#because he's also spent hours and hours just watching bill

[skeletboi]

Intridimensional AU part 20! (So many parts 🤔)

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Also part 19.5 (silly extra sketch) here!

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Ford took off his sweater vest and laid it carefully over Stan's sleeping form before returning to Fiddleford's side. They had spent the last hour speaking with the other creatures hiding out in the cave and had come up with somewhat of a plan of action, but had decided to stay here for a few hours and rest. 

Stan had easily fallen asleep, turns out being used to napping wherever and whenever you could came in handy when you accidently fall through a portal. Ford and Fiddleford on the other hand, could not so easily shut their brains off. 

“Do you need help?” Ford asked as he watched Fiddleford attempt to organize the pile of gadgets the other refugees had given them with only one hand. 

“Definitely. But not with this.” Fiddleford replied. 

“Right.” Ford said, looking away. 

Fiddleford stayed silent as he continued to mess with the gadgets, and Ford accepted the silence for all of 30 seconds before speaking up again. 

“Fiddleford, I'm so sorry.” He said quietly. 

Fiddleford put down the gadget he was holding and looked up at the rocky wall across from him. 

“I know. Ya said that already, Stanford.” He said.

“I know I did. I just need you to know that. I never meant for any of this to happen. I had no idea what Bill was really like. I still haven't wrapped my head around it.” 

“Well maybe ya shoulda told me ‘bout him sooner.” Fiddleford sighed. “But then again, ya wouldn't a listened ta me then, either.”

“Or maybe you would have erased that memory.” Ford replied, immediately regretting it as Fiddleford finally turned towards him. 

Ford expected to see anger on his face, and wouldn't have blamed him if he did, but all that he saw was sadness. 

“That's prolly true.” Fiddleford said quietly. “I don't know how to deal with any a this, and honestly I'd like to erase it all right now and never turn back, but I have a son, Stanford. A son that will die with the rest of our dimension if we don’ do somethin’.” 

“Your son…” Ford replied quietly. “I was so caught up in all of this I forgot all about him.” 

“Yeah, well I didn't. I never did. Even when I left him behind to help you.” Fiddleford said with a humorless huff of laughter. “I ain't innocent in all this, Ford.”

“Maybe not innocent, but I'm the one who believed Bill and caused this.” Ford noted

“And I coulda said no from the beginning, but I couldn't bring myself ta do it… I left my son behind second ya called me.”

“You planned on going back in barely a month, Fidds. You can't blame yourself for that.”

Fiddleford looked back at the wall across from him before replying. “I didn't come to Gravity Falls to be part a history or whatever yer always sayin’. I came to Gravity Falls because ya asked me to, Stanford.”

Ford frowned at him in question and Fiddleford glanced back over at him.

“Fer bein’ so smart, ya sure are dumb.” Fiddleford said, huffing out a laugh. “I came when ya called ‘cuz I love you, Ford. I've loved you since ya burst into our dorm room talkin’ bout math. I tried to move on and started a family ‘cus I thought I'd never hear from you again.”

Ford floundered for a second before answering. “Fidds, I'm so sorry. You must know how I lov-”

“No.” Fiddleford said, cutting him off. “Don't go sayin’ that ta me jus’ ta make me feel better. Even in college I knew yer work would always be more important to ya than me. Maybe if I had focused on my own work instead a you we wouldn't be here.” 

“You know how much I care about you, Fiddleford. Can't I love you and my research? You love me and you love your wife! Why can't a man love two things?” 

“That ain't the same. I love my wife, but not in the way I love you. The way I love you is destructive, Stanford.” 

“It doesn't have to be!” Ford practically yelled, then caught himself and lowered his voice. “Maybe destructive is what we need. I know we wouldn't be here if I had listened to you in the first place. Maybe you don't want to hear it right now, but I do love you, Fiddleford, and I'm finally ready to listen. I need you. You keep me grounded.”

Fiddleford looked at him in silence for a moment before responding. “Maybe destructive is what we need. Jus’ promise me ya ain't gonna keep more secrets from me, and I'll do the same.”

“I promise.” Ford said, then leaned in and kissed him.

“Fucking finally!” Stan said, making Ford and Fiddleford tore away from each other and look over at him. 

“I was about to knock your heads together if you didn't get over yourselves.” Stan continued, ignoring their obvious embarrassment. “Watching you two pine over each other was more painful than getting my leg cut off.”

“Stanley! I thought you were asleep!” Ford said.

“And miss all that drama? Fuck no. I'm a light sleeper. Nerd arguments wake me up.”

“I don’ know if I'd call that a ‘nerd argument’.” Fiddleford noted. 

“Well it was!” Stanley responded. “We get it. We all fucked up. We're two amputees and the stupidest genius in the galaxy hiding from god-like geometric shape in a rock floating in space! But believe me, as someone who is close personal friends with rock bottom, it could definitely be worse. At least we all fell into the portal! Imagine if it was just you two! I wouldn't have a damn clue how to bring you back. The only way to beat a three-sided triangle is by being a functioning trio. That's math!”

“That was surprisingly inspiring.” Ford responded. 

“I'm inspiring as fuck!” Stanley said defensively. “The point is I'm happy you two nerd-idiots finally got your shit together. Now I can focus on interdimensional babes instead of trying to steal Fiddleford from under you, Ford!”

Ford pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed in response.

“Prolly for the best, it was startin’ to work on me.” Fiddleford said thoughtfully. 

“It what?!” Ford asked, nonplussed. 

“I told ya he was charmin’, didn't I? Yer lucky I've loved you so much longer, Stanford.” Fiddleford said with a laugh as Ford glared at Stan. “Speakin’ of you bein’ charmin’, take this.” Fiddleford continued, handing Stan a watch-like gadget. “It's a translator. I'm thinkin’ you'll be the best at talkin’ to different people until I can get the supplies, and an arm, ta make two more.”

“Well it ain't a Rolex, but it'll have to do.” Stan said, putting it on his wrist. “But you two should actually get some sleep. We don't know when we'll be able to next. Just no fucking where I can hear it.” 

“Goddammit, Stanley. Maybe you shouldn't be the one with the translator.” Ford said as Stan laughed. 

“I think that's ‘xactly why he needs it. Quick thinkin’ to come up with those terrible jokes.” Fiddleford laughed. “But he's also right, we should be gettin' some sleep. We got a long journey ahead.”

________________________

I try to make Fiddleford's accent more dramatic when he's stressed, but I'm not sure if that translates well? Whatever.

Next will be a comic, which may take me a bit of time to finish because I started my new job and it's like an hour and a half commute one way. So I spend 3 hours of my day driving, and 8.5 hours at work. Which means I am home not often. 🤷🏻

[eoinmcgonigal]

07: Bill/Johnny

Catching up! Here's my very late thing for @almost-a-class-act 's prompt: Character A's ex-lover/high school acquaintance/friend they haven't seen in years has just turned up on their doorstep. "The curse. It's real."

For context/warning: Bill is massively dysregulated at the start of this.

Also. This is long. Oops.

-

He could do without the buzzer going. He could do without a lot of things happening today, but the last twenty four hours have just been like that. He’s still unsettled from running into Pat yesterday, and could seriously have done without that reminder of the past. It’s been three years since high school, and not one single memory that’s come back to Bill in the years since has been a good or happy one.

The intercom is, of course, still broken. Bill tugs his keys from their peg, and goes to answer the door manually. Two floors, four flights of stairs, and then he’s hefting the lock of the front door open, yanking on the unimpressive thing. The door swings open, over the worn mat, to reveal a typical grey day, and someone Bill never thought he’d see again. His heart trips, and then sinks to new, unknown depths, taking Bill’s already shit mood with it.

As gorgeous as ever, as perfectly handsome as Bill tries not to remember, Johnny Cooper stands in the street, smiling his brightest everybody-loves-me smile.

Bill doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve this.

“The curse,” he mutters to himself, pulling the door back towards himself so that there’s no space for Johnny to see past him, into the hallway. “It’s real.”

Johnny’s expression falters, falling. “What curse?”

Bill has no interest in dealing with this. It’s already a bad day. Facing the person he had a crush on since S3 the day after he bumped into the guy he disastrously dated for a whole week in S5 really is torture. The universe is laughing at him, and Bill half expects someone else from school to jump out from behind Johnny.

No one does. It’s a start. But Johnny is still there, staring up at him. “Um, I…”

“Yes?” Bill prompts. He wants to get this over with. “What is it?”

Johnny recoils from the tone of his voice. Bill can tell it was perhaps a bit abrupt, but he really doesn’t care. “I, um…” Johnny repeats.

Bill lets out a sigh, aching to turn away. There’s a deep, familiar stinging in his chest, and he hates that, after all this time, it’s still there. He only managed to get over Johnny after school because he never saw him again, and Johnny became a sometimes-memory of the only person Bill ever felt genuinely attracted to. The fleeting, passing fancies he’s had since then have never got so deep under his skin, and never lasted so long.

“Pat said he saw you yesterday.”

“Great.”

He hadn’t meant to mutter that, but the filter between Bill’s thoughts and speech usually fucks off when he’s in a sour mood. It never improves matters, but Bill is beyond caring.

“Did you want something?” he bites out. The sooner Johnny comes out with it, the sooner Bill can retreat back upstairs and deal with the horrible nest sensations swirling inside of him.

“I wanted to see you.”

Bill snorts at that. “Well, now you’ve seen me.”

He leans against the door, wanting to shut it, just as Johnny climbs the step. “Bill…”

He’s reaching out, not to touch or anything, but… Bill’s attention falls to that hand for a moment, and then he looks back up at Johnny, hating that he now knows those blue eyes are as heartbreakingly beautiful as ever.

“What happened?”

“What happened?” Bill echoes, not understanding the question.

“I thought you might… want to see me?”

“No?” is Bill’s immediate response. “Why in the world would I want that?”

He can see how much his words hurt. The hurt little part inside himself is pleased, but the rest of him feels awful. Johnny actually looks upset, his eyes going wide as his expression falls. Regret comes hard on the heels of his own words, and makes Bill feel even worse. Why won’t this day just end? Why did he have to see Pat, and indulge him, admitting to things Bill never wanted to tell anyone else?

“Pat said…”

In his horror, Bill doesn’t know if he should slam the door, or scream. He freezes, his eyes starting to sting as he tries to defend himself. “That was years ago!”

He realises he’s breathing hard. It hurts. Why did Pat have to go and say anything? Why did he repeat what Bill told him?

Johnny leans forwards so subtly he probably doesn’t even realise he’s doing it, but Bill does, and he wants to run.

“I wish I’d known,” Johnny says.

Bill scoffs at that. He knows he’s being ugly, but he doesn’t know how else to be. He feels like a raw, exposed nerve, and needs it to end. “What, so you could laugh at me?”

Johnny pulls back. “What? No, of course not!”

When Johnny shifts his weight again, his shoulders soften, his expression gentle.

“I liked you too.”

Oh.

Oh fuck. No. This isn’t happening. It’s not.

Bill takes a step back, laughing harshly. His mind tells him that Johnny is being serious, but he can’t understand why the world has to be so cruel. He could have lived the rest of his life without ever knowing that. Now, if his thoughts drift back to that time, they’re going to be forever changed by the painful ‘what if?’, instead of the old, familiar knowledge that no one as handsome and perfect as Johnny would ever want Bill. No one ever wants Bill, which is just fine, really, in spite of the deep, aching loneliness at the core of him, because Bill has never wanted anyone anyway.

Well, apart from Johnny.

He lets out a breath, the laughter gone as quickly as it came. He doesn’t know what to say. Johnny is still standing there, gazing up at him, not leaving. Bill wonders what it would take to get him to go.

He wonders, and does nothing. It’s Johnny who leads, now. “Honestly?” Johnny continues plainly. “I still think about you sometimes. You are my ‘what if?’, you know?”

Bill does know, although he doesn’t know why he’s that to Johnny.

“So if you want to hang out, catch up, get a coffee…” Johnny trails off for a moment. “I would like that.”

Unclenching his jaw, BIll tries to get his tongue to work. He’s not sure he can trust this. It’s too good to be true. “Is that why you came here?”

“Yes,” Johnny breathes. “A few years late, I know.” There’s a weak little smile, something… shy. Vulnerable. Cute.

Bill swallows, not sure where he stands. He doesn’t feel better, but at least the swirling, angry irritation has shifted into something quieter. “Aren’t you and Pat…?”

Johnny shakes his head. “No. We are just good friends.”

“Oh.”

At least Bill hadn’t admitted how he felt about Johnny to Johnny’s boyfriend.

“He knows how much I like you,” Johnny continues. “I mean, he only found out after you two…”

Yeah, Bill would really rather not remember that disaster.

“Is that really why it didn’t work out?”

Bill isn't able to answer that. It's too raw, too personal and private. He’d carelessly admitted to Pat yesterday that when they’d had their silly little thing he’d liked someone else, and couldn’t get over them. His guard had been down. He’d admitted that it was Johnny when Pat asked, knowing even as the confession escaped him that he was going to regret it. Pat had gone still for a moment, and then chuckled a ‘Cooper? Damn’ before moving on.

He wonders if Pat also told Johnny that he’s still single.

“Well, anyway,” Johnny breathes, his tone shifting to something breezy. He seems dismissive, brushing away what he’s just asked. “If you want to, as friends or whatever, I would like that. I can give you my number?”

“My phone’s upstairs.”

“I can give you a missed call, and you can message me back.” As he speaks, Johnny gets out his phone and, feeling somewhat trapped and unsure how to get out of this, Bill automatically rattles off his number.

It’s only when Johnny repeats it back to him, and gives the call a few seconds to connect, that Bill realises he could have given the wrong number, and Johnny would never know.

“What sort of place would you like to go?” Johnny asks.

Embarrassed by his answer, Bill gives the only one he can: “The arcade.”

Johnny’s face lights up. “By the beach?”

Bill nods. “Yeah.”

“I haven’t had a chance to go yet.” His smile is distracting. “What about this evening?”

Bill doesn’t really feel like adding to today’s disaster, but the temptation of getting it over and done with, and not having anything up in the air, is stronger. “Okay.”

“It’s a date!” Johnny grins.

Bill flinches at that, not ready for it. “I don’t know you,” he points out.

Johnny’s expression falls, suddenly seeming sad. There’s something gentle about that look, though, making Bill want to reach out and do something to make it go away, because it feels like he could do something to make it go away. He is the cause of it, after all.

“You don’t have to know me,” Johnny says softly. “Wanting to get to know me is enough.”

“Oh.”

There’s a twitch of a smile, something very open and unguarded about Johnny, and in that moment Bill feels like no time has passed at all since that last day of school. Only, this time, he has a chance, and not just a cheery ‘good luck!’ that had felt false. Johnny had wished everyone luck—they still had exams, after all—and given everyone a hug. Well, everyone apart from Bill, who had curled his shoulders forward and wrapped his arms around himself, trying to keep his head down and survive without any unwanted touch. It had been a wretched day, and gladly forgotten once he was free of school walls.

Bill looks at Johnny, and forgets everything else. “Aye, okay,” he decides, and watches as Johnny smiles again, his whole face lighting up. It’s strange to know that he’s caused that.

“Text me the time, okay? And where to meet.”

He starts to nod, and then goes still. “Wait here.”

“Okay?”

Bill doesn’t hang around to explain. He turns, letting the door fall shut behind him as he darts back up the stairs. It’s suddenly urgent to check his phone, and he makes it through his front door to find his phone where he left it in the kitchen. There’s a missed call. With a sigh of relief, he bounds back down the stairs.

Johnny is still standing there, a step back. Bill joins him in the street, letting the door shut behind him. He hadn’t realised how chilly the air was. Lifting his phone, he shows the screen. “This you?”

Johnny peers at the number, leaning in close enough that Bill catches the scent of his deodorant. “Yes.”

Nodding, Bill pulls his phone back, and saves Johnny’s number properly. “See you later?” he wonders.

“Definitely,” Johnny smiles, and it’s then that Bill realises he has about an inch or two on Johnny, now that he stands up tall instead of curling in on himself. It makes Johnny feel different to him, new, while at the same time still the same person Bill fell for. It’s both dangerous and reassuring to know that Bill could easily fall for him again.

There’s nothing more to say. Bill lets out a breath, an agreement reached, and the unknown before him. At least he won’t have to wait long. He gives an awkward wave as Johnny takes a step back, and tries not to watch him go while he works his key into the lock. He doesn’t have a fucking clue how it’ll go this evening, but it feels so much better watching Johnny walk away knowing that it’s not forever this time. Well, not that it was forever last time, but Bill didn’t know that.

Safely back in his flat, Bill realises that the turmoil of earlier is gone. Another kind of turmoil has replaced it, but it’s not as distressing, nor as fraying. He’s excited, he realises, although has no idea how he’s going to apologise to Johnny for being so abrupt earlier.

Trying not to think about it, Bill sends Johnny a text telling him to meet Bill at the arcade at six. It closes at eight today, instead of ten. Two hours isn’t too long if it goes badly, but if it goes well they’ll still have time afterwards, maybe even to walk along the beach. Bill would like that.

With that in mind, he goes into the hallway and sets his army surplus boots in front of the door, hopeful they’ll be the right choice.

Some time close to eleven, he’s kicking them off again, and smiling absentmindedly to himself. They were a good choice.

War is Helloween

[sophiethewitch1]

What We Want - Chpt. 7 - Black N' White Knight

In Which A Romantic Breaks The Universe

(Yandere!batboys x f!reader) 18+ MDNI!

SUMMARY

Another lonely birthday, another empty year. You miss your family. You're late for your bills and rent, and even then, you got robbed last Tuesday.

Still, you buy yourself a cupcake, because you need it. I mean, hey. What's dessert for if not to get over cheating boyfriends and dead relatives?

As you blow out the candle, watching the clock switch from 11:59 pm to midnight of the next day, you make a wish.

And because the world doesn't like to make much sense, it comes true. Your life is suddenly flipped on a dime, and you're stuck trying to catch up with it. Fantasy becomes reality. You're a Wayne now, apparently. Or you used to be. You're loved, you're rich, you're talented and powerful.

Well, sort of. Careful what you wish for, right?

(TRIGGER WARNINGS AND MASTERLIST HERE)

PREV - NEXT

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Dick tells Tim, hand carting through his hair. The two of them are in the kitchen, at the breakfast bar. Tim sitting in front of his laptop with his legs crossed, and Dick tapping one foot agitatedly against the marble floor. While Tim might not be grinning ear to ear, it’s pretty obvious for anyone who knows him that he’s delighted by the tale Dick just regaled to him.

And what a tale it was. He hasn’t seen you in a year and a half, and then when he does, he finds you teary eyed staring at a picture of him shirtless at the gym. Bruce had always told him the way he played with the paparazzi would come to bite him in the ass one day, but he really can’t say he expected… that.

Obviously, it had to be a prank. That’s his first thought. That’s his only thought, really. What other explanation could there be? An accident? Maybe you’d forgotten what his room looked like. It wasn’t like he kept much personal stuff in his Wayne manor room, the only markers his clothes and the letters he kept in his drawer from his parents.

And you were wearing his clothes, of all things. He’d be surprised if you forgot how much of a Superman fanboy he was, seeing as he’d spent many hours ranting to you before the explosion. So, a prank. A show of good will, an olive branch maybe? It was more likely you were just fucking with his head, as you’d done in the past. Never like this, though.

This was just… bizarre.

“I can’t either,” and of course, Tim sounds near estatic saying that. The love of chaos ran true in that one.

Dick had managed to wrangle his life under control a few years back, and despite the universe seeming to try to unravel it at the seams, he was indisposed to let it simply happen. Even if you of all people had changed. No, Dick was getting older, and he was finding his taste for chaos a lot more… limited.

He didn’t want to suffer it’s affects. He was currently suffering it’s affects.

“I knew something was going on when she showed up to the party, but this…” Tim pauses, leaning back in his chair, “It’s gotta be a prank, right?”

It said a lot about their family that this was all the assumption they defaulted to.

“It could be something else. Did you even take her to the hospital after?” Dick offers instead, overthinking as always. This situation seemed to be made for overthinking, though.

Tim hums. “No, we did not.”

Then he turns his stare to Dick, like he’s expecting something from him.

“Seriously?”

“What? You’re the friendly one.”

Dick very much did his best to seem like the friendly one, at least. Tim was well aware it was a complete farce, though. Dick was nice but he could also be a bit… well… a bit of a dick. Another thing he’d been trying to overcome. He was doing better than when he’d been seven, at least.

Dick sighs, pressing his hand to his forehead, “I’d probably just end up accidentally nagging her, and then she’d never speak to me again.”

“That’s not my problem,” Tim shrugs, glancing back down at his laptop and squinting.

“It is, actually. Because if she stopped talking to me you’d probably be the next one till the girls and Duke came home who has to talk to her.”

“She could talk to Jay,” Tim offers, because he’s a shithead. Dick bets he did the same with Bruce, “And besides, I’m busy doing surveillance.”

“You mean stalking.”

“I do it to everybody, stop making such a big deal out of it.”

Dick sighs again.

“Hm, you might want to check your phone,” Tim says, in a way that suggests he has once again tapped the network. Keeping him out of Dick’s private life was like Sisyphus and his boulder. He still wasn't going to give up, and the time Tim and Steph mercilessly bullied him for getting dumped over text had made him all the more so.

‘Dont_try’: hey. can you come pick me up? thx

“Please, tell me you sent that and are just messing with me,” Dick begs, staring down at his phone in mild despair. Chaos. Always fucking chaos. Despite how hard he tried, he could not keep his family out of trouble. God damn it, when he’d gotten this job he’d been the one made for trouble. Where did he go wrong?

“Honestly, sounds like the sort of thing I’d do, but the girl just got bitch slapped so I really think you should respond fast.”

“What?!”

“She’s fine now, run to the bathrooms I think. You know for such an upstate place you’d think they had better camera positioning,” Tim mutters, complaining that he can’t watch every single little movement you make. Dick thinks he should probably worry about this, as it’s a clear sign of another decline for his sanity, but he’s now got this shit to deal with.

“Why, Tim? What is going on? Just tell me what’s going on.”

“Hm?” he’s engrossed by the computer, “Ah, the shitty boyfriend… some soup- ha, how is she such a clutz? Maybe we should get her head checked again- and… an altercation of some kind? I don’t know, I can’t see it properly.”

Dick leans forward in his stool, clasped hands covering his face for a moment.

“Are you going to reply? If you don’t soon, she’ll probably make it a bigger shitshow,” Tim says, nudging his foot against Dick’s. Dick, good big brother that he is, takes a deep breath and steadies himself. Even if this is really not what he wanted for his holiday, he’s dealt with much, much worse.

The press will have forgotten about this within the week. You, however, likely not. He’d promised to help you all those years ago, and even if he had no idea why you were reaching out to him, or if you would even be amicable when you met again, he’d still damn well do it.

He glances back down at his phone.

“What is going on?” Dick repeats to himself, and Tim’s head cocks to the side. There’s that familiar cat that got the cream grin spreading across his younger brother’s face, and it just really isn’t welcome right now.

“Intrigued yet?”

Unfortunately for both him, Tim and especially you, Dick already was.

He’s in his car in five minutes flat, finger tapping against the premium leather wheel. The sound of it is the only thing that manages to keep him sane.

Riding up to the place, Dick realises that no, maybe the press won’t be over this within the week. Considering the amount of paparazzi swarming the place, he doubted you’d be free for at least a few months. To be fair, the mysterious ex-wayne making such a scene was a bit of a big deal. Before you’d been basically invisible, despite your immense wealth and past.

Invisible? Dick thinks he spots at least twenty cameras. And that’s not even mentioning all the phones inside that would’ve gotten up close videos of whatever happened. Their legal team would handle it fine, that which Barbara or Tim couldn’t wipe from the face of the earth. And that was very little, all things considered.

Dick has to push past the calls of his name, ignoring all the intrusive questions volleyed his way like the pro he was. He still makes sure to listen carefully and store away every vital bit of information, as well as remember the logos on the film crew’s van. Eventually he makes his way to the front of the line, and the flustered front of house immediately recognises his face and sweeps him inside. Dick ducks in with a thankful smile, which he admits, falters when he enters the scene.

A scene which you are not in. Your gold digging boyfriend was, though. Of all the things Dick regrets with you, it’s not breaking the horrid relationship the two of you had apart. Or well, the fact that you totally, loudly hated his guts. He was a sensitive guy, y’know!

He sees your terribly boyfriend - George, Dick remembers - raging at some poor servers, and he knows he need to go sweep in and save the pour soul. It’ll be a hard fight, he can already tell.

Before he does so, he sends a quick text to his phone.

Underwear_guy: Where are you?

Don’t_try: I’ll be right out.

Shockingly, that was the truth. You come striding into the restaurant, and immediately all eyes are on you. It makes you stutter-step. Dick can see you visibly stiffen up, before you manage to gather your courage and keep walking. You don’t even pay him a single glance as you walk straight towards your fuming boyfriend.

You try to whisper, keeping your voice quiet and your conversation private. The boyfriend seems uninterested in the idea.

“What the fuck are you thinking?!” he cuts you off.

You glance around, and then say something else. It seems like you’re trying to defuse the situation, but George seems uninterested by the idea. 

“This behaviour is ridiculous. You need to get it together, we’re in public!” he yells, like he isn’t the one causing a scene. He seems to be trying to intimidate you back into silence. But today and well, yesterday too, something is different about you.

Okay, that’s enough of that. Dick’s intervening.

“You cheated on me! You deserve it and everything that’s coming to you!”

Or, uh, maybe you’ve got it covered.

-

George’s shocked face is almost worse than when you literally bit him. Guess he expected you to be a bit more demure after that encounter. He should know better, the other version of you seemed to have been even more spiteful in nature.

Today again, you prove you are a less than stellar person. You’d stopped caring about George as soon as you’d discovered he’d cheated, but you were still angry. Not jealous, but furious. Bubbling up your throat, rage and bile and the urge to attack him once again, even if you just want to go home.

Your teeth grind. Your jaw ticks. And oddly, you realise you have a real taste for George Lancaster’s limbs.

Though your life had changed (literally) in the past few days, you were still the same girl from your first twenty-first. You wanted George Lancaster to suffer. Even more so, now that the evil cunt had hit you right in the face. The hit had stunned you, though. More emotionally than physically, but it had shocked you.

You couldn’t say you were a coward. You’d spent far too many days in your teenage years indulging in self-destructive behaviours to think that. But something about this pathetic man was scaring the shit out of you. You think that made you more pathetic, but you couldn’t quite tell. That’d be victim blaming, right?

You did have a habit of blaming yourself. It was just usually your fault.

…Maybe you shouldn’t have bit him, no matter how much the response was instinctual or his screech was satisfying. This was all too confusing, all too much. You needed to get back to your apartment, lock the doors and barricade them so nobody bothers you. And then maybe hibernate for a week. You needed some time to process all the stupid bullshit you were experiencing. The wayne manor was too much, your horrible white apartment was too much, George fucking Lancaster was too fucking god damn much.

You take a deep breath, and manage to stop yourself from bolting like a deer. Deal with the problem at hand. Deal with it now, deal with it!

“I’m leaving, and we are done. It’s that simple,” you tell George, trying to drill in a message that he seems unable to comprehend. At this point you’d assume he’d be trying to apologise, manipulate back into his good graces, but you think you might’ve completely broke him. Broke the script.

Good. That was damn well good.

“Can we talk about this somewhere else at least?” George replies, eyes flicking to Richard Grayson’s angry gaze. At least you think he’s angry. You can’t quite gather the courage to look directly at him.

Also, there’s the manipulation! You wish you weren’t right this time.

“Sure, but I’m bringing him, and my answer will absolutely not change. You hit me.”

“You bit me!”

Well, yeah, not your best moment. You don’t think you can regret it, though.

“Then I think this relationship is ending on equal terms,” you reply, trying your best to just get him to quit it. It is obviously not working by the way his expression darkens.

“I’ll tell the press everything,” George threatens, which, well, is sort of a shitty threat because I don’t even know what he’s threatening. ‘Everything’? Couldn’t he be a bit more specific?

You shrug. It is the wrong response, you know it is, but you’ve completely ran dry of fucks to give. Couldn’t be much worse than the bullshit happening right now. The press were already very well fed, considering the situation that was today. George makes a small sound of fury.

“We’ll sue,” Richard Grayson, the white knight that you’d daydreamed about, comes to your rescue. Is it odd that it’s kind of flustering? You probably shouldn’t be flustered.

George immediately snaps his gaze to Grayson’s, giving the man a look with a healthy dose of fear. Couldn’t blame the guy. Even if he was the second smallest of the three remaining brothers, he was still well known for being strong. His family often did kick-boxing, and their sister, Cass, often whooped their asses. It was sort of satisfying to watch. Anyway, his physical prowess from fighting to weirdo gymnastic bullshit was evident in his svelte build.

George was many things, but he wasn’t an idiot. With just the one threat from the Waynes legal team, he skitters away like the little rat you know him to be. He leaves the restaurant, and he very obviously does not pay or even leave a tip. You suppose you have the cash to make up for it. Then, ignoring the paparazzi, you were technically home free. You glance to the side. Richard Grayson’s beautiful face looks a mix of confuddled, frustrated, and exhausted. He still saved you, though, even after the fool you made of yourself.

White knight, indeed. It almost feels a bit anticlimactic, but it’s the results you wanted. And yet, an ominous feeling befalls you. Somehow, you don’t feel you’ve seen the last of George Lancaster. You just really hope the old you hadn’t committed any crimes. A tabloid? Humiliating, but livable. Prison? Not so much.

Not that the rich stayed in prison in Gotham, or even the rest of the world. It was kind of strange to realise you were sort of above the law now.

You glance at Dick, pulling your uncomfortably wet shirt away from your chest. You’ve sort of been bled dry of any shits you could give at this point, so you decide, very maturely, to make jokes and ignore all your problems. It had gotten you this far.

You’d seen this behaviour before. Many, many times. It was what usually got you fired. But now you didn’t really have to worry about that, so why should you worry about causing a scene and ruining your life a bit more? It wasn’t yours, after all.

“What do you think?” you joke, elbowing Dick. He looks down from glaring at the entrance George just slipped out of, to you. His blue eyes are a damn near shock to the soul. It takes everything in you not to start fidgeting.

“Think of what?” he responds, and despite how hard you try, you can not read his expression.

“I’m trying to make some more news. Don’t think the reporters got enough the other day,” you say, gesturing to the giant stain. It’s still Dick’s shirt. You hadn’t realised till now, but the Beatles was now some sort of green soup. Is it kind of gross of you to acknowledge that at least the soup smelled good?

Probably. You didn’t actually get to eat anything here. It’s also probably a bit weird that you’re thinking about eating at a time like this. Probably.

“I think you’ve done enough, honestly,” he says, glancing at the camera flashes from outside.

He sounds exactly like your mother, it’s almost uncanny. Well, this version of him technically knew her. You’re still not sure how well en-meshed your two families had been before the disaster, but maybe he’d picked up some traits from her.

…That… you’re not sure how to feel about the idea. The old green monster bubbles up at the thought, and you can’t tell if you’re jealous your mum got to meet Dick Grayson, or that Dick Grayson might’ve gotten to know your mum.

“We should leave,” he says, cutting off your bitter inner thoughts, “I know you don’t like it when the magazines bother you.”

You don’t? You don’t. Yes, that makes sense, ‘you’ definitely wouldn’t have. And it’s not like you feel comfortable with them either. In fact, if you think about the fact your drowned rat appearance will be on every tabloid in the city by tomorrow, probably alongside photos from your birthday, you feel so nauseous you could collapse. Going to compartmentalise that one.

“Yes, going, let’s go,” you say, following Dick out of the restaurant.

Despite the fact that the security guards are trying their best, it’s getting quite rowdy out here. When Dick wraps an arm around your shoulder, shielding you with his body, you almost just pass out right there. His muscles… Your heart simply can’t take it. As it is, Dick notices you jump like a foot in the air, and backs off. He still makes sure to try and protect you from their vision as much as possible.

Still, in an act that is purely rebellious, you turn and give them a big smile and a wave. Even as you hate every single person on the other side of the divide, you want to make one thing very clear. You will not be cowed by someone like George fucking Lancaster. Your peace sign and wink are a message to them, to him, and to yourself.

Despite the fact that this new life is one you have no idea how to handle, you know one thing. Put on a face, and it’ll always be easier.

Dick is probably wondering what the hell happened to you for you to be acting this way. Your shirt has a giant stain on it, you just broke up with your cheating boyfriend, went through a traumatising experience just a few days ago, and you’ve got the biggest grin on your face. This behaviour speaks more and more of a full blown mental breakdown. And it’s not the first you’ve had or the last.

There’s paparazzi snapping thousands of photos of the two of you, and instead of shying away as ‘you’ used to, you throw up a peace sign. One of the papps drops their camera. That confuses you a bit, as your peace sign deflates slightly. Didn’t they want more pictures? Weren’t you supposed to pose…?

For all you stalked celebrities online, you realise you have no idea how to pretend to be one. This is going to become an issue, you can already tell.

He points at a car, and you assume it’s his because he starts making his way over. He’s obviously done this sort of thing before, using and guiding the security with a smooth confidence. Even still, the two of you are a bit too close for comfort.

Which you prove, by putting your foot directly in your mouth.

“I don’t have abs, but do you think the press would like my stomach like they like yours?” you say, and almost immediately regret it. Another poor joke. You are deflecting so hard. And why the hell did you bring that up, you dunce? You feel your brain cells draining the more you’re around this guy, it’s not healthy for you.

“Please don’t pull your shirt up in public,” Dick sounds like he’s about to have a mental breakdown. It’s spreading, like the plague. You’re patient zero, of course. Even still he gets you guys to the car, and opens the side door for you. You follow his wordless command and slip into the passenger seat.

“I won’t. Sorry, sorry,” you reply, to relieve him of some of the trauma you’re currently inflicting.

He glances back to the papps, and then back down at you. His smile bowls you over like he’s getting the last strike in a fucking 300. He genuinely is the most beautiful human being you’ve ever seen. Thankfully, he closes the door so you have a moment to gather your sanity before he goes around the car and gets in the driver’s seat.

You hope you’re subtle when you shift away from him slightly. It shouldn’t be that surprising really. You were stupid on average. You would be stupider around attractive people. You would be frankly disastrous around someone as blastingly hot as Dick Grayson. The Waynes in general turned you into a drooling idiot.

Good god, you need to get out of this car. As soon as you think that, Dick is pulling away from the parking spot and out onto the streets. He makes slow progress because Gotham traffic, but eventually you manage to flee the horrifying stares of the cameras. Already you can tell it’ll be giving you nightmares. Probably along with images of the guy who tried to rape you and Damian Wayne sneering at you.

“So, how are you feeling?”

Despite how you wish it not, Mr. Grayson decides he’s going to start a conversation with you.

“Good,” you reply, the answer instinctive and an obvious lie.

You can feel his gaze on the side of your face, but you don’t dare return it.

“That’s good to hear,” he says, and his voice is gentle. Sort of infantilising if you’ll be honest.

While it is very clear to anyone who looks at you that you have no idea what you’re doing, you’d rather he didn’t bring it up. You’ll figure it out. You’ve always managed to figure it out. This is what you get for asking for help. Really, despite your momentary panic you could’ve taken George. Probably not physically, but…

“You can talk to me if you want, you know?”

“Can you stop the car, please?” you respond, when that question immediately activates your fight or flight response. Dick must notice something about you, because he quickly shoots forward and into a momentarily available parking spot.

You scramble with the door, shoving your way back out onto the asphalt. The immediate distinct smell of Gotham, even Gotham’s richer districts, calms you down. Sewage, the ocean, and the ever present smoke and fog.

Fuck’s sake. You aren’t making yourself look anymore well put together.

Clearing your throat, you turn and find Richard Grayson coming around the car hood towards you. There’s a worried look in his eyes, and you really don’t know how to deal with it. It’s like you made a deal with the devil. By getting rid of George, you’d gotten a new problem - and an infinitely more complicated one.

Shit, you need to stop making rash decisions when you’re having panic attacks. You’d say you should probably try and stop having panic attacks entirely, but you don’t really know how to do that.

The sound of your name has you snapping back to attention. Dick looks even more worried.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” he asks, taking a few slow steps towards you. Again, infantilizing. Like you’re a wild animal about to run. Wait, weren’t you just comparing yourself to a chihuahua? Well, it’s not the same when other people do it.

“I’d like to take a walk,” you say, hand scrunching into your pyjama pants, “Alone, I’d like some time alone.”

“…In that?” He glances down at the stain that is slowly starting to dry. It’s making your skin itchy, but at least it’s not as cold.

“I can buy something,” you say, remembering one of the apps on your phone was connected to your bank account, which you had to assume was pretty full. It’s kind of stupid that you haven’t checked that yet.

You’re starting to feel a bit defensive towards your own intelligence. Maybe it’s because you seemingly keep making all the worst decisions.

Dick doesn’t make it any better.

“Do you have cash on you?” he asks, showing how little faith he has in your general abilities to survive as an adult in Gotham.

“I do, I’ll be fine,” you insist, because god damn it, you will be. You just need a fucking minute.

You ran from the Wayne manor because you felt like you were being watched, and then as soon as you showed up at the world’s most uncomfortable apartment, the haunting wraith known as George dragged you out in your P.J.s. You could figure it the fuck out, if these people would give you some fucking space.

Richard Grayson seems to realise that you’re getting upset, because he goes quiet for a moment. After staring at you for a moment longer, for which you manage to find the courage to maintain eye contact through pure stubborn will, he asks you one final question.

“Are you sure you don’t want a ride home or something?” he asks, still seeming so determined to help you.

His suggestion brings flashes of images of you breaking down in front of the Bruce Wayne to mind. From almost a birds eye view, you see yourself sobbing against your own ruined dress as the billionaire looked on. Bile literally jumps up your throat, and it takes a lot of willpower not to grimace at the suggestion.

“Look, Mr. Grayson, I really appreciate-”

“That’s the second time you’ve called me that.”

Once again, you feel the urge to simply sprint away from your own problems, but you manage to hold yourself still. Still, you can’t think of a solution. You can’t really think much of anything. Instead you stare at Richard Grayson with your hands threaded together and your lips pressed into a thin line.

Though you open your mouth to speak, you find you have no excuses ready or available. You’ve talked yourself into a corner already, and it’s your third day in this world. Marvellous. Maybe you should just tell the truth.

Still, the dangers outweigh the pros. They don’t know you, they don’t have any real reason to take care of you. If they believe you, they’ll toss you out onto the streets penniless. And if they don’t-

You blink. There’s a highway sign behind Dick, and it catches your attention like a lightning bolt. ‘Arkham Asylum 800 miles’. It’s white blocky letters on green panelling feels like a sign from god, warning you from the path you consider taking.

And then you realise that you might actually get sent to Arkham if you say anything, and you resolve to never tell a single soul about what has happened to you. You’ve heard enough stories about the asylum, and by god, you are not being roommates with the fucking Joker of all people.

Eventually Dick realises he’s not getting anything out of you and he sighs, shaking his head. His annoyingly perfect hair mesmerises you for a second, but you manage to wrangle your brain back under control. He really doesn’t make it easy.

“I just want to know if you’re safe. If you’re going through anything, you know we’re always happy to help-”

“Dick,” you say his name, face twisting in discomfort, “This was a… a one time thing. Usually I can handle my problems. It just… it caught me off guard. George cheating was a huge shock, and I needed someone to stand by me.”

“And you know I always will, right?”

Ah. That’s… Dick Grayson was a stranger. You didn’t know him, and more than that he did not know you. He did not know what you would do, could do. You didn’t think anyone did, not even yourself.

It’s a silly idea to expect your celebrity crush to save you, and it’s one you find you can’t stomach it at the moment. It makes you feel disgusted with yourself at the idea. It’s too indulgent, too silly. It’s very simply, not possible.

You’ve given up on relying on miracles. These lessons had been beaten into you, really. You didn’t want to have to learn them again.

Your feelings must show on your face.

Dick lets out a whoosh of air, frustration palpable. He carts his hand through his hair. It still looks perfect. The world is unfair, yadda yadda.

“You run hot and cold, you know?” he gives you a grin. It says a lot about his ability to act, seeing as it seems almost natural. Almost, being the key word.

Also, he is absolutely correct. The chihuahua effect is in full-swing. And you know what? You are probably going to continue to run hot and cold, because you’ve never made a decision in your life. He’ll just have to get used to it.

You raise your hands and shrug, in the universal ‘what-can-you-do?’ motion. He wasn’t wrong. You were being completely erratic. Not even you knew what you’d do next. At least life isn’t boring these days, right Right? You wonder who you are trying to fool, because it’s certainly not yourself.

“I’ll contact you if I need anything,” you lie, because it seems to be the right thing to end this torturous conversation, “And I’ll make sure to keep contact with Alfred. You can talk to Jeanine if you need anything, as well.”

Dick, unfortunately, calls you out on your bullshit.

“But not you, right?” he says, smile still printed on his face.

Woof. You think… you’ve hurt his feelings? Ah shit, you instantly feel like the scum of the earth. Still, you don’t know how you could fix this. Arkham is a genuine threat lingering over your shoulder, you don’t know enough about your new cut-throat billionaire world, and you can not lose any faith they have in you. Any that you have left, that is.

You’re sorry, but this is coming down to survival. And you are a greedy person, after all.

In the end, you don’t have anything to say, and Richard Grayson leaves without a word. Watching him walk towards his car, you feel… bad. Really bad. The part of you that is still crushing on this guy, a very large part of you, feels like you’ve ended the earth. The other part, the one that recognises that once again you’re going to have to fight for yourself… well, she thinks so too.

Maybe… maybe you could fix this. Apologise. Once you’ve gotten your bearings and know you’re safe and 100% financially stable, maybe you’ll figure it out. Give him his shirt back after you’ve dry-cleaned it.

For now, you give him your back as well.

MASTERLIST - NEXT

[mylastmoleculeofserotonin]

I’m convinced that people who hate Mabel have a) never watched the show and/or b) don’t have siblings. Because until they encountered Bill Cipher for the first time, there was nothing to suggest Dipper’s obsession with the journals was more important or valid than Mabel just wanted to have a normal summer with a whirlwind romance. And even after incident with the portal Dipper and Ford actively keep everything secret from Mabel and Stan so she has no idea of the stakes or what Bill is capable of. Add to that that her dreams of the future were all suddenly crumbling around her all at once, and it is perfectly reasonable if not expected that she would fall for an immortal chaos demon’s tricks.

Also, most of the stuff involving the journal that goes wrong is Dipper’s fault but he still pretends like he and Mabel are in it together. And those of you who are siblings know that Mabel takes it extremely well. Like if I had accidentally sold my body as a puppet to a demon and the only way I could ask my sibling for help was through a sock puppet, I would expect them to help, but only after they spent a good half hour laughing and making fun of me with the additional consequence would be that any time I ask them for a small favor in the future, they would remind me that they were the one to save me from my stupid mistake, so no, they won’t pass me the salt.

(Also, can we just take a moment to see the giant double standards when it comes to the romances that Dipper and Mabel’s have. When Mabel pursues a romantic people treat it as irrelevant and getting in the way of the plot even when it doesn’t. But when Dipper tries to win Wendy’s affection, people expect Mabel to drop everything, sacrifice her pet, mess with time travel to help set up a scenario which Dipper can win a carnival game as a flex.)

[zepskies]

Lost on You - Part 5

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x F. Supe!Reader

Summary: 1983 is a big year for you. You’re finally chosen to join the ranks of Payback, led by the most (in)famous supe in the world: Soldier Boy. He’ll never admit that he’s trying his damndest to figure you out. You’ll never admit that he’s actually growing on you. But the problem with this game is deciding who’s the predator, and who is prey.

AN: We’re going deeper and darker on this one, with an ending you might not expect...

Word Count: 5.5K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only. TW: attempted sexual assault (not successful), violence, character death, drug use, and a twist.

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Part 5: Eminence Front

Your last conversation with your mother was on a Sunday morning, in hospice.

You sat at her bedside and held her hand. Chris and your father were downstairs in the hospital food court, ordering sandwiches. You hadn’t had much of an appetite for three days.

“I had your father call the whole family so they could watch the music video with you and Soldier Boy,” your mom said. She wore a proud, if weak smile. “He even recorded a few tapes of it. He sent one to your aunt, another to your cousins, and another to our friends Leah and Stan.”

“Pretty sure that’s illegal piracy, Mom,” you said with a laugh.

“I don’t care. You’re my daughter, and you’ve worked incredibly hard to get here,” she said. Her eyes misted over a bit in memory. “We’ve all worked hard.”

You stilled at that. You didn’t know what memories she had filtering through her head, but you were sure your perspective behind the lens was…different.

In your mind’s eye, you saw yourself at twelve years old. Chris had been pestering you all day, as big brothers were wont to do sometimes. With a slap on his arm, you’d screamed at him to leave you alone.

He didn’t speak to you for a whole month. He didn’t go to your piano recital or your choir concert, where you had the best solo. He didn’t talk to you until you touched him again, grabbing his arm, pleading with him.

"Please, whatever I did, I'm sorry. Just talk to me!"

He startled as if he’d woken up from a dream.

Your parents had shared a look, and they’d known then that their gamble had worked.

You remembered being sat down by your mother and told that they had spent their entire life’s savings to make you a hero. So you were going to spend the rest of your young life training to be one.

“We’re investing in your future, but we’re also investing in ours.”

You remembered sleepover invites rejected and summer plans canceled on your behalf. Your mother used her meager retirement fund to sign you up for vocal lessons from a former opera singer. Your high school football coach father drilled you to condition your body like an athlete.

You never had a moment that wasn’t scheduled. You were always exhausted, taking whatever “supplements” your parents gave you to keep you going. (Often it was Adderall, until it started giving you insomnia, among other delightful side effects.)

You were miserable. Then again, you’d be surprised by what you could get used to.

The end goal was always getting into Payback. It was where you’d garner the most fame and make the most money, and therefore, make the most returns on your parents’ investments.

So your father later took out a loan to get you some basic combat training from an ex-Vought employee. Your parents wanted you to be well-rounded and prepared for anything when you got onto the team—and it was always when.

If was not part of the story.

Any small commercials and modelling gigs you landed throughout middle school and high school helped pay for your family’s bills, and later for college, where you double majored in Vocal Performance and Marketing. You would learn how to become your own brand.

Through it all, you always remembered what your mom had said to you on the set of your first commercial. You were crying because the hours were long and you missed your friends, and even your brother.

“Come on, let’s wipe those tears. You don’t want to smudge your makeup,” she’d said. When you couldn’t be consoled, she guided you over to a quieter corner of the set. “Listen, sweetheart. Don’t let them see you upset. You'll get a reputation for being difficult to work with.”

“I don’t care! I don’t want to do this anymore,” you said, sniffling badly as you scrubbed at your eyes. Your mother sighed sharply.

“You’re just starting out. Of course there are going to be growing pains,” she said. “Showbusiness is a cutthroat world, and yes, you’re so young. Maybe too young.”

She wiped your face with gentler hands, then she laid them on your shoulders and made sure you met her eyes.

“But you’re going to be better prepared than most superheroes. You can literally read men. You know what’s in their hearts, and you can control them. As a woman in this world, do you know how damn powerful that is?” she said.

She squeezed your shoulders.

“That’s why you’ll be smarter than any of them, and you’ll only show the world what you want them to see.”

What you want them to see…

“We don’t have to talk about that right now,” you said at last.

Your mom nodded and stroked your hand. Her eyes fell closed in rest. She looked so small and frail in her bed.

“I’m so, so proud of you,” she said. “Always remember that.”

Your lower lip trembled, and your eyes stung. You couldn’t help but feel hollow. What was there to be proud of? You’d failed. All your hard work was meant to give your family a better life, not…this.

“You’re so beautiful and talented,” she continued. “And you’ll get your father out from under these medical bills I put on him, won’t you?”

Deep in your soul, a painful ache twinged.

You ignored it and nodded in agreement.

“I’ll take care of Dad, don’t worry.”

Your mother died the next morning. You wrote a statement about her passing to explain your absence to your fans. It went through Madelyn Stillwell and Arthur before they released the press release and even had it covered in Vought News. Then you spent the next week entrenched in funeral arrangements with your father and brother.

When you eventually returned to Vought Tower after the funeral, it felt like another part of you had chipped off.

Your room was filled with flowers and gifts from your fans, which managed to make you wide-eyed, and even tearfully touched. So this was the power of fame, then?

But there was one vase filled with beautiful scarlet roses. Attatched was a handwritten note:

Welcome home.

You thought you recognized the scrawl. A small smile graced your lips.

You gave into the desire to venture up to the penthouse floor, and knock on Ben’s door. He opened it himself. He was dressed down for once in the afternoon, in a normal sweater rolled up to his elbows and tucked into his slacks. Once he saw you, he was a little surprised.

You held up the note for his view. “Was this you?”

He smiled slightly, but he didn’t answer you. He just welcomed you inside. You followed him into the living room area and sat heavily on the couch. An album was playing on his record player. You recognized Sinatra’s smooth voice singing “My Way.”

“You want a drink?” Ben asked.

“Whiskey, neat,” you replied. He rose a brow, but he fulfilled your request.

While he was busy, you grabbed his forgotten half a blunt from the ashtray on the coffee table, and you lit up. You didn’t often partake in drugs because you didn’t like being out of your lucid mind. You preferred being in control.

Today was different. You needed a distraction. Maybe that was why you were here to begin with.

You accepted the glass he handed to you and took a generous sip, though you coughed at the burn on the way down. And you took a puff, the smoke irritating your throat even more. You practically coughed up half a lung, until he sat down beside you and reached out his hand. You passed the blunt back to him. You two traded off hits until it was more than halfway down to the roach, and he eventually put it out on the ashtray.

“My offer still stands, you know,” he said.

You turned to him. Even in your “enlightened” state, you could feel his intentions. The way he roamed your body with his eyes was unmistakable, but just then, you had a moment of clarity. You couldn’t be bothered to play this game, or hide your true thoughts for that matter. You smiled to yourself, and you stood.

Ben got up with you, trying to gauge your reaction.

“Thank you,” you said, “for finally showing me who you really are.”

His lips slowly pulled into a frown. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“My mom died,” you said. “I know you knew that, but you couldn’t even muster up a basic ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ or whatever the fuck.”

You even laughed through the spark of tears. You wiped at your face. “This place is exactly what I thought it would be.”

The man was silent while you finished the drink in one long gulp. You slammed the glass on his counter, and you left his apartment.

It wasn’t the first time Ben watched you walk away from him, but despite his outward stoicism, it was the first time he felt the sting of it.

You knew it would be difficult at Vought, but you were finding it more and more challenging to keep focused as the months went by.

On one mission, Ben threw a man out of a three-story apartment. He lived, by some miracle, but shattered almost every bone in his body.

On another, Black Noir choke-slammed an escaped convict so hard, her esophagus caved in. And it was a good day if the TNT Twins even zapped the right culprit.

You were increasingly wary of the collateral damage and violence you were being complicit in, just by being there. You had to keep reminding yourself of why you were here. You needed to take care of your father, who was still swimming in your mother’s medical bills and funeral costs. You needed to prove to yourself that you could do this, with or without Ben’s help.

Even so, a day you were called to a full team mission made you more anxious than excited.

It was a drug ring that the police had been trying to dismantle for nearly a decade: Los Reyes. They were the "kings of cocaine," and they were brutal in their retaliations, locked in a turf war with one of the Italian mafias. As Stan Edgar had explained, the police were grateful for any help that Payback could provide.

You guys were sent to a warehouse in Hell’s Kitchen. According to law enforcement intel, it was the base of the Reyes gang's operations.

Infiltrating it was the easy part. Countess blasted right through the front doors, revealing your entire team to the group of men huddled around entire tables and crates filled with product.

When a man aimed a gun at you, Ben threw his shield. It hit the man, who then crashed into a support beam and broke his back in half. Your eyes went wide in horror at seeing his lifeless ones. You gaped up at Ben.

“Was that really necessary?” you asked in alarm.

"Would you rather get shot?” he said coolly.

The others picked off a few men in the room, but the rest of the gang scattered into other rooms within the large building. Ben barked commands for who should go in which direction.

“Sirena, you’re with Swatto. Head east towards the alley and cut off any rats,” he commanded.

You wanted to take issue with being partnered with Swatto. You glanced over at him. After how you compelled him a few months ago, he still had a grudge against you as well. But you two knew better than to argue with Soldier Boy on a mission.

You and your partner ducked out the east side into the alley. Sure enough, you saw blood splatters on the wall from a handprint, and drips of blood leading down the concrete path. After sharing a nod, you and Swatto followed the line of blood.

You turned the corner into a dusty construction site, where a new skyscraper was only partially built. Some walls were up along with the foundation, but it was mostly dirt, bare concrete walls, and piles of brick.

When you turned a corner, you and Swatto stopped short as bullets rained your way.

“Oh, fuck!” Swatto shouted. He pulled out his gun and decided to fly above. You heard more shots and men screaming, and then, it was quiet. You cocked your own gun, though you hoped you didn’t have to use it. The problem with your powers was you needed to be close enough to touch someone to actually compel them, man or woman.

Your last resort was your actual siren song, a power you rarely used. Mainly because it was lethal to any man who heard it. For that reason, it had to be your in case of emergency break glass tactic.

So you crept around the corner to see what Swatto had done. You were surprised to find that he fought well. He managed to kill a few of them, but one large man was still alive. He was on his knees in the dirt with his hands folded behind his head.

“See? Ain’t so fuckin’ tough now, huh?” Swatto taunted. “Get ready to get fucked in the ass in jail, Paco.”

You grimaced in disgust. “All right, that’s enough. Just—”

Before you could realize what was happening, the man raised up from the ground and swept the gun from Swatto’s hands. It flew across the clearing and hit the wall, setting the gun off. A bullet ricocheted and grazed Swatto in the side. 

“Aw, fuck! I’m fucking hit!” he yelled in alarm. His wings expanded from his back, and he raised off the ground in flight. Your eyes widened.

“Where the hell are you going?” you shouted.

“I’m hit! I need a hospital!” His voice grew smaller as he flew away like a fucking coward.

It left you alone with a man twice your size. He seized you up with a smirk.

“Hey, baby,” he said. “You’re the new one, right?”

You raised your gun and fired, but you were too late. He evaded and grabbed the gun from your hands. You held your ground after the first punch, but the second and third made your legs shake. You were more durable than the average human, and you were well trained. Unfortunately, you didn’t have super strength like most of your teammates.

You blocked when you could and gave blows of your own, but this man was large enough that it didn’t slow him for long. He wore a sweatshirt with long sleeves, so you couldn’t easily compel him with a touch.

Okay, this warrants an emergency, you thought in alarm. When you opened your mouth to sing, he shot out a sharp blow to your throat. Maybe he thought you were going to scream for help, but it had its intended effect of choking you into silence.

He grabbed you and proceeded to beat you down, until you felt the sharp breaking of ribs and blood and dirt in your mouth. Every time you tried to slip away or get to your feet and escape, he knocked you back down. He was toying with you, and having fun with it too. You could sense his sick enjoyment.

But then, you felt his intentions shift. Darker, and more carnal. A more intense fear coiled in your stomach, rising up into your throat. A gasp got stuck there as you tried harder to crawl away.

He grabbed your ankle and dragged you back towards him. He took your wrists when you tried to claw at his eyes, or even just touch his face to try and enforce your power over his.

Just a scrap of skin. That’s all you need.

A whimper escaped you as you struggled, but you kneed him hard between the legs. That managed to stop him for a moment as he grunted and cursed. He got a hold of a meaty hand around your neck. Your eyes glowed in desperation.

Suddenly, the man’s weight lifted off you.

You panted for breath and raised yourself up on your elbow. You watched with wide eyes as Ben slammed your attacker’s face into the dirt until he couldn’t breathe. Ben glanced at you, taking in the sight of your bloody face and cut lip, your arm wrapped around your battered ribs.

His frown deepening in displeasure, he bent the man’s arm until it broke in at least two places. His howls of pain echoed into the night. Ben cut it off by twisting the man’s neck, until it released a loud crack.

He threw the body to the ground in disgust. He barely even wiped his gloves before he stood straighter. Then he went back to you.

“You all right?” he asked gruffly.

You stared up at him with tears shining in your eyes. You tried to answer, but it hurt your throat. It was also painful for you to move your body. You tasted blood in your mouth and knew it had dribbled down your chin.

With a rough exhale through his nose, Ben lowered down and slid his hands underneath your body. You cringed and cried out when he moved you, but you were grateful. You were embarrassed. And you were exhausted.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you folded your arms over your battered middle. You couldn't help but lay your head against his chest.

The rest of the team was waiting at the other end of the clearing, except for Swatto. Even Countess was quiet as she watched Ben carry you out of the construction site.

You spent a couple of days in the hospital. There you were surrounded by Vought security fielding off any journalists or tabloids, and you were accompanied by your dad and brother.

Chris especially was angry for you, not to mention worried, but you tried to hide your pain and reassure them that you would be okay. This was just par for the course when taking down the bad guys.

Yeah, that one sounded hollow, even to you.

You were grateful when you got out of the hospital and were sent back to the Tower. Even so, the doctor had you mostly on bedrest until your ribs healed up. You weren’t proud of it, but you wallowed in your embarrassment and a bit of self-pity while you watched a marathon of Cheers and ate from a box of assorted chocolates. You dug around for your favorites, but you kept getting the weird shitty filling ones.

“Sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name, and they’re always glad you came,” sang the TV show theme song. “You wanna be where you can see, our troubles are all the same. You wanna be where everybody knows your name…” 

“Bullshit,” you muttered aloud. Such was your grouchiness that you had half a mind to change the channel. This godforsaken sitcom was too damn cheery, no matter how much you loved Ted Danson’s fine, rugged ass.

God. Maybe I do have a type.

That was when a knock at the door threatened to disrupt your solitude.

“Who is it?”

“It’s me.”

You’d now recognize that smooth, deep voice anywhere. Sighing, you closed the box of chocolates and hid them under your pillow before you turned off the TV.

“Come in,” you said.

Ben stepped into your apartment and soon found you in your room. It was the first time he’d ever been in here, and he took a subtle look around. He wore his suit and tactical gear.

“Just come from a mission?” you asked.

He nodded and approached your bed. He smiled slightly.

“Eating your feelings in Whitman’s, huh?” he teased, tapping his nose. He could probably smell the chocolate.

You blushed and crossed your arms on reflex, but you grimaced when the motion made your ribs twinge sharply. You made a sound of discomfort and lowered your arms back to your sides. You shifted in the bed as slowly as you could. You’d been in this position for a while.

“How’re you holding up?” he asked.

“Oh, I’m peachy,” you groused. When you looked up at him though, you realized that he hadn't needed to come visit you. He was here of his own free will…and there was something you had yet to say to him. You sighed and met him with sincerity.

“Look…thank you, for saving me,” you said.

Ben inclined his head. He lowered down and sat beside you on the edge of your bed.

“You may not like how I run things here, but this is the way of it,” he said, holding your gaze. “This is the real fucking world. If you’re going to stay here, you need to get with that program, or this place is going to chew you up and spit you out.”

That fell between you two for a moment. The more you turned his words over in your mind, the more you realized that he was right, to a point. If you stayed, this was your life. You couldn’t keep handwringing. You had to be smarter.

“I’m sorry, I’m not looking very camera ready,” you said eventually. You meant it to be joking, but your voice was heavy. “I wouldn’t blame you for averting your eyes.”

You half expected him to make a joke about your black eye and torn lip. But to your surprise, Ben picked up your hand with a kind of gentleness. He raised the back of it up to his lips for a kiss. He gave you a reserved smile.

“Rest up,” he said.

He got up and strode out of your apartment. Not for the first time, he left you feeling unbalanced…and this time warm.

It took a few weeks for you to fully heal. You agreed to do an interview with Jason Carver, the anchor of Vought News. It was a bit intimidating being in yet another studio, and this was live.

The cameras aren’t there. This is just a stage like any other. You’re just…having a conversation, you coached yourself. You sat in an uncomfortable leather chair across from Jason at his desk.

When he got the green light from the producer, he kicked off the show by introducing you as his special guest.

“Can I just say, Sirena, we’re all very glad to see you’re all right,” he said, with a very convincing note of sincerity. Your abilities allowed you to read the truth.

Only show them what you want them to see.

You gave him a grateful smile.  

“Thanks, Jason. I appreciate that. It’s just…hazards of the job description, you know?” you said. “But I’m doing much better, and I’m very thankful that my team was there to support me.”

“Yes, the rest of Payback really stepped up to not only apprehend your attacker, but round up the entire Reyes gang. Is that right?” he said.

You nodded, reading the teleprompter. You were meant to go on a mini monologue about how great your team was, and how grateful you were to be a part of it. It was a script approved by Madelyn, and even Stan Edgar.

You paused, glancing over to where Arthur and Madelyn stood in the dark with the rest of the crew. They were both looking at you encouragingly, but expectant.

You took a steadying breath, and you decided to go a bit off-script.

“Well, actually, it was Soldier Boy who saved me,” you said. Jason’s brows rose at your shift in direction, but he reacted with all due interest.

“Really?” he prodded.

“Yes, he did,” you said. The memories of that night filtered through your mind with harrowing detail, including the way Ben stepped in and brutally handled that man. “He didn’t even hesitate. He just threw himself into the fray…and when it was over, he carried me to the hospital himself.”

That part wasn’t exactly true. He’d carried you over to a Vought-owned SUV, and the director of the camera crew drove you over to the hospital. You decided to gloss over that detail, and many others.

“Wow,” Jason said. He shook his head in wonder. “He truly lives up to the legend, doesn’t he?”

You smiled. “He’s more than that. Believe it or not, Soldier Boy was the first one to take me under his wing. He knew I was new to the city, so he guided me all over New York to see the sights like a tourist. Stuff I’m sure he’s seen millions of times, like Top of the Rock and Times Square. Oh, and he was also very gracious when my nephew came to visit. Got me some major brownie points for ‘Best Aunt in the World.’”

That earned you a congenial smile from your host. Your expression faded with a kind of weight in your heart.

“Ever since I got here, he’s been the one to tell it like it is, with that deep, authoritative voice of his,” you said, laughing a little when you tried to imitate Ben’s voice. It got you a laugh, even from those in the studio. “In a way, he’s the one who’s looked out for me the most. I’m very grateful for Soldier Boy, and of course for the rest of my team.”

When you finished, Jason nodded and clapped along with everyone else in the studio.

“Well, that’s just wonderful. Well said,” he said, and he looked straight into the camera with two fingers poised at his temple. “Soldier Boy, if you’re watching, we all appreciate you. And we salute you.”

Ben watched the clip from his living room with a small, incredulous smile on his face.

He wiped the remnants of white powder from his nose and sneezed. Blinking the bleariness out of his eyes, he refocused on the screen while you talked about him. He knew you had to be playing it up for Jason and the cameras, but you also seemed so sincere.

“He’s more than that.”

After the segment was over, he enjoyed the climax of his high while sitting back on his plush sofa. He tossed up an old baseball from his collection up towards the ceiling, this one signed by Babe Ruth. He caught it when gravity pulled it back down towards his face.

That was how Donna found him when she let herself into his apartment. She was out of her suit and wearing a little red dress, one of his old favorites. She graced him with a sultry smile.

“Busy?” she asked.

“Evidently,” he said.

She pouted, almost like a little girl. She went to him and curled herself under his arm and against his chest, draping a smooth thigh over his.

“I miss you,” she purred.

He smiled wryly and turned off the TV.

“Really now?” he drawled. “Because by my calculations it’s been…what, a few months since we’ve fucked?”

Donna paused, the smile slipping from her face.

“And I’m not counting that hand job a couple weeks back. That shit was pitiful, and a little chafing,” he said.

For the past few months, he’d been wracking his brain to remember what it was that had attracted him to this woman, besides the obvious outer packaging. He knew the difference now.

In the beginning, she idolized him. Worshipped him. Loved him. These days, she only came to him when she wanted something, and he had gotten bored. Bored of her.

As if sensing his shift, Donna moved her leg off his lap and sat up with a frown.

“Well, then let me fix it,” she said, as she slid a hand up his thigh. Suddenly she was all too willing to use those red-painted lips to service him. 

Ben couldn’t help but envision those lips as yours, a sinful red, while your mouth did sinful things. He’d gotten off more than once to the thought of it alone, ever since he shot that goddamn music video with you.

So he grabbed Donna’s wandering hand and looked at her coolly.

“Look, for whatever reason, I know you’re not happy,” he said, waving dismissively with his other hand. “Neither of us are. So let’s just stop wasting time.”

Her eyes widened. “What’re you saying?”

Ben’s brows furrowed. “Am I speaking fucking English? It’s time to call it quits, sweetheart.”

Donna’s jaw worked as she fought to keep herself under control. He had a feeling she’d be angry. She always was a little spitfire.

Her body was coiled like a spring when she withdrew her hand from his and got to her feet. She gave him an icy look.

“This isn’t going to last,” she claimed, with a prideful tilt of her chin. “In a month, a week, you’ll get tired of her. And you’ll remember that I’m the one who looks best by your side.”

Ben huffed in amusement before he laid back again. He continued to toss up his baseball.

“Keep telling yourself that,” he said dismissively. 

Donna let loose an aggravated breath, but she kept most of her reaction inside. She turned on her heel, prideful as ever, and left his apartment.

When her fingers landed on the doorknob, however, she turned back for just a moment. Silence greeted her.

It wasn’t until then that her tears finally bubbled over.

Days later, a knock on your door drew your attention out of pulling on some jeans. You were intending to go on a walk through the city, take some time to get out of the Tower and just be you for a change.

That had better not be Madelyn at the door again. She had chastised you for going off-script at the studio twice already. She made the point that she and Stan had gone over those talking points for weeks, and agreed that framing your rescue as a team effort would cover Swatto as well.

He was still laid up with a broken leg, long after the scrape of the bullet had healed. He was tight-lipped about how he’d broken said leg, but you’d heard from Tommy that he’d shattered it…somehow.

Arthur had smoothed things over about your adlib though. He pointed out that talking positively about Soldier Boy helped the whole team. He was the leader, after all.

So yeah, you hoped this visit wasn’t another passive aggressive dress down from the head of PR. You sighed and went over to get the door. You were thoroughly surprised to see Ben.

And a Ben that was wearing a regular suit, for that matter. He looked like he’d stepped out of a Hugo Boss catalogue, steeped in charcoal gray with a long black coat draped over his arm. Your mouth parted in soft shock, especially when he produced a single rose from behind his back.

You took it with tentative fingers and a blush rising hotly in your cheeks.

“Okay, what—”

“Let me take you out,” he said. “One night. You’ll get to see what it’s like to be with the most famous man in the world.”

What an opening line that was. You sensed he was in full Charm City mode, complete with a suave smile. Yours was more amused, even though you twisted the flower's soft petals lightly on your chin in contemplation.

After a few seconds to think, you gave him a patient look.

“Ben, nothing’s changed for me. I told you, I–”

“Countess and I are done, for real this time,” he said.

Once again, you were taken by surprise—mostly because he was telling the truth. You felt it.

Your brows knitted together in confusion. “When did this happen?”

“Recently,” he shrugged. “But like I said, it hasn’t been working for a while. It was a mutual thing.”

You weren’t so sure about that, but… 

This is what I wanted, you reminded yourself. In fact, it had been half what you’d hoped for when you went off-script. You just couldn’t believe it had worked this well, so soon. As much as you probably shouldn’t, part of you began to feel bad for manipulating him. For lying to him.

But it’ll be good for my career.

“…Okay,” you agreed, glancing down at your plain shirt and jeans. “Just give me some time to change.”

He raised a brow. “How much time?”

You gave him a slightly cheeky smile. “An hour, and I’ll meet you in the lobby.”

He sighed, but he agreed.

“Just don’t keep me waiting all fucking day,” he said.

“Come on. What’s a little delayed gratification?” you teased. Then you gave him a more sincere smile. “I’ll see you later.”

Ben nodded, with some added charm in the look he gave you in return.

You slipped back into your apartment and shut the door. You paused there when a thought struck you.

Shit, now what am I going to wear?

AN: Did you see that one coming?

A lot of darker angst and drama in this one, sorry for that. But I think you may like what's coming up...

Next Time:

You slid your hand over his on the table. You felt him stiffen slightly, his body tensing up at your touch. You frowned when you saw the glint of wariness cross his face.

“I won’t compel you again, Ben. I promise,” you said. As long as you don’t give me a reason to.

Your hand traveled up his arm, soothing along his neck, your palm finally resting against his cheek. His green eyes stared into yours.

Soon enough, his wariness bled away into desire.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 6

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[ghsface]

I knew it, i know you... - Matt Sturniolo

Sumary: You return to a place in the past, where memories and guilt haunt you as you find your ex, facing what you could never let go of.

Warnings: angst, break up, insecurities (on the part of the protagonist) guilt, no happy ending, I think that's all.

A/n: This is my first time writing angst, I really enjoyed doing it so I'll probably start writing more angst, I hope you like it and tell me what you think, I was inspired by one of my favorite songs by Gracie I hope you like it. by the way I'm sorry if there's something wrong or that you don't understand, my first language is not English.

⛧°。 ⋆༺ ✮ ༻⋆。 °⛧

That night, the restaurant's atmosphere was familiar and welcoming, full of memories you'd rather leave buried. You were there, surrounded by your friends, laughing, talking, and trying to forget that this was the place you always came to with Matt. From the moment you walked through the door, you tried to focus on anything but the memories, knowing full well that something as simple as a glance at the corner where you used to sit could shatter you.

You laughed, enjoyed the dessert, and pretended that the empty chair in front of you didn't remind you of him, of Matt, the love of your life. The one you'd let go because you believed you didn't deserve the happiness he gave you. You'd been so trapped in your insecurities, in doubts you didn't even know how to express, that the only escape you found was to end the relationship. "It's better this way," you told yourself. "It's the best for both of us." You kept repeating to yourself

As your friends began to gather their things and pay their bills, you knew the night was coming to an end and you couldn't help but feel a certain anxiety. They apologized for having to leave, and you smiled at them in an attempt at reassurance. "I'm fine, girls. Enjoy your night." And as soon as they left, you were left alone, wondering if you should also pay your bill and leave to avoid any chance of running into him.

But that was when you saw him. Or rather, you saw them. First it was Nick, who recognized you instantly and gave you a look that you pretended not to notice. He looked away, but you knew he had seen you. However, the illusion of being invisible crumbled when you looked up again and your eyes met Chris, who was now also watching you. You tried to concentrate on your dessert, as if you were suddenly on a mission to finish it as quickly as possible, while feeling the weight of their gazes.

Finally, it was Matt who looked at you. You knew it without even looking up. His presence was unmistakable, the same effect he had on you before, only now it was accompanied by a pang of pain and shame. His eyes were on you, but there was no such sparkle as before, that spark that once made you feel like the most important person in his world...

You sighed, putting the spoon aside and taking a break. You needed air. You calmly stood up and headed to the bathroom, forcing yourself not to turn around or look at him. As you walked, memories began to come back, and it was as if the bathroom became a portal to all those things you thought you had overcome. You closed your eyes and suddenly you were there again, on that first day.

Flashbacks...

It was summer, just another day in the park where you spent hours talking. Matt seemed anxious, and you, without knowing why, felt that nervousness reflected in you.

“I’ve been thinking…” Matt paused, staring at your intertwined hands, then looked up to meet yours. “I don’t want to think anymore. Just… will you be my girlfriend?”

A blush had crept up your face, and you were surprised by the intensity with which you had responded.

“Yeah. Of course I will, Matt.” A nervous laugh escaped your lips, and he hugged you, so tightly that it made you feel like you would never need anything else.

The memory changed, and suddenly you were in his living room, fighting in an impromptu pillow fight, laughing like never before, while Chris and Nick complained about the noise from the kitchen.

“Come on, Matt!” you yelled, throwing a pillow at him. “Is that all you got?”

“You think so? Start running babe,” he replied, his mischievous smile lighting up his face as he dodged another blow and lunged at you, trapping you in his arms. The warmth of his hands on your shoulders and the laughter you shared filled the room with an energy that only existed between the two of you.

But then, the memory quickly changed. It was him, frowning, looking at you with concern. “What’s wrong? Why are you so distant?” he asked you sweetly and with a hint of desperation. And you, instead of opening up, lowered your head and muttered a “It’s nothing” that tasted like a lie.

He asked you the same thing over and over again. “It hurts me to see you like this, but… I don’t know how to help you if you don’t tell me.” He said with pain in his voice

You couldn't give him an answer, and the frustration in his eyes became unbearable. He had always tried to be there, but you were sinking into a confusion and despair that you didn't know how to explain.

"Matt..." you had murmured, looking at him without words, knowing that every second of silence hurt more than anything else you could say. He took your hands, trying to comfort you, but the weight of your own thoughts was like a barrier you couldn't cross.

Despite his attempts, his tenderness, his patience, you sank into your own insecurities, building a wall that he never managed to tear down.

The last day you saw him, the day everything broke, was engraved in your memory like an open wound. He was standing in front of you, his eyes full of pain, but you stood firm.

"I can't keep doing this to you," you had said, as if it were the easiest thing in the world. He stayed silent, as if those words were a blow to his stomach.

“Really? That easy for you?” he said, and his voice was a mix of disbelief and sadness.

You distanced yourself from him, unable to bear the pain you caused, but you knew you couldn’t keep dragging him down with you. You couldn’t keep making him suffer for something you didn’t even know how to explain.

“Yes, Matt. I’m sorry, but I have to,” you said, and as he remained silent, you let him go.

Then, the inevitable. You ignored his calls, his texts, and not just his, but also those from Chris and Nick, your best friends. You didn’t want to face them, what you had done, the guilt you felt. You chose silence as a refuge, despite knowing how much it hurt them.

End of flashbacks…

You took a deep breath, opening your eyes, trying to stifle the memories. You left the bathroom and, just as you tried to go back to your table, you heard Nick’s voice calling you.

“Hey! It’s you!”

You turned around, feigning forced surprise. “Oh, Nick! Hi!”

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Chris said, joining the conversation, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. But there was an intensity in his words that made you hesitate.

“Yeah, well… coincidence, I guess,” you replied, laughing nervously. You avoided looking at Matt, who was silent, staring at his glass as if it were the only thing in the world.

Nick smiled at you, approaching you with that warmth you had always appreciated in him. “How have you been?” Chris asked, trying to keep the conversation going.

“Fine, just… living life, I guess,” I replied, the words coming out almost without thinking.

Matt was still sitting in his chair, making no move to talk to you. You felt the weight of his indifference, and an unbearable guilt enveloped you. How could you do this to him? How could you leave without giving him a chance to understand?

You began to chat casually, as if it were a reunion between old friends and not a constant reminder of unhealed wounds. You felt the topic everyone wanted to avoid was obvious.

Matt, however, remained silent, barely looking at you. You knew he was aware of your presence, but he didn't say a word to you. Guilt weighed on your chest, every second intensifying the pain you had tried to bury.

After a while, the atmosphere began to become uncomfortable. You smiled at them and excused yourself, trying to escape from that place that seemed to collapse on you, knowing that it was time to leave. You walked to the cashier, paid your bill, and before leaving, you turned to look at them one last time.

There was Matt, with those eyes that always seemed capable of seeing beyond your words. In that look, full of sadness and nostalgia, you understood that the wound would never completely heal. Those eyes that loved you, that once were everything to you, were now filled with a sadness that you could never erase.

You knew that you would never forgive yourself for what you had done, you would never forgive yourself for what you did, but deep down, you knew that maybe you couldn't have done it any other way, you had done it for him, for yourself. Still, the pain was still there, like a constant echo. And when you left, a part of you was left behind, lost in the memory of what could have been.

You'll never be able to let Matt go. And maybe, he won't either.

You left the restaurant, taking with you the echo of their glances, the memories, and the weight of a story that, one way or another, would always remain unfinished.

⛧°。 ⋆༺ ✮ ༻⋆。 °⛧

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[gyuwoncheol]

Takes Two to Tango

Pair: Scoups x f!reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst

Summary: Cheollie to the rescue on a bad day

Warnings: angst, mentions of Cheol’s torn ACL injury. There is, in fact, no tango happening at all.

WC: 1.7k

Author's Note: Wrote this a while back but have always waited for the right time to post it. I’ve had an exhausting week, probably the most tired I’ve been in a long while. I just want to be conforted by Cheol. Dedicating this also to all my carat friends going though a rough patch right now. You must remember our boys and our leader love us so much 🩵🩷

Author's Note 2.0: Written because I truly miss Cheol and I know he misses us just as much. I always feel slightly disoriented when I don’t see him in the promotions. I also just really miss having an ot13 comeback 😞

“Babe?” It’s the first thing you hear when you enter the door and you’re already cursing at how Seungcheol just knows it’s you.

“Hmm,” You drop your keys and took off your shoes, taking a quick glance at the mirror by your main door, wiping the dried tears that marked your cheeks. Kkuma eventually got to you and pawed at your legs gently. You pick her up and cuddle into her a good few minutes, sighing heavily as you shut your eyes closed.

There wasn’t really any other way to put it. You had an absolute shit of a day. You got a flat tire on the way to the office, consequently making you late to a very important meeting. You were given a new workload that wasn’t even really part of your scope anymore but there was really no other person who could take it on, while another important project you’d been taking care of had to be delayed because of a manufacturing problem. Everyone in the office seemed to need to meet you that you ended up taking lunch 2 hours late, and just when you were about to take your 3rd cup of coffee for the day, the lid had popped open and spilled the brown liquid all over your very white top. By the time you left the office, you were cranky and hungry, like you wanted to scream and fight with anyone. It was only when you arrived at home and caught sight of the warm light that peeked through the windows that you were reminded about Cheol being home.

Your boyfriend who was nursing a torn ACL and evidently spent much of his day at home. Your boyfriend who was sweet and loving enough to check in on you throughout the day, but he barely got substantial replies. Your boyfriend who didn’t mind cause he knew you were busy. Your boyfriend who was now looking at you with the softest eyes as you approached him with a kiss on the cheek.

“Hi baby,” he greeted, arms open wide as he remained partially immobile on the couch.

You hesitated about going in front of the couch and receiving his embrace, your heart feeling like it was squeezed at the moment. To your better judgment, you hugged him with one arm from behind and a quick kiss on his lips instead.

“Can i just go clean up first? I.. i got coffee spilled all over me,” you excused yourself, averting his gaze.

Seungcheol nodded and watched you scurry away to your shared bedroom, a heavy sigh leaving his lips. He normally gets sulky when you avoid his hugs, but this time he had already sensed something was off with you. It was the way you wrongly messaged him “take care at rehab” at 1pm when he actually had his appointment at 10am. You’ve never forgotten any of his appointments. It was also in the way he had noticed you enter the house only 20 minutes after your car park at the garage. He obviously noticed how tired you looked and the little smudge of your mascara from tears. It broke his heart that you chose to keep this with yourself, you normally always ran to him for refuge when you needed it.

You stood idly in the shower for what felt like forever. If it were up to you, you would’ve never gotten out but alas, you could only hide forever and the water bill will spike up so you got out and got changed, drying your hair and pulling on one of your boyfriend’s large shirts, your favorite one.

“Oh my god!” You jumped at the sight of Seungcheol on the bed when you got to your bedroom, “you scared me. How’d you get all the way here?!”

“Babe, I can already walk you know? Just slowly, but I still get to places.”

“Right, yeah, sorry. I was just surprised,” you shook your head, “uhmm.. i’m gonna go get water…”

“There’s water here,” Seungcheol pointed out, gesturing towards the small table which indeed had drinking water

“Oh. Okay. Then i’ll just go and fix up the liv—“

“Y/n,” Seungcheol called out softly but still firm, freezing you on the spot by the door. You closed your eyes at the nickname, and you just knew he knew you were avoiding him. “Please look at me?”

You turned around slowly, eyes only peeking open after taking a deep breath. You glanced at him and immediately, tears already began pricking at your eyes, so you looked down at the floor instead, standing there like a child that just got scolded. Cheol waited to see if you’d get closer or if you’d at least bring your gaze back to him but when you didn’t he worried even more. Slowly, he swung his leg off the bed to make his way to you.

“What are you doing?” You panicked with his movements.

“Trying to get you to me.”

That seemed to do the trick, your feet padding towards him quickly and helping him raise his injured leg on the bed again, “just stay put. I’ll do it.”

Seungcheol grabbed your hand, squeezing it tightly for good measure, “Jagi, what’s wrong? Could you please tell me?”

You looked at him once more and Cheol had the warmest gaze fixed on you. You sat by his side, feeling bad you were worrying him. “I just had a bad day at work, that’s all.”

“Wanna tell me more?” He prodded, thumb rubbing soothing circles at the back of your hand.

“No, it’s okay. I’m okay.”

“You clearly aren’t,” Seungcheol retorted, “babe, you know I won’t pry if I didn’t think something else was wrong but you’re worrying me, you always run to me when you have bad days and problems, why are you shutting me out now?”

Your boyfriend sounded pained and you cursed yourself for making him feel that way. “Cheollie, i’m not shutting you out…” you whispered, “I just don’t think it matters to you is all.”

Cheol watched you shrug at your words, as if trying to convince yourself of what you just said. “It matters when it’s making my girl sad, why would you think it wouldn’t?”

“Becauseeee,” you whined, “you clearly have worse problems than I do. You’re uncomfortable, you have a hard time moving, rehab is painful, i know you’d really rather be with the boys doing work but instead you’re stuck at home. You have it much worse than I do. It’s just a bad day at work. I’ll be fine.” You said everything so fast you hadn’t even noticed a tear had rolled down your cheek but your boyfriend was quick to wipe it away before you pulling into his chest.

It crushed Cheol to see you like this. You weren’t one to hold off on your emotions to him. “Baby, just because im having a bad day doesn’t mean you’re not allowed to. My ‘bigger’ problems,” your boyfriend raised his fingers to gesture air quotes, “shouldn’t invalidate yours.”

“I know, but..”

“No but’s… your feelings are valid. Period. And I’m always here for you. We’re a team, remember?”

You looked at Seungcheol properly for the first time tonight, tears in your eyes as you studied his features intently, and then the dam broke loose. You hide your face on the crook of his neck and sobbed, little hiccups and squeaks coming out of you. Cheol could feel the rapid rise and fall of your chest as he embraced you in his arms, patting your hair with one hand whispering encouragements to just “let it all out”.

“I’m j-just… just so tired, Cheol,” you whispered softly in between cries, “I s-swear…. it’s nothing else… jus’ t-tired.” And it was true, there wasn’t anything else bothering you, you just simply felt tired from everything going on in your life, “I just didn’t w-want… t-to tell you and burden you. S-so I… i k-kept it in… I’m sorry.”

“Hey, shhhh, no need to be sorry. I believe you and i’m always here for you. Never a burden, jagi. Remember that.” Seungcheol squeezed you tighter, wanting to just take away all of the hurt and exhaustion you were feeling.

He continued to speak soothing words as he let you release more pent up feelings, his face scrunching up when you’d let out a strangled gasp. It hurt for Cheol to even think about how long you’ve felt this way, he has been injured for quite a while now.

You wipe away your tears after what felt like forever, the tip of your nose was positively red and your eyes were now swollen. Your boyfriend offered you a weak smile before planting a kiss on your forehead.

“I love you,” you say after clearing your throat, “thank you for listening.”

“Of course, jagi. I love you too. I’m sorry if all this,” Seungcheol gestures to his knee, “has disturbed our routine—“

“What? Cheollie, no,” you interrupted, “don’t be sorry. I’m not blaming your or your injury at all.”

“I know. I’m just saying I know things have been a little more difficult than usual for us, but I know we’ll get through it as long as we do it together, yeah? You don’t always have to give it your all, you know. I’m always going to be here to fill in the gap for you, the same way you do with me. You’ve been so good at taking care of me lately, I just hope you’d remember that I want to take care of you too, even with a bad knee.”

You giggled at his last words, knowing full well that even with his disability, Seungcheol would cross rivers and move mountains for you. That’s simply how he is as a person. It showed with how he flew to Japan to support his brothers and see their fans for their show. You witnessed it in the way he’d wake up early in the morning even when he didn’t have a schedule just so he could take breakfast with you and send you off for work. Saw it with how there was always dinner ready on the table when you got home. Sometimes they were cooked by him, sometimes just delivered, but it didn’t matter to you. You knew it was his way to make good on his promise of using all this time at home to make up for lost time with you.

Some people think it annoyingly stubborn— some people being his doctors— but to you, it meant that he was passionate, determined and most importantly, he loved fiercely.

He loves you fiercely.

You gently nodded at his words whilst cupping his face in your small hands. Seungcheol did the same, his thumb wiping your dried tears after placing a chaste kiss to your lips.

“Together?” You asked despite knowing the answer.

“Together.”

[todomochi-uwu]

Who (6/?) J. Y & S. M

Pairing: Poly! Jeong Yunho x reader x Song Mingi

Genre: Angst, Smut

Warnings: This content is for a mature audience

Synopsis: You can't remember when was the last time you spent time with them, the last "I love you", the last time any of them kissed you.

Author's notes: It's been such a long time, and I'm sorry for that. Life hasn't been quite easy, but as an apology here's some smut. Hope you enjoy.

Other chapters: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee ☕

It had been a couple of weeks since that night, and getting used to being back wasn’t quite as easy as you thought it would be. At first feeling like a stranger to the place you had once called home, and while your lovers may try to help with that, you fear they may seem to be overcompensating a bit.

You woke up because of the ungodly amount of sound that came from the kitchen.

“Yunho?” Your eyes could barely focus on the things in front of you, besides, what the hell was he doing at home at this hour? Wiping the floor?

“Good morning, my love.” He sighed and got up, “I’m sorry did I wake you up? I dropped some pans and spilt milk. I’m sorry I’m a bit of a mess right now.” He kissed your forehead before going back to cooking, “I’m making breakfast, are pancakes, okay? We also have cereal, or I can make you some eggs or…”

“Pancakes are okay, but what are you doing here so late in the morning? Shouldn’t you be at the hospital?” You took a seat on the kitchen bar.

“I’m taking some time off, they asked me to. Just to get my head back on my shoulders.” He flipped a pancake, “Mingi will be back in a second he went to get some orange juice, we ran out yesterday and we know how much you like it and…” He kept on going, but you couldn’t make sense of what he was saying.

You looked at him without saying anything. His hands trembled with every move he made; he kept on rambling, not stopping to take a breath, afraid to let any uncomfortable silences come through. He couldn’t stay put, moving things around, not able to focus on one thing.

Mingi came through the door. His hands were full of grocery bags that threatened to snap and spill what was inside of them. “I’m back!” He set everything on the countertop, bags of snacks spilling out, hygiene products you were missing, and a bunch of things you don’t even remember mentioning you needed. “I bought everything you ask for, my love.”

“Mingi, you didn’t have to buy this all at once. I have most of this stuff back at my place.”

“Oh well, now you have them here.”

After everything that you had gone through you felt like you needed a bit of time alone, to take a step back and process. Having to come to terms with the idea of being single, actually trying to move on, Bang Chan, the club, Yunho and Mingi. All that in such a short period was messing with your head. But your lovers seemed to differ.

“Babe, I will come back earlier from work to take you on a date, okay?”

“Mingi, we went out yesterday, I’m sure Jongho needs your help back at the office.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll take care of everything.”

Yunho wasn’t any different.

“My love, how about we go for a walk? Or would you rather watch a movie? We can go for some ice cream.”

“Yun, don’t you have to study? I saw your calendar and you have an upcoming test.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll figure it out.”

You missed them, and not having them around had been a nightmare, but this might be over the top. Not neglecting you didn’t have to mean neglecting everything else. So, a list of all the things you had to do began to form in the back of your head.

First, figure out a way to tell them (in a way that won’t destroy Mingi) that you need some space to understand what’s going on in your head and heart. Second, get some actual work done; bills still need to get paid. Third and last of all (and the one you have been dreading the most) talk to Chan. You weren’t even sure if he would be willing to. Jisung said he hasn’t seen him come out of his apartment, and he doesn’t even answer the door; every single time Minho tried contacting him it goes straight to voice mail. Your friend assures you he only needs a bit of time, but you are not quite sure, this might be it for your friendship, and you won’t lie, it breaks your heart.

­____________________________________________

Going back to the first task. You rehearsed over and over again the things you want to say, in your head and front of the mirror, it makes you cringe, but it’s better than to see Mingi drown in tears and sobs.

“I appreciate all the effort you are putting in, but that doesn’t mean you have to neglect everything else in your life...”

“We have to learn how to balance work, our individuality and this relationship...”

“All this will take time, trust is gained slowly, and I’m sure…”

And you swore those would be the words that would come out of your mouth the second dinner was over. It wasn’t easy to explain how you ended up in this position…

Mingi between your legs, lapping at your pussy like a starved man, his mouth alternating between your entrance and your clit, not knowing which one to pleasure first. Meanwhile, Yunho was sucking at your neck, leaving bruises all over the sensitive skin; his fingers pinched and pulled on your nipples, and the sins that came out of his mouth made you tremble.

“Haven’t you missed this, my love?” He said pulling on your earlobe, “Have you missed Mingi eating your sweet, little cunt, mm?”

Mingi let your skin go with a pop, before pushing two of his long, thick fingers inside you without warning, finding a rhythm immediately, kitten licking your clit at the same time.

You couldn’t form any coherent thoughts; pleasure had completely taken over your brain; you could only feel the warmth of Mingi’s tongue and Yunho’s hard cock on your back.

“Please, please, please.” You didn’t even know what you were begging for.

“What do you need, baby? Tell us and we’ll give it to you.”

“I need you.” You whimpered.

“But baby, you have us.” Fucking Yunho, always a tease.

“Please, please Yuyu.”

“You need to tell me, love.”

Mingi’s mouth abandoned your core, leaving you aching and in need of more. “Come on, baby. You have to tell us what you want.” He urged, mocking you. “Use your words.” His fingers kept you on the edge, but not giving you any more.

Your mind is clouded by the overwhelming sensations coursing through your body. "I need..." you began, your voice barely above a whisper, "...both of you."

Yunho's fingers continued their torturous assault on your sensitive buds, while his teeth nipped your skin, "And you will have us."

Mingi resumed his ministrations with renewed fervour. His fingers delved deeper, stroking that sweet spot inside you that sent sparks of pleasure shooting through your veins, while his tongue resumed its teasing assault on your throbbing clit.

“I need to cum, please.”

"Then cum, my love, cum for us.”

With a strangled cry, you let yourself go, surrendering yourself to the overwhelming sea of sensations your lovers were providing. Heavy breaths escaped your chest, a constant ring in your ears, you could barely tell where you were, but one thing was clear, your lovers were not done with you.

You could feel them moving around you. This time Mingi was the one behind you, holding your knees against your chest, placing small kisses and whispering sweet nothings in your ear, his hands massaged your thighs gently.

“You did so good for us, sweetheart.” His fingers traced patterns in your bruised skin.

The familiar sound of the lubricant’s cap opening made you whimper; you had been conditioned to know what would happen next. Yunho and Mingi would always make sure to prepare you to take them, making you cum a couple of times before even trying anything, but tonight you just couldn’t wait, and neither could they.

“Are you ready, my love?” Yunho’s words made you tremble. You felt both their tips in your entrance, ready to claim you at the same time. Mingi kept his hands on your hips while the man in front of you caressed your legs, waiting for your permission to go on. Both of them slightly shaking with excitement and desperation.

“Yes.”

The sensation of being filled by them was overwhelming, but made you feel complete, whole, something you hadn’t felt in a long time. Their movements were slow and hesitant, not wanting to hurt you. Mingi’s moans and whines filled your ears, his hands pinched your skin and his head was thrown back in ecstasy.

“Oh my god, yes, god yes!” He wasn’t concerned by the sounds that left his mouth, too busy enjoying the feeling of your warmth enveloping him.

Yunho wasn’t doing any better, groans constantly leaving his mouth, driving himself deeper inch by inch. His eyebrows furrowed and mouth slightly opened, his eyes could only focus on the place where your bodies met and became one. The image of his and Mingi’s cock splitting you open wasn’t new, but goddamn was it the most erotic thing he had ever seen.

You closed your eyes, trying to control yourself. Pain and pleasure danced inside you, intertwining themselves and covering your entire being. Each thrust consumed you entirely, making your moans turn into screams, you could feel yourself teetering over the edge. The blonde´s fingers pushed on the small bud of nerves at your core making tears spill out of your eyes, while Yunho’s lips sucked your nipples raw.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He moaned, his hips never relenting their hellish pace. And a single moment of clarity, his eyes met Mingi’s. The same look of need and lust covered his face, red cheeks and dazed eyes, cries escaping his mouth, a small I love you between them. With what little sanity he had left, he took the younger man’s head and pushed their heads in a kiss. their teeth clashing and tongues sucking on each other in ardour, both of them moaning because of the new stimulation.

“I’m going to cum!” You cried. An explosion of pleasure filled your system, as your body convulsed in ecstasy, making you almost pass out. Yunho and Mingi couldn’t hold back any longer, the tight knot snapped, joining you and spilling their seed inside you. Their essence and yours running down your thighs, ending up in the couch’s leather.

The three of you lay breathless, boneless, but complete. You had for once and for all found your way back to each other, and after what felt like an eternity, everything felt right.

____________________________________________

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[cooliestghouliest]

pairing: Eddie Munson x Reader

plot summary: It’s Eddie’s birthday! He said no presents but you said fuck that. He’s getting two.

word count: 4k+

cw: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI; this is smut; porn with plot; Eddie being mean to Gareth; handjobs and blowjobs and Gareth unknowingly being a bystander of both; there’s some cum stuff in here, too.

notes: set in early 1990s. reader and Eddie are both in early/mid 20s. let’s pretend the PlayStation had co-op online gaming so this story makes sense. a part two may be in store. let me know what you think. 😈

Working overtime at The Hideout was not something you necessarily wanted to do, but with Eddie’s birthday coming up, it was something you had to do.

As much as you would have liked them to, bills wouldn’t simply pause just because you wanted to save money to buy Eddie a PlayStation. No, you had to use your math-inept brain to start budgeting, getting some help from Steve, who’d just recently been hired to work at a local accounting firm.

While you were hoping Steve would magically find money hidden somewhere in your finances, you were annoyed but not surprised at his only solution:

“You need to pick up more shifts.”

You and Eddie had moved into an apartment just outside of Hawkins after Eddie had finally graduated, you having helped him through that dreaded English class so you could both walk the stage together. That had been three years ago now. Money was tight, sure, but the two of you never went without the essentials. There was always dinner to be had, clothes to be worn, cable to be watched.

Between you bartending and trying to get a degree part-time, and Eddie dealing and working at the auto shop part-time, you both managed to make just enough to stay afloat.

Sometimes Eddie would score a few hundred playing a gig with Corroded Coffin, and he’d use that to wine and dine you like the fancy little lady you were. His words, not yours. You knew Eddie liked to spoil you. You knew he hated he couldn’t do it more.

Many stoned late night conversations had been had between the two of you where he fantasized aloud about taking you country to country once the band made it big, fucking you in soft, plush, expensive hotel beds, and spoon feeding you gelato while watching the sunset on a balcony, your bodies wrapped in silk, name-embroidered robes.

Eddie was a total lush at heart. The most broke rich man you’d ever met. You assumed this was because he came from virtually nothing. You didn’t need everything he wanted to give you, but he made it clear on more than one occasion that once money wasn’t a barrier, he would treat you like a queen.

You felt like he already did.

This is why you sucked up the hatred you had for The Hideout and told Roy, your boss, you’d work whatever shifts he could give you for the next few weeks. You endured handfuls of handsy truck drivers, pretended to flirtatiously banter with beyond drunk bikers, and held back the powerful urge to gag while stroking the egos of middle aged business men who chose to go through their midlife crisis in a seedy, dimly lit bar.

Seeing the look on Eddie’s face when you slid the wrapped package across the small dining table in your kitchen made all of the extra hours of rum pouring and forced salacious smiles worth it.

He had been mid-sentence, talking about a client at the auto shop who he’d spent an hour after hours with, the guy telling him all about medieval torture devices. This didn’t surprise you. Eddie’s fascination with the macabre was one of the things that had drawn the two of you together in the first place.

The first time you’d officially met was in English class your junior year, his third senior year. You’d told him you lived in a funeral home because your dad was a generational mortician, and that one day you’d probably own and operate it once your father retired. You also told him your mom was a self-proclaimed psychic who held seances for family members of the dead following their services. Eddie open-mouth stared at you for at least an entire minute in silence before telling you that was the creepiest fucking thing he’d ever heard, and that he would never feel fulfilled in life until you invited him over so he could experience it all firsthand. 

The rest is history.

“What is this?” Eddie asked, brown eyes wide as he observed the gift in front of him.

“I know we said no presents this year so we can save for the new car, but... you know how I had all those late night study groups I had to go to this semester?”

He nodded, long fingers toying with the black parchment wrapping paper.

“Weeeeeell, actually, I was working overtime at The Hideout,” you admitted, pulling your bottom lip into your mouth. You knew he wasn’t going to be happy to hear you hadn’t been honest this past month, but you figured once he saw what you’d bought him (and what you’d had planned for the rest of the night), maybe he’d decide to let bygones be bygones. Not likely, as Eddie thoroughly enjoyed teaching you lessons as punishment for bad behavior, and you figured lying for weeks on end about attending study groups qualified as pretty bad behavior. You rushed out the next few sentences, smiling innocently and tilting your head to try and appear as cute as you possibly could, “It was so I could buy you that. For your birthday. Happy birthday, Eddie. Love you.”

Eddie’s brows lifted toward his hairline at your admittance, slow blinking a few times as your confession set in.

“We are definitely going to revisit all that at a later point,” Eddie warned, a ringed finger pointing at you. “Because that is so not okay. But -- ” he couldn’t help the excited, boyish grin that enveloped his features. “I really wanna open this and see what it is.”

You giggled in excitement at his eagerness, drumming your fingers on the table. “Okay, come on! Open it!” You would enjoy these few hours of spoiling him as he so frequently spoiled you, and you’d worry about whatever punishment he’d dole out when it came later.

And right now, the look of elation on his face as he unwrapped the PlayStation was worth however many studded belt spankings or denied orgasms you had in your near future.

“Fuck! Baby! No way!” he practically squealed, jumping up from the chair. It fell to the ground behind him with a clatter, but he paid no mind. He held the gaming console above him in awe. “You’re fucking kidding!”

“No, no kidding,” you answered, even though you knew his words were rhetorical. You could feel your cheeks growing sore with the smile stretched across your face, basking in his reaction. “There’s a real PlayStation in there, I swear.”

He laughed and protectively cradled the console under his arm, hurrying to you to slam his lips against yours in a kiss. No tongue, but plenty of fervor. “God, I fucking love you,” he muttered, placing small kisses on your nose and cheeks. “I mean, I’d fucking love you even if you got me nothing, or just, like, socks or something, but, shit, baby, this is -- I have to call Gareth! We can play King’s Field together now!”

A laugh bubbled out of your lips at his sudden change in direction, knowing Eddie was always at the whim of his impulses. You watched as he ran off to the living room to make the call. You knew Gareth would be waiting for it, as you’d told him to make sure he didn’t have plans on Eddie’s birthday, so the two of them could spend it playing the multiplayer game together late into the night.

It was all part of your grander birthday plan.

You waited until you heard Eddie’s voice rambling off to Gareth in the living room, the sounds of him unboxing the console to start to hook it up mingled into his conversation, before you disappeared into your bedroom to change.

Phase one, complete, success. Phase two, final phase, commence.

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

It was about twenty minutes later when you reemerged from the bedroom, wearing nothing but a newly bought matching blood red bra and panty set. It was solid colored with black lace outlining the rim of both pieces, flattering against your skin tone.

Eddie was sitting on the edge of the La-Z-Boy, headset mussing down his wild curls, talking animatedly to Gareth about the skeletons they were currently fighting on the screen.

“No, no! Go left, go left! God damnit, Gareth, do you know what your left is?!”

Eddie was loud and mouthy enough as it is, but add in a game where he had the ability to lose and the whole apartment complex would be banging on their door come tomorrow morning with noise complaints. Hell hath no fury like a twenty-something man’s confidence in his pretend battling skills.

While some might find it annoying, you found Eddie’s unbridled passion for everything he was interested in endearing. He was someone who let himself be totally engulfed by the plot of a movie or a game or a story, attaching himself to the characters and their the ups and downs as if they were tangible and could be found in his own everyday life.

You were happy for his distraction as it gave you time to compose yourself and slowly stalk your way to the center of the living room, where the chair sat directly across from the TV.

By the time you made your way to the side of the La-Z-Boy, finally coming into Eddie’s peripheral vision, he was still berating Gareth for his poor sense of direction.

“I mean, what the hell, Gare, we learned our lefts and rights in, like -- oh, fuck.”

You’d brought you hand out to trail down the exposed skin of Eddie’s arm, watching it goosebump in your wake. He’d taken his shirt off at some point, much to your appreciation. Eddie’s attention was fully on you now, as was evident from his failed completed sentence to Gareth, who you could now hear through Eddie’s headset going, “Oh, fuck? What? What, oh fuck? You don’t even know how to talk, Munson.”

But Gareth went unheard by Eddie, who’s eyes were drinking in the sight of you in your lingerie set. His tongue darted out to lick at his lower lip, which he then pulled into his mouth to sink his top teeth into.

You offered him a playful smile, watching as his neck began to turn red, the color almost a perfect match for the satin set you had on.

Without a word, you dropped to your knees on the carpet in front of him, sitting between his legs.

“What -- what are you doing?” he managed to choke out.

Gareth’s voice through the headset: “What? Dude, I’m fucking going left like you told me to!”

“Shut up, Gareth,” Eddie warned, his brown eyes now full of fire for the sight before him.

He brought one hand to cover the mouthpiece of his headset, the other placing the controller on his lap to reach out and cradle your face. You leaned into it.

“What are you doing, baby?” Eddie asked again, but he knew. Especially from the wicked grin you were giving him now.

“Just play your game, Eddie,” you whispered, careful to be quiet so Gareth didn’t hear. You moved your head to rest your cheek on his thigh, staring up at him with big doe eyes as you brought the fingers of one hand to lightly trace the line of his zipper. “And don’t get caught. We don’t want Gareth to know what a bad girl I’m being, playing with your cock while you play with him.”

His breath caught in his throat. He couldn’t believe it.

Not only had you gotten him exactly what he’d been wanting since it came out that prior winter, but now you were going to suck him off while he played it?

Jesus, how did he get so lucky?

“You are a fucking minx,” Eddie said, voice stern but his face lighting up in satisfaction as he readjusted himself on the chair, spreading his legs a bit wider.

He dropped the hand from the headset and picked the controller back up again just as Gareth was saying, “Eddie, man, are you still there? Your character’s been standing in the same place for, like, five minutes.”

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

Sucking dick was not only one of your favorite things to do, but it was one of the things you were best at.

You prided yourself on how quickly you could work Eddie into a panting frenzy, how easy it was for him to lose control in your mouth, thrusting his hips to force you to take what you could and to choke back the rest.

But tonight you were taking it slow. Slow and sloppy. And you weren’t letting him do any of the work.

You’d only pulled his cock from his jeans, leaving his balls in the confines of the tight denim. You’d used so much spit that the fabric of his pants was soaking through to his boxer briefs. You watched his face intently as one of your hands wrapped around the thickness of him, stroking upwards in long, drawn out movements. You could tell he was trying to jerk his hips up but was failing, as your other hand was pressed into his side, trying its hardest to keep his body weight back against the chair.

“Greedy,” you scolded, clicking your tongue to the roof of your mouth.

He smiled sheepishly, eyes meeting yours over his hands which were holding the controller against his chest. He stopped the movement of his hips even though he felt as if it physically pained him to do so.

You’d been working him with your hands and mouth for the better part of half an hour now, releasing him entirely any time he came close to coming. He’d let a whine out at one point, to which Gareth asked, “Dude, you good?” and Eddie had to scramble out in his lust addled brain an excuse as to why that type of noise had erupted from him. He didn’t even remember what he’d said to explain it away.

All Eddie wanted to do was come. He wanted to cover you in him, drench your face and chest as you’d drenched his pants and cock in your warm saliva. He kept picturing it in his head, in alarmingly graphic detail, which was making this video game very, very hard to concentrate on.

Eddie got the idea that maybe if you neared your breaking point too, he’d finally be allowed to come. His cock throbbed at the thought, a bead of precum oozing from his slit. You sucked it away. He groaned and rolled his eyes back, controller wobbling in his hand and threatening to fall to the floor.

Taking a deep breath, he steadied his grip again, pressing a few random assortments of buttons to make Gareth think he was still coherent and definitely not getting a blowjob from his girlfriend right now.

“Will you please play with yourself?” Eddie asked, trying to put forth his best pleading puppy dog eyes. This was his big plan. Get you to get yourself off so he could sneak his orgasm in there, too.

He clearly had forgotten to cover the mouthpiece because Gareth’s voice was incredulous on the other end.

“What the fuck, Munson? What do you mean? I can’t play with myself! We’re almost at the end, man! Don’t give up now!”

You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips, your head falling back for a moment at the exasperation in Gareth’s voice. Gareth was none the wiser, but just so you felt better, you made a mental note to buy him something nice or bake him those cookies you knew he liked, just for being such an unknowingly good sport during all of this.

Sticking your tongue out a bit, you bit down on the fleshy muscle in your mouth before rising more on your knees, leaning closer to Eddie. With the hand that was previously pushing his hips down, you covered his mouthpiece. “Is this a game you can win?” you asked. Your hand had stopped stroking now, and your fingers were instead running light pressured circles around the head of his weeping cock.

“Wha -- what? Uh, yeah... yeah, I can win,” Eddie stumbled, attention off the game momentarily to watch your hot little mouth move. “Just... fuck up a few more skeletons...”

“Okay,” you said, hand tightening on his member again, this time sliding it down slowly, twisting as you went. He hissed, trying to lean forward to capture your mouth with his own. You backed away, falling back down to your bottom as you continued playing with him in your hand. “Then win and I’ll let you come.”

Eddie huffed, trying to thrust his hips up for more friction but was stopped by your hand reclaiming its spot on his pelvis again, pushing him back down. If he wanted, he could absolutely overpower you. He could grab your wrists and pull you up into his lap, sliding the side of your panties over with one hand before impaling you on his wanting cock. He knows you’d let him. But he likes when you get like this, thinking you’re in control. It makes it all that much better when he finally flips the script and has you teary eyed begging for him to let you come.

“Gareth, I swear to fucking god, if we don’t win this game in the next three minutes, I’m never speaking to you again.”

𖤐 ֪ 𖤐 ֪ 𖤐

It takes longer than three minutes, and it’s not because of Gareth.

Eddie keeps screwing up, pressing X when he should be pressing O; spamming the start button to bring up the game menu when you take him particularly deep into your throat; accidentally stabbing Gareth’s character with a sword instead of the skeleton because his eyes keep rolling into the back of his head with the words spilling from your filthy mouth.

It’s all, “tastes so good, Eddie,” and “can’t even fit you all in my mouth,” and “I’m dripping on the floor, want you so bad.”

Evil woman.

Evil, perfect woman.

Eddie sees a light at the end of the tunnel. Literally. In the game, the hallway he and Gareth had been running down is opening into the brightness of a lit arena. It’s the final stage. One more fucking skeleton and he can let go. He can turn this headset off and grunt and groan to his heart’s content without having to worry about Gareth thinking he’s a fucking creep.

“I’m almost there...” Eddie’s saying, and he’s kind of talking about winning the game, but is mostly talking about the orgasm he can feel tightening in his balls, swirling in his stomach, clenching in his thighs.

“Yeah, dude! We got this!”

Eddie does not want to hear Gareth’s voice right now. He wants to hear you, pretty and whiny, loving the noises you make when you make him come. He loves how much you love it. You’re not even the one coming, but you’re always right there with him, moaning about how good his warm seed feels inside you or all over you, wherever he decides to finish. You’re not picky.

Just then, Eddie jolts forward in the chair. The head of his hard length hits the back of your throat and you cough a little, sputtering as you move your head. Looking back over your shoulder at the TV screen, hand moving up and down Eddie’s slippery cock, you see the words 'YOU WIN' in radioactive green.

“Fuuuuuuck, yes!” Eddie shouts, throwing the controller in the air. He rips off the headset without saying goodbye to Gareth, dropping it to the ground as he turns his attention back to you.

He looks absolutely wrecked. Black bangs are clung to his forehead with sweat, his chest is heavy with labored breaths, his skin is tinged pink from being so worked up and then worked back down over and over for the past hour. He can’t believe he hasn’t accidentally came yet. He assumes it’s because his mind was preoccupied with the game, because now that his full attention is on you, remembering what you’re wearing, what you’re doing, and how you look so fucking good doing it, he doesn’t think he’s going to last.

“Baby, please, I wanna come,” he’s saying, bringing one hand to the back of your head, tangling it in your hair. He’s not guiding you or helping at all, doesn’t want to be in control yet, he just wants to touch you, needs to have his hands on you somehow. “I won, did you see, I won, I get to come, right? Please make me come...”

You bit back a self-satisfied look at his pleading, bringing both hands now to wrap around the length of him. It doesn’t need it, already soaking from being in your mouth, but you let a string of spit fall onto the head of his cock, making your hands glide even easier over the velvety hardness of him. You can feel him throbbing, his hips finally able to rock up into your touch.

“Are you gonna make me all messy, Eddie?” you ask, tilting your head down to look up at him with wide, faux innocent eyes.

He’s nodding, thrusts finding no rhythm, just trying to reach release. “Yeah, baby, you love it when I cover you in my come, get you all wet and sticky...”

“Uh-huh. Love when you help me clean it up, too.”

And that’s what does it.

Eddie let out a stilted moan, one that changed octaves, and he’s coming harder than he thinks he’s ever come before.

Thick ropes of white hit your cheeks, your chin, your neck, your chest.

You gasped at the contact, then let out a moan that made his toes curl into the carpet, licking your lips to catch anything that landed in tongue distance.

He watches it all. His eyes threaten to close but fuck no, he loves to see you get marked by him in the most primal of ways. Loves to watch his cock paint the prettiest portrait on you.

He brought his hand down to help you stroke him through it, wanting to feel your smaller fingers on his cock as he rode out his high.

Then he gave you what you love, helping you clean it up. He bent his head down and ran his tongue across your hot skin, scooping up as much of his release as he could. He grabbed you by the chin, pulling down until your mouth opened before spitting into your mouth, watching as you let it sit for a moment before closing your mouth and swallowing, your eyes heavy with arousal at his actions.

“Mmmm,” you sound, smiling dopily. You kissed at his lips, your hand still slowly stroking him as he softened.

He licked at your bottom lip before his tongue moved into your mouth and against yours, pulling you into his lap. You melted into his touch, becoming boneless flesh in his arms. He groaned at the feeling of your wet, clothed cunt pressed against his lower stomach. He hadn’t even touched you -- you hadn’t even touched yourself -- and yet you were still so slick for him.

That thought alone was enough to cause his cock to twitch, and he thanked the sex gods or whoever was in charge for gracing him with stamina tonight of all nights.

“Best,” kiss to your nose, “birthday,” kiss to your chin, “ever,” kiss to your lips.

You smiled against his lips, humming happily at his admission. This was exactly how you planned the night going. Surprise Eddie with a PlayStation and an explosive orgasm.

Then he just had to go and throw a curveball.

“I’ll be good to go in twenty minutes,” he conceded, fingers running featherlight down your bare back. “Then we’ll see what we’re gonna do about that lying mouth of yours.”

Damn it. The study groups. He remembered. Part of you hoped you’d sucked all the sense out of him, but apparently not.

“Mean,” you pouted.

Eddie’s eyes flashed wickedly, a lazy grin stretching across his face.

“Oh, I will be.”

[taintandviolent]

feed my Frankenstein ; Frankenkyle x reader

summary: stripper!reader decides to dress up like a zombie for Halloween, and when the girls bring Kyle to the strip club…. He makes the decision for himself that he’s going to be with his kind. w a r n i n g s: 5k words! stripper!reader, female reader, cunnilingus, rough sex, violence, mentions of blood, biting, graphic descriptions. kyle being a big, horny zombie who doesn't understand his strength. a/n: [🎃 part of lizzie's halloween fics! 🎃] probably some errors, whoops. I didn't want to label this as dead dove don't eat, but Kyle literally tries to eat reader, so be warned, I guess??? also my ending is very... cliff-hangery. don't come for me, this fic took on a life of its own very quickly. thank you for reading if you did!!! full fic & taglist under cut!↓ / ao3 link here! / ♪ recommended playlist here! ♪

You dab a stippling sponge against your neck, hiding an edge with a speckle of grey makeup. You’d put a lot of effort into your silly little zombie look - but it was Halloween after all, and hardly any of the other girls had dressed up. Sure, they’d started out in low-effort costumes of Dorothy Gale and Snow White, but as soon as those came off, they were just their normal selves again. You… not so much. You went the extra mile. You’d spent hours applying prosthetics on your limbs, and painting your flesh to mimic the rotting corpses seen in cult classic horror films. Specks of blood around your perfectly lined lips, uneven skin, stitches from your neck down the front of your body.

It wouldn’t be everyone’s cup of tea, you knew. Some of them would lose their boners at the sight. It was time for your first shift. The club was rowdy, you heard it from behind the door. You lean against it, gulp down the last of your water, and fluff your hair before spinning on your red, patent leather heels and pulling open the door.

“I don’t know if this is such a good idea, Madison…” Zoe confesses, nervously. She holds onto Kyle’s arm tightly, guiding him around a booth like an elderly man. He was already entranced by the vibrant lights that swept back and forth in shades of orange and green. It reminded him of his show. Colours….

“Oh, please.” With a roll of her eyes, Madison flips her blonde hair over her shoulder. “This is the best place to put a braindead man… look, they’re everywhere.”

Men cluster around the stage, watching hungrily as women take their clothes off, gyrating their hips close enough to their faces that they could reach out and take bites  out of their full asses. The bouncer in the corner makes sure that doesn’t happen, though.

Over the PA, a loud voice says: “Alright! Put your hands together for our resident nerdy girl, our very own reanimated sexpot…”

As though it was on hinges, Kyle’s head swings heavily to face the stage. H

“Look, he’s already fitting in.” Madison nips.

You prance forward, reaching for the pole in the centre of the stage. Men holler your name, the few regulars that came every night you were working. You’d earned yourself a reputation as the nerdy girl because of your penchant for dressing up on the themed nights. Your hips roll to the beat of the song, coming daringly close to the hands that hold dollar bills. When they don’t get the chance to slip them into your outfit, they flutter at your feet, decorating the stage. You undo the tie of your shirt, revealing white bikini with gratuitous blood spatter. You’d done that yourself.

You wrap one leg around the pole, latching onto it. As it spins, you reach behind your back, undoing the tie of your top. Your breasts fall free, nipples hardening in the air conditioning. You hold the bra out proudly, smiling as the hoots and cheers fill the room.

“C’mon,” she starts, taking hold of Kyle’s thick wrist. His skin is always slightly cooler than everyone else’s. She remembers how cold the inside of his mouth was when they first — She blinks away the thoughts, actually disgusted by the idea. After all, she’d never really wanted to fuck a dead guy…

“Hey!” “Watch it, sweetheart!” “Get outta’ the way, you’re blockin’ the view, toots!”

Madison ignores the heckling, and continues to the front, pressing her bony hips against the lip of the stage.

“Hey! Dead bitch!”

Her voice is loud enough that it carries over the music, and you furrow your brow. She wasn’t wrong, but the bitch part seemed unnecessary. Still, you make your way over to the cluster of them, and bend at the waist to hear her.

“Yeah - what?” You ask, still swaying to the song.

“This is our little zombie — ”

“His name is Kyle,” The other girl interrupts pointedly. Madison throws a look towards the other girl, who nods with a fake smile. Truly, she didn’t care what you called him. As long as she didn't have to deal with him, she was happy.

“Kyle — and he needs a babysitter. He’s a little…” she makes a face, stretching her mouth out in a sneer. You knit your brows together again, unsure what that means.

Kyle, you think to yourself. What a frat boy name. In fact, he looks like a frat boy with really really good makeup. Full head of curly blonde hair, dark eyes, strong but soft features… looks like he can absolutely devour a keg.

He’s wearing an open black shirt and jeans, and beneath the black shirt, you can see raised flesh, scars like he was put back together. Funny that you’d chosen to do a dance number to Feed my Frankenstein.

“Do your job and keep him entertained, okay?” She pulls the peeking string of your thong far enough out to freely press a one hundred dollar bill against your hip and lets go. It snaps back against your skin, hard enough to sting. You wince.

Before you have time to protest, the girls are walking back towards the entrance without their little zombie in tow. One of them casts a woeful glance over her shoulder, and you’re left wondering why if she cares so much, why was she still walking away? You fill your lungs with air, exhale and lower yourself down onto your haunches.

“Hey baby,” you coo, wrapping a single blonde curl around your index finger. It’s angel-soft, and bounces back as you let go, straightening up. He seems to melt towards your touch, starved for it. “I like your costume.”

He watches as your ample cleavage sways with the gentle motion of your body. He repeats the word back to you, laboriously. “Cos…tume….”

“That’s right,” you say, running your hands over your thighs as you stand upright. The long heels of the shoes elongate your legs, making you tower over the club’s patrons. “I like it, it’s cute.”

Kyle watches wordlessly as your hands glide over your body, carefully skipping over the stitches at your knees, along your stomach, and finally up to the long stitch around your neck, which to him is holding your head on. Kyle’s eyes blink repeatedly with recognition.

You dip down, reaching for his hand. The crowd woooo’s as you hand him the string of your skirt. He grips it hard before looking at it deeply. You take one step back, flashing a coy expression to the men in the front row. Another step, and the tie begins to slip through the bow, unravelling. Another step and the skirt falls to your feet. A cacophony of approval fills your ears.

You’re in nothing but the blood-spattered bikini bottoms now, and you sink to your knees again, flashing Kyle a bright smile. He blinks, your skirt awkwardly hanging from his hand by the string.

On all fours, you crawl towards him, popping your ass to the beat of the song. Dollar bills shower the stage,  and when you slide your knees out to the sides, allowing men a delicious view of your backside, someone tucks another $100 in your bikini.

Kyle is watching you, but his hands drop to his groin where he makes a fist, and rubs it awkwardly over his now-throbbing erection. You immediately notice this, and your eyes widen. That’s a sure fire way to get kicked out, and for whatever reason, you’ve clocked him as too innocent to let that happen. There’s either a) something wrong with him, or b) he’s really committed to acting like a clueless, braindead boy. Both options require action.

“Okay, okay,” you murmur, guiding him to the side of the stage. There’s an empty chair, and with a heel, you push him back into it. Sit. Stay. He does. Good boy.

He never takes his eyes off you though, and every time you’re looking at him, his jaw hangs slack, staring at you with half-lidded eyes. He keeps trying to get up, and you have to slowly shake your head at him, teasingly. He seems to understand that gesture, and stays put.   

As you dance, you find yourself watching him, too. Inexplicably drawn to him, for whatever reason. You don’t usually take guys to the back, but $100 is a pretty good tip. Besides, you didn’t want to run into that girl again, and especially not angry.

As your routine comes to an end, Kyle gets up out of his chair, knocking into the edge of the stage. A few guys turn their heads, trying to figure out what this guy’s deal is. You’re too busy picking up your tips, and gathering your clothes to notice. With arms full, you race to the back, throw on a t-shirt and bolt back to the front, praying that Kyle is still where you left him.

He is. He may be trying to climb up on the stage, head craning in the direction of where you exited, but he's still there. You heave a relieved sigh, and saunter up to him, softening your expression.

“Hi, Kyle…” you murmur sweetly. You slip your arm underneath his, linking it with yours and softly pulling him down into a normal standing position again. There’s a small moment of processing and trust before he looks at you and smiles very weakly.

Destinee is next, and while she’s a nice girl, you absolutely loathe her taste in lighting. You enjoy a good rave, sure, but this is like the Electric Daisy Carnival in a much, much smaller space.

You learn very quickly that Kyle doesn’t like it either. At all. In fact, he might dislike it more than you. As soon as the beat is thumping and the bright red and orange lights are washing over the establishment, Kyle wrenches away from you, covering his ears. A low groan starts in his throat, bubbling up through his lips until he’s practically screaming.

“Shhh, shh it’s okay!” You try desperately to console him, but he can’t seem to hear you. Glancing nervously at the guests around you who are starting to take notice of him now, you smile apologetically. “Kyle, it’s okay!”

There’s only one solution - the private dance rooms. They’re quiet, secluded and a perfect spot to store a stressed out zombie boy for a few hours. You looked towards the spiral staircase that led upstairs, and hesitated. You were a dancer who rarely used the private rooms. You had been hard pressed to avoid being alone with any man, especially one that had paid you and felt entitled to whatever he wanted to take. Kyle, however, didn’t seem like the type to… well, do that. Or even articulate that he wanted to do that — did he even understand that you’d been paid to babysit him? Likely not.

You force his hand down as gently as possible, interlacing your fingers with his. “Kyle,” you say. “Kyle, look at me.”

His head moves sluggishly, and his eyes gradually follow. He looks at you with big, black eyes, the surrounding skin darkened and mottled. In the changing lights, he looks so lost, and your heart throbs desperately. Shucking the worries of whispers aside, you lead him through the club towards the wrought iron staircase.

“Hey Lance,” you say. “Private room open?”

“They sure are…” he replies with a large grin, his heavy accent coming through. Lance was one of the bouncers and rotated positions, so you had gotten semi-close with him. He enjoyed your presence and penchant for the strange. “Last door on da’ left.”  

With Kyle in tow, you head down the long, red hallway. Each of the doors were painted black, with gold trim. Kyle’s gaze travels from each door, picking up on the various sounds that seeped from behind them.

“Okay…” You say, your voice a touch softer than before as you push open the last door, praying that it’s been cleaned adequately. You cock your head to the side, urging him inside. His concerned eyes swept from you to the door and back to you before he finally decided that it was safe enough for him to enter. “Look, no strobe lights. No loud music. Just you and me.”

“You… and me….” He grumbles. The door clicks shut behind you. His words are painfully slow and slurred, but you can’t help be charmed by the innocence of them. “You…. You’re…. l-like me.”

“That’s right, baby… I’m like you.” In a quiet, joking whisper, you say: “Raaaaauuuuggghhhhhh…. Brains.”

Kyle seems to like this. The tiniest of smiles forms on his mouth. His chest heaves, and without warning, he lunges for you. His strong arms wrap around you in a steely grip that at first terrifies you; your arms are pinned at your sides, locked into place. His tongue slips over your collarbone, wet and cool like he’s just finished eating ice cream. It slips over your neck, along your jawline, and up behind your ear. He’s licking you, devouring you with such pressure that he has to have eaten some of the makeup by this point. You wince as he nips at your ear lobe, his teeth grinding down on the flesh. With some inhuman gurgle, he descends, covering your chest in his saliva.

You were used to men being hungry for you, acting like rabid dogs the second that they caught a glimpse of your plump tits or your juicy ass. It was part of the gig, came with the territory. But not this. This guy was on something. Had to be. Without warning, he yanks your cropped shirt up, and his jaws clamp down on the meat of your exposed breast. You yelp, pushing him off. He looks hurt or confused, or maybe both. Immediately, you scramble, feeling like you’ve just taken candy from a child.

“Hey no.. it’s okay. You can bite me… I like being bit. But not too hard, honey… that hurt.”

He doesn’t understand. Or he doesn’t look like he understands. His brows knit together sadly, while the dark, ink pools he has for eyes glaze over.

“….biiiiiiiiiiiiiite….” He says.

“Softly,” you finished, with your cutest zombie voice. “Biiiiite soft…ly….”

He cranes forward, mouth finding your flesh again. His teeth continue to graze your skin, slightly softer than before though, so maybe he does understand. His tongue lolls out sloppily to taste every inch. He nears the jumbled up mess of liquid latex on your elbow, and you expect him to stop, or skip over it — but he doesn’t. He feels uneven, soft flesh and his front teeth clamp down on it with a guttural sound. He rears his head back far enough for the liquid latex to streeeetch, and snap.

This gorgeous, blonde boy has a chunk of faux flesh hanging from between his teeth. Fake blood dots his pale lips, and he’s looking at you with the most confused expression you’ve ever seen on a man. It’s a grisly sight, really, but it fits the theme of the night. He’s committed to the zombie act, you’ll give him that.

“Hey, hey, take it easy, spit that out…” You reach up, rubbing the fake blood off his bottom lip. flatten your slender fingers on his broad chest, skin smooth like stone except for the deep scars. These are really good prosthetics. You can’t even see the seam. Because there aren’t any…

Like a dog, he drops the wrinkly skin-toned mass from his mouth and frowns. He looks genuinely disappointed, like he expected blood and guts. “B-bad… th-that… didn’t taste….. gooood…” he stammers. "Hun..gry…..”

For a moment, you’re frozen. Your realization clicks into place painfully slowly, slower than his brain seems to move. He’s really too good at the whole zombie act, and a panicked thought writhes its way into your mind, penetrating it the way that a tissue absorbs blood. Just sucks it in, becomes a part of it. No, no way.

Heavily masking the nerves in your voice, you clear your throat and reach for his shoulder. You stroke the smooth roundness of it, raking your nails against his skin.  “You want something that tastes good, baby?”

That ‘something good' is your cunt. You’ll let him eat you out so you can think. You assume he’ll eat you out like most men do — boringly — and you can process the realisation that this poor creature in front of you is actually really badly scarred, and possibly, a victim of head trauma, or something. Because there’s no way you’re meeting an actual zombie. Even on Halloween in New Orleans. That’s insane. So, you’re going to let him eat you out while you sort this out in your mind.

That was the plan, anyway.

Except the second you sink into the vinyl chair, he’s on his knees, looking at your pretty cunt with hungry eyes and the visual wipes your brain clean. It was like you put a plate of food in front of a starving man. His mouth opens. You untie both sides of your underwear, letting them fall to the floor. His eyes drop heavily, watching every move.

At first, his tongue juts out, curiously tasting what you’ve put in front of him. It presses between your folds, pauses, before wiggling around. Your eyelids flutter; you were ready to zone out, but Kyle’s inexperience, his curiosity feels so good.

“Good,” he growls, the word vibrating your cunt. His cool breath washes over your core, sending a chill up your spine. He delves deeper, tasting more of you.

His tongue flicks at your clit, flipping the swollen bundle of nerves mercilessly. Your whole body is trembling, and you feel the first of your orgasms rushing towards your centre. Carefully, not wanting to scare him, you grip his angel curls and ride his mouth slightly. Shit. Almost instantly, the throbbing starts and you make a mess of his poor boy’s face, squirting over his lips and chin.

“You like that?” You ask, through uneven pants. The first of the night always feels sooo good.

He nods heavily on your cunt, still lapping up the juices that leak from your slick hole. Your legs start to quiver and a fire burns deep within your cunt. You try to pat his shoulders, wordlessly telling him to stop. His tongue delves in, and he freezes.

“Kyle?” You ask nervously. Unconsciously, you clench around his tongue. He snaps to life, like someone flipped a switch in his brain. His strong arms wrap around the front of your thighs, tightly. Very tightly. He starts to pull you off the chair, lifting you up into his arms. Your ass cheeks are pressed against his chest and the back of your head is on the chair’s cushion now. He’s holding you tightly, upside down, still swallowing mouthfuls of your sopping wet cunt. He can’t seem to hear your desperate, pleading cries to stop.

You blink back tears, your vision throbs. You don’t know if it’s because the blood is very obviously rushing to your head, or because you’re coming again so quickly, but he’s drilling his tongue into your cunt like there’s a cream centre. If there is, he’s found it.

A scream fills your lungs and your body lunges upwards, trying to find leverage — something, anything to hold onto. She clenches again, pulsating around his cold, slippery tongue. Kyle’s practically drinking you with each clench. The overstimulation is crippling, and you can’t help but scream out.

“KYLE! STOP!”

At the shrill sound, he immediately drops you and your body hits the ground with a heavy thud. Your ass aches a little from the fall, but it’s nothing that’s going to ruin the night.

He’s frowning at you, his lips and chin glazed with your cum.

“S-sorry…” he grumbles. “Sorry. Bad.”

“No, no… not bad. Accident. Accident. Kyle?”

You call his name and he’s looking at you with those big, hopeful, dark eyes of his. You can tell — he isn’t sure if you’re going to scold him, or praise him and the uncertainty terrifies him. You get to your knees, crawling towards the sofa. Once you’re up on it, you pat the spot next to you three times.

“Can I see?” You gesture to your own body, tracing the remaining prosthetics with a single finger before pointing to him. He looks down, his bottom lip jutting out. He nods after a few seconds and lumbers over to you, sitting down heavily.  

Your fingers dance over his skin. He was literally pieced back together. His head, his arms, his legs, the lower half of his torso… he was sewn back together like Frankenstein. Different parts connected as one. You’re sitting next to an actual zombie.

And then it dawns on you. Those girls. You’d seen them before. You knew their faces. They lived in the massive mansion on Jackson Avenue. They were witches. Witches were a dime a dozen in New Orleans — in fact, it was weirder if you didn’t practice some kind of craft. But zombies… you’d only ever heard stories. You’d never seen one, let alone be eaten out by one.

You stroke Kyle’s broad chest. For being a zombie, he’s surprisingly soft. You’d always imagined them as dried out, crusty creatures, but he only had a few patches of dry skin. In fact, he had more patches where you could see dark blue pooling underneath his skin, where blood had settled after death. He is cold however, and that’s the most jarring part.

You ease him back on the leather sofa, making sure his head goes down softly onto the arm rest.  

“It’s okay, Kyle…. I like your body.”

“Costume….” He says. You shake your head.

“Body. Body.”

His hips give the tiniest little buck, and it slips between your ass cheeks. He whimpers, trying to get a visual of what he’s feeling. Gradually, his thrusts increase in pressure, and you adjust for your own pleasure.

When you adjust, forcing his cock to slide in between your cunt instead, he feels the slick warmth, and his feral nature returns, stronger than before. His thrusts pick up, and he seems to realise that you are a living thing, with pulsing blood and a throbbing heartbeat. Something else is throbbing again, too.

You whine and match his thrusts, letting your head loll back.

Kyle has a different idea, and before you can stop him, he has your forearm in his mouth, teeth clamped down on the soft, warm flesh. It only takes a few seconds for you to feel the stinging ache consuming your arm. It hurts… bad. The muscles in your fingers contract, twitching limply. He aggressively shakes his head, and your heart drops. The terror sets in, and you’re suddenly running cold.

“Kyle, no- OW! KYLE!”

He shakes his head again, biting down harder and digging his the ridges of his teeth deeper into your skin. You don’t necessarily feel the flesh tear, somewhere near the top, but you certainly feel the warm flow of blood that drips down your arm, dribbling onto his chest. Your pupils dilate. The blood keeps flowing, and you feel him start to rear his head back. Something pulls back with him. The ache is replaced by a searing burn, and you realise that if he pulls back any further, he’s going to pull off skin. You’re panicking now, and don’t know what else to do but try again. This time though, you roar at him, bringing back your zombie voice. It’s not so cute this time. “Raaaaaaaaauhhhhhh, KYLE. KYLE STOP. STOP!”

You try to rip your arm away from his mouth, while pushing his head. Thankfully, his powerful jaw goes slack and your arm slides out, strings of spit stretching from his lips. Your blood is smeared across his chin and bottom lip, and collects in the corners of his mouth.

With your vision bouncing thanks to Kyle’s furious thrusting, you look at your arm, watching the bright crimson well up in the indentations of the bite mark. Amidst the rest of your makeup, the bite doesn’t look out of place. You hold your arm out further, trying to come up with a story for this one. Maybe the makeup had stained in an absolutely mind-blowing way. And you had a reaction to it, hence the bizarre swelling and scabbing. That sounds good, sounds believable.

“Want… more…”  He says, and your stomach drops, praying that he doesn’t mean more flesh. You’re not sure you can handle another one. Mid-thrust, Kyle’s thick, veiny cock angles just right and slips into your cunt. She swallows him easily, still wet from being eaten — a mixture of cum and Kyle’s viscid, slimy saliva. You plant both hands on his chest, letting out a breathy, melodic moan. He feels good enough to make you forget about the bite, and as you begin to ride him, it seems that he forgets too.

You’re taking control, grinding on top of him, using his cock like your own personal toy. It’s hitting every spot you want it to, pressing into your walls with its girth, and you can’t help but whine about it. Pausing to smear your blood across Kyle’s chest with your middle finger, you leave deep, red streaks across pale skin. You shouldn't find that hot, but you do.

Kyle wraps both hands around your waist, pulling you down onto his cock relentlessly, each thrust feeling harder than the last. You lean forward, pressing your tits against his almost bare chest, and allowing him to take control, thrusting his cock up into you. The slightly bent positioning of his cock, head grinding against your spongy insides is enough to make you cum right then. You don’t though, holding back, clenching your pussy as tight as you can.

“You like it, Kyle?” You ask, through shaky pants. “You like that?”

Kyle nods, heavily, his darkened eyes watching the way that your body quivers on top of him, wordlessly marvelling at the way your thigh muscles contract and shake on top of him every time he slips out, and buries himself inside your dripping pussy again. He loves how it feels, even if he can’t articulate it the way he wants to, the sensations are everything he wants. Everything.

He grips you harder, lifting you off his cock and slamming you back down, repeating this violent display of strength over and over again. Your cunt shudders, unable to hold back your orgasm any longer. Kyle feels it first, and the sudden tightness has him growling, snarling and pushing his length into you as deep as he can. Kyle digs his heels into the sofa, lifting his legs. You feel the pressure against your cervix as he bottoms out, and press against his cock, forcing his cock deeper into you, until you feel the ache. You ride out the waves of your own orgasm, feeling his as it comes in thick, sticky ropes.

There’s a gentle knock at the door, and you quickly get to your feet, pulling your shirt over your head. You scramble, trying to find the bikini bottoms and once they’re tied, you throw open the door. It’s Lance, who is looking very concerned. Your legs are pressed tightly together, in fear that Kyle’s load is going to start dripping down your thighs and onto the floor.

“Miss Y/N. The club is closing… are you alright in there?”

Closing? What? It was bareley eleven when you brought him into the room. The seedy, slick realisation that you’d been fucking this zombie for almost four hours made your cheeks blossom with heat. You immediately tuck your bitten arm behind the door, flashing Lance a charming smile.

“Yes! Fine! Just uh, finishing up a dance. Hey - Lance… did two girls ever come back, asking for this blonde guy in here?”

He pauses, thinking. After a few moments, he shakes his head and apologises.

Okay, guess he’s coming home with me, then. “Thank you, Lance. I’ll be down in just a second.”

You shut the door and lean against it, looking at the zombie on the sofa. He’s staring up at the ceiling, a small smile on his face. “Kyle, do you live on Jackson Street? Where do you live?”

He sits up abruptly, turning his head to face you. “Uhm…” He murmurs. “Big…… white.”

“Big white house?” You repeat, making a house shape with your hands. He nods.

“You wanna’ go home?”

~

After throwing on a pair of dolphin shorts, collecting your duffel bag and giving Lance a generous tip, you have Kyle in tow, fingers laced tightly with his. Jackson Street was maybe a twenty minute walk, something you both could handle.

Despite it going on 3 AM, the streets were still filled with partiers, people in masks, and drinks in their hands. You and Kyle blend in as you walk, heading down the busy roads. Once you arrived at the Mansion, the gates were open, a fine mist spilling into the sprawling yard.

The woman who answers the door is beautiful, graceful and composed. She wears all black, her honey blonde hair cascading graceful over her shoulders.

“Good Evening,” she says.

“Good Evening. Um.. this is going to sound strange, even for Halloween, but, um…”  You want to continue. Desperately, but for some reason, you already know the answer. He does belong here. As though she’d said it to you, plain as day, he belonged here, this is where he stayed.

Zoe and Madison must’ve forgotten him.

Your brows furrow, indignantly. How could they?

Cordelia’s plump lips flatten into a knowing smile. You swallow, suddenly feeling uneasy. You scratch at the liquid latex on your neck, fiddling uncomfortably with one of the edges of the prosthetic.

“Well, Kyle… here you go. Go with…?”

“Cordelia.”

“Cordelia. Go with Cordelia, you’re home now.”

Kyle seems somewhat hesitant, but when Cordelia holds out a hand, he obeys and lumbers inside, looking over his shoulder at you one last time.

“Thank you for bringing him home,” she says, softly. “Would you like to come inside?”  

You consider that for a second. Deep within the wetness of your bones, and the warmth of your blood, you feel like you should. There’s something extremely comforting about this place, but… “No, no thank you. I should be getting home. It’s Halloween. Weird things happen on Halloween.”

She smiles again. “That’s quite a bite you have on your arm… did Kyle do that?”

“Oh, uh… yeah. He got a little excited earlier, I’m a dancer, and uh, y’know. Men.”

“I have something for that.”

You look down at your bite again, it looks nastier than before. You clear your throat, ready to reject and explain that your older sister is a nurse and she’ll help, but instead, and you’re not quite sure how that happened, you’re walking through the doors. Kyle is delighted to see you again, pausing on the grand staircase to look at you.

Cordelia’s hands end up being very, very soft.

t a g l i s t : @kaismanwich / @redwoodghost / @elsamars / @silverzoomies / @kaissweetlamb / @thewolveswithin / @80strashbag / @twinkiemaximoff / @spill-the-t / @stucktothetwo / @evansb1tch / @enchanting-evan / @petersevans / @yesdevineruler / @enchanting-evan / @anonymous0316 / @eventually27 / @violetharmonscupcake/ @my-own-walker / @kai-slut / @evanpetersfansblog / @fuckedbykai / @iluwmycats / @nova-kayne67 / @dewberryobssesed / @the-goblin1 / @dirtyfairy97 / @jellyluvr / @strangerthings420 / @kai-anderson-whore / @piecesofcain / @lilthbunny / @quickandsilvers / @tatelangdonsweater / @ifeeltoofuckingmuch / @howtobesasha / @randodummy / @throwinginmythai / @hyperharlz

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[greensagephase]

Nonviolent Communication - Part Eight

Miguel O'Hara x SpideyFemReader

Summary: Your spider senses go off in the middle of the night, and you can't figure out why. Miguel goes out on a mission alone.

Word Count: 14,258 (I think I can safely say this will be the last time it ever gets to this. I thought about splitting this part but didn't want to leave you guys on a cliffhanger.)

Warnings: Some violence; mention of blood; explosions; angst; death

Music inspo while writing (in order):

"Sleepwalk" - Santo & Johnny (instrumental)

"Les" - Childish Gambino (instrumental)

"Adrian" - Bill Conti (instrumental) (I watched some of the "Rocky" movies and thought this song was so beautiful and tender)

"Amor Eterno" (instrumental) (iykyk, and I'm sorry if you do)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine |

***Beautiful fanart for Nonviolent Communication has been created by lovely artists and you can find it all linked in my masterlist under fanart. Please go and show some love to the artists!! Their art is BEAUTIFUL!! ❤️***

Part Eight

“The tension in the room right now is palpable,” Pav mutters as you and him stand side by side in Peter and Mary Jane’s living room.

“My bet is on Miles,” you reply quietly.

“Hm, I think Noir has this one,” he replies as the two of you look over at Miles and Noir.

“Miles has this in the bag,” Hobie murmurs behind you and Pav, making both of you turn around to look at him.

The three of you watch behind a couch as Miles and Noir, who are sitting on the floor around the living room’s console table, eye each other as they play UNO. The group started out with them, Hobie, Gwen, Pav, and you while Peter, Mary Jane, Penny, Margo, and Peter Porker watched. You were unfortunately the third one out followed by Hobie, leaving Noir and Miles as the two final players.

The others are watching from the couch, trying to hold their giggles. It’s Friday night, which means you and the rest of the group came over for dinner at Peter and Mary Jane’s universe. It’s a weekly dinner and one you’ve learned to love. It gives you something to look forward to on the weekend because it means you and your friends can relax and engage outside of work.

Peter and Mary Jane cook but the rest of you bring something over, which means that there’s usually a large dinner. Dinner always takes about an hour or so since you all catch up on what’s happening in your lives, which means that each week you and the other adults get to hear the younger people talk about school and some new drama. Of course, there’s also some talk about missions and anomalies considering most of you are spider-people. Then, after helping Peter and Mary Jane clean up, you all gather in the living room to play games.

Ten minutes later, Miles wins the game and Noir complains about the cards’ colors. After a good laugh, you all have a slice of cake, which you baked yourself, before everyone starts heading out. You say your goodbyes and thank Peter and Mary Jane for dinner before you head back to your universe. You change into your pajamas almost immediately, but you don’t head to bed just yet.

Instead, you grab a book from your bookshelf and take a seat on your couch. It’s ten p.m. on a rainy Friday night. You look around your apartment as you snuggle onto the couch with a blanket thrown over your legs. You open the book but you look up, your eyes taking in your small apartment.

It's officially four years since Peter’s death. His death anniversary was a couple of days ago and of course, there were some tears but for the most part, you handled it well. You visited him and spent some time at the cemetery. You went through some photo albums, taking a walk down memory lane.

Four years.

Where did the time go? You sigh as you look around your apartment. Time has gone by, but it doesn’t seem like it did in your apartment. It still looks the same as it did back when Peter was alive. It’s a personal choice. You wanted to keep everything the same. So, you have the same wall decorations the two of you hung together. The furniture is unchanged and it all remains in the original places you and Peter chose back in the day.

As you hear the soft pit pat of rain on your windows, you feel the urge to change some things around. Or maybe add new things.

You nod to yourself, thinking of what you’d like to do but decide to leave that for another day. It’s already a good sign you’re thinking of redecorating a little bit. You turn back to the book and begin to read, hoping that the reading and calm rain will lure you to sleep, which won’t be hard as you’re already feeling exhausted from the missions you were a part of today plus the patrolling of your city.

Soon enough, you notice your eyes begin to skip lines and you’re having to find your place multiple times. You decide to call it a night when you see it’s midnight. You do your night routine before you slide into bed, drifting off without any trouble.

Miguel stares at one of his many monitors, standing on his platform. His eyes scan the information before him despite it being two in the morning. He scrolls a bit to see more information. It’s all the data that was collected the previous day on anomaly matter from multiple universes. Of course, Lyla reads the information and always lets him know when there’s something worth discussing but Miguel often prefers to go in and check himself. As he finishes reading the data from a specific section, he stretches his back to relieve some of the tension. He hears his back pop, and he sighs in relief before he returns to reading.

Miguel has been sleeping once a week at his penthouse for multiple weeks now but tonight is not one of those nights. Tonight, he’ll stay here in his empty lab like most nights. Even if he wanted to go home, he can’t. He feels restless. He notices the time on his monitors, of course. He finds himself wishing it was day already and he doesn’t know why. He sighs to himself, closing his eyes for a few seconds trying to regain his focus, so he can concentrate on the data, but he cannot. His fingers move on their own and soon, he’s looking at a video of himself and Gabriella, when he gifted her a soccer ball. He stares at the video fondly, remembering her happiness when she saw the gift. He closes it before he gets off his platform with another sigh and begins to walk out of his lab.

He exits his lab into one of the many hallways of HQ, deciding to take a walk to clear his mind. Miguel doesn’t really pay attention to where he’s going. He’s just walking. He does this sometimes when his brain needs a moment during the long nights. He walks the empty hallways and cafeteria, eyes scanning the city from behind the large windows. He cannot make much of it due to the rain falling against the glass, which has created a blurry effect. Still, Miguel can see the faint lights of flying cars and other buildings’ lights in the distance.

He walks and walks. It’s early Saturday morning and here he is, walking through an empty HQ. He eventually returns to his lab. His mind feels more at ease but there’s still something that gnaws at him. He resumes his work at his platform, scanning his monitors. Everything looks fine. He sighs again and begins to read the data, but that feeling is still there. It’s like Miguel knows that at any moment, Lyla will appear and tell him that something’s wrong.

He moves the screen closer, willing himself to concentrate. To ignore the feeling, but five minutes later, one of his screens flashes red and Lyla appears.

“Miguel – two anomalies have been detected. Earth-42. They just entered the universe.”

And there it is. Miguel’s mask immediately covers his face as he leaps off his platform.

“Two anomalies… Who are they? Are they in the system?” Miguel asks as he starts clicking on his gizmo, preparing to open a portal to travel.

“One of them is a Green Goblin version. The other one is not in our system. First time,” Lyla reports.

Miguel nods, wasting no time once the portal opens. He steps out onto a rooftop on Earth-42, the same one that was cleaned up by Miles and his variant from this Earth over a year ago when he ended up sent here by the Go Home Machine. As Miguel steps out onto a rooftop, he’s unable to stop himself from briefly scanning the city. What a difference. The city is well lit, calm, and there’s still a buzz of people despite the time and rain but Miguel quickly focuses on the task at hand, putting his thoughts behind.

He looks around the area, trying to catch sight of the anomalies. He spots the first one, an unknown anomaly running in circles on the street below. There’s no sight of the Green Goblin, however, so he decides to catch this strange anomaly first and then pursue the Green Goblin.

As he heads straight for the anomaly, Miguel’s eyes scan it, trying to get an idea of how dangerous it might be. The body is a white cybernetic one. The head, which is a male human head, is inside a container filled with liquid. Glass makes up the front portion of the container, making it possible for the anomaly to see and a few hoses run through the anomaly’s body, leading Miguel to make the educated guess it’s the way it sustains itself. He also notices that this anomaly only has one hand, while the other arm has a clamp at the end.

Just before Miguel lands on the ground, he prepares a trapper-keeper, ready to trap the anomaly to transport it to HQ. The anomaly, however, begins running away from him as soon as it spots him.

“Running already?” he mutters, as he starts chasing it. “Lyla, keep me updated on the Green Goblin, you know how they get with their little explosions.”

“The Green Goblin has moved further away,” Lyla answers, making Miguel groan. “Maybe you should call for backup.”

“No, I got this. Just keep me updated on the Goblin’s movements.”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

Lyla disappears, leaving Miguel to do his job. He runs before he leaps into the air, reaching an incredible height as he heads straight for the anomaly. The anomaly somehow senses his attack as it turns around and meets Miguel with its clamp, clawing at him to prevent any blows. The anomaly’s moves don’t deter Miguel though as he takes hold of the clamp before he pushes the man to the ground.

The anomaly uses his one hand to land a punch on Miguel’s thigh before he swipes one of his long cybernetic legs around Miguel’s lower body, knocking him to the ground. The anomaly runs off to a building, hoisting himself up by perforating the walls with the clamp.

Miguel quickly gets up, chasing after it. He shoots his web, wrapping it around the anomaly’s body and pulling but the anomaly puts up a good fight and ends up sniping the web with the clamp once it reaches the rooftop. Miguel spends ten minutes doing this: almost trapping the anomaly before it gets away.

“The Green Goblin is moving further away but there is no trouble detected. It’s like – it’s just waiting,” Lyla reports, sounding confused with the behavior of the Green Goblin.

“Waiting for what?” Miguel asks, in frustration as the anomaly keeps leaping off buildings.

“I don’t know.”

Miguel scowls, done with this already. In a rage of frustration, he shoots his webs and catches the anomaly in midair before pulling it towards him. Miguel is quick to jump, meeting the anomaly halfway before he delivers a blow to the head. It sends the anomaly crashing on a rooftop with a loud thud.

“You little-” the man says as he starts standing up, but he doesn’t have the opportunity to finish his sentence as Miguel lands on the rooftop and captures it with the trapper-keeper.

“Finally,” Miguel mutters, as he walks over to inspect it but before he even reaches it, he receives a heavy blow to his head, caught by surprise. “Green Goblin,” Miguel says angrily as he turns around.

“Hello, Spider-Man,” the Green Goblin greets him as he hovers in the air with his glider. “You look very different from my own Spider-Man.”

“That’s because you’re not in your universe,” Miguel answers annoyed as he lunges himself at the Goblin.

He knocks the Goblin off the glider, leading to the two of them landing on the rooftop before they begin hand to hand combat. The two men land blows on each other as the captured anomaly tries to break out of the trapper-keeper to no avail. Miguel notices this and it’s at this moment of distraction that the Goblin seizes his opportunity. He pulls out the Goblin trident and aims at Miguel’s hand, hitting his gizmo in the process.

Miguel immediately turns to the Goblin, retrieving his hand. He takes a quick glance at the gizmo before scowling at the Goblin, who’s about to take another swing at Miguel.  Miguel blocks it this time and throws a punch at him, sending him flying. The Goblin lands on the floor, quickly getting up on his feet and like every other Green Goblin in the multiverse, the cunning man pauses for a second, tilting his head as he stares at Miguel with interest. His eyes flicker to the strange device on this Spider-Man’s wrist. He grins behind his green mask before he dashes at Miguel, trident in hand.

Miguel and the Green Goblin continue to fight. Miguel successfully dodges the trident several times, but the Green Goblin only seems to be fueled by this. He swipes at Miguel with the trident, finally slicing his skin under the suit. Miguel winces, pressing his hand to his body briefly, a moment the Green Goblin takes to hit the gizmo again.

“I’ve had enough of you,” Miguel mumbles, as his talons extend.

“That’s a new one,” the Green Goblin comments, referring to the talons, before he jumps off the rooftop.

And of course, Miguel O’Hara never gives up, so he runs after the Green Goblin under the pouring rain. He watches as the anomaly lands on its glider before he flies off, laughing at Miguel. With a scowl, Miguel shoots his web and starts following him, catching up with the anomaly in no time.

“Catch, Spider-Man!” the Green Goblin says pulling out one of its many grenades before he throws it at a building.

Miguel charges towards it, successfully stopping it from detonating but what he doesn’t sense is the Green Goblin coming from behind with his trident. He hits Miguel’s gizmo again with a strength that manages to crack the screen. He swipes at Miguel once more, slicing his skin almost in the same place as earlier before he flies off. Miguel shoots his web to keep himself from falling to the ground.

“Mierda!” Miguel yells as he swings, clutching the same area that was sliced.

He looks down at his gizmo, noticing the crack on it. It should continue working, Miguel thinks to himself, knowing that he and Lyla spent a lot of time making sure the device would be durable. It would take a lot to break it.

And it becomes the Green Goblin’s mission to do so. As Miguel and the anomaly continue their fight through the city, the Green Goblin aims hit after hit on the device, cunningly planning blows as he realizes the Spider-Man before him doesn’t sense his moves like the superhero from his own universe.

“Don’t let him hit the gizmo, Miguel!” Lyla warns, as the Green Goblin makes another swing.

And so, after what feels like an hour of fighting, the green mask man succeeds.

“Migu-” Lyla starts but doesn’t finish.

The gizmo’s screen shatters, and Miguel immediately knows it when he sees the colors of the device fade and Lyla’s holograph disappearing, making Miguel cuss under his breath as he realizes what this means. He needs to catch the Green Goblin soon, before he starts glitching.

The Green Goblin, however, has other plans as he flies off towards a skyscraper. He immediately pulls out more of his grenades, throwing them at the building. Miguel rushes and jumps into the air to try and stop them from detonating and as he works on this, the Green Goblin flies to him, quickly stabbing him with his trident in the stomach. He laughs at Miguel as he twists the trident to add more pain before flying off just as one of the remaining grenades goes off, blowing up a part of the skyscraper. Miguel, who is falling in midair due to the injury, covers his face as debris bursts around him. He feels some of it, glass from the windows, dig into his body causing him to groan in pain.

The adrenaline of it all still allows him to shoot his webs, preventing himself from falling. Except he glitches. For the first time in his life, Miguel experiences firsthand what it feels like to be an anomaly. He feels the shock of it in his body as he’s falling again since his web gave out in the process of glitching. The glitching stops and he tries again, catching himself on time. He lifts himself up onto a rooftop to collect himself, but the pain is there. He looks around quickly, there’s no sight of the Green Goblin. Miguel breathes heavily, the action making pain course through his body. He looks up at the city as he feels blood gush under his suit, where the trident puncture his body.

“Mierda,” Miguel mumbles out of breath, realizing what his situation means. No one knows he’s here. It’s the middle of the night and he’s injured, unable to travel back to his universe because his gizmo is broken. The realization dawns on him.

This might be it.

As the realization hits him, Miguel looks around the city. The rain is going strong, and he can hear sirens in the distance. He must move somewhere else. The tallest building catches his eye right away. He makes one last swing, forcing himself to climb the building despite the pain but thinking that if this is it, he wants to have a nice view. He thankfully doesn’t glitch on his way up, allowing him to make it to the rooftop. He collapses against a wall, next to the building’s door that leads to the rooftop. Miguel stares out into the city as he lays on the ground, clutching his stomach. The adrenaline is wearing off, and he knows it because his body feels weaker now. He begins to feel the pain more as it runs through his body. He can feel blood under his suit, gushing out slowly and his breathing feels more labored now.

Miguel looks at his gizmo again, as if hoping that the device will magically function, but he knows better. There’s no way to return to his universe. He sighs, the action taking more effort than it should as he lets his mask off, wanting his face to feel the rain.

What a way to die. In another universe that isn’t his home. Alone on a rooftop as rain cascades down on him. His hair is damp and it’s sticking to his forehead, but Miguel makes no attempt to fix it. His face – no – his entire body feels cold, which is a strange feeling for Miguel. His body heat has always prevented him from being cold but his body – the one he has pushed to its limits for years now – fails him now.

Miguel tries to ignore it. He tries to focus on the city and the skyscrapers. It’s a lovely sight and he can’t help but remember the day he was here with you many months ago when he assigned you to work with him for the first time. It was daytime and the sight was wonderful. He can’t help but think that you would love the sight even more at night.

As he stares out into the city, he can’t help but also think how ironic this is. Miguel is about to die on Earth-42. The very same universe linked to the whole mess with Miles. It seems so far away now, Miguel thinks. When he was set on preventing Miles from saving his father so he wouldn’t break the canon. It was such a messy situation. He acted in a way he’ll never be able to take back even if everyone else moved on.

Now, here he is. On Earth-42, in a far different city than the one he met when he first ventured into the multiverse. It’s almost like a slap in the face. As if it was meant for him to think of this in his last moments. To see one of his biggest mistakes. 

Miguel sighs again and this time, the action makes him hiss in pain. He can feel the blood. The pain is there but he tries to bear with it. He tries to distract himself.

As Miguel stares at the lights and the skyscrapers, his mind begins to wander off. He thinks of his family and flashes of memories run through his head. He sees his mom, when she was much younger and he was a kid, tending to his scraped knee. He sees her cooking in the kitchen of his childhood home.

He sees Gabriel sitting on his bedroom floor playing with his action figures, the same ones he begged Conchata for. He remembers the evenings they spent together, playing and pretending to be superheroes, not knowing what was in store for them in the future. He recalls the times when Gabriel was still so young and had nightmares. He found no comfort from his father, so he always went to Miguel’s bedroom. There, Miguel would comfort and assure him that it was just a bad dream and that it meant nothing. Despite Miguel’s comforting words, Gabriel always asked if he could stay with him, and Miguel could never say no.

“Gabrielito,” Miguel whispers, as he thinks of his little brother. His childhood face flashes in Miguel’s head before it morphs into Gabriel’s adult face. It was unfair, so unfair. Like any other older sibling, Miguel always thought he would be the first to pass away. He never imagined that it would be his little brother. He never imagined he would be taken away the way he was either. It was so unfair.

And as he thinks of Gabrielito, Miguel remembers a song his brother was very fond of. Surprisingly, the music is so clear in his mind as if it was only yesterday when the two of them drove to hang out with friends. As the older brother, Miguel was obviously the driver and Gabriel sat in the passenger seat, playing music. He remembers the first time Gabriel played it. He asked Miguel to be quiet and to just listen to it. And so, they had. They drove in silence as the instrumental song played, and it felt oddly nostalgic.

Miguel’s breathing slows down as the memories rush through his mind. They switch over to Gabriella. His time with her was short but they made so many memories. He can’t help but feel shame and pain in his chest as he thinks of her. Miguel has strayed away from his religion for some time now, but he hopes that if Heaven is real, that’ll he get to see her again. To hold her one more time. To apologize to her for lying. His wife comes to mind, too, of course, and so does the shame. He fell in love so quickly. His need to have a family blinded him so much, everything was rushed. Miguel can’t help but think now that he would’ve done things differently if he could. He wouldn’t have rushed into things. His wife had deserved better than him. Yet, he thinks fondly of the short time they had. He thinks warmly of the time he had a family even if it’s laced with shame and pain.

He lets his mind take him to those memories, back to those days that are long gone. As his mind is flooded with memories, he doesn’t notice the slowness of his breathing or heart. He doesn’t even feel the coldness of the wet ground or the cold raindrops that run down his beautiful face. He doesn’t notice that he’s staring at the city with half-lidded eyes now.

His mind goes through everything that happened in the last two years, including the fight and the multiverse hunt for Miles, which all lead to the last year. And of course, the last year leads to you. Your face flashes in Miguel’s mind. He thinks of the first time he met you when Jess introduced you. He thinks of the first weeks that you showed up with coffee to meetings before anyone else arrived and how he ignored the gesture. He remembers the day you volunteered to organize his lab thanks to Jess’s comment about the clutter. He sees different days combined into one memory of you chatting with Lyla as you worked, your voice and Lyla’s carrying to him, allowing him to hear bits and pieces.

He thinks of the day he showed up at your apartment and how he hated feeling something, which he now realizes was worry. Everything that has happened with you runs through his mind like a show. He sees your face, looking up at him on Dia de los Muertos, with that look of understanding in your eyes. He sees your arm reaching out to him when you wanted to comfort him. He sees you sitting on his kitchen island, eating the food he cooked on Christmas Eve. He remembers the ornaments and how yours was better than his. He recalls you showing up the next day. You brought cake and it was delicious. He remembers the two of you sat on the kitchen island again to eat, that time joined by Lyla, who asked questions as per usual.

He thinks of New Years Eve. You were invited to Miles’s universe, and you were sent to drop off food again. You stayed for a while once he mentioned that there was a huge firework show after the ball dropped, which meant that you spent the last and first minutes of the year with him in his penthouse.

Miguel’s heart continues to slow down as he thinks of the last year. You’re his friend. And he can’t help but feel disappointed that he’ll never be able to tell you face to face now. He wishes he could thank you. For everything. For the days you dealt with his coldness when he didn’t acknowledge you at all and left your coffee untouched. He briefly thinks about your excuse for taking him coffee. You lied much the same way he had lied about his reasoning for checking in on you that very first day. The day that led to your friendship. As Miguel’s eyelids further close, he thinks of how you’ll never know the truth about that day.

No one will.

Miguel’s heart beats slower and his body is cold as the rain continues to fall on him in the early morning. He listens to the soft pit pat as rain lands on the ground as the seconds tick by.

The same pit pat of rain can be heard on your apartment windows. The sound of it immediately fills your ears when you jolt awake from your sleep. A loud gasp escapes from your lips as you sit up on your bed. You sit, listening to the rain in the darkness of your bedroom as you try to catch your breath.

Your spider senses begin to go off, making you realize that’s what woke you up. You hurriedly jump out of bed and make a straight line to where you keep the two-way radio. You always keep the volume somewhat high during the night in case of emergencies but as you grab it and wait, there’s no feedback. Your eyes flicker to the clock on your nightstand. It’s three in the morning. You hurry to the windows of your apartment, pulling the curtains open to look out. There’s no sight of disturbance. If anything, the city looks at peace under the rain.

There’s not even the sound of traffic. All you can hear is the sound of rain but it’s there again. Your spider senses. Something is not right.

You hurry and get changed into your suit, not knowing what to do. Nothing looks wrong outside but you’re out of your apartment in less than three minutes. You swing from building to building as your eyes inspect the streets below. Your eyes search for anyone who might be in danger or anyone who might cause trouble.

Nothing.

You land on a rooftop to catch your breath. There’s a feeling of dread growing in the pit of your stomach. It’s one you’re all too familiar with as you’ve only ever felt this kind of dread once before. You try not to think of it but it’s impossible not to. The kind of dread that’s spreading through your body is the same kind you felt the day you lost Peter. You felt it spread like poison when you hurried to find Peter in the rubble. The feeling is branded into your mind and as you stand on the rooftop, overlooking the city still searching for trouble, you are overwhelmed by it once again.

You click on your gizmo and open a portal. If nothing is wrong in your universe, maybe there’s trouble somewhere else, you tell yourself. You quickly travel to all your friends’ universes within two minutes. Each time you arrive, you scan your friends’ cities but find nothing amiss. The cities are peaceful. You’re about to open another portal when your senses go off once again.

“What’s happening?” you mutter, as you look around one more time, seeing nothing.

You quickly head to HQ, finding yourself in the cafeteria. You walk through it quickly, feeling even more uneasy at the sight of a usually busy place being vacant of any life. Some of the lights are completely off, leaving pockets of darkness lingering around as you cross the cafeteria. You wonder where you’re even heading as you walk past the large windows of the Spider Society building, noticing the rain and the distant lights of flying cars.

Miguel’s city looks peaceful as well. Nothing seems wrong and yet that dread grows with each step you take, growing and clawing at your chest. Finally paying more attention, you realize you’ve made your way to Miguel’s lab. Perhaps there’s an anomaly threatening the entirety of the multiverse, you try to reason. Maybe that’s why you woke up.

You stand in front of Miguel’s lab and call for Lyla. Despite the uneasiness and dread running through your body, you still find it in yourself to ask for permission to enter his lab. You wait impatiently for the AI assistant to greet you but as the seconds tick by, there’s no sight of Lyla and your emotions intensify. It’s like a sign that something is definitely wrong. You call for Lyla one more time, saying her name louder and with more urgency as if that’ll help. Nothing. You burst into the lab, deciding to be sorry rather than safe.

“Miguel?” you call out, as you hurriedly enter his lab, hoping to find him on his platform surrounded by his many screens like always. “I’m sorry that I entered your lab like that, but Lyla is not responding, and my spider senses are goi-” you say, stopping when your eyes finally land on the platform.

Miguel’s screens are flashing red, not the usual marigold color you’ve grown accustomed to. And even worse yet, Miguel is nowhere in sight. You rush to the platform to get a closer look at the screens. They all read “DISCONNECTED.”

You stare in confusion but realize this must be the reason why Lyla didn’t respond earlier. You call out Miguel’s name again, but you’re met with a deafening silence. You take a deep breath in. Lyla is offline. The screens are flashing red. And Miguel is nowhere to be found.

You hurriedly try to reach Miguel through your gizmo, but your gizmo flashes a message, indicating that the recipient is disconnected. Your dread grows. There’s no way that Miguel would go offline like this. You’re halfway out of HQ when you reach out to Margo, the one person you know who can manage Miguel’s technology. As you head out into Nueva York, you pray for once that Margo is pulling one of her usual all-nighters. As you swing towards Miguel’s penthouse, Margo finally responds.

“Hey – what are you doing up this late? Something wrong?” Margo immediately asks.

You look down at her projected hologram from your gizmo. “Margo. Something is wrong with Miguel’s system. Lyla is offline and so is he. I think – I think something’s wrong. Can you please head to HQ and fix it? I’m on my way to Miguel’s penthouse to see if he’s alright,” you say, the words rushing out of your mouth, full of worry.

“Offline? That’s not – I don’t think Miguel would ever go offline,” Margo responds with a frown. “I’m going now to see what’s going on.”

“I’ll meet you there in a few minutes. Bye,” you say as her hologram disappears.

You quickly find Miguel’s building and swing to it, sticking to the walls. You climb it, until you reach the penthouse and look inside. All the lights are off and there’s no sight of Miguel anywhere. You climb onto the rooftop, immediately clicking on your gizmo to open a portal, pulling the coordinates that were sent to you on Christmas Eve months ago. You hurriedly walk through it, stepping into Miguel’s living room once again.

Your eyes scan the place quickly before you rush up the stairs. With each step you take, you feel that dread grow tenfold. You pray that everything’s fine. That you’ll only have to apologize to Miguel for coming into his home the way you are now. You pray that he’ll be in bed sleeping for once and that this is all some misunderstanding. You open the first door you come across, eyes scanning the room only to realize it’s an office. You open the next door and find a large, luxurious bathroom. The next room is a bedroom, but you immediately realize it’s not the master bedroom, so you rush to the next door, pushing it open. Your heart sinks as you take in the sight.

Miguel’s bedroom is empty, and his bed looks undisturbed, which means he’s not home. You rush back to the first floor before you sprint to the living room, gizmo already opening a portal. You travel back to HQ, popping up at the cafeteria before you rush to the lab, wondering if Margo has been able to fix the problem. All the while, your dread grows. You feel your chest tighten as you think of Miguel and his whereabouts.

You burst into the lab where you find Margo, opening and closing screens with the flick of her wrist. She looks over her shoulder before she continues to work.

“He’s not at home,” you manage to breathe out despite the tightness in your chest.

“This is – not looking good,” Margo says, making you freeze.

“What do you mean it’s not looking good?” you ask, staring at her back as she continues to work. Her words make your anxiety grow.

“Miguel’s gizmo is completely offline, which means… it’s broken. Wherever he is, the gizmo is not working at all,” she says as she opens another screen.

You bring a hand to your face, gripping your lower face as you look around the lab. You feel your breathing speed up while at the same time finding it difficult to even do so.  

“Have you been able to get Lyla back online?” you ask shakily.

“I’m working on it. Just one more step,” Margo says in a rush, noticing your demeanor slowly crumbling apart. “She’s back! Lyla must know what happened.”

It takes a few seconds before Lyla appears and you waste no time.

“Lyla, where is Miguel?” you ask, stepping closer to her.

“Y/N! Miguel is hurt and stranded on Earth-42! There were two anomalies detected and he went out to handle them but one of them broke his gizmo and managed to injure him,” Lyla hurriedly explains the situation.

“Shit,” you mutter, and begin to open a portal. “What were his last coordinates, Lyla?”

“I’ll send them to you, please hurry! I don’t know how badly he was injured, and he must be glitching by now.”

“Inform Jess of what’s happening and see if we can get other members to help. Miguel may have moved from the last coordinates you have. We may need to search the city for him. Margo. Please stay here just in case we need any help with the system. I’ll keep you updated,” you say before you rush into the portal.

Rain pours down on you as you step into Earth-42. You waste no time in looking around at the city and instead run to the ledge of the rooftop. You lunge yourself to the next building, eyes scanning, trying to find any sign of Miguel. Lyla’s hologram appears from your gizmo as you fly to the next building, giving you Miguel’s last known location.

You swing from building to building, moving fast just as you see another portal from your peripheral vision.

“Y/N. Any sign of Miguel?” Jess asks, joining the search.

“Not yet,” you reply as you continue to swing.

“Others will be joining the search. They’re on their way,” Jess replies.

And sure enough, as you swing between buildings, you see multiple portals opening from various rooftops. You feel relief to see others joining and hope that with more people involved, the search won’t last long.

“Alright, everyone. Lyla has sent Miguel’s last location. He’s injured and probably glitching as his gizmo stopped working.”

You hear your colleagues’ replies as you head to the location. You briefly wonder about the anomalies. Were they caught or did they get away? You reach Miguel’s last location and immediately search the rooftop for any signs, but Miguel is nowhere to be seen. You turn when you hear someone else join you. Hobie gives you a nod before he searches the other side of the rooftop.

“Nothing,” he says.

You dash to the other rooftop, looking down at the empty and dark alleyways, hoping to find something.

“This rooftop looks disturbed. Looks like there was some fighting,” Hobie communicates.

You locate him and join him. Others join you and Hobie in inspecting the scene, and sure enough there are signs of fighting but no sign of Miguel anywhere around. You look around, trying to get a feel of where the fighting moved to from this rooftop. You leap to the next rooftop, continuing your search.

“There is no sight of anomalies,” someone says, making you pause. If Miguel’s gizmo isn’t working and this isn’t his universe, surely that would mean that Lyla should be able to detect him as an anomaly in this universe.

You continue to search but call for Lyla, who immediately appears.

“Lyla. If Miguel’s gizmo isn’t working, can’t you detect him as an anomaly in this universe?” you ask her, hoping that she and everyone else including you forgot about this fact and that she’ll be able to pinpoint his exact location, but she shakes her head, giving you a look full of frustration.

“I’ve tried that. Unfortunately, the system failure from earlier has caused some malfunctions in the entire system. I cannot detect any anomalies at all right now. Margo and I are working on it. As soon as we get it running again, I’ll run the test and find him unless you guys find him first.”

You thank her and let her go, hoping that Miguel is found whichever way as long as it’s soon. You continue to move around, lunging from building to building like the other members in search of the founder and commander of the Spider Society. Your heart races as you search, and you pause for a second, trying to calm yourself down. Panicking like this will only interfere with successfully finding him. You pause and take a deep breath. Your spider senses went off earlier and now you’re sure it was for this reason. You try to calm down, hoping that this will allow your senses to come in. You will them to help you right now; to lead you in the right direction.

You don’t allow yourself to think too long about the fact that you sensed this. That you sensed Miguel was in trouble. You ignore it. That will be something to ponder about later, or maybe not, considering you’ll come up with no reasonable explanation. You hope no one questions how you knew either.

You look around the city as rain continues to pour down on you. Since you arrived, the rain has picked up and all you can think about is Miguel on some rooftop, hurt and glitching under the cold rain.

“Where are you, Miguel?” you whisper, as you do a full turn.

Your gaze moves past it, but your eyes quickly return to it. The tallest building in the city is about ten buildings away from you. You stop and look up at it, rain falling on your masked face. Before you know it, you’re running across rooftops, leaping in the air to reach the building. You hear Hobie and Jess scream at you, asking where you’re going, and you reluctantly answer through your gizmo.

“I’m just going to check something,” you reply, as you throw web at the building now, aiding you in reaching the building faster. You feel a strange sensation spread through your chest as you stick to the building and begin to run upwards. You hope you’re right and yet again you wonder what it’ll mean if you are, but you don’t spend too much time thinking about this. All you care about at the end of the day is that Miguel is found and well. You continue to run, lifting yourself up with your web. You use a combination of running and lifting to reach the top of the building, meanwhile you can sense other members far behind joining you.

And why wouldn’t they when they see the speed and determination in your movements. To everyone paying attention, you’re climbing the tallest building in the city as if you know that your distant and serious commander is on that rooftop.

And he is.

You see his slumped figured over a wall and rush with a speed that almost makes it seem like you teleported to him. You are kneeled at his right side almost instantly, eyes scanning his bare face.

You quickly lift your gizmo and inform the others.

“Miguel has been found. He’s on the tallest building’s rooftop,” you say, sounding ragged not only because of the climb but also because of relief that you’ve found him. You notice his chest moving. Breathing. “He’s breathing!” you add, informing your colleagues.

You notice raindrops running down his face and without a second thought, you remove your mask and lay it over his head as an attempt to shield his face. Your worry for Miguel is so strong that you don’t even notice the coldness of the rain on your face or the fact that your hair is getting damp.

You move closer to him now. “Miguel,” you say and tentatively grab his right shoulder. “Miguel, can you hear me?” you ask loudly, hoping he’ll hear you over the pouring rain.

You take in the sight of Miguel, anguish spreading through your body as you try to get a sense of his injuries. His brown hair is wet from the rain, making it stick to his forehead.  His face looks like it has lost some color, which worries you instantly, but you try not to think negatively. Miguel is a strong man, and you know his spider abilities allow him to withhold many injuries. The only thing bothering you is that you don’t know the extent of the injuries he may have. For all you know, they could be serious, which is why you’re careful when you look down at his body, trying to find any sign of injury, but his suit looks intact.

“Miguel,” you say again and this time you cup the right side of his face in your hand, immediately feeling the coldness of his skin even through your suit. Shame rushes through you as you hold his face, feeling like you’re disrespecting him and his boundaries regarding physical touch, but you push past it and call his name again.

And this time, Miguel shifts slightly. His eyes flutter open slowly before they move to you.

“You are here” he mumbles, with his maroon eyes meeting yours.

“Miguel! Yes, we’re here. Don’t worry, we’re taking you back home, okay?” you say softly, reassuring him. “Where are you hurt?” you ask him just as other members finally reach the rooftop.

“I have glass shards in my torso,” he says, closing his eyes. “And a few deep cuts. My gizmo is not working,” he adds softly with eyes still closed, feeling your suited hand cupping his face gently.

You nod though he cannot see you and look down at his gizmo since he mentioned it, noticing for the first time the broken device. You’ve never seen or heard of anyone’s breaking, not even during a gruesome fight since Miguel and Lyla spent a lot of time making sure they were durable in these kinds of scenarios. You wonder how it was possible that it managed to get broken. You shove your thoughts away and remove your hand from Miguel’s face. You quickly remove your gizmo and gently take Miguel’s right arm in your free hand as you’re suddenly surrounded by your colleagues. You slide your gizmo into his free wrist, ensuring that he won’t glitch any more in the meantime before he’s back to Nueva York, so he won’t be in additional pain. You let go of his arm and turn slightly to see who’s made it already.

Miguel opens his eyes when he feels the gizmo around his wrist. He looks at your hands, your wrist now empty. He wants to tell you to take it back or you’ll glitch soon, but Jess begins to talk, giving orders to your colleagues as the second in command, preventing him from warning you.

“We need to get him to HQ immediately,” she says stepping closer. “We’ll need to carry him carefully as we don’t know the extent of the injuries,” she adds looking down at Miguel and you, who remains kneeled at his side. She looks around and calls out some of your colleagues’ names, including yours, to help carry Miguel to HQ.

You and the others immediately get on it. You turn to Miguel and give him an apologetic look though his eyes are closed again before you take his arm. You put all your strength along with Ben Reilly to help Miguel up, but you end up getting replaced by Peter once it becomes apparent that your height difference is an issue. Still, you stand by closely making sure that they don’t hurt him in the process. Someone opens a portal just as Jess gives the order to the other members to search for the anomalies.

You watch as Ben and Peter hold Miguel, walking carefully into the portal. Jess motions for you to go, following closely behind you.

“The infirmary staff is ready to treat him. They should be waiting for us,” Jess says as you step foot back in HQ.

You briefly look around at the infirmary sector before your eyes return to Miguel. Sure enough, infirmary staff approach the three men and before you know it, Miguel is on a stretcher being led away down a long hallway.

A doctor, who you hadn’t noticed before, approaches you and everyone else. You watch as the staff take Miguel away until they enter a room and disappear while Jess and the doctor talk.

“With Miguel hurt, I’ll be handling things until he recovers. That means I’ll have to be away, but you can direct yourself to -” Jess says pausing, looking around before her eyes land on you. “You can direct yourself to her. Y/N,” you hear Jess.

You turn at the mention of your name. You find her, the doctor and Peter looking at you.

“As the second in command, I’ll be taking over for now. Peter, you’ll be my second in command in the meantime. And you,” Jess says nodding at you. “You’ll be my third in command. I need you to stay here and keep us updated on Miguel’s status. You’re also to make sure that his privacy is respected,” she says with a frown. “I doubt anyone will try anything, but I rather be safe than sorry. Make sure no one tries to go in for any reason. If he wants visitors once he’s awake, it’ll be up to him.”

You nod.

“Of course, I’ll keep you updated and make sure no one intrudes on his priva-” you start but stop when you glitch. You cry out as you experience glitching for the first time and nearly lose your balance, but Peter catches you before you fall.

“You’re glitching – where is your gizmo?” Peter asks confused as he holds you, keeping you steady.

You huff in pain and look up as the feeling starts fading away. You meet Peter and Jess’s eyes.

“I gave it to Miguel to prevent him from glitching again in the time it took us to transport him,” you finally say softly, still feeling a little out of breath. You can’t help but think how awful it feels to glitch even in good health, making you wonder what it must have felt like for Miguel while being injured. You sigh softly. “I’ll keep you guys updated. And I’ll make sure Miguel is undisturbed,” you add.

Jess and Peter look at you before the two of them nod.

“I’ll have someone send you a gizmo in a while. For now, put this on to prevent more glitching,” Jess says pulling out a day pass from her pocket. She hands it to you, and you slide it on immediately, thanking her. “Peter and I will be in Miguel’s lab. Margo and Lyla are still trying to fix the system. We need to get it fixed before we find ourselves with multiple anomalies running loose, so we’ll be taking care of that. As I said, someone will deliver a gizmo so you can keep us updated, alright?”

You nod and Jess nods back at you. She stares at you for a few seconds as if she wants to say more but she looks over at Peter, who meets her eyes before he turns to you. He gives you a reassuring smile.

“We’ll get through this. Everything will be alright. Right, Jess?” he says, turning his attention back to Jess as he lets go of you at last, sensing you’re more stable now after glitching.

“Right,” Jess says before she nods at you and gives her thanks to the doctor, who hurries off. Jess, too, departs, heading to the elevator with Ben following behind.

Your gaze moves to the doctor as she walks down the hallway. Your eyes follow her even when you feel Peter’s hand on your shoulder.

“He’ll be okay. Miguel is a strong guy,” he says softly in a reassuring tone, also watching the doctor for a few seconds. He sighs and squeezes your shoulder gently before he departs, following Jess and Ben to the elevator.

You stand alone in the infirmary’s quiet lobby now. You look around to distract yourself. Thankfully you’ve never needed to be here, so you’re not familiar with this floor. You find yourself walking to the windows. It’s still dark out, so you can see the lights on from other buildings and cars in the distance despite the blurriness due to the soft rain. You stare out of the windows for some time, your mind taken up by Miguel and his health.

It's not until you feel a tap on the shoulder that you turn away from the windows. You find Ben Reilly, who offers you a small smile before he hands you a gizmo and a tablet.

“Jess sends this. The gizmo for obvious reasons and the tablet to keep you occupied while you wait,” he says, still giving you a smile.

You take both devices and nod at him, giving him a small smile. “Thank you, Ben. I appreciate it,” you say as you slide on the new gizmo.

Ben nods, staring at you. You hold on to the tablet, looking down at it before Ben breaks the silence. “Pretty crazy, right?”

You look up just as he pushes his hair to the side a bit, and nod before turning to face the windows again. “Yes.”

The two of you stare out the window for a few seconds in silence, watching the rain.

“Miguel will be alright, I think. He’s a buff dude,” Ben says, trying to reassure you. You smile sadly and nod.

You hear Ben pop his fingers next to you. “I must head back now. Jess and Peter needs everyone on board to find those anomalies so – I’ll see you around.”

You turn to face him and thank him again. “Thank you. Please tell Jess and Peter that if they need me to do anything else, to let me know.”

Ben nods as he stands in front of you, giving you another small smile. “Consider it done. By the way, the way you leaped up that building was – very impressive and I mean that in a good way,” he adds.

You nod again, feeling somewhat lighter with Ben’s comment as you’ve learned over the last months that he’s really into dramatic poses and such and you have a feeling he’s trying to lighten up the mood despite the situation. “Thank you, Ben. I appreciate the compliment.”

Ben nods one more time before he starts departing but turns around again, remembering something.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Your mask,” he says walking back to you and pulling your mask from under his hoodie and handing it to you. “It fell when we carried Miguel back here.”

You take it from his hand. You completely forgot about it once you put it over Miguel’s head. You thank him again for his help before he departs, leaving you alone again. You slide the mask into one of your suit’s hidden pockets and hold on to the tablet but don’t boot it up. Instead, you turn your attention back to the windows. You wait patiently there, hoping that someone will come and give you an update, but no one comes. Your mind goes back to what happened tonight and you try to think of an explanation but eventually drop it. You don’t know what happened tonight. You don’t know what led you to sense Miguel’s situation but you’re glad he’s safe now, in his universe and that’s all that matters.

It’s not until almost two hours later that you hear footsteps. You turn around immediately, for once departing from your spot by the windows. Your eyes find the doctor from earlier as she heads your way. She gives you a nod of acknowledgment as she reaches you.

“Mr. O’Hara is stable now. He had multiple glass shards on his torso, many of which were small, so we needed to ensure we didn’t miss any of them to prevent an infection. He also has two large cuts on the left side of his torso and a stab wound in the middle of his abdomen. It was pretty deep, and it will take a few days to fully heal. We know he glitched a few times and it took some toll on his body, so that’s why it’ll make his injuries heal slower, but he’ll recover successfully,” the doctor informs you with a kind voice. “Would you like to see him? He’s still passed out due to the meds, but you can stay in the room with him now.”

You nod immediately. “Yes, please. And thank you for the update. I’ll let the others know right away,” you say, as the two of you walk down the hallway.

You can’t help but feel your heart pound in your chest as you approach the room. The doctor opens the door for you, letting you in.

“Let us know if you need anything,” she says before she closes the door softly, giving you privacy.

The hospital room’s lights are off except for two lamps to the left side of the room and a light behind the hospital bed, where you find Miguel. You carefully walk closer to the bed, your eyes scanning his face under the soft lighting. As you step closer and stand by his side at last, your eyes continue to observe his face. Miguel’s face is relaxed, and you can’t help but think how boyish he looks while sleeping. It’s as if all the worries and threats to the multiverse are nonexistent at this moment.

You notice his hair is dry now, but it’s still pressed to his forehead, giving him a messy look, which just adds to the boyish look. You fight the urge to fix it and instead pull a chair closer to the bed before you take a seat. You remember you need to update everyone, so you send a quick message to Jess, notifying her that Miguel is stable and what the doctor said about his injuries. It takes a few seconds before she replies that she’s relieved to hear the news. She also asks you to let her know when Miguel wakes up.

You sit on your chair near Miguel, listening to his even and slow breathing. You watch his chest gently rise and fall before your eyes trace his face. His face still needs to regain its natural color but he’s alive and he’ll recover. All is well now. For the first time since you woke up, you exhale deeply; releasing pent up emotions now that your very own eyes can confirm that Miguel is safe. Before you know it, you feel tears pooling in your eyes as you stare at Miguel’s sleeping face.

You rest an arm on the chair’s armchair and rest your chin on your hand as you feel the tears run down your face softly. Your lips quiver as you hold a soft sob in the quiet hospital room, unable to stop yourself from crying.

Tonight is the first time in four years that you’ve felt anything remotely close to what you felt the day you lost Peter. The dread that grew with each second as you headed to find him. The tightening of your chest that made it difficult to breathe as you swung from building to building. The feeling that you were going to be too late. Again.

Of course, you know it’s different. Peter had a small window of time that to this day you believe you missed. You felt lucky enough that you were able to say goodbye to him.  Meanwhile, Miguel could’ve probably hung on for a little longer due to his powers and yet, you still felt those same emotions while you searched for him. You continue to cry quietly, letting the tears run freely down your face as you watch over him.

You’re unable to stop yourself from thinking the worst. Sure, you are superheroes but that doesn’t mean you are invisible to danger or death. As your eyes remain on Miguel’s sleeping face, your chest feels heavy at the brief thought of something worse happening to him, making your eyes tear up more. You cry quietly, covering your mouth until you calm down.

You sniffle once your tears slow down and blame it on your lack of sleep and the adrenaline completely leaving your body now. You dry your face and breathe in before exhaling softly. The last thing you want is for someone to see you like this. You check your gizmo, reading the time. It’s past 5:30 A.M. and when you look towards the windows from your spot, you see the first signs of daylight.

Miguel made it to another day.

You turn back to Miguel. He’s still sleeping with his head resting against soft pillows. The sight of Miguel in a hospital gown feels so wrong. It’s still strange to see him in anything other than his suit as you’ve only ever seen him in normal clothes three times: Christmas Eve, Christmas, and New Years Eve. As you watch over him, your eyes land on his arms. It seems that the grey hospital gown is a bit tight as the sleeves hug his large biceps but despite that, he looks relaxed with his arms at his sides, hands curled softly.

You observe his sleeping figure, eyes tracing his arms down to his large hands. Your eyes then flicker to his bare neck and part of his collarbone where you spot a small piece of gauze taped to his skin with medical tape. You wonder just how many of those he has on his torso on top of the large wounds. You sigh deeply as you continue to watch over Miguel, wishing that this hadn’t happened.

You feel a shiver run through your body, feeling slightly cold when the AC turns on. You look at the end of the bed and find a folded blanket. You get up and grab it, laying it over Miguel’s body gently. You bring it up to his neck, making sure to cover his arms which you imagine might get cold. You stand over him, staring at him for a few seconds before you walk to the windows to stretch your legs.

You cross your arms across your chest. It’s still raining, and the sky is beginning to brighten though it remains grey and cloudy because of the weather. You spot more traffic now, too. The city is slowly waking up as you stare out for a few minutes. You turn back around and lean on the windows as you take a quick glance around the room for the first time. The appearance of the room was the last thing on your mind when you first came in and even now you just briefly scan the room. You notice it’s very spacious with a sitting area for visitors to the right of the room when you enter. Across from it, on the other side of the door, there’s a room, which you suspect is the bathroom. You turn to your right now, noticing a screen displayed on the wall, facing Miguel. A TV, you realize before your eyes return to Miguel.

Your eyes flicker to the sitting area for visitors for a moment, making you think of his family. He has none left, like you. You sigh softly, remembering thoughts you used to have before joining the Spider Society. There were many times when you went out on patrols and sat on rooftops, observing the streets below when your mind took you to a depressing place after Peter’s death.

You wondered many times what would happen the day you die. You have no family and you cut ties with friends from your universe. You quit your job, so you didn’t even have colleagues. No one would go look for you if something happened to you. No one would claim you as family.

It was scary and depressing to think of this and so you pushed it away and hoped each time that one day you’d have someone – anyone – in your life. Someone who could say something about you. You hoped that it wouldn’t be so lonely then, at least not the way it felt when you arrived home with cuts and bruises that you had to tend to by yourself after Peter’s death. No longer did you fall into Peter’s arms, who held you for a few seconds before he sat you down to clean and tend to your wounds, comforting you with his gentle voice and touch.

As you stare at Miguel and think about this and the fact that Miguel has no family either, you’re glad that Jess assigned you to do this, though you realize you would’ve requested to do it regardless. The idea of anyone waking up alone in a hospital room depresses you and that feeling only intensifies as you think of Miguel, the man that longed for a family so much he inserted himself in another universe to fulfill that dream when he had a chance.

Only to lose it.

You shake your head softly, still staring at him. You’ve never wished this much for someone to be happy like you’ve done towards Miguel. You hope one day he can move forward. That one day, life will treat this man better. This man that deserves so much more but who has lost so much.

“Gabi,” Miguel mutters softly.

You straighten up and walk over to him, standing by his side. Miguel is still sleeping but his brows are furrowed as he mutters Gabriella’s name again. You stand there, not knowing what to do. Your hands wish to reach for his to comfort him, but you’re still set on respecting his wish of no physical touch, so you settle with placing them near his hand instead.

“Gabi.”

Your eyebrows lower and knit together in sadness as you hear Miguel call for Gabriella again.

“Miguel,” you say softly, not sure it’ll even help. “It’s okay,” you whisper.

“Gabi,” Miguel mutters, moving his head slightly against the pillows.

You watch his face as a heavy feeling overwhelms your chest, wishing you could do more. Miguel grows restless, moving his head more. You notice that his hands also begin to move under the blanket you covered him in. It takes you a few seconds to see that the blanket seems stuck to his hands. You pull the blanket off him gently from your side to see his hand, finding his extended talons stuck to the fabric. You have no other choice but to pull the blanket off him gently, successfully freeing his talons. You look down at them for a second, seeing them for the first time outside of the suit before you return your gaze to Miguel’s face.

“Miguel,” you say. “It’s okay… It’s okay.”

Miguel continues to move restlessly, and you fear that he’ll hurt himself in the process, so you do the one thing you think of. You take his hand softly in your own and squeeze gently, whispering softly that everything is alright. You feel his hand move slightly in yours, causing you to feel one of his talons against your hand. You feel some pain even through your suit, but you push past it and continue to hold his hand, talking to him even though you’re sure he can’t hear you.

You watch helplessly as tears gently begin to roll down Miguel’s face as he continues to call for Gabi.

“Mija.”

You hold his hand in yours as he cries in his sleep, occasionally feeling his talons dig into your skin softly. You softly whisper reassuring words, hoping it will cease his crying as the sight devastates you to your core, but he grows restless, and the heart monitor begins to warn about his heart. You look up, noticing his heart rate is increasing rapidly. You rush to the door and yell for the doctor, full of worry.

/\  /\  /\  /\  /\  /\  /\ _ _ _ _ _ _ \/ \/ \/ \/ \/ \/

Miguel stands in front of his penthouse’s windows, looking out. The sky is a light blue, and the sun is shining brightly, illuminating the entire place. His eyes take in the sight of distant skyscrapers below soft clouds in the sky. Cars fly in the distance. The city is busy as always. He stands there for what feels like minutes watching in silence before it’s broken.

“Hermano.”

Miguel turns around instantly at the sound of his brother’s voice. He finds him standing a few feet away from him.

“Gabrielito?” Miguel says softly, feeling shocked to see him after so long.

Gabriel gives him that smile. That cheeky smile that got him in trouble too many times.

“It’s been a long time, hermano,” Gabriel says before making his way to Miguel, who finds himself meeting Gabriel halfway.

The O’Hara brothers embrace each other in the older brother’s living room. Miguel holds his much smaller brother tightly, not quite believing that this is happening. Gabriel is here.

“It’s been a long time,” Miguel agrees, still hugging his younger brother.

The O’Hara brothers pull back and Miguel can’t help but smile at his younger brother as he takes in the sight of Gabriel’s face. He doesn’t seem older despite the years.

“Miguel – it’s so good to see you again, hermano,” Gabriel says laying a hand on Miguel’s bicep. “Look at you. You look well! Though, do I spot a grey hair from here?” Gabriel teases, making Miguel frown.

“Very funny, Gabriel.”

“You know I’m just playing but if you keep going like this, you’ll start seeing them,” Gabriel warns.

“If I keep going like this?” Miguel asks, his frown deepening.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. Working all day and night. No sleep except for once a week or those random naps you take, which don’t help by the way. Your eating habits. It’s too much on your body, despite being a superhero.”

Miguel doesn’t respond. Gabriel’s face softens.

“Hermano, you can’t keep going like this. It’s painful to watch, you know. You deserve so much more from life, Mig.”

Miguel looks away. “Gabriel – you don’t know the things I’ve done.”

“I do know… and I’m not here to judge you. I could never but I’m worried about you. I’ve been for a long time. Miguel – you have so much life ahead of you. It’s painful to watch you do this to yourself. You deserve to be happy and not waste your life away working day and night because you think that’s all your life is meant for. It’s not. And I’m not the only one who agrees, by the way.”

Miguel turns his face back to Gabriel, raising an eyebrow with curiosity as his younger brother’s words sink in.

“There’s someone that wants to see you,” Gabriel says softly with a gentle smile before he nods behind Miguel.

Miguel turns around, not knowing what to expect but there they are. He finds his wife, who smiles brightly at him and Gabriella, in the arms of his variant, Gabriella’s biological father, standing there. Miguel freezes, feeling a rush of mixed emotions at the sight but it all fades away when Gabriella jumps out of the arms of her biological father and runs to him.

“Daddy! Daddy!”

Miguel feels his heart burst with happiness at the sight of her running to greet him. He drops to his knees and opens his arms wide just as Gabriella runs into him. He instantly wraps his arms around her, unable to believe that he’s holding her again. Gabriella wraps her arms around his neck, happy to see him.

“Mija,” Miguel mumbles as tears pool around his eyes, spilling almost immediately down his face as he holds Gabi close.

“Daddy, it’s okay. Please don’t cry. I’m okay,” Gabi says softly, trying to calm Miguel down but he’s unable to stop the tears and the gentle shaking of his chest as he holds his daughter once again.

“Mija,” he repeats, closing his eyes as he embraces his daughter.

“It’s okay, daddy. Please don’t cry. I hate to see you cry,” Gabi tells him, wrapping her arms tighter around his neck. “I hate seeing you unhappy. You should be happy. You deserve it.”

Miguel shakes his head softly. “Mija… you don’t understand.”

But Gabi pulls back gently, meeting her father’s eyes. “I do. I know everything – and it’s okay. You don’t need to be sorry,” she says gently, sounding much older than she looks.

Miguel’s teary eyes meet his daughter’s as the truth sinks in. Gabi knows. Miguel looks up at his variant, who stands nearby. Miguel clears his throat, feeling shame and guilt as he meets the other Miguel’s eyes. He returns his gaze to Gabi and gives her a hug before he stands up, holding her in his arms. He approaches the other Miguel, looming over him. He gives a quick glance to his wife, who nods at him, as if she knows that he needs to have this discussion first before talking to her.

Miguel looks down at his variant and gives him an apologetic look.

“Miguel – I’m so sorry for – everything,” Miguel begins softly. “I’m sorry for what I did.”

Miguel expects his variant to respond negatively. To tell him off about pretending to be the father of his daughter. For trying to live his life. For not telling the truth to Gabi. For everything else he did that he cannot bear to think about now, but his variant surprises him with a sad smile.

“I know why you did it. I understand it. And I’m not mad…” Miguel’s variant starts, meeting his eyes. “You did something for me that I’ll never be able to repay.”

Miguel furrows his eyebrows in confusion, not expecting this reaction from his variant. He feels Gabi hug him as his variant continues.

“Had you not done what you did – Gabi’s life would’ve been very different those months you spent with her. You know very well what would’ve happened,” his variant continues, alluding to the fact that Gabi turned into an orphan and would’ve been placed in an orphanage had Miguel not stepped in. “For that – I thank you deeply. And of course, for being her father,” he finishes softly, acknowledging that Miguel is Gabi’s father as well.  

Miguel nods slowly, feeling tears again but Gabi swipes them away.

“It’s okay, daddy. You don’t need to cry anymore, right, papá?” Gabi asks, turning to face her biological father, who nods. “We’re all okay here.”

Miguel nods at Gabi, holding her in his arms before he turns to his variant. “Thank you,” he whispers and his variant nods, giving him that same sad smile.

Miguel continues to hold Gabi, feeling like a weight has been taken off his shoulders. For so long he has carried shame and guilt over what he did but his variant and Gabi were forgiving of his actions. “Thank you,” Miguel whispers again, as Gabi holds him tighter, reminding Miguel how it felt to hold his child. Soft tears run down his face even when he turns to his wife who has been watching, waiting.

“I..,” Miguel trails off, not knowing how to continue for he has thought about her and their relationship a lot in the last few months.

He feels a different kind of shame washing over him. The more time passed, the more Miguel realized how differently he wished things had been. He had fallen in love too fast, wanting to fulfill his dream of having a family and he felt like he dragged her into it. He felt like he rushed her into marriage, but his wife meets his eyes with tenderness and nods.

“Miguel…” she says with a sigh. “We both made that decision. You didn’t rush me into anything I didn’t want to, but we did rush into it, didn’t we?” she asks softly with a small smile, taking his hand in hers. “We both wanted a family so badly and perhaps – perhaps we both sensed it would end soon and that’s why we held on to it so badly.”

She holds his hand and squeezes it gently, reassuringly, as she steps closer.

“I love you. And I know you love me, too… but our love was different, wasn’t it?” she asks softly. “Perhaps we could’ve really fallen in love if we had the time…” she continues. “But we didn’t and that’s okay, Miguel. I don’t hold that against you. We both wanted it badly and made the decision, so please stop carrying this guilt, okay? Miguel, por favor, live your life. For our sake,” she says softly, pausing. “Don’t you think it hurts us to see you like this?” she asks, looking at the others. “It’s painful to watch you do this to yourself. You’re so full of life, wasting it all living like this when there’s so many people out there to meet and befriend… to love. You have amazing people by you, don’t be afraid to show them the wonderful man you are.”

Miguel nods softly though the idea alone seems strange. He feels Gabi shift in his arms slightly, looking behind him.

“I just – I don’t know how to do this again. Losing you, all of you, has been too much,” he admits.

“But you haven’t lost us, hermano,” Gabriel says coming from behind, giving him a side hug. Miguel turns to look down at his younger brother again. “We’re always with you. Even if you don’t believe it or sense us, we’re always there. In every mission. In every universe. Every day and sleepless night.”

“You’re just too busy sometimes to sense us, daddy but we watch over you,” Gabi adds with her toothy smile. “We’re with you always. We visit you all the time, which reminds me - I loved my pancakes and the toys you gave me. Papá and I played a match with the new soccer ball you left for me on Dia de los Muertos. Thank you for leaving my favorite candy, too.”

Miguel cries softly and holds Gabi tighter in his arms. “You…” he attempts but is unable to finish his thought about them visiting him that night.

“We’re always with you,” his wife confirms with a smile meeting his eyes but she, too, looks behind him for a second.

He feels Gabi shift again, looking behind him. “She’s calling you,” she says softly.

Miguel dries his face with the sleeves of his shirt. “Who?” he asks, confused.

“You know who,” Gabriel says with a small smile. “You know exactly who. Miguel – you have a long life ahead of you. Make it count,” he whispers. “Leave a legacy that’s far greater than your leadership. Far greater than your duty and work. Live life, hermano. I know it’s not easy and we don’t expect you to move forward overnight but try. Try for us in the beginning until you find it in you to do it for yourself. Just try,” Gabriel says softly.

Miguel nods with tears. “I’ll try, Gabrielito. I’ll try.”

Gabriel smiles. “It’s been great seeing you, Miguelito.”

“Don’t call me that,” Miguel says but he says it with a smile.

“For old time’s sake, hermano,”Gabriel says and wipes his own tears away. “It’s been really great seeing you, but you must return now.”

“Return?” Miguel asks confused, still holding Gabi in his arms.

“You’ve been away too long, daddy. You must go back now. It’ll be alright,” Gabi says with a smile.

Everyone turns to look behind Miguel. He doesn’t know what they keep looking at.

“I don’t want to leave…” Miguel says softly, holding Gabi closer.

“Miguel – you must. It’s not time yet. And she’s calling you,” his wife says.

“Who’s calling me?” he asks.

His wife smiles and shakes her head. “One of the brightest people I’ve ever met, and you don’t see it, do you?”

Miguel stares at his wife before he meets the other two adults’ gazes. He realizes it. He must go. He nods slowly and holds Gabi for a minute longer, closing his eyes. Gabi hugs him tighter.

“There’s nothing to forgive but I know you need to hear it, so I’ll say it. I forgive you…  You’ll always be my dad, no matter what,” she whispers, filling Miguel’s chest with ache and love all at once.

“Mija… Thank you,” Miguel breathes out gently.

He puts Gabi down, smiling down at her. He doesn’t understand it. She looks the same age she was when she passed away, but she sounds so much wiser. Like she knows more than he does. He pats her head softly before he meets his variant’s gaze.

“Thank you again…”

His variant nods, giving him a gentle smile.

Miguel’s eyes turn to his wife, who’s already looking at him. She nods softly.

“We’ll see you when it’s your time,” she says before she takes his hand again, giving it a soft squeeze before releasing it.

Finally, Miguel turns to Gabriel.

“It’ll be alright, hermano. We’ll see you when it’s time. And don’t forget we’re always with you,” he says as Gabi leans on him. Miguel watches his brother pick up Gabriella, holding her in his arms. “It’s time.”

Miguel nods before he gives his brother and Gabriella a hug, wrapping his long arms around them. He pulls his wife into it, too. He ends up offering his hand to his variant, inviting him into the hug. At the end of the day, they were linked. Forever.

His variant accepts his hand and gives him a nod, joining the moment.

They pull apart a few seconds later, giving Miguel space. He stares at them as they stand side by side, his brother still holding Gabi. They smile at him and give him reassuring nods. Miguel nods just as his variant walks closer to him, separating from the group as if to talk with him in private.

“Before you go… I want to tell you that I forgive you. I forgave you a long time ago, really. I thank you for being a father to Gabi, for treating her the way I would’ve and know that in her eyes and mine, you are a father to her. I also want to tell you… that you have a chance, Miguel. Take it,” his variant says softly. “Our lives have never been easy, and you know that, but one thing I learned when I was alive was that sometimes all you need is a small purpose to keep you going,” his variant says briefly looking back at Gabi. “And I don’t mean work, for we both know what that does to us. Find the true purpose. Keep going. Live life. Accept those that wish to be near you,” he says, laying a hand on Miguel’s shoulder. “You’re worthy of it, don’t forget that.”

Miguel nods. “Thank you, Miguel.”

His variant nods, giving him a smile before he returns to the group. Miguel watches them for a few seconds.

“Go on, daddy! You must return now,” Gabi says looking behind him.

“She’s still calling you,” Gabriel adds but Miguel still doesn’t know who is calling him.

Miguel turns around. He’s no longer met with the view of his large windows facing the city, instead all he sees is a warm light. He turns back around.

“I’ll see you again, right?” he asks, quietly.

His family nods.

“Of course, and we’ll be ready for that day when it comes, hermano but that day is not today. For now, just now we’re always with you,” Gabriel says. “And I don’t mean to rush you, but you should really get back now.”

Miguel nods once again and before he leaves, he walks the short distance and gives everyone a last hug, squeezing Gabi and Gabriel tighter. He returns to his spot and nods. It’s time. He waves goodbye before he turns around to face the light. He walks into it, seeing nothing but light and when he looks behind his shoulder, he sees his family wave goodbye one last time. Miguel’s heart aches as he walks away but there’s also a lightness that he hasn’t felt in a long time.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _/\  /\  /\  /\  /\  /\  \/ \/ \/ \/ \/ \/

“It’s okay, Miguel,” you shakily whisper as Miguel mumbles something in his sleep.

You watch him with your tear-stained face after what happened. The last thirty minutes were overwhelming to say the least. You try to forget it for now but you’re unable to put away the worry and stress of what you witnessed. As Miguel mumbles in his sleep again, you release a shaky breath.

Miguel’s heartbeat gave up for a few minutes and all you could do was watch and call his name helplessly as the medical professionals resuscitated him. You stand by his side now, thankful but still on edge as Miguel moves his head slightly.

“It’s alright. Everything is alright,” you whisper as he moves.

You notice his eyebrows furrowing as he mumbles yet something else, but his words are incoherent. You watch as his eyes move under his eyelids before they begin to flutter as if he’s waking up. You hold your breath, as it slowly becomes apparent his eyes are opening. Miguel looks around the hospital room slowly as if trying to figure out where he’s at before they fall on you.

“Y/N…” he whispers softly.

________________________

*Translation for italicized Spanish words:* Mierda - shit Mija - my daughter Hermano - brother Papá - dad Por favor - please Dia de los Muertos - Day of the Death ___

Thank you for reading! I hope you guys enjoyed this part despite the angst. The next part will contain more fluff, promise 🥹 can we just talk about reader giving Miguel her gizmo??? 😭 I don't know why but that made me so sad and that probably sounds stupid since I wrote it but anyway... I still love Miguel ❤️

-Alondra

Tag list:

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[ghost-proofbaby]

FIRST IMPRESSIONS (a barista!eddie x barista!reader au)

summary: eddie faces the perils of being a coffee shop opener, and meets you. you, who's so damn optimistic it should be annoying. you, who makes the job that has given him trouble seem like a cake walk. you, who seemingly bleeds sunshine. god, he should really hate you.

warnings: TWO uses of "y/n", fem!reader (use of she/her pronouns), PHYSICAL descriptors used for reader (she has a nose ring and a septum piercing! that's all), eddie is just a bitter and grumpy idiot.

wc: 5.2k

a/n: i apologize in advance for all the technical 'barista' talk in reference to positions. i tried to elaborate on a few of them, haha. also... yes. i gave reader two nose piercings. it's definitely not even more self-projection psh. (because i have three)

the full menu

Eddie Munson is not a morning person.

So, why, for the life of him, he ended up as an opener, he couldn’t tell you. 

It had been a snowball effect. He got tired of working odd jobs here and there to produce enough cash to slip Wayne for bills, decided the quick change made off of fixing up neighbors’ cars or mowing lawns just wasn’t cutting it for his desired spending habits. He was tired of being so restricted by his misfortune; he was tired of watching Wayne pull long shifts only to continue living paycheck to paycheck. He was tired of his friends like Harrington and Buckley having money from their part time gig at the movie store to freely agree to impromptu late nights at Benny’s or seeing the latest slasher films in the theater as they premiered while he had to deliberate over counting change to see if he even had the funds to join in. He was tired of eyeing that guitar in the mall and constantly telling himself one day. 

Eddie Munson had been tired. But now, as he forced himself awake most mornings before the sun even rose, he was exhausted.

Originally, he’d wanted to be a closer. He didn’t mind being the clean up crew, having to spend late nights in a coffee shop sweeping up grounds and scrubbing away the stickiness of the day. But then the hiring manager that interviewed him had hinted towards the fact that their store already had enough closers when he’d spotted Eddie’s availability, made a few off comments about how what they really needed was a couple brave souls to take over opening shift, and that tiresome cycle rang in Eddie’s ears. Before he even had the chance to think it through, in his desperation, he’d insisted that oh, actually, my availability is completely open. I don’t mind working earlier than that. 

What bullshit. Eddie definitely minded working earlier than that. He more than minded it — he loathed it.

Long story short, it had been a series of unfortunate events that led Eddie to where he was now. In his van, fifteen minutes early, staring out at a parking lot bathed in the lingering night as he fought to keep his eyes open. 

The clock on his dash read 4:46 in a taunting blink, flickering against his bleary eyesight and making him question every decision in his life that had led him here. Adjusting to the new job had been easy enough — his trainer was nice enough, learning how to make drinks and what routines were required in the morning had been meticulous but rewarding — except for the time. It wasn’t just his start time that tortured him vehemently; shifts seem to pass miserably slow, the seconds dragging their feet in no hurry to get anywhere in particular. The clock didn’t care if Eddie yearned for his bed and a few extra hours of sleep gifted by a nap. Traffic didn’t either, when he’d hit the highways and catch just the beginnings or the tail end of the morning rush.

You’d think he’d complain more about the commute. But the gas spent on the twenty minute drive to the town over was the least of his concerns.

“Fuckin’ John,” Eddie mutters when a large truck pulls up to the drive thru, a notable regular he’d begun to recognize after not even a month of working there. They had just recently changed their opening time (they used to open an hour earlier, his manager had informed him. Eddie had nearly burst into grateful tears that he’d never experienced that crime of humanity.) 

None of his coworkers had arrived yet. Most lived closer, able to garner extra snoozes on their alarms and shorter drives of contemplation. Eddie only ever envied them on mornings like today.

“We don’t open for, like, another forty minutes, asshole,” Eddie curses out loud to himself, counting down the time until John gives up and drives away. The man would just circle the store like a vulture anyways. He always did; he always had to be the first customer, grabbing his ridiculous coffee order before scurrying off to play cards at the casino, “How do you come here every fuckin’ day and not know that?” 

It took the older man a full four minutes before he finally roughly shifted his truck back into drive, being the farthest thing from gentle as he hit his gas and jerked his vehicle out of the drive thru line. Eddie couldn’t see him clearly through the stubborn darkness, but he could easily imagine that look of irritation at not receiving the caramel frappucino with a quad shot that he seemed to feel entitled to. 

God, that man was a dick. 

Eddie nearly misses another coworker pulling up to park beside him during the spectacle. 

By this point, he’s learned what cars all his coworkers drive. 

Carmen, the fellow barista who had trained him but he now rarely worked with due to her availability being a bit later in the day, drove a bright red 2012 Kia Soul that had certainly seen better days. Nicole, one of the shift leads he worked with often during his opens, drove a small and silver Nissan Versa. The year is lost on him, but he’s willing to bet it was a few years old at this point. James, another shift lead who went by Jamie and never had much to say, drove a Volkswagen that looked to be straight out of the 70s. And that was just the beginning, the ones he could think of off the top of his head while he was still waking up inside his van. 

The car parked beside him wasn’t any of these. He didn’t recognize it at first glance, and found himself doing a double take as his face scrunched up. 

A Jeep. A two-door Jeep Wrangler with vibrant, chipped yellow paint now sat idle beside him. 

Who the fuck drove a yellow Jeep? 

He can’t even bother to be annoyed or fatigued anymore with the mystery presently before him. He can’t see through the tint of the windows, can’t make out the silhouette of who it was. He was well aware that he hadn’t been acquainted with all of his coworkers quite yet – there was a plethora of baristas in the store he’d only heard spoken of in passing rather than properly meeting – but it had seemed like the people who opened always came from the same rotation of sorry suckers. 

Nicole’s car pulls up. So whoever drove the Jeep was not one of the shift leads. 

Five minutes to 5:00 AM, Nicole’s car door opens first and Eddie can hear the Jeep’s engine kill. He’s quick to fumble with his own keys, pulling them from the ignition in a haste and throwing a hand out to blindly grab his apron from his passenger seat.

A deep shade of green. Everyone had one or two of them laying around, and they were the root of the nickname for all new hires: green beans. He had just finally gotten the one embroidered with his name a little over a week ago, and his manager had apologized profusely as she swore it usually didn’t take that long.

Eddie really didn’t care. The moment he started wearing the apron with his name on it, customers had taken to randomly addressing him by it, and it made him fucking uncomfortable. 

“Rise and shine, campers!” Nicole’s voice echoes through the parking lot the moment all three openers are out of their cars. 

Eddie doesn’t answer at first (which isn’t unusual; Nicole was used to his ever-present sleep-deprivation induced silence). He’s too busy nearly tripping over himself as his eyes stay glued on that Jeep, on the door that swings wide open roughly from two parking spaces away as he waits with bated breath. 

Would this new coworker he was about to meet even like him? 

“God, Nicky,” a new voice groans – a girl’s voice.

Ah, fuck. 

Eddie had noticed the mysterious phenomenon of the way everyone who worked here seemed to be attractive to some extent. Nice on the eyes, always smiling and always flirting in a friendly manner to garner more tips. He’d had plenty of bisexual panics in the bathroom anytime one of his coworkers extended that friendly flirtation his way. All the fellow guys (as few as there were) and all the confident girls he’d been in the trenches with – it didn’t matter, they all affected him. 

Hawkins didn’t have nearly as many pretty people. Eddie sort of felt cheated for having lived a mere twenty minutes from a goldmine of such people for so long, completely unaware. But he also felt sort of relieved, knowing that if he were still a teenager barely scraping by in high school, this coffee shop would have been his downfall with awkward stumbles and feelings caught from all those faux smiles and joking winks that his now coworkers laid on heavy with their regulars. 

With this in mind, he doesn’t know why he wasn’t prepared for when you stepped out of the Jeep. Slamming the door shut behind you, your arms were full with an apron that was definitely not green, along with an oversized water bottle and what he thinks is either a cardigan or jacket. A tote bag slung over your shoulder looked to be stuffed full as well. You were a walking cliche for the type of person that people would expect to work at a coffee shop. The type of person that embodied all those jokes of if an alternative person isn’t making my coffee, it’s not going to taste good. 

Eddie should know; he’d been the butt of many of those style of jokes given that he also fit into that category. With his long hair, with his sparse tattoos, with his new nose ring – he knew he was as much of a cliche as you were. 

Didn’t stop him from staring at you, suddenly wide awake. 

“Aren’t you just a ray of sunshine?” Nicole jokes as she rounds the front of your Jeep, stopping and looking between you and Eddie before she says to you, “You’d think after a month’s vacation you’d be happier to see me.” 

You take two steps forward, lining up right between Eddie and Nicole, and suddenly contort your face to be such an over-exaggerated smile that it’s nearly a grimace. Eddie is so caught up in the scrunch of your nose, he nearly misses the way you grit out a sarcastic “Better?” from between your teeth. 

“Oh, that’s the winner,” Nicole cackles, keys jangling as she shakes them and leads the two of you towards the front of the store. Over her shoulder, she continues to joke, “Keep on smiling like that, and I sense a twenty dollar tip in our future.” 

Eddie still hasn’t said a word. What is he supposed to say? All he can do is trail slightly behind you, doing everything in his power to not let his eyes roam over your legs or backside. You were just wearing black jeans, in line with the same dress-code everyone else followed, but they were doing you favors. 

“Y’know, I think I already saw John’s truck this morning,” your voice was surprisingly pleasant despite the insinuation Nicole had made that your first impression should be grumpy. Far less gritty than Eddie’s would have been had he spoken up, “Think I can sweet talk that out of him? Maybe I’ll ask about his wife. Or- Oh!” you exclaim, bursting with sudden energy that should give Eddie a headache this early, “Put me on bar! I’ll douse his drink in caramel how he likes, that’s sure to tug on his wallet- Sorry, I mean heart-strings.” 

Nicole continues to laugh as she fumbles with unlocking the door, and it’s not lost on Eddie that he has never made any of the fellow baristas laugh like that. Although, to be fair, he has never been quite as enthusiastic as you. He didn’t seemingly bleed sunshine like you. Here the three of you were, outside in the dusky beginnings of a morning, and he could have sworn that the sun had already risen from the light that seemed to emit from you. 

It should have made him nauseated. It kind of did, actually. 

You turn suddenly, just as Nicole finally turns the lock, and face him. Your smile is subtle, eyes so wide he wouldn’t notice the bags even if you had any. “I’m Y/N, by the way.” 

You stick your hand out and he can see you sticky with it – with hopefulness, with friendliness, with kindness. His stomach churns. 

Nope. Not a chance. 

The moment Nicole opens the door, he’s barely muttering his name back to you, and is rushing past you to enter the store. His shoulder brushes against yours, and he has to tell himself repeatedly he did not just shoulder-check you. He has to tell himself that it’s okay he didn’t meet your level of enthusiasm. He has to tell himself that you’re just another barista, someone else who makes coffee for a living and that this new energy you bring is just due to that vacation that Nicole mentioned. 

It’ll fade. He’ll be fine. At some point, his stomach has to stop churning. 

—

It doesn’t. 

Your energy doesn’t falter, to his surprise. Not only are you sunshine personified, but you’re also damn good at your job. Eddie can only imagine how sluggish he’d be if he had a month off from anything, especially a job, but it doesn’t even seem as though you have to dust any of your skills off for the day. 

You offer to take over opening up the ‘drive thru’ aspect of the store, brewing all the coffees and teas without complaint as Eddie lingers in his misery of shuffling through the tasks of opening up the food portion of the store. As he’s sorting the croissants to be replenished, implementing the technique of FIFO (first in, first out), he can hear Nicole still cackling at whatever you’re saying in the back of the house as you clean the syrup pumps. When he’s labeling all the new breakfast sandwiches for the day with their best-by dates, he can hear you humming a few feet away from him over the clicking of the sticker gun in his hand. And when the clock finally reads 5:30 to signify the time of opening, you’re putting on your apron, tying it around yourself more securely than Eddie always lazily did. Even your black apron seemed to fit on you better than his did, as if you were more made for this job than he was. As if you had years of experience to carry on your shoulders, and God, were you carrying them with grace. Constantly smiling, constantly joking. He’d once thought Nicole incapable of even breaking a grin, but he’d hardly gone longer than a minute without hearing her laugh during the time of your opening together. 

God, he sort of hated you. 

You never even mentioned how rudely he’d shrugged off your introduction. Occasionally, he’d even caught you looking his way during the conversation, a soft expression on your face as if you were ready to include him in all the inside jokes at a moment’s notice. 

He made sure to consistently stare straight ahead, never once seeming to glance your way when you wore that expression. 

You were just too nice. You were putting all the other openers to shame right before his eyes, himself included, and he hated you for it. 

Once the store is open, John is the first customer in drive, as always. Eddie wears the headset (the one you’d grabbed for him, sanitizing it and slotting a freshly charged battery in without him even asking. God, he hated you.) and listens in to you greeting the awful bastard, and his stomach does another flip. 

“Good morning, John,” you chirp happily. He couldn’t see your face from around the corner, but he could only imagine that you were wearing a smile. Maybe you even had that damn camera on so that the customers could see you just as you could see them. 

He waits. Anxious to hear John’s grumpy reply, be reassured when someone else also didn’t match your energy. The man had never been pleasant a single day that Eddie had worked thus far. Simply barking out his order, acting offended when someone didn’t recognize him. 

If anyone was going to be cruel to you, Eddie would bet all five dollars in his pocket that it would be John. 

But even John wasn’t fucking mean to you. 

He had replied in the most cheerful tone Eddie had ever heard leave the man’s throat.

“And who am I speaking to?” he almost sounds teasing. It fans at Eddie’s irrational irritability. 

“I’ll give you three guesses.” 

He hates the way your customer service voice was so similar to just your normal voice. A bit squeakier, a bit more polite, but still bottled sunshine. He hates how nicely it caressed his eardrum as compared to the grate of some of the other barista’s tones while on drive thru. He hates that some deep part of him secretly hoped that Nicole stationed you there your entire shift, and that if she did, he would fight tooth and nail to keep this damn headset on. Just to hear your voice. Just to hear your light.

“Only three?” John’s gruff voice scoffs, “There’s only one person who works here who is this damn cheery before eight in the morning.” 

Nicole laughs from where she’s bent over to put down a few of the sanitizer buckets by the bars, shaking her head as she also listens in over her headset. 

“I’m making it easy on you, then,” you say as you suddenly come into view for Eddie. He’s trying to replenish the sandwiches and protein boxes that the store keeps on display for the customer by the register, still working through his morning tasks as he realizes you’ve completed yours.

Man, he fucking hated you. 

You don’t miss a beat as you begin to tap one of the espresso machines awake, punching all the right buttons to pull John’s espresso shot before you turn to make your way towards the cold beverage station. “You still drinking the same thing, old man?” 

“I’m not old.”

“Right, and I’m not already over-caffeinated,” that’s a lie. He hasn’t seen you touch a drop of coffee this entire time, “Just pull on up. It’s a billion dollars, or whatever your total normally is.” 

John’s cackle is cut off by him pulling away from the speaker box, effectively disconnecting the two way mic. Even Eddie finds himself nearly grinning at your reply, but he stops himself. Because you’re annoying. Because no one should be this witty this early. Because the ability to make others laugh this often should be a cardinal sin. 

He stops the grin because he hates you… right?

You do manage to get a tip out of John. Eddie sees it with his own two eyes. It’s a quick deposit of whatever spare change the stingiest man Eddie had ever had the displeasure of meeting has lying around his car, and it happens so quickly while you’re leant out the window to pass the man his receipt that he always requests that Eddie almost convinces himself it didn’t happen. But it did. He saw it with his own two eyes, as he tripped over his two left feet, effectively nearly knocking Nicole over with him. 

The look she gives him makes his stomach twist this time as his heart lurches. It’s a knowing look. It’s despicable. 

She doesn’t say a word until later into the shift, once more baristas are scattered across the floor and peak is in full swing. Eddie isn’t kept on food, and you aren’t kept to manage taking orders or run the window – he’s the one reassigned to the window position as you are moved to the cafe bar. He’s tasked with quick connections before handing out drinks to bored business people, as you fly through making drinks for both mobile orders and any customers that choose to physically walk into the store. 

Nicole puts herself on the position of ‘DTO’ – she greets the drive thru customers over the headset and takes their orders, her tone not nearly as honey-sweet as yours had been. She’s lacking in jokes, she sticks to a script that must have taken her years to make sound even remotely natural. 

Eddie’s just grateful he doesn’t have to wear a headset and listen to her directly in his ear. 

Rush has died down when she turns to him and cocks a brow with her hip. He has the window shut, fiddling with his thumbs as he anxiously awaits for the partner on drive bar to finish making the iced white mocha for the customer currently sitting on their phone. He’s sure the look she shoots his way is in regards to the fact that he isn’t ‘connecting with the customer’ or putting himself through insufferable small talk. 

It isn’t.

“Do you not like her?” 

His head shoots up, fully meeting her curious gaze, “Excuse me?”

“Y/N,” she clarifies, “Do you… not like her?” 

“I don’t know her,” he weakly defends himself.

He had been a dick to you this morning, hadn’t he? What a weak defense for being a bad person to someone who makes this entire store glow simply by being here. 

“You should give her a chance,” Nicole speaks softly as she leans back on the counter that holds the order screens, “I… She can be a lot, but she’s one of our best. Think of her as the people’s princess, so to speak.” 

He knows you’re one of the best here, just in the short few hours he’s caught glimpses of you. He has no idea how you’re so quick with making drinks, or how you manage to hold such genuine sounding conversations with all of the customers who stand right at the hand off plane. He just gets irritable when they stare at him with prying eyes as he tries (and fails) to keep up his pace. 

“I… I can see it,” he nods, bringing a hand up to pinch his bottom lip, “I mean, John clearly loves her.” 

Nicole gives a pointed look, “He does. She doesn’t take his shit – him and his wife bring her gifts for every holiday. They know her damn birthday and bring her cards. It’s insufferable.” 

He cracks a shy smile at that, “They bring her birthday cards?”

“They bring her birthday cards,” she echoes back to him. Eddie finally receives the drink he was waiting on and turns, quick to hand it out with a soft mutterance of ‘have a good day’. Once he’s finished and the drive thru is officially empty, he faces her once more, “You don’t have to like her as much as everyone else. I know you’re still new and adjusting but… she’s one of the best for a reason.” 

“Because she can turn out drinks like it’s no one’s business?” Eddie questions, side stepping and lifting his chin in your direction as you finish yet another drink, as if to prove his point. 

“That,” Nicole shrugs her shoulders and pushes off the counter, “And because she actually gives a damn.” Eddie’s brows shoot up as he waits for her to continue, “She knows these customers, man. Learns about their lives, hears them out. Remembers the small things. She’s the same way with all of us, too. She once got turned down from being a shift lead because she’s too nice. Have you ever heard of someone being shot down from a job for that?” Nicole pauses, and Eddie can only shake his head, feeling the ends of his ponytail brush the back of his neck, “She has the management experience – she knows how to run this place. Sometimes, I see it. The way she steps up and takes responsibility. She chooses to be that kind even if it makes her seem like a nut job. She chooses to let people hear walk all over her, because she cares. She cares more about treating us as humans or whatever than she does an upgrade in pay.”

“Makes sense they wouldn’t make her a shift, then,” Eddie dares to say, which earns him a sharp look, “I mean, management positions aren’t for the weak of heart. You have to make tough decision-”

“Once, a man was harassing one of our baristas. This dude who was married. Came in like clockwork and picked up a mobile order under his wife’s name, wouldn’t take no for an answer and kept flirting with one of our poor girls. I’ve never really been afraid of her, but I was every time that man stepped foot in here,” Nicole grabs a rag and starts to wipe down the counters with a low whistle, as if she isn’t spilling serious store lore right now to Eddie. As if she isn’t bringing on more questions than answers, “She’s not weak of heart. She’s good of heart. And if she hadn’t been on vacation, she would have been your trainer. You don’t have to like her, like I said, but it would do you well to give her a chance.” 

Trainer? 

Carmen had mentioned something about another barista being the usual trainer. She had even tried to joke around with Eddie that he would have liked the other girl better, something about how she was funnier and easier to get along with. 

You. You were the girl she’d been talking about. The people’s princess, as Nicole had put it. 

Eddie opens his mouth to say something in reply, although he isn’t quite sure what he can say. 

God, he had been a fucking dick. And Nicole was matching sure he felt all seven levels of Hell, of guilt, for it. 

It ate him alive for the rest of his shift. His stomach churned with it. All that guilt gnawed on him from the inside out, using his bones for toothpicks, and he already knew what he needed to do without Nicole saying it.

—

“Did that hurt?”

The two of you got off your shifts at the same time, as most openers do. At ten o’clock precisely, Nicole was shooing the two of you off the floor, two fresh baristas taking both your places as you scurried to the back. 

He’d overheard the joke made ten minutes prior, Nicole speaking to a fellow shift lead about who would be replacing you, already mourning your absence. She didn’t make such a joke about Eddie.

“Huh?” you look up quickly from where you had been carefully rolling and folding your apron into a bundle. 

Eddie gestures vaguely to his nose again, repeating himself, “Did it hurt?” 

It was the best he could do – pathetic small talk about the nose piercings of yours that had caught his eye. 

You grin radiantly, and he tries to swallow down that instinctive voice that whisper hate, hate, hate. “Which one?”

Right. You had multiple nose piercings. A hoop that matches Eddie’s own, only on the left nostril rather than the right like his, and that septum piercing. He’d probably look dumb to ask about the nostril considering he had his done, and should already know that it definitely doesn’t feel nice. 

“The septum,” he clarifies, “That combination, though, um… It looks sick.” 

Oh, he sounds so fucking stupid right now. He wishes the sticky floors beneath the two of you would split and swallow him whole. 

“Eh,” you shrug, finally glancing away from him to finish wrapping the strings of your apron snugly around the bundle you’d made of it, “My nostril honestly hurt worse. If you’re thinking of getting one,” you pause, and look up, offering him a look of pure mischief. Heart, stomach, mind. They all lurch with that look as you whisper, as if letting him in on a secret, “Do it.”

“I don’t think I could pull it off,” he’s quick to blurt out, eyes widening, resisting the urge to take several steps back and put distance between you two. 

Fuck, he didn’t hate you. It hits him like a truck – this shift had managed to slip through his fingers so quickly. The fastest one to date. Between all of your jokes, all of the laughter you managed to pull out of others and that he had to fight down, the day had flown past as easily as a shift really could. 

He regrets spending the shift moping. He regrets ignoring your introduction. He regrets not giving you a chance. 

“I think you could,” your tote bag now hangs from your shoulder, and you have your keys prepared in one hand as you hold your water bottle in the other, “Everyone says that, but if you can already pull off the nostril, adding a little septum to the mix never hurt nobody.” 

Is your face stuck like that? Stuck with a subtle and shy smile pulling at the lips, making the corners of your eyes crinkle in the slightest? 

He hopes not. If it is, he’ll never be able to have a normal conversation with you. He’ll always be too distracted, too infuriated, too overwhelmed. 

“You’re a very optimistic person,” he almost lets it slip out as a scoff, but refrains, Nicole’s words echoing in his mind. It would do you well to give her a chance.

“I find your lack of faith disturbing,” you casually say to him. 

“Did you just quote Star Wars to me?” 

Eddie is aghast, staring at you with even more awe than before. And you – oh, you look so goddamn proud of yourself and the way you’ve left him shellshocked, smugly lifting your chin and smiling more intentionally. You’re smiling so widely that your eyes pinch nearly fully shut and even more of that sunshine is now flooding the backroom up to Eddie’s knees.

“I don’t know,” you start to step around Eddie, carrying an air of arrogance that would only be so endearing from someone who had been proven to be as kind as you were, “Did I?”

You never give him the chance to answer. You leave him there, standing in the middle of the back of house and not even clocked out yet as you walk away with a bounce in your step and a quick have a good day, Eddie! over your shoulder.

When he’s finally off the clock and having given a half-ass goodbye to everyone on the floor (which no one replied to as enthusiastically as they had yours, by the way), you’re still sitting in your damn yellow Jeep. You give him a slight wave through the windshield as he makes a beeline for his van, and he doesn’t even bother to return it. Pretends he doesn’t see it. Looks straight ahead. If Nicole is watching from the drive thru window that serves as a front row seat to the entire interaction, she’s going to rip him a new one next shift they work together. 

God, Eddie wishes he hated you. 

Instead, he’s left hoping that next time he opens, you’re there to make the time fly. Maybe he’ll be the one quoting Star Wars to you. If he can ever get the stick out of his ass, that is.

taglist: @josephquinnsfreckles

(tag list is open - if you'd like to be added, let me know!)

[disneyprincemuke]

stay cool, it’s just a kiss

alternatively: it’s flawless, really something

in which they roll up to the front porch after their first date and logan can’t seem to wrap up the date as he typically does

“that was very,” she clears her throat, her smile growing slightly as she walks up to the door of the house, “i had a lot of fun.”

logan grins, shoving his hands into his pockets. “this is kinda weird, isn’t it?”

she laughs. she looks back at the house momentarily and turns back to him. “it’s one way to end the date — ending up in the same place. is it weird that we already live together before we go went on a date?”

he shrugs with a small smile. he takes a step towards her. “well, don’t make it weird.”

“i’m not!” she shrieks, dropping her head in embarrassment. “i was asking genuinely!”

silence falls between them at the front porch steps of the place they spent years together in.

the date had gone amazingly well. logan stuck to his promise of making it up to her after the stunt he pulled in the bahamas. opened doors, drove her, paid the bill and everything. it’s very sweet and endearing, and he had even reached over at some point to hold her hand.

on the drive home, she couldn’t help but look over at him, focused on the road as he tries not to turn his head to dreamily stare at her. which he’s done all night, and it was starting to worry her when he was behind the wheel.

she never knew watching someone drive could send her mind into a frenzy.

“so, um,” logan sighs, tapping his foot on the ground. “thing is, i can’t pull any of my usual moves on you like i usually do.”

“what do you mean?” a small smile spreads her lips as she stares up at him in confusion.

“i wasn’t the best guy to try and date before this,” logan admits. “you know that — you get all the stories from me. i can’t do that to you.”

“am i an alien? what separates me from your other girls?”

he rolls his eyes. “you know what makes you different.”

she shakes her head and takes a step forward. her hands are shaking, her mind is operating at a million kilometres an hour as she took that daunting step. it isn’t like her to be so forward. “i actually don’t.”

logan would never admit but he’s known, even several years back, that her eyes were a different level of hypnotising. he could get lost in her eyes every single time he looked in.

“don’t make me say it.”

his eyes flicker to her lips, then back up at her eyes. he knows that she saw him hesitate because he catches her glance at the way his hands flinched, restraining himself from grabbing her and sandwiching her between his body and the door.

she scoffs dryly. he raises his eyebrows when she closes up the gap between them, chests pressed against one another. “are you going to kiss me?”

he breathes out shakily. “what?”

“it’s not like we’ve never kissed before,” she says in a low voice. she loops a finger around his pants’ belt loop and pulls him in. “why are you holding back?”

“come o–“

he doesn’t get to protest against her best wishes when she wraps her hands around his neck, pulling him down into her to connect their lips.

the reality is that at the end of dates, he would typically bring the girl to bed. and, well, it’s not that easy in this situation. not only is this girl his best friend, they also live in the same house. it’s just not right.

and she’s so pure, so innocent, and so fresh to things like a relationship.

it’s just not the same.

she bunches up the material of his jacket in her hands as their lips move against one another, taking another bold step forward to press herself up against him.

his hands come up to tangle themselves in her hair, stumbling forward. the effect she has on his is just absurd — coming undone in her presence after he branded himself as someone with a tough exterior.

“logan,” she mutters breathlessly, pulling away momentarily.

he hums in response, crashing his lips back onto hers. his hands move down to her back, squeezing the skin in the area. “god, do you have any idea how long i’ve wanted this with you?”

“just do it. i’m all yours.” she smiles against his lips and nods. logan pulls away, holding her in the spot with wet lips and staggered breaths.

she looks up at him with wide eyes, lips parted and a glimmer in her eyes that logan’s never seen before. “what’s wrong?”

“you know i can’t do this to you,” logan sighs, shaking his head. in perspective, he simply can’t treat her the way he does with every other girl. it’s not the same.

perhaps it’s the fact that they’d grown up together, or that he feels like he owes a lot of his success to her family for taking him in when he needed a family to lean on.

he just can’t take advantage of her like that.

“you’re… you’re young.” logan steps away and scratches his head. “we need to take this slow. i told you — you’re not just any other girl to me. it’s different. this is different.”

her expression doesn’t falter. if anything, it looks like she swooning even more than before. she smiles with an understanding nod. “okay.”

he smiles, swiping his thumb across her cheek gently. “i’ll show you what it’s actually like to be with me. i’ll take care of you, okay?”

@myxticmoon

[galacticspaceguy]

May I ask for Peter B Parker and Miguel O'Hara with a platonic, teen, gender neutral or male reader who's wary of adults because their parents and most other adults in their life were horrible to them? It's okay if not <3

You were constantly on edge with these two.

One man grieving his recently lost child, and the other obsessed with his recently gained child.

Jess had a child on the way, but she got the memo that you wanted to be left alone.

You were not comfortable with the idea of parents, at least not at the moment.

It was an understatement to say your parents were the worst. They constantly fought. With you, themselves, the neighbors.

Being around them was like walking on eggshells, which made being Spider-Man half of a blessing. It gave you a reason to leave, to get away.

It didn’t help the fact that your parents hated Spider-Man, bashing the hero whenever they were being talked about on tv.

They either ignored you, or belittled you. Bad grades, not doing the dishes, being in peace? No, no, that wasn’t allowed.

You tried your hardest not to blame it on them. They were stressed with bills and work, leaving them agitated all day, everyday.

But they didn’t get that you have bad days to. School was a living hell, even if it was keeping you out of the house. The teachers were no help, labeling you as lazy, troubled, rude, etc etc. The other kids at school watched this happen, and believed it.

Parents of kids at school, neighbors and people you knew from taking your route to school and back, seemed wary or uninterested in you, given your parents were always causing other people problems.

But, there WAS this one guy.

His name was Ben.

Ben was old man who lived across from you in your apartment complex. You sat for his three pet cats once, and your friendship bloomed from there.

He was widowed and alone, so having you around brightened his day. You helped water his flowers, make tea, clean his apartment, all for the exchange for his company.

You had actually gotten bit by the radioactive spider while water some plants of his.

He helped you with homework, but mostly your mental health. He was a 100x better than both your parents combined.

But you couldn’t save him.

Green Goblin had destroyed your apartment complex, killing Ben.

Your home was destroyed.

-and your parents home was also destroyed.

You had been living within a program for recently homeless families that suffer from the villain attacks. Your parents were now miserable to live with.

Sometimes you would just run away for hours, not that they cared much, sometimes they didn’t even know or care that you were gone. They only seemed to care when a police officer had escorted you back.

But this time, you actually ran away.

You spent most of your days in the spider society, practically living there. Yeah, you kept tabs on your universe, but you really only spent around a few hours there.

You’re pretty sure Miguel was ‘almost’ getting concerned with how often you’re here. One time he found you sleeping on a cough way after your schedule. You were supposed to be in your own universe, but instead you made yourself at home.

You watched as Peter B. Parker and Miguel O’Hara talked. Peter was trying to get him to hold Mayday, and Miguel, like always, was refusing.

You observed from a distance. Peter was a good dad. The concept was just very strange to you.

Miguel noticed you, and used you as an opportunity to distract himself from Peter.

“Y/N, you’re off your schedule, you’re supposed to be in world-###, your world.” He said, turning to you. Great, another scolding. “I don’t know how many times I gotta tell you this. Go home.”

He turned back to the dozens of screens.

“I would if I could.” You mumbled under your breath.

“What was that?” He called out, but you had already walked away. When you were out of the room, Miguel turned to Peter.

“If you are gonna be so enthusiastic about kids, go take care of that.” He pointed in your direction. “Go make sure Y/N is actually going to the going back to their universe.”

“Oh, I’m sure the kids fine-“

“Go.”

Peter threw his hands up. “Alright, alright, geese man, you need to lighten up, no wonder the kid doesn’t talk to you.”

Miguel rolled his eyes and sighed.

-

You had in fact, no gone home. You were sitting on the edge of the giant skyscraper in world 2099. You sighed, leaning back and breathing in the fresh air.

This was so much better then your life back home.

But suddenly your thoughts were interrupted by the sounds of a baby’s laughter.

“Hey, kid.” Peter strolled in. How did he find you secret hiding place? He looked around. “So this is where you do to get way from Miguel, nice.”

“How did you find me?” You said, a bit distraught.

“Oh, I just followed the scent of angsty, rebellious teenager.” He took a seat next to you. Mayday giggled as she looked over at you, holding her arms out.

Peter hands her to you, and you hesitantly take her.

“So, why don’t you wanna go home, kid?” He asked, leaned back. “Don’t get me wrong, Miguel’s place is alright, but being at homes a lot for comfortable.” He laid down, arms folding behind his head. “Been here for an hour and I already miss my bed and fridge.”

You tried coming up with some excuse, but every time you try to speak, nothing comes out. You just wanted to be left alone.

“Don’t you got, like, a bedtime, or something? Your parents are probably worried out of their minds about you.”

You let out a empty laugh. “Yeah, right.” Your grip tightened around Mayday’s little body as you held her close. Your cheeks burned. You didn’t mean t let that slip, but you can’t go back now. “They probably don’t even care I’m gone.”

Peter’s usual smug smile fell, and he sat back up. “What do you mean?”

You looked away.

“They don’t… like me… that much.”

-

“Lyla, did Y/N return home?”

“Nope.”

Miguel sighed, and mumbled a few words of frustration under his breath.

“They did leave their phone here though, so you should probably return that.” Lyla pointed out. She was correct, your phone was laying backside up on a nearby table.

Your phone was going off the hook, beeping with messages and missed calls.

Miguel groaned and picked your phone up.

A bunch of messages, calls and voicemails from your mother, with a few from your father.

Miguel’s brow furrowed as he saw he quickly the messages were coming in.

“Lyla, open this.” He held the phone out in her direction, and she did her work. Your phone unlocked.

Miguel was expecting messages from a pair of concerned parents, but no. He read through the most recent messages.

“Lyla, find Y/N. Now.”

-

“They don’t… like me… that much…”

The words were a pain to get out. You grimaced, refusing to look his way. Mayday, in all her baby wisdom, somehow knew something was wrong. Peter took her back into his arms.

“It’s better if I stay away. They tolerate me more when I’m not in their way…” You said, almost in a whisper.

He looked at you for a long moment.

“Kid…”

Suddenly, realization hit you.

“Where’s my phone!?” You looked around, hoping it was laying around.

“This phone?”

You turned around and Miguel was leaning against the wall, holding your phone up in one hand.

You webbed your phone out of his hand.

It was open, and on messages.

You throat suddenly hurt, and your eyes began to water.

“I need to get back.” You hurriedly got up, and were about to make your way back inside.

“You don’t have any place to stay.” Miguel said. Oh, great, so he read all of the messages, wonderful.

“I’ve got money.” You brushed him off.

“The money your parents claimed you stole to try and get you arrested?” Miguel countered, crossing his arms, silently daring you to walk away.

Peter looked at you with the concerned, pitiful expression you hate.

“Why do you care so much?” You choked out. “You want me out so badly, so I’m going.” You were on the verge of tears and it was so… embarrassing. “I’m not your problem anymore.” You breath hitched, tears beginning to stream down your cheeks.

Miguel placed two hands on your shoulders, holding you in place.

“You’re not a problem, kid.”

You couldn’t stop yourself. You let out a sob, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“Just let me go home.”

“You are home, kid.” Peter placed a hand on your back. “And it’s gonna be ok”

You close you eyes as Peter pulled you into a side hug. You could feel Miguel staring down at you. Through teary eyes, you watched as Miguel knelt down, taking your hand in his.

“You’re gonna be ok.”

[thetriumphantpanda]

I Was Enchanted To Meet You | J. Miller Drabble

Summary | Literally just a Drabble about Joel being an era's tour dad, meeting a pretty girl in cowboy boots and flirting. That's it. It's dumb. This goes out to my girl Doni @morning-star-joy who is going to see Tay-Tay tonight and can now be delulu about meeting Joel Miller there. And also therapy for me because I'm in the UK and got waitlisted for tickets, so CRIES. I wrote this in like an hour so excuse any spelling/grammar errors.

Joel Miller didn't exactly understand when he'd signed up to take Sarah to her first concert. When she'd asked to use his credit card to buy the tickets, he'd just nodded and handed it over. When his bill came through the next month, he almost passed out from the cost. But stood here now, in seats that might very well give him a nosebleed, watching Sarah almost lose her mind over the fact that Taylor Swift was about to appear on stage, it was all forgotten. All Joel ever wanted was for his little girl to be happy.

He'd spent weeks listening to the songs, learning the lyrics so he might be able to sing along with Sarah. He watched her sit in front of the television each night making bracelets to trade, and he squirrelled away as much money as possible so he could buy her a t-shirt or something on the night too.

Joel was watching as Sarah swapped friendship bracelets with two girls to her right when something else caught his eye. Two people shuffling into the two seats that had been vacant in front of Joel and Sarah for most of the night. One of them, around Sarah's age, was almost as excited as his girl, bouncing up and down, looking around the stadium with eyes as wide as saucers, taking it all in, but you? You were something else entirely. You had a white cowboy hat sat on top of your head, not dissimilar to his own apart from the colour and the fact yours was covered in sparkly rhinestones. You had a white dress on, falling to your mid-thigh, made of lace and scalloped edges, and a pair of beat-up old brown leather cowboy boots. The literal picture of heaven on earth as far as he was concerned.

He watched as you pointed to the two seats in front of him and Sarah, motioning for the other girl to sit down so you could hand her the soda you were carrying. He noticed your wrists were covered in the same type of bracelets his daughter had been going wild for all evening. Almost on cue, Sarah leans over, tapping your shoulder.

"You wanna trade?" She asks, holding up her own plastic-laden wrist to show you.

"Hell yeah," You smile, nudging the girl with you, "Why don't you give this little superstar one of yours too?"

Joel watches intently as you let Sarah scan your wrists for the specific bracelet she wants, picking one made of pink beads, swapping it with one of hers that was made of black and gold. Joel had no idea what any of them meant, all he knew was that the bill for friendship bracelet materials on his credit card nearly rivalled the bill for the tickets.

"You want one as well, mister?" Your voice cuts through his thoughts, "Can't come and see Taylor and leave with empty wrists I'm afraid."

"Well, I ain't got anything to trade ya with." Joel shrugs.

"That's okay," you smile, "I'll forgive you, this time."

Joel keeps an eye trained on you as you search your wrists, obviously having something incredibly specific in mind for him. You find it, eyes lighting up as you pull it from your wrist and hand it over to him. He takes the delicate thing in his big palm - red, white and blue beads with letters in hearts that spell out 'Cowboy Like Me'. Very fitting.

"Thanks, Darlin'," He smiles, slipping it over his hand, "You been waiting to find the perfect man to give that to all night?"

You let your head fall back in a laugh and Joel thinks you might just be the prettiest goddamned girl he's ever seen in his life. Sarah is pulling at his wrist so she can see exactly what bracelet you've given her dad, laughing and then leaning forward.

"I made him wear the hat!" She exclaims, "Told him he had to fit in."

"Well, you made a good choice," You grin, "He looks mighty fine in his cowboy hat."

You finally turn your attention back to your companion - judging by your likeness he assumes it must be your little sister. You're pointing out things around the stadium for her to look at, and he can't help but find it endearing how she's bouncing in her seat at every little thing, much like Sarah had done when they'd taken their seats.

Joel feels a nudge to his side, Sarah is looking up at him with that glint he knows and loves so much - she's got an idea.

"She's really pretty, dad."

"Sarah!" He chastises, eye flickering to you to make sure you didn't hear what she'd said, but you look completely oblivious.

"She is though!" She retorts in a hushed whisper, "I think she likes you."

Joel brings a finger to his lips to try and get this devil of a girl to be quiet, but he can't help but indulge her - Sarah was right, you are really pretty, "She don't know the first thing about me," He finishes the conversation, "Now you sit tight, I'm going to find you a soda."

When Joel returns, to drinks in hand, he can see Sarah leant over the seats speaking to you. He dreads to think what she's been trying to cook up, seemingly obsessed with making sure he's not so lonely in life anymore.

"Move over," He asks, Sarah shifting to the seat he was in before he left, "Don't drink it all at once, you'll need it for all the screaming you're gonna do." He says, handing the soda to her.

Once he sits back down, you turn in your chair to speak to him.

"Sarah says you're a builder?" She asks, clearly just trying to make polite conversation with him whilst your sister speaks to Sarah.

"Contractor actually," He shrugs, as if it matters, "But yeah, I build stuff, what do you do?"

"I'm a teacher," You smile, "Teach 4th grade." He's about to ask you another question when every single person in the stadium starts screaming, he thinks by the end of tonight he might actually be deaf, "Well, you enjoy the show, mister, hope you learnt some lyrics."

Contrary to what he'd thought, Joel actually does enjoy the show. He sings along to some of the songs he remembers, dances with Sarah for most of the night and keeps a close eye on you during it all. You know every single word to every single song, just like your little sister and he has to admit that when you're throwing your hands in the air and screaming to the lyrics, he finds you prettier than he had done all night.

When all is said and done at the end of the night, you say a polite goodbye to him and Sarah. When he finally sits in his truck, waiting for the scores of traffic to clear so he can get them home, he kicks himself for not asking for your number, but resigns himself to the fact that it was fate. Meant to meet once and that was it. It's not until he's finally carried Sarah up to bed, fast asleep in his arms and settled down to unwind in front of the TV that he pulls his phone from his pocket and sees a message from an unknown number.

I was enchanted to meet you, Joel. Drinks? Saturday @ 6pm?

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Big Brave Man

Bleeding in Moonlight: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven |

CW: Creepy whumper, reluctant whumper, dehumanization, werewolf whump, hunting runaway whumpee

-

The last half-mile of the hike back home was always the worst part. The woods were at their thickest, which helped to hide the scattered buildings hidden down a dirt road from prying eyes, but it also meant it would be so easy to get lost, drift off the hidden path, and simply never be seen again. 

Austin had been taught the signs to watch for since he first learned how to walk, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t a little worried every single time that he’d miss just enough of them to end up miles off course. He’d been taught to hold on to that worry, that it was people who were cautious who made it home.

Still, he was so damn tired now.

His legs were shaking from exertion, from the miles and miles he’d spent the day walking, clambering, and climbing. Exhaustion had his eyelids feeling heavier with every blink, but Austin knew better than to think he could head off to his own small room to sleep off the last twenty four straight hours of trying to find that little shitstain Rusty. 

He wasn’t even grown - how had a juvenile been able to get away so fast? The blood trail had made it clear that he’d been hit by one of the silver bullets… how had he managed to keep running? 

He was going to be in such deep shit with Bill about this.

Distracted, Austin tripped over a tree root and swore when he nearly dropped his rifle, scrambling not to let it touch the ground. His father would have something to say about that, too. You never put down your gun, he knew that rule better than any other. 

Especially not on a full moon, when werewolves wouldn't hesitate. When they would bite and tear and claw and shred in mindless violence until their sadistic desires were satisfied. Werewolves were at their worst during the full moon.

It was the first thing Austin had learned in homeschooling, how to recognize werewolves even in human form, what to watch for, and when they were most dangerous.

Reading, writing, math, history... the rest all came once Austin knew what to be afraid of. And how to do the wolves harm before they could harm him.

Even if those warnings didn't really match the captive pack that Bill kept for his search for a cure. Even if the wolves in the kennels had never acted the way he'd been taught they should.

Bill had always claimed it was because captivity made them safer to be around, made their viciousness weaker. But... sometimes Austin wondered.

Last night had been a full moon, and Rusty had run through a camp and then found his way to a car with campers and Austin had found an empty parking spot marked with only Rusty's blood. No bodies. No bones. No vicious monster growling and snarling with red-tinged foam around his fangs.

The moon was supposed to turn them into killers.

So why hadn't Rusty killed the campers?

He was too tired to think about this.

Once he finally eased out of the woods into the first of the compound’s small cleared spaces, what hit hardest was the silence.

The moon had begun to rise, and normally the wolves would have been restless in their kennels, human and canine forms shifting back and forth in sickening ways, desperate to run out the energy that coiled through their wiry wasted muscles. He’d have heard the scraping of accidental brushes against the silver-lined fencing, the little whimpers from the younger ones, the older shushing them. He’d have heard the whispers as he walked past, the growls, the whining pleas to be allowed to hunt.

They want to hunt you, Bill had always told him. You're the prey. They play at sounding weak and scared, but they'd rip your throat out if we let them.

Still. He'd always searched for that mindless rage in their eyes, and Austin had never seen it.

Now there was nothing to see at all.

The kennels were emptied out and silent. Nothing moved in the shadows. There was no soft pattering of paws in the dirt, no yellowed eyes gleaming in the dark. 

Austin turned away before he could acknowledge the guilt that still tugged at him, a sickening pull at his insides. 

The kennels were silent, because all of the wolves were now on the other side of the barn, far enough away where hopefully the smell wouldn’t be too overpowering. The wolves were all in the pit they’d spent days digging, just to shoot the creatures they’d kept as long as Austin had been alive or longer.

That’s where the last of the gleaming yellow eyes had gone.

He wondered if any of their eyes were still open, under the dirt they'd piled on top of the bodies, and shivered. 

All his father’s hard work had faltered. There was only so much to learn, and every attempt at a cure had been fruitless. But at least, Austin thought, there wouldn’t be any more mournful howls in the darkness when they took the puppies from their mothers. At least he wouldn’t have to watch his father’s tests any longer, holding the creatures down in human or wolf form so blood could be drawn or bits cut off for Bill’s experiments. He wouldn't have to hear their screams of pain.

At least there was that.

Really, what they had done was a mercy, right? The werewolves had been miserable, and frightened, and now they were neither. It had been a mercy to give them death.

Keep telling yourself that, Austin. Whatever keeps the look on Rusty’s stupid wolf face when he dug out of the pit out of your mind, right?

Whatever helps you sleep at night.

Coward.

Not that he'd be sleeping any time soon, considering he still had to give his debrief to Bill, and he was starving hungry, too. Needed a shower. Needed to work out the nervous, jittery energy that still coiled underneath the fatigue that made each step drag a little more with every foot of distance he covered. 

Austin’s feet were barely moving by the time he made it to the house, fingers fumbling at the handle to the screen door, his boots scraping along the concrete steps. “Mom?” He called, voice heavy and husky. The moon hung full above him, and it felt absurdly like it was watching him - just one big white eyeball in the sky, all pissed off.

He cut off a half-hysterical giggle that threatened to erupt, like a volcano. God, he was so tired. He needed sleep so badly.

Wherever Rusty was, he was probably enjoying the moonlight. Gone rabid and torn out the campers' throats and rolled in their blood. Then again, maybe he’d bled out and died somewhere after he’d found those damn campers to treat him like a shelter dog.

That would make things easier, if they could just find the body.

But first they had to find the people he’d caught a ride with.

“Austin!” His mother appeared, looking as tired as he did, her hair a frizzy mess still drying from her nightly shower, already wearing her quilted flower-print robe over her nightdress. She moved to him, then wrinkled her nose and stopped, still a good couple feet away. “Oh, honey. You are absolutely filthy.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Running on pure muscle memory, he unloaded the rest of the silver bullets from the rifle, then set it into the empty spot on the racks mounted along the wall just inside the door. Next step was putting the bullets back in the special wooden box full of them, listening to the click as each one dropped back in. Minus the one he'd lodged, he thought, pretty deep in Rusty's leg.

Only then could he lean over to untie the laces to his boots. A new wave of exhaustion hit like a wall of bricks and he found himself listing to one side, knocking a shoulder into the wall. “Shit.”

“Language,” Sandra scolded automatically, without much feeling. Austin had hit adulthood years ago, and by now it was mostly just an instinct because of the younger kids. Not that any of them were still awake, not this late. “Did you find Rusty?”

Austin exhaled. 

Sandra read the answer in his face, and she sighed. “Oh, honey. Your father’s not going to like that.”

“Yeah, Mom, I know. Bill hates everything I do, though, so it shouldn’t be too different from any other day for me.” The first pulses of a headache threatened, his growing fatigue was rapidly becoming a heavy weight alongside the beat of his heart. He left his muddy boots on the mat and made his way to the fridge. He’d downed half the beer before he even thought to take a breath, rubbing a hand over the shadow of stubble that had already started to grow. “To answer your question, though… I actually did find him. Sort of.”

“Sort of?” Her eyebrows furrowed in concern and more than a little disapproval. “What does that mean, ‘sort of’? Don’t tell me you let Rusty go.”

“I’m not stupid, Mom.” Austin let his forehead drop against the cool stainless steel of the fridge, closing his eyes. If he could just sleep, this would go so much better. If he had time to plan what he would say, to think it through. “I didn’t let him go.”

“Then-”

His father’s voice came booming from another room. “Sandra? Is that Austin come back?”

“Yes!” Austin’s mother took in a breath, and gave Austin a slight smile. “Just a minute and he’ll be right in there.” She patted Austin on the arm and walked past him, heading for Bill’s office. Austin followed, a little helplessly, the pit of dread in his stomach growing step by step.

He should’ve been moved out and married by now. Why was he still here, following his father’s orders? Why did he still get worried when his dad was disappointed in him? Why had he let his father tell him none of the girls from their meetups had been right for him?

Why hadn't he just gotten into a car and driven until he ran out of gas years ago, set up a new life wherever he found himself? He used to dream about it. Join a construction crew or something, where they could pay him under the table. Get an apartment with some roommates and learn how to take care of himself.

He used to dream about it.

Now, he thought, he'd just dream about dead wolves in the dark.

He took the beer with him, and he ignored Bill’s disapproving stare when he stepped into the doorway. It was his own beer, and just because his father had stopped drinking a few years ago thanks to some revelation about God’s will or other, didn’t mean that Austin thought the same way. 

So brave, a mocking inner voice whispered. Such a big brave man, defying your father about beer while killing a dozen werewolves on his orders.

Bill’s office was all wood paneling and dim lamps, giving it the feeling of some barely-explored cave covered in piles of paper - including seemingly every receipt for every purchase he'd ever made. Alongside the boxes of paper were old leatherbound books and the mounted heads of elk, deer, regular wolves, and more lining the walls. 

Bill sat in an overstuffed leather easy chair he kept in here - Austin was pretty sure half his time spent ‘working’ in his office was actually spent napping in that damn chair. The older man’s hair and beard had long since gone mostly gray, and unlike Sandra, he wasn’t ready for bed, not yet. He was still wearing his flannel and jeans. His right hand rested on the head of the placid, pathetic creature that sat obediently next to him. Koko, a half-grown wolf with mostly gray fur tinged at the edges with the same rust-red that made up most of Rusty’s coat, was always like that - drugged to complacency, his blue human's eyes dull and barely aware of anything around him. 

He'd come from the same litter of pups as Rusty had, Austin thought. Same mother. It was hard to remember who'd been born when, it was just the wolves, after all.

Vicious fuckers. 

Are they, Austin? Or are you the monster hiding under their bed?

In this moment, it was Bill's stare that seemed far more likely to be followed up by violence.

Bill’s expression shifted into a deep frown. “I can tell just looking at you that you didn’t take care of Rusty.”

The disappointment burned - it always did - but Austin shoved it to the side. He wasn’t a little kid any longer, and he was too damn old to still feel like a boy chided for not doing the dishes after dinner. “I followed him as long as I could,” He said, keeping his voice low. He leaned against the doorway, refusing to come any closer than that, taking another drink of beer. He watched his father’s narrow eyes follow the movement of the bottle. “But then he left.”

"He what." His father's voice dropped to a depth Austin had only rarely heard before. 

Austin's fingertips burned cold, suddenly, as if he'd plunged his hand into a bucket of ice and held it until frostbite took hold. An answering chill took up heavy space in his ribs, just behind his heart. 

This is the strong brave man your father built, that inner voice mocked again. You’re as tame as Koko, just how he wants it. Even his own kids are just kept in a different kind of kennel.

"He-" Austin's voice broke, and he stopped, clearing his throat as best he could. He tried to tell himself strength impressed his father far more than kissing ass ever had. “He left with some campers. He got in a car with them. I lost the trail."

"Some campers," Bill repeated, voice flat now, stuck just one step above a growl. "You couldn’t get a shot in? What was all that training for, then? Are you so useless you can't hit the broad side of a-"

"I did!" Austin met his father’s eyes - and saw how Bill sat up a little. Austin rarely refused to lower his gaze. He almost never argued back. Hell, now that he thought about it, this might be the first time. 

But he couldn’t get the memory of the whining, howling, crying wolves out of his mind. The way they sounded, the way they moved, writhing as they died, trying to clamber over or hide under the dead bodies of the others. 

Rusty’s eyes had been ringed all in white before he’d taken off into the woods. Mad with terror, wearing blood from his pack, fleeing into the wood with the evil hunter on his heels.

That’s you, Austin. You’re the bad guy in the fairy tale. You're the monster. Big brave man chasing a frightened teenager through the woods. They make true crime shows about bastards like you.

Austin cleared his throat. Rusty wasn't human, he told himself. It wasn't the same.

It was.

It wasn't.

It was-

"I definitely shot him, Dad. Silver bullet, blood everywhere. But they bundled him into their car before I could track him all the way and the trail ended at the parking lot."

"Goddamn typical," Bill muttered. As if Austin failing was exactly what he had expected. As if he never did anything else.

“Language,” Sandra chided automatically.

Austin flushed dark with shame and a guilty anger of his own. “Dad-”

"No, Austin.” Bill sighed. His hand began to move, petting absently over Koko’s head. The wolf didn’t seem to even notice. Those clouded blue eyes weren’t seeing anything but whatever was inside Koko’s empty little head. “Don’t bother. This really is absolutely typical. I should've sent your mother, you were always a poor shadow of her skills."

"Bill, be nice," Sandra cut in, nervous herself, but Austin felt warmth at the sight of her squaring up her rounded shoulders on his behalf. "Austin’s just tired. Considering everything he'd had to do before he had to take off after Rusty-"

"Woman-" Bill tensed, as if ready to push himself out of his recliner.

When Sandra turned on him, though, he fell back, looking up at her, vaguely startled. "Oh, don't you dare 'woman' at me, or my cast iron and I will have something to say," Sandra snapped back. She stood like she was made of iron, too, arms crossed in front of her. "When have I ever let you call me 'woman', Bill, huh?"

Bill was silent for a long moment before looking uncomfortably away from her. "Never."

"Damn straight."

“Language,” Austin teased, and was rewarded with his mother’s tired smile and his father’s irritated scowl. 

“Fine. Austin... worked hard last night.” It sounded like he was confessing to a sin, just admitting his oldest son had done anything right. Austin tried to take the compliment for what it was, but still resentment festered. He was the oldest of the twelve children, and he’d spent his whole life working to help his father build the compound into what it had become. 

And yet he was always the one who fell short of his father’s expectations - not because they were too high, but because of something inside of Austin his father had simply never liked. 

Maybe he's just mad that you're only a killer against your will.

“Still,” Bill continued, voice heavy. “Still, we lost one of our wolves.”

“But only one,” Austin countered. “The rest of them are handled, Dad. We made sure. Rusty was the only survivor. Well, except for Koko.”

Koko's ear twitched, once, and those hazy blue eyes focused briefly on Austin. Austin had a thought - just the slightest impression - that there was a fathomless loathing for him in those human eyes trapped inside a canine face. A hatred that ran so deep Austin couldn't see into its depths, could never begin to understand it.

Then Koko laid heavily down on the floor, resting his chin on his paws, looking like he'd drift off at any moment. The bulky prong-collar he wore clearly pinched a little, as he winced and shifted. The hate faded into cloudy nothing again.

Bill glanced down, the first time he'd looked at the young wolf so far. "Koko barely counts. He’s a good boy.”

Where Bill couldn’t quite see, Koko’s lip lifted on one side, briefly showing fang, before his eyes drifted shut. 

Austin opened his mouth to mention to Bill that Koko maybe wasn’t quite as docile as he seemed, but Bill spoke before he could. “And we can't start fresh if one of them's out there hurting people because of you.”

“Start fresh?” The cold dread returned, but for a totally different reason now. The kennels full of crying puppies taken from their mothers, the wolves pacing and shifting and howling and whining... He couldn't do that again. Not when the silence already weighed heavier than lead. “Dad… you said this was it, that we were done.”

“Yeah, with this group. But they aren’t the only monsters out there. And we’ll figure out how to cure them eventually. I’m going to take in a new pack and start in on some new ideas I’ve had about silver particles in blood transfusions-”

“... Dad.. No.” Austin thought about having to fire on the wolves, one by one. Watching the light leave their eyes, watching their frantic fight to live. The years of his life he'd spent holding them down while his mother or father tested things on them, feeling their chests rise and fall in frantic terror while they were restrained into stillness. His stomach flipped. He had to fight bile that threatened to rise in his throat, tensing all his aching muscles to try and distract himself with the pain. “Dad, you can’t. I… I can’t do all that shit again.”

“Austin, language-”

“No, Mom! I-I’m done. I’m so… I’m so done. I can’t do this any longer.”

Bill sighed, shaking his head. But he didn’t burst out in rage, like Austin expected. It was so much worse - he just looked profoundly, deeply, painfully disappointed. “You let them get too close to you. Started seeing them as people and not what they are. I should’ve expected it. Your little brother can take over your duties, but not until we bring Rusty home or get rid of the threat.”

Austin closed his eyes. One last thing, and then he could stop having to be a part of this? That… sounded like his father throwing him a lifeline.

Big brave man doing what Daddy says because then he'll let you quit.

If he lets you quit.

He grabbed onto it with white knuckles and took a deep breath. “Fine. Okay. So, we got off track. I... I told you I tracked him to the parking lot by the trails.”

“Right.” Bill nodded, thoughtfully. “But you lost him after that."

“He clearly got into a car with some campers, probably the ones whose camp he ran through. In any case, I, uh, I called the park ranger, said we'd had some poachers on our land." Austin's voice was a little breathier than he meant it to be. 

Bill's eyebrows raised, and he gestured with one hand for Austin to keep talking. 

"He wouldn't show me the security camera, some kind of regulation, but… but he said he got a record of the license plate.”

“He gave that to you?”

“After I gave him a hundred dollars, he did. I wrote it down, so... so we can do something with that, right?"

"Did he tell you what state it was from?"

"He did. Iowa."

Bill's expression finally cracked into a rare smile. Even Sandra relaxed, and Austin felt his own aching muscles soothing, too. "Well. That we can work with. We’ll finish things with Rusty and call that your resignation from the family business. I'll give you some cash to get you started, after that. And you'll promise to call your mother once a week."

"Once a week at least," Sandra added. "I'd like a few times a week, really. Oh, and maybe you'll meet a nice girl-"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Sandra," Bill said, but he'd softened, and Austin felt hope for the first time. He tried not to acknowledge it, afraid Bill would see the way his expression changed and feel the need to smash him back down again.

He cleared his throat. "I want to go live in a city somewhere.”

“Your mother and I fled that life for a reason, but I suppose every generation has to learn about the evils of cities all on their own.” Bill sighed, shaking his head. But Austin could tell this meeting was finally about to end. His bed waited, and Austin knew he'd barely make it upstairs to collapse into it.

Bill hummed. “Have a good night’s sleep, get yourself rested, and when you wake up you should pack your things for a trip. You and me are going to go track Rusty down before anyone else gets hurt."

Austin didn’t point out that the only ones who’d gotten hurt in this were the wolves. “Fine. Just the two of us?”

“You, me… and Koko.”

Koko's eyes opened again. They rested on Austin, briefly focused with an intensity that Austin had never seen in the young wolf's face before.

It occurred to Austin that maybe Rusty wasn't the wolf who wanted to rip his throat out the most.

-

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