#anyway I was making an audio and I thought the sirens were going to throw me off

[rosicheeks]

when was the last time you had an orgasm? feel free to give as many or as few details as you want to share 😘💖

-🌸

Last time? Hmmmmm….. I don’t remember 😭

[jaeminscoffee]

Illicit - Not legally permitted.

Pairing- Lee Haechan x reader.

Genre- Angst, Suggestive, Fluff if you squint your eyes, Mafia au.

Word count- 2.6k [not proof read]

Warning- A lot of swearing, mention of violence, heavy make out session towards the end

Request made from prompt

18."Isn't this, like illegal?" "Probably, Who cares?"

68."You drive me crazy"

-x-

Breathing the same air as Lee Haechan meant trouble. 

Especially for you, someone as simple as a book store cashier, it'd be the best to stay away from him. 

But there was something so intriguing about him the first encounter, that made both you and him go back to each other.

Maybe it was a mere coincidence, or maybe it was because you'd pray to clash paths with him each time you went to work. 

But it was on a Sunday, night shift, when the owner of the small bookstore expressed her concerns about her granddaughter being sick, stating that she needs to leave for the day, leaving you by yourself to close up when you met him. 

You were fine with that, your house was just around the corner. 

There was hardly an hour left, and only about a customer or two came in, leaving after getting what they what they wanted. You decided to pack up for the day. Walking lane by lane, table to table to clean up the place. 

Reaching over shelves to place the books that were scattered on the table, you hear a bang from behind, startling you. 

You cautiously approach the front, staying behind the shelf in case it'd be a thief. There, near your counter, stood a boy, his back facing you. His back was moving up and down frantically. Thinking that he's a customer, you come out of your hiding, already wearing a smile on your face. 

"Welcome Si-" you see the boy flinch, not expecting anyone to be there. He swore he saw the lights dim from outside and no movement. He turned back in a swift motion, clutching at something inside of his leather jacket. Upon examining his features carefully, noticing faint red at the corner of his lips, hair disheveled, you let out a gasp. 

You approach him with fast steps "Sir are you ok-" your steps were halted, the boy, who had his hands inside his jacket, took it out, unstable hands pointing a gun at you. You stood dead on your track, breathing uneven as you stood in a life and death situation. "Back off." The boy opened his mouth the first time that night. Voice rough, yet honey like. 

The longer you stand there, the more you see his eyelids drop. As scared as you were, you being the nice person you are, take small steps one after the other. It was extremely silent, when he lost consciousness, falling face first onto the ground in front of you. You fasten your steps towards him, the distance shortening with each step you take. 

"Sir?? Mr.??" you turn him around, carefully placing him back onto the floor, his front facing you, the proximity of your faces made it easier for you to see the scratches that scattered all over his face, moles spilled here and there. The boy was good looking, no doubts. 

With great difficulty, you lift him up, placing him on your back, going back towards the end of the book store, where the students usually sit to study without getting disturbed.

The seats there were much more comfortable than the wooden ones at the front of the store. You drop him onto one of the seats, going back to the counter to get out the first aid kit, when you hear the door being slammed open. 

In came 3 guys, all in similar attire, they were all over 6'0 from the looks of it, or maybe you were just short. They were panting hard, just like how you'd seen the other boy at the back of your store. 

They screamed danger.

"Where the fuck is he?" one of them asked, the tallest among the three, they were definitely here for the unknown boy, all three carrying pistols in their own hands. You feign confusion, oblivious to the guys. "Pardon me?" The one beside the guy who spoke up, looked you up and down, turning front, facing the shop scanning his eyes all over the place. "Lee Haechan. Where is he?" he asked. 

Haechan. That's what the boy's name is. 

"I'm sorry i do not know who you're talking about" you turn back to your counter. One of them approached you, standing extremely close, the only thing preventing your bodies from touching being the counter.

"Did you see anyone pass by here?" his voice was deadly low. You gulp down the lump forming in your throat in a subtle way. You shake your head. "But i did see someone run past the corner store" the boys all nodded their heads, exchanging glances as you look at them exit the store, amused at how gullible the guys were. After making sure they left, you make your way to the back, this time with the first aid kit in your hand. 

On reaching, you set the box down, taking your towel from your pocket, approaching his body, his breath now normal. You wipe the sweat from his forehead, the nape of his neck, cleaning it up. 

Satisfied, you reach out for a cotton ball, pouring a little bit of antiseptic onto it, dabbing it over his bruises. 

You started from the scars at the sides of his face, then the edge of his slit eyebrow, to his left cheek. The only thing left, his lips. 

You turn back setting the used cotton ball, taking a new one out when you feel yourself being watched. 

He said not a word, just stared back, sending shivers down your back. You decided to resort back to cleaning his wound, approaching him for the third time that night, almost placing the cotton ball at the dried blood in the corner of his lips. When seeing him, not put up a protest, you continue. 

You face the boy, Haechan once again, immediately dropping the cotton as you find him stare right into your soul. Breathtaking. The only word that can explain the boy. His features cold, eyes void of any emotion, it was scary, horrifying even. You unintentionally stammer "I-i was just cleaning up your wound" 

"if you don't mind me asking, wha-what happened to you?" silence. "Haechan..?" that clearly caught the boy off-guard. "How do you know my name?" he asked, voice no longer hoarse as it was when he passed out.

It was sweet, but still stern enough to scare anyone. "Oh there came these - these three guys looking for you, i assumed, an-d they said Haechan, so i thought that's your name"

You hear him mumble something under his breath, looking down, you spoke once again. "I sent them the wrong way though so you're fine, we can call the cops and tell them you were being chased-" 

That's when he got up from his seat, obviously taller than you, his demeanor intimidating. 

"Thank you for the service, but next time, try minding your own fucking business" and with that, he made his way out of the store. 

And that was one out of n times you saved the boy, Lee Haechan's life. 

That wasn't the last of Haechan that you saw.

Yes, he tried pushing you away each time you dashed each other. He'd ignore you, but you followed him around, still wanting to figure out what led to the boy having a fresh bruise each day. 

-

It was 7:45pm you were let off work that day, exactly two weeks after the incident, two weeks of following the boy and two weeks into your new found interest. 

Your house was the last one in your street, so it took at least 3 alley ways to cut short the route to your house, without walking on the main road

You stop at the store nearby to get some snack to munch on your way, paying for it and taking a turn into the corner street, house being just 2 minutes away now. 

Passing by one of the alley ways, through your peripheral, you see a figure hunched over, leaning against the wall while 2 others, holding the boy, with another throwing blows after blows. 

Not wanting to turn a blind eye, you hide behind the wall leading to the alley, taking out your phone, searching for a cop siren sound, because as much as you wanted to help the guy, you weren't going to risk your life going in there, not like that would do much anyways 

Upon finding the desired sound you turn your volume to max, playing the audio, sparing a second glance into the alley way. 

"Fuck fuck fuck run!" they collectively screamed, bolting out of the narrow road, as you pressed yourself hard against the wall in order to hide your figure from them. They didn't pay much attention to their surroundings, running further down the busy road far away from the street you stood in. 

After making sure the coast was clear, you turn back, making your way slowly into the alleyway. Seeing him walking towards the entrance, hands clutching his middle, crouching.

"Hey are you okay?" you call out, hearing a voice, he looks up, "Haechan??". You see Haechan grit his teeth, turning his head to the side as you came in as hid life savior for the 14th time in a 2 week span, "For fuck's sake…"

You quicken your steps towards him, replacing his hand in the middle with yours, placing his hand over your shoulder. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Haechan asks, turning his face towards you with a glare, which softened just a bit after seeing the worried look on your face. 

"Helping you. Again." He spits out blood, as you scrunch your face seeing the red substance. You start walking towards your house with fast steps, tumbling now and then when he loses his balance. "where are you taking me?" he asked, "Home."

"No Y/n not your house, they'll get to you" 

Over the past weeks of you chasing him, him pushing you away and then you rescuing him, he had gotten to know quite a lot about you, as you were a bubbly person. Even so you knew nothing about him, besides the fact that his name is Lee Haechan and he is 20 years old. 

"They won't" you say after reaching your house, gently stepping away from him to take out the keys.

You hear him mutter a few curses under his breath. 

You open the door and reach out to hold him again, to which he pushed your hand away, making his way into your house on his own. He sat down on your couch, as you made your way to your room, placing the bag down on your bed before heading into the washroom to get the first aid kit. 

Haechan sat motionless, looking around the studio apartment, seeing a bunch of pictures hung on the wall, pictures varying from your childhood days, to your highschool years and then to present, a smile unintentionally made its way onto his face. 

Pathetic 

Haechan growled at himself for how fast he'd gotten a soft spot for you. Yes he hated you the first few days, yes he envied you for living a normal life, but the genuine worry that would take over your expression each time you see him, made him feel human feelings that he hadn't felt in years. 

It made him feel warm, made him feel the want to reach out to you again and again, but he knew that's wrong. 

So immersed in his thoughts, Haechan didn't notice your presence until he heard an object hit the glass table in front of him. 

"Take your shirt off" you said, placing the bowl of warm water down, alongside the first aid kit. 

Haechan obliged, too drained to put up a protest, there covered multiple tattoos, most plain drawings with no meaning, but some so beautiful that you couldn't take your eyes off them. 

"You wanna fuck me you just ask nicely Y/n, staring is rude" Haechan spoke, as you shift your gaze from his abdomen to his eyes, a smirk playing on his face. 

"S-shut up" you say, turning back to take the towel, dipping it in warm water, bringing it up to his face, wiping it clean, as you slowly drag it down his chest, scrubbing clean of any dirt and blood. 

Reaching his wound you softly wipe over it, careful not to increase the cut or the blood flow. 

Haechan let you do what you did the best, knowing that you're dying to ask him a to z of everything that's happened from when you met him, till date. 

"Haechan..?" 

"I know what you're about to ask, don't." he said. 

You didn't notice the position your in, leaving closer to wipe the last bit of blood off of him

"I think I have the right to know a little at least Haechan, this is plain unfair" you let out, sitting down as you felt your knees go numb. Haechan lets out a groan the moment you found a comfortable position to stay in, confusing you.

You look down, to see why he had let out the sign of discomfort, noticing now that your knees were directly at his groin, and you had made yourself comfortable on his thigh. Eyes widened, you immediately jolt up, only to feel yourself being pulled back down. "Stay." 

You nod, slightly flushed as you felt Haechan draw circles with his fingers on your hips that he had used to keep you in place. 

Haechan contemplates for a while, thinking whether to tell it to you or not. 

"Y/n" he called out, you hum in response too concentrated in cleaning the wound on his shoulder to look up. You were right, it was unfair considering you save him from death's door step each time you could. 

"my world is something that everyone asks you to stay away from. You especially, I regret coming into that store of yours the other day. It's dangerous, and definitely not a place for you." Haechan sat up straight, causing you to shift on top of him.

He picked you up by the waist, placing you on top of his lap once again, this time on both legs rather straddling one. 

It's come this far, he gets to let his guards down just this once, right? 

"I'm dangerous, Y/n. Not just my world. My world is all about selling drugs, gambling, stealing, murder you name it" 

"Isn't that, like illegal?" you open your mouth finally, looking up from your hands, to his eyes. The innocence they held melted Haechan's heart, smiling at your question. 

"Probably, who cares?" his casual reply had you worried about him. 

The longer you stare at him with pure concern, a little nervousness and maybe, maybe just a bit of want, fueled up Haechan's desire. 

Fuck it. 

He reached out, pulling you down using your neck, pressing his lips firm against yours, the sudden contact made you flinch, but soon enough had you melting right into his touch. 

He took your hands, that held the towel with his blood, removing the clothing from your hands and wrapped it around his neck. 

The kiss was nowhere near soft, it was purely out of lust, frustration, and maybe a little love even. 

Haechan pushed your hips further near his crotch, holding you there tightly, dragging his tongue across your lower lip, retreating it to bite down on the flesh, causing you to let out a soft moan. 

You feel him smirk against your lips, his hands leaving your hips, going further down to your ass, giving it a light squeeze. "H-haechan.. Fuck" left your mouth as he attached his lips onto you neck, placing wet kisses in a rushed pace, almost as though he'd been wanting to do this all along. 

"You have no idea, princess. But-" he nibbled on the skin of your neck, letting out a soft groan as your hips buck, hitting his clothed member. 

"You drive me crazy"

[aftermathdb]

DEATH BATTLE Review: Black Canary vs. Sindel

So… Sindel for Injustice 3 then, or Black Canary for Mortal Kombat?

Gotta say, this being a Mortal Kombat episode and not really having the room to say Black Kanary is sorta annoying.

Well… Looks like they fixed… something here. These guys aren’t as nightmare-inducing as last time, but they are still kinda uncomfortable to look at.

Black Canary′s Preview.

DC History lesson time. A long time ago, the Justice Society of America were the first recorded instance of a group of Super Humans banding together to form their own group. This included plenty of crazy people, like a furry boxer, the manifestation of God’s wrath, and a Judo master known as Black Canary.

But the BC For this DC Rundown is the one that made it a household name, Dinah Laurel Lance. The second Black Canary.

Incidentally, Boomstick basically makes himself known as Barbara Dunkleman and Chuggaconroy’s love child in Canary’s rundown. I don’t know whether to cheer that thought on or to shudder at it, so I’ll leave it at that.

Anyways, long story short, Dinah would have not have started her Superhero career if not for a certain thing that happened to her.

Whether you believe that it was the Metagene or a wizzrd’s doing, Dinah developed the signature Canary Cry.

And as for a disguise, she originally wore a blonde wig, but eventually did a permanent dye-job of blonde. Or as Boomstick put it…

God, I love puns.

Dinah’s attack here is one of the most deadliest things in comic history, and when she amps it up, she can pull off so much crazy stuff that it almost sounds like Ollie is the one made of Kleenex.

With enough force, she can even fly. Doing so requires about 195 Decibels to do so, and I cannot tell you how much auto-correct was a friend of mine in writing the word “decibels.” That’s gotta be in the top 20 most misspelled words of all time or whatever.

Of course, this does lead into an obvious weak-point…

Attacking the throat disarms her voice.

Luckily, she’s basically a master martial artist to back her up, and Canary Bombs to do all the sonic screaming for her while she catches her voice.

This leads into a Wiz and Boomstick segment.

Also, yes. Expect that whole “CENSORED BECAUSE NIGHTMARE-FACE” thing to be a running gag for me. Hopefully until they f*cking fix that goddamn Boomstick smile! Yeesh! Not even the Joker makes me cringe that much.

Anyways, Dinah has some impressive feats, as the hosts go over

Then there was one time she did this:

Dinah also survived having her Canary Cry being reflected back at her. Admittedly, this is because of the “required secondary powers” trope being in action, but still, really impressive.

Now, Dinah once claimed that she could react to nano seconds. But that’s actually backed up. She outraced a Green Lantern’s scan on a robot, and has done some other crazy things.

And the end quote is pretty much the victory screen from Injustice 2. Which I can’t feel too upset about considering Sindel’s end quote.

Sindel′s Preview.

So, Mortal Kombat history lesson time. Edenia was a peaceful and prosperous realm, a Garden of Eden, if you will. Until the Outworld Emperor Shao Khan came along and grabbed it all for himself.

Feeling pretty good about himself, Shao Khan tried to take a shot at Earthrealm

Sindel turned out to be a Kung-Fu sorceress, who offed herself to keep Shao Khan’s next target, Earthrealm from being hit.

Khan’s answer?- Resurrect and brainwash Sindel and take Earthrealm by force.

And apparently, she could do it too. As the hosts point out, despite her being dead for a long time and the whole “From another realm” thing, Sindel is an expert in a couple martial arts.

And we also learn a few new things about Boomstick too. Like… How attractive he thinks Sindel is… I don’t blame him. Winx Club made me want to have the Wicked Witch of the West step on me. Speaking of witch, when Icy vs. Elsa?

Anyways, Sindel can create sonic screams known as the Banshee Scream, which can explode heads, rend flesh, or even strip off skin.

She can even concentrate them into balls of energy called “Star Screamers” And Boomstick brings up the obvious…

When Luna vs. Freddy Krueger, am I right?

Anyways, Sindel once used that Banshee Scream to blast apart a canyon.

It was comparable to a Magnitude 5 Earthquake.

For reference, that’s 500 Tons of TNT.

We get into our next Wiz and Boomstick segment…

Okay, can I just say that I really really appreciate it when the Wiz and Boomstick segments are used to further the analysis rather than just be there for a joke?- It feels a bit more appropriate that they went over Sindel’s strength level here than if this was just used as a joke piece for some gag that could have very well have fallen flat.

Tangent aside, they mentioned that Sindel is also comparable to Kabal, who could slash bullets from automatic weapons in midair. Putting Sindel at hypersonic levels.

She’s not doing so bad for herself as a… “Zombie MILF” (Boomstick’s words, not mine. Someone please ask what was up with that, ‘cause I’m sure as hell not doing that).

But whether you choose to follow the original timeline where she freed herself and retook the throne,

Or the new timeline where the coup was her idea,

You’re going to go down screaming if you stare down Sindel.

(Told you that Canary’s “end quote” was an appropriate compliment to Sindel’s)

The Battle Itself.

Luis and Kiid are maining the animation, Black Canary will be voiced by Blythe Renay and Sindel will be voiced by Caitlyn Elizabeth. , Brandon Yates is composing Sirens of Combat (Not spelled with a “K” unfortunately), and audio led by Chris Kokkinos.

So the fight story for this one is pretty basic.

It’s basically just Black Canary vs. Sindel in the tournament. And while I could make the joke of “We could have had the ‘FIGHT’ graphic come back for this” I’m… Probably going to redirect you to my DA Journal Entry where I point out that if they had really wanted to point to an episode to justify why they got rid of it, they should have chosen a better episode than Widow-Widow.

Back to the actual battle, right off the bat, it’s pretty easy and quick to see that Canary easily takes the speed advantage.

Sindel actually fails to land any blows until she grapples Black Canary and slams her around a few times.

Luckily, Canary has defenses for this sort of stuff, and counter-attacks. Also, I’m going to take this point and say that Sindel’s hair is really distracting. It’s like she’s just asking for it to be pulled, and given what Shao Khan basically does, that thought now fills me with squick.

By the way, if you’ve ever liked a beam struggle, you’re probably going to love a sound-based one!

Anyways, Black Canary manages to blow Sindel away and asks a question that I think a few MK fans have asked.

Sindel then states the obvious.

So we get into our finishing blow (Yeah, this one was kinda short)

Verdict + Explanation.

So, right off the bat, Sindel had some things that gave her an edge up.

Sindel certainly had strength in the bag.

But Canary’s seen and fought stronger. So it’s not a heavy-hitting edge.

Plus, Canary’s way faster.

Seriously. How does she not break Ollie when they put Arrows in the Quiver?

Plus, Canary has a massive edge in martial arts skills. She’s mastered over 15 while Sindel only really has two.

Of course, none of this really matters until we get into the big question: Which is deadlier?- The Canary Cry, or the Banshee Scream?

Black Canary’s current score clocks in at about 300 Decibels. Impressive.

Sindel’s score clocks in at 235 Decibels. Also impressive. But then Boomstick points out the obvious:

As it turns out, Decibels go up in logarithmic units, not geometric ones.

This means that Black Canary’s scream was over a million times more powerful than Sindel’s.

There was no way that Sindel was tanking any of that any time soon.

Like I said: Love child of Barbara Dunkleman and Chuggaconroy. Let’s throw Pearls Before Swine cartoonist, Stephen Pastis in there too.

Overall impression.

Short battle, but given that we’re getting 20 episodes this season, I’d say that this is a pretty good fight.

I’m not a fan of how they didn’t go over durability feats, I feel that that would have solidified the overall result a bit more. Admittedly, if each of them had just opened up with their strongest attacks, Canary would win that easy what with her 300 Decibel cry, but durability is one of the many major factors in the battle.

Also, Sindel’s hair was super distracting throughout the animation. Plus, we didn’t get to see a whole lot of stuff in the fight. If Canary had said something along the lines of “You’re strong… I’ve fought stronger.” in the battle, that would have better demonstrated that Sindel’s strength wasn’t anything new to her, and that she would be more actively moving to avoid hits.

7.6/10

Next Time…

So, remember how they said that Leonardo vs. Zits was originally going to be Leonardo vs. White Ranger, but was changed because of a poll?

We got ourselves a variant!

Is there a fight that you want me to review? - Send an ask/request, and I’ll look into it!

Do you want to read my fanfic based around DEATH BATTLE itself? click here!

Thank you for reading, and I hope to see you next time for…

Leader-In-Blue vs. Red T-Rex.

[listentotheshityousay]

these wordless longings

from the siren!jeremy au

There are so many things Jeremy doesn’t know how to say. Even after he gets his voice back, he has trouble stringing together the thoughts he wants to balance on his tongue. Words are foreign in his mouth. Sometimes he chokes on them, unable to spit a single syllable through his teeth.

It doesn’t bother him, really. He’s lived without his voice for five years, can articulate himself just as easily through his hands and facial expressions, and he could live without saying another word for the rest of his life.

But there is Michael, who lived in a silent world of Jeremy’s making, who now lives in a world of otherworldly sounds whispering in the silence. Michael, who somehow loves Jeremy despite everything he’s done, who lights up with delight whenever he hears Jeremy’s voice.

There are so many things Jeremy wants to tell him. So many things that Jeremy doesn’t know how to say, neither with his voice nor his hands.

-

“You’ve been staring,” Chloe remarks as she closes her locker. Her tone is mild, without a single trace of accusation, but Jeremy flinches all the same.

Sorry, he signs, and she recognizes it easily enough. He’s been signing that a lot in the past month.

She shrugs, and Jeremy’s eyes follow the movement from her bare shoulders down to the burn scar stretching across her right arm, from collarbone to elbow. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” Then she gives a deliberate smirk. “Your boyfriend is going to be jealous if you keep ogling me, though.”

Jeremy sputters at that, which makes her cackle, the delighted sound soothing away the jittery guilt under his skin.

“At least you’re subtle about it. Rich keeps looking at me like I murdered his puppy.” She pauses. “Or more like he murdered my puppy and he expects me to make him pay for it.”

Jeremy grimaces. He knows the feeling, from both sides of the situation. Rich had brushed off Jeremy’s apologies, saying how it wasn’t Jeremy’s fault, he was okay, they were still friends. But it doesn’t change the fact that Rich flinches away whenever Jeremy comes within a foot of him, that he never really smiles as wide as he used to.

“I mean, I electrocuted him pretty badly.” Chloe doesn’t express any guilt about that, which Jeremy is oddly grateful for. “His scars are worse than mine. He should know that we’re even on this.”

If only it were that easy. Then maybe Rich would stop leaving the lunch table in a hurry every day. Maybe he would stop making excuses to avoid hanging out with their friends after school. Maybe he would actually mean the words when he’d laugh, uneasy, and say I know it wasn’t my fault.

Jeremy can’t blame him. The only person to blame is Jeremy himself, after all.

-

Everybody makes way for Jeremy at school nowadays. People avoid his eyes, giving him a wide berth, and don’t even dare to say his name when he’s around.

Michael likes to joke about how it’s nice that they never have to force their ways through crowds anymore, but Jeremy can tell that it bothers him, the way Jeremy is treated like a threat. Like a criminal.

Jeremy thinks they have the right idea. Everybody should be scared of him. It’s safer that way.

He thinks Michael should be scared, too.

-

“Do you want Michael to be scared of you?”

Jeremy chews on his lip, fidgeting under his therapist’s calm gaze. Over a month into his state-mandated therapy, he still feels uneasy talking about Michael. He can talk about anything else—the nauseating sensation of having something else possess his body, the lingering resentment over his mom’s abrupt departure, the guilt over Rich and Chloe and Jake and everybody else at school who is going to mandatory counseling for three more weeks. But when it comes to Michael, Jeremy doesn’t know what he wants to say. Doesn’t know how to express this craven need to never let him go, this desperate compulsion to push him away.

No. Jeremy hesitates. Yes. He lets out a frustrated huff. Both. I don’t know.

“What do you think will happen if Michael were to be scared of you?” She asks.

He raises his hands to say he’d be safe, but he pauses, because that’s not true. Michael would stay by Jeremy’s side regardless of how scared he was, because that’s the kind of stupid, reckless, loyal person he is. Nothing. It makes Jeremy want to cry. Nothing would change. He’d still be with me.

She scribbles something on her note pad. “Do you want him to be with you?”

Jeremy always wants Michael to be with him. He almost fucking caused the apocalypse because he was scared of Michael leaving him. He shouldn’t be.

“But what do you want?” Her tone is gentle, but the question makes him ache all the same.

What I want isn’t important, he signs.

“Jeremy.” She puts her pen down. “You’re allowed to want things. You’re allowed to say that you want them.”

Michael says that too, sometimes. You’re allowed to be selfish. Whispered clumsily against Jeremy’s mouth in the dark. Scratched onto a post-it note slipped inside Jeremy’s biology notebook with skinny hearts surrounding the words. Signed in rapid gestures for Jeremy to see right before he enters his therapist’s office.

Sometimes, Jeremy can almost believe it.

-

How did it go? Michael asks.

Excruciating as always. Jeremy climbs into the passenger seat and buckles in. Thanks for waiting.

I was doing math homework anyway, no biggie. Michael turns the ignition in preparation of the forty-five minute drive home. It had sucked, initially, to discover that the nearest therapist who was both qualified for dealing with demonic possession and fluent in ASL was so far away, but the long drives are now Jeremy’s favorite part about going to therapy: inside an enclosed space, with the car’s stereo volume turned up high and the audio jack plugged into his phone, blasting music that Jeremy sings along to the whole way home. He messes up the lyrics sometimes and can barely rap, but he gets to be as silly and loud as he wants, and Michael smiles through every minute of it.

-

He doesn’t talk verbally with anybody but his dad and Michael. And even with his dad, it’s sporadic and fleeting. With Michael, he makes more of an effort, because Jeremy’s voice is one of the few sounds he can truly hear, and Jeremy wants to give Michael everything that is within his power to give.

And now that there is an incredible amount of power laying dormant in his soul, the possibilities terrify the ever-loving shit out of Jeremy. This entire mess started with the idea that maybe he could give Michael’s hearing back, and honestly, the knowledge that he could do that—he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted to make use of the power sleeping within him.

(He won’t. He promised Michael. But the temptation will always be there.)

And just the fact that he hasn’t learned his goddamn lesson when he brainwashed forty people and almost killed his friend’s Ancient mom and screwed over his friends forever, it makes Jeremy want to scream. To take a shard of glass to his throat and sever his vocal chords so he can do no more harm. More than anything, he wants to find the words that are clawing their way out of him, to give shape to the guilt and fear and greed roaring inside him.

-

You should’ve let me break his nose. Michael throws himself onto the couch at the back of his basement. He’s been fuming for a while. I could’ve just said he ran into me by accident.

People don’t run face-first into fists, Jeremy signs in exasperation.

Who said it was gonna be my fist? Michael responds with a grim face. I have perfectly serviceable elbows.

Jeremy snorts at that in spite of himself and Michael cracks a grin, but it slides off his mouth after a moment, replaced by a furious scowl.

I should have punched him.

You can't drive me to therapy if you have detention, Jeremy jokes, but it falls flat. The words that he's been swallowing down rattle in his ribcage, and he wishes he knew how to say them without being ripped apart by them, without forcing Michael to make a choice. Unbidden, the words Dustin Kropp said earlier come back to him. A danger to society like you shouldn't be allowed to be in public. It's surprising that Jeremy doesn't hear that one more often, to be honest. "It's not like he was wrong."

He doesn't realize he's said that aloud until he hears the sound of fingers snapping twice and his attention automatically refocuses onto Michael's pale, outraged face.

What the fuck? Michael stands up and walks up to Jeremy. We went over this. You can't blame yourself for everything.

Something about the way Michael advances on him—like it doesn't even occur to him to fear being close to Jeremy, like Jeremy isn't a fucking danger to everybody around him—douses Jeremy with white-hot anger. I'm not blaming myself for jackshit, he signs aggressively. I'm saying that he's right; I'm dangerous. People have every right to be scared of me.

I'm not scared of you. Michael is standing only inches away, and Jeremy wants to drag him in and kiss the stubborn line of his mouth, wants to scream until Michael can hear what the whole world is saying, wants to tell Michael never leave me and force him to listen.

"You should be!" The words scrape against his throat as he yells them much louder than he intended, but he can't be quiet now. Can't stop the flood of words that rip their way out of him, the things he doesn't know how to say but needs to say anyway. "You shouldn't want to be with me, not after everything I did. I almost killed people—hell, I almost killed an Ancient. I almost ended the whole fucking world. And yeah, that wasn't what I wanted, it was the demon, whatever, but I chose that. I was the one who made the choice to let the demon possess me, to hell with the rest of the world, as long as I got what I wanted. And you know what?" 

And here it is, the ugly truth that he can't deny: 

"I'd do it again. If it came down to choosing between you and the rest of the world, I'd burn down the world in a heartbeat." He covers his face with both hands, unable to look at the stunned look on Michael's face any longer. "I'm not safe, Michael, and I don't think I'm really sane, either, if I'm saying shit like this."

For the longest moment, there's nothing but the ragged sound of his breathing and a voice deep in his soul, chained and trapped, hissing he’ll never feel safe around you again, knowing how deep your twisted obsession of him runs.

He can’t help but think, good.

And then warm hands curl around his wrists, tugging his hands down, and Michael’s forehead presses against Jeremy’s, forcing him to tilt his face up, and then Michael’s kissing him, hard and insistent, licking into Jeremy’s gasping mouth with a hunger that makes Jeremy’s knees nearly buckle. He kisses back on instinct for about five seconds, whining into Michael’s mouth and shuddering at Michael’s responding growl, then regains his sanity and pulls away, trying to tug his wrists free. But Michael holds on tighter and chases his mouth, and in the ensuing struggle Jeremy trips backwards onto a beanbag chair, Michael following him down.

“Ow,” Jeremy complains about his sore ass. Michael echoes the sentiment as he rubs one of his knees. “What the fuck, Michael?” One of his hands is free now, but Michael still has one of Jeremy’s wrists in a vice-grip. “Let go of me.”

Michael twitches, his grip loosening for a second before it tightens again. He raises his free hand to respond. No.

“Michael.” A thread of desperation creeps into Jeremy’s voice. He needs Michael to get away from him, because if Michael keeps holding onto him like this, Jeremy’s going to fool himself into thinking he could keep Michael forever. “Did you hear a single word I said?”

Yes. Michael glances down at the hand he’s keeping around Jeremy’s wrist, then looks back up to meet Jeremy’s eyes. “I love you too, asshole.”

Jeremy blinks, then makes a pained noise. “I literally just said I’d sell my soul and the rest of the world to the devil for you. That is not supposed to be your response.”

“It was the most romantic bullshit I’ve ever heard,” Michael says, slow but firm.

“That’s not romantic; that’s crazy.” A slightly hysterical despair seeps into Jeremy’s chest. Michael is making no move to get away from Jeremy, and he isn’t sure if he should be relieved or chagrined. “Also, was that a deaf joke? Because it’s not funny.”

“Fuck you,” Michael says, signing it with his free hand. “I’m hilarious.” He lifts Jeremy’s captive hand to his face and kisses Jeremy’s palm slowly, gaze fixed on Jeremy’s eyes. Jeremy swallows a whimper before it can escape, but he can’t hide his shudder at the contact. “And you love me.”

Jeremy curls his hand around Michael’s jaw, slides it back to cup the back of his neck, and Michael lets him. Lets Jeremy pull him in so that he’s half-hovering over Jeremy, their noses brushing, his knees between Jeremy’s. Even after everything Jeremy’s done, after everything he’s confessed, he’s still so unafraid of Jeremy.

“You should run,” Jeremy whispers against Michael’s mouth. “Or I might never let you leave.”

Michael laughs, low and breathless. “Sounds perfect.”

Something breaks loose in Jeremy at that, the inside of his chest flooding, hot and all-encompassing. He pulls Michael in for a bruising kiss, hauling him closer with both hands, tangling fingers into hair and hoodie, trying to press into Michael, leaving not even an inch of space between them. “You idiot,” he mouths against Michael’s skin, kissing up Michael’s cheek, nipping at the shell of his ear. “I love you. God, do you even know how much I love you?” Everything is spilling out of him—the want, the desperation, the fear—poured into his words so that Michael can feel every single part of this love of his, twisted and deep and true. “I love you so much it scares me.”

“ I know.” Michael pushes closer; doesn’t flinch away from the raging current, this flood of emotion that Jeremy cannot contain, overflowing in his words and voice and magic. “I hear you.” Instead he trails kisses down Jeremy’s jaw and neck. “I know.” He brushes his lips against Jeremy’s, his words hot and sweet as they’re breathed into Jeremy’s mouth. “How could I be scared of you, when you love me just as badly as I love you?”

-

I’ve thought about it, Michael tells him the next day as they sit in the waiting room of Jeremy’s therapist. And I think you shouldn’t worry about making stupid choices.

Thought you said it was romantic? Jeremy snarks, and Michael swats him.

In theory! Didn’t work out in practice, remember? Michael gestures around them. One more consequence of Jeremy’s obsession. But back to my point. You don’t have to worry about making shitty decisions, because I’m not leaving you. Ever.

That’s not something that might be entirely within Michael’s power to guarantee, but Jeremy wants to believe it anyway. So my crazy possessive stalker-y declaration doesn’t scare you, huh.

Like I’d ever be scared of you. Michael snorts, but his smile is soft and fond.

And that’s okay, really. Michael doesn’t need to be scared of Jeremy. Jeremy’s going to be scared for the both of them.

Besides, Michael adds, the corner of his mouth quirking up in a mischievous grin, it’s kinda hot.

Jeremy can’t help the shocked, scandalized laugh that bursts out of him. You have some really questionable kinks, dude.

Michael flips him the bird. I’m just saying.

What, you want me to tie you to my bed and never let you leave? Jeremy jokes, but the way Michael flushes a dark red all the way to the tips of his ears makes him realize he’s hit pretty close to home. He feels his own face go hot at the image of it. Seriously? You’d let me do that?

I’d let you do anything to me, Michael signs, going impossibly redder.

“Jesus Christ,” Jeremy says aloud, unable to help himself, and he catches the way Michael shivers, responding to the sheer lust in Jeremy’s words. He takes a moment to shut down the ideas springing up in his hormonal teenage mind, focusing on the terribly sobering prospect of facing his therapist in the next two minutes instead of the incredibly hot prospect of Michael trusting him so much. We’re kinda crazy, aren’t we.

Crazy for each other, hell yeah. Michael makes a kissy face at him.

Jeremy shoves his shoulder. My therapist is going to have a fucking field day with me.

And speak of the devil, his therapist is poking her head out of her door and calling his name now. Michael follows Jeremy’s gaze, sees that it’s Jeremy’s time to face the music, and grins at him. She can be buddies with my counselor. He thinks we’re a hot mess.

Jeremy grimaces as he stands up, and Michael laughs.

But he also thinks that we’re going to be okay. Michael takes Jeremy’s hand to give it a reassuring squeeze, then nudges him towards the open office door. And I think so too.

Maybe Jeremy’s therapist will agree, once she hears the words Jeremy has finally found to talk about Michael. As he steps through the doorway, he realizes that there’s so many things he wants to say. Things he wants to tell his therapist, his dad, his friends. Michael. And he thinks, for the first time, he might know how to say them.

[mattyslittleworld]

dead mans coffee

July / 2020

Just woke up in my front seat, at a rest stop in Tennessee. First thing I saw was my ALL WILL SUFFER tattoo on my leg. A constant reminder of a different person. Tomorrow I’m getting coffee with Skrillex’s right hand man in Nashville, and I’m nursing a cold coffee in the heat watching this crazy lightning shoot across the skyline. It looks like the end of the world. Or some fucked up Lucero song. I must’ve pulled over for a second and closed my eyes and just dropped dead for hours while parked, I’m on the way to my hotel. 

I am sitting in a diner on broadway in Nashville, TN. Nursing another shitty coffee booking meetings. As the texts come in I ignore them because they are covering the screen and distracting me from reading and studying how to properly sell my soul to the devil at the crossroads In Mississippi. 

Clarksdale, Mississippi

12:30 am

Where Robert Johnson, Bob Dylan, and now, Matty Carlock, sold their souls to the devil. 

December / 2020

Sitting in my home, in Hollywood, CA. I have the window open, and I hear the subtle sound of LA breathing, cars passing on the boulevard, sirens off in the distance, and a vinyl record of mine spinning at the lowest volume possible for me to still hear yet ignore it. I feel calm and at peace, although, it seems like a parallel feeling is war, confusion, imposter syndrome, abandonment, and skeptical. How could these two umbrellas of emotion coexist? Its very interesting. Ive been recording so much music that has nothing to do with my artist project. Its been liberating to put that aside for something greater. A new focus. Leaving artistry a vessel solely for extreme self expression and cathartic release. 

July / 2020

Winding the day down, 10:30pm. With an open tab that reads “Tigers Jaw holiday show” - on pause. I open my Mac book on my couch, ready to go through stems and ratchet strip club beats, and it catches my eye. I press play and it leads me down a rabbit hole. I find myself watching “Never Saw It Coming” right into “Chemicals” / live in Boston. Like lightning it struck through my entire body. Maybe it was the 2 hour long conversation with Andy? And the memories we were trading. The bond we have over hard times, innocence, violence, literal blood on the pavement, years of freezing in the winter....nowhere to go. The people that were around - we made forever memories to these two songs. I right away, made a playlist that consists of “The Sun, I Saw Water, Chemicals, Never Saw It Coming, and Planes”. On top of that I found the live acoustic set they recorded and put out. When I was young on DIY tours, sleeping on floors, dirty as shit, poor as shit, a human being at the very best.....the uncertainty of my near future was so bleak. I remember Title Fight came out with their record “Shed” - and the song “where am I?” would lay me down on long drives, or on the floor. I’d watch white lines pass one by one by one into the abyss of nothing. 

The line 

“Another floor

A different ceiling than the night before

Where am I?

While you’re back home”

Missing my girlfriend at that current time, leaving, and just laying on a strangers floor thinking where am I while you’re back home? What am I doing? Maybe there’s nothing only this moment?

On the tigers jaw live EP they covered this acoustic and it’s everything right now. I am fortunate to live a block away from the sunset strip - and I grabbed my skateboard and just bolted into the night. 

This SO SPECIFIC FEELING of these songs. That nobody in this environment will ever understand. It’s so beautiful. It’s so real. It’s so raw. It’s exactly what I need right now - as the past 3 weeks I’ve been living here have moved faster than the past 4 years. A loss of identity easily awaits you. It’s like you fight your whole life for that moment, to get to where you dream of, to get a shot. Scrape and crawl. And then reset. Since I’ve been living in Hollywood my day to day has been a huge mirror for me. The parts of myself I’ve been trying out run have caught me. Maybe all of this could coexist? 

March 2nd / 2021

Spring is here. Its 75 degrees in LA and theres this new thing I noticed while driving around…..the overbearing smell of flowers in the air. It sounds like a movie. Its fucked up cause It felt like a funeral in my car. I was like what the fuck is happening? It smells like a small funeral in here….are my dreams dying? Am I dying? Is punk dead? Okay its just a Ryan gosling movie out here I guess. Whatever lets go. Here’s some hatrebreed. But the windows are down. My mood is different. My spirit is lifted, which ive been desperate to say. I automatically get punched in the guts with the feeling of driving so fucking fast, and blasting title fight. Skateboarding. Looooooooooong drives with fucked up friends to out of state shows no one will be at. Im listening to Stab by Title Fight - off the Shed LP. What a specific time in my life this brings back. That I usually talk about on this little throw up blog often. Spring is such a pivotal time in my life every year. Since covid shows stopped - human decency stopped - community stopped - my natural habitat was taken from me, and all of my friends and family. I remember living in New York in 2011. At the New Yorker. I was studying at the Institute Of Audio Research to be a janitor in my home town. Because that’s what they teach you. Instead of studying compression, and listening to washed up hacks talk to me about music, I would walk out my building onto 8th ave. B Line it Penn Station. Get on the LIRR and ride that shit right into the best LI shows every night I could. Id meet all my friends from Jersey / NYC / Philly and even Baltimore because it was so common to make it a priority to no matter what, drive hours on end to support a hardcore shows and to not lose touch with the hundreds around the country that you call family. Drive to Richmond for a shows on a Monday night, go off, hit a diner after with your new found tribe, then drive home, be back at 6 am, and just stumble into your bullshit job with a black eye or scratches all over you. It was all worth it. Probably quit that job anyway to go on tour with your friends band and live as gypsies for the entire summer too. Spring embodies this spirit for me. Church parking lots in Doylestown, PA - full of kids from all over the country, who left their problems in their hometown, to just get on the road with their best friends and basically start a new life. It is just amazing how formative those years were for a lot of my friends. I have people I met at shows from all over the country messaging me always checking in, and supporting, and sometimes it feels like I know them better than my first cousins, aunts and uncles. We were at war together. We fought against the world together. We found ourselves together. We created shit from nothing. Determination and passion. Oh no….Planes by Tigers Jaw just came on. You know the vibe. This shit just hits so different now as a pop / hip hop producer. This PA scene, mixed with NJHC, just stood me up and gave me confidence to have my own voice, my own thoughts, and to fight back. Something about being in a shitty car and it smells like dirty vans and like…..axe to cover up the smell. BELTING Basement and car moshing and almost driving off a bridge. Listen. I know every single blog is about this. But fuck you fight me. ITS CALLED SELF EXPRESSION GRANDMA. SO STRAP INTO YOUR BOOT THINGS AND ENJOY THE RIDE TO NOWHERE. Its been crazy living in LA. I live directly on Hollywood BLVD, on the Walk Of Fame. Where I was almost killed two weeks ago over someones gang that my ass is not in. My guy looked at me and said YO YOU MATTY? And I was listening to Taylor swift in my headphones walking back from Starbucks and it was so funny how different my energy was. I was like bro can you kill me already dude because these Taylor tones are so good that they gunna just end up killing me anyway. So perfect timing. I think the guy was mad at my friend to say the least lol. But every night its loud 808’s, the sounds of the city, amazing energy, and neon lights shining in from lit up billboards off the BLVD. Its such a culture shock for me. I feel like im too aggressive just from being east coast. But its just what it is. It took me a little to adapt to being in sessions and meetings with seasoned people in this industry who have major cuts and recognition. But I just learned to double down on myself, and be as authentic as I possibly can be. Theres nothing like crushing writing sessions in the pop realm, then turning off my shit, unplugging, and run into the night with my skateboard and old punk records. It’s almost like my own secret that is becoming my blood. I haven’t been communicating with the ones who like my music, have interest in what im doing, come to my shows etc - since I touched down here….I just unplugged….started writing HEAVY and decided to dedicate months to getting better, learning, becoming smarter, discovering a vision that’s much broader than what were sold, finding myself, making sure my wisdom is parallel to my age - if not wise beyond my years. A lot of artists and bands SING, PLAY, PERFORM, PROMOTE. But I have decided to WATCH, ATTEND, and LISTEN. Everynight I sit down with tea, unplug, and spin records on my turntable…in the dark, in my living room, alone….all kinds of records. From The National, to Springsteen, to Title Fight, to Hendrix, to the rare Troublemaker LP and 7” I have…..Sharon Van Etten, Jesse Malin…..ugh. Its just bliss. Pure bliss. Right now im drinking coffee and bouncing from listening to Into It Over It and American Football. I spent all last night rapping my ass off, mixing, and singing ref vocals for other people. It was so fun. Im finding a lot of my new material is this spirit im talking about - but over hip hop production. I want to tell my life story and combat the stereotypes of modern rap and pop music with true intentions and unique tones of untold stories that press, radio, and this market usually doesn’t get fed. Ive also realized a lot of music I was promoting over the past year to come out (prior to the pandemic) hasn’t come out….and I know people are questioning that….what is happening? So before covid I had German solo dates booked - and then I was going to the UK right after. I have a bunch of single drops lined up with music videos. Some you can guess with who. And then the pandemic hit and I canceled everything and decided to pivot my focus into my passion for songwriting and production, instead of sitting around “waiting for shows to come back.” I pretended that shows were never going to come back and doubled down on my career as a producer, that at the time, still is, moving forward at a faster rate than my artist shit. So I packed my shit after offers, and opportunity presented themselves. Touched down on a Tuesday, with meetings that Friday. Off to the races. In sessions that following Monday. Fast forward here we are. Hungry, learning, learnt, turned 30. Looking at the next decade like Mcgregor at the weigh in. Fight ready. Ive learned so much since the fall that all of the music I had planned on releasing, I loaded it back up, tore it apart, and re built it. So its not stale, so its not expired, so its not “then”….so its NOW. Which im so glad I did, and im doing. I don’t think ive been in the booth more. My mind is so stimulated by this wave im on. And its got me in a good place. Now that the spirit of spring is here, my mental health is going to be taking a big leap as well and im going to do everything I can to just flood all of this content. I think Never Meant by American Football is the best song ever made. Me and Mike were talking about doing a song together a few months ago and that would be such a trip for me. 

I wanted to talk about my recent trip to Joshua Tree. I was invited by Christopher Thorn from Blind Melon to live at his studio for a few days to write together. I didn’t really know what to expect. I met him once or twice thru Clinch, and just around the Sea Hear Now circle back east, and I was familiar with No Rain (his hit). We got on the phone, picked a weekend where it’d work for both of us, got some covid tests, and boom. Packed my shit again (right off a flight back from New York, where I shot 3 music videos, and did 1 remote session in 2 fucking days), and drove out to the desert. There is no address so I had a map. It was epic. It was in the desert desert. Like THE DESERT FAM. Coyotes at night, snakes and shit. The air was so dry, your lips would get chapped to let you know death was right around the corner so you better man up baby boy. Beforehand - from all the traveling and flights, and burning myself out on videos and sessions, I found myself listening to a lot of acoustic Nebraska Springsteen type shit. John Moreland, or even like acoustic bayside, Lucero, Leonard Cohen, Tom Waits…..just pure music with no samples, not gridded, not sold, no machine, no click, just real live country music inspired by the human condition….of the earth. It was just speaking to my soul…..so when we booked this to get in the room together….man was I ready. I don’t think ive had an experience so fruitful to the soul. And ive played shows in Slovenia, and sipped espresso on a bridge that looked like a painting, staring at subtle mountain tops off in the distance like I was a character in some book. We started working at night and ran it up till like 3 am. As the sun came down the lights off in the distance miles and miles away were so clear because we were just the only life form around….and it would just shine into the studio windows and reflect on the perimeter making it seem like we were surrounded by New York City. It did a lot for my soul to play drums, acoustic, sing, play piano, shred electric, even mix a little. I felt like I made a very fast lifelong friend. Its been a minute since I got on with someone like that. We talked a lot about growing up touring. And wed finish each others sentences regarding topics that ONLY people like us would know. Like Subway being a life line for DIY touring, or the weird strange feelings of comfort from rest stops in the middle of nowhere at 4 am, the rest stop coffee that you get to just make the next 2 hours of the drive into town bearable. But then you see your boy from your band in the other aisle so you throw shit at him. Then you all stumble back into the van/bus and just disappear into the night. This shit was so needed for me. When Id wake up, id make espresso, and just sit out front and listen to Joe Rogan, at this random chair that was behind his studio, facing the mountains. Just endless property waiting to leave you 6 feet in the ground. I sat there and sipped my espresso, and just reflected on the long journey of my career. How many random moments like this ive found myself in since I was 15. In the middle of the desert where Springsteen hangs out with my heroes, off the strength of my songwriting. Or in Romania drinking coffee, fucked off, on a bench far from the venue, by random train lines in the pouring rain by myself. The farthest from humanity I can be. Or the random VFW hall in my head that I don’t even know where it is, with my little punk crew, who all smell like complete shit and cigarettes and soda, fucked off god knows where, just to finger point and sing along to this band we found on myspace that were in OUR hometown the weekend prior singing to our band. Theres just an endless string of memories that can go on forever, with stories that just fulfill a lifetime, of conversations that just make the white lines on I95 move faster. Or just everyone is quiet - reading a book - texting - exhausted from the night prior - and you just ABRUPTLY turn on teenage dream by Katy Perry SOOOO LOUD - take your shirt off and start dropping it like its hot from the passenger front seat, and catch a mid afternoon front flip stage dive into the backseat. From those youthful days of this underground spirit, to existing in a realm of pure monsters of my craft, I truly believe this next decade could co exist and be one for the books. Damn I feel good. Also me and Sasso started a book club called BSU and you can’t be in it because you probably read books and the only rule for our book club besides not speaking about book club is, you can’t read books. Okay im going to go buy a bike right now so I can ride It to Mexico and get abducted by the cartel and sold for bitcoin. FAREWELL EARTHLINGZ. 

[pietro-capimagines]

Love Divided Ch. 2 (Peter Parker x reader)

Hello lovelies! I hope you’re having a good day, I’m trying to sort my life out so that I’m not flat out broke once the expo comes along, so wish me luck! Anyways, here’s the next chapter of “Love Divided” and I hope you enjoy. xoxo

Description: The brewing conflict between Tony and Steve are finally surfacing, causing everyone to choose a side. The heat within the team is rising, and everyone is beginning to realize what is to come. What happens when your relationship with Peter is divided? Will you choose your love? Or your morals?

Warnings: Cursing

Chapter 1

MASTERLIST

Hot tears silently streaked down your cheeks as you turned away from his room, letting your hand fall to your side. Could you ever forgive yourself? But, maybe the two of you would be together again when things got better. Well, you could only hope so. 

You walked down the hall back to your room to change. In your luggage was a black hat, some sunglasses, and a maroon hoodie. You swapped your outfit out for a more civilian one and slipped out the hotel, keeping your head down to avoid the security guards around your car that knew your face too well. The building where the conference was being held wasn’t too far away, so you decided to avoid as much conversation as possible, you would just walk. 

As you rounded the corner, the tall government building was in full view. There were journalists gathered at the entrance, trying to catch anybody for any information on the conference before they went inside. The road was blocked; the news vans were cluttering both sides of the streets with cameras set up everywhere. You slipped under the caution tape to weave your way through, making sure to keep yourself from being noticed. On the other side on the blocked off street section was a small cafe, and you decided that was where you would observe the signing from. 

Following you from above was Redwing who was going to give you full visual and audio of the conference by hovering just outside the window. You pulled back the sleeve of your jacket, revealing a watch that gave you a live feed of what the drone was seeing. And frankly, the first person you saw was Peter. 

“Mr. Stark, where’s F/N? Did she say she was coming? She did come on the trip with us..” Peter was beginning to ramble as he paced back in forth, wringing his hands together. 

“I’m sure she’s fine, Peter.” Tony wasn’t going to lie to him, nor was he going to tell him the truth. It pained him to see you both being put in this situation, and he partly blamed himself for it. Nevertheless, he was to keep his promise to you and not say a thing about you not coming. “You should stop pacing. People are beginning to stare.” He shifted his eyes around the room, trying to take the topic off of you. 

“Oh, sorry. When does this thing start?” Once he stopped, he in turn began tapping his foot frantically. He pushed back the sleeve of his suit to check the time. Just as Peter was about to ramble, Nat joined the conversation. 

“Peter, what are you so jittery about?” She raised her eyebrow at him, her arms crossed over her chest. In her heart, she knew why, but she also promised you to keep her mouth shut. 

“I’m getting worried about, F/N. If she doesn’t come then…” He took a moment, realizing what was going to happen. He thought back to what he said to you all those weeks ago. “Then we’re through…” His eyes became wide with fear, and he forced his tears back. 

Tony and Nat both looked grim, they didn’t want you two to fall out, but each of them knew the circumstances around the situation, and knew that you were making the best choice for yourself, even if it meant going against them. Even if it meant going against Peter. Before anybody could say anything else, the King of Wakanda took to the podium. All of them took their seats in the middle of the front row. And still, Peter was constantly turning his head to scan the room for you. 

“Thank you all for coming…” 

You watched Peter’s every move. It felt like someone was slowly ripping your heart out as you watched him pace in front of Tony, watching as your name inaudibly fell from his lips. By the pained looks on Nat and Tony’s faces, you knew it was about you. Your tears began to slowly blur your vision underneath your sunglasses. You took them off, wiping away your tears. People began glancing over at you, taking a double take as they passed. 

“Shit.” You quickly regained your composure and fitted the glasses back onto your face. The waiter brought over a cup of coffee and you mindlessly prepared it to your liking, watching the conference intently with your earbuds in. 

“Thank you all for coming, and thank you especially to some of the Avengers for attending. It’s truly a shame that not all of you attended.” The King of Wakanda shifted his eyes to the empty seat next to your sweetheart, and Peter diverted his eyes to the floor. “The Accords are a peacekeeping method to ensure that both the governments of the world and the Avengers can work in harmon-” 

Your watch went black when you heard a resounding boom from across the street. You stood up from your table, gaping at the explosion. Someone had bombed the conference. 

“Fuck.” You covered your mouth with your hand, making your way towards the building. It suddenly hit you. “Peter!” You screamed, making a run for the building entrance. You slipped past all the journalists, but just as you were about to grab the door handle, a guard stopped you. 

“Excuse me ma’am, but you can’t go in there! It’s not safe!” He pushed you back away from the building. You threw off your hat and glasses, revealing your identity. 

“Get out of my way.” You glared at him, and he stepped aside, ashamed that he did not recognize you. Your feet pounded up the stairs, jogging up to the 34th floor. You choked on air as you flung yourself from flight to flight. Some cabinet members were stumbling past you, covered in dust and blood. 

“Peter! Nat! Tony!” You reached the room that was blown in half. You scanned the room for their bodies. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You took fistfuls of your hair, your eyes wide with fear. 

“F/N…” Tony was leaning against the back wall, blood trickling down the side of his face. You rushed over to him, throwing his arm over your shoulder. “No, no.. don’t worry about me. I can get myself down.” His breaths were extremely labored, each one a struggle with all the dust in the air. “Get Peter.. he needs you more.” You nodded, helping him the rest of the way up, trying to find where Peter’s seat would have been. 

“Peter!” Your voice echoed through the hollow room, the sounds of sirens getting closer. You got no reply. “Holy fuck…” On the floor just at the edge of the crumbling building was Peter. His body was limp and bent in an unnatural position. It seemed like the world suddenly was moving in slow motion as you ran down to him, pulling his body away from the edge. “Peter, oh God.” Hot tears began to sting your eyes. “Please, no.” You cradled his head against your chest, sobbing. His face was cut up and bleeding, a spot of red soaking through his suit. “Don’t die on me. You can’t do this.” You threw your head back to the sky, screaming. 

“Mmm…” Peter groaned, just loud enough for you to hear. He was still alive. He was breathing. Peter was still mostly unconscious, but he was still here. You lifted him up and tossed him across your shoulders, making the 34 flight trek back down to the ambulances. 

“Come on, Peter. Hang in there.” You seethed through your teeth, your muscles beginning to burn. Paramedics were making their way up the stairs and when they saw you carrying someone, they quickly rolled a gurney to the bottom of the stairs for you to put him on. They hooked him up to tons of machines and fluids as they placed him in the ambulance. 

“Ma’am, are you coming?” The paramedic was leaning out the door, raising his eyebrows at you. You debated whether that was a good idea or not, knowing that when he woke up, that he wouldn’t be too happy. But you nodded anyways and got into the ambulance. As the building became a small tower stack in the distance, you turned your attention to Peter, taking his hand. You brought it up to your lips, gently pressing a kiss against it. 

The paramedics were putting pressure on his wounds, trying to stop the bleeding. There was something wet on your shoulder and you realized that it was his blood. His hands started becoming colder, and his heart rate began to drop. 

“No, no, no, no.” The tears were blurring your vision again. “Don’t do this. Please, please, please don’t leave me.” You sobbed, covering your mouth with your hands. 

Just when you thought things might have been alright, they took a turn for the worst. The paramedic’s next words seemed to stop your heart just the same. 

“He’s flat lining…”

I hope you enjoyed it! I’m going to write and post the next chapter of “Run Away Baby” when I get home, so get ready! I love you all, you’re amazing. Have a wonderful rest of your day xoxo

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