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tip-top-cloud-surfer · 10 months

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The Forgotten Nest (Part 2) - Rooster

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw / Mitchell!OC (Cora)

Word Count: 4.4k

This work, all my works, and my entire blog are 18+ Only

Warnings: Past Unplanned Teenage Pregnancy; Angst; Absent Father Figures; The 'He Didn't Know About the Pregnancy' Trope; Repeating Trauma Cycles; Crying; Carole Would Be Disappointed; Named Mitchell Daughter OC (Cora) and Named Mitchell-Bradshaw Son (Nickie)

Summary: The Daggers start preparing for the mission. Rooster does some searching. Nickie keeps another secret from his mom.

A.N. There are references to a previous unplanned teenage pregnancy (between two eighteen-year-olds) in this fic. There won't be any flashback scenes to the pregnancy, but the references are still there, so if that makes you uncomfortable, please do not read.

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Epilogue

Master List

Maverick stepped out onto the tarmac with his helmet in hand. Bradley was a few paces ahead of him and Maverick picked up his pace to catch up to the younger aviator. After watching Bradley’s reaction to his arrival and his briefing, Maverick knew that Bradley was still holding tightly to the past. And that could only lead to issues.

In the air anyways.

“Bradley,” Maverick called out to him. Bradley didn’t pause or turn around, continuing on his way as if Maverick was just a stray bird flying through. “Bradley!” Still no response. Quickly getting to the end of his rope, Maverick barked out, “Lieutenant Bradshaw.”

That seemed to get Bradley to finally turn around. Rooster stood tall with his shoulders squared, looking like he was preparing to tell a crack head to fuck off more than talk with the man who helped raise him. Maverick stopped in front of him, noting how Rooster’s jaw clenched and unclenched.

“Yes, sir,” Rooster returned mockingly.

“Let’s not do it like this,” Maverick sighed, causing Rooster to look away for a moment.

“You gonna wash me out?” Rooster asked, turning back to Maverick.

“That’ll be up to you. Not me,” Maverick replied calmly.

“Am I dismissed?” Rooster grunted out after a moment, itching to get into his cockpit already.

Maverick’s jaw ticked with annoyance. There was plenty more that he wanted to say to Bradley. Plenty more. But he couldn’t say any of that without giving away Nickie’s existence. And even though Maverick had his own opinions about the situation between his daughter and Rooster, Nickie was her son and it was her decision at the end of the day how she wanted to deal with Bradley. Not his.

“Keep your head on out there,” was all Maverick stated before Rooster stormed off.

Maverick watched Rooster walk off, his jaw ticking with annoyance yet again before he turned for his own plane. Climbing up into the cockpit, Maverick went through his pre-flight checks. Unzipping one of the pockets in his flight suit, Maverick pulled out a singular photo and quickly taped it to the side of his cockpit, out of the way of the dials.

Cora, dressed in her college graduation attire, beamed at the camera with Nickie, who was just about to turn six, perched on her hip with her cap on his head. Cora was holding her son like he was the prize, like he was her diploma. Ice and Sarah stood to one side of Cora and Nickie and Maverick stood to the other with Penny, who had Amelia in her arms, standing right beside him.

It was truly a moment of triumph for Cora—graduating college even though she had a baby on her own at eighteen. Maverick was so proud of her and it was all written in the tear tracks that were drying on his cheeks in the photo. He had been so worried that Cora would get stuck—through no fault of her own—and never go to college or any kind of training.

But she did it. Despite the odds, she did it.

Glancing over at where Rooster was preparing to take off for the training exercises, Maverick forced himself to steel his emotions. He wouldn’t let Bradley’s undoubtedly petty drama from close to seventeen years ago to influence him now. He had a mission and he had six aviators that he had to train to complete that mission.

But that reminder still stuck with him—if Bradley was any other guy on the planet, Maverick never would have shown him mercy. Not for what he did to Cora and Nickie.

~~~~~

Rooster sat out on the tarmac for another good fifteen minutes after Phoenix gave up on trying to snap some sense into him. He told her that he was fine, that he had it handled. And even though she didn’t look like she believed him, Phoenix left him be.

That was why their friendship worked so well—they knew when to leave each other alone. And right now, Rooster really needed to be alone with his thoughts.

He wasn’t expecting Maverick to be in Miramar. Not like this, at the very least. There was always a chance that Maverick would be in Miramar to see or be around Cora. Rooster had partially prepared himself to run into Maverick in the grocery store or on a drive around town. But on base? As his instructor? Rooster wasn’t prepared for that.

And what the hell was Maverick doing as an instructor at Top Gun? Didn’t they learn their lesson the first time around? It had Ice written all over it. Rooster would have bet every penny to his name that Ice was somehow involved in this scheme.

Focusing on his breathing to calm down, Rooster eventually picked himself up off the tarmac and started trudging for the locker room. It was empty when he arrived and Rooster wasted no time in stripping down, showering, and changing out of his flight suit. Pulling out his wallet, Rooster slowly unfolded it and reached into one of the card holder slips.

He pulled out a simple piece of paper that looked like it had been ripped from a larger page. It came from one of the letters that Cora sent him years ago. Maybe seven or so after he left. He hadn’t kept the rest of the letter, which was just Cora begging for him to forgive Maverick and come back to Miramar, but he kept the end of it because of two important pieces of information.

Cora’s phone number. And her address.

Now, Rooster wasn’t sure if either of them were still accurate. She could have changed her number—he did, after all—and she could have easily moved. And his attempts to do research on Google didn’t really get him anywhere with either her address or her number.

Rooster wanted to try and verify them before he reached out, knowing that he had about half of a first impression to probably convince Cora to talk to him. And he was pretty sure that showing up at the wrong house or calling the wrong number wasn’t going to do him any favors.

Picking up his keys, Rooster closed the door to his locker and headed out of the locker room.

~~~~~

Nickie walked out of school late, having stayed late to try and get his pre-calc grade up a little bit more. Looking around for his mom’s car, Nickie paused when he heard the familiar hum of the Kawasaki. The mischievous smile that he definitely inherited from his grandfather quickly tugged at Nickie’s lips as he watched the Kawasaki roll around the corner.

Maverick waved to Nickie and slowly came to a stop in front of him. Nickie walked quickly over to his grandfather, ignoring some of the incredulous looks thrown in his direction. Maverick set up the kickstand and slipped off the Kawasaki, turning to greet his grandson.

“I thought that Mom was supposed to pick me up,” Nickie stated, though he wasn’t complaining.

“Apparently, they’re running late over at the office with all their appointments,” Maverick replied, taking Nickie’s backpack from him. “And I had the time.”

“Does Mom know that you’re picking me up on your bike?” Nickie asked as Maverick securely strapped down his backpack.

“Well, she never specified which vehicle I had to pick you pu in,” Maverick returned jokingly. Tugging on the straps that secured Nickie’s backpack to test them, Maverick turned back to his grandson. “But you know the rule.”

Maverick held out a helmet to Nickie, who quickly took it and put it on without complaint. His mom ingrained in him from a very young age to never get on a bike without a helmet. Unfortunately, in Cora’s opinion, that teaching didn’t seem to move up generations. Maverick climbed on first and Nickie climbed on after him. Nickie held tight to and turned to see several students staring at him.

“Hey,” Nickie called, waving at them.

“Don’t even think about it,” Maverick warned his grandson, noting the girls that Nickie was waving at.

Maverick started the engine and shook his head before starting off down the road. Nickie clung to his grandfather as they drove along far slower than Maverick would go if he was by himself. It didn’t take long, however, for Nickie to realize that they weren’t heading home.

“Where are we going?” Nickie called over the wind.

“I need to make a pit stop on my way home,” Maverick yelled back to Nickie.

“Where?”

“The Hard Deck. I owe Penny some money!”

“I think that you owe her more than that!” Nickie shouted, causing Maverick to frown.

“Have you been listening in on your mom’s conversations again?”

“What!? I can’t hear you!?” Nickie yelled loudly, causing Maverick to chuckle and shake his head.

“Good answer.”

A quick ten minutes later and the two Mitchells pulled up to the Hard Deck. Maverick parked towards the front door and turned off the Kawasaki. Nickie got off first and pulled his helmet off. Running a hand through his short curls, which caused Maverick’s gut to tighten after watching Rooster do something similar that morning, Nickie moved to undo his backpack from the straps.

Maverick led the way inside the Hard Deck, which was left unlocked. Nickie broke off from his grandfather’s side to hang up his helmet on one of the hooks by the door. Maverick headed into the main area of the bar and smiled when he spotted the guard dog on duty.

“Hey, Theo,” Maverick called, bending down to greet the lazy dog. “You’ve gotten big.”

“Hey, Mav,” Amelia greeted him, causing Maverick to slowly stand up.

“Amelia?” he asked, taking off his sunglasses in disbelief.

“I know, I got big,” Amelia replied, already turning back to her homework.

“Hey, Amelia,” Nickie returned, walking into the room a couple seconds after his grandfather.

Amelia glanced up with surprise at the sound of Nickie’s voice. Nickie was a year ahead of Amelia and he was one of the first kids around her age that she met when her and her mom moved to Miramar from Hawaii after her parent’s divorce. Cora always told Nickie to look out for Amelia and that seemed to continue even though they were both nearing the end of high school.

“Hey, Nickie,” Amelia responded in a softer tone than she used with Mav. But as Maverick walked around the bar, Amelia quickly focused on her homework again. “Bar opens at five.”

“No, I just came by to pay off a debt I—”

“—Mom!” Amelia immediately called, causing Nickie to hide a smirk behind his hand.

“Hey, how’s your dad?” Maverick asked, trying to fill the silence.

Nickie, almost as a reflex, reached out and smacked his grandfather on the arm, earning an incredulous look from Maverick. When Nickie shot him a look that screamed ‘shut up before you get hurt,’ Maverick stared at his grandson with a confused expression.

“What?”

“With his wife. In Hawaii. Mom!” Amelia yelled louder than before, causing Nickie to wince, his point proven. Penny walked through the door to the back of the bar at her daughter’s annoyed call, causing Maverick and Nickie to turn around. “Mav says he owes you money.”

Maverick held out a wad of cash to Penny, who immediately tried to refuse it. And Nickie quietly wondered how his grandfather wracked up such a tab on a single night. He wouldn’t have disrespected a lady and certainly not the Navy. So, he must have left his phone, which Nickie set up for him, on the bar. Like Nickie’s mom warned him not to do.

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Penny insisted, but Maverick held the money out to her again.

“I insist.”

Nickie shared a look with Amelia, who stuck her tongue out and rolled her eyes as Penny instantly softened and took the wad of cash from Maverick. Nickie glanced up and around at the photos and memorabilia hung up round the bar, fighting a knowing smirk.

“Thank you, Captain. Consider your tab closed,” Penny stated, heading around the bar to deposit the money in the till.

“Captain? Still?” Amelia asked Maverick.

“She’s got you there,” Nickie replied, turning to his grandfather.

“A highly decorated captain,” Maverick stated, knowing that Amelia and Nickie were just teasing him.

“Finish up,” Penny told her daughter, leaning on the bar top and tapping the top of Amelia’s book. “We have to get the boat to the yard.”

“I can’t go,” Amelia replied, causing Penny to frown.

“What do you mean you can’t go?”

“Test tomorrow. I have to study. They only told us today,” Amelia explained, causing Penny to raise an eyebrow at her daughter.

“Mr. Lissette’s class?” Nickie guessed, causing Amelia to turn to him.

“How’d you know?”

“Because he did that at least fourteen times last year when I took his class,” Nickie replied, corroborating Amelia’s story to her mom.

“Well, I can’t sail her alone,” Penny continued, turning back to her daughter.

“Just use the engine.”

“Why’re we taking her to the yard?” Penny asked, shooting her daughter a look.

“To fix the engine,” the two Benjamin women recited together.

“We can help,” Maverick offered, volunteering himself and Nickie for service.

“But he’s grounded,” Penny stated, pointing over at Nickie, who winced in reply.

“You know about the ticket?” he asked, cracking his eyes open slowly.

“There’s not much in this town that I don’t know about,” Penny replied, straightening up.

“And your mom told her,” Amelia explained, causing Nickie to sigh.

“I’m never going to live that down,” Nickie whined, rubbing his face.

“Well, considering your driving instructor,” Penny drawled, glancing over at Maverick, “I’m surprised that it wasn’t worse.”

“I’m a great driver,” Maverick insisted, causing Penny to scoff teasingly.

“Mom can just pick me up after work,” Nickie offered, causing Maverick and Penny to turn to him. “And I know that she wouldn’t mind taking Amelia home.”

“Alright,” Penny stated, tapping her fingers on the bar top. Walking around the bar, Penny grabbed her keys and turned to Maverick. “Get moving, Sailor.” As Maverick turned to lead the way out of the bar, Penny turned to Nickie and Amelia. “Jimmy is in charge. And don’t forget Theo.”

“Mom, we’ll be fine,” Amelia insisted, already looking back down at her homework.

“Don’t do anything that I wouldn’t do,” Maverick directed at Nickie. “And definitely don’t do anything that I would do.”

“Aye, aye, Captain,” Nickie replied, mock-saluting his grandfather.

Penny and Maverick headed out of the bar as Nickie walked over to where Amelia was sitting. Setting his bag down on the bar, Nickie pulled out his pre-calc textbook and started on the problems that he left off on with his math teacher just a few minutes earlier.

“You stayed late again?” Amelia asked, glancing over at his homework.

“Trying to get my grade up,” Nickie explained, copying one of the problems from the textbook.

“Is your mom grounding you for that too?”

“No, just the ticket,” Nickie sighed, turning to Amelia. “Does everyone know about it?”

“Well, your mom called my mom about the whole thing last night. She was wondering if a month was too harsh of a punishment, since you already paid it off yourself.”

“And?” Nickie pressed, hope building in his chest.

“My mom said that it was fair.”

Nickie let out a groan and slumped against the bar top, causing Amelia to laugh. Shifting in her seat, she turned to face Nickie fully on the bar stool and poked him on the shoulder.

“It’s your own fault. Everyone knows that cops like to hang out under that underpass.”

“I forgot,” Nickie sighed, shaking his head at himself. Forgetting his pre-calc homework for a moment, he turned to face Amelia. “My mom freaked out.”

“She’s probably worried that you’re turning into Mav,�� Amelia stated before quickly trying to retract her sentence. Suddenly sheepishly, she stammered out, “I didn’t mean it like that, just that—”

“—No, no, I get it,” Nickie assured her, knowing that she meant no harm. Turning back to his textbook, Nickie picked up his pencil and started writing again. “And, hey, you have to protect your mom. I get it. Really, I do.”

“Is your mom still going out with that Neil guy?” Amelia asked curiously, causing Nickie to snort.

“No. I don’t know why she was with him in the first place.”

“My mom seemed to like him.”

“Your mom’s just nice,” Nickie brushed off, scribbling away at his homework. “He was boring as hell. And my mom might freak out about me or my granddad doing dangerous or stupid stuff, but she would have died of boredom if she stayed in that relationship.”

“Have you ever liked one of your mom’s boyfriends?”

“Of the three that I’ve met? Hard no,” Nickie stated, shaking his head. “Have you?”

Amelia glanced in the direction that Maverick and Penny left in, which caused Nickie to straighten up a bit more. Setting down his pencil, he turned to face Amelia.

“I’m sorry that he brought up your dad.”

“It doesn’t bother me,” Amelia lied, waving her hand to the side, as if to dismiss Nickie’s concern. “Besides, Mav was there for more of my birthdays than my actual dad. I counted. So, I guess he’s entitled to a slip up.”

“Yeah, he does seem to be filling in a lot,” Nickie murmured, mostly to himself.

Amelia turned to Nickie with a confused expression when the door the Hard Deck opened again. Nickie instantly picked his head up and stood up from his chair when he spotted a stranger entering the bar. Theo had moved to sit in the sun, but he rolled over to stare at the new arrival.

Rooster slowly stepped into the Hard Deck, glancing around for Penny, when he spotted two teenagers sitting at the bar. Nickie walked around the bar a bit, eyeing up Rooster as if he was trying to discern the level of threat that Rooster posed to him and Amelia. Rooster stopped at the front of the bar, noticing Nickie’s defensive posture.

“Can we help you?” Nickie asked calmly, narrowing his eyes slightly. “Bar opens at five.”

“No, I know. I was just wondering if Penny was around,” Rooster explained quietly.

Rooster eyed Nickie curiously, feeling like he had seen the teenager somewhere before. Hell, Nickie was probably just a local kid that Rooster had seen on the boardwalk the day before. But Rooster wasn’t even convinced with his own explanation. Not really. There was just something that was scratching at the back of his head about the teenager.

Nickie viewed Rooster as nothing other than an intruder. Amelia clearly didn’t recognize Rooster, so he obviously wasn’t a close friend of Penny’s. Theo wasn’t reacting harshly to Rooster, but Nickie was also pretty sure that Theo only barked after the fact. And, well, his mom stuck it in his head very early on to always be aware of his surroundings and the people occupying them.

Amelia froze a bit in her seat, glancing in between Nickie and Rooster, and noting the similarities in their appearances. They had the same nose. And the same chin. Rooster was taller and far more built than the teenager, but Amelia didn’t doubt that Nickie would get there eventually. Their hair looked to be a similar texture. And hell, were their eyebrows also that similar?

“She’s not here. Jimmy’s here, though, if you have some kind of . . .” Nickie eyed Rooster suspiciously before meeting his gaze again, “. . . business question.”

“No, no,” Rooster replied, already backing away.

Well, there went that plan. Not that he was expecting Penny to give him a concrete answer. Not without getting to dump a drink on top of his head first, at least, since Rooster knew that Penny and Cora were still close to this day.

“Sorry to bother you.”

Nickie nodded firmly and watched as Rooster left the Hard Deck. Slowly sliding towards the door, Nickie subtly locked it before walking around to watch Rooster drive off. It took some time because Rooster kept staring back at the Hard Deck with an odd expression, he eventually hopped back into the Bronco and took off, heading in the direction of the naval base.

“Who the hell was that?” Nickie asked Amelia, who stared at him with a bit of disbelief.

“What?” she questioned, blinking rapidly.

“Did you know who that was?”

You mean the guy who looks freakishly similar to you?

That was what Amelia wanted to say. But then she remembered what her mom told her about Mitchell boys. Their heart was always in the right place. Their brain on the other hand . . . sometimes it wasn’t exactly where it should be.

“No, I don’t,” Amelia settled on, glancing between Nickie and the window again. “Do you?”

“No,” Nickie replied, as if it was obvious. “And who the hell has a mustache anymore?”

~~~~~

“Bye, Amelia!” Cora called, waving to the Benjamin girl as she hopped out of the car.

“Bye, Cora. Thanks for the ride!”

“Any time!”

Amelia shut the door behind her and grabbed Theo’s leash before heading inside her house. Cora waited until Amelia was safely inside with the door shut behind her before pulling away from the curb. It was a short drive between the Benjamins and the Mitchells even with the afternoon traffic.

“How was pre-calc extra help?” Cora questioned, turning onto the main road.

“It helped. He’s bumping up my grade on the last test, so I’m getting closer to an A.”

“And while I’m very happy about how seriously you’re taking your studies, don’t worry if you don’t get an A. Everyone says that pre-calc is difficult,” Cora assured her son, keeping her eyes trained on the road in front of her.

“I know, Mom. I just want to do well for my college apps,” Nickie stated, glancing out the window.

“Speaking of which, you need to give me a list of colleges that you want to see during Spring Break so that I can take the time off work and we can sign up for tours,” Cora replied, causing Nickie to subtly sink into his seat. “Especially if you wanted to see ones farther away.”

“Like the East Coast?” Nickie approached the subject, causing Cora to pause for a moment.

“If you want,” Cora replied softly, glancing over at Nickie. “What schools did you have in mind?”

“Nothing specific,” Nickie lied, staring out the window again. “There’s just a lot of good schools out there, you know.”

“Okay,” Cora trailed off, raising an eyebrow at her son. “Well, you still have time. Just something to think about once in a while.”

“Yeah . . .” Nickie agreed, looking forward. Cora continued to drive down the road as Nickie slowly turned to look at his mom. “Sean asked me about the Surf Team again.”

“What about it?”

“Just about try outs are and everything,” Nickie stated, causing Cora to nod slowly. “Mom.”

“What?” Cora asked, shooting her son a look.

“You’re doing that thing where you pretend like you agree with me but you actually don’t but you don’t want to say it because you don’t want to play the bad guy all day,” Nickie complained, causing Cora to sigh. Slowly coming to a halt at the next light, Cora turned to Nickie as he continued. “Why can’t I join the surf team? You put me in surf lessons, remember?”

“I remember, Nickie,” Cora sighed, fiddling with her fingers.

“So, why do you always pull that face when I talk about the surf team?” Nickie asked as the light flashed green in front of them.

“I don’t pull a face,” Cora huffed, earning a groan from her son. “It’s just . . . Nickie, why are you so obsessed with being in the water lately? I mean, when you quit basketball that was one thing because—and I love you and support you, sweetie—but you weren’t the best at that.”

“Mom.”

“I mean, you had the height but none of the hand to eye coordination,” Cora continued, causing Nickie to pout and slump in his seat. “And soccer, well, you always seemed to just do that because your friends were doing it.”

“So?”

“But baseball?” Cora emphasized, turning to her son with a concerned expression. “Nickie, you love baseball. It’s been your favorite sport for forever.”

“I can like new things,” Nickie defended himself.

“I didn’t say that you couldn’t, but . . .” Cora pulled down a side street and came to a slow stop at the stop sign a couple hundred feet down the road. Glancing over at her son for a moment, Cora asked, “Is there something that you’re not telling me?”

“Mom, I just want to surf because I’m good at it,” Nickie half-lied, half-told the truth. He glanced out the window as Cora continued to drive them home. “I just don’t want to sit on JV as a junior.”

“There’s no shame in that. They only need so many catchers on varsity.”

“I know, but . . .” Nickie trailed off, trying to come up with something to appease his mom’s concern, “. . . but what if I can get a scholarship for it? Or for swimming or water polo and surfing helps me stay in shape for that?”

“Why are you worried about a scholarship?” Cora asked before growing more serious. Pulling into their driveway, Cora parked the car before turning to her son. “Nickie, you know how I feel about you worrying about money.”

“I know, Mom,” Nickie replied softly, guilt eating away at his gut.

“You just focus on being a kid for now, okay?” Cora stated, grabbing her son’s shoulder gently. “Please?”

“I will, Mom.”

“Good. You hungry?” Cora asked, reaching for her purse.

“Yeah,” Nickie murmured out, trying to not suffocate himself from how bad he felt for lying straight through his teeth to his mom.

“Alright. I think I’ll just make something simple tonight,” Cora stated, causing Nickie to nod.

They walked inside the house together and Nickie headed to his room. Setting his bag on the ground, Nickie squatted down and let out a breath. Slumping slightly, Nickie unzipped his backpack and pulled out his science textbook. He flipped through a few pages before pulling out a pamphlet that he got at lunch with ‘NAVY’ printed at the top of it.

If and when he ever told his mom the school that he wanted to attend . . . Nickie was starting to worry that it was going to kill her.

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Epilogue

A.N. A special thank you to everyone who read and either commented or reblogged the first part! It's the most actual interaction I've had on a fic in a long time and it really motivated me to churn Part 2 out!

[Also, I forgot to put a note at the end of Part 1 about tagging, so I just tagged the peeps that asked, but if you want to be tagged in Part 3, just reply or reblog with a comment, but please have your age in your bio/pinned post or I won't tag you. Thanks again!]

Tags: @xoxabs88xox @eternallyvenus

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duhragonball · 1 year

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Dragon Ball Super 019

Oh great, we’re doing Res F.

Okay, so this is often regarded as the low point of Dragon Ball Super, probably because of the same slipshod animation seen in the previous episodes, but this arc also has the hurdle of adapting Resurrection F, which wasn’t nearly as good as Battle of Gods. Frankly, the plot of the BoG movie was the only thing going for Episodes 1-14, and here, Episodes 19-28 are trying to do the same task without that advantage.

I wouldn’t call this the worst of Super. My personal least favorite still lies ahead. I’ll say two positives about this arc.

1) It’s nice and short. At ten episodes, it doesn’t have time to be too offensive. Then again, I might have said the same thing about GT’s Super 17 arc, but it was pretty vile when I rewatched it recently.

2) Resurrection F wasn’t great, but it wasn’t that bad, either. It lacks the complexities of BoG, Broly, and Super Hero, but if you judge it by the standards of the 20th Century DBZ films, it holds up just fine. One thing that works to the arc’s favor is that Res F doesn’t spend a lot of time on fluff, so there’s not like an episode and a half about a party, or pointless cuts to check in on Oolong or Ox King to see what they think about what’s happening. And while I hate to say it, Frieza has the star power to drag both the movie and this arc out of the bottom tier.

Having said all of that, I’ll repeat my critiques of the movie. Bringing Frieza back was a mistake. This franchise doesn’t do rogues’ galleries like Batman and Spider-Man, usually because the bad guys get killed once they lose. And I think Resurrection F pretty well illustrates why that is. Frieza comes back, but he just makes all the same mistakes that got him killed the first time.

Indeed, this story seems to be about Frieza’s utter refusal to change as a character. The reason Broly was such a success was that they brought back the Broly concept, but retooled him into a more sympathetic character, one audiences could get emotionally invested in. Super Hero saw the revival of the Red Ribbon Army, but that worked because it came back through new characters instead of re-hashing the old ones. Commander Red is replaced with Magenta; Dr. Gero is succeeded by Dr. Hedo. Carmine is the new Staff Officer Black. The Gammas are the new androids, and Cell Max is the new Cell. Everything is familiar, but different.

In Resurrection F, the only real difference is that Frieza’s soldiers are weaker, and Frieza himself is a lot stronger. But so what? Frieza’s soldiers were always cannon fodder, especially compared to Frieza himself. And the original conceit of Frieza was that he was the strongest being in the universe, so making him stronger doesn’t really change him as a person. All it really does is re-calibrate him to the top of the power scale, and he was already at the top before. And when he was on top, he still lost. It raises the question: Why would anyone bother reviving him in the first place? His enemies certainly don’t miss him, and even his most loyal henchmen have to accept that he lost, so what good is he?

To be fair, the movie at least tried to tackle that problem through their depiction of the Frieza Force. Their commander, Sorbet, was a minor administrator during Frieza’s lifetime, but he’s spent the last eighteen years trying to keep the organization running, doing everything he can to hold on to their remaining territory. It’s to his credit that he’s managed to keep the Force alive as long as he has, but it’s an exercise in futility. In this episode, he’s informed that sixty percent of his troops have been lost, and the only sensible orders he can give are “retreat” and “withdraw”.

The only way out he can see is to bring Frieza back with the Dragon Balls, which is literally wishful thinking. He’s had teams working on this, but they can’t locate the Namekians’ new homeworld, so that’s not an option, and the only other set of Dragon Balls are on Earth, the home of the Super Saiyans who defeated Frieza in the first place. It’s too dangerous, but Sorbet’s position has now become so desperate that he sees no alternative.

And that’s what makes him so interesting to me, because Sorbet does have an alternative, but he refuses to see it. He could dissolve the Frieza Force and accept defeat. Much of their best talent have already left, because they understood that the Force was nothing without Frieza to back it up. That’s how Sorbet wound up running things. It’s not that he’s untalented or unfit for command, but the important thing that keeps him in charge is that he’s the only one left willing to do the job.

This refusal to quit is both Sorbet’s greatest strength and flaw all rolled into one. He’s capable enough to run this organization, but all he’s really done is delay its inevitable collapse. A better leader would have enough vision to let the Frieza Force die, or at least repurpose it into something more productive, but Sorbet’s best bet is to try to turn back the clock and relive the good old days.

So this makes Sorbet a pretty fascinating character, but this all gets overshadowed by his own plan. Once Frieza returns, he barely matters, and he gets killed off unceremoniously during the final battle. The big problem with Res F if that it brings up a lot of interesting themes-- failure, second chances, the futility of revenge-- but it refuses to explore any of them.

One other interesting idea was the way Sorbet’s crew don’t really understand what Frieza meant to the Frieza Force. Either they’re too young to remember what it was like back then, or they were too far-removed from Frieza’s person to understand just how powerful he was. Sorbet tries to explain it to them, accompanied by flashback of Frieza destroying Planet Vegeta, but he can’t communicate it with words. He shows them a computer projection that says Frieza’s power would give them control over 70% of the known universe or something, but that doesn’t convince them much. Tagoma just asks if the numbers are accurate. In the end, Sorbet’s men are more accustomed to Sorbet as their leader. For them, Frieza is just a legend, while Sorbet is the trusted commander working tirelessly for their cause. They only go along with his scheme because it was his idea.

So they go to Earth, but Sorbet insists on going in person, without Shisami or any other powerful warriors, since the Saiyans can sense power levels. A guy like Shisami would give away what they’re doing. Thanks to their spy drones, they track down the Pilaf Gang as they collect the Dragon Balls, then Sorbet and Tagoma swoop in to jump their claim.

Basically, things play out like they did in the movie, except for two differences. First, Shenron offers three wishes instead of just two. I’m not sure what that means, but apparently someone thought it was important enough to add a third wish to this story for the second go-round. Mai uses it to wish for gourmet ice cream.

Second, Captain Ginyu is somehow there to bear witness to this event. We’ll get to him later, but for now all that matters is that he’s a frog and he’s very interested in this development.

Meanwhile, Goku and Vegeta are off training on Beerus’ planet in their dumb Res F costumes. Whis is so much faster than they are that he dodges all their attacks and even has time to write his name on their titties without them even noticing.

Whis also takes a moment to discuss their weaknesses in battle. He says Vegeta is too high-strung, and his inability to relax causes him to overthink during battle, which holds him back. On the other hand, Goku is too relaxed, to the point where he gets overconfident and lets his guard down. These aren’t new problems. Goku nearly whizzed the 23rd World Tournament when he assumed Piccolo Junior was defeated, and then looked away during a ten count and gave Piccolo a chance to maim him with a ki blast. Meanwhile, pretty much every decision Vegeta has ever done in this franchise has been clouded by his misplaced priorities. He first invaded Earth to wish for immortality, but then he kept fighting long after victory and his prize were denied him. He trained to defeat the androids and Cell, then kept passing up chances to win because he was more interested in getting bigger victories that never materialized. I think his run as “Majin Vegeta” pretty much speaks for itself.

And while that makes for some interesting character analysis, the problem I have with this arc is that it spends more time on Goku and Vegeta’s development than on villains, who are sort of the focus of the movie. There’s no exploration of Frieza’s character flaw, no quiet moment where Frieza realizes just how pointless life and death have become for him now. The bad guys just show up to attack the Earth and die.

Anyway, getting back to Frieza, Shenron can resurrect him, but he can’t restore his body, which was cut to pieces and vaporized by Trunks. I’m not sure if this is because of the time that’s passed or the sheer extent of the damage Trunks did when he killed him. Oh, wait, maybe it’s because of Frieza being a cyborg at the time? Anyway, he comes back as chunks, but the Frieza Force has greatly improved their medical technology over the years, so they think they can stitch him back together, even when Shenron can’t.

And it works, which is kind of scary in itself. Right before he died, the best his doctors could do was to rebuild him as a cyborg. Now, they can put pieces of him in a tank of goop and regenerate his entire body. I mean, part of this is owed to Frieza’s incredible resilience. He survived getting cut in half (horizontally, anyway) and he survived multiple blasts from a Super Saiyan, and he survived Namek exploding in his face. I’m not sure you could toss Guldo’s head in the modern medical machine and perform the same miracle on Guldo. But still, this is a frightening level of advancement. If Sorbet had been a smarter leader, he might have reorganized the Frieza Force into a network of hospitals, but no.

Meanwhile, Goku’s spider-sense goes off, but he doesn’t know how or why. “You don’t have a spider-sense, you idiot!” Vegeta tells him.

#dragon ball #dragon ball super #2023dbapocryphaliveblog #goku #vegeta #sorbet #frieza #whis #tagoma #shisami #captain ginyu #emperor pilaf #mai #shu

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sofiasrebellion · 2 years

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W. B. Yeats: The Lover Tells Of The Rose In His Heart, Michael Peverett

THE LOVER TELLS OF THE ROSE IN HIS HEART

All things uncomely and broken, all things worn out and old,

The cry of a child by the roadway, the creak of a lumbering cart,

The heavy steps of the ploughman, splashing the wintry mould,

Are wronging your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart.

The wrong of unshapely things is a wrong too great to be told;

I hunger to build them anew and sit on a green knoll apart,

With the earth and the sky and the water, re-made, like a casket of gold

For my dreams of your image that blossoms a rose in the deeps of my heart.

(from The Wind Among the Reeds, 1899)

All the lines are enriched alexandrines (that is to say with extra unstressed syllables), but the first three are a specific music because of the strong medial breaks visually indicated by commas. They more or less split, amoeba-like, into restless trimeters.

This will be the most spirited part of the poem for many readers, with many detonations. In particular, setting “The cry of the child” directly after the word “old” is a wonderfully intelligent piece of concision – it tells us everything about how we are to hear this cry (in stark contrast to what it might connote): hopeless, hungry, and trapped in the cold years. But after all, the first three lines are only an introduction; we don’t know where this is going yet.

The fourth line has a quite different music. It flows from end to end, maximizing the enrichment (six accents but eighteen syllables). But though the auditory image of a rippling, unimpeded stream is certainly present, there can be no doubt that the climax of the line is “a rose”, which emerges with quiet definition at the point where, because of the preceding lines, we have learnt to expect a pause. I suppose it does not need spelling out that “a rose” blossoms in mid-line as in “the deeps of my heart”. [It is odd how this last phrase marries “the creak of a lumbering cart”, denying the opposition between them. This offers a subsidiary hint at re-integrating the lover into his surroundings and accepting the “wronging” as a natural event]

The rose in European poetry since the troubadours is a symbol that has drifted a long way from its floral source. I suppose you assume, as I do, that this rose is red, but this idea leads not towards horticulture but towards an idealized image incorporating other complex enclosures; hearts, vaginas and heavens. It’s an image that blends the desired with the desire, so you may say that here the rose means what the lover is experiencing, which is created at least as much by himself as by the person he is addressing. It is what he is dreaming about; but it is also his dream.

We are now clear about the relation between the opening lines and the rose of the title; they “wrong” it. Do they wrong the lover or his beloved? Is he really a victim, a nurturer, or both at the same time, or in fact neither? What is certain is that the rose is now associated with weakness, and if we feel that it might be less self-regarding to address the weakness of the child’s ignorant wailing and the ploughman’s grinding poverty, rather than feeling annoyed by them, we may not have much sympathy with the lover’s torments.

This reflection keeps coming back as we pick our way though the second stanza, which repeats the rhyme-sounds of the first stanza but without its force. A wrong “too great to be told” feels like an inadequate expression, and the potential energy of “build” – qualified as it already is by being only a hunger to build – is further undermined by “sit” and “apart”.

But these indications of feebleness do lead to a subtly surprising outcome. When the last line comes round again, it now appears against a different background, and gains a certain paradoxical strength. If the rose seemed a bit pallid at the end of Stanza 1, it seems to glow at the end of Stanza 2. You might express the effect in these words: Nonetheless, it still blossoms. Perhaps all the more perfectly in adversity.

As it might be: someone who feels their belief (opinion, philosophy, religion, love) slighted and collapsing continues to assert: Nevertheless, there is something in it .... there are many things we don’t understand .... somewhere, there is a happy land ... so that it is on the verge of ceasing to be a belief and remains only as a dream; then the persistence of the dream and the fact of the past belief provide a sort of testimony (at least in one’s own mind) that underwrites the long-desired Maybe. Yeats would later write of “the foul rag-and-bone shop of the heart”, but in those very words would cling on to the sentimental romanticism of earlier days. Maybe it had after all hidden the key to transforming the world, though he had not found it.

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ptersparkers · 2 years

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and then there was you (no way home spoilers)

summary: secrets come to light when peter parker breaches the universe’s threshold and the last thing you expected was to fall for a stranger.

author’s note: this contains spoilers! also it’s been a hot minute since i wrote for marvel. i grew up with andrew’s peter and i’ve had the fattest crush on him since. this deviates from the plot a little. enjoy!!!

warnings: typos, probably.

Peter liked to joke that you were extremely predictable. As a college senior with a job offer, every decision you made was calculated. You didn’t like to put much faith in risk like your friends did. Your friends often wondered why you weren’t keen on straying away from a predictable path but you knew the truth. Deep down, you were afraid of jumping into the unknown because you were afraid of the past repeating.

At the age of five, your biological parents had tucked you away in another universe to prevent you from suffering the same fate as they would. Your home planet would eventually evaporate because of an intergalactic war and your memories were scarce if not gone. Before saying goodbye, they had given you a pendant with a hologram of a pre-recorded message, explaining their reasoning and a collection of memories they gathered on your behalf.

You were always the odd one out in the orphanage they had left you in. Almost instantaneously, you realized you had supernatural powers after an incident in which you pushed a peer with great force, sending them flying into the sandbox nearby. This act alone ostracized you from your peers and you found yourself isolated in a single bedroom, bringing meals to your solitude because no one else wanted to befriend you.

It took great patience, along with the message from your parents, to hone your skills and learn about your past. Internet searches lead you down rabbit holes of theories and you wondered if anyone else was aware that the theory of the multiverse was true.

Norman Osborne adopted you when you were eight years old despite warnings from the orphanage about your peculiar personality. At the time, he had been working as a scientist for Stark Industries and took you under his wing when you began to show an interest in the hard sciences. His patience with you, as well as accidentally finding out about your powers, created a bond that you never wanted to break.

Day after day, Norman allowed you to use his laboratory space to experiment with your powers and learn about your history. Tony’s plethora of intergalactic content allowed for Norman to research your home planet and what came about. The combination of his research and the video diary in your pendant allowed the both of you to learn about what happened to your home. Another planet’s population had invaded yours a year after your parents placed you in New York and the only thing left was a cold, dark ruin that was once a thriving community. Norman had been there for you through your grieving process and he had been the father you always wanted.

But Norman passed away when you were fifteen. An accident in the laboratory killed him instantaneously and you were left with the grief you knew all too well. You went to live with Norman’s sister—who hadn’t considered you family—and left her care the minute you turned eighteen because your inheritance would legally be available to you. Much to your aunt’s dismay, you kept the money to yourself despite feeling guilty for keeping it from her.

The first day of college was a fresh start. Having found an apartment a few blocks from campus, the idea that you could follow in Norman’s footsteps and continue where he left off was rejuvenating.

The first day of college was also the first time you met Peter Parker.

He’d been late to your first class and when he arrived, the seat next to you was the only empty seat. You had looked at him quizzically upon realizing he was breathing hard, watching as he fixed his jacket around his shoulders. Peter looked at you with a smile and introduced himself, and both of you were thankful that your professor hadn’t noticed.

Perhaps the reason why you bonded so strongly with Peter was because of your shared misery. Both your biological father and adoptive father had passed away and so did Peter’s. You had never found a friend like Peter and it was the first time you felt like you could let your guard down without worrying that you might have to build it again.

Peter never disappointed you like your friends in your youth had. You admired his enthusiasm about life and the future, and you desperately wanted to emulate how he felt. He still had May, who you grew quite close to after having spent some time in his old apartment and volunteering with her nonprofit. For the longest time, you were jealous of his relationship with her. You couldn’t bear to watch May embrace Peter like one of her own and wanted nothing more than to run every time you felt an ounce of happiness.

But your friendship with Peter was too important for you to give up so easily. He’d been the first person you had that treated you with decency and you relished in the feeling of normalcy, allowing yourself to accept that your life would never be normal as long as you existed. But you did your best to live normally and keep your powers under wraps.

Soon, you were introduced to MJ and Ned, whom Peter went to high school with. The both of them had quickly become great friends and the four of you were the self-proclaimed best friend group in all of New York. At least that’s what Ned always said.

The three of them were quick to notice how you were keen on sticking to a straight path. You were far more studious than them and they could count on you for help with homework. Throughout your first three years in college, you were busy with internships and rarely spent any time in your apartment. Your friends had quickly learned that you cared about your studies more than you admitted and you were indifferent when it came to taking risks.

But then you found out that your best friend was Spider-Man and your entire world changed.

You barely had time to process the new information. At the time, you were helping May transport equipment for her nonprofit to store in her apartment when you walked in on Peter and MJ in a compromising position.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Peter tried to say despite being topless and MJ’s hands on his chest.

“Really, we all know,” you said with a lighthearted chuckle, your eyes darting between the two.

“Peter, as long as you’re being safe–”

“That’s not it!” Peter interjectied in a rush as you and May looked on in amusement.

“MJ,” you said, looking at her. “Honestly, May and I can leave–”

“Y/N,” he interrupted again. Peter huffed and hastily put on a shirt before grabbing your wrist and leading you to the television where you and May sat in utter astonishment as his face was plastered in an unnerving light.

“Parker…” you trailed off. May looked at you with concern and sat closer, pulling your body to her side.

“I know,” he stuttered. “I’m sorry you had to find out this way.”

“You’re Spider-Man?” you whispered as May squeezed your arm.

“Yes,” said Peter. “Look, I planned on telling you as soon as I got back but we have more pressing matters.”

You watched intently as your best friend’s face was plastered across the media and as people questioned whether he was the one who murdered Mysterio. The loud blaring of the TV made it hard for you to concentrate and you had a hard time trying to speak. The rational side of you was intimidated by the sudden confession that Peter was Spider-Man and the very fact that he was being accused of murder.

“Parker,” you began, “you didn’t really–”

“No,” he said, interrupting for the third time. Peter left MJ’s side to kneel in front of you and put his hands on your shoulders, looking you in the eyes. “I didn’t murder Mysterio. He set me up, Y/N. I didn’t kill him.”

He looked at you and you swore you had never seen Peter beg for you to believe in him more than that moment.

“Please,” Peter pleaded. “You have to believe me.”

“I believe you,” you said, looking between him and May.

“It’s good that you know,” she said. “We need to get somewhere safe where we won’t be detected.”

The next thing you knew, you sat in an unfamiliar apartment alongside May, Peter, and Happy Hogan, who was less than excited to be hosting a stranger in his house. You did your best to keep to yourself, unsure of the next time you’d be able to return to your apartment.

“It’ll be just for a while,” Peter said.

“What about MJ and Ned?”

“Your apartment was near the last sighting of that…thing,” he replied. It had been two days of being isolated in the apartment with May while Happy and Peter were elsewhere. Peter hadn’t had much downtime to explain everything to you and while May did her best to fill in the gaps, you had many lingering questions that needed to be answered.

“I know you’re mad,” Peter said after a moment of silence.

“I’m not mad,” you assured him. “I’m just trying to process everything without my head exploding.”

Peter laughed humorlessly. “Yeah. I can understand that.”

“All of those cancelled plans…Was it because of Spider-Man?”

“Pretty much,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.”

“There’s so many questions I have for you but I don’t even know where to begin.”

“I wish I could explain it all to you right now,” he said with a sigh. “We've been best friends since starting college and I really need your support right now.”

“Of course,” you said without hesitation. You pulled Peter into an embrace and he let out a relieved sigh, allowing himself to fall limp in your arms. “I know you, Parker. Spider-Man is just a suit. I know who you are and I believe you.”

You had this nagging feeling in the back of your head and wondered when it would be the right time to reveal to Peter that you had supernatural powers that could help him. But he had been so quick to keep you at arm’s length for the sake of keeping you safe because as far as he knew, you didn’t have a way to defend yourself if he wasn’t there.

You didn’t have time to tell him you had trained with Tony Stark before he passed away.

Knowing Peter was Spider-Man changed everything. You hadn’t stepped foot in the Avengers tower since you were fifteen and you had the intention of returning on the consensus that you deserved to be there because of your intelligence, not because you were Norman’s daughter. Knowing Spider-Man’s identity puts your life at risk even if you weren’t in the spotlight like your friends were. It would take a Google search to realize that you were associated with Peter, Ned, and MJ.

But then there was the question of when you would tell your friends about your powers. You knew that there was no excuse to keep it to yourself, especially since you knew you would be able to help in more ways than one. Peter’s confession made it clear to you that the three of them were trustworthy when it came to extreme secrecy and you desperately wanted to tell them who you really were and where you came from. But until you were able to get your friends to stop planning how to fix the problem they were entangled with, you remained in the stranger’s residence.

Once Happy and Peter had deemed it safe enough to return to your apartment, you moved back in without question. You knew Peter had a plan that involved using the Stark’s technology that was kept safely hidden in the apartment and insisted on helping, but Peter declined your help in favor of keeping you safer. MJ and Ned agreed with him. The two of them were already associated with Peter Parker and Spider-Man whereas you were not.

Your future wasn’t jeopardized like theirs were and that was enough for everyone to unanimously agree that it would be best for you to lay under the radar. Peter insisted on leaving you out of their escapades despite you being the smartest and most strategic out of all of them, but MJ and Ned agreed with his notion. You had more to lose than any of them and the best way to protect you was to leave you out of the mess Mysterio created. But what they refused to see was that you were capable of handling a situation like this; Norman and Tony prepared you enough for a threat against your existence through battle training and power regulation.

But your friends wouldn’t take your calls or text messages. There was only so much you could do without knowing where they were or what their plan was. You were stuck in your apartment while the world changed around you and there was nothing you could do about it.

You idly spend time watching the news. Despite disagreeing with the idea that Peter was a murderer, you wanted to keep track of what your friends were up too if they weren’t going to let you come with them. And for the most part, they were right. You were safe in your apartment—for now—and had been cornered in your bedroom ever since classes were cancelled due to the recent attacks around Midtown.

You cursed your friends for not providing any updates despite knowing what they were doing was probably more important than letting you know they were okay. But even so, were they still alive? What was the plan? Would you be able to help in some way?

Your text messages were left unread and every call went straight to voicemail. Even if you wanted to find out where the three of them were hiding, you didn’t know the first thing about Spider-Man’s whereabouts. You’d been the last out of MJ and Ned to find out Peter was the neighborhood hero and you found out when the rest of the world did. Feeling like you had been left out of the biggest inside joke as an understatement.

Dear Heavens, you thought as you saw images of green on your television screen. Please let my friends be okay.

+++

Peter reluctantly took everybody to the laboratory on campus to find a solution. The two Peters behind him continued to marvel at the New York they found themselves in while he wanted nothing more than to find a way to stop the universes from coming into his. MJ and Ned stood with astonishment as the three men in front of them stood with confusion and wondered how they could help.

“We need to find a way to cure them,” Peter said to the two strangers. “It’s the only way we can send them back home without killing them. I just don’t know how to do it.”

“We have five brains in this room,” the eldest Peter said. “We can figure it out.”

“We need to find a solution quickly,” the middle Peter began, grabbing a spare legal pad and pen. He began scribbling but was met with frustration. “I can’t remember.”

“Remember what?” Ned asked.

The other Peter sighed. “Years ago, I gave Connors a formula that allowed him to adapt himself into what he is today. I just can’t remember how I got there. I-I think something must’ve happened to my memory when I entered your universe.”

“This is not good,” the youngest Peter said while pacing. He muttered to himself. “Where’s Tony when you need him?”

“Who’s Tony?”

Peter stopped to look at him. He shook his head and grabbed various materials.

“No one who can help us right now.”

“Peter,” MJ said, “we need to call Y/N.”

“Absolutely not,” Peter replied. “I can’t bring Y/N into this.”

“Why not?” Ned argued. “MJ and I are in this with you and you know that Y/N believes in you just as much as we do.”

“But she’s not linked to me like you guys are.”

“Uh,” the eldest Peter said. “Who’s Y/N?”

“Smartest girl in our school and our best friend,” MJ stated proudly. She looked at the two Peters in front of her. “We need her. If anyone can help us create these cures, it’s her.”

“It’s too dangerous,” the youngest Peter said. He cursed and ran his hand through his hair, wondering what other options he had.

“If Y/N is as smart as you say she is,” the eldest Peter began, “then I think it’s worth having her here. We need all the help we can get. By your calculations, Peter, we’ve got three days to finish this.”

“I agree,” said the other Peter. “We need all hands on deck and if your friend can help us, then we need her.”

The youngest Peter looked at his friends and saw their silent pleading. Peter knew your intellectual capabilities. He knew that vast knowledge you maintained and knew you were someone who could eventually find a way to create multiple cures before his deadline approached. But his reluctance remained an obstacle. You weren’t involved in any of his Spider-Man escapades and bringing a civilian without any way of making sure you were safe was a big risk, and Peter wasn’t sure if it was a risk he was willing to take.

“We need Y/N, Peter,” said MJ. She put her hands on either side of his cheeks and kissed his forehead before looking at him, scars and all.

“Okay,” Peter said quietly. “But we need to split up. We can’t afford more time being wasted.”

“I’ll go,” the middle Peter volunteered. “I can explain what we need from her and I’ll make sure to tell her you need her.”

“I can open a portal to her apartment,” Ned assured.

“Then it’s settled,” the eldest Peter announced. “You two will get Y/N while Peter, MJ, and I work on the remaining cures.”

“I’ll make sure she comes here safely,” Ned reassured.

The youngest Peter was about to object, stating that he should be the one to ask you to step in after forcing you to stay behind, but he knew better. He needed to stay behind and work on the serum cures.

“Okay,” he said reluctantly.

Ned gave him a reassuring nod and opened a portal. The middle Peter and Ned walked through the orange circle before it closed behind him, and MJ watched the youngest Peter sigh in defeat.

The frantic knock from your front door was relentless and you were nearly about to chew the head off of the person on the other side of the door until you realized it was Ned and another man you had never met before. He stood in the same suit that your Spider-Man wore, but he was much taller in comparison. You looked at Ned, who gave you something short of a smile.

“Y/N,” he breathed.

“Ned…” you looked at the man standing next to him. “Hi?”

The man looked at you with such intrigue. Your doe-like eyes stared at him with such innocence and Peter wished he could tell Ned to forget about asking you to come along. He watched you from his post and he almost confessed out loud that you were the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Peter watched as you looked back and forth between the two of them in confusion and he took the liberty to wave at you.

“We need your help,” Ned began. “Peter’s in trouble and you’re the only person who can help us.”

You looked at the man standing beside you.

“Who’s that?”

“I’m Peter,” he said, grinning at you.

“You can’t be Parker,” you muttered. “You don’t look like him.”

Peter’s smile dropped.

“It’s a lot to explain,” he began, “but I am Peter Parker. I’m just not your Peter Parker.”

“He’s not from our universe,” Ned explained further. “It’s a long story but our Peter really needs your help.”

You looked at the stranger standing in your hallway.

He’s really cute.

You chastised yourself for thinking such a thing.

Peter watched as your mouth parted. He could only assume that you were processing what he and Ned told you by the way your mouth kept opening and closing as if you wanted to ask a question but weren’t sure which one to ask.

“The theory of the multiverse–”

“Is real,” said Peter.

You looked at him. “I know.”

Ned was confused. “You know?”

“The multiverse is built upon infinite layers that lay on the same timeline. Whereas our Peter belongs on our Earth–”

“I belong to another,” Peter interrupted. You looked at him.

“Right,” you nodded. “And if you’re here…that can only mean there’s a way for everyone who finds this universe to enter it.”

“Wait, back up,” Ned said. “How do you know so much about the multiverse?”

You took a deep breath.

“There’s a lot about me that I haven’t told you, Ned.” You looked between the two men. “Wait, how did you get in the building without a key?”

“About that,” Ned said with a nervous laugh.

“Y/N, we really need your help.”

You looked at Peter and felt the familiar sense of pleading in his eyes. He stood there with his breath caught in his throat, guilty for thinking about how pretty you were instead of focusing on the task at hand. He bit his bottom lip in anticipation and you watched as Ned opened a portal to the laboratory at your university.

Reluctantly, you followed Ned and Peter into the portal and dared not to look back.

“Y/N,” MJ called out. You looked in her direction and hadn’t anticipated her embrace.

“Give her some space to comprehend all of this,” a strange voice said from behind MJ. She let you go and smiled.

“It’s really good to see you, Y/N.”

“Parker,” you said with an uneven breath as you saw your best friend rise from his seat.

You jogged towards him and he accepted the warm embrace you offered. Peter’s arms wrapped around your waist and squeezed your body like he needed to believe you were standing in front of him.

The Peter that greeted you in your hallway couldn’t help but feel a little jealous at how willingly you were letting your Peter touch you. He shook his head at the absurd thought.

“Y/N,” Peter breathed. “I’m so, so sorry. I’m sorry for pushing you away and pulling you into this.”

“Parker,” you said. “You have nothing to apologize for. You already know I’d follow you anywhere.”

A tear slipped from his eye. He stood from his spot and walked around the counter. You saw the remnants of broken vials and watched as he looked at you once again.

“May’s dead.”

Your heart stopped.

“What?”

He looked at you with glossy eyes. “I-I couldn’t save her in time.” He choked back a sob.

You shook your head in disbelief, taking a step back from the table only to find yourself tripping over your footing.

The Peter who you met earlier lurched forward to catch you, his arms steadying your balance. Your back hit his chest and he felt the familiar despair from the silent tears you allowed to escape, your body nearly shaking from the shock of the news. Peter’s arms circled around you and you relaxed against him, feeling like the oxygen in the room had depleted.

“Hey, hey,” Peter cooed, slowly turning you around to face him. He saw your nose had turned red from the crying. “Breathe, Y/N. Can you breathe for me?”

You could barely register his words because the sound of your heart breaking was far louder than Peter’s voice. He brushed fallen strands out of your face and wiped your tears from your cheeks and under your eyes with his hands. He stroked your cheeks and you could feel yourself calm down with his mere touch and Peter gave you an encouraging smile.

“There you go,” he whispered. “You’re doing so good.”

You gripped his wrists with your hands and looked at him.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized.

Peter shook his head. “Don’t be sorry, Y/N. You have every right to feel this way.”

The room was silent at the youngest Peter’s confession. You turned around and looked at him with sorrow and walked to give him another embrace, the shared pain making the bond between the two of you stronger.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “She loved you so much.”

“She loved you like a daughter,” said the youngest Peter. “She was so worried about sending me to college and was so happy the first time I brought you to the soup kitchen. I-I’ll never forget how happy you made her.”

He paused.

“After everything that happened with your parents and your dad…”

“Then we finish this for her,” you finished.

“I’m sorry to break this up,” said the stranger, “but we don’t have any time to waste.”

You looked at him. “Who are you?”

“I’m also Peter Parker,” the eldest Peter said.

“That sounds about right,” you said with a humorless laugh. “So what happens now?”

“We need your help in creating serums to cure supernatural powers before sending them back to their universe,” he explained. “Otherwise, those who were dead in their world will remain dead.”

“Y/N, I need your help to develop a cure for human transformation,” said the middle Peter. “Your Peter says you’re the only person who can come up with a formula quick enough.”

“How much time do we have?”

“Three days,” Ned said, “until the universe folds in on us.”

“Shit,” you cursed.

“We need your help to reverse genetics,” said the middle Peter. “Please.”

“I need my material,” you said. “Ned, do you think you can open a portal back to my apartment?”

Wordlessly, Ned did as you asked and you walked through.

“I’ll call you when I have what I need,” you told Ned.

Just as he was about to close the portal, the middle Peter jumped through.

“Peter?” you asked.

“I want to keep you company,” he said, widening his eyes at his choice of words. “I mean, I want to make sure you’re safe in case something happens. Besides, I’m the one who gave Connors the formula in the first place.”

“What’s happening?” you asked him, leading yourselves into your study.

“People who know Peter Parker across many universes are coming to your Earth because of an internal signal,” he explained. “One of these people is a man who I fought years ago. His primary goal was to turn the human population into…into lizards.”

“Lizards?” you asked, raising your eyebrow. “This has got to be some kind of joke.”

“It’s not, Y/N,” said Peter sadly. “He’s more dangerous than I’m making him out to be and I can’t remember how I got to the formula that reversed it.”

“Your memory changed when you entered this universe, didn’t it?”

Peter looked at you. “How do you know so much about the multiverse?”

You pressed your lips into a thin line and wordlessly walked into your bedroom with Peter following suit. He felt nervous walking into such an intimate space, noting how your bed looked tidy and how your room looked neat. Photos of you and your friends sat on top of your dresser and he watched as you pulled a small pendant from your nightstand.

“I’m not from here,” you began to explain. “This…Earth, this universe, it isn’t mine.”

“What do you mean?”

You opened the pendant and watched as the familiar glow of the hologram danced across your palm. Peter watched intently, confused by your intentions until you spoke.

“I’m from planet Earth, but not this one.” You moved the hologram. “When I was five, my parents disobeyed the laws of the multiverse to keep me safe and put me in an orphanage in New York. My planet was in imminent doom because of a war and my home was caught in the crossfire.”

“A war?”

You nodded. “My planet was eradicated a year later and I think I might be the only person who survived.”

“So that’s why the multiverse theory makes sense to you.”

“It took me a while to comprehend it,” you explained. “But this pendant contains all of the information about my home planet. I tried to look for signs of life, but nothing’s worked.”

“That’s insane,” Peter said, looking at the hologram in front of you. “I mean, knowing about other universes changes everything, Y/N. It means you have vastly more knowledge than anyone on this planet.”

“I highly doubt that.”

Peter looked at you.

“Trust me, Y/N. In this universe and mine, you’re probably the only person who knows about the cosmos.”

“That’s both very flattering and frightening,” you said. “I was adopted and my father devoted his entire life to helping me figure out my past and how to control my powers before he passed away.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

You smiled. “It’s alright, it was a long time ago.”

“I lost both my parents and my uncle,” Peter said quietly.

Your eyes softened. “I’m sorry, Peter.”

“Your dad must love you if he went through all that trouble to help you with your powers.”

You smiled. “He was the best. He’d pick me up from school everyday and drive me to his laboratory. I learned a lot from him and I just wish I could say goodbye to him one last time.”

Peter looked at you and offered a solemn grin. He knew what it felt like to talk about ghosts of the past and didn’t want to overstep his boundaries.

“So, your powers?”

“Oh,” you said with the realization you hadn’t disclosed that information yet. “Right. Yes, I have powers. It’s nothing spectacular, just air manipulation.”

You brought your hands in front of you and Peter watched as you lifted him off of the ground. He let out a surprised gasp and tried to reach for stability before you allowed him to touch the ground.

“That’s impressive,” Peter said with a laugh. “I’m surprised you didn’t join The Avengers, or whatever your Peter called them.”

You laughed. If only he knew.

“Yeah, well this planet is probably safer if I keep my powers hidden,” you said. “I only got a few years of practice in a laboratory with no real opportunity to use it. Besides, it’s been a long time since I was openly using them.”

“Well, you can help me by helping me develop a formula,” Peter said carefully. “Us, I mean. You can help us.”

You smiled at him and watched as he walked back to your study, your heart thumping faster with every step you took.

+++

Peter was selfish. He knew that working alongside you would be a bad idea because he couldn’t keep his mind off of you. By the time Ned had called you, the entire floor of your study was piled with notes and books. Peter was hunched over, having changed into a spare shirt and sweatpants that Peter had left in your apartment. Ned opened the portal and walked through with the youngest Peter behind him.

“Wow,” said Ned. “You guys got busy fast.”

“We’re onto something,” you said, pointing at the various white boards with writing on it. “We’re getting there, we just need more time.”

“Yeah, okay,” said the youngest Peter. “We’re making slow progress on our end. Call us when you find something, okay?”

“Of course, Parker,” you said.

The youngest Peter was about to turn around until he looked at the man sitting by the wall.

“Are those my clothes?”

“Hm?” the other Peter said, his focus breaking from Peter’s voice.

“What, did you expect him to wear his suit all day?”

Peter shrugged and waved goodbye. He and Ned walked through the portal and you watched it close.

“I think we need a break,” said the Peter who was looking at your laptop screen. He put it aside and stood from his seat against the wall.

You watched as he walked out of the study to your kitchen, wearing grey sweatpants and a blue graphic shirt. He looked so normal compared to when he donned his Spider-Man suit and you wondered if there would’ve been a possibility for the two of you to get to know each other if it weren’t for the situation at hand.

For the past few hours, you had felt Peter’s eyes on your figure every time you broke your concentration. Despite the problem you were working on, you would have to be daft to ignore the fact that a very cute boy was sitting in your apartment willingly. This Peter was noticeably taller than you and you could barely look in his eyes without stuttering. He was so gentle with the way he handled your belongings, his nimble fingers careful not to break the pages of your notes. In this light, Peter looked like any other college student who you would be too afraid to talk to in fear of embarrassing yourself in front of a cute guy.

But you had to remind yourself that this Peter wasn’t from your universe and if everything went according to plan, he would be leaving in less than three days.

Meanwhile, Peter watched you as you licked your lips every time you honed in on your concentration. He watched as you became frustrated with your hair falling in front of your face and as you hastily put it up. Peter wanted to tell you how cute you looked but thought it would be too inappropriate because of what you two were working towards.

You reminded him so much of Gwen Stacy, from how dedicated you were to your friends and how willing you were to put your life on the line to help a loved one. Peter couldn’t help but feel remorseful for his former lover. He hadn’t truly healed from that night, foregoing his Spider-Man duties to heal instead. It had been a decade since her death and Peter was still hurting, but he had turned this hurt into his motivation to continue living.

And then he met you.

Peter felt a sense of familiarity when you explained your life’s story. He could see himself in your shoes; a scared child unknowingly thrust into the world before you without any guidance from the people who were supposed to be your parents. Peter knew it was ludicrous to think about you this way. After all, he had known you for less than a day, yet there was something about you that made him feel like he’d known you all his life.

A part of him knew his affliction for you was because of his maturity growth. He’d been so nervous to fall for someone after Gwen’s death, fearing that he was betraying the love of his life if he looked at another woman the way he looked at her. But as time passed and as Peter’s emotional scars healed, he allowed himself to be happy. And when Peter felt himself become attracted to you, he had finally felt himself overcome the guilt he felt all those years ago. You weren’t the reason he was able to get over Gwen, but you were the reason he no longer felt like he needed to hold himself back.

“Can I look in your fridge?” he asked, stopping in the middle of the kitchen.

“I don’t have much in there,” you said with a laugh. “I’ve been too consumed with what’s been happening to shop for groceries. I can have something delivered, if you’d like?”

“That sounds amazing,” Peter said. “I’m feeling pizza. Does that sound good to you?”

“Sounds perfect,” you said. As soon as you completed your order, Peter apologized.

“I would pay you back,” he began, “but I’m not all that sure how to.”

“It’s okay,” you said, waving him off. “Don’t worry about it.

When the two of you were sitting against the wall in your study, you couldn’t help but entertain the idea that this was a normal study date. Peter’s suit was in your bedroom and it looked like the two of you were studying for a midterm. Despite loathing tests, you wanted to trade the situation at hand for midterms and finals. But your reality was far different than your fantasies and you forced yourself to think about it.

“This is crazy,” you said, shaking your head. “To think that a week ago I was a regular college student with a regular internship.”

“I can’t imagine what you’re going through,” Peter replied. “I finished university a few years ago and can’t imagine having my life change so dramatically.”

“I had my whole life ahead of me,” you began. “I wanted to apply for an internship where my father used to work and hopefully get a full time job there while getting my masters and PhD. All I’ve ever wanted to do is continue his work.”

“Your friends think you’re very smart,” said Peter. “I know they thought it was best for you to stay on the sidelines, but I can tell they appreciate you believing in them.”

You smiled in your lap. “Thanks for saying that, Peter. I guess I’ve just been feeling very isolated because all I could think about was how my childhood friends thought I was a freak for my powers, which I hadn’t learned to control. I know that’s not what my friends were doing, but it felt familiar.”

You paused.

“I can’t help but wonder what life would be like if my adoptive father was alive.”

Peter knew the feeling all too well. He wished he could see his parents again. He wished he could have one more meal with Uncle Ben. There was so much Peter wanted to tell them and sitting by their graves wasn’t enough.

Peter looked as you sniffled and put his hand on top of yours. You looked at him and he was about to pull his hand away until you smiled at him.

“You’re a brilliant person, Y/N. Your friends are so lucky to have you and I bet your family is really proud of you.” He paused. “I wish we could’ve met sooner.”

“Me too, Peter.”

Your eyes flickered down to his lips and Peter noticed. He returned the favor by inching closer to you but was startled by your phone ringing.

“Shit,” you muttered. “What is it, Ned?”

“Just checking in on you guys,” he said lightheartedly. “We’ve been making some progress here but Peter says your formula is the most complicated.”

“We’re close, Ned. I can feel it. I just need a little more time.”

“Relax, Y/N. We still have two days until the multiverse collapses.”

“Jeez,” you said, rolling your eyes. “Way to put it lightly.”

Ned laughed. “Sorry. But hey, how’s your Peter doing?”

Your eyes widened and you didn’t spare Peter a glance before walking out of the room.

“What do you mean my Peter?” you whisper-screamed. “He’s not my anything.”

“Sure,” Ned said with a laugh. “And I’m Spider-Man.”

“Ned.”

“MJ, Peter, and I all saw the way you looked at him. From the looks of it, he’s looking at you like that too.”

You sighed. “It’s not that I wouldn’t want it to happen–”

“It’s too complicated,” Ned finished.

“Yeah. Besides, we need to finish these cures.”

“Don’t deny yourself happiness, Y/N. You can kiss your Peter and find the formula. I’ve seen you juggle more.”

“I’m hanging up now,” you said, not sparing another moment before ending the call and putting your phone in your back pocket.

“Everything okay?” Peter asked from the doorway. You jumped and he muttered apologies.

“You nearly scared me half to death,” you joked, swatting his chest. Peter laughed and shook his head, boldly grabbing your hand to lead you back into your study.

“C’mon, I think I’m close to finding the formula.”

+++

As it turned out, you didn’t need the entire three days to figure out Connor’s formula.

The youngest Peter suggested you all get a good night’s sleep and you offered your apartment, knowing you were the only one who had a safe place to lay low. By this point, you and Peter decided to call it quits for the night after you had fallen asleep on your desk. You apologized profusely but he shook his head and thought it would be best to check in with the others and get some sleep before starting again the next day.

“We could use sleep,” the youngest Peter said.

One by one, those in the laboratory stepped across the portal and into your apartment. Peter and MJ had immediately taken to rummaging through your closet for spare clothing while the eldest Peter looked around.

“There’s a bathroom around the corner,” you announced. “Uh, if you guys need to use it, there’s only that one.”

“Dibs on a shower,” Peter said after he found spare clothes. He disappeared quicker than you could react.

“We all need some fucking sleep,” MJ said, falling onto the couch in the living room. “I feel like my bones are about to fall out of my body.”

“Me too,” said Ned. “I can grab the blankets, Y/N, if that’s okay.”

“Sure thing,” you said. “You know where the pillows are.”

As the night progressed, you could hear MJ’s subtle snoring from beside you on the bed. Ned and Peter were on the floor on either side of you with the two Peters from other universes slept on the couch and the floor outside. But despite wanting to fall asleep, you couldn’t.

You were surprised to see the Peter you worked with sitting outside on the balcony. Slowly, you opened the door so as not to startle him and took a seat next to him.

“Can’t sleep, huh?” you asked.

Peter shook his head. “Just thinking is all.”

“What are you thinking about?”

Peter was quiet.

“Sorry, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

Peter laughed and shook his head.

“I’ve been thinking about what I’m going to do when I go home,” he said. “I live alone and I have a job that allows me to be Spider-Man when I need to. But it’s always been just me and I don’t know if I want to go back to that.”

“Surely you have friends, Peter.”

He shrugged. “I mean, I have a few friends. But none of them know I’m Spider-Man. I lost a lot of really important people in my life and I don’t know if I can do that again.”

“I’m sorry, Peter,” you apologized. “I wish there was something I could do.”

“Me too,” he said, looking at the city below him. “This might be my last night in this universe and I can’t tell if I’m excited or not.”

You nearly forgot. Peter would be leaving you behind and it wasn’t his fault.

“I just feel like I don’t have a purpose in life and I’m trying to find it.”

“You’re incredible, Peter,” you said. He looked at you. “You’re so committed and dedicated to protecting New York and that’s admirable.”

“You got that from spending an entire day with me?” Peter said with a laugh.

You offered him a gentle smile. “I’m being serious, Peter. Anyone would be lucky to have you in their lives.”

For the first time in a while, Peter felt like he could continue without worrying about how others in his life would perceive him. He felt calm, sitting on the balcony with the sound of New York underneath him. He held the blanket around his shoulders tighter and when he realized you were about to stand up and walk back inside because you were cold, Peter didn’t think twice about offering you a seat next to him.

“I have a blanket,” he said lamely, opening his arms. Wordlessly, you slipped into the spot next to him and let your eyes flutter shut as you put your head on his shoulder.

Peter didn’t want the next day to come.

+++

The time for battle came. The three Peters had long gone, leaving you, MJ, and Ned behind. You knew there was another way to help but stayed behind in the event that someone had found MJ and Ned, and you wanted to protect in any way you could.

You had no recollection of falling asleep the night before and deduced that Peter carried you back to your bedroom. When you awoke, you managed to finish the formula and all of you raced back into the laboratory to finish the cure before the deadline approached. Your breath hitched as you saw the three of them walk across the Statue of Liberty, wondering if there was more you could be doing.

The next thing you knew, electricity roared through the sky.

“MJ!” the youngest Peter shouted, “catch!”

He threw the box towards the portal and you rejoiced for a mere moment before realizing that Ned needed to close the portal. He gained his composure while MJ set the box on a table behind the three of you but to his dismay, the portal wasn’t closing.

“What the hell?” Ned cursed. “It’s not closing!”

“It’s okay, we’re okay,” MJ reassured. “Just try again.”

Ned tried once again to no avail.

“Maybe you need to focus?” you suggested.

Meanwhile, Connors had found his way to the portal after hearing the two of you encouraging Ned in his effort to close the portal. He roared and the three of you panicked as he approached.

“Get the box!” Ned yelled.

When Connors breached the portal, you lifted your hands and used as much power as you could to lift him from the ground and watched as he was slammed against the wall. MJ looked at you in astonishment.

“Go!” you yelled.

Peter was close behind, jumping on Connors’ back as you ran after MJ and Ned. The floors beneath you were unstable and you nearly fell when you stepped foot onto the structure, keeping pace with MJ and Ned to get to safety.

You didn’t have the chance to catch your footing as you saw the middle Peter glance at you from where he stood.

The next thing Peter knew, you were falling to your death.

He didn’t think twice about stepping off of the side of the building and soaring through the sky if it meant saving your life. The familiar desperation felt too intense for Peter to handle. All he could see was Gwen’s face as her body hit the floor beneath her, and the feeling of grief washed over him like the rain after a drought. Tears welled in his eyes when he realized he was panicking mid-air, his hand reaching out for yours.

But unlike the last time, Peter grabbed your hand and successfully swung the both of you to safety, landing on the floor below.

Peter let a tear slip from his eyes and you watched as he looked at your bruised cheeks. He let out a heavy breath and laughed to himself and knew he looked like a complete idiot, but he didn’t care. Peter saved you.

“Peter?” you said. “Are you okay?”

Peter laughed louder and nodded, his hands gripping your waist from the way he held you.

“I’m okay,” he said. “I’m okay. You’re okay.”

“I’m okay,” you repeated.

You could feel your heart beating in your chest.

Peter was reluctant to set you down but did so when he realized he was holding onto you for much longer than he intended. But to his surprise, you didn’t tear your gaze from his. He watched as you inspected his cuts and bruises and looked down at your smaller frame when you took a step closer towards him. Peter’s mouth parted and his eyes darted towards your lips.

Are we going to kiss in the middle of a battle? Peter thought.

Your mouth was on his before he could process what he was thinking.

Your lips were softer than he imagined and he was impressed, considering how hard the winds were at the height before the fall. Peter’s hand instinctively put themselves on your waist, pulling your body closer as your hands reached to cup his jawline.

Kissing you was like a fever dream. Peter couldn’t explain it if he tried because all he knew was kissing you was much better than his fantasies and he never wanted to stop. You had the kindest eyes and the most gentle soul, and in the three days Peter spent with you, he almost forgot that you weren’t going to go back home with him.

When you pulled away, he watched as your eyes traveled from his chest to his face. He watched as you bashfully looked at him with swollen lips.

“You know I can fly, right?” you said abruptly.

Peter looked at you. “What?”

You laughed and hovered above the ground. “I can fly. You didn’t need to save me.”

“Oh.” Peter smiled.

You kissed him again.

“But I’m glad you did, Peter.”

You carried Peter back to the centerfold and you could feel your body grow weaker with every minute spent in the air because of the lack of practice.

“Y/N?!” the youngest Peter yelled in confusion. “What the hell are you doing?”

“It’s a long story!” you shouted over the sounds of the wind.

“Get me close to his glider!”

You shifted your weight and held your hand out, allowing Peter to jump from the edge of the structure to the glider’s edge with ease.

You hoped the fight would be over soon. The toll your magic took on you was tremendous after not having sustained using it in so long. You almost forgot what it felt like to be completely drained of untapped energy because you used so much of it to carry Peter back to the fight and then used it to carry another towards the last person who needed the cure. When you were sure Peter would be fine on your own, you let yourself fall to the floor and caught your breath.

But you weren’t prepared for what you were about to see. The youngest Peter was fighting for his lift, throwing punches that amused the other party because of their sinister laughs. You hadn’t seen his face because it was obscured by his hood and when you were about to launch yourself to Peter’s defense, you saw his face.

It was the ghost of your father who had been dead for nearly a decade.

“You’re weak, Peter.”

You stopped in your tracks. It was as if the air had been knocked out of your lungs and you had trouble finding your breath. Your body froze on the concrete below you. You couldn’t focus on anything other than Norman’s face, sudden flashbacks of your childhood coming to the forefront of your mind at lightning speed.

You watched as Peter landed punch after punch and part of you had the mind to stop him, but you knew better.

“The cure,” you muttered to yourself after seeing the vile in near reach. “Peter!”

You wasted no time in tossing him the vile and watched as he ceremoniously punctured the needle into Norman’s neck. You let out a choked sob, allowing yourself to fall to your knees and your tears to flow freely down your cheeks as Peter stepped back.

“What happened?” Norman asked. “Where am I?”

Peter left Norman where he stood when the other Peters approached. Hastily, you lifted yourself from the ground and ran to Norman, your body falling right in front of him.

“Dad,” you muttered before you had the chance to think about what you were saying.

“I don’t—”

Norman stopped in his tracks, looking at you. He knew this feeling, the emptiness of losing what you loved the most only to be plagued by it after you thought you had moved on. Norman watched as your lips quivered and as your eyes became red from your tears, moving his hand to brush a few stray ones from your face.

“You knew me here, didn’t you?”

All you could do was nod.

“But you lost him.”

You nodded again.

“I-I’m sorry,” you said, wiping your nose. “You look just like him.”

“I’m sorry too,” he replied. “You know, your friend over there made a pretty big sacrifice.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, cocking your head to the side.

“Fighting me and everyone else,” Norman replied. “I just wish I could’ve stopped the other half of me from taking over.”

You didn’t know what he was talking about but you didn’t care.

“You’re going home soon,” you said with a bitter laugh.

You’re going to leave me again.

“I know,” he said softly. “I’m sorry you had to go through this again.”

“Y/N!” The youngest Peter shouted from the other end of the pathway.

“You should go,” Norman urged. “They need you.”

You froze in your seat, unwilling to move it you knew he was right. You both stood at the same time and when you were about to turn, Norman lurched forward to pull you into an embrace.

You had spent your entire life cursing the universe for the death of your biological parents and for Norman. Nothing was crueler than knowing you were completely alone in the world without the chance to say goodbye to Norman and seeing him again felt like pouring salt into a fresh wound.

The feeling of being incomplete your entire life catapulted you into this moment of pure redemption. You forgave your younger self for the self-hatred you directed towards everyone else. You forgave yourself for feeling guilty for not doing anything to prevent this death. You forgave yourself for keeping your walls high when you wanted to tear them down.

You willed yourself this chance to say goodbye and you squeezed him as if to say you didn’t want to let go and Norman watched as you pulled away, running towards your friends.

“We fucking did it!” Ned exclaimed, embracing you in a hug.

“It’s not that simple,” Peter said. His voice was strained. “In order to reverse what’s happened, Strange needs to cast a spell to make everyone forget I was ever Spider-Man.”

“What?” MJ asked, her lips quivering. “No. No, I won’t allow it.”

“It’s the only way, MJ.”

You could barely register what Peter was saying to your friends, caught in the idea that you’d be losing him too.

“Y/N,” he called out.

“There’s so much I need to tell you,” you said, your tears free falling. “There’s so much I never got to say, from my powers to Tony–”

“Tony?”

“I can’t forget you,” you pleaded. “You’re one of my best friends. I-I wouldn’t be here without you.”

“It’s the only way,” Peter said, his eyes casted down.

“I won’t forget you,” you said, determined to remember. “MJ and I will just figure it out.”

“I’ll find you again,” he said. “I promise. But you should say goodbye to your Peter.”

“Count on you to make a joke,” you said when you saw the gleam in his eyes.

“I’m serious, Y/N. Do it before you regret it.”

When you looked at your Peter, he was already looking back at you.

All at once, you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. The realization that you would have to say goodbye to him dawned on you and you ran faster. You ran until you found yourself in front of Peter and felt his hands cup your cheeks.

“I will never forget you, Y/N.”

“I don’t want you to go,” you said through your tears.

“I’ll find a way to travel throughout the universe,” Peter said. “You just need to remember who I am.”

“I don’t think I could forget about you even if I tried.”

You both knew that was a lie but pretended it wasn’t.

“Is it too soon to say I think I might be falling in love with you?” Peter asked.

You shook your head. “No, not at all. I think I feel the same way.”

“I’ll find you,” Peter said, his hands cupping your jaw and his forehead against yours. “I swear on it, Y/N.”

Peter’s lips found yours for the last time until he disappeared into a golden ember. You hadn’t bothered to keep your tears at bay, letting them fall as you looked at the empty spot where he once stood and back at the place where your father once sat.

Suddenly, you were in the streets of New York with no recollection of your Peter Parker.

+++

Peter walked into the small donut shop with the intention of talking to MJ.

He had been so caught up in enrolling in his previous classes again to feel some form of normalcy that he hadn’t planned on what he was going to say, which led him to rehearse a speech on his way to the cafe.

The door chimed when he walked in and the first thing he noticed was MJ’s figure behind the counter. He wished he could call out her name and tell her everything from the past week but he knew better. Peter wished he could grab her hand and tell her about their relationship and what it meant to him, but he knew he couldn’t.

Peter watched as MJ waved in his direction and nearly waved back in pure excitement until he realized she was waving at the two individuals who walked past him. Peter was astonished to see it was you and Ned.

“Can I help you?” MJ said, pulling Peter out of his thoughts.

He looked at her for a moment.

“I’m Peter Parker and…I would love a coffee.”

“Okay, Peter Parker,” MJ said with a quizzical expression. “One coffee coming up. I’ll be right back.”

Peter stood from the other side of the store and watched as MJ rang up his order. She paused in front of the donut selection and pulled one out.

“Shut up, Y/N,” MJ said with affection. “This donut is on the house.”

“Won’t you get in trouble for that?” you asked.

“Nah,” MJ said, waving you off. “The boss isn’t in today. It’s just me and Sasha who’s cool about everything.”

“No donuts for me?” Ned asked, clutching his heart dramatically.

“Y/N’s the one who helped me pass the last test, doofus. You can get a free donut when you do that.”

MJ turned around to fix Peter a cup of coffee when you turned around from your seat. Peter saw your face for the first time and sucked in his breath. You looked just like he remembered, dark circles under your eyes yet optimistic. He nearly tripped on his feet when you made eye contact with him.

Peter watched as you stood from your seat at the counter and walked towards him. He felt his hands grow sweaty.

“Peter,” you said.

It was odd, Peter thought, that you’d refer to him by his first name. It was always Parker, but never Peter.

“Yeah,” Peter said with a hopeful glee. You were the first person who addressed him and he nearly jumped out of his shoes. Did you remember him? Did you remember everything that happened?

“It’s good to see you,” you said with a smile.

“I-It’s good to see you too, Y/N. Really good.”

You stood in front of him and pulled your hands from your pockets.

“I was wondering if you wanted to join our study group for the final,” you said after a moment of silence passed between the two of you. “Flannigan’s midterm was brutal so I can only imagine what the final is going to be like.”

Peter snapped out of his daydream. “What?”

You gave him a pointed look. “Calculus 510, Monday and Wednesdays from nine to eleven? You sit in front of me in that class.”

“Oh,” Peter said, nodding. “Right, yes. Sorry, I’ve just woken up.”

You laughed. “No worries, Peter. I’d love for you to join our study group. You seem to know every question Flannigan asks in the class.”

“I just like math,” Peter said with an unsteady breath.

“Me too,” you replied. “Though, applied sciences are my speciality. I hope to work with nanotechnology at Stark Industries one day.”

I know, Peter thought.

“That’s really cool,” was all Peter could muster. “You must be extremely smart.”

“I like to think I’m somewhere near there,” you joked.

“I-I’d love to join your study group.”

You smiled.

“Great!” You gestured for him to follow you. “This is Ned.”

“I like your shirt,” Peter said, noticing Ned was wearing an Empire Strikes Back graphic t-shirt.

“You like Star Wars too?” Ned asked excitingly.

“Yeah,” Peter said with a laugh. “I’m somewhat of a huge fan.”

“And that’s MJ,” you said, pointing at MJ, who handed Peter his coffee with a stoic expression. “She’ll warm up to you.”

Peter hastily gave MJ cash for the coffee and looked at her while she walked to the cash register. Just for a moment, Peter imagined himself back at the cafe before the catastrophic events occurred. He imagined MJ complaining about her job, Ned buying too many donuts, and the way you were always hunched over your textbook with coffee by your side. He desperately wished he could kiss MJ agan and perform his handshake with Ned. Most of all, Peter wished he could reassure you that he would do anything in his power for you and your Peter Parker to reunite. At that moment, Peter wanted to cry.

“Parker,” you said, pulling him out of his daydreams again.

Did you just call me Parker?

Peter looked at you only to realize you were gesturing at MJ, who tried to give him his change.

“Keep it,” he said.

“Are we cool studying tomorrow?” Ned asked.

“Morning works best for me,” you said.

“Same,” MJ replied. “I’ve got a shift at one.”

The three of you looked at Peter.

“Morning works great,” he said. “Just tell me when and where.”

“Give me your phone,” you said, holding your palm up.

Peter watched as you put your contact information in his phone and as you sent yourself a text message.

“There. Now you have no excuse to miss a study date.”

Peter could tell you were joking. He wanted to laugh and cry at the absurdity of it all. You always chastised him for coming to study sessions later than the rest before you knew he was Spider-Man and Peter wanted so desperately for you to remember who he was. But he smiled and let you know that he’d be wherever you told him to be.

“I should get going,” Peter said after having finished his coffee. “It’s getting late and I’ve got an early class tomorrow.”

“It was nice meeting you, Peter,” Ned said. “We should have a Star Wars marathon soon!”

“Yeah, Ned,” Peter replied. “I’d love that.”

“I’ll see you around,” MJ said, with a curt nod and an awkward smile.

“I think we’re going to be great friends,” you said aloud to him as he walked away.

Peter turned around and looked at you.

He could tell you were wearing a genuine smile with the way your smile reached your eyes and how enthusiastically waved goodbye. Peter wanted his life to return the way it was, to have Strange chastise him for his mistakes, for Aunt May to ask him when he was going to be home, and for Tony to lecture him about the meaning of what it meant to be an Avenger. He wanted his life back more than anything in the world. He wanted his girlfriend and his two best friends back.

All Peter had to do was be patient.

#no way home spoilers #peter parker x reader #peter parker #andrew garfield x reader #tom holland x reader #andrew garfield!peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #spiderman imagine #spider-man x reader #andrew garfield imagine #no way home #andrew garfield #tom holland #marvel imagine #and then there was you

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aurumacadicus · 2 years

Note

For the title meme

Steve/Tony/Bucky ... And Howard/Maria if you can fit them in totally optional

Of Fire and Ice

Listen once Howard/Maria is mentioned I find a way to shoehorn them in regardless of if it fits. I love these two whole dumbasses. They birthed another whole dumbass. They all just happen to be smart on top of it.

Of Fire and Ice

“I don’t want to get married!” Tony wailed.

Maria frowned at him, unsympathetic to his cries. “You're the only son of the head family of fire witches. The other clans have been clamoring for your hand since you were born.”

“Ew!” Tony exclaimed, crocodile tears forgotten.

Maria waved his disgust away. “Your father handled it.”

Tony turned wet, beseeching eyes on his father. “Can’t you handle it again?”

“Don't fucking look at him,” Maria barked.

Howard wordlessly put his hand up to block Tony from view, instead keeping his focus on the book he was reading. Maria was only sorry that Howard could not see the absolutely outraged expression their son gave him in response.

“You’re of age, and if you'd dated like I told you to, maybe we could have gotten everyone off our backs with the fact that you were already taken,” Maria continued, crossing her arms and scowling at him. “As it stands, now you’re single, woefully inexperienced, and we have to beat suitors back with a stick.”

“I didn’t know it would come back and bite me in the ass as soon as I turned eighteen!” Tony shouted back. “Also all the other head families don’t have any kids around my age! I’m either gonna be a cradle robber or they’re going to rob my cradle!”

“That's why I said you should date around with people your own age here! You never listen to me!” Maria snapped.

Tony went back to his dramatics, crying and wailing, “I didn’t know it was so I wouldn’t be sold off to a creepy old man!”

“We're not fucking selling you off, Tony,” Maria thundered back. “I said we’re beating the suitors back with a stick, and we’ll protect you indefinitely, but those stories about witches being kidnapped and forced into marriages aren’t just fables!”

“Also, it’s not like those closest in age to you are that old,” Howard muttered.

Tony stopped his dramatics again. “What?”

“Steve is twenty-five,” Howard said with a shrug.

“That’s seven years older than me,” Tony complained, at the same time Maria spluttered, “Who the hell is Steve?!”

“He hasn’t outgrown his dumbassery yet, you’d get along,” Howard told Tony, making him squawk in offense, before he turned his attention to his wife and continued, “Steve Rogers. You know, Sarah Rogers’ son?”

“Sarah Rogers,” Maria repeated, frowning. “Sarah--Oh. With the husband,” she finished flatly. “No. Absolutely not.”

“Her husband died like... ten years ago,” Howard argued. “Sarah’s been leading the ice faction since then, and they’ve been doing very good things!”

“Why don’t I ever see her then?!” Maria sputtered.

Howard scowled at her. “Because Peggy and I keep you separated, Maria. Either you’re going to blow each other to pieces or you’re going to make everyone wish you had.”

“SARAH ROGERS IS MY BEST FRIEND NOW YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE,” Maria bellowed, and Tony wisely left the room to escape any stray sparks that resulted from their fight.

Still. Steve was the closest in age to him, and Tony decided if the other option was getting kidnapped and forced to marry, he at least wanted to try on his terms first. (It helped that Howard had scoffed and said, “Of course you can,” when Tony had asked if he was allowed to protect himself with deadly force.)

“So, the thing is,” Steve said after they’d sat down across from each other. He looked like he was about to throw up.

“The thing is,” Tony prompted.

“I’ve got a beau already,” Steve blurted out, like that was the only way he could say it.

Tony blinked at him, bewildered. “Then why did you agree to this?”

“Because I’m scared of my ma,” Steve admitted. “And... sort of scared of yours, too.”

“That’s fair. My mother isn’t someone to mess with,” Tony agreed. He was a little disappointed, because Steve was very handsome, and the next single witch closest to his age was thirty-two. There was a girl who was fourteen who was technically closer in age, but he felt gross even thinking about it, so he didn’t even entertain it.

“But Ma says we’re not technically married yet, and this would be lucrative for both of our clans, so she wanted me to meet you anyway, because I have a cousin you could marry. Some factions might get upset about it but like...” Steve struggled for words, then continued, “I mean, what are they gonna do? Confront both our moms?”

Tony opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His mother and Sarah Rogers had looked pretty chummy when he’d walked past (his father had his head in his hands while he sighed, so presumably they were all friends now). He hated to go against his mother on a good day. He couldn’t imagine fighting two of his mother.

Tony still hadn’t found words by the time he noticed another very handsome man walking over to them. He’d thought the man might be a bodyguard, but he wasn’t wearing any weapons or anything, and Steve was growing alarmed as he approached.

“Buck--” he began, only to choke himself off again, because the man had gotten him in a chokehold.

“I told you to let him down gently you idiot,” the man hissed, shaking him. “What about ‘I already have a beau but I’m scared of our mothers’ is gentle?!”

“Oh,” Tony said, and settled in to just watch. It reminded him of his parents, a little. He had to admit that this actually brought him some comfort. “I’m Tony,” he told the man politely.

The man smiled at him sweetly, as if Steve was not clawing uselessly at his arms. “I’m James. Friends call me Bucky.” He glared down at Steve. “Dumbasses don’t get to use my name. We’re breaking up.”

“I panicked,” Steve squeaked. “You know I panic around this kind of thing-!”

“I suppose that’s true,” Bucky allowed, finally dropping him. He pulled out the chair beside Steve’s and sat down. “Well. You’d be useless without me, so I guess I better stay here.”

“I’m guessing you made the first move between the two of you then,” Tony began.

“Yup,” Bucky replied.

Steve squawked, offended. “Hey!”

Bucky gave Tony a long slow up-and-down, then declared, “Natasha will eat him alive. I’ll let you marry Steve as long as I can put my cold toes under your thighs.”

“I don’t feel cold, so that’s fine,” Tony replied.

Steve immediately brightened. “You don’t feel cold? Ever? So I can put my cold toes under your thighs, too?”

“Fire witches are basically just big hot water bottles,” Tony said.

Steve and Bucky stared at him. Finally, Steve replied, “No, I hate that.”

“Squishy and warm,” Tony began.

“I’m just imagining a sweater based on the little cozies your ma knits for her hot water bottles,” Bucky said, glancing at Steve, and Steve burst out laughing.

“I’m not offended. I love sweaters. I like to be cozy,” Tony admitted.

Bucky turned to look at Steve. “He likes to be cozy,” he repeated.

“He likes to be cozy,” Steve agreed.

Somehow they didn’t sound patronizing. Tony narrowed his eyes at them anyway, just for good measure.

#aurumacadicus answers #ask meme #fic title meme #stuckony #howard/maria #the water bottle comment vexes and haunts steve for the rest of his days #are we not all just hot water bottles with brains

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fandom-imagines · 3 years

Text

Escape Artists

Fandom: Halloween/Slashers

Pairing: Michael Myers X Reader

Warnings: Murder, mention of parental abuse, lightly-written smut (not too descriptive).

Words: 2.4k

He had seen her around the hospital numerous times. She was always sat surrounded by those weird beads that she made designs with, only to have to hand them to one of the nurses who always seemed glad to iron the pattern for her.

Despite having seen her and observed her, Michael had never actually interacted with the girl. Sure, she was interesting, seemingly too innocent to be sat in Smiths Groves, but he wouldn’t talk to her; he wouldn’t talk to anybody. This was how he lived. Day in, day out. Never talking to a soul and nobody willingly talking to him. That was how Michael liked it which is why he couldn’t help but be irritated by the person who was interrupting his mealtime.

“Hi,” in front of Michael stood the bead girl, nervously fiddling with her fingers. “I-I made this for you.” Before he knew it, Michaels hand now held a beaded blushing panda.

He was tempted to snap the poor thing in half, and he would have had he not felt a piece of paper stuck to the back with the crappy tape the sanitorium provides.

“Don’t look yet, look when you’re alone.” She said, leaving with a short nod.

He listened to her words, going to the bathroom, the one place he was allowed to be alone, to read whatever note was scribbled on the paper.

Do you want to escape with me, Michael?

Confusion overtook his mind, the creaking of the tiled walls being the only thing he could fully register.

Not only did she know his name, but she also wanted to escape with him?

Weirdo.

He simply shrugged it off.

“Morning, Y/N,” a kind nurse awoke the young girl from her peaceful slumber, something that was rare for her. “Here is your medicine.”

“Thank you, Nurse Green.”

Her small hands grasped the bottle of water they provided her each morning, spare hand now filled with the medication she took daily before gulping down all nine of them with one mouthful of water.

Yesterdays interaction with Michael still plagued her mind.

She knew what he had done to his sister, everybody did, but still he was the only person she somewhat trusted her. Not that she had ever actually spoke to him of course, even though she was exceptionally kind to all those on the ward. She simply hoped he had read the note.

Lunchtime came round quite quickly, Y/N refusing to part with her beads and Michael nowhere to be seen, something that wasn’t uncommon.

Her fingers picked out another green bead to add to her new creation, a soft smile gracing her lips as she fit the final bead into the pattern, creating an amazing leaf. She looked up with a smile on her face, ready to show the nurse only to be met with Michael face, head tilted to the side.

“Oh,” she spoke quietly, evidently shocked at the older boy’s presence. “Hi, Michael.” Her kindness didn’t falter however, the shocked look on her face quickly forming back into the smile she wore previously.

Michaels hand reached out to grab the box of beads, pulling it towards him along with a square pegboard. He quickly got to work making a pattern, something that was done in mere minutes, pushing it back towards Y/N before leaving, not sparing her a single glance as he went back to his room.

Confused, Y/N pulled the board towards her. On it was a perfectly designed tombstone, yet it was masked as a grey brick, something Michael knew the nurses wouldn’t pick up on, only someone that was looking or expecting it would. However, beneath the board was a small slip of paper, something that caused her Y/E/C orbs to widen, quickly yet carefully sliding the paper into the pocket of her knitted sweatshirt.

“He what?” Loomis’s voice was loud, booming throughout the office. “He interacted with another patient?”

The nurses were unable to tell whether he was scared or happy at this news.

Michael had never interacted with another patient before, never interacted with anyone at all so this was a big surprise to him.

“Leave this to me,”

Yes.

This one word was floating around Y/N’s mind for the entire night.

He wants to escape with her? Michael Myers wants to escape with her? It was something she could not refuse, so she got to writing.

Over the following months the two shared notes through the beads they would both make. Nobody had spotted this yet, the scheme too smart for the nurses and doctors alike at Smiths Grove. Loomis had been keeping a close eye on the pair, looking for something significant that he could use against Michael but there was nothing yet, nothing at all.

The girl was sat at her usual table, alone for once which was uncommon for her. She wouldn’t have been alone had she not told the usual people that she wished to be alone today.

She was waiting.

Waiting for Michael.

A small sense of glee filled her chest when she noticed him walk into the cafeteria, a small smile following suite. The smile only dropped when he ignored her presence, walking towards where he usually sat. He must have sensed her gaze, glancing up to catch her sight before glancing at the chair opposite him, a silent hint for her to come over which she gladly did.

“Hi,”

Michael didn’t give her a verbal response, something she was used to by now, he instead looked towards her hands that held her most recent pattern: a pink milk carton. She eagerly passed it to him, watching him closely for any sign of reaction as he observed it, the two unaware that somebody else was also watching him.

“I want you to cut all communication between Michael and Y/N,” Loomis seemed to have come up with a plan of his own. “We’ll see how he reacts to that.”

“Yes, Dr Loomis.”

Y/N sat at the desk in her room, spinning the board around the wood with her finger.

“Why am I stuck in here?” Her tone expressed how fed up she was of being confined her for the entire day. “I’m bored.”

“Why don’t you make something?”

“Why am I here?”

“A doctor wants to see you.”

“I’ve seen all the doctors. Which one?”

“Dr Loomis.”

Oh, so it worked, good to know.

A few hours later she was seated on her bed, legs crossed with her pigtails falling down to her knee.

“We’ve met before, Y/N. After you were first sent here.” Loomis did his best to be friendly, hiding the burning curiosity and urge to ask her everything he wanted in one go.

“Yes, Dr Loomis.” Her tone was friendly, also forced.

She was waiting. Waiting for-

An excruciating loud beep blared throughout the entire ward, signalling a door had been opened by one of the patients.

Loomis’s eyes widened, worried that it was Michael who had escaped. He didn’t even bother to say goodbye before rushing off, forgetting to lock the door on the way out, something the pair had planned.

Y/N had half expected their planned escape car to be gone by the time she had finished running to the door, Michael probably having using her to escape. Weirdly enough, he was sat there waiting for her, something that made her smile as she hopped into the car.

Their plan, something that had been in the works for an insane amount of time, had worked. Every part of it had gone how they had planned.

“Thank you,” Y/N’s voice was as soft as always, glancing at Michael whose eyes were focused on the road, seemingly dismissing her appreciation.

He wasn’t however. He was silently grateful for her. She had stuck by him, his quiet and rude self. She knew what he had done and had still accepted him, he could see it in her face. He assumed she was simply in for depression or something of the sort, uncaring as to why because all he cared about was leaving and finishing what he had started, but something about her drew him in and he began getting somewhat attached to the girl.

The pair drove for hours, having to stop by to get gas before pulling into an abandoned place far away from the main road so that nobody could find them.

“Do you want a drink?” Michael gave her a confused look as she sat on the car, hand stretched out to hand him a bottle. “It’s weird you know,” she continued speaking after he took the bottle from her hand and sat beside her, “I never thought I’d make it to adulthood.”

This further proved his point of her having depression.

“Not that I’m depressed or suicidal or anything. I just thought I’d die by now.” This simply confused Michael. If she wasn’t in there for depression, what was she in for?

The nights sky hung over the pair, stars being one of the only things lighting the place, supported by the car’s lights.

Y/N seemed to sense his confusion.

“Oh, you don’t know what I’m in for? Well, was in for.” Michael simply shook his head.

“I killed someone. My dad. He used to hurt me, physically, mentally, emotionally and a few other things. My mother just watched it all happen, so I tried to kill her as well but she got away and I was dragged there.”

Michael nodded as to show that he understood.

“It’s weird. When I was younger, I always thought I’d be a popular eighteen-year-old with a boyfriend, a lot of friends and all that stuff. I never thought I’d be here,” her gaze fell on Michael, “but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Even if I am a virgin.” Y/N made sure to finish her sentence off with a joke, hoping to ease the tension she felt whilst expressing her emotions whilst continuing to stare up at the sky, oblivious to the thoughts running through Michaels head, his face not showing any signs either.

Y/N jumped at the cold sensation of Michaels hand touching her bare thigh, goosebumps rising beneath her dress. “Michael?” She turned to face the unmasked man, only to be pushed to lean against the back of the car with attempted gentleness. “Michael?” She repeated, growing even more confused as he lifted himself over her, able to feel her heart pound.

She didn’t fear him, she had never feared him; he’d never given her a reason. Sure he could be rude towards her, but never fear-inducing, never to her.

“Michael?”

Her words were silenced as Michaels body crawled onto her own, his chest pressed against hers, both hearts racing, despite Michael’s calm composure and Y/N’s confused look. Her eyes widened as she felt Michaels lips against her neck, roughly sucking with such force that she knew it would leave a mark.

A soft moan left her lips when Michael’s hand wandered down to her chest, lightly toying with her nipples before grabbing her breast, massaging it as he did so. The moans that left her lips simply increased Michael’s urges, his desires; he wanted her, and it seemed like she wanted him too.

“Michael-“she murmured, fingers looping themselves in the strands of his hair as he nipped at her skin.

Her free hand ran down his front, searching for his clothed erection which she soon founds, enjoying the breathy moan that Michael made as she slid her hand into his pants. It was quiet, but not quiet enough. Michael’s own hand reached into her own panties, finger soaking up the wetness that had formed at his touch, something that almost made him smirk.

Another moan fell from Y/N’s lips as Michael’s fingers began to explore, the tightness she felt was almost too tight, yet Michael was surprisingly gentle considering who he was. This time Michael couldn’t resist his smirk, being thankful for the fact that his face was buried into the crook of her neck, marking her as his and his only.

Her grip on his hair tightened as he slipped another finger inside of her, giving her a moment to adjust before slowly moving. It wasn’t long before pleasure began to consume her, grip tightening on his hair further as she neared her end.

“M-Michael,” she moaned. “I want you,”

He seemed happy to comply, fingers leaving her heat to unclothe his member. He waited for a moment, searching Y/N’s eyes for any sort of hesitation before sliding in, giving her time to adjust.

“I’m ready, you can move.”

His movements were slow to begin with, giving it his best attempt at not hurting her, something that was incredibly hard for his rough self, but self-restraint can be a magical thing. It wasn’t until the word ‘more’ left her lips that he finally increased his movements.

The cold of the cars metal caused shivers to run down Y/N’s spine, made worse by Michael’s cold hands running across her, now bare, body as moans filled the air.

“I-I’m close,”

Her words only increased his movements more, desperate to reach both their ends. Michael’s hand moved down to her clit, harshly rubbing in hopes that in would held her meet her own release, which it did and she came with one final moan, her sudden tightness triggering Michael’s own orgasm as he came inside of her, their juices mixing together.

Cheeks flushed, both Y/N and Michael wordlessly laid against the car’s windscreen. Deciding to test the waters, Y/N leant herself against Michael’s shoulder, silently pleased when he showed no sign of rejection.

He was surprisingly warm, heating up her cold body in the cool night’s air; she never expected him to be so warm. She lightly wrapped her hand around his upper arm, snuggling herself into his shoulder before falling asleep.

Michael stared at the sleeping girl, confused and shocked at how she had so much trust in him, despite what he had done. It was oddly reassuring to him. Once certain she was asleep, he raised his hand to move a stray strand of hair from her face before falling asleep himself.

“Goodnight, Y/N,”

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fruitcoops · 3 years

Note

Hi!! I was wondering if you could do another fic involving jules and coops together? Just like sweet moments between the three? I loved the baby sitting series you did and could not stop thinking about it❤️❤️ Thank you!!

Yeah, of course! I love writing my boy at any opportunity. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove, but the relatives are my ocs!

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Sirius asked under his breath as Remus finally—finally—appeared from the mass of people.

“It’s fine,” Remus said around a forced smile to a middle-aged man across the yard.

Sirius hid his mouth by pretending to look down at the nearest casserole dish. He didn’t even know what was in it; nobody had bothered with labels, and everyone’s dishes were the same basic florals in different colors. “I love you, Re, and I totally get the whole ‘meet the parents’ thing, but this is a bit much if I’m being honest.”

“Honey.” Remus’ shoulder pressed against his own. “I’m sorry you’re not having a good time, but my Aunt Jen would skin me alive if I didn’t bring the man I’m marrying to the family reunion. We can leave tomorrow if you really hate—oh, no.”

“Remus!” a shrill, excited voice called. Sirius felt his fiancé straighten up as a tall, redheaded woman in star-painted jeans hurried across the grass with three other women in tow. She reached up and gave Remus’ cheeks a squish, then leaned in a planted a lipstick-stamped kiss to his forehead. “How are you, my duckling? Was your flight alright? Make sure you stay away from the salt or else your feet will swell.”

“Hi, Aunt Jen,” Remus said, grimacing a little at her rib-crushing hug. “I’m doing well, and our flight was fine. How are you?”

“Peachy keen,” she assured him. Dark brown eyes lasered in on Sirius half a second later and he felt his fight or flight kick in. “And who are you?”

“Aunt Jen, this is—”

“It was rhetorical, honey,” Jen interrupted with a pat to Remus’ arm as she stepped closer to Sirius and immediately hauled him in for a hug. She was as tall as Remus, but broader in the shoulders and hips; he had never felt so engulfed by someone. It was a strangely enjoyable feeling.

“Aren’t you a handsome one?” the shortest of the group cooed, as if she was talking to a particularly small dog in a purse. “Our Remus always knew how to pick them.”

Remus furrowed his brows. “Aunt Lisa, this is the first boyfriend I’ve—”

“But he’s not just a boyfriend!” Jen trilled, giving Sirius’ cheek a pat. “He’s a fiancé, something I learned from your mother. Not from your father—oh, I gave him a talking-to about that—and not from you, duck.”

Sirius bit back a laugh at the nickname and spared a glance to his left, where Remus had gone pink all the way to his ears. “Sorry.”

“Introduce us!” the shortest insisted, taking the other two by the hands as pulling them forward with an eager smile.

“Everyone, this is Sirius Black, my fiancé.” Remus gestured between them, and the four women beamed at him. “Sirius, this is Aunt Jen, Aunt Lisa, Aunt Allison, and Aunt Mary, my dad’s sisters.”

“It’s lovely to meet you,” Sirius said, holding a hand out.

“No need to be so formal,” the brunette grumbled with a teasing grin. “We have heard so much about you from Lyall. After those damned pictures—”

“Allison,” Jen hissed.

“—after the damned pictures,” Allison repeated with a pointed look. “I was about ready to drive up to Gryffindor myself and give that lousy son of a bitch a piece of my mind—”

“Allison!”

“—but Lyall talked me down and I have been waiting to meet you ever since.” She finished with a soft huff and gave his arm a quick squeeze. “Remus is a lucky boy to have you. It’s very exciting to see you in person at last.”

Sirius’ heart gave a happy little ka-thump and he smiled. “I’m glad to be here. Thank you for having me.”

“He is so polite,” Lisa said to Remus out of the corner of her mouth with a wink and a thumbs-up. “Good choice.”

“You know what I just realized? We haven’t said hello to Jules yet. We’ll see you in a few, yeah?” Without waiting for an official answer, Remus wrapped an arm around Sirius’ waist and practically carried him away from the table. Once they were out of earshot—and the aunts had busied themselves with one of the younger Lupins—Remus relaxed with a slow exhale. “I am…so sorry.”

“For what?”

“I had no idea they were going to corner you like that. I mean, I did, but I was hoping it wouldn’t be for another few hours. They tend to move in a pack at reunions, like sharks. Or wolves.”

“They’re really sweet.”

“They are,” Remus said grudgingly, though Sirius could read the affection dripping off him like his favorite book. “My dad’s the youngest of five, and I was the first nephew. You can imagine how that went.”

“Baby of the baby?”

“Exactly.”

“Can I ask one thing?” Remus nodded, visibly confused, and Sirius found he couldn’t keep his grin down any longer. “Duckling?”

“I hoped you didn’t hear that,” he groaned as they headed toward the kids’ play area beneath a large oak. “Long story short, it involved five-year-old me, a pond, and a sinus infection that made me sound like a duck when I sneezed.”

“Oh my god,” Sirius laughed, earning himself a light elbow to the ribs. “And the name stuck?”

“Considering she was the one that had to stay with me while my folks were working, she could call me whatever the hell she wanted. Please don’t ask her about it unless you want a thirty-minute TED talk about the ins and outs of my sinuses.”

“She’s a doctor?”

“No, she just overshares.”

“Sirius!”

Sirius looked up and saw a herd of small children racing toward them, led by his favorite person under the age of eighteen; Jules crashed into his legs and squeezed him tight around the waist. “Hey, I missed you!”

Jules propped his chin below Sirius’ sternum and stared up at him with the classic hazel-gold eyes that were far more common than Sirius believed before they arrived in the Lupins’ backyard. “I missed you, too! How’s the team? How’s Harry? Is he still super small or did he do that weird thing that babies do where their legs grow and the rest of them still looks normal? How was your flight? Did you have turbulence?”

Sirius thought for a moment. “Good, also good, growing normally, and yes.”

“Sweet! Come play cornhole with us!” Jules grabbed his hand and dragged him along the grass at the closest thing he could manage to a sprint with Sirius’ added weight—the pre-teen years had lent him gangly legs, though he didn’t seem quite sure how to use them yet. He looked more like a foal than a sixth-grader.

“What the hell is cornhole?” Sirius muttered as the flock of kids ran ahead to grab armfuls of beanbags.

Remus grinned. “Something I’m about to kick your ass at.”

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

By the time the sun set, Sirius was exhausted. He had been introduced to dozens of people who looked just enough like Remus to be eerie, as well as plenty who seemed to have been acquired by one Lupin or another over the course of their life. Jules fluctuated between laminating himself to Sirius’ side and disappearing for an hour at a time, only to return more grass-stained and rumpled than ever as he begged Remus to swing him around by the ankles again. His ass had been thoroughly kicked at cornhole and freeze tag; it was a true miracle he hadn’t already passed out into a food coma. For all of his earlier griping, Sirius couldn’t think of a time in recent months when he had been more content.

“You’re a brave soul,” Remus remarked as they sat in the grass together and watched the fireflies wake. Though it was a warm night, it seemed the citronella candles littering the tables were doing their job of chasing off mosquitoes.

Sirius leaned his head on Remus’ shoulder. He smelled like grass and summertime and sunbaked warmth. “Am I?”

“Mhmm. I’m sure most people would have run screaming by now.”

“I like your family.”

A beat of silence passed; Remus rested his temple against the top of Sirius’ head. “I’m really glad to hear that. They’re weird and loud, but I love them.”

“And I love you.”

“Are you saying I’m weird and loud?”

“On occasion.”

“Asshole,” Remus laughed, giving him a nudge that hardly qualified as more than a gentle sway.

“Language, there are eight million kids around.”

“They’re busy.”

Sirius watched as small group run by in a wave of giggles, all clutching mason jars of fireflies with their names written on masking tape. “Thank you again for asking me to come with you.”

“Like I said, Aunt Jen would—”

“Remus.” He fell quiet. Sirius didn’t remember the last time he said Remus’ full name aloud. “Your family loves you so much. They’re everything I ever wanted growing up, and it means the world that you wanted to share them with me. All they want is to see you happy. It was amazing to finally meet them.”

“They really, really love you,” Remus said softly, his voice a little thick. “I had about twenty people tell me how wonderful you are. They all thanked me for bringing you, and not a single one mentioned the celebrity thing. Even my Uncle Jay didn’t say a word about hockey.”

“He was the one in the jersey?”

“I’ve known him for my entire life and I’ve never seen him without one.”

“Huh.” Sirius tucked his face closer to Remus’ neck and let the sound of the bullfrogs in a distant marsh lull him. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven. The adults will be up for a while, but the kids will start crashing soon.”

Footsteps on the cool grass rustled to their right and Sirius looked up. “Who wants pie?” Aunt Allison singsonged, breaking their quiet bubble with paper plates and utensils. “This one is blackberry, but we have peach, pumpkin, and a few others on the table if you’re still hungry.”

“Just a small piece, please,” Sirius said.

Allison paused and cocked her head, then burst out laughing. “Oh, you’re funny!”

“I am?”

“Don’t fight it,” Remus whispered.

“You are a growing boy,” Allison said as she cut a thick slice and plonked it onto his plate. “And there’s no such thing as too much pie.”

I’m 26, Sirius wanted to say, though he held it in. “Just a small one for me, as well,” Remus said.

“Ha!” Allison snorted. “You’re already too skinny. Eat your pie or you’ll end up a string bean like your father. The NHL might have given you muscle, but it’s useless if you don’t enjoy some of your favorite aunt’s—”

“—woah, hey now—”

“—pie once in a while.” Allison kissed the tops of their heads once both plates were secure and bowing in the middle. “I’m going to make sure the kids aren’t poking around in the river again. Sleep well, you two.”

Sirius stared down at his plate as she wandered away. “I’m honestly going to die if I eat this.”

“Yeah, please don’t make yourself sick on pie. You really don’t have to eat all of that. The aunts and uncles are convinced that none of us are eating properly once we turn eighteen.”

“Really?”

“I wish I was kidding. You’re going to sleep so well tonight, though.”

As if on cue, Sirius stifled a yawn with the back of his hand and cuddled under Remus’ arm again. A familiar shadow bounded over not two seconds later and he barely held down a groan. “Hey, can I join you?”

Remus shrugged. “ ‘course.”

“Sweet.” Jules settled himself across their laps, staring at the sky with his head pillowed on Sirius’ thigh. “Did you have fun? I’m really glad you could come.”

“I had a great time,” Sirius answered honestly. Now please move on so I can take a nap.

“Mom and dad and me got here yesterday, and Aunt Jen kept checking the door for you guys even though she knew you weren’t coming until today. She was worried you wouldn’t like us, I think.”

“That was never an option, Jules.”

“Yeah, I know.” A devilish grin flickered over his face. “Remus is the weirdest of all of us, and if you want to marry him—”

“Get off,” Remus grumbled, shoving Jules’ legs onto the picnic blanket. “You know, you were a lot nicer before you turned eleven. Can I return you and get a new one? I have the receipt somewhere.”

“Nope.”

“That’s all a birth certificate is, right?” Sirius raised his eyebrows. “If you bring it back in good condition, I hear they give you a ten percent discount.”

Jules scowled. “That’s so not true.”

“How do you think I got Regulus?”

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” Remus asked with a pointed look. “Run along, problem child.”

“Of the two of us, I’m the least problematic.” Despite his words, Jules clambered to his feet and dusted his hands off over Remus’ head. “I’m not the one that got a secret boyfriend and got engaged in a year. I’m so easy. Mom and dad want two of me.”

“Keep telling yourself that,” Remus sighed as he stretched out on the blanket. “They had a second kid because they wanted two of me.”

“You’re adopted.”

Remus cracked one eye open in disbelief. “No, I’m not.”

“How do you know?”

“Because—y’know what, go to bed. Or go find the stampede, I think they’re by the river.”

Sirius whistled lowly as Jules scampered off again. “That was impressive. Isn’t your aunt over there?”

“Yep.”

Realization clicked into place. “She’s going to make him go to bed.”

“Yep.”

“You’re brilliant.”

Remus smiled without opening his eyes, and tugged Sirius down by the sleeve to lay next to him. “You’re just figuring that out now?”

The stars were brighter than anywhere Sirius had ever seen; for a moment, he was struck speechless by the endless rivers of sparkling white overhead. He stared until his eyes burned from dryness, then put his head on Remus’ chest and kept on looking. There was no way he could tear his gaze from it. A few shooting stars streaked across the clear sky and he felt his heart skip a beat in pure amazement when he realized there was nothing else he would wish for in that moment. He could listen to Remus’ heartbeat and the sound of his new family talking against a backdrop of the night, relishing in a full belly and cool wind, and simply stay there for as long as he liked.

#sirius black #remus lupin #julian lupin #coops #lupin family #sweater weather #lumosinlove #my fic #fanfic #family reunion

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hogarthwrites · 2 years

Text

shelter chapter 1 (request)

pairing: Sam Drake/Reader (m/femme reader)

genre: adventure, fluff

warnings: none

words: 2,676

summary:

18 year old Samuel Drake has been kicked out of the orphanage and does his best to survive the streets of Boston. He meets a girl at a park and it changes his life.

note:

This was a request by @gabedreeam <3

I'm sorry this took so long to finish. Ever since 2022 started life has been kicking my ass physically and mentally :o(

More to come!!

Boston was cold and gloomy in the fall as Sam trudged through the Public Garden. It was hard getting kicked out of the orphanage, and it was even harder to live on his own on the streets. The economy being in shambles didn’t make it easier for him to find a living, and he was forced to be just another homeless teenager.

You’d think a Catholic institution would know better, Sam thought bitterly. Of course they won’t. Hypocrites.

He sniffled as he pulled his denim jacket tighter around him, trying to fend off the cool as he sat on a park bench. That night, it was either this damp bench or that old building that was probably haunted. At least it provided shelter from the rain.

Sam’s stomach growled loudly and he groaned. The last time he ate was that morning when he’d saved enough to buy a hotdog. He looked around the park, hoping there would be an old lady feeding ducks and maybe he could ask for some bread.

Instead, he saw a girl around his age sitting by the lake. She was having a picnic and Sam hungrily watched as she took another bite from a scone. He moved a little closer, shyly standing behind a tree to see that she was reading a book he recognised.

“A General History of the Pyrates?” Sam gathered all his courage to talk to her.

“Yeah,” you smiled up at him, surprised. “It’s interesting.”

“It’s all wrong,” Sam shrugged, giving you a smug grin.

“Excuse me?” You raised an eyebrow at the strange boy.

“It’s all wrong,” he repeated. “It was my favourite book, but come on, he couldn’t even spell ‘pirates’ right.”

“Right,” you laughed. “Because you’re such a pirate expert. I don’t know you, okay.”

“The name’s Sam. And I could tell you all I know,” Sam grinned then glanced at the picnic basket. “If you give me a croissant.”

Despite everything you were told, you let this stranger sit next to you and eat your food while he told you about pirates, debunking almost everything you had read about in that book. There was something charming yet cocky about Sam, but you felt yourself drawn to him. It didn’t even matter that he had a grease stain on his jeans.

“And that is why I intend to find Avery’s treasure,” Sam concluded his long spiel on Henry Avery, Thomas Tew, and the loot of a thousand worlds. “Mom would’ve wanted that.”

Sam looked at you, suddenly nervous. Why was he telling you all this? He didn’t know you; all he wanted was food. For some reason, the girl in front of him made him feel different in a good way. He felt comfortable with you.

“So, you don’t live with your mom anymore?”

“Me?” Sam scoffed. “I’m a man of eighteen. Of course not. I have my own place.”

He gave you a lopsided smile. Of course it was a lie, but you didn’t know that. At least, he hoped you wouldn’t see past the lie.

“Wow,” you simply laughed. “Well, I have to get going, man of eighteen. Maybe I’ll see you around this time here tomorrow?”

Tomorrow? Sam began to panic. He’d have to find a place to wash up. Again.

“Y-yeah,” he stuttered. “Can you bring me one of those pastries again?”

“Sure,” you smiled at him. “See you, Sam.”

Stupid, stupid, stupid, Sam scolded himself. All he wanted was a pastry. Now he had another date with you. Not that he didn’t like you. No, he was head over heels and it sucked. Maybe he can leave you hanging tomorrow, it wasn’t unusual for him to up and disappear.

Sam groaned and buried his head between his knees. No, he liked you too much to just not see you again. He pulled out his old walkman that he stole from another kid in the orphanage and put on a song to drown out his thoughts.

I’m walkin’ back to Georgia and I hope she will take me back…

He pulled out his mother’s journal, touching the engraved CM on the cover, remembering how she would listen to this song while she journaled. He missed her everyday, and reading all her notes on pirates and treasures always comforted him. Maybe someday he and his little brother, Nathan, could finish what she couldn’t.

What Sam didn’t know then was how important Cassandra’s notes were to quite a lot of people. He didn’t know if it was the pastry he ate or the song playing but his eyes felt heavy all of a sudden.

When Sam woke up, he felt the soft satin fabric on his skin first, then the silk pyjamas that he was wearing. Satin? Silk? Where the fuck was he?

He hastily sat up, looking around this bright room. He was definitely not on a damp bench anymore. Sam pinched himself. Did he die? Maybe that croissant you gave him was poisoned.

But as Sam got out of bed and felt the coolness of the waxed parquet wood floor on his feet and the warmth of the electric heater and the distant sound of a Madonna song playing, he knew he wasn’t dead yet.

“Where am I?” He made his way to the door and before he got to opening it, an older gentleman holding a tote bag came in.

“I see you’re awake,” the man said. “I’ve brought you some breakfast. Y/N said you were fond of pastries.”

“Y/N?” Sam couldn’t believe it. At this point he was sure you had him kidnapped.

“Of course, she wasn’t too happy seeing you here,” the man chuckled and Sam raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Anyways, you’re probably wondering why you’re here.”

“No shit,” Sam glanced at a door where a boy a few years younger than him was peering in. He had dark hair and he frowned as he took in Sam’s scraggly form. “Look, all I wanted was food, okay? I wasn’t going to hurt your daughter or whoever she is.”

The man put a strong hand on Sam’s shoulder and led him to the small table and chair by the window that Sam hadn’t noticed. “Take a seat, Samuel.”

Sam watched as the man pulled out a bunch of pastries and coffee in a to-go cup out of the tote bag and laid it out on the small table. His stomach immediately growled at the smell of warm pastries and fresh coffee.

“Please, help yourself.”

Sam reached out for a croissant but stopped himself, looking up at the man suspiciously. “How do I know you aren’t going to poison me?”

“I just bought these, Samuel,” he replied, but when Sam narrowed his eyes, he picked up another croissant and bit into it. “Now will you let me tell you why you’re here?”

“Fine,” Sam took a bite of the pastry. It was filled with chocolate.

The man took a seat in front of him. “Your mother, Cassandra, was important to the archaeological society, you know that?”

Sam shook his head. “I knew she was smarter than all of them.”

“Most. She was smarter than most of us,” the man cleared his throat. “Anyway, that journal she always wrote in has led to an important treasure and no other person knows as much as she does than her own son.”

“And that’s why you kidnapped me.”

“More like we want to recruit you for your help.”

Sam looked at the man suspiciously, unsure of what to say.

“You don’t have to decide right away,” the man took out a business card and slid it across the table at Sam. Ward Adler. “I hope we can be partners, Sam. For now, take your time, explore the manor. I’m sure you’re going to want to get used to this place.”

“Yeah, I’ll give you a call, Ward,” Sam peered at the card.

With that, Ward gave him a firm handshake and walked out the door, leaving Sam to his thoughts. He immediately regretted not asking what state he was at least. Hopely not too far from Nathan.

Sam made his way to the door and peered outside. The hallway was fancy, illuminated by large windows and a chandelier hanging on top of the stairs. There were at least three other bedrooms upstairs and he wondered if any of them were yours. And who was the other kid?

He’s never been anywhere this fancy before and he got scared it might all be a strange dream. Ward did tell him to explore, and that’s exactly what Sam intended to do. He went down the stairs to find the main hall, illuminated in white marble and decorated with mid century furniture and artworks. A grand fireplace kept the hall warm while a bowl of chocolates sat by the rather outdated conversation pit.

It was tempting to lounge in the conversation pit and bask in the warmth of the fire, but Sam knew there was more to this place. He climbed up the stairs to the west wing of the manor, ending up in another, longer hallway with several rooms. This area of the house seemed a bit older as he looked into some of the rooms and saw floral wallpaper. One particular room that caught his attention was the enormous library also kept warm by another grand fireplace. There were rows and rows of books that reached up to the mezzanine floor. Sam ran his fingers through spines of books; some he recognised, some he didn’t.

“Damn!” He heard a voice from behind one of the shelves and looked around to find you carrying a bunch of books.

“Whoa, hey,” he picked up the book you dropped.

“Thank you,” you sighed before you met his brown eyes. “It’s you. Nice pyjamas.”

“It’s me,” he shrugged. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

“I’m sorry. My dad’s kinda insane.”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

Sam followed you to the old, comfortable sofa in front of the fireplace where you plopped down on the rug.

“So, what’s all this for?” Sam gestured at the books.

“Research,” you cracked open one of the books. “I've got a report to do on the Golden Age of Piracy.”

“Ah, hence the other book,” Sam plopped down next to you.

“Fortunately my dad’s obsessed with pirates and treasures so I don't have to go to an external library.”

“Lucky you,” Sam smiled.

“How long is he keeping you here?” You muttered as you flipped through pages. “I'm sure you're busy.”

Sam simply shrugged. “I gotta help him with something.

“It sounds important.”

Sam shrugged again, unsure of how much he was allowed to tell her or how much she knew. To his relief, you didn’t say anything, instead you turned back to the books in front of you, flipping through pages. He sat quietly, looking around the large library, taking in the painted portraits of who he assumed were the Adler men who owned the manor, all the way down to Ward.

He tried to imagine what it was like to live the way these people did and to inherit money just by being born. He probably wouldn’t be in this mess if he was born rich.

“While you’re here anyway, it won’t hurt for you to help me too, right?” You handed him a textbook. “Look up any information on Edward Thatch.”

Sam knew plenty about Edward Thatch to go on about everything he knew while he flipped and bookmarked pages. He made history seem so fun and alive; something you didn’t think could happen. You watched as he came alive, telling stories and joking around. Silly as he looked in his pyjamas, you still thought he was cute. Not that you’d ever admit it to him.

You volunteered to give him a tour of the manor and the grounds after lunch so he could change into some clothes and maybe clean up a little. Sam was surprised to find a closet full of clothes his size, though he wasn’t a fan of the polo shirts that’d make him look like some country club member. He found his old graphic tee and wore a plaid button up over it. He might have to sell some of the collared shirts.

“Look at you,” you smiled as he approached you in the main hall. “All cleaned up for prom?”

“Oh, so you’re my prom date?” He grinned.

“You sound disappointed.”

“I just always dreamed I’d go to prom with Phoebe Cates.”

“Keep dreaming,” you poked him in the chest. “Come on, I’ll show you the gardens.”

The little boy from that morning stood in the middle of a rose garden that was tended by a devoted gardener. He didn’t seem too pleased to see Sam.

“What is he doing here?” The boy asked.

“He’s helping Dad with something important, Rafe,” you explained.

So that was his name – Rafe. Sam awkwardly waved at him.

“Whatever it is, I don’t trust him,” Rafe narrowed his eyes at Sam. “I got my eye on you, Samuel.”

He then ran off, leaving Sam in a stunned silence.

“Don’t worry,” you waved. “He’ll warm up to you.”

You showed him the tennis courts and the swimming pool, which Sam just whistled at. He said the orphanage he grew up in barely had a gym and you didn’t know if you wanted to laugh. Despite it all, Sam was starting to be in good spirits; he felt a little more comfortable with you even though he was still trying to figure you out.

He followed you through the winding halls of the Adler Manor, talking about the great Henry Avery and what it meant if he accepted your father’s proposition.

“Well,” you shrugged as you walked through the terrace that led to the east wing of the manor. “Here you’ll have a home and an income at least.”

“I had an income,” Sam replied. “It wasn’t enough, but I had one.”

Truth be told, Sam was starting to consider staying and helping out Ward with the treasure, but it didn’t stop him from feeling guilty about leaving his old life behind. And what about Nathan?

“I just have a lot to take care of back in Boston,” he sighed as he leaned against the parapet. “Where are we, anyways?”

“Weston.”

“Weston?”

“We’re only an hour bus ride away. What’s back in Boston?”

“My brother, Nathan. He’s still at St. Francis.”

Sam sighed again and you felt a pang of guilt. He had a life back in the city. He wasn’t just some kid at the park dying for some croissants while you sat there waiting around for Ward. No, here was a guy with so much knowledge and background.

“Can you do me a favour?” He looked up at you.

“Sure, anything.”

“If I take this job, can you take me back to the city to talk to my brother?”

“I’ll drive you there.”

“Thanks.”

He looked away, almost relieved. Was it selfish of you to want to keep him?

When you had gone back to your room and he was left alone in his, Sam fished out the pack of Lucky Strikes in his jacket pocket that was neatly hung in the bathroom connected to his room and lit one up as he lay down in the large, empty bathtub.

The day had felt like months from the moment he woke up in sheer terror, to the stress of meeting Ward, then the relief of seeing you. He didn’t mind having to deal with the knives your little brother, Rafe, stared into him if it meant being able to see you everyday. With every puff of the cigarette, he mustered up the courage to find Ward to talk to him.

Sam found Ward sitting at the main hall, reading a book, a large mastiff dog lying by his side.

“I’ve decided,” Sam started. “I’ll help you on one condition.”

“What is that?” Ward gave him a look.

“You help me get my brother out of the orphanage.”

#young sam drake #sam drake x reader #sam drake fanfiction #sam drake #samuel drake #rafe adler #original characters #no smut

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hexpea · 2 years

Text

Ch. 6 - Hassaikai

You stormed down the hall with tears in your eyes until you finally made it back to your room. You felt like a complete idiot for trusting Chisaki. You felt like a complete idiot for thinking he gave any sort of shit about you, for thinking he didn't just use you like some sort of tool for his personal gain.

You should've figured it the moment you were beaten by his thugs and brought back to the base for the first time. You should've figured it the moment you were strapped down to a table and beaten again for using your quirk to defend yourself, the moment you were locked in a cell alone for days on end until you chose to listen. Had he actually given any sort of fuck for you, he would've approached the whole thing differently. But Chisaki was a monster who only knew force. He had no concept of love, no concept of empathy. You figured he was too grown to learn any different.

Meanwhile, you had left him standing there in his own silence. While he slowly dressed after his moment of shame, he was mentally kicking himself. But that was something he'd never let you see and he wondered if he should have you punished for embarrassing him like that. He should've known better, he should've changed his ways but he only knew to behave this way. He didn't know true communication that wasn't laced with lies or persuasion for his own gain. He didn't know any better and he didn't know how to tell you that he wanted to learn without feeling weak.

AN: This chapter heads back into the past where Y/N first meets the Hassaikai. The day he had found you had been like any other regular day in your new life after fleeing from your master and his apprentice. After your departure from your master at eighteen years old, you had spent a few days homeless but were able to find work and shelter thanks to a kind, elderly man who ran a convenience store. He paid you fairly and also allowed you to bunk in the storage room at the back of the store, even providing an old futon to keep you comfortable. He often went on about how you had reminded him of his own child who had passed years prior. You thought you had it made, finally feeling safe and cared for. You had lived that way until you were twenty-one when that one, fateful day arrived.

However, with your quirk registered in a public system, your power was easily found by those who cared and had the power to hack into government systems. Chisaki had been looking for any and every recruit with a useful quirk, yours being one of the most profound and useful. He had wasted no time sending Rappa and Katsukame to steal you away in the middle of the night. They appeared with little to no warning, slamming through the glass and ignoring the screaming alarm system. They nearly tore through the entire store before getting to the storage room where you sat up with a racing heart. You had planned on using your quirk, but the minute you noticed the masks you knew there was nothing you could do. You put up the fight that you could, but with their quirks combined there was very little that could be done - they had nearly broken your entire body in their attempts.

"Hello, L/N Y/N," your eyes peeled open, sticky blood covering most of your face. The man calling your name out was still hidden by shadows, the low, husky voice sounding utterly threatening. "I'm so glad you could join us." You recognized your other captors patiently standing against another wall with their masks still on.

"Where am I?" You managed to creak out, turning your neck and wincing at the incredible amount of pain you felt. As your body became more and more awake, you began to feel large amounts of pain over the rest of you.

"You're at the Shie Hassaikai headquarters," Chisaki explained, emerging from the shadows. The first thing you noticed about him was the large plague mask that adorned his face, but with his eyes exposed...that left him vulnerable.

"Shie...Hassaikai..." you repeated as your eyes widened. "You mean like the-"

"Yakuza group? Yes," he finished your sentence for you, now completely at your side as you were strapped against a metal table.

"I thought...they were disbanded," you mumbled, trying to speak through a pounding headache among the rest of your pain. Chisaki closed his eyes with irritation, trying to shake off his offense.

"I'm interested in your quirk," he ignored your comment, "and I'd like to have you join us."

"Join you?" You scoffed. "After what they did to me?" You used your head to motion toward the strong pair that stood silently behind their leader.

"Yes," Chisaki turned to look at them with anger in his eyes, "they weren't supposed to cause that much of a ruckus. I'll need to have a word with them later." As he said that, both of their bodies stiffened with anxiety. "But it's not like I'm going to give you much of a choice either way."

"So you're going to take my quirk and kill me," you stared him down as he turned to look at you again.

"Take your quirk?" You could hear the smile under his mask. "If only we had that ability," he chuckled and turned to encourage the other two to laugh along with him to which they did nervously. "I'm going to keep you here...breaking you and rebuilding you until you agree to stay. Unless you're going to take the easy way."

You were unable to move as he removed one of his gloves and placed a gentle hand on your forearm. Your heart rate increased with your fear and expecting the worst. But, steadily, you felt your body begin to repair. The pain that you had once felt was being relieved before your very eyes.

"You...have a healing quirk?" You wondered as you looked down at his hand, also noticing the hives that had begun making their way up his forearm.

"Not exactly," he chuckled again, removing the hand and slipping the latex back over his digits. "My quirk allows me to both break down matter and build it back up however I'd like. It's labeled as Overhaul - which is what you may call me." You wanted to giggle at this man's obviously inflated ego, a few escaping your lips against your better judgement. "You think that's funny?" He tilted his head and held up his hand, preparing to use his quirk again.

"It's a little funny," you replied. "I can tell how fragile your emotions are with your tone." You were completely correct, and Chisaki didn't like that one bit.

He removed the latex again and began to bring his hand down onto your skin, the two behind him wincing and looking away as he touched you. You flattened your lips into a smile, your eyes dimly lit as your quirk was activated. The hallucination you cast quickly took hold whether Chisaki understood it was there or not, another reason your quirk was so useful to villain groups. To Chisaki's unconscious brain that he couldn't control, he didn't have a quirk.

As soon as he realized his attempts would be fruitless, he turned back to Katsukame and Rappa to do the work for him.

"Break her. Don't kill her, but bring her close," he instructed, "from there, have Chrono take her to the cell block. I'll repair her once she decides to hear me out." He looked back at you and narrowed his vision.

Katsukame and Rappa did just that. They broke nearly every bone in your body, Kurono assisting by monitoring your heart rate and other bodily functions to ensure you wouldn't die from your wounds. When he deemed it enough, Kurono dragged you by the hair down the labyrinth of hallways to an even lower level that was incredibly dank and dark, filled with cell after cell.

"You'd better listen after this," Kurono's voice was low as he locked your cell, your body almost lifeless against the concrete floor. "Because of you we'll need to clean the floors of your blood. You're giving me extra work." You coughed out a small laugh before blacking out once more, nothing more on your mind other than falling into the sweet abyss.

Hours later, you heard the loud clanking of keys. Your body was completely rigid and wracked with pain that all you could move was your eyes. Even doing that was somehow painful. Kurono stood by with Chisaki, unlocking the door for him.

"Quirks are a plague on humanity, Y/N," he mumbled as he walked toward your form, crouching down in front of you as Kurono stood back and watched through his mask. "And I'll be the one to provide the cure." Your eyes flickered up with interest as you listened carefully. "We are working on a cure, a way to eradicate this pandemic. With your help, we can get many steps closer."

"You mean...get rid of quirks?" You could barely muster out. The tone of interest in your voice surprised Chisaki which quickly brought him to begin healing you - glove coming off with little to no hesitation. Kurono almost said something to stop his master, but quickly knew better than to challenge him.

"Yes, exactly that," he said, warm hand gripping your upper arm. The pain began to alleviate, allowing you to finally take in a deep breath that you couldn't before from the broken ribs.

"I don't want this anymore," you looked up at him with tears in your eyes. You slowly sat up as he removed his hand, leaving his glove off as his palm was now covered in your blood - his arm covered in hives. "I don't want this power anymore." Your words had nearly rendered Chisaki speechless. "I've killed people," you continued in a pained whisper, "people I love."

"I can take it away from you," he replied with his eyes wide, jaw likely agape behind the beak he wore. "But I need your help," he reached out his dirtied hand for you to take.

You contemplated for a moment, not knowing what kind of a future you would have if you joined a Yakuza group. But if it meant no longer living with such a dangerous quirk, you'd do anything. With a single grab of a hand, you were brought to your feet and had signed a contract. Your public information was erased from the system and your identity as the Wraith began.

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joeldoesntknowwhatsleepis · 2 years

Text

chapter…9?? of my smajor suffers series | TWs in tags (you have to scroll through them)

“Xornoth?”

Xornoth shrank back at the sound of his name.

No.

He was a servant of Exor. He wasn’t scared.

“Scott,” Xornoth said coolly, straightening up.

“What are you doing here,” Soctt gritted his teeth. Xornoth noticed that Scott was standing a few meters away. That was good. They couldn’t hurt him that way.

“Out for a stroll,” Xornoth said, trying to calm his racing heart.

“You were asleep.”

“I might have been.”

Scott drew out his sword.

Xornoth did the same.

“Really, brother dearest.” Xornoth said. “You can’t beat me. I’m a servant of Exor. I’m his champion. I’m powerful.”

“I’m Aeor’s servant. I’m his champion. Aeor’s always won against Exor. I’ve always won against you. Why stop now?”

“Really,” Xornoth mused. “Still so- arrogant, I see.”

“I was never the arrogant one of us two, Xornoth.”

“You’re too full of yourself,” an old man screamed at a young boy who was cowering in the corner.

“Stop being so arrogant,” he yelled at him. The boy couldn’t breathe. His heart was pounding.

“You’re Exor’s. Hear me? Exor’s. You’re a disgrace to this family.”

Yet, the little boy said nothing. He couldn’t say anything.

“Oh, are you scared?” the man cooed at the child.

Hesitantly, the child nodded.

“YOU SHOULDN’T BE! YOU SHOULDN’T FEEL! YOU’RE WEAK. HEAR ME? WEAK.”

“That’s awfully certain,” Xornoth tried to maintain the careless tone. “Are you sure?”

Xornoth suppressed a flinch as Scott lunged forwards, instead dodging the sword.

It caught Xornoth’s hand. The blood dripped onto the crisp white snow, painting it red.

Scott looked startled to see it, as if he’d forgotten that Xornoth was still human. Partly, at least.

However, he regained his agility, and soon Xornoth was on the ground.

A sword pointed to his throat.

“How do you feel now,” Scott hissed.

Xornoth found himself repeating the words he’d been forced to utter day after day for eighteen years.

“I don’t feel emotion,” they said monotonously. “I am a vessel of Exor for Him to do whatever he likes with.”

To his surprise, they could see a tear sliding down Scott’s cheek. The tear immediately turned to ice.

Crying.

Pathetic.

Xornoth ignored their overwhelming urge to cry themselves.

They felt the corruption around them squeeze his neck as if a threat from Exor.

With much effort, Xornoth swiped Scott’s sword away and got within a few inches of Scott.

“Stay back!” Scott yelled, taking several steps back. “I’m dangerous.”

“So am I, dear brother. This whole area is corrupted for a reason.”

“No! I- I get ice everywhere now- I can’t control it-“

“Me too, Scott,” Xornoth sighed. “What’s so special?”

“You too?” Scott said curiously.

“What do you think? I did this all on purpose? I like hurting people?” Xornoth snorted.

“Uh, yeah,” Scott admitted.

Xornoth’s sword swiped close to Scott, making him fall.

He stared at the scared man under his sword.

His brother.

He didn’t deserve this.

It was all Xornoth’s fault.

No, it wasn’t. He didn’t feel, so he couldn’t feel guilt, or remorse.

While he was thinking, Scott came dangerously close to Xornoth, nearly making them collapse yet again.

To his surprise, Scott didn’t kill Xornoth. No, he didn’t do that.

He wrenched the sword out of their hand.

“Against my ice powers, your corruption won’t work,” Scott hissed. “You’re defenseless,” he added, a bit softer.

“I know,” said Xornoth. “Do what you like. I don’t care.”

The snow crunched under his weight as he ended up on the floor for the fourth time since he was freed.

“Kill me,” Xornoth laughed. “Go ahead. The power of my master will remain forever, always there to overpower Aeor.”

“Exor will always lose!” Scott said desperately.

“Sure,” Xornoth shrugged. “You can believe that. But there will come a day when you will be at Exor’s disposal, like I have been, and you’ll know that your god was the lesser power in this game of life.”

“Can’t you feel anything?” Scott whispered.

“No. I’m perfect, like Exor and the old King and Queen have made me.”

“No one’s perfect. And emotion’s what makes you human.”

They couldn’t feel, Xornoth reminded himself. He couldn’t feel any love for his brother, couldn’t feel any remorse, any guilt, because he couldn’t feel. At all. His heart didn’t break at the sight of Scott so close to tears. His stomach didn’t do turns and feel like butterflies were in it whenever he was near Joey. He wasn’t grateful, wasn’t happy when Sausage was at his side.

He didn’t feel.

“Good that I’m not human, then.”

“You are. You bled when I stabbed you. You can feel, Xornoth. You just don’t want to.”

“No.”

“You’re real. You have emotions. You’re not just a vessel of an evil god.”

“We both are,” Xornoth laughed. “You just don’t want to admit it.”

“What?”

“Exor isn’t the only evil one,” he continued.

“That’s not true!”

Aeor laughed as the boy screamed out in pain.

“Shut up!” a woman hissed at him. She would be rewarded.

“You’re a disgrace to the name of Aeor,” a man came into the room, his hands covered in blood.

Aeor watched, amused, as if being presented with a slightly funny performance.

“He’s so young,” the god mused. “He’ll learn.”

“Right?” Scott sounded uncertain.

Scott tried to remember his parents’ teachings. He’d wished he’d listened to them, now. It would make this situation a lot easier. But he had to go ahead and make friends, and care about people. He was an idiot.

“It’s true,” Xornoth said. “It’s all true.”

No, Scott reminded himself. His parents were wrong. Aeor was wrong. Emotions were good.

“Are you sure you can’t feel?” he asked Xornoth nervously.

“Positive,” Xornoth chuckled, but now Scott thought about it, it was an empty laugh, no real mirth behind it.

“Xornoth.”

“Scott.”

“I love you.”

#ahaha fuck #how will Xornoth react #blood tw #implied abuse tw #caps tw #he’s trying to block his emotions do I need a tw for that #dangthatsalongname #mcyt #xornoth #empires smp #empiresblr #smajor1995 #my smajor suffers series #joeldoesntknowwhatsleepis writing #scott smajor #smajor #do I need a tw for them basically being vessels of evil gods?

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whump-town · 3 years

Text

Stubborn

Everybody taking care of old Hotch because... I don't like it when old Hotch gets left to just die on his own :( don't ask why that's where I draw the line

No pairings

No warnings

In Jack’s second semester of his junior year, Hotch collapses again. He’s home this time, out in his garden under the glaring sun. The day had begun no different than any other. The birds on the powerline chirping and causing their disturbances, as eager for the day to begin as the school-aged children shouting in the street. He’d watched them from the sliding glass door facing the street, his tea warm in his hands. He’d waved at a few, the older ones who recognize him as a mystifying adult with stories to be unlocked. The younger children give him a face akin to a monster’s, his mystery horrifying in their already confusing enough lives.

It’s an hour before lunch. Two hours before Spencer shows up because it’s Thursday and he teaches a class on this side of town every Tuesday and Thursday at 2. One that he occasionally asks Hotch to attend -- as a guest lecturer, as a treat to his students, or just for the company.

He could call just about anyone.

Emily’s downtown, on her way back from a meeting with the Department of Justice. She’d be thrilled for an excuse to not go back to the office and spend an hour or two in his kitchen telling him about those pretentious assholes.

Garcia’s about ten minutes away, working at a nonprofit teaching “at-risk” kids how to code. Being the guiding hand she’d needed as a teenager so that they might not repeat the same mistakes she made. She was lucky, Hotch saved her but he’s not around to catch any more kids like her.

Morgan got hired by a family two streets over to fix up their house before they move in. He’s there now, tearing out rotting beams.

This collapse is not of the life-threatening kind. Not to Hotch at least. There’s no internal bleeding, no emergency surgeries. He doesn’t even need stitches but he’s on so many medications that thin his blood that it’s just on the safer side. From the hospital, he calls who he needs to. Reid first, he’ll worry when he gets to Hotch’s house and sees his truck gone. Then, Jack, it’s better to hear this sort of thing from him and not Emily in half an hour when she needs to yell at someone and who better than the son of the idiot she hates right now? Dave and Emily follow and he trusts them to carry the news the rest of the way. Rather, he simply doesn’t want to talk about it anymore and he’d rather Garcia and JJ and Morgan and everyone else just be mad at him than go on to have another conversation about how he’s feeling.

Fine. He just got light-headed. It was the heat and his perpetually low iron and probably his thin blood (the killer had been his blood pressure but they’re working on that). He just needs to get better about remembering to eat breakfast -- a larger breakfast than just tea and toast. Fainting, he assures Dave, happens. Jack’s seen it happen. The heat makes it worse, the summertime drains him. He’s come in from the garden and gotten weak in the knees plenty of times. He actually moved some chairs around the sliding glass door to the yard, prepared for this exact problem.

This over clarification does not help.

Made only the more complicated when he explains his head is fine. The fainting thing really isn’t a big deal, he just needs a ride home. He’d landed weirdly and pulled his back. He left with a new problem entirely, a torn ligament in his shoulder. That is a problem for a different day.

The surgery is set for the week just before Jack’s finals. Armed with a suitcase full of textbooks, his laptop, notes from this semester (and a few from last), and just enough clothes to recycle a few and still be fine, Jack shows up on his father’s doorstep. “I mean, the hospital isn’t exactly the library… but it’s not the worst place I’ve studied.” It’s far too late to send Jack back but Hotch is reluctant to let him stay. Even if he does prefer Jack be his ride rather than the likes of Penelope and that tiny green eye-sore of a car she drives or leave him to Reid and his defensive, jerky driving.

To the sound of “Aaron Hotchner November 2, 1971”, Jack settles down with his books. He tries to put himself in the right headspace for studying but it’s harder than he anticipated. The constant motion of the room unsettles him and he looks up several times to see his father’s reaction. To gauge the anxiety in his face, in the deep breathes that he pulls in through his nose. In how tight his fists are holding the sheets underneath him. It’s a simple surgery and they’ll be out of here in no time.

“Young” his heart had not handled the heavy sedatives and morphine well. Then again, those incidents are always hard to measure against a thing like this. Rushed into the ER with nine chest wounds and having nearly bled to death, it’s natural to conclude the stress of his depleted blood supply and his very recent trauma had caused his heart to stop on the table. That said trauma was the reason his heart had maintained to be a steady problem up until they released him. Again, when he was brought in with some of the worst internal bleedings the staff had ever seen. His heart had given them trouble too.

Jack is staring blankly at his flashcards when the doctor comes out.

Hotch had gone to Georgetown to be a lawyer like his father and his grandfather. Jack went to Georgetown to get an Art History degree. He was lead by something else. Not chasing some shadow, clutching at a lie he spoonfed himself. Jack didn’t live in anyone’s shadow, never felt the pressure to look and act a certain way. Was never beaten into submission or told to hold his tongue. Jack went to museums every Saturday with his father, preferred them to the aquariums and the zoo. Hotch held him close to the artwork, pushed his dense schedule around to go to new shows, and learned the names of pieces just to recite the knowledge back to Jack.

In his lap, Jack is memorizing pieces of art like his father had years ago for him. He’s stuck on The Anatomy Lesson, eyes glued to the details. The way colorless skin is held in forceps, peeled back to reveal angry red. He can feel the pinching teeth on his own skin, feels the heavy flow of hot blood spilling down over his arm.

“Hotchner?”

Jack flinches, caught completely off guard. He stands, flushing as he tucks his notecards into his textbook, and stands. “Ugh, yeah. That’s me.” He wipes his hands off on his pants, rubbing away the nervous sweat he’s built up.

The doctor recognizes him from earlier. He’d watched Jack and Hotch get out one last goodbye. Jack pulling up a nervous smile, dirty-blonde hair, and light eyes a complete contrast to Hotch’s ever-darkening features. Somehow more solemn, voice taken by the sedatives already working through his body. He hadn’t said a word, eyes vacantly following Jack’s movements but unaware.

Jack expects the same monologue he hears every time. The one that comes out so dry and perfect that they must practice it in front of the mirror, say it softly to themselves as they as they get ready each morning. He’s got it memorized himself -- the bits about recovering in post-op, make a full recovery, and whatever on the fly timeline they give for access back to the room.

“But he’s-- He’s okay? He’s--”

Jack feels impossibly childish. Five years old and Emily’s chilled fingers brushing his tears away, “baby, I know you miss your mommy. But you’re being so terribly mean to your daddy.” He had been, a terrible little monster squirming away from his father and refusing to eat anything. Throwing tantrums about nothing and everything. Screaming and crawling under his bed every chance he got. Pushing himself to the wall knowing he couldn’t be reached.

Now he can remember Hotch just sitting at the edge of the bed. There on the floor for hours. Sometimes he read, would pick up a book, and just start from wherever just to make it so his voice was reaching where he couldn’t. He slept there too, on the hard ground just to make sure Jack knew he was there. Slipped strawberry pop tarts on crazily designed animal plated under there, offered bites of his own food to the darkness under the bed. Sippy cups full of chocolate milk and juice.

He feels like a little boy again, getting news that he has no idea how to handle.

“He’s okay?” Jack stammers. “He’s going to be okay? I can see him?”

Hotch remembers those days under the bed too. Waking up in the middle of the night as Jack groggily curled close to him, still under the bed but crawling under his blanket. The ends of those awful sobs, Jack’s little chest jerking as he hiccuped. The force of his sorrow was too much for his little body. And Jack would fall into his lap, exhausted and needing comfort. His little fingers tracing the scars on Hotch’s face. How he whispered “thank you” and “please” from underneath the bed and how he’d pop his head out to say, “Daddy, I’m going to potty. I’ll be right back.”

Jack’s legally old enough to drink now and Hotch still sees that little boy. The three-year-old wiping his snot on Hotch’s dress shirt. The six-year-old holding his hand and reminding him to look both ways twice before crossing the street. The eight-year-old he left the hallway light on for, old enough now to think he needed to brave the night without a nightlight. So Hotch would offer to keep the hallway light on, not for Jack but for him because he doesn’t like the dark. The ten-year-old sheepishly offering him a father’s day gift he bought with saved allowance, a t-shirt he’s now worn the words off of. The fifteen-year-old curling up beside him on the couch, seeking his comfort but not sure how to ask anymore. The eighteen-year-old as tall as him talking his ear off while he tries to get dinner ready, sticking his fingers in the pan and sitting on the counter.

How did he grow up so fast?

He’s not a little boy anymore. Hasn’t been for a long time.

The creaking of a chair moves Hotch’s attention and he looks away from Jack. Away from the sight of his little boy curled up on a cot, drooling onto a pillow and notebook still open, a pen dangling from his fingers. He looks over and Emily’s sitting up, her reading glasses precariously sat on the tip of her nose. “Oh look,” she mumbles. She stretches out, groaning as her joints complain from being held in this miserable hospital chair for hours. “You’ve decided to join the land of the living.”

Hotch watches her fold the thin black frames of her glasses up, gently sits them down by his hand as she stands up. Jack had called her, even though he promised he wouldn’t worry anyone. Hotch didn’t want anyone else coming to the hospital over something so small and though Jack protested that their concern wouldn’t be because he was bothering them but because they love him. The very same reason he’d come home is that people gather after these sorts of things. They need reassurance that he’s alive and he’s just going to have to accept that. They compromised in the end, everyone could come to smother him in worry after he got home from the surgery.

But Jack was scared. He called the only person he could think to, the woman whose role in his life that was never really clear. She’d gotten on him about his grades, smacked the back of his head when he said something stupid, and always let him taste-test her wine at Thanksgiving dinner. Emily knew things that not even Jessica knew and she could be sterner than both Hotch and Jessica and also more relaxed, more understanding. She was always there for both of them, in the same capacity as Jessica and yet her own unique one. A friend Hotch trusted and loved and Jack could understand that. His friends always wanted to know if they were dating and he knew intuitively that the answer was no but he would hesitate to try and explain. But he didn’t understand the gravity that pulled them together, adults and their relationships far too complex to fit it into his simple understanding of love.

He did understand she was the only person to call.

“What’d he do this time?” she asked and knew she was playing the wrong role for the wrong Hotchner because no sooner than she could ask she had an armful of Jack. She sat with Jack for hours, let him get his fear out. Held him while he sobbed, felt pulled to the past. When it was Aaron on her shoulder, terrified he’d lose his son. Life has this very odd way of bringing everything full circle.

“I bet you’re hurting.” Emily moves to the table and pours water into the little paper Dixie cup left by the nurses. “Been right dramatic this afternoon,” she informs him, a dissatisfied matter-of-fact tone in play. “I know you find that to be particularly taxing.” She holds the cup for him, gentle despite her annoyance. She’s close enough to see the iodine on his skin. Dark orange swipes across his pale skin, the smell burns with its strength.

He pulls greedily from the cup, mouth impossibly dry. Stopped only by how little she poured, he sinks back heavily into the pillows behind him. His shoulder hot and angry from forcing himself upright.

“They’re going to let you go in the morning,” she says, sitting back down. He won’t remember this in the morning. Emily holding his hand, whispering thickly how angry she is with him as tears fall down her face. How scared she was getting that phone call from Jack, racing down here to be a composed person to comfort his son thinking her best friend was in the morgue.

He’ll wake up with a pit in his stomach, residual feelings from the night before he can’t tie down to memories. Emily shows no inclination to repeat herself, just coldly informs him that she’ll have Penelope make him a cardiologist appointment (it’s unspoken that no one trusts him to do this himself). Jack walks on glass, close by but terrified of being pushed away. Hotch is too out of it to put up much of a fight, by the time the morning shift has their hands on him he’s silent. Properly dosed up for a ride home and out of his mind.

He’s groggily propped up on pillows, watching Jack and Emily fight over if he has the right to wear shoes or not. Emily wants to hold them captive, he won’t run off or refuse the wheelchair without them and Jack shakes his head, “he’s not our P.O.W, Emily. He’s even going to get that far if he does try to run.” He’s given his shoes but Emily makes a point to collect his cane, holds it while the nurse helps him into the wheelchair. He’s a flight-risk and she’s not going to trust him, he’s run off on her too many times for that.

At the house the other’s have gathered up, having nothing better to do evidently on a Wednesday at ten in the morning. Penelope’s frying eggs and bacon, the carnage it takes to feed their brood spread out on his kitchen counter. Reid sitting on the counter, Hank in his lap, and the two of them watching Penelope. Derek’s on the sofa, feet kicked up on the coffee table, and Savannah learning on his shoulder. Dave’s getting orange juice from the store declared them all lawless, and didn’t trust them to get the right kind.

Hotch is granted his cane to get back inside the house but Emily threatens to kick it out from underneath if he tries anything fast. He smacks her ankle and Jack has to actually step between them to keep them apart. It’s in times like these where Jack finds himself wondering how these two ever had any role in raising him at all.

“Don’t you have jobs?” Hotch asks, hooking his cane over the coat rack and toeing his shoes off. He ignores the hand Emily places on his arm, afraid he’ll knock himself over. He manages just fine, has the whole house set up so that every other step is within arms distance of something to lean on. Fingers trailing the back of the couch he limps past Derek, smiling when Savannah offers a soft “glad you’re okay”. She pats his hand and he nods back.

“Up for some food, sir?” Penelope asks and she’s not taking no for an answer. They might be having heaping servings of eggs and bacon and gravy and orange juice but she’s made two small bowls of oatmeal. She takes the medicine Jack tosses up on the counter, puts it at the end where the rest of his medication sits. “I cut up apples,” she tells Hotch with a wide grin, sliding the bowl in front of him. “Dashed a little cinnamon and sugar in there, it’ll stick to your bones. Keep you healthy.”

He’s at a healthy weight at the moment, not as thin as he leans to when he’s sick but with Hotch, it’s always a good thing to have some collateral weight for the “in case”. Lifting the spoon in his left hand he scoops some of the oatmeal up, doing his best to hide his annoyance at how weak his extremities still are. How his hand shakes under the light strain of the oatmeal. He looks up, watches Spencer carry Hank over to the highchair sitting at the table beside him. He’s distracted so Emily swoops in, takes his spoon from his hand, and tries his oatmeal. He lets her do it. He raises an eyebrow and she shrugs. She likes it. He nods, it’s pretty good.

Hank immediately knocks his spoon on the ground and makes a low whining sound in the back of his throat. “Hop help,” he whines, pointing down at his spoon. His speech is still developing so he pronounces help and hop nearly identically but Hotch understands the difference. He just can’t bend over like that. His right arm is still pinned to his chest in an intricate web of gauze and this sling.

“Reid,” Hotch calls. His voice is deep, strained from intubation and anesthesia. It makes him sound sick. “He’s dropped his spoon.”

Reid nods, he already knows.

Hank points to his shoulder and frowns, “Hop fall down?”

Hotch nods, that is pretty much what happened and at the same time, Emily sweeps in and tickles Hank. She presses kisses to his face and making him laugh loudly. “That’s what happens,” she says. “Hops is just old.” Hank is too distracted by the ongoing attack to defend Hotch not that a toddler rising to his defense is very helpful.

Hotch sighs as Jack comes up behind him, stealing his spoon too. He takes a bite of the oatmeal and deems it nearly as good as the kind that Jessica makes. Hotch wants to be annoyed by it and yet all he does is nod and finds himself smirking just a little.

Penelope calls everyone in for breakfast and Hotch ignores the kisses pressed to his cheek as people drag chairs to the table around him. To the hands that slide over his back, assurance of life he remembers Jack calling it.

Derek slides him a mug of tea, made exactly how he likes it. He sits across from Hotch, close to Hank in case either needs assistance. Emily sits to his left, slides her coffee up beside his tea so he can have some if he’s quick about it. Jack sits beside her and the rest is a blur, too much motion at once for him to take in without his contacts or glasses. Penelope slides a tea plate to him, his medicine on it, and kisses his head while he’s still scowling at the plate.

They don’t leave him alone all day.

He ends up taking a nap with Hank, the toddler’s sticky little fingers holding onto his shirt as he finds himself unable to fight off the effects of the medicine and his full stomach.

He’s squished on the couch between Derek and Dave, forced to watch baseball because he can’t worm his way upright again just yet.

They change the dressings on his shoulder, his teeth clenched tightly so that he doesn’t let anything slip.

At midnight he wakes up on the couch. Jack’s bedroom door is shut, he’s sleeping peacefully inside. His heating blanket is pulled up to his chin, the heat turned up all the way. He can’t remember getting into this state himself but he has a fate memory of JJ helping him move his hand to his mouth, encouraging him to take the pain killers before bed. Of Derek making sure he didn’t just fall straight over onto his side. He manages to find Dave stretched out on the Lazyboy -- the chair he got Hotch for his fifty-something birthday. He’ll wake up in the morning to more food being made in his lonely kitchen, JJ this time. She’ll make blueberry waffles.

If he’d wanted attention, Emily will tease the next morning, he could have just asked. And he didn’t even know he wanted this. He never finds the words to ask for it to continue but every Saturday morning it happens anyway -- his kitchen and living room full of pajamas and suits in varying degrees depending on who has what to do that morning. The fainting thing is not cool but he considers this to be a good trade.

#criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #savannah hayes #hank morgan #jack hotchner #emily prentiss #david rossi #penelope garcia #spencer reid #jennifer jareau

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tennessoui · 3 years

Note

this is probably too many prompts lol but uhhh obikin: #6 meeting at a coffee shop au; #24 literally bumping into each other au; #40 exes meeting again after not speaking for years au (i'm a sucker for breaking up and getting back together again lol); #42 star-crossed lovers au; #48 meeting again at a high school reunion au

hi!! you probably forgot you sent this at all and I wouldn't blame you in the slightest. I'm pretty sure someone else already asked for 24, 40, and 42, so I wrote #6 instead! warnings for this one: bittersweet in that both anakin and obi-wan are sad, also the author is sad, also this takes place in the midwest in america (this is the first fic that is obviously set in america!!! wow!!)

6. Meeting At A Coffee Shop Diner AU (1.9k)

“Have a seat anywhere you want,” the hostess tells Obi-Wan without looking up from her phone.

Obi-Wan blinks and then looks around the deserted seating area. “Thank you, uh.” She’s not wearing a name tag.

“Angel’ll bring you the menu and take care of you, thanks for coming in,” she says, glancing up at him and then away.

Well then. Obi-Wan reminds himself that customer service isn’t everyone’s strong suit, that she might have had a rough day, that he’s here for the quick food on his way through town, that his ego isn’t fragile enough that he needs to be led to a table with a smile.

The restaurant is almost completely deserted. There’s two truckers eating their weight in bacon and eggs at the counter, and a family of four seated around a table, resolutely picking at their food instead of talking to each other. And then there’s Obi-Wan.

He chooses a booth by the window, one that overlooks the absolute nothingness of midwestern American scenery. If he cranes his neck, he can probably see corn.

God, Obi-Wan’s sick of seeing corn, and he’s only been in this part of the country for a few hours. He needs to go right through most of it to get where he’s headed. He’s not sure how he won’t die of boredom.

The thought sends a pang through his chest. It’s too soon to think of death even in an offhand way. He taps his fingers on the cover of his leather journal, before a line of dark brown under one of them catches his eye. He studies his hand critically.

It’s been two days since the funeral. Surely he wouldn’t still have grave dirt under his nails. Surely things like that wash away eventually.

“Hey,” a voice says from in front of him. A man is turned around and kneeling up in the booth in front of Obi-Wan’s, leaning over the garishly red vinyl of the empty seat with a menu clutched in one hand. His hair is short and dark blond, an undercut with a long fringe settling over his forehead. He has a nice sort of smile, one that looks genuine but doesn’t touch his eyes. Obi-Wan notices how long the man’s neck is and how predominant his collarbones appear in the loose white shirt he’s wearing, before he forces himself to focus only on his face. “I’m Angel,” the guy says, passing over the menu. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

Obi-Wan accepts it gingerly. It looks like something that’s perpetually sticky. “Water is fine,” he says politely. “Thank you.”

“Will do,” Angel salutes him and ambles away. Obi-Wan watches him go before shaking his head to rid himself of any sort of thought, and opening the menu.

It’s standard food fare, of course. Breakfast options served all day if anyone were to come in and request them. Lunch and dinner options are also served all day, probably for the same reason: a diner like this can’t afford to turn anyone away, even if they want a hamburger at nine in the morning.

A glass of water clinks down onto the table next to him, making him look up at Angel, who’s looking at him curiously.

“You ready to order?” he asks, even though Obi-Wan is still very much looking at the menu and it’s also only been a few minutes at most since Angel gave it to him in the first place.

“Do you have any suggestions?” Obi-Wan asks politely. “I’ve never been here before. What’s good?”

“The water,” Angel says and then laughs like he’s said something funny. Obi-Wan finds his own mouth curling up at the sound. Sometimes people’s laughter is contagious, like a yawn.

And then Angel says, “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No,” Obi-Wan admits. “North of Boston.”

Angel whistles, like Obi-Wan has said something impressive. “Boston, huh? What are you doing all the way out here?”

The pit in his stomach intensifies. He does his best not to look at his nails and the grave dirt that might still be under them. “Driving,” he finally says. “And are you...from around here?”

Angel’s eyes grow distant for a second, and when he focuses again on Obi-Wan, they’re cold. “Born and raised,” he tells him flatly. “Never got out.”

“Oh,” Obi-Wan doesn’t know what to do with the sort of bitterness in Angel’s tone. It complements his own well enough.

“If you like eggs, I’ll put you in for the house special omelette,” Angel declares suddenly, all business again. “It’s four eggs, tomatoes, peppers, cheese. The usual.”

“What makes it special?” Obi-Wan asks, closing his menu and setting it down on the table in front of him.

“For you?” Angel drawls, “I’ll watch the cook to make sure he doesn’t get any egg shells in it,” and then he winks, holding out his hand.

Naturally, Obi-Wan shakes it. Naturally, Obi-Wan realizes a second after feeling Angel’s warm, calloused rough palm against his own that the man had meant to take the menu from Obi-Wan.

He can’t remember the last time he’s blushed this red, but he is absolutely regretting everything about this road trip. God, he’d pay money just to be able to leave now.

He should get in his car and drive back to Boston. It had been a stupid idea to come out here anyway, a result of stir-craziness and a desire to outrun the death of his father.

And now look what he’s doing. Shaking hands with his handsome waiter, as if he isn’t thirty-nine and perfectly aware of social norms.

Thankfully, miraculously, Angel laughs and this time it sounds real. “It’s okay,” he tells him, reaching out to pick up the menu.

Luckily for everyone involved, Obi-Wan finds it very easy to laugh at himself. “Well. It’s nice to meet you, Angel, I’m Obi-Wan.”

“I’ll go put the order in,” Angel says, “Obi-Wan.”

He’s back within five minutes, sliding into the seat across from Obi-Wan. So much for no eggshells in his omelette, but he can’t bring himself to be disappointed. There’s something magnetically fascinating about Angel. He’d like to know more.

“So you’re driving?” Angel asks, picking up a thread of conversation from several minutes ago. “Where are you going?”

“I was thinking of Alaska,” Obi-Wan says. “I’ve--I’ve always wanted to go.”

“You’re driving from Boston to Alaska?” Angel whistles, raising his eyebrows in shock. “I think the gas money alone would cost me two months of work.”

Obi-Wan shrugs. It’s not like he makes much himself as a teacher in Massachusetts. “My father was a lifelong gambler,” he discloses without really knowing why he’s telling this to a stranger. “He came into a bit of luck near the end. A bit of a fortune as well. And when he...died, I inherited it and his house.”

Angel touches his hand softly. “I’m sorry,” he says. “When did he pass?”

Obi-Wan huffs out what might be a chuckle. “A week ago, actually. It’s summer break in Massachusetts--I’m a teacher--and I suddenly had nothing to stay for, for a bit. It was either leave for Alaska or find some other way to cope.”

He runs a hand--his free hand, the one Angel isn’t touching--over his beard as he gives the man a rueful smile. “Dad always wanted me to see more of the world.”

“My mom was the same way,” Angel leans forward to tell him, as if it’s a secret. Obi-Wan feels like it is a secret, that there’s something delicate and fragile in the air. Something that matches whatever emotion is filling up Angel’s eyes. “Always telling me to leave, go get famous, go get happy, come back and tell her about it.”

“You didn’t?” Obi-Wan asks, his chest tightening at the thought that the man before him could be unhappy.

“I couldn’t,” Angel sneers, looking out the window and propping his chin on his hand. Some things must be too close to the heart to tell someone to their face. “Mom got sick. I wanted to get out, I was so close. Graduated high school, packed my stuff. I was going to go to California. To Los Angeles, really make it big.” He rolls his eyes and scoffs, as if there’s something inherently funny about the dreams he must have cherished for so long.

“Then mom collapsed going down the stairs. Just passed out in the middle of the day. Doctors told us she was sick. Then life became all about treatment plans and monitoring symptoms and getting the money for the medicines and I never left. Got a job here when I was eighteen years old, right before I graduated high school. It’s all I’ve ever known, I guess.”

“And your mother?” Obi-Wan asks, mouth dry and heart all tangled up in itself for this stranger man, for Angel with the hard, sad eyes.

“Died a year and a half ago or so,” Angel says flatly like he’s repeated the words so often in his head that the truth digs no barbs into his flesh. Obi-Wan knows that voice is a lie. How often has he looked in the mirror this past week and told himself, ‘Qui-Gon Jinn is dead’? He can’t imagine a year and a half would make the pain go away.

“I’m sorry,” Obi-Wan says seriously, reaching across the table to touch Angel’s hand this time.

Angel shrugs but doesn’t pull away. “Is what it is, I guess,” he says. “I’ve made my peace with it. And the fact that I’ll never leave this godforsaken town.”

“You could,” Obi-Wan points out hesitantly. “You could leave tomorrow.”

For a second, a wild and previously undiscovered part of Obi-Wan wonders what it would be like, if Angel did leave tomorrow--with him. If they got into the same car and headed to Alaska together and Obi-Wan wasn’t alone at the wheel and Angel wasn’t alone in this town. If Obi-Wan could look over at the man in the passenger seat, asleep against the doorway as they crossed into Canada.

Obi-Wan wonders. Obi-Wan aches.

“I could,” Angel says, laughing once. “I guess I could. I guess I just can’t think of a good enough reason to.”

There’s a call of his name from the kitchen, and Angel stands and stretches, checking the time on his watch. “That’ll be your omelette, sir, which is perfect timing considering I’m off shift as of five minutes ago.”

“Thank you then,” Obi-Wan replies, ignoring the pang in his gut at the knowledge he won’t be able to keep talking to him. “It was nice meeting you, Angel.”

Angel’s face grows dark for a second as his jaw clenches. “That’s not my name,” he finally says, scratching at his neck with one hand. “That’s just what they called me when I started working here. Angel, like Los Angeles. Cause I told everyone for weeks this was a temporary thing, you know? I’d be going to California soon as mom got better. Guess they knew better than I did.”

Obi-Wan has never wanted to kidnap a grown man away from a place more, so he hides his hands under the table instead. “Would you tell me your name then?” he asks, wondering if he’s overstepping but needing to know too much to censor himself.

“It’s Anakin,” his waiter says, sticking his hand out, no menu to grab.

Obi-Wan takes it gently, turns it over, and cradles it between both of his hands. “Then it’s nice to meet you, Anakin.”

Maybe, he thinks as he picks at his omelette and watches Anakin shoulder his way through the front doors of the diner before disappearing down the street, maybe he can stay a day in this nowhere town. Just an extra day.

Yes, he thinks, taking a sip of his water. He’ll try the pancakes next.

#asks #my fics #not me writing this and thinking about a roadtrip fic novel length #called the summer of wound picking #where obi-wan does kidnap angel anakin/meets up with him before he goes on shift and he's like 'hey leave with me #lets go to alaska together'#and anakin is just crazy enough to accept #he leaves one of his dogs threepio with a friend #but takes artoo with them because hes littler and better trained #and they just go to alaska on a road trip #because the author really really really is craving a roadtrip to find herself right about now #obikin #wish fulfillment #pay no attention to the author trying to test out writing styles behind the screen #prompt fill

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hit-me-with-a-ladle · 3 years

Text

Ch. 8 Creepypastas x Fem! reader

Sorry I've been gone for so long. My grandfather died a month ago and I wasn't in the right mindset to write. But I'm back and ill do my best. Thank you all for your patients. Anyway, enjoy<3

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As the week progressed, the girl found that it was the slightest bit easier to read through Masky's facade. Though that did not mean that she could thoroughly read him quite yet, she made it a challenge that eventually she would. Masky himself became lenient at first as to mind her injuries. But the moment she started to heal, it was all back to the ruthless nature of his work. Finally, when the week ended, she got informed that someone else was going to teach her. That person turned out to be Ben, the blond-headed boy that seemed too eager to meet her.

An early sensation lurked in the air the moment she woke up, groggily walking to the bathroom and taking a well-deserved shower. The feeling of all of the previous days' dirt and grime washing off her punctured flesh was refreshing. Her mind was finally clear, able to freely think and dwell on her current predicament without any outside interference. The hot water trickled down her naked body, soothing her as she thought of any way she could escape. But no matter how hard she thought, deep down she knew that the only way she could truly leave was to stay a little longer to devise a plausible plan.

Sadness overtook her body, hot tears streaming down her already wet face intertwining with the water droplets from the showerhead. She'd been able to withhold her tears for a while now, not wanting to give those bastards the satisfaction. But as her current position set in her mind once more, she couldn't hold it in. It was like a never-ending loop. After being rudely introduced and forced to spend a week being trained to the bone by two different killers, she had to repeat the process with another. It felt like her own personal hell.

Feeling the scalding hot water turn cold was an indicator that it was time to get ready. Not giving a damn if she was late. Stepping out of the shower with a huff, she looked at herself in the full-body mirror. Steam covered its surface from head to toe. Though, no matter how blurry, the rough outline of all the large scars, cuts and a few red bruises that littered her body were still very much visible. The feeling and texture of her once somewhat clear skin was now a distant memory in her mind. Slowly tracing all of the scars with the tip of the rugged fingers she winced when she made contact with a few of the most recent injuries.

Getting dressed in the same greyish jump-suit she has been washing and wearing for the last few days, she went to eat breakfast. But before leaving her bedroom she looked at the nightstand, there laid the old pocket watch he gave her. For some reason, he didn't want to take it when she offered it back. Shrugging her shoulders she put it in her right pocket and headed downstairs. Reaching the kitchen, noticing that Masky must have left early. Not paying any mind to his disappearance she carried on with her day. Eating the meal she prepared for herself. Sitting there on the dining table, in total silence, patiently staring at the clock. Ben still hadn't arrived. He was already ten minutes late, to begin with, which was a significant tonal shift from Masky, who was extremely punctual and despised tardiness. After what felt like hours, a loud crash was heard that made the girl's ears perk up as she ran to the living room. Their laying spread eagle, on the front of the old television, was none other than Ben.

" What happened, how did you get in here?" The girl quickly said while helping him up. " Dammit, forgot how small the damn television was." He said under his breath, ignoring her previous question. Getting on his feet he brushed himself off giving the girl a better look. Unlike the other two men, he was significantly shorter, 162 to 165 cm or 5'4-5'5 feet tall. Medium length golden hair under a long green hat and sharp pointy elf-like ears. His pale white skin looked ceramic, almost like a doll's and thin lips with a button nose. He seemed considerably young, but she assumed that he most likely was about eighteen years of age. Though, what caught her attention were his round black eyes that had a speck of red in them that acted as pupils. He was dressed as an elf, with his bright green tunic, forest green pants and leather belt neatly tied around his waist that held a small satchel type bag.

Looking in her direction he flashed her a creepy smile that showed off his white teeth. The girl didn't know how to react to his sudden action, as she felt discomfort all around her body, shifting her weight awkwardly she chose to ask him again. " How the hell did you manage to get in here without me hearing you?" " Well, I did the same thing I'm gonna' be teaching you today. Sorcery or magic. Whatever word floats your boat." " Magic? As in witchcraft, like spells and potions?" " Yup. I mean I know Jack already told you this so I don't know why you're so shocked." He snickered, it sounded distorted. " Yeah, I remember but I didn't actually expect-not that I didn't think that it would be magic-it is just that this is all so strange, I can't believe it." " Believe it, cuz I'm gonna' be teaching ya some spells. Follow me now out the back door." He spoke loudly, shaking his hands in a flamboyant manner.

Walking swiftly to the kitchen towards the back door. The girl was visibly confused as she followed suit. Why did they have to go through the back door, it was all quite strange. Stepping out, she noticed the rather large, wooden table a few meters in front of them. Its surface is covered in all kinds of trinkets, herbs and plants. " What's all of this for?" She said, approaching the table. "I got Masky to set it up before he left, we're gonna be needing some of this stuff so I can show you the ropes and basically help you understand the basics of making potions. A skill you'd need for survival." He answered while picking up a bunch of the items off the table and stuffing them in the bag. " Oh, what do we have here?" He said excitedly under his breath " Is it Raskovnik? My god it is. I know what i'll be teaching you first now, don't I. '' He started with a laugh as he made his way towards the trees. " Where are we going now?" " To the brewery. Do you really think you will be making risky positions in front of the cabin? You humans are actually the dumbest creatures."

The girl's face scrunched up in annoyance but still kept her mouth shut. She knew better than to try and argue with these people. Biting down on her tongue she got drawn in by the scenery like most times she was out in the forest. Autom was soon approaching so the wind had started to pick up the past few days, it made the multicoloured leaves on the trees dance as it passed. It calmed her as it passed through her body. Taking in a large breath she smiled and carried on behind Ben. Dogging trees and branches as there was no pathway in this part of the forest.

" Did you get the plant?" Ben spoke up after a while, cutting the calm silence. " Sorry, what?" " Were you the one that got the Raskovnik?" He repeated the question louder. " Oh, well yeah. I got it a while back as a part of my training with Masky." She replied quickly walking to his side. " Figures. Maskys is the type to make others do his dirty work." He muttered bitterly. But the girl was still able to hear it. " So you have a bad relationship with him?" " You could say that. Most of us do. The scumbag." The air started to tense. " I guess you could call him that. But he's not always that bad, he has his moments I guess." " Not that bad? Tell me, how did you manage to get that big ass gash on your neck." He harshly replied, pointing his leather-gloved hand to her neck. She quickly covered it and looked to the side. Not responding. " As I said, he's an absolute scumbag." " Well if it isn't stepping over a boundary, mind telling me why he's so bad." " Well, to begin with, he's a sadistic prick that only cares for himself. He broke into my house and stole some of the VERY rear herbs that took me YEARS to collect. And worst of all, he's the dog of The Operator." His face darkened when he mentioned The Operator's name. " The Operator? Whos that?" The girl quickly asked, lowering her hand and looking at him with a confused look on her face. " He's one of the most powerful beings to even exist. The embodiment of evil." " So like the devil?" " No, he's not the devil, the devil is a different being, but he's still terrifying." " Why do they call him The Operator then?" " Well, like. I don't really know how to explain this to you but, imagine this forest being a very large city. Y’know how every city has a mayor or someone in charge that leads it. Well, that's what The Operator really is. The Operator isn't his real name but a nickname given to him."

With that they finally stepped into a small grass filled clearing where in the middle, was a very small cottage covered in vines, plants and flowers. The old wood that it was made of was held up the multitude of plants, securing it firmly. The half-rounded door was nicely placed in the front, a yellow brick pathway leading to it, with a square window to the side. They quickly approached the door, the girl's breath taken by the beauty. The inside itself was small, shelves were on every side of the walks, each holding a plethora of books, trinkets, herbs and plants. It was relatively messy but still easy to walk in. A cauldron was in the middle of the room with a desk stacked with papers, pens, and scrolls.

Placing the Rascovnik and emptying his bag on the desk, Ben looked at the girl. " So let's begin I guess." He said walking to the medium-sized cauldron. " What are we going to do exactly?" She quickly asked as her eyes followed him, as he walked around the cottage collecting different ingredients and placing them on the desk. " Well, you're not going to be doing anything, just taking notes." Tossing a notepad at her. " While I prepare something and explain the different things you'll need to know." " Yeah that's great but am I going to be quizzed the same way Masky quizzed me because I need to know what I should expect." She said frantically, firmly grasping the notepad to her chest. " Nah, you're not. I don't do quizzes or tests, I like doing things spontaneously y'know. And plus taking notes will help you understand things more, so just write down herb and spell names, important details and whatever else will help ya remember. K?" " Ok, I guess." Anxiety began to dwell in her mind, as she looked around. " Readdy?" He said walking in front of the cauldron, giving her a slightly crooked reassuring smile.

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avenging-criminal-bones · 3 years

Text

Claustrophobic

Spencer x Reader

Requested?: YES

Word Count: 2264

Warnings: Mentions of unsub, guns, violence, hurt/comfort, panic attack

A/N: SORRY! I kind of got carried away with the prompt from anon

* * * * *

If there was one thing that no one on the team knew about you, it was your extreme claustrophobia. Small spaces, dark corners, the whole nine-yards would set your off in a heartbeat. Especially if you had to share the space with someone else.

No one knows. Not even Spencer.

Who you’ve been dating.

For almost a year.

It stemmed from your childhood. Your parents had both died in a house fire when you were young, seven, to be exact. So when they were no longer there to take care of you, your uncle took you in and raised you as if you were already a trouble maker.

There was a closet in your uncle’s house about four feet high and three feet by three feet as the interior. Relatively small. Whenever you needed to be punished of have anything done, you were locked in the closet. Some nights, he would be so wasted or hyped up on weed that he’d forget about you in there, leaving you overnight to fend for your food and bathroom situation.

For eleven years that was the only form of correction that he’d give you, until you left. You got out of there as soon as you were eighteen.

Which is why the current case put you in a sort of predicament. You aren’t in any sort of danger, at least not immediately, but the unsub had capture you and Spencer. He locked the both of you in a dark metal box. It must have been an old shipping container, since you’d chased the perpetrator into an abandoned warehouse.

“Y/N?” Spencer’s voice was rough. The two of you had been drugged, just now waking up from the chloroform-induced sleep. In passing, you wondered if this was going to react badly with Spencer’s previous, forced-drug abuse. “Are you in here?”

“Y-Yeah. Spence... where-”

“I don’t know.”

You feel him shift beside you, not being able to see him due to the pitch blackness of the storage container. A moment later you feel a presence directly beside you and jump slightly. “Wh-”

“Hey, hey. It’s okay. Just my hand. I’m trying to gauge how wide this box is.” His voice sounds much too composed for the current situation. “Judging by the fact that I’m six foot one and my wingspan is about that same length, combined with the unfortunate reality that about three feet of my arms cannot stretch out, I’m going to guess that we are in a three by three foot container. The metallic sounds of my nails hitting the wall,” he drums his fingers a bit to show you, “means that this is a thicker metal, which translates to: no phone service.” He pauses for a second and hears the sound of your whimpering from directly in front of him. “Y/N?”

Your anxieties have been building up since you had come to your senses just a few moments before Spencer. You didn’t want to think about the fact that you were stuck in a small, dark, damp container, much like the closet from your childhood. You didn’t want to think about how you and Spencer had a shared, limited amount of air. You didn’t want to face that reality, but Spencer wouldn’t stop talking.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Spencer grabbed your hand, but you jerked away quickly, hyperventilating as your thoughts raced in your head.

“I-No. I c-can’t. Spence- I can’t b-breathe. Please. Oh my- I can’t. I can’t.” Your words stutter out and they’re progressively getting more desperate.

Spencer’s eyes furrow and he shakes his head, not that you could see the confusion written in his body language though in the darkness.

“Y/N. We’re not running out of oxygen yet,” your breathing still came out in sharp pants, not relaxing by his words. “Judging by the burning alcoholic smell in my nose, and the fact that we woke up about seven minutes ago, lack of oxygen in this container, which has an area of 27 inches times three,” he works through the math in his head for a moment, “won’t be a concern for another 113 minutes.”

“No, no, no...” You whimper to yourself, murmuring no in hopes that your denial can magically open the container. “NO! I c-can’t- It’s not- Spence- it’s small... there’s no- I can’t...”

You interrupt yourself with quiet sobs, willing Spencer to understand what your problem is so you don’t have to try and explain it in your state.

“Y/N? Are you- is this claustrophobia?” His voice is soft, trailing off at the end. He knows that panic attacks are a consistent sign of things like phobias and mental health disorders, but you’d never given him a reason to associate it to you.

You nod your head, forgetting that he can’t see you until he repeats your name to try and prompt an answer.

“Y-yes. I know. It’s dumb- I just... I can’t. Spence- It’s not. I just need- I can’t breathe.”

Spencer lowers his voice to a gentle lull, being careful not to startle you as he talks. “Y/N, I’m going to approach you. I’m going to rest my hand on your face, and I’m going to grab your right hand with my left, okay?”

Again, you nod first before answering him vocally, “Yeah, yes.”

Spencer’s shoulders droop slightly, hearing the hitching in your voice mixed with the relief that you’ll let him help you. You feel a shift in the container as he switched from sitting to kneeling in front of you. He does exactly what he said he would and slowly, you sense him getting closer to you. After a moment of that, your chest heaves, your brain not allowing you to get a full breath in before it thinks you’re being attacked. His hand rests on your face then and he gently puts pressure on the back of your neck, alternating pressures with each of his fingers individually.

“Can you feel me?” He asks gently, cooing into your ear in an attempt to calm you down.

Not having words, you just shake your head. You don’t. You know that it’s there, but right now everything is just too much. There’s too much in your head, too many distractions running through your brain.

Spencer reaches forward with his other hand and grabs your right hand like he said that he was going to. He places your hand over his heart, leaving his hand there when he did.

“Y/N, you’re okay. We’re okay. I promise.”

It broke his heart to see you shattering like this. Something that Spencer had admired so, so much in you before you started dating was your fearlessness. Now it seemed like that was being torn away from you.

Spencer rested his forehead against yours and sighed to himself as he kept his ministrations going on the back of your neck.

Your breath hitched as you started to calm down. The hand on his chest clutched his once-nice shirt in your hand. It was wrinkled from the vice-like grip, but Spencer wouldn’t have cared. He just wants you to be okay.

“S-Spencer, I can’t... I can’t breathe. I can’t breathe, I can’t-” Your desperate words devolved into short pants, strangled whines as you doubled over yourself, trying to find something to anchor yourself to.

“Y/N! Hey, hey, hey. Y/N it’s okay. You’re safe. You’re safe, I promise.” Spencer didn’t know what to do. His heart was breaking for you; he hated the way you were shaking so badly, and sobbing so openly.

You sat there a few minutes with Spencer trying to calm you down. Eventually, your breathing calmed to quiet pants and hitches, and you subconsciously leaned into his hand that was cradling your face.

You were stilled curled up, still in no position to open your eyes and look around.

“... ‘m sorry, Spence...” You were exhausted now. There was no way you’d be able to stay awake much longer.

“Y/N? Why are you apologizing? It’s okay to have fears. It’s okay to have crippling panic attacks. Did you know, at my niece’s birthday party last year she had a clown come?” He pauses for a second, not really expecting you to answer yet. He continues, “ Anyways, I’m deathly afraid of clowns. And this guy popped up behind me to surprise all of the children. Long story short, I had to leave early because I punched the guy in the face.”

For the first time since you two had been captured, you huffed out a short laugh. Breathlessly, you asked, “You punched a birthday clown? Oh my God, Spence.”

Spencer’s shoulders finally dropped, the tension releasing as he saw that you were slowly getting better. “Yeah, it was a catastrophe in itself.”

Reaching over, you grabbed Spencer’s hand off of his chest and held it close to your face. You snuggled up to him, ignoring the fact that he is your co-worker and this is wrong.

“Spencer?”

“Yes, Y/N?”

You sigh slightly before asking your question. “Is the team going to come for us?”

“Oh, sweetheart... Of course. Yes. They will come for us.”

Spencer squeezed your hand in an attempt at reassurance. He could tell that your eyelids were drooping and that you were fighting to stay awake after your panic attack.

“Get some rest, Y/N. I’ll wake you up when you need to be alert, okay?” His voice is soft as he speaks to you.

Your eyes were finally closing, you hadn’t even responded to his request before you were drifting.

The sound of gun shots hitting the side of the container wakes you up quickly, jerking you out of your sleeping state.

“Spencer?!” You exclaim, sitting up fast as you tried to adjust to the darkness to look at your teammate.

“I’m here, I’m right here.” His hand finds yours again and he subtly tugs your closer to him, trying to keep you out of harms way of a stray bullet.

More gunshots follow, the sound of them hitting the space around you too loud, causing you to throw your hands over your ears.

You only pull them away when you feel a hard flinch from beside you. From Spencer.

“Spencer..? Spence?” You flip around fast, seeing his pained face.

You can see him.

You shouldn’t be able to see him. You were in an enclosed space... A box... No windows.

Except for the inch-wide hole right in front of Spencer.

The whole from the bullet.

That was lodged in his arm.

Spencer’s arm.

“No... No, no, no. NO!” Without thinking, you press against the wound in his shoulder. Too close to his clavicle. Too close to him. It’s second nature to you, but even so, you whisper sorries to him ever minute for causing him pain.

Distantly, you notice that the gunfire had died down. The only sounds now were your dry sobs and Spencer’s labored breathing. His pained groans. Because he was shot.

“Spencer, please. Please, please stay with me. Stay with me damn it. Spence!” You can’t even tell what you were saying anymore, you just knew that you were stringing pleas from your lips to your boyfriend.

His blood was all over your hands, spilling onto the ground. He was shaking as he reached up to grab your arm.

“Y/N... It’s okay. I’m- It’s fine.” You chose to ignore how he didn’t say that he was fine. “It’s okay. Do you h-hear that? It’s Hotch and JJ. I’m okay.”

Suddenly, you feel even worse about the anxieties from a few hours ago. Compared to this, it seemed even less important and relevant than it had then.

“I don’t... I don’t-” You break off, covering your mouth to keep in a louder sob. Thinking, you realize that if he wants to think that the help is here, then you need to let him. In the chance that he doesn’t-

NO. You will not think about that.

“Yeah, Spence. I hear them. They’re rounding the corner now.”

Your tears fall openly now, with Spencer holding your hand and the dim light from the middle of the day shining through that small hole. That tiny hole that might have decided your boyfriend’s fate.

Sure enough though, your boss runs into view of the hole and you almost let out a sob of relief. Keeping the pressure on Spencer’s shoulder, you feel him tense beneath you. “Stay awake, Reid. You stay awake. Hear me?”

He nods his head weakly just as Hotch opens the lid. Immediately, you stand up and he helps you up before sending medics in to help Spencer. As soon as you’re out of the confinements, you collapse to the ground, the reality of the situation finally hitting you.

You knew you’d have to tell the team about your claustrophobia when it was reported in the debrief, but for now, you didn’t have any worries other than Spencer.

You knew he was going to be okay as soon as you sat in the back of the ambulance with him and he started spewing off facts about the likelihood of a gunshot wound to the left arm below any arteries was to do any serious damage. According to him, the number was low, so you knew that if he slept it off and got the bullet removed in time, he would be just fine.

Silently, you mouth ‘I love you’ to Reid, him already knowing it was coming. He said it back before falling into a deep, adrenaline-crash sleep, you tucking your head right next to him and doing the same thing, hoping for a better tomorrow.

#angst #whump #hurt/comfort #spencer reid #spence #spencer x reader #x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #fluff #claustrophobia #guns #gunshot #unsub #hotch #aaron hotchner #jj #jennifer jareau

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its-my-little-dumpster-fire · 3 years

Text

Let it Burn ( t w e n t y n i n e )

Billy Russo x Reader, 6.7k

A/N: I don't know what to say about this one, just that it's been a long time coming and I'm equal parts excited and terrified of being this close to the end. So if even one person asks for a nice interlude, I'll friggin do it, because there aren't many sweet moments left. Not that there are any in this chapter? idk. You decide.

Warnings: Death. Talks of death. Violence. Poorly written fight sequences (I'm sorry @the-blind-assassin-12).

Summary: Billy's past comes knocking and you're thrown head first into a future you weren't expecting.

“I’ll get the car,” Matt volunteered the second your little group exited the bar. He was quick to turn away, leaving you with Noah and Libby on the sidewalk. The air thrummed around you with bass tones from leaking out onto the street. Combined with the alcohol in your system, you felt warm despite the chill in the air. Noah had his arm looped around Libby, holding her close and holding her up as her head lulled sleepily into his shoulder. Her hand stuck out, blindly grasping at the air behind her until you caught it in yours and she turned her face to smile. It was good to be with friends. Shocking, how normal it felt to be with people who knew you in college. Libby was there in your dorm room, laughing mercilessly at the sharp tingling in your legs after sprinting through the snow in shorts. A boy at the gym tried asking you out and your eighteen year old brain only came up with the dumbest responses to his flirting, prompting you high tail it out of there before pulling your sweats back on. Matt was there the Thanksgiving after you turned 21, carrying you on his back after too many spiked ciders, when you needed a break. Noah… well thankfully you hadn’t done anything remorseful in front of him that week, a sign you were getting older, but his presence in the group was a welcome one. Even if some days you looked at him and half expected your brother to be in his seat again, rubbing the back of Libby’s neck and calling Matt an asshole for wearing a Tom Brady jersey in public. It struck you that someday soon, these friends would have to move on from you too, keeping you and your brother as memories and nothing more.

Unwilling to let another string of macabre thoughts could kill the lingering comforts of the evening, you glanced up and down the street mindlessly taking in the city you once called home. It certainly wasn’t New York, but it had its own pulse. You couldn’t help wondering if it was the last night you’d ever get there and wanted to soak up every second. In your reverie, you floated away from Noah and Libby, kicking the pavement gently, eyes closed and heart content. Dying girls are allowed to romanticize whatever they want, you reasoned without paying attention where you were standing. It was your own fault that you were nearly knocked over by the broad shoulder of a passerby.

Noah hollered out in your defense, telling the man to watch where he was going, but one look up into familiar black irises told you the “stranger” was watching his step… and yours apparently.

“Sorry about that,” he whispered, a smile growing under rounded cheeks and puckered pink lines torn by glass.

You tried and failed to school your features into something slightly less glowy, but your soulmate’s hands were on you, steadying you, just feet from your friends. If you closed your eyes again, it might feel like a normal night out. A double date. Billy propped up against the wall, his arm stretched out over the plastic seating of a diner booth. You next him, stealing french fries off his plate and apologetically kissing his cheek after he slapped your hand away. Noah and Libby would be on the other side of the table, being their own kind of adorable, sharing a milkshake or something like it was the fifties. Oh god, you shivered, imagining Billy Russo in a leather jacket, driving you home after parking over in some poorly lit part of town, where his hand felt completely at home under your sweater.

“You okay, ma’am?” he asked, squeezing your arms and angling his face away from your friends, so only you could see or hear him.

“Yeah,” you sighed, disappointed your soulmate wasn’t a greaser, but still amazed he made such a brazen attempt to see you before you went home with your friends. “I’m swell.”

Billy chuckled at that, catching the sound in his throat so all that escaped was a huff. He nodded and licked his lips, looking down at the pavement between your shoes. Your eyes were still on his face, darker under the hood he’d pulled up, but you felt the toe of his boot nudge yours affectionately. “Swell, huh.” You nodded. “Alright,” he nodded in the direction of your friends, already releasing you and pushing you back toward them. “Keep your eyes open.”

“Thanks,” you called out, backpedalling until Libby caught your arm again and Noah stared down the stranger like any tough guy should. It wasn’t his fault that he had no idea who he was glaring at. If he did, he certainly wouldn’t linger.

“Russo!” you heard someone yell and immediately your blood ran cold. Libby and Matt were still trying to herd you away from where you’d been so rudely bumped, but you were immovable.

You heard Billy’s hissed ‘shit’ as the man with the thick black beard stalked over from the bar’s entrance. Shit, you repeated in your head, had this guy seen Billy in there and followed him out?

“You got the wrong guy.”

“Nah,” this man shook his head, “I don’t.” A terrifying smile appeared on his face as he approached Billy. “I’d know that fucked up mug anywhere.” He looked your soulmate up and down, all too satisfied with what he found. “Thought I was seeing a goddamn ghost,” he announced, before lowering his voice considerably. “Last I heard, they dragged your ass out of the river…” he scoffed. “Guess not, huh?”

In the presence of a rising conflict, Noah and Libby turned away, tugging you along with them. Your body followed them toward the lit yellow circle under a streetlamp to wait for Matt and the car, but your senses belonged to Billy. Always.

You had to believe that he was armed and clearly more than able to defend himself. Even strolling along the Adriatic, where time moved slower and the locals cared more about their afternoon cappuccino than the scarred face watching the water over your head, Billy had been prepared for the worst. There wasn’t a cell in your body that feared for him in these moments, but the second his name was spoken out loud… there was a new fear. Your life over the last 6 months was not safe anymore, Billy was not safe anymore. Everything you knew up until this point relied on anonymity and that was gone. Your soulmate could survive a street fight, but could he live beyond one where his ability to remain invisible was compromised?

The argument over your shoulder escalated and when you turned back to observe them again, what you found was more startling than a simple scuffle.

Billy was evenly matched and that alone was enough to scare you. He’s Billy Russo. Any conflict that comes his way should be easily snuffed out. He’s been fighting his entire life. First with broken broom handles and the grace of a boy who hadn’t grown into his limbs, but abandonment and terror look a lot like rage against hungry cheeks. No matter how “pretty” he’d been, there was a fight in Billy begging to come out. Surely the fight enticed a young Billy into service. The power, the training, the knowledge that he’d never be a victim again once his fists knew where to strike. With a scope, he could fight without getting his hands dirty. With a Ka-bar… he didn’t seem to mind that either. And you knew first hand that the fight followed Billy home, where his enemies were chosen for him and in exchange, he maintained his power. That Billy shouldn’t have equals, but somehow on this street, an equal had found him.

“They’re all dead,” the man spit then shouted, feet shuffling as he and your soulmate circled each other. “Geno, Todd, Bobby, Moke.” He lunged forward and Billy’s hands came down on his wrist, blocking the blade out in front of him. At first, you hadn’t noticed the black carbon steel in the dark, but when Billy took hold of his wrist in one hand, it was clearly visible under streetlights and gasps skittered through the small crowd gathering outside the bar.

“That’s on them,” Billy ground out, keeping his attacker’s arm straight up over their hands as he went for the knee with his other hand. Off balance, the man was forced onto his back and Libby’s audible gasp pulled your attention at the same time her hands were pulling back on your shoulders. Completely unaware of your own posture, as you stumbled backwards a step, you realized that you’d been moving closer to the fight since it broke.

“You pissed off the Punisher, Russo.” At the mention of Frank Castle, you turned back again, watching Billy’s hand come down on the man’s neck and jaw. You cringed at the way his voice gurgled and strained, but he kept taunting. “Jake’s dead.”

“He’s a fucking tweaker who didn’t know when to quit,” Billy insisted, struggling to dodge a knee to the liver while still pinning his assailant. The knife finally fell from the man’s hand, but neither he nor your soulmate lunged for it as you expected. Two men as deadly as this needn’t concern themselves with a sharp edge when their bodies were well honed weapons. You assumed this man must have been military too, with the pace at which they were anticipating the other’s movements, blocking and striking with disturbingly natural ease. He never would, but a part of you, a very small part, wished Billy would just run.

“Castle wanted you, Billy! Wanted to crush what you started!” Another series of punches that sounded painful. Everytime Billy drew blood, you noticed more of his own, a cut over the eye, redness that would bloom into dark purple before tomorrow. “You were a coward, Russo. Leaving everything you built,” the man was winded and you hoped that meant he’d slow down, but neither of them had that kind of quit in them. Not when face to face with an enemy. “We kept going, we could have run that city! But your buddy Frank Castle wouldn’t sleep until every of the boys was dead. Spunk, Manny, Vincent.” The man spit blood from his red stained teeth as he seethed through the names of fallen comrades. “That psycho went after Jimbo, that dumb kid didn’t stand a chance. I never thought I’d get my chance with Billy Russo…” he laughed, a little manic as that confident veneer he’d worn just a minute ago was broken. “But here we are, Billy. You and me.” He was using Billy’s name frequently and loudly. His eyes were as black as Billy’s and you watched them dart around to the handful of cellphone cameras pointed directly at the scene. The smirk on his face was unsettling and suddenly you knew what was happening. This man didn’t care if he died as long as he took Billy down with him. Billy, observant, but ever the predator was more concerned with eliminating the physical threat than his name going viral. The man wasn’t down for long before sweeping Billy’s leg and rolling away. Knife forgotten and fists flying into every inch of tender flesh, just like they were trained. Behind you, Noah described the scene in alarming detail while on the phone with local dispatch, making sure an officer en route knew exactly where they were needed and everything you were certain of two minutes ago was in jeopardy.

“Borrowed time, remember?” the man seethed, hunched over a heavy breathing Billy Russo who’d just taken a shot to the ear. “It was always gonna end this way.”

Falling from the top bunk and breaking your arm. Graduation. Your parents’ funeral. Your brother and Libby’s wedding. Meeting Billy. Standing outside a building that erupted in flames from the inside. The oncologist sat before you with a sour expression. Waiting for Billy in every new country, wringing your hands as if he might not come. So many life changing moments and yet, they were all a blur. This moment, however, was painfully clear.

You felt the tension in your toes as heeled feet moved toward the fray. The burn in your legs as you squatted after a day standing to accept goodbyes followed by a night of dancing poorly. The knife’s weight in your palm as you adjusted your grip to something that felt more solid. You’d bought cans of soup that were heavier than the blade wrapped in your fingers and that surprised you. No wonder these looked like an extension of Billy’s hand when he wielded them. Despite the relative lightness, you looked awkward holding on to it. Not like Billy. Through the blood rush behind your ears, the heavy throb of your own pulse drowning everything out, Libby’s voice screamed your name. Billy looked shocked, a marvel in itself as it seemed so little could surprise him, to hear your name and his eyes landed on yours, wide, but narrowing as the blade sank into his opponent’s side.

The man wheeled back quickly, his elbow landing hard in your chest and knocking the wind from you. Someone Billy’s height would have doubled over groaning after a shot to the gut, but when you hit the ground, no sounds came out as you tried to call out to Billy. He acted without your cries and while you stared at the ground spinning between your knees, the sound of the fight grew louder, more urgent. As unseen hands guided you back to your feet, your legs shook at the sight of blood splattered on your hands and bare shins. In your struggle, the knife remained in your grasp and the sight of it, shimmering red in moon and street light, made you feel dizzy.

It was Billy to say your name next, loud and strained. When you looked back toward him, he was on his back, thumbs digging into the man’s cheekbones as his head thrashed. The scars on Billy’s face seemed to give way to the veins bulging in his forehead until they were all you could see, evidence of his struggle to take in breath with hands pressing down on his windpipe. The last time you were in this scenario, Billy hadn’t struggled at all. Your attacker was a bum compared to the marine and when your soulmate sliced his fingers clean from his hand, you didn’t even stop to wonder if you’d done the right thing assisting Billy. As if a practiced dance, you approached again with shaky steps, to drop the knife in Billy’s outstretched hand. You watched as a red faced Billy Russo lifted the knife and plunged it directly into the side of the man’s neck. Blood flowed from the artery when Billy removed the blade and struck him again and again. He shoved the man from his body and rose with a face, reddened by blood splatter instead.

The world slowed to a stop as you fell forward and Billy caught you, widening his feet to adjust your body against his so that you both stayed up right. His whispering disappeared into your hair and you heard nothing that was said, until a new voice cut through the night.

“What the hell?!” Matt called your name, wide eyed and confused by the blood covering both you and the man that held you. He’d only been gone a few minutes and everything had gone to shit in his absence. At the sound of sirens just around the block, your eyes flew from your friends back to Billy’s, dark and conspiring as the next few seconds proved most pivotal.

Clutching the front of Billy’s jacket, you jostled him until his eyes fell upon yours. “Don’t you leave me here, Russo,” your head shook desperately, as did your voice. “Don’t.”

Without saying a word, Billy’s jaw tightened and he was off, all but carrying you toward Matt and the car that couldn’t have come at a better or worse moment. Your friend, too noble for his own good, stupidly resisted the man on a mission and Libby shrieked when Billy’s fist landed against Matt’s cheek. He shoved your friend toward the sidewalk where his sister cried and got into the driver’s seat like it was his plan all along. Libby tried to pull you back with them, insisting it was self defense and you didn’t have to run, but one look and she knew.

The second your door shut behind you, Billy pulled away, blessedly unnoticed by the blue lights approaching from the opposite direction. You were shocked when your getaway driver stopped the car after only a few blocks, slipping into an open spot in front of a fire hydrant and stepping out of the car without explanation. He opened your door and pulled you out when you didn’t immediately follow, dropping Matt’s keys in your seat before slamming the door behind you. A half turn over your shoulder and the blue from the responders’ lights bathed the buildings on the corner. You were far too close to be safe, but Billy pressed on, walking so close behind you that his chest moved you forward more than his hands. Around one more corner and it all made sense. There was already a plan in place, a car stowed safely within walking distance of the bar meant to carry Billy away before he was jumped and his identity exposed.

You settled uncomfortably in the front seat of a sedan that -under any other circumstance- would make you laugh to see Billy behind the wheel of it. “We can’t travel like this,” you gestured down to your short dress and blood stained skin. The man next to you made a disgruntled noise, but flipped on the turn signal all the same when you pointed out Libby’s street upcoming.

Billy stood watch at the large front windows, peeking through the curtains suspiciously and giving you commands from the other room. There wasn’t time for you to change clothes, which you hated, but you were allowed 5 minutes to grab whatever you’d need so you shoved what belongings you didn’t have to dig for into a bag, flying from every corner of your guest room. Job’s excitement at seeing you and Billy, together and walking through the front door like you’d been invited rather than pillaging through the flower bed for a false bottomed rock, lasted only the length of the entry before even the dog decided that your frantic packing was too much for him. With your bag slung over one shoulder, you scribbled the quickest apology onto a pad of paper in Libby’s junk drawer, hoping she wouldn’t find it until you were long gone. You trusted she and Matt and Noah to do the right thing, to tell the truth about what they saw. You weren’t sure what to expect of the bachelorette party that watched like a herd of scared sheep, phone out and backs hunched as they gasped and gawked at the death befalling tiny screens. There was time to spare one final glance toward the refrigerator, normal clippings and wedding announcements and grocery lists. Your friends would slide back into their normal lives soon enough. They’d feel the need to mourn again, despite attending your funeral just hours ago, but they’d be forced back into work, obligations, other friendships.

You had no such luxury. There was no normal from here on out. Whatever you thought you’d been running from in Europe was soon to be clawing at your door. It was impossible not to recognize that your journey with Billy so far had been easy compared to what was coming next. He was going to be hunted, while your dying slowed him down, dragged more like. The humble bag of belongings over your shoulder suddenly weighed a thousand pounds and the strap dug into your skin. In your haste to be close to Billy, your desperation to stay with him, you hadn’t stopped to consider what a cruel fate you were damning him to. Libby lit the spark, a guilty smoldering in your chest, thinking about Billy losing you the way your best friend had lost your brother. She was broken and changed, but you couldn’t fathom what Billy would do once you were gone. Torn between wanting to spend every waking second with him until your last and letting him run without you there to complicate his survival, you didn’t notice him moving through the house to find you and hurry you along.

“Let’s go,” he said sharply, urging you with his eyebrows and an extended hand, but his other hand was not empty and it amused you more than it should.

“What are you doing?” you asked, seeing the answer for yourself without addressing it. Billy shook his head and furrowed his brows like he didn’t know what he meant. You nodded at his hip, but he ignored the gesture completely, passing Job’s black leather leash from his left to his right hand, and walked out.

“Time’s up,” he announced again without further explanation and the dog behind him was more than pleased to be included. Job had no idea where he was headed or the dangerous circumstances that had brought his two favorite people back to him and for a moment, you allowed yourself to be like Job. You fought back your amusement and nodded solemnly, following Billy and his beast out of your friends’ home, apology tucked into a drawer and bag drawn up over your shoulder. Just before exiting, you stopped at the front door to kick off your heels and slide your bare feet into a pair of Libby’s walking shoes. She wouldn’t miss them and you were in greater need at the moment. This way, you hoped, she’d know you were safe upon entering, even before finding the note with half assed explanations. With the door closed behind you and the hide a key back in its place, Billy loaded Job into the back seat while you settled into the front. It could have been the start of a road trip, if you let it. Man, woman, dog, all piled into a car and headed for the next adventure.

Billy leaned over and you didn’t even try to hide the tears tracking down your face, overcome by the idea that your only normal moments would have to be imagined from now on. Usually one to prefer silence in these complex situations, you were surprised when Billy started to speak. Jose was the man’s name. He’d been involved with Billy’s tiny army, plundering New York City and taking back what they felt was owed to them after sacrificing so much in service. Jose, Billy explained, was the only member of their gang that questioned his decision to leave the game when he did. He didn’t explicitly say it, but her name hung in the air anyways.

“A lot of people died because of me…” Billy continued and you turned to face him in your seat. His eyes were forward, occasionally drifting toward dark mirrors, but never toward you. “Frank… if what Jose said is true… Frankie’s on a fucking spree.”

“Is that any different than before?” you asked honestly. You didn’t know Frank that well, or at all, minus a handful of meetings that always left you feeling nauseous before, during, and after. He was the Punisher, famed for clearing the streets of those that crossed him or his moral compass. Watching the Boondock Saints with your brother was one thing, knowing someone with twice the training and fire power was loose in New York with your soulmate’s name at the top of his list was something else entirely. Billy wasn’t the good guy in this story, you loved him, but your brain hadn’t disintegrated that much yet. Given another opportunity, Frank Castle would end Billy’s life without pause. That wasn’t a fact easily forgotten, or forgotten at all, but knowing that even one person blamed Billy for Frank’s less than judicious behavior was terrifying.

The steering wheel squeaked under the tight flexing of his fingers. You knew him well enough to know that Billy didn’t feel responsible for their deaths, not really. He was smart enough to draw conclusions about how they ended up on Frank Castle’s hit list, but he wouldn’t lose any sleep over them either. The only thing that worried you was if Billy was looking for a reason to fight Frank one more time, this would be as good a reason as any. You reached over to touch his arm and as awkward as it was to hold onto his elbow when Billy made no moves to reciprocate or accept the touch, you left your hand where it was. Only when Job’s snout shot up from between your seats and bumped the back of his arm did Billy react, dropping his right arm to trap Job’s face between his arm and his ribs. He looked up then, meeting your eyes for the first time since getting into the car. His expression was unreadable in the dark, but you disregarded the voice in your head that told you not to push him. “You’re not going after him are you?”

Billy’s eyes drifted purposefully back to the road ahead and you expected your question to linger without ever being answered. An unspoken confirmation of your worst fears. “I’ve got other shit to do,” he answered suddenly, releasing Job’s head from its hold and sliding his arm through your hand until your fingers fell in the spaces between his. Billy tightened his hold, fingertips digging into the back of your hand, then let go completely, switching hands to steer with his right. His elbow rested by the window and he cupped his own chin, covering his mouth with his forefinger as if deep in thought.

You. You were the other shit to do. You had to be.

On the one hand, overlooking his choice of phrasing, you were encouraged. He’d planned to keep you around and knew he couldn’t be with you while successfully hunting Frank Castle. That was… nice. In a way. There was a time when Billy’s feud -if you could call it that- with the Punisher took precedence over you and the trust he placed in you. Somewhere over the last year, Billy learned of your importance to him. Of course he didn’t share this as he was discovering it, but the night he held you and forced you to look at the passports he’d secured for you both before blowing Anvil to the ground, he’d laid it out clearly. You meant something to him and without his memories, he had to be sure. Once he was sure, he was all in. Or so he said.

Which made everything else harder. How could Billy Russo be all in when he had no idea what was coming next? A few months in Europe away from the US government and the Punisher, your brain was changing, but that was nothing compared to what he’d have to deal with soon. You and your doctors had discussed end of life expectations, but how much was Billy ready to shoulder. Would he regret his choices when you couldn’t keep your eyes open anymore? When you couldn’t get to the bathroom by yourself? When your throat rattled with every labored breath? When you weren’t sure where you were or who he was? How much of your dying could Billy stand before he took Job for a walk and never came back?

You’d meant to talk to him about it back at the bar- god, could that really have been an hour ago? Hearing Libby’s heartbreak as she talked about losing your brother was too much already. How much worse would it be when the goodbye was drawn out and by the end, he was so sick of caring for you that your departure was more of a relief than a loss?

“Billy, pull over,” you demanded suddenly.

He ignored your warning, but the churning in your stomach wasn’t waiting on your soulmate.

“Billy!”

“We gotta- SHIT!” You felt the car slide over to the shoulder when you lurched forward, hand over your mouth too late as the contents of your stomach emptied through your fingers and onto the thick rubber mat between your stolen shoes. When the car finally stopped, you were quick to exit, heaving twice more before falling backwards. Your butt hit the damp grass and your body slumped into the slope of the ditch until you were flat on your back. Slow breaths pushed whatever was left back down and when you were feeling brave enough to open your eyes again, you focused on a familiar cluster of stars to keep the rest of the galaxy from spinning away. The archer was facing back the way you’d come stumbling, taunting you, daring you to rise and face Billy Russo after throwing up in his getaway car. He could wait a few more breaths. When the sticky sweet scent of alcohol soaked soil wafted up into your nose, you frowned, wiped your wet hand in the grass, and stood, not really ready to face him, but unwilling to lie out in the cold smelling your own sick any longer.

Billy was watching you, one arm bent over the hood while he stood between the door and the driver’s seat. He didn’t strike you as the hold your hair back guy, but seeing him out of the car at all was a surprise. Your embarrassed shuffle back toward the vehicle was met with silence, only the thud of the door closing behind you and the click of your seatbelt broke it. Billy pulled himself back in once you were situated and in a matter of seconds, you were rolling again. The puddle by your feet was even worse than the wet ground you’d left in the ditch and Billy didn’t hesitate to roll every window down. The wind whipping through the front seat did little to cover his scoffing.

“Smells like death.”

“Get used to it,” you murmured back and waited for Billy to reply with something smart. The rebuttal never came, but he sat straight up after it, left fist clenched against his thigh while his right hand kept the car steady. He heard and you knew you’d need to talk to him again, seriously, but the adrenaline was well and truly worn off and the sickness wasn’t exactly invigorating. What a mess. You briefly imagined what Kathleen would say about it all before remembering that your phone was safely tucked into your purse, dropped at Libby’s feet in the middle of the night’s chaos and with it… shit.

“The address,” you said quietly. Billy’s eyes flitted up to the rearview, without responding. “The address you gave me, we can’t go there. Libby has it.”

“I put it in your bra,” Billy stated, already sounding frustrated.

“I put it in my purse so I wouldn’t lose it and…” you gestured vaguely. You honestly couldn’t remember the last time you were holding it. Maybe when Billy bumped into you on the street? Once the fight broke out, your attention was not on your belongings.

Billy took a deep breath through his nose, shaking his head as he dug his own burner out of his back pocket. He nodded to the backseat, “gimme that blue pouch back there.” You turned onto your left hip and opened the duffle he always had with him. Along the front side of the bag, you felt a leathery pouch.

“With the zipper?” Billy hummed and you pulled it out for him. Job whined quietly from the backseat, clearly not pleased that you were rummaging around in his space without even petting him. While Billy had the pouch between his legs, looking for something, you stayed turned toward Job, reaching out to run one of his ears between your fingers. He relaxed again, laying across the bench seat, so you rested the side of your head against your seat to watch him sleep and within seconds, you too were out cold.

Before you knew it, your eyes were flying open at the gentle vibration of the trunk slamming shut behind you. Looking around, it was impossible to tell how long you’d been out. The sky was just as black as it was before, but nothing outside the windows looked familiar and you were definitely in the car alone.

Billy was loading his bags and yours into a gray pick up that was so comically large you weren’t sure his long legs could pull him into the cab, let alone yours. You could make out at least two more men from their silhouettes, black against the glare of the truck’s headlights, exchanging words and something else with Billy before he turned back toward you. Unsure what was happening or who the men were, you waited in your seat for Billy to retrieve you, which soon enough he did. You hadn’t even noticed his jacket draped over your front until he slid it off your chest, placing it back around your shoulders once you were out of the car and standing with him. He didn’t touch you much, didn’t even wait for you before starting his march back toward the truck. You followed awkwardly, dodging the uncomfortable stares from the men he’d just been talking to and helped yourself into the passenger seat with about as much difficulty as you were expecting, especially in a short dress that still had tiny, but pungent vomit splatters on it and needed to be burned. It was probably a faux pas to wear the dress you wore to your own funeral anywhere else and you weren’t worried about missing it. Billy spoke with the men once more, pointing to the car that had gotten you here. The men weren’t interested in the car, stealing glances through the windshield at you. One had the audacity to wink before rolling his neck to smirk at Billy. You watched your soulmate’s face lift in one of his signature snarls before taking a total 180 into a similar sadistic sort of smile. He tilted his head toward the windshield, not even really looking at you before turning back and saying something that made the men roar in laughter. Through the thick glass and over the loud engine, you could hear their response and you were thankful you couldn’t hear what he’d said to be so entertaining. Instead of watching them through the windshield, you turned a bit to look in the backseat. Job was stretched comfortably across the bench, his big block head supported by Billy’s duffel bag, which left his snout right in between your seat and the driver’s. You scratched his head, amazed that the dog seemed to be adapting to this on the run business much easier than you were. He trusted you and he trusted Billy. The details weren’t anything for Job to be concerned with, so he nodded off again without trouble. You could stand to learn a thing or two from the mutt.

By the time Billy was back in the driver’s seat next to you, you had surpassed uncomfortable and settled well into ‘about to throw up’ territory again. The way the mean leered at you was chilling, but the way Billy let them, almost encouraging them, was ultimately what made your insides crawl. His head hit the seat behind him with a thud and he waited until the men, driving the first car away, were completely out of sight, not even the faint red spot of tail lights on the black highway ahead of you.

You had questions. Loads. Who were those men? Where were they going? Whose truck were you in? Where were YOU going? What did Billy say to make them laugh? Were you in danger? Was this always the plan or was Billy really so resourceful to pull off this swap all while you slept next to him?

And yet, none of them came out.

“Billy…” his head lulled to the side, looking at you dutifully without moving any other part of his body. “We need to talk.”

Billy’s huff was clearly annoyed and he straightened immediately, reaching for the gear shift and ignoring you.

“Billy-“

“They were guys from Anvil,” okay one answer. “They’re going ahead to set up a place for us in Buffalo. It’ll take a couple of days, but they got connections to get us across the border. Anything else you need to know?” His stare was hard. Impatient.

You swallowed and nodded. His nostrils flared but he didn’t say anything, so you continued. “Can we trust them?”

Of all things. That made Billy Russo smile. He licked his lips before answering. “Not at all,” he said, finally shifting into drive. “That’s why we aren’t going to Buffalo.”

The relief you felt at his words was enough to put you right back to sleep, but suddenly you felt wide awake. You even sat up a little straighter, turning a bit in your seat to look at Billy easier. The truck was pointed West, the ugliness of the night left back in Philly. Your poor friends would be left to pick up the pieces of the evening and you suddenly remembered why you’d run off on a grand adventure in the first place. Dying just left so much trouble for the ones left… which reminded you....

“Billy, we still need to talk.”

“I didn’t tell them who you were,” he assured you, derailing your thoughts entirely.

“Who did they think I was?” You asked.

Billy shrugged. “A hooker.”

“And that was believable??” Billy’s annoying smirk said it all, but he took a moment to look you up and down, lifting his eyebrows once his eyes made it back up to yours. “Ugh,” you whined. “Don’t answer that.” You tugged the hem of your dress down over your thighs as far as it would go. You were still in his jacket, a little black dress that stunk of sweat and booze and vomit, boots that didn’t belong to you. You hadn’t had a good look at your hair or makeup since before Billy fucked you in an office and there was no way your makeup had survived an evening of drinking, dancing, Billy’s rough kisses, manslaughter, and throwing up on the side of the road. The little pull down mirror above your head wasn’t even tempting at this point and Billy’s smug chuckle next to you was bad enough. You shrunk down, wedging yourself firmly between the back of your seat and the door, and Billy glanced over barely containing his amusement.

“Aw, c’mon baby, don’t be like that,” he teased in that thick accent of his and you glared at him from your little corner, pulling his jacket tighter with your crossed arms. He reached out across the console between you and unfortunately you had nowhere to go. His fingers wrapped around your shoulder and he barely had to tug before you were shifting in your seat to lean closer to him. Billy dipped his hand into the back of his jacket, rubbing your neck as you leaned further in. At his gentle kneading and pulling, you finally relented and let your head fall into his shoulder. It was an uncomfortable angle with the wide center piece between you, but totally worth it when you felt Billy’s lips brush your forehead. “You smell like a 4, but I know you taste like a 8.”

“I’m a 10,” you argued and he laughed above you. His arm was all the way behind your neck now, holding you against him as he maneuvered the giant vehicle with his left hand.

“Mmm,” he hummed. “I dunno about that. How bout we find you a shower and some toothpaste, then I can have another taste, just to be sure.”

You shook your head in complete disbelief. How dizzyingly quick could he switch from hardened criminal on the run to this flirt. Too fast. Hard day behind you and hard conversations ahead, but both forgotten for the time being. The ride was quiet and you were bound to fall back asleep before too long, Job’s snoring behind your head as comforting as Billy’s long fingers rubbing your scalp. Just before consciousness evaded again, you felt Billy turn his face into your hair, mumbling something too low to be understood.You hummed a bit to question it, but were out before hearing him repeat it.

YEAH WE KNOW BILLY. ITS ONLY MOSTLY YOUR FAULT.

Idk how y'all still put up with me and this story. Its too long. You can say it.

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Let it Burn/Billy Russo: @elenarogersbarnes13 @19avocado-high51 @songtoyou @disengagefrmreality @christinawxxx @stories-you-wont-hear @lexxierave @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @thesumofmychoices @ofheroesandvillains @charmed-asylum @bugboy-and-icegirl @thefinalexperiment @lysawayne @operation-spot @ilkaeliseb @littlemermaidprobz @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @mathle0matle @a-dorky-book-keeper @blackbirddaredevil23 @elenarogersbarnes13 @19avocado-high51 @songtoyou @disengagefrmreality @christinawxxx @lexxierave @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead @thesumofmychoices @ofheroesandvillains @charmed-asylum @bugboy-and-icegirl @thefinalexperiment @lysawayne @operation-spot @ilkaeliseb @littlemermaidprobz @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @mathle0matle @blackbirddaredevil23

#billy russo x reader #billy russo x you #jigsaw!billy #jigsaw!billy x reader #billy russo fanfiction #ben barnes character #ben barnes character fic #Job is a good boy #that's actually all that matters here

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