ll be having a long talk when I get home about you not telling me about creepy guys bothering you.”

“How did you know?”

“Babe, you know who you’re dating, right? There never will be something that bothers you that I won’t know about. I’m always gonna protect you, even if it annoys the hell out of you.”

Y/N couldn’t stop the big smile spreading across his face at his boyfriend’s words, knowing he meant every single one. Jason would always be his protective lover.

☀️ | Jason Todd/Red Hood | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

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valictini · 11 months

Text

I was watching a video analysing how the Yiga clan were handled in botw and how the person analysing it lamented the fact that Kohga was a joke character who totally destroyed the much more threatening image the yiga clan had all throughout the game. Although I do understand the sentiment (I felt that way for a long time) I’ve come to realise that we might not be viewing it in the right perspective. I ended up writing a comment under that video explaining how I saw things, and realised that maybe it could interest people here too? So here is the fleshed out version of it:

I think part of why they made Kohga extremely goofy compared to a way less goofy clan of literal assassins is to emphasise how even though the clan originally held some understandable beliefs, it has become a cult of personality over the years, and like most cults, the leader is way less charismatic than his followers make him out to be. Indeed, from the outside, it seems absurd how anyone could take Kohga seriously, let alone kill under his command, but from the inside, Kohga is the Beloved Leader That Guides Them Towards Victory, and anyone threatening him deserves to die.

In a way, yiga clan members feel like vulnerable, impressionable people who were enrolled into a cult and given a Big Family and a purpose (and a lethal weapon) by their lovable Master Kohga who wants the best for them… Except if you want to get out, then you’re a filthy traitor who also deserves to die. It’s especially visible when you beat him and they all get personally mad at you for killing him. They didn’t care about Ganon, they didn’t seem to actually understand the bigger picture, they only cared about Kohga.

It also shows how, like the rest of Hyrule, the Yigas are very much disconnected from their own history, seemingly holding on the grudge their ancestors held more as an excuse to continue to enact violence and perpetuate the cult of personality than fighting for a “noble” cause. Only Kohga seems to actually care about Calamity Ganon, and the rest of the yigas seem to be just tools to him. Wether or not he’s actually conscious of what he’s doing is unclear. Is he a fully aware con artist, or is he purely another product of Yiga indoctrination?

So yeah, to me it feels like a parody/critic/mockery of cult dynamics. It shows that this gang of assassins are indeed a real menace, but for seemingly no reason other than “that one lunatic they admire told them to” and “if they go away they get killed”. The reason why the clan was originally created becomes almost anecdotal. Under the current leader, no one is required to actually know what they’re doing, they just need to follow orders.

In the end, I think it is the intention the developers had because cults are a rampant problem in Japan. At the very least, even if it’s not a actually conscious critic, it’s a concept that is much more present in their cultural landscape than ours and that almost certainly influenced how they handled the Yiga clan. Basically, cults are not cool and can even be dangerous both for the public and their members. Cult leaders especially are not cool and often are con artists. Therefore, Kohga couldn’t be badass, he had to be a doofus getting beaten in the most unexceptional way possible.

#botw #breath of the wild #master kohga #yiga clan #kohga #loz #the legend of Zelda #tloz #meta analysis #i purposefully didn’t talk about kohga’s change of heart in AoC because to me this game is not canon #one could argue it proves that Kohga is actually not aware of how catastrophic enabling Ganon would be #but for the sake of keeping it focused on botw I didn’t mention it #cult mention #valictini talks

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dingusfreakhxrrington · 1 year

Text

A Test Of Faith

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

summary: to test the BAU, a bold unsub abducts one of their members and sends the team on a wild goose chase. with reckless decisions and personal feelings taking hold, will the team be able to save one of their own or will their faith in each other come crumbling down?

warnings: mentions of kidnapping, mentions of drugs, canon-typical violence, mentions of blood, mentions of death, mentions of injury, angst, 3rd person, slight fluff, minor cursing

word count: 7k

a/n: this isn’t proofread so i’m sorry for any mistakes!

part two (coming soon)

read on ao3

friendly reminder that comments and reblogs are just as (if not more than) important as likes!

“Hey, has anyone seen y/n this morning?” Reid asked with a frown as he entered the bullpen, hanging his bag over the back of his chair.

“She’s not here yet, why?”

His face only scrunched up further at Morgan’s words. He knew it was unusual for her to be late to work, let alone skip out on plans at the last minute. “It’s just, we were supposed to get coffee this morning but she didn’t show.”

Morgan shrugged. “Maybe she overslept?”

“Maybe…”

He wanted to believe it because the alternative, which had already begun to play on his mind, was much worse. Still, he couldn’t ignore the feeling that was starting to settle into the bottom of his stomach. That uneasy feeling which had taken hold before he’d even left the coffee shop where they were supposed to meet.

Something was wrong. He knew that even before the box arrived.

It was delivered by courier directly to the office. The only indicator of who it was for was in thick, red marker across the top of the box which spelt out nothing but ‘BAU’. The handwriting was neat but unnecessarily large.

Morgan held the box, inspecting it as Reid and Prentiss peered over his shoulders.

“What is it?” Emily questioned, waiting for Morgan to open the package.

“Nothing good.” All eyes turned to their superior as he approached, holding up a letter written in the same red ink that decorated the box.

Hotchner passed the note to Prentiss, allowing her to read it to the rest of the team. “‘For Agent Hotchner at the BAU. A package will arrive not long after you read this, I suggest you gather your team and prepare for the game’?”

“Game? What game?”

Reid furrowed his brows at Morgan’s question, already trying to piece together what was going on. “You don’t think this has anything to do with why y/n is late, do you?”

“I don’t know, but what I do know is that we’re going to need the whole team on this. Reid, try to get in contact with y/n and find out where she is. Prentiss, gather the others. I want everyone in the briefing room within the next five minutes.”

Just like that, the group dispersed and, within minutes, they assembled again for the briefing.

“Still no y/n?”

Reid shook his head as he pushed his phone back into his pocket. “She isn’t answering her phone.”

“No matter, we’ll have to catch her up when she gets here. We can’t waste any more time, we need to know what’s inside the box,” Hotch sighed and signalled for Morgan to finally open it up.

The team watched on anxiously, worried about the contents of the package they’d received. More often than not, packages with notes such as the one they’d received were a little more than unpleasant.

The one thing that gave them hope, was the fact that no blood seemed to be staining the cardboard from the inside. Although that didn’t mean there wasn’t a victim’s body part inside

“A CD?” Morgan frowned when he revealed its contents, only growing more curious as he checked both the front and back of the case.

It was Electra Heart by Marina and the Diamonds, not that anyone thought that detail was of any particular importance.

“Could just be a case the unsub is using to protect the disc. It’s most likely a video,” JJ gave her input as she reached out for the disc before moving to play it on the screen.

The room was silent as she prepared the video, nervous to find out what was on it.

Would it be a video of the unsub? Perhaps a video of them committing a crime? Murder? Torture? Assault? Something else altogether? Or had it really just been a prank? Was it really just an album?

“Oh god-” Garcia gasped, hands moving to cover her mouth the moment the video began to play, tears already pricking in the corner of her startled eyes.

That uneasy feeling in Reid’s gut only grew stronger, twisting and turning until it became all that consumed him. It had never been this bad before, not even when he himself was the one in danger. He was terrified.

Terrified for her.

There she was. Y/n, the agent who had not been late to work but abducted by their unsub. Taken in the dead of night to become a pawn in his sick game.

She was standing, just barely, with nothing but the chains around her wrists holding her up. Half-dried blood stained her forehead and matted her hair. The video only lasted for fifty-five seconds. Fifty-five seconds of nothing but her hanging there, feet barely on the ground. She was conscious but only just, likely concussed from the wound on her head.

“She’s been struck around the head, likely to incapacitate her before she could fight back during the abduction,” Morgan identified, eyes trained on the video.

“The unsub knows what he’s doing. There isn’t anything in the video that could indicate where she is,” Rossi added as he perched down on the end of the table to examine the paused video further.

Hotch hummed as he too was glued to the screen. “She can’t be far, she must have been abducted sometime since leaving here yesterday and this morning. Most likely during the night.”

JJ turned from the screen, unable to watch any longer. “We left at the same time last night and it’s unlikely she would have stopped on her way home.”

“Can we stop talking about her like she’s some random victim? This is y/n we’re talking about,” Reid snapped, drawing all eyes to him.

Each new comment in the discussion had been piling up until he just couldn’t take it anymore. This wasn’t just some case, nor was it any other victim. This was y/n — their friend.

“Reid, we know she isn’t just any victim but we have to look at this like we would any other case. It’s the only way we’re going to find her,” Morgan reminded, hoping to ease Reid at least a little.

“JJ, play the video again. We need to look for anything that could help us figure out where they are and Reid, I need you to focus. We’re going to need your brain on this.”

The youngest of them nodded, heeding Hotch’s words. This was just a game to the unsub — a game he’d made specifically for the BAU team. They were the only ones who could save her, he knew that.

“Hey, there’s something else in here. Looks like a note, taped to the inside of the box,” Prentiss announced before JJ had a chance to replay the video.

“What is it?” Reid was the first to jump at the new information, hoping it would be a better indication of where their missing friend was than the video.

Prentiss carefully tore the note from the box and began to read it out loud, “It’s a riddle. ‘I have cities, but no houses. I have mountains but no trees. I have water but no fish. What am I?’”

“A map,” Reid concluded after only a brief moment of pause, “It’s a map.”

“A map? I don’t see any kind of map here.” Morgan gestured at the now empty package before crossing his arms over his chest. He knew the wonder boy was right but he still couldn’t understand what the riddle could mean.

Hotch too seemed to be running circles in his head, unsure of what their unsub was trying to point them to. “Does it say anything else?”

Emily looked up from the note with troubled eyes as she voiced the final part, “Find her by midnight and she’ll live. Good luck, Agents.”

As if on cue, Reid vocalised the conclusion he had come to in his head, jumping to his feet like he was about to rush there himself without a second thought. “The Marina.”

“You think the unsub is holding her at the Marina?”

“I think it’s the only indication of a map I can find in all this. Marina and the Diamonds? The unsub didn’t choose that album without reason.”

Hotch hummed, seemingly agreeing with Reid’s deduction, and began to give directions. “Okay. Morgan, Prentiss and Rossi will come with me to the Marina. JJ, I need you and Reid to watch the video again. Look for anything we might have missed in case we’re wrong. And Garcia, I need you to track down exactly who delivered the package and where they delivered it from.”

Everyone got to their feet, springing into action as they would on any other case. They all knew their part to play and knew it was vital in locating their missing team member. Everyone other than Reid, who was less than happy to have been told to stay behind.

“No, I’m going with you.”

“Reid…” Hotch turned to him with a hand to his brow, already anticipating the headache that was to come if he continued to clash with the young doctor.

“No,” he cut him off again, “This is not negotiable. I’m going to the Marina with you.”

With a sigh, the unit chief gave in, knowing there was little he could do to keep Reid in the office. “Okay, Reid you’re with us. Prentiss, you stay here with JJ. Call us the moment you find anything.”

𓆩♡𓆪

Spencer had been restless the entire ride there. His hands were fidgety in his lap, his nails occasionally digging into the skin of his palms. He was stressed and more on edge than the rest of the team, not that anyone had expected any less.

Everyone knew that Reid had had a budding crush on y/n since she joined the BAU. Not that he’d ever acted on it. Morgan teased him about it constantly, comparing it to a schoolboy crush. Only, it wasn’t just a schoolboy crush. Not anymore.

The longer they had gotten to know one another, the closer y/n and Reid became. He felt as though she was the only one who really saw him, not that the rest of the team didn’t care greatly for him. She just understood him better than anyone else.

So, to say it was a simple crush would be a lie. He was in love with her. How couldn’t he be? She was pretty and funny and kind and a great agent. She saw him for who he really was and accepted every part of him. She stood up for him when the team teased him about his rambling. She always listened so intently, never once cutting him off no matter what it was he was talking about.

He was in love with her but now, he feared more than ever that he was about to lose her.

“She’s going to be okay, Reid,” Morgan comforted from the seat beside him, squeezing Reid’s shoulder as if the gesture would ease his fear.

Nothing would ease it. Not until she was safe.

It wasn’t like Reid to doubt himself. He knew he was right about the riddle, he had to be, yet he was still starting to wonder what would happen if he was wrong.

They only had until midnight. There was no time to spare and if he was wrong about this they might just lose her.

“I know,” he lied, trying to mask his true feelings.

Morgan sighed, seeing through Reid’s weak façade. No matter what he said or did, it hadn’t stopped his legs from bouncing or his hands from shaking.

The moment they arrived, Reid was fast to get out of the van. Too enthusiastic about rushing in headfirst to save her. He glanced around, taking in the fresh air as if his lungs had been deprived for hours.

“Spread out and search the area,” Hotch ordered and the team nodded, checking their vests one last time before pulling out their guns for the sweep.

They searched almost everywhere but found nothing. No sign that y/n or the unsub had ever been there. It was just a Marina and none of the boats there were big enough to fit the room they’d seen in the video.

Reid was beginning to believe that he really was wrong, that he had just wasted time they didn’t have on a hunch. Well, he was beginning to lose hope until Rossi called the team over to his location.

With a fast-beating heart, Reid ran as fast as he could manage to see what Rossi had found. He prayed it was her and that she was safe — that it was over.

Disappointment was not quite the right word for his feelings when he arrived and saw she wasn’t there because something was there. Another note, written in that same red marker.

“‘So you figured it out. Well done, agents. I hate to disappoint but your missing agent isn’t here but I hope this gift will help keep you on the trail’?” Rossi read the letter aloud before turning it over to find a USB taped to the other side.

“He’s playing with us.” Morgan shook his head, already growing tired of the unsub’s game.

“Or testing us,” Reid argued, “He’s referred to us as ‘agents’ in every note so far. It’s like he’s-”

“A part of the bureau,” Hotch finished for him, drawing the same conclusion, “Likely an ex-agent or even an ex-recruit.”

Morgan’s brow creased and he asked, “By why us? Why is he testing us? And why did he take y/n? He could have taken any one of us, why her?”

“Because she’s the newest member of the BAU. Maybe he doesn’t see her as an official member of the team yet?” Queried Reid.

“Or he just thought she’d be the easiest to abduct because she’s less experienced,” Rossi added.

“Whatever the reason, we don’t have a lot of time. The unsub must have had base access to use the marina. Reid, Morgan, I need you to speak with the workers here. See if they’ve seen anyone strange and ask for records to find out who owns this boat. We’ll head back to check in with the rest of the team and get this to Garcia.” Hotch held up the USB, knowing Garcia was the safest person to give it to as there was no way to know what would be on it.

𓆩♡𓆪

“Anything?”

“No, you?”

Reid shrugged. “Not much but I did get a name for the boat owner. Rudd Richardson.”

“Did you run it by Garcia?”

“Yeah, Rudd Richardson died three years ago.”

Morgan hummed in thought. “So our unsub is using a dead man’s name?”

“Maybe. Garcia is looking for any other property that is still registered in his name but she hasn’t been able to find anything yet and it doesn’t look like the unsub has taken Richardson’s identity.”

Their discussion was cut short when Reid’s phone began to ring.

“Garcia?”

He shook his head, looking up from his phone in disbelief. “No. It’s y/n.”

Right away Morgan pulled out his cell to call Garcia. If it really was y/n or even the unsub they would need her to trace the call.

“Y/n?” Questioned Reid as he put the phone on speaker, his voice already settling into a tone of urgency.

The line was silent but the trace had already begun, all they needed to do now was keep them on the phone.

After a brief moment of static, a weak voice finally spoke from the other side, “Reid?”

“Y/n! Y/n, can you tell us where you are? Are you alright?” He spoke at a hundred miles a minute, desperate to know she was okay.

Static again as the phone on the other end seemed to move from one ear to another.

The young doctor gulped as another voice began to speak, “She knew you would figure it out… The first clue. Let’s see how quickly you figure out the rest. The sands of time are forever slipping…”

The voice was dark and warped, spoken through a voice-changing device. Its sinister vibrations sent a chill up Spencer’s spine.

“Wait! Y/n!”

“Dammit,” Morgan spoke bitterly, knowing the call had not been long enough to give them any hint on their location, “He’s taunting us.”

“We need to get back to the others. He said this was the first clue, the USB must be the next.”

Morgan sighed. “We have to play his game. Or we may never find her…”

𓆩♡𓆪

“Please tell me you guys have got something,” Morgan asked while looking down at his watch.

There was still time but there was no way to know if the unsub would stay true to his word.

“Nothing yet. The USB locked Garcia out of the system the moment she plugged it in, she’s trying to regain access now,” JJ explained with a sigh before turning her attention back to the files in her hands.

Reid was only growing more anxious and began fishing for anything else that could be of use. “What about the video?”

“Nothing. We’ve watched it a hundred times but there’s nothing in it that could tell us where they are.” Prentiss chimed in as she too walked over with a new batch of files.

“So what do we do? We can’t just sit around and wait for Garcia to get the system up and running again.”

JJ split the files he was holding into three before passing a pile out to Reid and Morgan. “I know you’re worried, Spence. We all are but there isn’t a lot we can do right now. Until she gets back in all we really can do is look at these files to see if anyone fits the profile.”

“Profile? We’ve got a profile?” Morgan questioned as he began to flick through the files.

“Well, Hotch told us you think it’s an ex-agent or recruit but other than that we don’t really have a lot to go on so right now we’re just looking for anyone that sticks out.”

Reid dropped the files down onto the desk with a scoff, “We’re looking for a needle in a haystack. This isn’t going to get us anywhere.”

“It’s better than sitting around twiddling our thumbs.” Morgan shrugged.

“Look, Reid, if you don’t want to look through the files then go help Hotch and Rossi. They’re looking for anywhere she could be being held. Warehouses, storerooms, abandoned homes. Look for anything and everything and start making it down.”

He only grew more frustrated as he listened to Prentiss. “So if we run out of time we’re just going to start knocking on doors until we find her?”

“We don’t really have any other choice right now. Not until Garcia gets back into the system. He’s testing us, right? So this is probably just another test. She’s got this.”

Like Morgan, Reid also had full faith that Garcia would get back into the system but he was worried about how long it would take her to do so. They were on the clock and every second they spent sitting around waiting for her would only bring them closer to their deadline.

So, to try and ease his mind, Spencer decided to go help Hotch and Rossi in the hope that it would help bring them closer to finding y/n.

𓆩♡𓆪

“I’m back in. I’m back in!” Garcia cried out and soon the team were rushing into her office.

It had been no longer than an hour but that was still an hour they didn’t have to spare in the first place.

She tapped away on her keyboard, eyes flickering across the screen at the speed of light as she searched for any trace of what the unsub had tried to achieve by locking her out of her own system.

“He’s watching us,” she announced when her tapping fingers finally began to calm down, “I don’t think I can remove him from the system, not from my end anyway. I had to reboot the whole thing just to get back in. It’s amazing he’s even still here.”

“So he can see everything we do?” Rossi questioned, wanting to know exactly what the unsub was able to do with his access to the system.

Garcia hummed, “Yep. Well, he can see through our webcams but he doesn’t have access to my screen. That was a nasty piece of malware but it won’t give him access to any of my files.”

Just as Hotch opened his mouth to speak, a notification sound rang from the speakers and a message popped up on the screen. It was typed out rather than written but the red colour still prevailed.

‘Well done, Agents. You’ve cracked the code and earned your next clue: I can’t be bought, but I can be stolen with a glance. I’m worthless to one, but priceless to two. What am I?’

“Love… the answer is love,” Reid announced with a tightening heart.

“But what does that mean? Love, what kind of a clue is that?” Morgan complained, once again growing tired of the game they were being forced to play.

Prentiss hummed in thought for a moment before asking, “What about wedding venues? A church maybe?”

“Or some kind of date spot? A restaurant?” JJ added.

Before long, everyone was throwing out ideas but nothing was clicking.

Hotch was the first to catch onto the lead again. “Garcia, see if Mr Richardson was married.”

“Okay.” The tech-whiz complied and began tapping away on her keyboard again.

Within only a few short seconds she had her answer. “He married Triss Anderson in 1984 but she died during childbirth over twenty years ago.”

“What about their child?” Morgan prompted, drawing at any loose threads.

Her eyes flicked over the screen again as she searched for the information. “They had a daughter. She’s living here in Quantico, only a few blocks away from here actually.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

𓆩♡𓆪

“No car,” Prentiss stated as they approached the house.

Rossi stepped up to the door while Reid and Morgan peered in through the windows.

“Look’s like no one’s home,” Morgan sighed.

Still, Rossi tried the door. “Miss Richardson?”

When no response came, he banged again.

“You’re looking for Jen?” They turned around to the neighbour, eager to hear what she had to say. “She left for vacation just over a week ago. I’m Michelle, I live across the street. Maybe I can help you?”

“Do you know when she’s supposed to come home?” Reid questioned, worried they had wasted their time.

Michelle thought for a moment before replying, “Actually, now that you mention it I think she was due back last night.”

“So she hasn’t come home?” Asked Prentiss as she hurriedly pulled out her phone.

“No, I guess not. You don’t think anything has happened to her, do you?”

As Rossi began to reassure Miss Richardson’s neighbour, the others quickly headed back to the van.

Prentiss held her phone to her ear, exchanging a worried glance with Morgan as she spoke with the unit chief, “Hotch, we might have another missing person on our hands.”

“Are you Spencer Reid?”

Spencer turned from the van just before opening the door to find a young boy standing behind him.

“Yeah, you know me?”

The child shook his head and shyly held out a piece of paper and pointed down the street with his free hand. “That man over there told me to give this to you.”

As he took the paper, Spencer quickly looked in the direction the boy was pointing but whoever may have been there had long since gone.

“Thank you, kid. Get home safe now, okay?” Morgan had to speak for him while Reid examined the note.

“It’s an address, Morgan. He’s given us an address.”

𓆩♡𓆪

Wasting no time, the group headed for the address on the note. Garcia ran it through the system and found it to be an empty home, one currently up for sale.

It was the perfect place for the unsub to hold them, although Morgan still doubted the nature of the note. It didn’t make sense for him to just give them the answer now. Not after making them jump through hoops to so much as obtain a single clue.

“Reid, wait,” he reached out for the youngest, holding him back from rushing straight inside, “We don’t know what we’re going to find in there.”

“We can’t wait, what if y/n is in there?” Reid was quick to shake him off, desperate to find her.

Morgan sighed as he pulled out his gun. “The unsub could be in there too, just don’t do anything rash.”

Spencer was the first to the door. He stood ready as Morgan exchanged one quick, affirmative glance with Rossi before kicking down the door.

In the blink of an eye, all four agents infiltrated the home and began to cautiously clear each room.

“Clear!” Prentiss called out from the bathroom as Morgan and Reid began to scale the stairs.

She slowly approached the bedroom, knowing it was the last room to check. If they were going to find anything, it was going to be in there.

When Morgan and Reid were close enough behind her to have her back, she reached for the handle and quickly opened the door.

She checked every corner of the room before giving the all-clear but something was wrong. Her voice was quiet, choked even, as she entered the room.

Morgan turned to Reid, not knowing what to do other than keep him away to stop him from looking inside but he was too late, he’d already caught a glimpse of what was waiting for them inside.

“Y/n? Y/n!” he cried as he rushed towards the room, shoving past Morgan who moved to stop him.

In the middle of the empty room was a body. A woman wearing clothes Reid recognised. She was lifeless and stained in blood. When his hands shakily reached out to her, he felt the coldness of her skin on the tips of his fingers.

He couldn’t think, he couldn’t breathe.

He got back up, unable to bring himself to look at her face – to turn her over and come face-to-face with her void eyes.

Everything was a blur, all of his senses going dull as Morgan moved to further inspect the body.

Emily too was standing near the door as if she were frozen in place with her hand covering her mouth.

Slowly, Morgan rolled the body over onto its back. He was quiet, almost too quiet, before he finally released the breath he had been holding.

“It’s not her.”

𓆩♡𓆪

“Jena Richardson, daughter of Rodd Richardson. A twenty-six-year-old entrepreneur. She was supposed to go on vacation to Europe eight days ago,” Garcia read through the information she had discovered about the woman.

“He chose her for a reason. He did all of this for a reason. Been planning it for a while too.”

Hotch hummed in agreement with Morgan. “He took Miss Richardson before she had a chance to leave for her vacation, she never left. Her bags are likely still inside her home.”

“And when he took y/n, he stole some of her clothes to dress the victim in so that we would think it was her. That’s why he chose the victim… because she looked like y/n,” Prentiss concluded.

The whole team had gathered in the briefing room again, discussing their next course of action.

“There was nothing else on the body or in the house? No next clue? Nothing to tell us where he might be holding her?” Hotch questioned, hopeful that there would have been something — anything.

Prentiss shook her head. There was nothing. Nothing at all. They had searched everywhere. Every single inch of that house but there was nothing there. Nothing but the body.

“Then we’ll have to wait for the coroner’s report, maybe the unsub left a clue for us there.”

“No, we don’t have time to wait. We only have a few hours left. There has to be something we’re missing.” Reid began to pace the room, running through everything they’d discovered so far in his head.

“Reid,” Morgan began, “We’ve run out of options but we still have time.”

The young doctor only began to shake his head, his eyes glaring in disbelief that his team could even suggest to sit around and wait while y/n was in danger. “No, we don’t. We have hours and if we just keep sitting around waiting she’s going to die.”

Just like that, he was storming out of the briefing room and, while Hotch gave new directions to the rest of the team, JJ jumped up to go after him.

“Spence!”

“If you’re just going to tell me to sit tight and wait like everyone else you’re wasting your breath.”

She understood how he was feeling because she knew how he felt about y/n. She knew it was a fool's errand trying to calm him down or convince him everything was going to be alright. All she wanted to do was be there for him when hope began to fade.

“Where are you going?”

He tugged at his collar, his fingers moving to loosen his tie in a desperate attempt to breathe. “I need some air.”

She let it be as he rushed through the bullpen, heading straight for the elevator. If she had left a moment earlier, she wouldn’t have heard the sound of a text coming through on his phone as the elevator doors began to close.

His eyes widened as he read the message, one that had come through from her: ‘It’s funny, isn’t it? Love? When you lose the thing you love, there isn’t anything you wouldn’t do to be reunited with it. That’s what I did, you know. I reunited Miss Richardson with her beloved father. Now I’m giving you the chance to be reunited with the one you love, so long as you come alone.’

Another text came through by the time he reached the bottom of the building. Another address.

𓆩♡𓆪

“Where’s Reid?”

JJ looked up from her paperwork and glanced out into the bullpen. “He’s not back yet?”

Morgan frowned. “No. Where did he go?”

“He said he needed to get some air but he should have been back by now,” she explained as she stood up, realising what had happened, “Shit.”

“What?”

“He got a text before he got into the elevator.”

Morgan was already half out of the room by the time she finished her sentence. “The unsub.”

The two of them all but ran to the rest of their team, already gathering their things to leave as questions started flooding in.

“Reid’s gone after him,” Morgan announced as the rest of the team gathered their equipment and began to head for the door.

“Alone?” Prentiss furrowed her brows, she had hoped he would have known better than that.

JJ stuttered, still in disbelief, “H-He said he was just going outside to get some air.”

Hotch was already pointing Garcia back into her office before she’d even made it through the door. “Garcia I need you to find Reid’s car. Tell us the moment you know what direction he was headed.”

“Y-yes, sir.”

Everyone was in hyperdrive, working against the clock to find Reid and y/n before it was too late. They were already in the SUVs, splitting into two groups before they even had any information on where he was going.

𓆩♡𓆪

There he stood, outside a property that they never would have even considered including during their search for it was not empty or abandoned but rather a home. A home that seemed well lived in from the moment he stepped inside.

No one was there. Not a single soul. Yet every surface was decorated with family pictures. A mother, father and son. A happy family.

From the photos, the son seemed to be no older than four and all Reid could do was hope nothing bad had happened to him or his family.

With his gun raised, he slowly made his way through the house until he reached the door he was looking for — the door to the basement.

Quietly, he descended into the darkest depths of the house. The stairs barely made a creak and, by the time he could see into the room, he saw her.

“Welcome, Doctor Reid.”

The man was standing beside her, face half-hidden in the shadows. He had a knife and held it firmly near her stomach in a silent threat.

“Let her go,” Reid demanded, although when the unsub did not budge, he opted for negotiation over immediate violence.

Stepping from the shadows, the unsub revealed himself. Reid recognised him the moment the dull light illuminated his features. He was the father in the photos upstairs but he was older now and more unkept than he appeared in the pictures.

“I don’t know what happened to your family but please, you have to let her go,” he pleaded again, eyes flickering over to y/n.

Other than the injuries she had sustained during the abduction, she seemed okay but he noticed how weak she seemed. Her injuries were not bad enough to be the cause of her drowsy state. The unsub may not have harmed her further but it seemed likely she had been drugged.

“Reid…” she spoke in a quiet voice, her hooded eyes barely open as she looked at him, struggling to lift her head.

The unsub looked between them with a smile as if he was truly happy to see them this way. “Young love, isn’t it so precious?”

“What do you want?”

“Me? No, this isn’t about what I want. This is about what you want,” the unsub looked at y/n as she stood half-dangling beside him and pointed, “Her. You want her, don’t you?”

Reid raised his gun again, finger resting on the trigger the moment the man drew closer to her.

“You lost your family,” he stated, gaining the unsub’s attention once again, “Your wife and son. You lost them, didn’t you?”

Hesitantly, the man nodded. “They were taken from me, just as she was taken from you. In the night while I was away.”

“You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to hurt her. It won’t bring them back.”

“Oh, but I do. When I sent my case to the BAU, you turned it down. It wasn’t a serial killer or a professional hit. Just a burglary gone wrong. I was at work when it happened, out late on the job. I wanted to join the FBI, you know? I was a recruit.”

The more he explained, the more Spencer began to understand. The unsub’s connection to the BAU, and the resentment he held for them. The loss of his family had driven him to his breaking point and he blamed them for not finding the killer.

Why had he taken y/n? Well, it wasn’t because she was a newer member of the BAU or because she was less experienced than the others but because somehow he knew. He knew how Spencer felt about her and he wanted to show a member of the BAU the same pain he felt when he lost his family.

“Please, just put the knife down. It doesn’t have to end this way.”

The unsub held the knife tighter than before, raising it to her neck. “Oh, but it does. I want you to do it. I want you to reunite me with them. Send me to them, please. If you refuse, I’ll take her from you just as they were taken from me.”

Reid shook his head, refusing to play his twisted game any longer. “Put the knife down.”

“I hoped it could have been different.”

Time seemed to move in slow motion as the unsub lifted his arm, angling the knife back onto her abdomen as he swung it down.

“No!”

𓆩♡𓆪

“Garcia, you’re sure he’s here?”

The technical analyst hummed over the line. “Positive.”

“I see his car,” JJ announced as she climbed out of the SUV, already rushing toward the house.

The team approached the building with caution, not wanting to rush in and startle the unsub into doing anything rash. They knew Reid was inside but they didn’t want to put him in any more danger.

Only, before they even reached the front door, they heard a gunshot and all caution flew to the wind as Morgan kicked down the door and burst inside.

They cleared each room before reaching the entrance to the basement and, upon hearing footsteps approaching, all guns were aimed at the door. They stood their ground, ready for whatever they were to face but when the door finally opened, all anyone could do was breathe a sigh of relief.

“Reid!” Morgan was by his side the moment he stepped through the door with her in his arms.

Hotch saw the spattering of blood that stained her clothes and looked into his eye. With just an exchanged glance, he knew what had transpired.

The unsub was dead. It was finally over.

Despite Morgan’s offer for help, Spencer carried her all the way outside to the paramedics. He stayed with her still as they lifted her into the ambulance. She was out of it, barely aware of what was going on.

“Go with them, we’ll meet you there.”

Reid offered a subtle nod to his unit chief, thankful that he was allowing him to accompany her to the hospital.

𓆩♡𓆪

Quiet beeps echoed through the room, the sound of the monitor that continued to track the beats of her heart.

Reid sat waiting, hands fidgeting as he bounced his leg.

“The doctor said she’s going to be fine, relax a little,” Morgan comforted with a gentle hand on Reid’s shoulder.

The youngest glanced up at his friend before his eyes flickered back over to her. “I can’t relax. Not until she wakes up. Not until I know she’s okay.”

From the moment the doctor had told them it was okay to wait with her in her room, Spencer had been by her side. The time he had spent in the waiting room before was agonising and he had felt relief when the doctor told them she just needed time to recover. Still, he couldn’t help but worry about her, not when he had been through something similar before. Kidnapped, tortured, and drugged.

He was thankful this unsub had seemed to skip the torture but he could still sympathise with how she was feeling. She had been taken from her own home. He could only imagine how scared she must have been.

When she finally began to stir and her eyes finally fluttered awake, he was on his feet again. “Y/n? How are you feeling?”

Morgan chuckled, “Come on kid, give her a second to wake up before you jump her with questions.”

Spencer was already holding her hand, his thumb rubbing gently across the back of it as he smiled.

“Spence?”

He nodded as she slowly came to, squeezing her hand a little just to make sure she knew he was really there — that she was safe now.

“I’ll go let the others know she’s awake,” Morgan excused himself, leaving the two of them to talk alone.

“What… What happened?”

He gulped and stuttered slightly as he answered, “Y-you were kidnapped.”

She closed her eyes again and nodded, recalling the events that had transpired as well as she could remember them. “You saved me. Thank you.”

With a small smile, he nodded.

It was quiet for a moment and all she could focus on was the warmth of his hand. Soon, he too realised he was still holding her hand and quickly let go as he cleared his throat to speak.

“So, how are you feeling?” he repeated his earlier words, eager to hear how she was holding up.

She couldn’t help but chuckle. “Honestly? Like shit. My head is killing and I think I might still be a little high.”

Spencer was now the one laughing at her remark, thankful that she was well enough to make light of the situation. “Yeah, that’s probably the painkillers the doctor gave you. Must be a pretty bad concussion if your head is still hurting.”

“Yeah, well it could have been a lot worse…”

The mood soured again with her words as the two of them were reminded of just how badly things could have gone had Reid not found her when he did.

“I knew it was going to be okay, you know. When I saw you I just… I knew I was safe.”

Though she smiled, it was her eyes that conveyed all he needed to know. Everything she’d never spoken aloud, everything she wanted to say but could never bring herself to do so. It was the first time he’d truly felt it, the way she felt for him. The first time he’d realised that she cared about him as much as he cared about her.

A test of faith had brought them together, breaking the boundary between them.

Spencer stepped closer again, leaning towards her as he took her hand in his again. With his other, he brushed her hair from her face, fingers lingering on her skin as time froze still.

Their quiet moment together would soon be broken when the door opened and the rest of the team flooded in to see how she was but, for just one moment, they were the only two people in the world.

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 3 months

Note

AITA for venting to my friend about my fiancée?

I (24M) have been with my fiancée (26NB) for about 3 years now. I try to avoid venting to my friends about it when I’m having little relationship annoyances because I used to do that for a while and it ended up with them just getting a horrible image of her because when good things happen that make me happy I would be responding IRL with my fiancée or gushing about it publicly e.g. on Twitter which most of my friends don’t use, vs when bad things happened I’d go to them to vent directly so they were only seeing the shitty moments. They would just always tell me she sucked or to break up with her which just wore on me because I don’t want to do that, they know I don’t want to do that, they know I don’t think I need to. Our relationship is super affectionate, has helped me massively in improving mentally and socially and in my confidence, makes me genuinely happy, and is for the most part, with certain problems we’ve been working on aside, healthy.

It’s not a communication issue or anything, I’ll address any issues with my fiancée directly as well and we’ll resolve it between us, just sometimes I’d feel the need to vent out my upset first while calming down or talking through what to say to her before I brought it up etc.

However this changed recently. my fiancée has always been a very physical person, she’s cuddly and loves kisses and just general touching, and that also translates into her playfully hitting me a lot, which I’ll do as well. Smacking each other on the ass when we pass each other, jokingly hitting each other’s arms (gently) when we’re making fun of each other, stuff like that. Very occasionally this will bother me (the other day she pinched my face hard enough that it hurt for like 20mins afterwards) but for the most part I genuinely could not care less and I take it as all in good fun.

She has never hit me in anger before, until today. She was playing a video game and died, and I laughed while sitting next to her when I saw it, and she just turned around and hit me full force. Like, harder than she’s ever hit before, and causing genuine pain. Usually I would just brush it off because like I said she hits me in a joking way a lot, but when I kind of gave a startled “ow” she just looked at me and hissed “Don’t laugh” through her teeth and she looked genuinely pissed off, and the force behind the hit just caught me completely off guard. It was also very very sudden because we’d been talking normally and light-heartedly, had even been cuddling a few minutes before, and although she was pretty clearly exasperated at the game (sighing, saying “oh my god” when the fight was going downhill) I didn’t think it was serious anger, so her abruptly whipping around and hitting me like that was so sudden and whiplashy I didn’t even have time to register it.

I have PTSD (C-PTSD? don’t remember what the specific diagnosis was) from my last relationship which was abusive in pretty much every way you can think of, and one of my biggest triggers that has been relevant in this relationship as a result of it is raised voices/anger around me (not necessarily At me, just like when my fiancée is getting frustrated or stressed and she’ll start hitting her keyboard or shouting and it’ll make me start panicking), but this is the first time I’ve had to confront being triggered by a physical violence thing. I started dissociating like hell so I left the room when she was distracted by the game and ended up slipping out of the house to call one of my best friends via Discord and lowkey cry about it

I genuinely don’t really remember what I said, the gist was just that I’d been triggered by my fiancée hitting me in anger and that I needed to calm down before I went back. This may have been a dick move because this friend is a mutual friend of me and my fiancée - I knew her first and am closer to her, but she recently met my fiancée in person for the first time and they seemed to get along well, and we’re in several servers and stuff together.

After I was done I went back in and my fiancée apologised for hitting me so hard. I said thank you and we moved on

But afterwards she confronted me because my friend had sent me a message after that basically just checking in on me and my fiancée had seen the message on my laptop that she was using to game. I usually have my Discord on Do Not Disturb when she’s using my computer just so she’s not bothered by notifications beeping at her constantly so I’m not sure if it wasn’t on for some reason and it popped up on-screen or if she minimised the game and saw it somehow, but she was incredibly upset with me because she said I’d made her out to sound physically abusive. I did explain that I’d made clear to the friend she’d never seriously hit before this, but she said that didn’t matter because it was still giving off that impression and that it was unfair because her hitting me was done in a moment of frustration/anger and I shouldn’t have laughed at the game.

I apologised and we dropped it but I do notice that since then she’s been on my computer/phone more often and she’s slid into a few of my friends’ (and I mean My friends, not ones she talks to or knows and not ones I’d said anything about this to) asking if I’ve ever spoken about her and if she can give her side of the story. My friends came straight to me about it because they felt uncomfortable with what they saw as being prompted to talk about me behind my back.

Reasons I don’t think I’m TA: She hit me, and I know she vents about me to her friends too, and although it does bother me that her friends don’t like me because of it (for I assume much the same reason some of mine don’t like her for, AKA only hearing about negative stuff) I’ve always maintained she has the right to do it. I think everyone should be able to vent to friends about partners or family and vice versa in private because venting is normal and as long as it’s not dishonest or just pure shit-talking them I think it can be helpful and even healthy.

Reasons I think I might be TA: I went to a mutual friend so she also has something to lose if this friend forms a negative opinion of her, I laughed at her dying in the game even though I know she gets incredibly frustrated and competitive in games, and I’ve never had an issue with her hitting me more playfully before so she may have just misjudged how hard it was.

So AITA for telling my friend my fiancée hit me / getting so upset about it or is it just PTSD acting up and making me overdramatise something that is basically on the same level as the joke hitting?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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persevereforahappyending · 8 months

Text

This isn't Your Fault (Anika POV)

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Reader

Summary: Anika’s hands shook, she almost dropped the phone at hearing Tara beg for your life.

Warning: Implied Violence

Word Count: 6.2k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5 | Part 6

Anakia sighed as she locked her phone. She had asked you about the Halloween party in class and you had turned her down. She had been texting you ever since just to double check. Your latest excuse for not going was that your parents were out of town, and you were using the house to yourself to stay up late and play video games. Anika pointed out that was literally no different than any other day and you had left her on read after that.

Anika knew you hated parties, but you only ever saw Mindy when she came to pick Anika up from one of your study sessions or when working on a project, or in your shared class with her. Anika wanted you to spend time with her and Mindy in a normal social setting. You were one of Anika’s best friends and she just wanted you to get to know her girlfriend and other friends properly. She knew Mindy could be suspicious and intense with new people, but she had really worked hard to get her girlfriend to not glare at you and outright accuse you of potential nefarious purposes.

Anika knew when to give up though, she knew you’d never come to the party. So, she decided to just enjoy the night with her girlfriend and then tell you all about it tomorrow. She knew you wouldn’t care but Anika liked to pretend you might regret not coming.

The party had been going great. Anika had a drink in one hand and was sitting in Mindy’s lap. Everything was great until she noticed Frankie trying to pull Tara upstairs. Anika quickly pulled herself away from Mindy before grabbing Chad and point to where Tara was. Anika stood to the side as Chad confronted Frankie, getting in a slight scuffle with him until Sam showed up and tased Frankie. Anika couldn’t even feel bad for Frankie, based on the few stories she heard about the guy, she could confidently say he deserved it.

Anika stayed to the back of the group as Sam and Tara argued. Anika was used to it by this point and knew not to get in the middle of their fighting. She pulled out her phone, shooting you a text to say she had left the party early and she couldn’t wait to tell you about the eventful night. You didn’t respond, so Anika figured you were engulfed by your game, as usual.

Anika was caught off guard when a group of girls called Sam a murderer and one of them threw their drink on Sam. Anika moved quickly along with Mindy and Chad to hold Tara back. Tara might have been angry with her sister but that didn’t matter because the second anyone else so much as looked at Sam wrong, Tara was ready to lunge and beat the person. Mindy might have been the paranoid one, ready to accuse everyone, and Sam might have been the strong intimidating one, but Anika had to admit she was most scared of Tara. The girl could be happy and laughing one moment then in the blink of an eye she could be giving someone a murderous look and ready to beat them with her bare hands if she had to.

Anika followed everyone back to Sam and Tara’s apartment. While Tara stormed off to her room, Mindy dragged Anika over to the couch, bringing her down with her. Anika happily flung her legs over Mindy’s lap, practically sitting on top of her again. The night hadn’t turned out like she wanted to, but it didn’t seem like a totally crappy ending to the night.

Anika looked at her phone again, frowning when she saw you still hadn’t even opened her message. She knew you really got into your gaming and would spend hours upon hours playing, but you usually looked at your phone during a cut scene or a calm part of the game as you liked to say. Anika glanced up occasionally to see if Chad had decided on a channel to watch but she was more focused on texting you again. She didn’t want to seem paranoid, but she just needed you to give her a simple ‘I’m alive’ text and she would be fine for the rest of the night.

“You good T?” Mindy asked, bringing Anika’s attention away from her phone. She looked up to see Tara having entered the room, tear filled eyes and a phone to her ear. Anika quickly swung her legs off Mindy and leaned forward.

“Tara?” Sam asked slowly, as she stood up from her seat. “Who’s on the phone?” Anika had never experienced anything related to Ghostface, but she could hear the worry and concern in Sam’s voice. She could see the underlying fear in Mindy and Chad’s eyes.

Tara’s eyes wandered the room before landing on Sam. Anika could see the tears slowly start to fall from Tara’s eyes when she looked at her sister. Anika had seen Tara mad and annoyed before, usually at Sam. She had also seen her happy when they were all hanging out or when talking about movies with Mindy. Anika had never seen her scared though and it was clear whatever Tara was hearing on the other end of the line had her terrified.

“Y/N?” Tara asked. Anika shot to her feet at hearing your name. “Y/N?” Anika scrunched her brow, she was worried, but she was also curious, she didn’t realize you and Tara knew each other. She saw Chad turn off the TV and she felt Mindy’s presence standing behind her.

Anika was aware you shared a class with Tara, but she figured you’d never talked to her just like how you were with Mindy in the class you shared with her. Anika didn’t think you had ever even spoken to Tara, she thought you only knew of her based on how Anika talked about hanging out with the group. Whenever she came over to your place, she would give you a rundown of what happened between now and the last time she saw you and it usually involved talking about the gang.

“Baby, are you there?” Tara asked again, the concern pouring out of her voice.

Anika’s eyes went wide, apparently you did know Tara, you knew Tara very well. Based on the shock of the others in the room it was clear no one knew about you and Tara’s secret relationship. Anika was going to have to interrogate you about that after whatever was going on was resolved. She knew whatever was going on wasn’t good. She knew your parents were out of town and you were home alone, you also hadn’t answered any of her texts sense she got to the party. Anika wanted to hope so bad that you hadn’t responded to her because you were too busy being on the phone with Tara, but she knew that wasn’t likely.

Anika watched as Tara jumped multiple times from whatever she was hearing on the other end of the phone. Tara even began hyperventilating. As Sam tried to get Tara to calm down and get control of her breathing Anika’s eyes slowly started to fill with tears.

“Don’t hurt them, please,” Tara begged, her voice cracking. This made Anika bring a hand to her mouth, trying to contain a sob, but she couldn’t stop the tears from falling. Even though Anika had never experienced a Ghostface attack, she like all the others knew exactly what was going on now.

When Sam turned and looked at them Anika knew Mindy and Chad were ready for whatever she was about to say. She didn’t need to see either of their faces to know. She was sure that despite the fear they were surely feeling they would do anything Sam asked. Anika tried to put on a brave face as well, wiping away a few of the stray tears that still fell.

“We need to move,” Sam said. Everyone started moving. Anika wasn’t sure where they were all trying to go, she just knew they were suddenly bumping into each other and tripping over everything. “Call 911,” she ordered, ignoring all the tripping they were doing.

Chad fumbled with his phone, quickly pulling it out of his pocket. “An address would be helpful,” Chad said as he was dialing 911.

“On it,” Anika said, her voice shaky. She wiped away a few more tears as she pulled out her phone, getting your address.

“Please! She has nothing to do with this!” Tara sobbed. Anika’s hands shook, she almost dropped the phone at hearing Tara beg for your life. She quickly found your address and showed Chad, who quickly read it off to the 911 operator.

“Please,” Tara begged again. She was sobbing and her breathing was becoming more and more erratic. Anika couldn’t even begin to imagine what horrible thing you might be going through that was causing Tara so much stress. Anika saw Sam take off towards Tara’s room, but she was to rattled to notice anything else.

“No!” Tara screamed, shaking Anika out of her own head. Anika wanted to help, she wanted to know what was going on, she needed you to be okay. Sam came running back into the room, straight over to Tara and handing her her inhaler.

Anika watched as Sam tried to take the phone away from Tara and Tara slapped her hand away, keeping it just out of reach. When Sam gripped Tara by the shoulders to force her to look at her Anika saw Tara’s hand form into a fist. Anika thought for a split second that she’d witness Tara deck Sam. Anika knew Tara had one hell of a punch; she also knew Tara tended to start swinging before registering who she was swinging at. Luckily Tara saw it was Sam grabbing her and unclenched her fist.

“We have to go,” Sam told Tara.

“I can’t,” Tara sobbed. “I-I-I-can’t. I-” Tara started stuttering, her breathing becoming worse. Even when Tara would get upset and angry with Sam or with some random stranger saying something negative about her or Sam Anika had never seen Tara so worked up. Anika wasn’t just worried about you; she was worried about Tara. Sam remained calm though, handing Tara her inhaler and helping lift it to her mouth.

“Let’s go,” Sam said again, somehow being the calmest person in the room. “We can’t help here,” she continued, trying to convince Tara to leave with her. “Let’s go.” Tara finally nodded and got to following Sam. Anika pulled out her phone, texting Sam your address. “Chad!” she yelled.

“Already calling 911,” he answered instantly, he had the phone to his ear as he continued talking to the 911 operator.

“Anika-”

“Already texted you her address,” Anika said softly. She was trying to remain calm and not lose her mind until after she knew exactly what was happening to you.

Then next thing Anika knew Sam and Tara were disappearing through the front door, rushing down the steps, headed hopefully to your rescue. Anika gripped her phone tightly as she started sobbing, struggling to catch her breath much like Tara had been.

“Babe,” Mindy said worriedly. “Hey, hey, it’s okay,” she gripped Anika gently by the arm, standing in front of her. “It’s going to be okay. She is going to be okay.” Anika met Mindy’s eyes and didn’t see the confidence she was trying to project.

“You don’t know that,” Anika said, shaking her head. “We have no idea what he’s doing to her,” she sobbed. Mindy instantly pulled her into a hug as she began sobbing into her girlfriend’s shoulder.

“I think the only one that needs to worry is Ghostface,” Chad said. “I mean when Tara gets her hands on him,” he did a couple air punches. “Oof, I wouldn’t want to be him.”

Anika pulled away from Mindy, wiping at her tears as she chuckled at Chad. Despite the circumstances and the unknown Chad had somehow managed to break the tension.

“Who is Y/N, by the way?” Chad asked, smiling awkwardly as he clearly tried to keep the mood light.

Anika started to tear up again. “Hey,” Chad said softly, tapping Anika’s shoulder lightly to get her to look at him. “Tell me about her.” Anika wiped the tears from her eyes again but was reluctant. “Please?” Chad looked at her with the same puppy dog eyes Mindy always used on her. “We won’t know anything until Sam calls. Until then, tell me about her.”

Anika nodded. Mindy wrapped an arm around her waist and led her back over to the couch. Chad took her hand, giving it a comforting squeeze as he sat on the other side of Anika.

“We met in class,” Anika said, smiling as she thought back to her first time meeting you. “Audio.”

“I thought you hated audio?” Chad questioned.

“Oh, I do,” Anika laughed at the memory. “But it’s required. Even if I don’t need to know editing and mixing audio, it’s beneficial to know how to run audio and the different types of microphones used and everything. I want to work in theater and there’s no do overs and reshoots when there’s a live performance.”

“And that’s another reason film is better,” Mindy commented.

Anika rolled her eyes. “There’s nothing like live theater.” Anika playfully slapped Mindy’s arm. “Maybe you’d understand that if you took me to the theater,” she mumbled the last part.

“You guys can fight about this later, tell me more about Y/N,” Chad said, waving his hands at the beginnings of the potential argument about film vs theater.

“Anyway,” Anika said, turning back to face Chad. “Y/N is an audio major, which is good because she totally carried me through that class.” Anika started to talk more about how she met you and everything, remembering how different the two of you were but how easily you clicked.

Anika had walked into class, dreading having to learn audio. She was beating herself up for not just choosing a major that only involved theater. Anika didn’t want to act and be on stage, she wanted to run the lighting, set the scene. The best major to learn all that though involved having to know about everything. Anika had to admit lighting and sound went together a lot and she did want to learn how to run the sound along with the lights, she wanted to be involved in everything that helped enhance a live performance, and the things that really made it come alive.

Anika had ended up taking a seat next to you. You had large headphones on as you scribbled in a notebook. Anika wasn’t sure whether you were writing or doodling. The only thing Anika could see was your laptop propped open with some sort of audio editing software pulled up. She knew it was audio related because she was confused as she looked at the various different colored bars and wavy lines. She quietly groaned because she had sat next to someone who clearly knew what they were doing.

As soon as the professor came in you closed all the tabs, quickly shutting your laptop before slipping the headphones off your head, letting them rest around your neck. As the professor started talking and writing things on the board Anika pulled out her own notebook. She was aware of you flipping your notebook to a clean page, but she was too busy squinting at the professor as he quickly talked about microphones. Anika blinked a few times, looking down at her paper, she had the words dynamic, condenser, and ribbon as the three main types of microphones but had nothing else written.

Anika spared a glance to her left and saw you quickly writing in your notebook, your page more than half full. Anika’s eyes widened; she hadn’t seen you look up once, but it seemed like you were getting everything down as the professor said it. Anika looked back up at her professor to see him pulling out a box, pulling out each different type of microphone so everyone could see the differences with their own eyes.

Anika sighed, slumping back into her seat. She tossed her pen down and didn’t even bother trying to catch up on her notes. There was no way she was ever going to pass the class. It was day one and not even a half an hour into her first class and she’d already accepted her failure. The next thing she knew her professor was dismissing class. She shook her head, getting out of her daydream, she looked down to see she still only had three words written down. She glanced your way again, seeing you had moved onto a second page and that was already half full.

You started packing up when you seemed to notice Anika staring at you. When Anika realized you were looking at her, she mumbled, “Sorry.” She let out a defeated sigh before she closed her notebook.

“Would you like to borrow my notes?” You asked.

“Thanks,” Anika said, giving you a soft smile. “I’m not sure it would do much good. I kind of don’t understand a single thing about all of this,” she gestured around the classroom.

You chuckled lightly. “Yeah, if it ain’t your thing, it kind of doesn’t make any sense.” Anika chuckled along with you. “I could help you out, if you want.” You scratched at the back of your head, then began fidgeting with your headphones, you clearly weren’t used to this type of interaction.

“I would love that!” Anika said a little too quickly, making you jump back a little. “Sorry,” she said more quietly. “I would really like that, if you don’t mind of course.”

“I don’t mind.”

“I’m just warning you; this is your last chance to backout, it will take many study sessions and many hours to make me even begin to grasp this stuff.”

You chuckled again. “I’ll take my chances. Who knows, when I’m done with you, you’ll be able to pass this class with a C,” you joked.

Anika’s mouth fell open in offense. “Really? We don’t even know each other and you’re already being mean to me?”

You just shrugged. “I mean if you want to take your chances without my help and your notetaking, go for it,” you gestured to her notebook.

“You’re a mean new friend,” Anika grumbled.

“Yeah,” you sighed. “I’m terribly mean. I mean what kind of person would offer to lend their notes and then offer to help out the stranger next to them in class when they don’t even know their name?”

“I truly terrible person,” Anika said seriously but then broke out into a fit of laughter, with you quickly joining in. “I’m Anika,” she held out her hand to you.

“Y/N,” you introduced yourself, taking her hand. “Do you have another class, or would you like to go over the notes now?”

“Now works, I saw a coffee shop not too far from here.”

The two of you left the classroom, making your way to the coffee shop. You both ordered drinks before picking out a table large enough to open your notebooks. The two of you spent a couple hours there, going over the notes you had taken in class with Anika asking a billion questions. She felt stupid for making you re-explain like the entire class you had both just been in, but you never made her feel stupid for it and happily explained everything to her. You had actually spent so much time talking that you ended up having to rush off to your next class before you were late, but you and Anika promised to meet up after your audio class every week to go over whatever she needed help with.

And that’s how the rest of the semester went. Anika would go to audio and be confused then she would meet you at the coffee shop or in the library and you’d go over things with her again. Anika wasn’t sure what it was about you but the way you explained things to her made her retain them better. When the mid-term and final exam came around you spent every night for weeks over at her dorm helping her study. She wondered when you had time to study for yourself since you seemed so busy tutoring her, but audio seemed to come naturally to you. Every quiz or test you’d taken so far you aced while Anika passed.

Whenever there was a project or paper you had to write for class, you always worked with Anika. The teacher let them choose partners and you still chose Anika. She never knew why because there were other students who clearly had a passion for audio like you and who actually knew their stuff. Whenever you guys worked on something together it felt more like you doing the project, explaining it to Anika, and her just sitting there, getting credit for it. You assured her multiple times you didn’t see it that way.

As you two went through the semester together, you started hanging out more as friends and not just to help Anika pass the class. No matter what the two of you did though, you somehow managed to bring audio into it. You were such a nerd when it came to music and sound design, Anika couldn’t watch a movie without you commenting on the score. She learned that what you really wanted to do was the sound design for videogames, she also learned you didn’t shut up when the topic of your favorite videogame got brought up. She made the mistake of asking you what your favorite game was and ended up listening to you ramble about the music of The Last of Us for over an hour and then you made her listen to the entire soundtrack, then you made her listen to it again, but this time paused it to add your commentary.

Luckily, she was allowed to do the same though. Anika listened to you geek out about soundtracks and videogames while you listened to her about theater, the different plays, the different types of musicals. Whenever there was a new play in town that Anika wanted to see she would take you, since Mindy refused to go with her. Anika was always immersed during the play but after she spent the rest of the night talking about the lighting and how each scene was lit and the emotion that it invoked, if it was a musical then she would add a couple more hours, talking about how each performer sung the song and the music itself and how each song told the story.

“She seems really cool,” Chad said, bringing Anika out of her memories of you. “And you didn’t know about her and Tara?”

Anika shook her head. “Nope,” she answered. “I knew she shared a class with Mindy.”

“Script writing,” Mindy added. “She might be more into audio but she’s not half bad with storytelling in general.”

“And yet you still don’t like her.”

Mindy raised her hands in defense. “Can you blame me? Besides, with how well you get along I’m surprised you two weren’t dating before we met.”

Anika rolled her eyes at that. “She’s just my best friend,” Anika said, with a teasing smile.

“Whatever,” Mindy grumbled, crossing her arms.

“I think Tara has film history with her,” Anika said, turning back to Chad. “I forget who mentioned it first, but I remember them both knowing they had the class together. I didn’t think they knew each other though. Neither ever talked about the other.”

Anika was about to talk more about you when her phone vibrated. She quickly grabbed her phone, aware of Mindy and Chad both pulling out their phones as well. Sam had sent a group text saying you were alive but had been rushed into surgery and she and Tara were in the hospital waiting room. Anika shot off a quick text saying they were on their way. She was on her feet before Mindy and Chad had time to finish reading the text.

“Let’s go!” she snapped, gesturing for them to get up. They quickly got up, rushing to follow her out the door.

When they got to the hospital they ran through the white corridors until they got to the waiting room where they saw Sam and Tara sitting in two of the chairs. Tara had her feet pulled up onto the seat, her arms wrapped around her legs. Sam was sitting next to her, her hand rubbing up and down Tara’s back.

Anika walked over, giving Tara’s hand a comforting squeeze before taking a seat across from her with Mindy right behind her. Anika wanted to say something and ask what happened, she wanted to know how you were doing but she knew it wasn’t the time. All she knew was that you were still alive and that was the most important thing at the moment.

Anika intertwined her hand with Mindy’s and leaned her head on her shoulder. She refused to let her mind go to the worst-case scenario, you were alive, and you were in surgery, you’d be fine. Anika’s mind went through every interaction she had with you again. You had helped her so much in the first audio class that for the fall semester, you guys made your schedules together and signed up for audio 2 together. Anika had only known you for six months, the beginning of summer semester, the same amount of time as she’d known Mindy, but you had become such an integral part of her life, you were her best friend. You needed to live. Even if it was only so Anika could interrogate you about your relationship with Tara, she needed you to live.

After a few hours of waiting Anika had drifted off to sleep. She didn’t wake up until she heard a nurse say your name. She was on her feet and wide awake in an instant. She stood around the nurse with the others, she gripped Mindy’s hand tightly as they waited to hear the news.

“Is she okay?” Tara asked.

“Relation?” the nurse asked, looking up at Tara from her chart.

“She’s, my girlfriend.”

“She’s out of surgery and in a room recovering, you’re welcome to go see her.”

Anika let out a relieved sigh, you really were going to be okay. She loosened her grip on Mindy’s hand, then gave it a grateful squeeze.

“How is she?” Tara whispered.

The nurse sighed, putting down her chart. “She’s alive.” At hearing those words Tara let out a relieved sob. Anika couldn’t help the happy tears that started to fill her eyes. “Her left hand was practically shattered, and she’s got seven broken or cracked ribs.” Anika brought a hand to her mouth; you had endured so much. “It’ll take some time, but she’ll be okay,” she gave a kind smile to Tara then everyone else before walking away.

You were only allowed two visitors and as much as Anika wanted to see you, she knew Tara had to see you more and she knew Tara needed her sister by her side. Anika pulled Tara into a tight hug. She hugged Tara for a second longer, making up for the fact that she couldn’t hug you yet.

When Sam and Tara went to visit you everyone else re-took their seats. Anika grabbed the sandwich that Chad had brought her and took a bite, taking a sip of her juice as well. Anika was fully prepared to sleep in the hospital waiting room, but it wasn’t much long later when Sam came back down. Sam informed them that you looked beat up but okay considering what was done to you and you were still sleeping. She said her and Tara weren’t leaving but she wanted them to go back to the apartment or one of their dorms and rest.

Anika reluctantly let Mindy drag her out of the hospital and back to the apartment. The three of them stood in the apartment for about five minutes before Chad wandered off, filling a bag with spare clothes for the sisters. Anika then dragged Mindy to follow Chad back to the hospital to drop off the clothes. She knew it didn’t take three of them to drop off clothes but with Ghostface running around there was safety in numbers, plus she just wanted to be there in case there was any new information on you, even though she knew Sam would keep them informed.

The three of them decided to stay in the apartment, none of them had a big enough dorm room to fit three people. Besides Ethan was Chad’s roommate and they wanted to keep the people who knew what was going on to a minimum. Anika wasn’t sure where Quinn was during everything, her absence was suspicious, but it wasn’t uncommon. They had all been at a party and Ethan and Quinn both stayed behind. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Quinn to go to a party and come home the next day or even a few days later if she was having a lot of fun with the guy she found.

Chad was snuggled up in the chair, a blanket draped over him while Mindy was curled up on the couch. Anika was sitting on the opposite end of the couch. She couldn’t sleep now that she knew you were alive, she was worried something else was going to happen. She watched a random movie that was playing on the TV with the sound on mute so as to not disturb the twins.

That’s how the next day went as well. Anika was exhausted from the lack of sleep and was getting by by taking quick powernaps. Mindy would flip through the channels to find mindless entertainment to fill the time and Chad would make them food. For breakfast it was simply eggs, for lunch it was chicken nuggets, and for dinner it was pizza. It was also simple food that was just frozen and tossed in the microwave, but Chad was the only one making sure everyone actually ate.

It was late at night again, the twins sleeping in the same position as they were the night before. Anika had a random movie playing on mute, but she wasn’t paying attention to it, she couldn’t even say what genre it was if someone asked. Her phone was sitting on the coffee table when it lit up. She lunged off the couch, grabbing her phone to see that it was a text from Sam, you were awake.

Anika jumped off the couch and was already putting on her shoes. “Get up!” she yelled. She grabbed Chad’s shoes, throwing them at him. He jolted awake, almost tipping the chair. “Y/N is awake, get up!” she said louder, tossing Mindy her shoes as well.

Though the twins were startled awake they both quickly got up, slipping on their shoes. Anika waited at the front door, tapping her foot as she shook her head, slowly watching them get ready. She clicked her phone to look at the time, a whole two minutes had passed since Sam sent that text. “Let’s go!” Anika’s grumpiness seeped into her voice. It got the other two moving though and next thing she knew they were walking out the front door.

They got to the hospital, meeting Sam in the waiting room. She told them once again that you were awake and talking with Tara. They all took seats in the waiting room again, Sam opting to wait with them so she could give you and Tara some privacy. Anika finally slept for the first time in two days, head on Mindy’s shoulder now that she knew you were awake.

In the morning they were all woken up by FBI agent Kirby Reed. She introduced herself to everyone but her and Sam clearly knew each other already. Kirby told them she investigated Ghostface attacks, since she was a survivor of the 2011 killings. Kirby had just got to town, and she heard about the attack, when she heard you were awake, she had come right over, wanting to talk to you. Sam took Kirby to show her to your room.

A few minutes later Sam came back down but she wasn’t alone, she was with Tara who had a determined look in her eye. Anika was actually scared by the look Tara held, it was dark, and it was what she imagined a killer to look like right before they went hunting.

“What’s going on?” Mindy asked.

“We’re going to kill this fucker,” Tara spit out.

Sam rested a gentle hand on Tara’s shoulder, trying to calm her down. “We have a plan.”

“Let’s go,” Chad said, jumping up from his seat.

“No. Just us.”

“Sam, you can’t take on Ghostface alone.”

“I can’t let any of you get hurt again, please stay here.”

While Sam argued with Chad and Mindy about whether they were coming or not Anika watched Tara. Tara didn’t look like she cared one way or another whether others joined them or not, all she wanted was to kill the bastard that hurt her girlfriend. When Tara noticed Anika watching her, her gaze softened and she stepped towards Anika, pulling her away from the others.

“Can I ask a favor?” Tara whispered, looking at Anika with wide eyes.

“Anything,” Anika said instantly.

“Can you stay with Y/N?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you. Just keep her distracted and don’t let her come after me.”

Anika let out a small chuckle. “Easier said than done. When she learns you’re not here she’s going to be pissed.”

“I know,” Tara whispered.

“Whatever, you’re going to be the one to deal with her wrath when you get back.”

For the first time in two days Anika saw Tara smile, it was a small smile, but it was a smile. “Happily.”

Anika made her way up to your room, leaving the others to continue arguing. She stood outside as she watched through the window. Agent Reed stood by your bedside as she talked to you. Kirby looked up, meeting Anika’s gaze and a minute later she was walking out of the room. Anika gave her a smile before entering your hospital room.

“Hey,” Anika whispered quietly.

“Hey,” you said, smiling at her before it quickly fell. “What are you doing here? Where’s Tara?”

“Wow, I’ll try not to be offended,” Anika chuckled. She moved to the seat closest to your bed. She was really hoping for a minute before you started questioning her.

“Nika,” you said, looking at her knowingly.

Anika sighed; she wasn’t lucky enough to make it a minute before she had to tell you. “You know where,” she said softly.

Your eyes fearfully darted all around the room before you tried to sit up. Anika quickly jumped up from her seat, resting a hand on your shoulder to push you back down. You instantly groaned, wincing in pain from the moving around.

“I have to stop her,” you said through gritted teeth.

“You know there’s no doing that,” Anika said.

“She could die!” you snapped. Anika jumped at your tone, though she knew you weren’t angry with her.

“She’s done this before,” Anika said. “And she has Sam with her. She also has a pretty strong motive to survive.”

“She better survive Ghostface cause when she gets back, I’m gonna kill her,” you grumbled.

Anika smiled at your words. “Don’t worry, she’s well aware.”

The two of you sat in silence for a minute. Anika watched you but you watched the door. Your eyes hadn’t left the door since Anika told you what Tara was doing. You were waiting for her to come back, and you weren’t going to take your eyes off the door until you saw Tara walking through.

“So,” Anika said, clapping her hands together. “Want to watch The Last of Us?” that got your attention, you slowly turned to give Anika a confused look. “You can tell me all the differences between the show and the game,” Anika tried to bribe. She grabbed a laptop they had brought over with the spare clothes.

“You’re trying to distract me,” you said, glancing at the laptop as Anika went and pulled up the show.

“And it’s working,” Anika smiled as she moved the chair even closer to your bedside.

“No, it’s not,” you grumbled.

“Look, you can either annoy me about all the differences between the show and the game or we can talk about how you’ve secretly been dating Tara.” Anika crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow.

You grumbled something incoherent before hitting play on the first episode. Anika smiled to herself, leaning back into the chair as she got ready to listen to you ramble. “This doesn’t get you out of telling me about Tara though,” Anika added.

You rolled your eyes, flicking a glare at Anika. As the show started your eyes instantly lit up. “So, right away it’s already different because in the game in opens with…” you started rambling. Anika was silently hoping Tara would be back before you finished all nine episodes.

Taglist: @bigbadsofty07 @fanboy7794 @noooodlessstuff @tatumrileyslover @alexkolax @canvascoloredin

#tara carpenter #tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x fem reader #tara carpenter imagine #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #anika kayoko #scream #scream 6 #scream vi #this isn't your fault

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