#but then again I’m only 17 so everything will probably change

[sovietyurion]

I’d really like to have a child one day but I know that with my current mental state I’d be a terrible mother lol

[thargelalia]

Comrade Red Hood

jason todd x fem!reader

patriarchy sucks, thankfully your doting nerdy boyfriend is there to show you support

-> 3k words

-> fluff, hurt/comfort, tiniest bit suggestive

-> warnings: talks of v!olence and crime (c'mon, guys, it's Gotham); mansplaining (not by Jason); reader is a little mean, but she's only human; Jason is a serial kisser and we love that for him

“Are you upset?” 

“Yes.” 

“…is it something I did?” 

“Not everything’s about you.”

Jason’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline as he lets out a low whistle at your sharp words. “Damn. I thought I was supposed to be the broody one here.”

“Getting a taste of your own medicine sometimes is good.”

Silence.

“Sure you’re not mad at me?”

“I’m beginning to.” You let out a deep frustrated sigh, massaging your temples in a futile attempt to stop the incessant throbbing headache. “What do you want, Jason?” 

“I was just—is there anything I can do for you?” He asks, shifting weight between his legs. “You seemed a bit off over the phone earlier, so I decided to drop by.”

“I just want to be alone.” You sound less passive aggressive this time as exhaustion seeps into your words. ”My head is killing me right now, so I just had an aspirin. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay. I’ll be in the living room if you need me.” Since it’s dark and your eyes are glued to the ceiling, you’re unable to take in the dejected look on his face. 

Seeing you’ve got no objections — he kind of hoped you’d change your mind and ask for cuddles — Jason leaves the room wordlessly. It’s almost like he vanishes into thin air. A well-known skill amongst all bat-family members.

Even so, he’s surprisingly light on his feet for a big guy. But then again, we’re talking about a walking deadly weapon. A vicious vigilante. The prince of Gotham. Red Hood.

Or at least that’s what he usually is when he’s not sulking in the living room for being a victim of his girlfriend’s sour mood. 

Aside from the sound of a car or two passing by down below, and police sirens echoing distantly on occasion, your place is engulfed in a comfortable silence — this a relatively quiet neighborhood. Moonlight filters through your half-open curtains, a soft welcoming breeze swaying them gently to the side. 

At some point, your eyes flutter open. You don’t even remember falling asleep. There’s a dryness to your throat, prompting you to move around and reach for a slim water bottle on the nightstand. Next to it, the digital clock reads 2:17 AM. 

A five hour nap. Nice. 

Fortunately, the pounding inside your head has subsided.

Tsking in disappointment, seeing the bottle is empty, you detangle your legs from the sheets, begrudgingly getting up and dragging yourself to the kitchen. 

The lights in the living room are still on, making your eyes squint when you approach the entrance. You’re confused to discover Jason still lounging on the couch with a book in his hands, legs spread deliciously wide. One of his feet is propped against the edge of the coffee table.

“Thought you were still out on patrol.” 

He looks up, and blinks, not expecting to see you up. “Just got back, actually. About fifteen minutes ago or so, I think.”

You hum in response and take a moment to really observe him. 

His hair is still indeed damp as it falls over his forehead. He’s also shirtless, only dressed in gray sweatpants. Took him quite a long time to feel comfortable enough to show skin like this around you. Likewise, despite the smile that your reassurances bring to his face whenever you thank him for ‘blessing your eyes with such a delectable sight’, sometimes he still gets antsy if they linger too long on his scars. So, you try to respect his limits while also making sure he knows he’s incredible and beautiful. 

There are also beads of sweat accumulated on his bare chest and neck. Despite having just showered, his body is still overheated from Red Hood’s intense activities, you notice. 

No injuries in sight tonight, thank goodness. But if there were, though, he probably wouldn’t be here. He’d still rather agonize in pain alone in his apartment than letting his medical resident girlfriend tend to him. You’re still trying to ingrain into his stubborn mind that his health will never be a disturbance to you. He will never be a disturbance to you.

Hm, though he kinda was a little bit earlier before. However, that wasn’t his fault. Nor yours, for that matter.

As if on cue, his question breaks you out of your reverie.

“Feeling better?” You nod in affirmation and he gives a sweet smile. “Good. You should eat, baby. I got you something on my way back. It’s in the kitchen.”

You mirror his smile and resume your steps to the kitchen where there’s a white medium-sized paper bag sitting on the counter. 

Dismantling crime and wreaking havoc around Gotham, just to later on pick up food to appease his moody girlfriend back home. 

Isn’t that so cute? 

After drinking your fill of cool water, you grab the food bag, a plate – to avoid crumbs dirtying the floor – and return to the living room to eat in Jason’s company. He’s still engrossed in his book. Or rather, yours. Your small library is now his, but so is his yours. It’s an unspoken agreement.

“I didn’t know Mr. Abdul’s place stays open so late.” You say thoughtfully, munching on a falafel. Jason also got you a fattoush salad, hummus, and some pita bread. Yummy. 

You’re sitting on opposite ends of the couch, legs on a pillow in his lap, while his forearms rests on top of them. He’s hunched forward in concentration on the pages in front of him.

“It doesn’t.” Without looking, Jason steals one falafel from the bag and pops it into his mouth. “I broke into his kitchen.“

You choke on a piece of pita bread. “What the f-”

“Relax. I left the money on the counter.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me??” He talks about it so casually. Almost like he’s done this before. “Wait. So, the cookies from Elena’s last time…”

“Well, that one’s obvious.” Successfully blocking a pillow chucked at his face, he rushes to defend himself, “BUT I never forget to pay, so technically I’m not stealing! Only billionaires are harmed here, I swear.”

You both know which particular billionaire he has in mind.

“Right. Keep telling yourself that, Robin. Hood.” You scoff, picking up the fattoush salad box, opening its lid and picking through vegetables with a plastic fork. Jason’s mouth opens in surprise. “Pun intended, by the way.” 

“Whatever.” He huffs with an eye roll, trying to conceal his amusement. To make a point, he raises the open book to his face and blocks your view of him, ignoring you completely. 

As you silently chew on radishes and lettuce, you take a minute to inspect what he’s reading. It’s a considerably thick book. Zeroing in the letters of the cover, your eyes widen in shock as you swallow. 

“Jason, is that—you’re reading The Capital?”

“Yeah, why?” He questions back, nonchalantly, lowering the book just past his eyes.  “You think I only read fiction?” 

“I guess… but I only asked because I think it’s an odd choice of reading given your night.” You explain, gathering the empty food containers, placing them inside the paper bag and setting it aside on the coffee table. “Aren’t you supposed to be tired?” 

“Of fighting against oppressive systems? Absolutely.” He quips, a playful smirk on his face. “This guy just gets me, you know?” 

Seeing the unimpressed look on your face, his smile dies down and he places the book down on the armrest. “I got an extra adrenaline rush while chasing Penguin’s goons this time. There were dozens of them ‘cause he was closing an important arms deal at a warehouse tonight.. Remember that time when we were watching a documentary about wolves, and it was showing how packs tend to slaughter entire flocks of sheep when they’re unable to escape from a confined space?”

“Is that your way of telling me you were in a… kill frenzy?” You swallow hard, trying not to sound too alarmed, but the distant look in his eyes accompanied by his eerie tone and word choice is unsettling. Even though you're well aware he doesn’t pose a danger to you.

Jason seldom shares the details about his gruesome Red Hood business with you. One, because he knows you already see too much violent shit while working at the hospital. 

Two, he knows you worry about his safety. 

Three, there’s also the fact that he’d like to keep a sense of normalcy at home. 

Four, and most importantly, he believes it’s best if you don’t access his dark side, but sometimes – like right now – he’s unable to conceal it. At the end of the day, he’s only someone fighting their shadows like any other. 

Although, his are evidently a bit more obscure and jarring. 

There’s a pregnant pause before he finally breaks out of his trance with a shake of his head. Taking in your tense posture and concerned face, he softens his demeanor, reaching for one of your hands. One, two, three kisses delivered to the tip of your fingers and he’s pulling you to sit straddling his legs. Calloused palms start rubbing the top of your thighs in reassurance back and forth. 

“Don’t worry, baby. I didn’t shoot to kill..uh, mostly.” There’s no way of telling if he’s being sincere, and, frankly, you’d rather not think about this. As usual, he’s attuned to your senses, and tries to lighten the conversation up. “Anyways, I was still feeling charged when I got back. That’s why I picked one of your brainy books to help me wind down. Since your Sociology shelf was right in my line of sight, I decided to give it a try… Oh, I just remembered I forgot to bring you my French copy of Madame Bovary again.” 

“Hm, it’s fine. I’ll borrow it next time I’m at your place. But, back to my books. Why do I feel like this isn’t a first time thing? I did find some of my Sociology books misplaced a couple of weeks ago,” you complain. “Glad you’re having fun tackling dialectical materialism as a post-vigilante workout, but please make sure you put my books in order once you’re done.” 

“So bossy.” He playfully tuts, adding a nip to your shoulder. Then you feel his lips trace a slow path up to your neck, leaving a slow deliberate kiss there. “And so pretty, too.”

He smiles mischievously, lips still attached to your skin, as you shudder. 

Devious bastard.

Crossing your arms, you try not to blush and keep your voice steady. “I mean it, Jason.”

“Alright, alright. I’ll mind your precious organization.” He follows his promise with a chaste kiss, this time to your lips. “But seriously, you do look pretty.” 

“What, out of a sudden?” You raise your eyebrows in amusement. 

Jason prides himself in being a skillful liar. It often comes in handy. 

But he most definitely is not the type to give empty compliments. 

Especially not to the most precious person of his life. 

And you’re aware of that. His eyes don’t lie.

There’s that deep candid warmth swirling within those mesmerizing irises that just captures you whole. They remind you of the ocean, colors of a fine line between blue and green, like teal. Sometimes calm and serene, sometimes agitated and raging. 

One thing is sure. You’re the only person who gets to soak into the tranquil waters hidden amidst the windows of his soul. 

Because you’re the only one capable of bringing them out. 

“Nah, I always think that when I see your face.” Comes his reply.

At that, more kisses ensue. Obviously.

First one is yours, molding your lips to his in an instant as you try to return his incessant devotion with eagerness. He wastes no time in reciprocating, mouth slightly parting to welcome your tongue inside. It makes your head fuzzy all over. Every single fucking time. This type of intimacy took almost as long to construct as the display of his body. You’re never taking his trust for granted. Never. Soon enough, Jason discovered himself to be a great fan of kissing. You. He’s done it before with other people, sure, but it didn’t make him feel like this. Yearn like this. As if he depended on it to survive. And he might as well do. Your fingers find their way to his scalp, tangling in silky locks and pulling while trapping his lower lip between your teeth, eliciting a soft groan from him. As a result, he grips your hips harder, drawing you impossibly closer. The heat from his bare muscular chest is scorching, almost too much to bear as it seeps through your shirt – his shirt. 

You two only break apart because he decides to now trail his lips downward, leaving you panting, eyes sealed shut in pleasure, as he works his mouth across every other available patch of your skin. From jaw to neck, and shoulder. And back up.

This time his ministrations are sweeter and more tender, making you melt completely into his embrace. 

Finally sated, after delivering a last kiss behind your ear, he whispers softly and a little breathless, “Wanna share now why you almost bit my head off a few hours ago, hm?” 

Watching your face fall when he pulls back, his heart equally drops, causing him to backtrack, “S’okay, baby. You don’t have to tell me. I’m sorry.”

You exhale shakily, glancing down to fiddle with the hems of your – his – shirt. A hand cups your cheek, and tilts your head upwards carefully, thumb brushing the soft skin back and forth. Molten blue-green irises coaxing you to relax like the gentle sway of the sea. Telling he’s trusty and willing to listen.

“No, it’s just… ugh…” He waits patiently as you gather your thoughts. “I had to deal with one of my stupid professors mansplaining to me during my presentation today. A subject that I’ve been studying for years now. I knew what I was talking about and he acted as if I didn’t, saying that I didn’t use the concepts correctly like I was a child. Some of my colleagues told me I shouldn’t take his words personally, but it fucking sucked. Still does. I hate it when people, especially men, undermine my intelligence. I just felt so frustrated, I went to the bathroom and cried when the presentation ended. And to top it off, I got a miserable headache on the way home. So yeah, that’s why I was in such a shitty mood tonight. I’m sorry I took it out on you…” 

While describing what happened and venting about your feelings, you barely registered the way his arms tensed around you or how a muscle in his jaw ticked. There’s really no mistaking the look on his face now. The dark stormy blue that has replaced the soothing sea green. “Jason, no. Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.”

“He upset you.” Your boyfriend states in a clipped tone. “He made you cry.” 

“No matter how tempting, you can’t just fuck up every single guy that gets on my nerves.”

“I beg to differ.”

“Jace.” You beg, exasperated. “Please. That’s not what I need right now, okay? He was being an asshole, yes, but the academy, and the whole world, is crowded with them unfortunately. Most of the time, I can handle it just fine. But, today was different. I’ve been preparing for my presentation for days, so he caught me by surprise with his arrogance and my anxiety kinda escalated, I guess. What I mean is I didn’t tell you this because I wanted you to avenge me. I just want to be understood. Can’t you do that for me?” The sight of tears filling your wide eyes dilute his outrage instantly. You’re engulfed in a tight comforting hug.

“Of course, baby. I’ll never feel the same as you ‘cause I’m not a woman, but you must know I’m here for you and I’m sorry you had to deal with this.” He offers, sympathetically, before something darker twists his features again. “I won’t lie to you, though. It’d be easy for me to rip that fucking bastard’s tongue—”

“Jason.”

“—and feed it to his mouth until he chokes—”

“Jason.” 

He puts a finger to your mouth to silence you, just to pull back immediately before it gets bitten off.

“—but I won’t do that.” Not today at least, he keeps this last part to himself. “My point is a brilliant woman like you will always be a threat to insecure fuckers like him. Bet he’s just jealous he’ll never shine as bright as you do.”

You throw your arms around his neck, burying your face in it with a sniffle. “I love you.”

“I love you too. A lot.” Nuzzling into your hair, he inhales the soft scent of jasmine shampoo. “Feeling okay?”

“Yes. Thank you.” You really are. But, then, you sigh wistfully. “I’m thinking if I were an Amazon, it’d probably be easier to deal with this type of situation.”

“How so?” He tilts his head, confused.

“You know… I’d be strong, powerful... intimidating. Stuff like that.” 

“You already wield your intellect like the sharpest blade I’ve ever seen. Your words are eloquent and sharp when you stick up for what you believe. Not to mention the way you carry yourself with confidence even when you’re in a room filled with strangers.” He tucks a lock of hair behind your ear, speaking earnestly. “Trust me, sweetheart. You don’t need to be an Amazon when you’re already a goddess.” 

“That’s… wow… I wasn’t expecting that.” The butterflies are throwing a fucking rave in your stomach. You just can’t stop grinning, so you playfully hit his shoulder. “Never knew you could be so sappy.” 

He catches your wrist delicately, not missing the opportunity to turn it and plant his lips on your knuckles.

“That’s all on you. You turned me into this.” He claims, placing your open palm over his heart, and holding it there. It’s beating quite rapidly. Like yours is. “Take responsibility, woman.” 

“Fine,” you concede with a playful eye roll. Guilty as charged, your honor. “But, seriously, thank you. Your words mean a lot.”

“You mean a lot to me. Don’t ever forget that.” One, two, three pecks to his lips. You discover you really love kissing him as well. 

Suddenly, he’s covering his mouth with a yawn. Outside, Gotham’s black heaven is starting to get tinged with pink and yellow, announcing the sun’s impending arrival. Soon the streets around your building will have people going out about their day. Unbeknownst to them, one of the guys responsible for their safety sleeps tucked in your bed right around the corner. 

“We should probably sleep.” Jason begins, effortlessly getting up in a swift motion while still holding onto you. Your legs wrap around his waist as he walks you two to the bedroom. “I already lost way more brain cells than intended. Gotta save some for Mary Wollstonecraft tomorrow.”

“You’re such a dork.”

“And you need to get woke,” he taunts.

“These are my books!” You counter, indignantly. 

“Ours. Don’t be so individualistic, baby. That’s why capitalism—” Not letting him finish, you jump off his arms and go into the bathroom as he trails behind like a lost puppy.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it, comrade Red Hood. Now shut your revolutionary mouth, and let’s get ready for bed.”

thanks for reading, and please reblog if you enjoyed it <33

feel free to share your thoughts, i'd love to hear them!

this is where i got the dividers

[wosoamazing]

Barca v Arsenal Round 2

Warnings: Head injury, vomiting, concussion, google translated Spanish (sorry in advance - with english translations)

A/N: I have a request for a McCabe red card fic, so that inspired this, so a McCabe red card fic coming off the back of this will be soon. I also may have another major change for this series, or a few.... (also note that the pregnancy story line is/was a one shot)

You were sprinting full pace towards the box, preparing for Aitana’s cross, the ball was currently with Lucy, you neared the edge of the box as Aitana received the ball, preparing to be able to just tap it in, it left Aitana’s foot, however the ground also left your feet, someone had tripped you, it was McCabe, living up to her nickname, she had only meant to trip you, maybe receive a yellow, what she had not calculated for was that you hadn’t slowed, so your speed in addition to your proximity to the post meant you didn’t just fall to the ground, you went flying, straight into the goal post, head first, the sound of your head clashing with the post reverberated around the stadium as your body thudded to the floor, and your everything went black. Alexia, and Lucy were immediately by your side, practically sprinting over to you. As you started to come too again, you slowly opened your eyes and you grimaced at the brightness of the light, your vision was slightly fuzzy but you could easily make out Alexia’s face which was above over yours, she was looking at the sidelines concerned, she shook her head at something, you tried to move your head, maybe sit up, but noticed their were firm hands placed either side of your head meaning that you couldn’t, they must’ve been Alexia’s as she immediately looked down at you, her face softening as she saw the tears that brimmed your eyes.

“It’s okay Bebita, we will get you all fixed up, don't worry, just don’t try to move okay.” 

Lucy was standing right next to your head, she was looking over to where quite a lot of noise was going on, Alexia looked up at Lucy before looking over there too, that’s when you suddenly heard a very familiar voice and remember you were versing your old team.

“What the hell McCabe,” you heard your sister say, as she probably pushed her “why would you do that, that’s my sister, my fucking baby sister Katie, and you just knocked her out. What were you thinking, as if you were ever going to get away with that.”

The medics came over, and Alexia, looked back to you, your eyes were darting around. “L-le, I want Le” you scaredly said as a single tear left your eye. “Lucy, Leah now” Alexia ordered Lucy, “It’s okay Bebita, Lucy is going to get her,” just after Lucy left the ref blew her whistle, the high pitched noise pierced through your skull, the sound was followed by your sister's voice “Oh you fucking deserved that,” you could hear your sister continue to argue with Katie untill Lucy raised her voice.

“Leah,” the two Arsenal players stopped, “she’s asking for you,” and just like that Leah’s mind was completely cleared of her anger towards McCabe.

“Leah,” you cried out again, as your eyes continued to dart around. “She’s coming Bebita, it’s okay she’s coming” almost as if on que Leah came into your vision, “Bug, it’s okay, I’m here.”

“Le,” you let out a sob “It hurts,” “I know it does bug, but can you stay as still as possible and listen to the medics?”

The medics were doing their usual checks, when one of them started talking to you, “¿Puedes entenderme? (can you understand me?)” “Sì” “that’s good right, it means it isn’t super bad, and like her memory is good” Lucy questioned, one of the medics gave her a small nod before they continued.

“¿Puedes decirme tu nombre, tu edad y dónde estás en español y luego en inglés?” (can you tell me your name, your age and where you are in Spanish and then in English?)

“Eh, tengo 17 años, mi nombre es Y/N y estoy en España jugando al fútbol contra mi antiguo equipo. I am 17 years old, my name is Y/N, and I am in Spain playing football against my old team” Your spanish was slower than usual but it was still well above Kiera’s spanish speaking abilities.

“Muy buena”

The medics did some more checks before looking up at Alexia and Leah, they said something in Spanish to Alexia who translated for Leah, “They’re going to stretcher her off, but they think it’s just a concussion.” 

As they were moving you onto the stretchers Steph came up behind Leah and tapped her on the back before leaning forward and whispering into her ear, “Jonas said you can be subbed off if you want,” Leah smiled at her fellow teammate before nodding and following you off the pitch.

It was half time and the girls had come to check on you, all just popping their heads around the corner seeing you were asleep and deciding to leave Leah alone, who looked very stressed and worried, however Alexia and Lucy walked in, Alexia first went to you to check you were okay once she knew you were she turned to Leah, “I can’t stay for long I have to go back out with the team, but Lucy will stay, and-” “Alexia!” Jonatan shouted, she quickly walked out, “Lucy knows the rest, oh and I will get food.”

Lucy sat down next to Leah, and studied her briefly before she started to talk, she decided to just be straight with your sister.

“We don’t know if you’re staying or how long you will stay for, but Alexia said you could stay there, that she knew you probably expected that but she wanted to reassure you. Are you staying or are you going back with them?”

“I’m staying, I’m not going, I haven't been there for her so many times when she has been sick or hurt. I was here for this one, I can’t just leave her now.” she let out a heavy sigh, “I just miss her so much, I want her back, I miss her Luc, I already missed so much of her life growing up and now I’m missing everything again,” leah admitted quietly.

“Le, it’s okay, she isn’t mad at you, and you can’t blame yourself, at the end of the day she was the one who chose to go.” she just nodded, trying to hold back her tears.

______

Since you had a shower at the stadium you crawled straight into your bed when you got home, Leah getting in beside you, “Le,” you groggily spoke, “yeah,” she softly said as she smoothed out your hair, “please don’t go, please stay,” “I’m going to stay Bug, I’ve already told Jonas and Lia,” you gave her a small soft smile as you nodded slightly before your curled into her side and drifted off to sleep.

______

Later that night you found yourself hunched over the toilet, throwing up, whilst your head still pounded. “It’s okay, I’m here, I’ve got you,” Your sister said as she rubbed your back. Just as you had finished and rested your head on Leah’s shoulder, body collapsing into hers, Alexia walked in with some water and more pain meds, she was met with a confused look from Leah, “I heard you up, figured this was the reason” she whispered, before handing you the water and meds, you took them before lowering your head to now rest on Leah’s lap, promptly falling asleep.

“Thank you for taking such good care of her Alexia, she really likes living with you,” “It’s nothing,” “But it really is, and you’re doing the job I should be doing, I’m her big sister, I should be there for her when she is sick and I’m not,” the tears in Leah’s eyes that threatened to fall earlier in the day started falling, “I’m sorry,” Leah mumbled as she put her face in her hands, Alexia wrapped an arm around Leah’s shoulder to comfort her, not really knowing what else to do, as she didn;t know how to reply to what your sister had just told her. 

______

You woke up to Mapi’s voice “Ingrid, Ellas estan aqui (they are in here),” you then heard her take a photo on her phone.

“Mapi?” you asked quizzically as you slowly sat up from your position on the floor.

“Hola Nena, ¿cómo te sientes? (how are you feeling?)” you only groaned in response.

“Ingrid Vendrá a recogerte, ¿quieres volver a la cama? (will come pick you up, do you want to go back to bed),” “Food?” you questioned, “¿Quieres algo de comida? (Do you want some food?)” “Sì”

“Good Morning, elskling, let's take you down and get you something to eat, I think Lucy will be here soon.” Ingrid picked you up, trying not to disturb the two older women, having a feeling they needed some sleep, Alexia’s arm was still wrapped around your sisters as Leah’s head rested on Alexia’s shoulder.

______

“Find yourself in an odd position when you woke up?” Lucy teased her captains as they walked down the stairs.

“No, the only emotion that went through us was panic,” “someone moved Bebita” Leah started and Alexia finished.

“We came over to cook breakfast, because we do that after every game day, have breakfast, us two and Alexia and y/n, sometimes others join too” Ingrid gestured towards Lucy, “But we went looking for you both and she woke up when we found you all, said she was hungry, but we let you sleep, because we didn’t know how much of the night you had slept and how much of if you spent, well…” Ingrid continued

“But we fed her, and she has kept it down so far so that is good,” Leah nodded. 

“So she has only vomited once since, that's good, considering how hard she hit the post. Also thank you all so much, for everything you do for her, I-” “Le,” you said slightly panicked, as you woke up, hands wrapped around your stomach, its safe to say that moment marked the end of their ‘peaceful’ morning.

[winchestersisterimaginessss]

My Sister’s Keeper

Dean went to hell and Sam left his little sister (16/17 yo) to fend for herself. Dean gets back and he is pissed with Sam and they have to find her. Fluff

Warnings- swearing, angst, fluff lol

A/N- I kind of changed the way Dean was brought back. Instead of going right to Bobby he found Sam first. Let me know if you think I should do a part 2?

“She’s a fucking kid Sam,” Dean let out an angry yell. He couldn’t believe that Sam had ditched their baby sister when she needed him the most. His heart ached as he thought about the times he reassured her that when he was in Hell she would always have Sam and that he would take care of her. He knew that she still wasn’t convinced and it made leaving so much harder, but he had no choice. After all, Dean had raised her and Sam had left them both multiple times. His heart panged when he thought about where she could be all alone. The look of horror on his face when he came to realization, “A young girl at that!” Dean grimaced. God forbid someone touched a hair on her head, they would be dead and Dean would make sure of it. He couldn’t imagine his baby sister alone and scared fending for herself. Sure she was tough, but she was just a kid and he knew her better than she knew herself. He knows that when she claims she’s okay after a hunt, its clear she isn’t as her body betrays her words and she trembles until he or Sam rub her back and let her know that she’s safe. It doesn’t take an idiot to notice the flash of panic on her face after a door slams or a loud noise is heard. Or when they have to calm her down during a panic attack or comfort her in the middle of the night during a nightmare. Or the way she clings to Sam or Dean’s shirt every night when she falls asleep. She was tougher than hell, but at the end of the day she’s just a kid who was forced to live this life. Dean looked at Sam and saw the look of regret that filled his face. “You better fucking find her Sam or I swear to God,” Dean trailed off grabbing his phone to call Bobby, putting it on speaker phone. The phone rang a few times until Bobby picked up, “Hello?” “Hey Bobby it’s Dean, have you heard from Y/N,” Dean asked as he shot a look at Sam. Bobby replied, “I talked to her last week and she said her and Sam were getting close finding you a way out,” Sam’s heart panged as he realized that she told Bobby he was with her so no one would worry about her. She never wanted to be a bother to anyone and he felt even worse knowing she was trying everything in her power to get Dean back while he ran off with a demon. Something that none the less probably cost her her soul. He should have been with her and he will never forgive himself for leaving. But he thought he was doing the right thing in the moment. Now looking back at it he wasn’t sure how he thought that because right now he was terrified at the thought of her being alone or worse, hurt. Sam’s emotions were interrupted by Bobby speaking again, “And I can see that it worked. Welcome back boy.” “Thanks Bobby, do you have an address of where she might be?” Dean replied. Bobby hummed “No, but I have a town.” Dean let out a sign of relief. He grabbed the keys and turned to Sam, “You better hope she’s safe Sam. Let’s go.”

They got into the car and Dean took off. They were about 3 hours out from the town that Bobby sent over. Luckily it was a pretty small town and there was one motel that they could pretty much pinpoint where she could be staying. The car ride was agonizingly quiet and Sam was forced to be stuck in his thoughts on how awful of a brother he’s been. He was too worried about killing Lilith while she was too busy trying to find a way to bring Dean back. He was fucking selfish and he should have been focused on his only living sibling left that was trying to bring back their other non living sibling. He decided to break the silence, “Dean I’m so fucking sorry, I screwed up man and I screwed up bad. I’ll never fucking forgive myself.” Dean scoffed, “Yeah you shouldn’t be able to forgive yourself Sam. She’s just a kid, I don’t understand how you could EVER leave her like that. She needed you the most and you left her. We don’t even know if she’s alive,” Dean gripped the steering wheel and pressed the gas harder thinking the worst possible scenario. He continued, “She found a way to bring me back and we know how that story ends Sam.” Sam filled to the brim with guilt, “I’ll fix everything, I promise Dean, I won’t let anything else happen to her.” The car went back to silence as both brothers continued to hope their baby sister was alright.

It was around 1am when they finally arrived at the motel. The engine roared as Dean turned the car off. They got out and hurried to the front desk. “Hi. how can I help you?” The man behind the desk asked. They both pulled out their FBI badges and stated who they were looking for. The guy pointed them to a room and they rushed to what they were hoping was Y/N’s room. She’s always been a light sleeper so when Dean started to pick the lock to her door, she immediately heard it. Her heart dropped and she grabbed her knife to give her a fighting chance against her intruders. She quickly glided across the motel room and put her back against the wall. It was pitch black, but she could make out two figures. One was much taller than the other, but they were both pretty big which made her gulp. There was no one way she could take on the both of them and she knew that. They picked the lock with ease and started to make their way into her room. They took a few steps in and that’s when Y/N charged at them. The taller one of the two immediately turned around and just before she could make contact with him, he grabbed her. She immediately dropped her knife as he pinned her wrist back and slammed her against the wall. She let out a yelp and braced her head for impact, but instead of feeling the hard wall against her head it was the palm of a hand. She was confused, but she still whimpered terrified. “Please,” she cried, “please don’t hurt me.” As she pleaded, the light to the motel room flicked on and she was finally able to make out the person in front of her. “Hey hey it’s alright,” it was Sam. “Sammy,” she whimpered. Still clearly dazed, confused, and frightened. Sam loosened his grip on his sister and wrapped his large arms around her small frame, “Yeah, hey shhhh bug I got you. I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry.” She cried, flinging her arms around him and holding him tight like he could disappear at any moment. To be fair, he could disappear at any moment and he did. They stayed like that for a few moments before rage took over her. She pulled away, crying and started hitting him. “How could you Sam,” she cried. Slapping his chest and hitting him over and over again, “How could you fucking leave me. I-I needed you Sam. I needed you and you left me,” she sobbed. She was weak with exhaustion, but Sam let her hit him because he deserved every single blow even if it barely hurt him.

Dean stood back watching his little sister. He was taken aback by how fragile she looked. She definitely lost weight as she was much skinnier. He noticed dark heavy bags under her eyes like she had been crying every single day for months straight. He couldn’t take it anymore, his sister was clearly suffering and he wasn’t around to help her. In fact, no one was around to help her. He couldn’t watch her crumble any longer so he came up behind her and embraced her. He pinned her frailing arms down with his and held her in a tight hug from behind. She fought against him, crying when Dean calmly spoke, “Hey hey hey Y/N/N I’m going to need you to relax for me alright?” She stood frozen, “De?” “Yeah, I got you sweetheart, I got you. I’m so sorry,” He released his hold as she turned around and launched herself onto him. Dean wrapped his arms around her and she gripped onto Deans shirt for dear life. She whimpered, “De I was so scared.” Dean felt his heart drop even further, “I know kid, I know. Shhhh it’s okay, I’m here. I got you.” Dean tightened his grip on her and rested his clenched jaw on her head shooting Sam a look. Sam watched them both, feeling sick to his stomach. How could he have done this to his baby sister? This is no life for a kid. He knew that too and that’s why the pit in his stomach only grew bigger. A sob interrupted Sam’s thoughts as Y/N’s emotions began to escalate. He watched as she collapsed, falling into their older brothers arms. Dean quickly sunk to the floor with her as her breathing hitched. He could feel her heart hammering against her rib cage and knew he needed to get her out of her panicked state before she passed out. “Hey hey hey hey Y/N/N breathe for me sweetheart, breathe.” She felt her chest start to tighten which frightened her even more. Her breathing was erratic at this point and she dug her finger tips into deans arms. “Hey kid, you’re having a panic attack okay? It’s alright. I’ve got you. You’re safe okay?” She nodded still trembling, still gasping. He repositioned her so she was sitting in between his legs with her back pressed against him to feel the rise and fall of his chest. “I need you to breathe with me. Can you do that sweetheart?” Dean felt her nod and continued “Yeah? Okay. We’re going to breathe out for 10. Come on bug 10…9…8…7…” She matched Dean’s breath which ended up hitching on 7. Dean reached down to rub her arms, “Keep going kid. You got it. 3…2…1…” He walked her through breathing in and out a few more times until he felt satisfied enough to where he knew she wouldn’t pass out. He sighed in relief, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her head, “That’s it sweetheart, I got you.” He could still feel her heart pounding though so he pulled her onto his lap like he did when she was a child and ran his fingers through her hair. “It’s alright, I’m here now and I’m not leaving. You’re safe with me kiddo. I’ve got you.”

She sat on the floor with Dean for what felt like hours while he comforted her. Eventually Sam made his way over unable to see his baby sister hurt any longer. He sat down and brushed her hair away from her face, “I’m so sorry bug. You have every right to be upset with me. I let you down and I caused you so much pain. I just thought I was doing the right thing for all of us. If I could go back in time, I would change it. I’m so incredibly sorry for everything, but I’m here now and I’m not leaving you ever.” Sam let a few tears escape his eyes. Y/N reached to grab his hand, “I forgive you Sammy. I’m sorry for hitting you.” Sam chuckled. His baby sister was too nice for her own sake. “I deserved it,” he said. She shot her head back up and looked between her two brothers. “How did you get out?” She asked, not knowing if she really wanted to know the answer. She was scared that a crossroads demon finally took Sam up on his offer for his soul. Her heart rate picked up again while she waited for her brothers to give her an answer. “I don’t know how I got out. I thought it was either you or Sam who figured it out, but Sam didn’t,” he trailed off looking at her with worried eyes. She blinked, “No it wasn’t me. I tried Dean, I tried so hard to save you. I- I tried. I’m so sorry. I-I couldn’t figure it out.” Dean’s face softened, “Hey sweetheart it’s okay. Thank you, but I wish it wasn’t put on you in the first place. I would have never wanted this for you. I’m so sorry.” He could tell she was filled with so much guilt when she shouldn’t be. It crushed him and he rubbed her arm, “I’m here now.” Y/N had so many questions, but all she knew was that she was back with her brothers and that’s all that mattered to her. She was exhausted and eventually let the darkness flow over her. “Get some rest kid, we’ll be here when you wake up,” she heard Dean say. She could finally sleep peacefully knowing she had both of her brother back.

[baileypie-writes]

~Why Glitter Force is Problematic~

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In case you don’t know what Glitter Force is, it’s the English dub of the anime Smile Pretty Cure; the 9th season of the Pretty Cure franchise. It was produced by Saban, and released on Netflix in 2015.

Not long later, they made another dub. Only this time, with the season DokiDoki! Pretty Cure, which they changed to Glitter Force Doki Doki.

Instead of keeping everything the same, Glitter Force changed way more than necessary, making it racist and implied to be homophobic.

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First off, I just wanna point out that Saban was a problematic company. They were criticized for their questionable, race-related choices when it came to casting for Power Rangers(the whitewashed version on Super Sentai). They also harassed one of the actors David Yost, for his sexual orientation so much, that he left the show. Lastly, the president of the company, Haim Saban, supports Israel. So Saban is not a good company.

With that out of the way, let’s get into the changes.

~1. Name Changes~

Saban decided to remove all Japanese culture from Smile and DokiDoki! Pretty Cure; whitewashing it. They renamed almost everything, even things that didn’t need to be.

Smile Pretty Cure Name Changes:

Miyuki Hoshizora/Cure Happy - Emily/Glitter Lucky(Glitter Pink in some dubs)

Akane Hino/Cure Sunny - Kelsey/Glitter Sunny(Glitter Orange in some dubs)

Yayoi Kise/Cure Peace - Lily/Glitter Peace(Glitter Yellow in some dubs)

Nao Midorikawa/Cure March - April/Glitter Spring(Glitter Green in some dubs)

Reika Aoki/Cure Beauty - Chloe/Glitter Breeze(Glitter Blue in some dubs)

King Pierrot - Emperor Nogo

Joker - Rascal

Wolfrun - Ulric

Akaoni - Brute(was also changed from a demon to a troll)

Majorina - Brooha

Akanbe - Buffoon

Cure Decor - Glitter Charm

Smile Pact - Glitter Pact

Decor Décor - Charm Chest

Princess Candle - Princess Wand

Märchenland - Jubiland

Bad End Kingdom - Shadow Realm

Nanairogaoka Middle School - Rainbow Hills Middle School

Candy and Pop’s names were kept, I’m assuming because they were already English.

DokiDoki! Pretty Cure Changes:

Mana Aida/Cure Heart - Maya Aida/Glitter Heart

Rikka Hishikawa/Cure Diamond - Rachel/Glitter Diamond

Alice Yotsuba/Cure Rosetta - Clara Yotsuba/Glitter Clover(this one makes no sense to me)

Makoto Kenzaki/Cure Sword - Makenzie Mack/Glitter Spade

Aguri Madoka/Cure Ace - Natalie Miller/Glitter Ace

Joe Okada - Johnny

Princess Marie Ange - Princess Marie Angelica

Ai - Dina

Sharuru - Kippie

Raquel - Rory

Dabyi - Davi

Jikochuu - Distain

Leva - Riva

Gula - Gura

King Jikochuu - King Mercenare

Lovely Commune - Glitter Pad

Cure Lovead - Glitter Charm

Love Heart Arrow - Glitter Heart Arrow

Magical Lovely Pad - Glitter Crystal Pad

Oogai Town - Seashell Bay

Oogai Middle School - Seashell Bay Middle School

Trump Kingdom - Splendorious

These aren’t even all the changes. They changed all the names of the attacks as well.

~2. Cut Episodes~

(There are more that are included in different sections)

Again, Saban wanted no Japanese culture in the dub. So any episodes that contained too much Japanese culture were cut. Some were cut for other reasons. In total, Glitter Force cut 8 episodes. 13 full episodes were cut in Doki Doki, while some were stitched together in other episodes. In total, there are 19 less episodes in Glitter Force Doki Doki.

Here are the sources I used for guidance!:

Glitter Force, Glitter Force Doki Doki

Glitter Force:

• Episode 10: It centers around Akane’s family restaurant, which serves okonomiyaki, a Japanese food. This food appeared once or twice in Glitter Force, but they referred to it as “Japanese pizza”. This isn’t even what the food is. It’s more like a savory pancake.

• Episode 17: It contains a Japanese comedy show. It also contains real life Japanese comedians. So while Saban probably would’ve cut it regardless, they most likely didn’t have the rights to use it anyway.

• Episode 26: It’s focused around a Japanese summer festival. This obviously includes Japanese food, clothes(yukatas) and games.

• Episode 26: It takes place at Miyuki’s grandmother’s house in Japanese mountains. We see rice fields, which I guess is enough of a cultural difference. There are also yokai mentioned, which are Japanese monsters/ghosts.

• Episode 33: This episode takes place on the set of a Japanese edo-period drama. Obviously, this has tons of Japanese culture.

• Episode 34: It’s about the Cultural Festival at the characters’ school. Cultural Festivals are not a thing in America. It also includes characters from Japanese fairy tales.

• Episode 36: Akane is assigned the task of showing an English exchange student around the school. She teaches him Japanese, and shows him the culture.

There were episodes with Japanese culture that stayed in the Glitter Force. And some of those were episodes 13 and 14(episodes 12 and 13 in Glitter Force) where the girls go on a field trip to Kyoto and Osaka. Although, in Glitter Force, they call it the “Asia Pacific Expo”. Now Saban, I don’t know if you know this, but Asia is a continent with many countries. And each one has its own unique culture. So you should’ve just called it the “Japanese Expo”.

They also kept episode 21(episode 18 in Glitter Force), which is about Tanabata, a Japanese festival. Probably the only reason they kept this in was because it contained a very important plot point. Although, important plot points didn’t stop them from cutting episodes in Doki Doki.

The way they treated the holiday in Glitter Force was pretty normal. They did rename the festival from Tanabata to the Star Festival. But besides that, they pretty much portrayed what the holiday is about accurately. They even explained the story behind it correctly(I believe. I’m white, so please correct me if I’m wrong). As a kid, I wasn’t confused at all. Sure, it was a holiday I’d never heard of, but it was explained, so I was fine. So this proves even further that keeping the rest of the Japanese culture would’ve been perfectly fine. So cutting it really wasn’t necessary.

Lastly, I just want to point out how in episode 2 of Glitter Force(whether intentionally or not), they basically poked fun at the traditional Japanese greeting. In Smile Pretty Cure, Miyuki hows Candy how they greet people, which is by bowing. However, in Glitter Force, it’s Candy showing Emily how the pixies in Jubiland, the weird fantasy world, greet each other. While doing so, they say “Hello, my friend! I am happy to see you!” in silly voices. The way this is done and said implies that what they’re doing is funny and weird. So they turned a normal thing to do in Japan into that…

Glitter Force Doki Doki:

• Episodes 12 and 41 were cut for seemingly no reason. At least, not for any I could find.

• Episode 14: Includes Karuta, which is a Japanese card game.

• Episode 19: Not sure why this was cut, but a section of it was used in episode 14 of Glitter Force Doki Doki,“Royal Crystal Chaos”. Saban liked to combine episodes together.

• Episode 28: It’s about a Japanese summer festival. We’ve been over this previously.

• Episode 29: The characters are preparing for their school’s Cultural Festival. It also shows the fairies turning into humans. So more episodes had to be cut because of that.

• Episode 32: The actual Cultural Festival.

• Episode 33: The only reason I can think of why this was removed, was because it talks about Alice being a sickly child in the past. It’s a shame it was cut though, because it includes the story of how Alice became friends with Mana and Rikka.

• Episodes 34, 35, 37 and 38: Ai’s character arc. No idea why Saban wanted to cut it, but they did.

• Episode 36: Ai’s character arc, and it includes Raquel as a human, which was only previously featured in an episode that was cut. So it wouldn’t make sense to keep it.

• Episode 40: Includes a full singing performance by Makoto. Saban most likely cut it because they were lazy, and didn’t want to write a whole new song.

• Episode 42: Includes the fairies as humans. Again, with no context as to how they gained this ability, it would’ve been confusing.

~3. Toned Down/Removed Emotional Scenes/Episodes~

For some reason, Saban decided that children can’t handle anything too emotional. So any scene or episode that seemed “too much” to them was toned down or cut completely.

Examples:

• In episode 42(34 in Glitter Force) Cure March’s siblings are caught up in the middle of a battle. A big attack heads towards them, and March isn’t able to stop it in time. The attack hits, and a big cloud of dust envelops the children. Luckily, when the cloud clears, it’s revealed that the other Cures stopped the attack, saving the kids. In Smile Pretty Cure, there’s silence leading up to the reveal, making the viewers believe that the children are seriously injured, or worse. However, in Glitter Force, we hear the kids talking before the dust clears, saying “Hey, we’re okay!”. This ruins the suspense and emotion of the scene.

Shortly after, all March’s sibling run to her, hugging her. They’re all crying, and share a happy, emotional moment together. In Glitter Force, however, this moment is once again ruined by dialogue. The littlest brother asks why everyone is so sad, and a sister tells him that they’re not, and that they’re crying because they’re happy. That was completely unnecessary. And frankly, I think kids could tell that they were happy tears.

• There was episode about Yayoi that was cut, which was episode 19. In it, it reveals that her father had passed away when she was young, and that she desperately wants to remember him. Though being young when he passed, she can’t remember that much, making her upset. Her father’s death is never shown, and it’s never said how he died. Glitter Force cut this episode out, because heaven forbid death be mentioned. Even though characters die in basically every Disney movie, and it’s fine. I think this episode is important, because it could be relatable for children who’ve lost family members of their own. It could even give them a sense of comfort. So Saban cutting it out is just really stupid.

Added after @glittercakes mentioned it

(Thanks for letting me know about this!)

• In the final episode, Candy has to go back to her homeland, so she says goodbye to the girls. Candy is crying a lot, but the girls just smile, letting her know that it’s okay. When Candy’s gone, the girls break down, finally allowing themselves to cry. It’s a very sad moment, which makes the reunion even better. But in Glitter Force, the girls stay smiling the entire time, even after Candy leaves. Emily even goes as far as to call her dramatic.

All these changes paint the picture that kids are too sensitive, and should only watch things that are happy 100% of the time. This is just ridiculous to me. Having emotions other than happiness in children’s shows is important, because it teaches them that it’s okay to be upset or sad. Having everything happy all the time, even when it shouldn’t be, teaches unhealthy lessons to children, like “it’s not okay to cry”. That’s what toxic positivity is, and it is not a good thing.

• This last point isn’t specifically about cutting emotional scenes, but I thought it was important to add. Smile Pretty Cure includes many life lessons in their episodes. These are obviously meant to teach children how to be better and kinder in life. However, in Glitter Force, they often twist the lessons to make them into funny cartoon shenanigans. I don’t see the point in doing this at all. Including life lessons in children’s media is genuinely useful and important. Taking out the whole point of the episode leaves no value in it.

~4. Homophobia~

There are a few, minor details that were completely unnecessary for Saban to edit out, which gives the impression of being homophobic.

Examples:

• In episode 39(episode 31 in Gitter Force) where the girls get transported into the fairytale “Cinderella”, Reika gets casted as the Prince, since there are no boys. In Smile Pretty Cure, Miyuki, who’s casted as Cinderella, sees her as charming. However, in Glitter Force, all their interactions and dialogue are done in a joking matter, making sure the audience knows that they don’t like each other like that. That was unnecessary, as in the original, it’s never implied that they shared romantic interest. They were just following the story. In another scene, Reika catches Yayoi when she falls. We see Reika from Yayoi’s point of view, and there are the classic anime sparkles, insinuating that she sees her as incredibly handsome. She’s seen blushing a moment later. These tiny details were cut in Glitter Force. Because heaven forbid that a girl finds another girl handsome.

• In DokiDoki! Pretty Cure episode 10(episode 8 in Glitter Force), we really get to see Rikka and Mana’s friendship in greater detail. Rikka always makes sure that Mana is being responsible, and keeping her on top of things. Her fairy partner, Raquel, compares Rikka to being Mana’s wife. This wasn’t insinuating romantic interest. It was just comparing her traits to traits of a stereotypical wife. But of course, Glitter Force can’t have anything related to two girls being together. So they changed the comparison to Maya’s mother.

• Episode 44 of DokiDoki! Pretty Cure was cut, and there’s only one reason that I can think of as to why. Everyone is being super affectionate to Mana. Some people, including girls, even blush at her. That could imply them having a crush on Mana, I guess. And of course, to Saban, girls can’t love girls.

These changes may be minor, but that’s exactly what makes it homophobic. They were tiny scenes that weren’t made to be taken super seriously. But the idea of two girls liking each other bothered Saban so much, that they felt the need to edit them out. And the previously mentioned situation with David Yost proves that this was intentional homophobia.

~Conclusion: Stop Supporting Glitter Force~

The amount of people who still support Glitter Force really pisses me off. Like, I get if you didn’t know about Smile Pretty Cure. But there are people who know that Glitter Force is problematic and still watch it like nothing’s wrong with it. They either deny that it’s problematic, ignore it, or simply don’t care.

“But they made it easier for English kids to understand!”

I’m sure kids would’ve understood just fine if they kept the Japanese culture. Kids aren’t so sensitive, that the moment something is slightly different, they shut down. I mean, look at Disney. They explore different cultures in their movies all the time, and are still the most successful movie company in the world. Mulan and Encanto are super popular, despite the fact that they take place in and contain culture from China and Colombia. So if Glitter Force kept the characters original names and the culture, I’m sure the kids couldn’t care less. Besides, it’s important to teach kids about different cultures, so they don’t grow up to be ignorant.

The only time anime was edited this heavily was in the 90s-early 2000s. And they did it because anime was so new and strange, so they thought no one would watch it if it wasn’t more American. But Glitter Force was released in 2015. At that point in time, anime was receiving a huge rise in popularity. So Japanese culture was much more normalized and understood in the west. So all those changes were even more unnecessary.

As an American, I can say that we don’t need everything to be tailored to be like us. The very idea is just ridiculous to me. And it’s the same for every other country. Just accept things for the culture they are.

“But it was my childhood!”

It was mine too. And I understand that it can be hard to let go of something you grew up with. But the thing is: you don’t have to! You can just watch the original! Even if you don’t have a VPN, or don’t have the bravery to pirate it(which isn’t nearly as dangerous as it sounds, if you know good websites), there’s really no reason to continue watching Glitter Force. There are plenty of fandubs out there that you can watch legally, and are way more accurate than Glitter Force! Smile Pretty Cure can still give you the same sense of nostalgia as well. It did for me, at least.

Choosing to ignore, excuse or not care about problematic behavior, simply because something was your childhood is a very immature thing to do. Especially in this case, where you can just watch the original. I promise you, Smile Pretty Cure is honestly so much better!

The very last thing I want to point out is that Smile Pretty Cure was made to aid the children who suffered from the 2011 tsunami and earthquake in Japan. The overall theme of the show is happiness, with each Cure being named after something that makes people happy. And the anime’s title, Smile Pretty Cure, is a reminder that smiles can help you through tough times. So the fact that Glitter Force takes that meaning away is just awful.

Thank you for reading all this. I didn’t even get to go through all the changes Saban did, but I went through the most important. Let me know if this informed you in any way!

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~~baileypie-writes

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Back home p.17

Hii guyss, here's part 17 of the story. If you want to read more stories of mine here's my masterlist and if you missed part 16, here it is.

Your life in Monaco was idyllic, growing up alongside the Leclercs. But everything changes when you're forced to leave. Now, returning to the place you once called home, you're confronted with a dilemma: not one, but two Leclerc brothers vying for your heart. Old bonds and unresolved emotions collide-what will you do when the past and present merge in unexpected ways?

The private jet hummed softly as it soared through the night sky, carrying you and Charles back to Monaco. The post-race glow still lingered in the air, but now, away from the chaos of the paddock, the reality of your relationship began to settle in.

Charles sat beside you, his hand resting on top of yours. He was tracing small circles on your skin absentmindedly, a habit you were quickly growing fond of. You looked over at him, catching the soft smile on his lips as he stared out the window at the star-studded sky.

“So,” you began, breaking the comfortable silence, “things are going to be... different now.”

He turned to you, his green eyes locking onto yours. “Different in a good way, I hope.”

You laughed softly. “In the best way. But also, you know, different. The media, the attention… everything.”

Charles nodded thoughtfully. “It will be an adjustment. But I promise I’ll do everything I can to protect you from it. We’re in this together now, and I’m not letting anything come between us.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart flutter. “I trust you,” you said, squeezing his hand. Then, hesitating for a moment, you added, “But what about Arthur? He’s your brother, Charles. I don’t want to cause any problems between you two.”

Charles’s jaw tightened slightly at the mention of Arthur. “I won’t lie—what he did really pissed me off. Lying to you like that, trying to make you doubt me... it’s not something I can just brush off.”

“He probably didn’t mean it like that,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction.

Charles shook his head. “Even if his intentions weren’t malicious, it’s not okay. And to be honest, I don’t trust him when it comes to you. At least not right now.”

You frowned, your heart sinking a little. “But he’s your brother.”

“I know,” Charles said softly, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “And I’ll talk to him. But for now, I think it’s best if you keep some distance from him. I need to make it clear that what he did was wrong. You deserve better than that.”

His words were firm but gentle, and you nodded, understanding his perspective. “Okay,” you said quietly. “I’ll let you handle it.”

Charles leaned closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. “Thank you. I know this isn’t easy, but I’ll take care of it.”

The conversation shifted to lighter topics as the flight continued, and soon you found yourselves talking about his upcoming trip to Brazil.

“I’m going to miss you,” Charles admitted, his voice tinged with reluctance. “I hate that I have to leave so soon after we’ve finally gotten together.”

You smiled at him, your heart warming at his honesty. “I’ll miss you too. But it’s only for a little while. And besides, I’ll be here cheering you on from Monaco.”

Charles chuckled. “Not the same as having you by my side, but I’ll take it.” He hesitated, then added, “When I get back, let’s celebrate properly. Just the two of us. Dinner at my place?”

Your smile widened. “I’d like that. I'm cooking, though.”

“Deal,” he said with a grin. “Cause my only speciality is pasta.”

“Well,” you teased. “You know I have a weakness for carbs.”

The two of you laughed, the tension from earlier melting away. As the plane began its descent, Charles reached for your hand again, lacing his fingers through yours.

“Thank you for trusting me,” he said softly. “I promise I’ll make this work. For us.”

You leaned your head against his shoulder, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. “I know you will.”

The jet touched down smoothly in Nice, the city's lights twinkling in the distance like a sea of stars. Charles helped you with your bag as you both stepped off the plane, his hand brushing yours occasionally in a way that sent shivers up your spine. You were exhausted but content, the quiet night air filled with unspoken promises.

As soon as you switched your phone back on, it buzzed incessantly with notifications. You glanced down, your heart sinking slightly as you saw Arthur's name appear repeatedly on the screen—calls, texts, and voice notes piling up.

Arthur: "Hey, have you landed yet? Do you want me to pick you up? Just let me know when you’re home." "Are you okay? Haven’t heard from you. Call me when you can." "Seriously, let me know if you need a ride. I don’t mind coming over."

You sighed softly, unsure how to respond. Charles noticed the slight furrow in your brow and gave you a questioning look. "Arthur?" he asked, his voice calm but laced with concern.

You nodded, showing him the screen briefly. "He’s been texting and calling nonstop. He wants to pick me up or come over."

Charles frowned, his expression tightening. “Did you tell him you’re with me?”

“No,” you said quickly, shaking your head. “I didn’t want to cause more drama. You asked me to wait, remember?”

He seemed to relax slightly, though his jaw remained set. “Good. Just tell him something simple for now. We’ll deal with this soon.”

You hesitated, then opened the messaging app and quickly typed out a response. "Hey, I just got back. Feeling really sick, though. Going to rest for a bit. I’ll talk to you later."

It didn’t take long for his reply to come through. "You’re sick? Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Do you need anything? I can come by to help."

You groaned quietly, running a hand through your hair. “He wants to come over.”

Charles stepped closer, his hand lightly grazing your arm in a gesture of comfort. “Tell him no. If he shows up and we’re both here, it’ll only make things worse.”

You nodded, typing another message. "No, it’s fine. I don’t want to get you sick too. I just need some sleep, that’s all."

The dots indicating his typing appeared immediately, and then his reply came through: "Okay, but let me know if you need anything. Feel better."

Relief washed over you, though it was tinged with guilt. “I hate lying to him,” you admitted, looking up at Charles.

“I know,” Charles said softly. “But he crossed a line. Until I talk to him, it’s better this way.”

You sighed, leaning slightly against him as you both started walking toward the car waiting to take you home. “You’re sure this won’t blow up in our faces?”

Charles wrapped an arm around your shoulders, his touch grounding you. “It might. But I’ll handle it. You don’t need to worry about Arthur right now. Let’s just focus on us.”

His words were reassuring, and as the car pulled away into the night, you allowed yourself to believe him, even as Arthur’s texts lingered in the back of your mind.

Tag list: @iamapersonwholikesunicorns, @janeh22, @victoriaholland, @abq654, @iamapersonwholikesunicorns, @anaferreira-4, @larastark3107, @itgirlofthecenturysposts, @boherahpsody, @iamkaku, @jz12, @boherahpsody, @urfavouritef1girly, @meglouise00, @charlesgirl16, @a-beaverhausen, @lol6sposts

[vhstown]

time out (part 1)

[boxer au] — 42!miles g morales x gn!reader

summary: Miles Morales makes boxing history. Your boyfriend isn't there to celebrate.

warnings: angst-ish, description of (boxing) injuries, self-destructive behaviours, briefly implied death, pov switch (yay), gtranslate spanish

word count: 3.9k

a/n: ive never written 42 miles before but he's a cool lil guy split into two parts cuz it was too long 😭 semi-edited (for the millionth time)

PART 2 → / THE AU

"Just six rounds in, Miles Morales knocks out the Vulture!"

Screams and cheers exploded from your phone as you laid in bed, watching the recap of your boyfriend's boxing match. Your eyes were straining from how close you were holding the screen to your face; this was probably the third time you’d watched Miles’ win. After training to hell and back, he’d made it to the national league with you and Aaron to support him. He did more than just “make it”, in fact. His “revolutionary” victory was plastered all over social media and the news. Everywhere you looked was: “17-YEAR-OLD NYC BOXER OVERTAKES LIGHTWEIGHT CHAMPION ��VULTURE’ IN US NATIONALS”. Miles Morales — your boyfriend — had made boxing history.

The giddy grin on your face only grew wider as he came up again on screen, sporting the stoic expression he'd perfected over the last few months behind the overly-done editing and animations of the recap. As much as you'd wanted to go out and see him live (though begging your family to let you go to Vegas wasn’t exactly feasible), he'd made it clear he didn't want you, or anyone for that matter, in that arena. It was something about having "total focus" — and it must've worked, you thought, as you watched him give his post-fight interview.

“I jus’ hope you watchin’, cause I’m here. Miles Morales made it!”

Despite his boyish, adrenaline-fuelled shout at the mic, the quiet laugh you let out was one of pride rather than embarrassment. He had every right to celebrate, and you were watching, even if it wasn’t live. Everything he'd done up until this point was well worth it: the constant training, sparring, the late nights and early mornings — maybe even the countless unanswered texts and missed calls too. Miles had worked himself to the bone, and while it might've worried you at the time, it was nothing compared to the satisfaction you felt while watching him on screen. He knew what he was doing; Miles was semi-professional at this point. You had to let him do his own thing, even if that meant letting him go for a while.

Right now, though, Miles was home from Vegas. Tapping out of the video, you scrambled to your messages. The last ones were from you, sent weeks ago, a "good luck" and "i love you" read and without a response. Your fingers kept missing the keys, and you frowned at yourself until you finally were able to hit send.

CONGRATS BABY!!! Not delivered

IM SO PROUD OF YOU Not delivered

You tried resending them, only to be met with the same red message.

why arent my texts sending Not delivered

miles??? Not delivered

Not delivered? It'd almost been three days since the tournament; Miles always had his phone on.

"To leave a message, please press one—" The call went to voicemail for the third time. Your stomach swirled with something like uncertainty. It didn't even ring at all. Miles made it a habit to always be available, so why...?

Boxers needed time to recover, he was probably just tired and turned his phone off. Or he could be busy with an interview; Miles Morales was sort of a celebrity right now — who wouldn't want to talk to the 17-year-old boxing prodigy? You knew you wanted to, prodigy or not.

It was probably because you hadn’t seen Miles in so long, but possibilities kept forming in your head, disappearing just as fast. What if he blocked you? Or he could’ve changed his number. Were you over? No. Nope. No way. Not like this.

There was one other reason that made some sort of sense, but you decided to think against it. Miles had made it to the semi-finals in entire the National League. It was over; he'd gotten what he wanted. He was supposed to be resting right now.

Miles wasn't that stupid, right...?

You pulled up Rio's contact. It was better to be safe than sorry.

Riiiiiiing, riiiiiiing…

Better for him to be safe than sorry — or stupid.

"Hello?"

"Hola, tía, uh, could I speak to Miles?" You felt just a little crazy as you held the phone to your ear, but there was no harm in calling his mom.

"Ah, he's not home right now — said he was going out with his tío."

"Oh… Do you know where they went?"

"I'm not sure. Something important. About a... contract?"

"Contract…?" you muttered to yourself. “Okay… thank you.” It wasn't like you knew anything about a contract, though it wasn't like Miles would tell you anyway. At least he was safe, and with Aaron. It was probably important, official — something that didn't involve you. Not a lot of things in Miles’ life involved you, it seemed.

"How have you been?” Rio's voice interrupted your thoughts. You had called her out of nowhere, and after a while. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Oh, um..." The last time you'd talked to Rio was… right before Miles had left for Vegas. Well, you hadn't exactly talked. All you remember is just comforting her in silence. "Yeah, tía. Have you?"

"I have, but I've just been all over the place recently. So many reporters…" Rio's voice lifted up slightly in exasperation. You could only imagine what it was like for her. Your feelings suddenly felt a lot less significant, and you were back to your comforting mode all over again.

"I see. Must be exhausting." You attempted a polite laugh, which came out more like a sigh. If only you could be as patient as Rio…

"I'm so proud, though." Her voice warmed with a smile. If your chest ached with melancholy or empathy, you didn't know. "I didn't want him to leave home so soon. I still think this whole… professional thing is a bit too much, but… I want to trust him also."

"I'm sure he'll be fine, tía. If he's in the nationals already, he's probably getting a lot of support." It was more like you were trying to convince yourself. "I'm sure he has great coaches... and he's got me and Aar— uh, his uncle, too."

"I know…" For a moment, you weren't sure if either of you had anymore to say.

"…If not, I'll have to go there myself and give them a piece of my mind, eh?" she continued. You weren’t sure if it was a joke, but a smile formed on your lips anyway.

"Yeah…" A quiet laugh leaving your mouth at the image of Rio cussing out Miles' poor manager, in two languages no less. No wonder he was such a good boxer — Rio must have passed down her fighting spirit. "Maybe you'd even get signed,” you joked, the image of that even more amusing (and a scary possibility.)

Rio let out her own laugh, and your smile only grew; talking to her always made you feel better. "Me? Boxing? Nunca (Never.) — I'll work in that hospital until the end of me."

There was another stretch of silence. You thinned out a sigh, trying not to let the smile leave your face, even if she wasn’t there to see it.

"Come over for dinner tomorrow. I'll tell Miles to come and get you."

"Sure, tía, I'd love to." He probably just needed a break. Not from you specifically, but in general.

"You know tú y Miles sois mi vida, ¿bien?" (you and Miles are my life, right?) It wasn’t often Rio said that, but you always remembered every time she did, and how it made you feel — like you were family. Rio was pretty much a second mother to you. It made you wonder what Miles' father would've been like.

"Well, it's getting late, and I have a lot of laundry to fold." Rio's tone had a fake sort of enthusiasm — tiredness? You couldn’t really tell with her; the woman was always upbeat. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"I will." It was late, you realised, and the sky outside your window was a lot darker than it had been before. "You too, tía."

“Descansa, ¿sí?” (Get some rest, yes?)

“Sí, tía.”

The call ended, and you were left facing your messages, a bittersweet feeling hugging you from behind. Right now, Miles was out with Aaron, about some contract, probably to do with boxing…

But why weren't your texts going through?

miles are you ok? Not delivered

im really proud of you Not delivered

i wish i couldve seen you live Not delivered

It wasn’t like there was much point, but…

i love you Not delivered

Maybe it was just out of habit; maybe you just missed him. Your reflection frowned at you behind the messages, thumb hovering over the power button to shut your phone off, until your phone pinged with a notification — Aaron was texting you.

Hey man

Out of town

LMK if miles breaks in

You sat up immediately, fingers floating uselessly above the keys for a moment.

sure Read at 11:24PM

are you out of town already? Read at 11:25PM

Ping!

Yeah

@ Queens

Miles was with Aaron about some “contract”... and Aaron was in Queens?

You knew Miles hadn't blocked you, or turned his phone off — he had no signal. And there was only one place in Brooklyn you could think of that had no reception, and that MIles had any reason to be in. It was also the one place you didn't want him to go to: that damn warehouse.

The place he’d spent training all those weeks — what reason did he have to be there right after finishing the tournament? Putting on your jacket, blinking back the sleepiness and collecting the fleeting remains of patience you had left, you could only hope that Miles had even a shred of common sense with him.

THWACK! THWACK! THWA— Crack!

"Mierda..." (Shit...) Miles hissed, drawing his glove away from the punching bag. His hand was paralysed for a moment, a deep, gnawing pang running through his fingers down to the rest of his arm. The tight gloves only suffocated him more, doing nothing to ease the pain as he gritted his teeth and waited for it to dull down.

Why was he even here? It was over — that Norman bastard had blown him off hours ago. It felt like a couple minutes, the words still fresh in his mind. Searing pain shot through his hand when he tried to flex his fingers, the rest of his muscles starting to ache too. This was going to hurt after the adrenaline wore off. Damn it, Morales.

The walls flashed white all of a sudden, a faint rumble of thunder interrupting the pounding of his heartbeat as he tried to straighten himself out. It was quiet, except for the sounds of the incoming storm. The playlist he was listening to had finished ages ago — your playlist. If he didn’t want to think about you, he wasn’t doing a good job of it.

Rain blasted quietly against the windows, and Miles’ eyes stung with dryness as he squeezed them shut. There was no way he'd be able to go back now, not to you, definitely not to his mom. She'd probably go on and on about how he should've taken his jacket, how he ruined his hair in the rain again, maybe how he wasted his damn time being a boxer...

It was probably fair; his mom had enough on her plate trying to support them both — especially him right now. She’d done everything in her power to make sure he got to Vegas, and he’d just left her alone again right after. But how was he meant to face her now? He was supposed to make her proud, make his dad proud, but it wasn’t like he had any pride left after he’d lost his contract. The Green Goblin had probably set the record for fastest knockout when Miles lost to him. Of course just the semi-finals weren’t enough; Norman Osborn was the big shot of boxing, and if Miles lost to some rookie in just about 15 seconds, then maybe he wasn’t worth the investment.

It didn’t make sense — nothing about The Green Goblin (or “Harry”, whatever they liked to gossip about) made sense. He’d just debuted, but didn’t even look like a boxer; he didn’t stand right, his style was inconsistent, his head movement was all over the place, but his punch had almost knocked Miles’ brain straight out of his skull. It was almost superhuman. Even with no openings, the freak of nature had forced his way through like an animal. And he was scrawny, not nearly as built as Miles at least, like he should’ve been in the weight class down. Either way, the asshole was being celebrated, and Miles was out of a contract.

And Miles had just stood there, while Norman berated him and tore Miles’ dream apart right in front of his very eyes. Maybe he’d hoped too much as an “amateur” boxer. That’s all he was, apparently — no matter how hard he worked, or what he achieved, or what he promised.

“Why should I keep you? The Vulture was destined to lose at his age.”

“Even rigged matches wouldn’t get you anywhere.”

“I mean, you’re as good at fighting as one of those street kids.”

“That’s all you were before I decided to give you a chance, no?”

The image of the Norman’s uncanny, sneering face sent his good fist reeling towards the punching bag. Should’ve pummelled his pelirojo (redhead) ass to the ground—

"Miles!"

The glove crumpled mid-air against the bag, arm going rigid. It was silent as he let out a breath through his teeth — he wasn’t hearing things, was he?

The rush was starting wearing off, his mind starting to cloud and pain faintly radiating again from his other hand. His good fist tightened inside the glove, pushed against the bag which was still and awkwardly tilted.

You’re losing focus, just punch the damn thing—

"Miles, what the hell are you doing here?"

The noise of the door shutting made him turn around, floor squeaking under his stumbling feet. It was you by the door, breathing just as heavily as him and dripping head to toe with rain, in a jacket that was way too thin for any sort of weather.

Dios... (God...) He knew he couldn’t be hallucinating that disapproving look on your face.

Rain was pattering gently against the glass as he pulled his arm away away from the bag, letting it swing in front of him before his eyes met yours.

"It's midnight, what are you..." A sharp intake of breath interrupted your words — a shiver.

"What’re you doin’ here...?" Miles asked instead through a grimace. His voice came out wrong — hoarse. Cold sweat was clinging to his skin, and his throat was dry and tightening. A mess — that’s what you were talking to right now, barely your boyfriend. All he could do was stare as the rush died down and his senses were coming back to him. The fog in his mind made it hard to speak, even harder to look at you.

"My texts and calls weren't going through— You weren't with Aaron or your mom, I just..." You sucked in another breath through your teeth; raindrops were glistening on your skin. He should’ve just stayed home, damn it. "Was just worried."

Well, he certainly looked worrying, even more so than you. Swallowing back his breathlessness wasn’t helping; it was like he’d ran a marathon with his fists. The pain from his knuckle was starting to bleed into the rest of his hand so much so that it might’ve been broken.

"'M good... You, though?" He let out a bit of a growl to clear his throat before deciding to cut straight to the chase: you’d come here in the middle of the night, in the rain, by yourself. As much as he was being an idiot right now, the amount of times he’d told you to not do any of those things, pleaded with you even, was making you look like the delirious one in his eyes. Miles was being stubborn, but he knew you were worse.

“You insane…?” he muttered, taking a step away from the bag. “Did Aaron tell you to come here or sumn’?"

"No, he was supposed to be with you," you shot back, eyes narrowing at him from under your hood before thunder bellowed from all around. The rain was growing into a loud static noise, and your voice was muffled as your expression grew more exasperated. "You came home 3 days ago and you didn't even text me. Yeah, I probably should've texted you, and I tried, but now you're here training alone again when your mom thinks you're with Aaron and—"

"You come here to scold me?" His jaw crunched a little as he tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice. Miles wasn’t trying to be mad at you — he was just mad in general. It just so happened to be in your direction right now.

“Huh? No, I came here because you scared the hell out of me — and Aaron told me to not let you break into his place.”

If it was supposed to be funny, the laugh he let out was anything but amused. At least Aaron wasn’t here for him to disappoint too, or get a weirdly-phrased life lesson from, or both. “Well I’m not breakin’ in, and I told you, I’m good, so I don’t get why you’re still here.”

You stepped a little closer, and Miles’ heels dug into the ground to keep himself from moving. “Isn’t it obvious? Or are you just being difficult on purpose?”

“Difficult?” he mirrored dryly, trying to push back the growing exhaustion clouding his head.

“Can you not just take a break for once? It’s over, Miles; you already won—”

“I didn’t win.” The walls echoed with his voice, words having escaped on their own. It wasn’t at you, but he didn’t know what he was mad at, resolve fading as he watched your face straighten with realisation.

“Don’t tell me that’s why you’re here…”

His fingers unconsciously clawed into the boxing glove, pain shoot through his hand. Nothing came out of his mouth, but his silence was loud — incriminating. That was the reason, right? That he didn't win?

“Kid didn’t stand a chance.” What was the point of you being here?

“A one-punch concussion — on a newbie, no less.” It was over, like you said.

“It’s a shame, I bet on him too.” Everyone had given up on him.

“You should be resting right now— you’re shaking, Miles.” So why wouldn't you?

“No ‘m not…” is all he could muster, flexing his shoulders uncomfortably. Your hand was on his arm before he could realise, and he was met with a stern look as he tried to keep his gaze from shaking too.

The velcro on his gloves crunched as you started undoing them, and he couldn’t bring himself to stop you. It’s not like he had the energy.

“You coulda’ got hurt on your way here.” The croak in his voice made him sound more hopeless than reprimanding as you slipped off the first glove, pausing half-way down his palm. His bare palm.

“…I could’ve got hurt?” Miles held back a sigh as he was made to look at his own hand. Bruised, blackened, branded with anger — it hurt more to look at it than anything. “You didn’t wear your wraps?”

The other glove slid off, revealing the fresh, festering swelling coming from his middle knuckle — the aftermath of that sickening cracking noise. You took his curled hand, easing up his middle finger and making him hiss under his breath.

“Think you can straighten it?” you muttered, gently trying to do it yourself only to lose his hand from your grip.

“’S gonna be fine,” he mumbled, eyes fixed to the side as his hand closed back up.

“It won’t if you can’t move it properly.”

“You a doctor now?”

“Nah, but your mom’s a nurse.” You carefully held his hand by palm, thumb tracing over the tender, split skin, his fingers wrapping around the side of your hand in futile protest. He’d have to bother his mom again — he didn’t even think about that. “You basically just punched yourself.”

Everything you were saying was right — it always was. He hated that fact.

“You a boxing expert too?” he thought to retort.

“Thought that was supposed to be you.” Miles’ eyes narrowed, and yours narrowed in response. “I don’t get it, baby...” you sighed, shaking your head a little as you put down the gloves to the side.

Baby. His breath almost hitched. You were dating, and it didn’t even seem like it anymore. Not after all those weeks apart. The word didn’t even feel endearing, it was condescending, like he didn’t deserve it. Maybe he was being a baby, and maybe he always had been. You were the one who always had to drag him out of this make-shift gym. Right now was no different, except…

“…Why are you still doing this?” he heard you mutter, still turned away with his hand in your grip. You didn’t even know the half of it.

“Why are you still here?” His hand tried to slip away again, but you only took it by the wrist instead, now facing him.

“Why won’t you answer my questions, Miles?” Your voice deadened into a whisper, only serving to frustrate him.

“I don’t know why you care so much.” He let out a quiet huff, staring at your hand when your grip ceased to relax.

“I care because you look like you’re about to pass out and I can’t let my boyfriend kill himself over something stupid—”

“I’m not killing myse—” A pained groan escaped his mouth as you ruthlessly pushed up his injured finger.

“Don’t push me, Miles.” Oh, you were serious.

“You’re pushin’ sumn’,” he strained through gritted teeth. “Mierda… quit it already.”

The pain tore on another moment, and he was just now realising how bad it actually hurt. All you were doing was staring at him, brows knitted together. “Cariño, please…” he whispered, a wince forming on his face.

Your hand loosened, and he let out a quiet, frustrated, somewhat relieved sigh.

Still a sucker for nice words... He didn’t say them as much as he would’ve liked.

“You need to take a time out,” you stated after a beat of silence. The expression on your face was serious again, killing any sense of tenderness you might’ve shown.

He freed his hand from your grip with the opportunity, before giving you a dubious look. “Like, for kids?”

“Like for boxers, dumbass.” Your gaze followed his retreating hand for a moment before falling back on his eyes. “But if you want me to treat you like a kid…”

“I’m good.” Another roar of thunder rang out before he could add anything, and the rain was so heavy that anything you could see from the windows became a blur.

“…You got your jacket?” you suggested, without much hope.

The idea only made Miles’ eyes squeeze shut again. A shallow exhale left him, and he tried not to let his fatigue cloud his judgement. If he kept talking stupid to you, he’d probably have worse to worry about than a broken knuckle. “You think imma go outside?”

All you could do was sigh. It seemed like the two of you would be in “time out” for a while.

🕸️🔭👾

thank you for reading part 2 soon but then again its not my fav fic in the world 💔 i rewrote this like 8 trillion times and it still wasn't clicking for me 😭 idk i just got sick of editing it again and again

this isn't as short as my usual fics because i felt like i needed to add context... I've never written an au or anything remotely original so this is just yeah... im tryna figure it out! i have . too much lore for this au

reblogs appreciated lmk if you did like it (i hope this is someone's cup of tea lmao)

catch my atsv masterlist here !

[angellesword]

BAGGAGE | JJK (16)

Summary: Drowning in debt and blood, Jeon Jungkook knows he's better off alone, lest he brings people down with him.

But one drunken night changes everything.

In a blink of an eye, Jungkook found himself drowning not only in debt and blood, but also in dirty diapers and judgmental stares from you, a.k.a his long-lost love and the guardian of the son he didn't even know existed.

Genre and warnings (varies per chapter): best friends to lovers, co-parenting, idiots in love, slow burn—really slow burn, mutual pining, angst, fluff, mention of past rape, drugs, non-com: drug use, child abuse, torture.

Pairing: dad! Jungkook x adoptive mom!Reader

Word Count: 3k

← Previous Chapter (15) | Next Chapter (17) →

*****

Jungkook’s life in prison after Jimin’s death changed. Whether it was for the best or worst was up for debate. For a long time, Jungkook seemed to lose his perception of reality—no one could talk to him as he was rotting in his cell while staring into nothingness.

Fukuchi and his underdogs tried to get a rise out of Jungkook, bent on bringing him back to their little chess game. Unfortunately, Jungkook’s expression remained blank. He didn’t even blink when the prisoners poured hot water on him, leaving his skin swelling as it turned a brutal shade of red. No one could trace Jungkook’s pain despite the searing throb through his veins and blisters pricking his sensitive skin.

It didn’t end there, though. They once again stripped Jungkook off his clothing; men violated him, hoping to assert their dominance. Jungkook took it all in, impassively wiping the blood cascading down his thighs.

He was Jeon Jungkook, once the brilliant strategist of the Bighit, now reduced to being a pawn in someone else’s cruel game. But he just didn’t care anymore. Frankly, his behavior was starting to worry Fukuchi.

“We shouldn’t have killed Park Jimin.” Fukuchi voiced. His jaw ticked as he disapprovingly furrowed his brow at Jang Min.

It was the middle of the night. Visiting hours had long passed, but Jang Min bribed the prison guards to let him in. Jang Min rarely visited Fukuchi, as he was in France or Russia most of the time. However, Fukuchi requested his company, as he didn’t know what to do now that streamlining drugs in Incheon came to a halt. Jungkook, a chess piece (the King), was having a tantrum over his dead pal.

What a baby.

“Park Jimin is a knight,” Jang Min replied, dragging the words out of his mouth; it was painfully slow—as if this matter was not of the essence. Jang Min even refused to say more, acting as if Fukuchi were perceptive enough to know what he meant.

True enough, Fukuchi was a scheming bastard, too. He looked deep into Jang Min’s eyes, able to pick up the words behind the slight quirk of his upper lip.

Knight aimed to protect. Jimin could drag the King back to light, and Jang Min couldn’t have someone as genius as Jungkook escape his grip when the kingdom had yet to be stabilized. Besides, Jimin had a loud mouth. Fukuchi and the others were lucky Jimin had reported the drug scheme to the wrong officer. Otherwise, they probably had to act more discreetly, or worse, stop their operation for quite some time.

“Well, I’m running out of ideas to make Jungkook move, so what’s your plan?” Fukuchi rubbed his chin thoughtfully. He knew Jang Min was always one—perhaps two—steps ahead of everyone. He wouldn’t dare kill Jungkook’s friend if he knew Jimin was their only ace.

This was proven correct when Jang Min smirked as he picked up his teacup and slowly sipped from it. Chamomile tea soothed his body. “We still have the queen.”

The Queen—also known as the most powerful chess piece. Thinking about it lit a light bulb inside Fukuchi’s head, the image of Jungkook frantically writing letters flashed in his mind.

“You really believe that person is more important to Jungkook than Park Jimin?”

Jang Min didn’t answer right away, but a thoughtful smirk taint his lips. He sipped his tea once again, and then:

“It’s not a matter of who’s more important.” Jang Min toyed with a Polaroid picture in his hand, causing Fukuchi’s eyes to flicker there. “They both are. But the knight is held in a higher regard,” knights protected the kingdom from being breached. “Because if you think about the Queen—”

Jang Min pressed the photo against the table, slowly pushing it against Fukuchi’s side. “—you think about your equal. You think about partnership.”

Jungkook will destroy himself for Jimin’s sake, but he’d be willing to fix himself to be on par with you.

You had kept yourself grounded—something Jungkook couldn’t do at the moment. Jang Min was going to use this to manipulate Jungkook. This was clear when he showed Fukuchi the Polaroid picture.

“This is Jungkook’s queen?” Fukuchi couldn’t keep his eyes off your photo. “Huh. She’s pretty.”

Jang Min indulged in your beauty, too. He licked his lips. “Indeed, she is.”

The plan was to use you as bait, but Jang Min thought he would lose nothing if he played with Jungkook’s queen, too. And perhaps, along the way, he could gather more information from you that he could use against Jungkook. It was not a poor plan at all.

“Show Jeon Jungkook the photo and you will watch him crawl right back to our chessboard.”

“We’ll see about that.”

After his conversation with Jang Min, Fukuchi did what he was told to. He went back to his cell and saw Jungkook still rotting in the corner. No words left Jungkook’s mouth no matter how many times Fukuchi had provoked him. Jungkook only looked up when Fukuchi threw the Polaroid photo on his face.

“You know this woman, don’t you?”

Jungkook was looking intently at your picture. His heart skipped a beat. Fukuchi tested the waters.

“She’s receiving your letters. That’s what you want, right?”

Jungkook engraved the photo in his mind: you were standing outside an unfamiliar mansion while holding the envelope that looked familiar—it was like the one where he heartily inserted the carefully crafted mail for you.

“She’s living the best of her life, Jungkook-ssi. I suggest you pull your shit together and see her soon.”

Jungkook’s head snapped up to meet Fukuchi’s gaze. His lips parted, but no words came out. Fukuchi did not mind getting no verbal response, for he knew Jang Min’s plan had worked. It was clear by the shine in Jungkook’s eyes.

He was back in the game.

****

Few years later, Jungkook realized he was still in the chess game, even though he'd been out of jail for a while. He looked at you sitting uncomfortably beside him; you couldn’t stop shifting and fidgeting, worry was clouding your head. 

You demanded for Jungkook to explain what he meant by Soobin being in danger. A hint of threat tinged your tone when you said Jungkook better not be joking.

Jungkook liked to keep things light, even when everything around him was spiraling into chaos. But this was different; he would never joke about Soobin’s safety. He loved that boy to death, and so he promised you that he would explain everything he knew about Jang Min after you both got Soobin back.

As your drove to pick up your son, tension coiled in your chest. You had no clue what the fuss was all about, but your time with Jang Min had been wonderful, despite the recent strain in your relationship. Trust had been the foundation of your bond, a rarity in your life. You felt comfortable around Jang Min; the man had a way of making you feel seen and understood.

But now? You shook your head, confusion swirling in your mind. You picked up Soobin without a hiccup, and Jang Min acted as he always did—warm. He smiled sweetly as he carefully placed the sleeping Soobin in your arms. The boy’s soft weight calmed your nerves.

Jang Min even kissed the boy’s cheek and said he wouldn’t mind babysitting again.

You felt a moment of relief, but beneath that, your heart ached for Jang Min, and the resentment toward Jungkook simmered just below the surface, intensifying with each passing moment. Jungkook had betrayed you before; Jang Min had not. What basis did Jungkook have for accusing Jang Min of harming Soobin?

But the weight of Jungkook’s words lingered in the back of your mind, heavy and unyielding. Jungkook knew it was going to hurt you, but he couldn’t hold back any longer. He told you everything he knew about Jang Min’s schemes, and with each revelation, you felt a sickening churn in your stomach. 

The sensation was sharp, as if you were being physically pricked by a cold, cruel truth. Jang Min had used you to manipulate Jungkook back into a life of drugs. Your heart shattered when you realized that you weren't truly loved, and that was only part of the pain.

The most painful of all was the betrayal.

How could you have been so naïve? How could you have trusted the wrong person again? Were you a fucking imbecile? Were you truly that easy to fool!?

You gasped, the air growing thick around you.

Jungkook called your name and extended his hand, wanting to reach out to you, but his gesture faltered. He retracted his hand, clenching it into a fist instead.

He knew you needed space. The information was too much to bear. People you had trusted deeply had betrayed you.

And you weren’t the only one suffering. Soobin could be in danger, too. Jungkook’s fear for his son gripped him tightly, pushing him to convince you to have Soobin’s overall health checked. You two brought your son to Dr. Yosano’s clinic, your old college friend who had become a prominent toxicologist.

An hour felt like an eternity as you two anxiously waited in the clinic, the ticking clock echoing your growing dread. You couldn’t shake the gnawing feeling that something had gone wrong.

“Hey.” 

The gentle tap on your shoulder pulled you back to reality. Dr. Yosano stood there, her expression solemn. Startled, you felt Jungkook rub reassuring circles on your back, grounding you at the moment. Jungkook couldn’t hold back anymore. He didn’t want you to think you were alone.

“The results are out.” Yosano’s voice was low, heavy with unspoken emotions. She held the paper results, her hands shaking slightly as she fought to maintain her composure. 

“It came out positive,” Yosano whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. “Soobin’s body was pumped with drugs.”

“No.” You shook your head. A forced chuckle escaped your lips.

It was fascinating, really. Your initial reaction was to deny the truth served on a cold plate, yet your mind had already played scenarios that best justified the doctor’s diagnosis.

Soobin liked sleeping a lot. People called him a good boy—you also thought your son was well-behaved as he never threw a tantrum, and would obediently follow you.

But as it turned out, Soobin’s behavior was just the effect of the dead apple drug. That was the reason why he liked staying with Jang Min, and why he seemed to always sleep every time he was with that Russian monster.

You even got mad when Soobin cried in your office before. You unconsciously screamed at your son for acting difficult. Little did you know, that was the real Soobin. Your son wasn’t given drugs when Jungkook was taking care of him, so he wasn’t all groggy. And Jang Min, that fucker, dared to blame Jungkook for indulging Soobin with his brattiness, when in reality, Jang Min was the one who stripped Soobin of being a happy, healthy child.

Your blood boiled. Your fury burned when Yosano added that Soobin had been pumped with drugs for some time now, causing his lungs to turn weak.

“I’m going to kill him—!!” Hot tears fell down your hand. They were flowing rapidly, an indication of your blinding and scalding rage. You picked up the sharpest medical tool Dr. Yosano had, ready to stab Jang Min to death.

The doctor backed off but didn’t dare stop you. However, Jungkook couldn’t let you charge to a suicide mission.

Jang Min was a dangerous man.

“Wait!” Jungkook seized your wrist, but you struggled as you tightened your hold on Yosano’s scalpel.

“I’m going to kill that son of a fucking bitch!” Unfiltered profanities left your lips, though you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The scalpel cut through your skin because of how hard you were gripping it. It was enough to draw your blood.

You didn’t feel the pain. Your heart only bled for your drugged son. You felt helpless and sick. This was on you. You were the reason why your precious son was suffering.

Fuck.

“Please.” Jungkook was hurting as much as you were. He pulled you into his embrace, hoping to draw even a fraction of your warmth. He felt cold, not that different from a corpse, because really, how could he not be a dead man when his child had been harmed?

“Don’t come near Jang Min. You can’t.”

You let out a strangled noise. You sounded like a trap animal, and in essence, you were caged. Jungkook was holding you tightly, and you couldn’t do anything to slay your enemy, not when your resolve melted as the love of your life grabbed your hand, forcing it hand open.

No matter how hard you struggled, Jungkook struggled even harder until you were forced to let go of the scalpel. The tool fell on the floor, exposing your bare, bleeding hand.

“I’m going to kill him,” you repeated over and over.

But Jungkook shook his head. He pulled your hand closer to his face, gently rubbing his cheek there until the blood stained his cheek.

“Shh,” Jungkook kissed your hand. He stared deep into your eyes, his brown eyes caressing your soul. “Let me do it for you.”

Jungkook licked your hand, freeing it from the metallic smell of blood. “Please. Let me kill him for you. You can’t go. Soobin needs you.”

You sobbed, still feeling tears cascading down your cheeks.

“Please. Do you trust me?”

No. You wanted to say. You betrayed me before. You hurt me. But you shook your head, refusing to give in to your vile thoughts.

Jungkook had changed. Even if he didn’t, you were not Soobin. Jungkook might not be a good best friend or lover, but he was a good father.

“Yes.” So you set aside your personal feelings, opting to trust Jungkook this time.

“Okay,” Jungkook swallowed thickly. He kissed your hand again before cupping your cheeks and kissing your lips.

You stared at each other.

I love you.

I hate you.

I trust you.

I don’t.

Kill him.

I will.

Take care of Soobin.

See you.

Goodbye.

I love you.

Goodbye.

The unspoken words remained at the tip of your tongues until all that was left was your lingering stare on the path where you saw Jungkook retreating.

****

Jungkook drove your car. He didn’t think. He just drove. The blood colored his cheek, not bothering to wipe it off: he was going to war with your burning rage and love.

“Checkmate, huh?” A memory from Jungkook’s past suddenly flickered in his mind while driving. Perhaps it was because right now, he looked exactly like his past self, bloodied and hopeless. The difference was that before, he had just survived the great war. 

“Checkmate, indeed,” Jungkook remembered replying to the stranger—a man who was inside his car. His thick Russian accent was evident. Jungkook couldn’t see the upper part of his face as it was covered with ushanka.

“You built an empire in Incheon. What’s stopping you from going into Alexander the Great mode?”

This memory was from the time Jungkook was just released from prison. He wasn’t given transportation money by the prison officers as someone had signed his papers, saying they will give Jungkook a ride back to the community.

Jungkook went out of prison to see who this generous man proposing to be his driver could be. Now that he knew, he was sure not to ride with him.

“Fukuchi said you call us rats,” Jungkook raised his brow. “How can a rat be a king?”

The strange man smiled lazily at Jungkook. He removed his ushanka and handed it to Jungkook.

“Well, if you changed your mind, you know my name.” He started the car’s engine. “I have a feeling we’ll see each other eventually.”

Jungkook clutched the ushanka. Stitched on the inside of the hat was the stranger’s name:

Jang Min // Fyodor Dostoevsky.

It was a grand gesture, as not everyone had the privilege of knowing who the real king was. Dostoevsky was letting Jungkook know he was welcome to join the game any time.

Jang Min wasn’t even pushy about it. The first time Jungkook saw him was also the last. He didn’t pressure Jungkook after his release from prison. After all, Jang Min’s goal was to stabilize the streamline of drugs in Incheon prison. The business was now prospering despite Jungkook’s release. Fukuchi was there to keep it together.

Jungkook was a free man—aside from the surprise visits from Lee Sung. It was a different issue altogether. The drugs were supplied, but debts weren’t paid.

Jungkook worked hard to pay his loans, and he thought he could start over again now that he was getting his life back together.

But he thought wrong. Jang Min didn’t pressure him all this time because he knew, sooner or later, he would see Jungkook again.

His statement back then wasn’t a conjecture. It was a promise, and boy was Jang Min right.

Jungkook hopped off your car and went straight to Jang Min’s house. He didn’t even have to knock. The door opened for him.

“Hello, Jungkook-ssi.” There was a new ushanka on top of Jang Min’s head. He opened the door wider. “Long time no see. I never thought I’d see you again.”

Jungkook stepped inside. He smiled at Jang Min. The dried blood on his cheek made him appear creepy.

“Aw. You wound me,” a pout. “Didn’t you tell me before you had a feeling you would see me, eventually? Guess what? I’m here now.”

Jang Min hummed thoughtfully, liking where their conversation was going. “Why? You tired of the sewage, rat?”

Instead of a direct reply, Jungkook raised his hand and made a gesture akin to a cat raising its paw. And then he said, “Meow.”

With that, soft laughter escaped Jang Min’s lips, clearly entertained by Jungkook’s blatant display of challenge. He took a step closer to Jungkook, hovering over him as if to show where he truly belonged.

“Well then, let’s have the kitty cat neutered first.” Before Jungkook could move, Jang Min had already stabbed him with a syringe, injecting his body with drugs enough to turn his body weak.

“Welcome back home, Jungkook-ssi. I’m sure the cell in Seoul would love to have you around.”

****

A/N: I updated now because I will be crazy busy again next week.

So!!! Let's talk about this chapter. I was rereading the first few chapters of Baggage earlier, and I was like...why does Soobin keep on sleeping? My answer is because I didn't really know how to keep OC's conversations with the adults with Soobin around (you know how parents are. They can't really focus when their babies are around!) I thought it's boring, though, so I thought...why not let the small detail of Soobin sleeping turn into something big? Hence this chapter! Thanks also to that one moot who was curious on how OC handles Soobin when throwing a tantrum--I guess that's when I had the idea of Jang Min drugging our poor baby :((

Anyway, what do we think about this update? comments are highly appreciated! 🥰

[scary-grace]

Enough to Go By (Chapter 22) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Your best friend vanished on the same night his family was murdered, and even though the world forgot about him, you never did. When a chance encounter brings you back into contact with Shimura Tenko, you'll do anything to make sure you don't lose him again. Keep his secrets? Sure. Aid the League of Villains? Of course. Sacrifice everything? You would - but as the battle between the League of Villains and hero society unfolds, it becomes clear that everything is far more than you or anyone else imagined it would be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapters: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21

Chapter 22

“How is he?” Spinner pounces on you the second the warp sludge quits pouring from your mouth. “You were gone for two weeks this time. What happened?”

“Stop shaking me.” You have a headache, and you’re in a mood. “I’ll explain in a second. I –”

“Saintess!” Toga hugs you tightly from one side, then recoils. “Ew. You smell like –”

“Formaldehyde,” Re-Destro says. You’re never texting anyone to let them know when you’re coming back again. Next time the doctor can drop you off in a tree for all you care, and you’ll only come down when you feel like it. “You were assisting the doctor with his work?”

You didn’t want to be, but you were. “I was dissecting a quirk factor to try to recreate the bullets we took from Overhaul. The doctor has to keep them preserved somehow.”

Talking about the quirk-canceling bullets always makes Re-Destro uncomfortable. Or maybe it’s the formaldehyde. Either way, he backs off, and you shake Spinner off in the bargain. “I’m going to clean up so the rest of you don’t asphyxiate, and then I’ll give the update.”

“Did anything happen?”

You ignore Spinner and head for the showers. You smell awful and you haven’t slept in three nights and it’s been longer than that since you had a change of clothes. He and everybody else can wait.

Whenever Tomura’s in stasis, the doctor sends you back to the PLF’s headquarters to provide a report, and probably to keep you out of the way. You don’t know what the doctor does when you’re not there, but you know he won’t do anything to Tomura when you’re not present – he likes the effect of your quirk too much, and he doesn’t want to lose access by tormenting Tomura when you’re too far away to avoid the cost. The doctor probably spends the time working on the Nomus. He’s been cagey about how the process works, but you’ve picked up some things, and he’s been hinting that he’ll let you design one once you’ve figured out how to dissect quirk factors on your own. You’re almost there, and almost ready to begin testing the quirk-canceling bullets.

You’ve decided it’s in your best interest not to let anybody know how many there are, or who has them. As far as the doctor knows, the only hero with the ability to directly affect others’ quirks is Eraserhead, and that’s not permanent. Overhaul’s experiments weren’t widely revealed to the public, which means there’s a chance that most heroes don’t know about the bullets. Which means that the person who has the bullets can catch them completely by surprise.

Some part of you likes that idea. Some part of you wants to see how everybody else copes once they’re pulled down to your level. And some part of you has a bad feeling that you’ll need the bullets for more than just heroes. You’ll test them, make sure they work, and make as many as possible, so that instead of just healing Tenko when he’s hurt, you’ll be able to stop him from being hurt in the first place. You’ve never been able to protect him like that before. You’re kind of looking forward to it.

The bathroom door opens, and you speak up without looking. “Whoever that is, get out of here.”

“I’m not looking.” That’s Spinner’s voice, and you’re temporarily stunned into silence. “You need your costume. Dabi’s friend is sniffing around and he’s been asking lots of questions about you. I’m gonna leave it on the floor.”

“And then you’re going to get out.”

“Yeah,” Spinner says, but we need to talk. “We have to –”

“Leave.” You switch off the water, and Spinner books it. He might come into the bathroom while you’re showering, but the idea of sneaking a look at his best friend’s naked girlfriend is apparently out of his comfort zone. As soon as he’s gone, you switch the water back on.

It was – well, not easy to forgive Compress and Twice for voting that Tomura should go through with it, but it’s not like you expected better. You didn’t expect better from Dabi, either, although you haven’t ruled out shooting him with a quirk-canceling bullet if he threatens to kill you again. But you expected a hell of a lot better from Spinner, and you haven’t forgiven him for sending Tomura off to the torture chamber. You’re not planning on forgiving him, either. They might call you Saintess, but you aren’t one, and the sooner the rest of them get used to that, the better.

Spinner brought you your costume, but unsurprisingly neglected to bring things like underwear and socks, so you exit the bathroom in a towel, to the tune of Spinner bolting for cover. You lose patience. “I told you to leave.”

“You’re avoiding me, and we need to talk.” Spinner’s crouched behind Tomura’s bed, the one you theoretically sleep in when you’re here, well-hidden from whatever glimpses of you he might get. “Our win condition is still the same.”

“No, it isn’t. I care about what happens to him between now and then, and you don’t,” you snap. “You’re fine with him being the doctor’s new favorite test subject to get power he doesn’t need –”

“He does if he wants to win! It has to be decisive and it has to be fast,” Spinner says. “That’s not me talking. Or him. That’s something you said. He told me.”

You remember that conversation, but you didn’t expect it to stick with Tomura. You definitely didn’t expect him to repeat it to Spinner. “We may have signed off on it,” Spinner continues, “but he’s working off ideas he got from you. Every idea of his that isn’t “destroy everything forever” is backed up by some conversation he’s had with you. Nobody else has that kind of pull with him. Except All For One.”

You don’t know what to say to that. You’ve always assumed that whatever influence you might have over Tomura is dwarfed by the fifteen years of influence from All For One. Then again, the world had fifteen years to try to rip your allegiance to Tenko away from you, and it didn’t stick – and there are more than a few pieces of who Tenko is that made it through. From his hiding spot behind the bed, Spinner takes a deep breath, then lets it go. “I want to know how you did it.”

“What?”

“The others think you did it just by being a girl and – you know.” Spinner sounds like he’s cringing. “But that’s not it. Toga knows something. She wouldn’t say when I asked, but there’s something, so I want to know what it is. I want to know why he listens to you the same way he listens to All For One.”

“You don’t sound like you want to know.” The way his voice sounds, it’s like he’s asking someone to peel off his scales one at a time. “Leave it alone.”

“The medics from the helicopter said you called him something else,” Spinner says, and you freeze in the act of wringing out your hair. “You called him the same thing All For One did when he was unloading on All Might. How long have you known him?”

What did you say the first time Spinner asked you that? “Less than forever, longer than a year.”

“Don’t bullshit me.” Spinner peeks up and over the edge of the bed, confirms you’re dressed, and stands up. “How long?”

You don’t have a good way to answer this. You don’t want to explain. You unclasp your locket from around your neck – you never take it off, not even to shower – and toss it to him, looking away as he pries it open. Unlike Toga and Manami, Spinner knows who he’s looking at instantly. “No,” he says at once. “That’s not – what?”

Toga was fascinated, Manami was shocked. Spinner sounds horrified. You want to say more, maybe to twist the knife and make him pay for asking, but you remember all at once that Skeptic has cameras and listening devices everywhere. Tomura ordered them taken out of his rooms, and you and Compress scanned everything a second time to make sure, but you wouldn’t put it past Skeptic to have reinstalled them. “Come on. If we’re talking about this, we’re talking outside.”

It's cold outside. Your hair is wet and you’re shivering, and Spinner’s shivering even worse than you are. As if you needed any more incentive to keep this conversation short. “What do you want to know?”

“How?” Spinner says at once. He’s still holding the locket, but he’s holding it with the same trepidation as you’d hold a live eel. “How did he go from that to – this?”

He’s gesturing around, encompassing everything – the MLA compound in the mountains, himself, you and your costume, asking how the kid in the picture turned into Shigaraki Tomura, Symbol of Fear, Grand Commander of the Paranormal Liberation Front and heir to All For One. “His quirk awakened,” you say. Spinner gives you a weird look. “Think about it.”

“I am thinking about it. Why would that –” Spinner breaks off suddenly. “Shit. That would – that could be bad. Really bad.”

“All For One took him away after that. I didn’t see him again for fifteen years.”

“So you knew him before.”

“He was my best friend,” you say, but he was more than that, even when you were children. You’d have done anything for him, just like you’d do anything now. “When I found him again, he was like this. He didn’t recognize me at first. I don’t think All For One wanted him to remember that he was anybody before this.”

“Well, yeah,” Spinner says, like it’s obvious. Maybe it is to him. “Wait, why’d he let you stick around, then? If you knew Shigaraki before –”

“We hid it,” you say. “From Kurogiri. From everyone.”

“Except Toga?”

Spinner actually sounds hurt. “She found out by accident,” you say. “The doctor guessed when he looked into my family, and my quirk. My friends from before know, and my cousin. And now you.”

Seven people. Seven people other than you know that Shimura Tenko existed, that some part of him still exists, part and parcel of Shigaraki Tomura. You might be the only one who knew him personally, but it’s a relief to know that if something happens to you, your death won’t be the end of your best friend.

That still doesn’t mean you forgive Spinner. “What else do you want to know?”

“Like – why?” Spinner realizes that you’re staring at him and elaborates. “You guys are my age, right? Twenty?”

“I’ll be twenty-one soon.”

“But you were twenty when you met him again,” Spinner says. You nod. “And you hadn’t seen him for fifteen years. And – sorry, but you aren’t like the rest of us. You don’t have a scary quirk like Toga does and you weren’t a shut-in like me. You had friends and a real job and your own apartment, and ordering pizza for all of us didn’t max your credit card. Why would you chuck all that for somebody you knew when you were five?”

The scathing sound exits your mouth before you can stop it. “Why would you throw any chance of a normal life away because you saw a video about Stain?”

“Hey,” Spinner snaps. “That was different. I was grown up –”

“So was I,” you say. “And I actually knew the person I was throwing it away for.”

“You don’t understand what it meant,” Spinner says. He’s glaring at you. You glare right back, even though he can’t see your expression under your veil. “It all made sense when I learned about Stain. Everything that had happened to me – you were just a kid. What did you know?”

“I knew I mattered.” You never talk about your family with the League of Villains. Why would you, when everyone else has a backstory more tragic than yours, when the only person who needs to know already knows everything? “At home – my first memory is my mom telling me to watch my brother. Then my brother and my sister. Then my brother and my sister and the twins. All that mattered about me was what I could do for them, and I was four. The only person who ever saw just me was him.”

The last day you and Tenko had together is crystal clear in your head. The first day is fuzzy, blurred by time. You were at school, you think. A pre-primary school program your pediatrician recommended, probably so you could go somewhere and be a kid for a few hours a day. Your pediatrician had your parents’ number for sure. No, it wasn’t at school. You were on the way to school – no, you were trying to get out the door, and you made it all the way to the sidewalk before you realized that your mom wasn’t with you.

You remember looking back at her, puzzled. “Mama?”

“We’re going to be late. I have to load up the stroller and the wagon –” Your mother said that, but she wasn’t doing it. A pit of dread yawned open in your stomach. “This neighborhood is safe. It’s not very far. You remember where we went to register?”

“No!” You tried not to panic. You could see her thinking about it, making the decision. “I don’t know where it is. Mama –”

“You’re a big girl. I know you can take care of this,” your mother said. She was smiling, but it was more relieved than proud. Relieved she wouldn’t have to deal with you. Relieved she could focus on something more important. “Hurry. You’ll be late.”

For the first time you can remember, you refused. “I can’t go alone,” you said, and your eyes welled up even as your mother rolled hers. “I don’t know where it is. I don’t want to get lost. Please – can’t you just leave them –”

“Leave my babies? Are you out of your mind?”

Weren’t you her baby too? “It wouldn’t be long. You said it wasn’t that far, so can’t you just –”

You couldn’t talk after that. You were crying too hard, and your mother rolled her eyes again, told you to stop acting like a baby when you were almost five, and you wanted to tell her that you’d only just had your birthday and you weren’t almost anything at all. She shut the door, and you sat down on the sidewalk, sobbing into your hands. You didn’t know where you were supposed to go and she wouldn’t let you back in. She always came running when the twins cried, so why wouldn’t she come for you? You knew how silly you looked, but you couldn’t stop crying. You couldn’t go to school like this. No matter what you thought to do, it was always wrong.

“Are you okay?”

You looked up at the sound of the voice, blinking back tears, and found a dark-haired boy your age staring down at you. He looked sort of familiar, and as you snuffled and tried to wipe your nose, you realized that he lived across the street. You’d seen him before, with his mom and his sister and his dog, but you’d never met. He was looking down at you, eyes wide. “Are you okay?” he asked again. “What’s wrong?”

You didn’t know how to answer, and a moment later, you heard running footsteps. You hoped it was your mom, but it wasn’t. “Tenko!” the woman called out, panicked. “Tenko, don’t scare me like that again. How many times have I told you –”

“She’s sad.” Tenko pointed at you. “We have to help.”

“Um, all right.” The woman studied you, puzzled, while Tenko crouched down at your side. “Did you fall down?”

You shook your head. “Is that your house?” Tenko’s mom asked, pointing at your front door, and you nodded. “All right. Tenko, stay here. I’m going to –”

The front door opened before the woman could knock, and you heard your mother’s voice, already frustrated – but Tenko was right in front of you now, taking up all your vision. “What’s your name?” he asked, and you managed to mumble it. “I’m Tenko. I live over there. You have a backpack. Are you going to school?”

You nodded. “I have one. I’m going, too,” Tenko said proudly. “My sister said school is fun. Why are you sad?”

You didn’t answer, but your mom did it for you, in response to Tenko’s mom asking the same question. “She’s throwing a fit because she doesn’t want to walk to school alone.”

“She’s four,” Tenko’s mom said, shocked, and somehow that made you feel better. She was right, and that meant you were right. You were right, and your mom was wrong. “I’ve seen you with your children. You have a lot on your mind, and my son and I are headed there already. If you’d like, she can walk with us.”

Looking back, you can see where you started to learn to de-escalate tense moments – Tenko’s mom, backing down her initial reaction, showing that she understood your mom’s position, offering to help in a way that wouldn’t make your mom madder than she already was. It worked. “If you’re headed there already,” your mom said doubtfully. Then one of the twins wailed from inside the house, and she made up her mind. “Thank you. I apologize for her. She’s not usually so dramatic.”

“It’s no trouble,” Tenko’s mom said smoothly. She turned to go, and Tenko held out his hand to help you to your feet. You took it, and even once you were standing, he didn’t let go. His hand was warm and sort of sweaty. “Tenko, help your friend up – oh, you did that already.”

Friend. You were Tenko’s friend? “We can walk now,” Tenko told his mom. She took his other hand, and the three of you crossed the street together, then turned the corner. When Tenko spoke up again, he was talking to you. “You can walk with us every morning if you want.”

“I don’t have to,” you mumbled. “My mom is right. I should do it myself.”

“No,” Tenko’s mom said firmly. She was smiling, but her eyes were hard. “Four is a little young. You’ll walk with us.”

“I want you to,” Tenko said. He swung your clasped hands back and forth between the two of you, practically skipping. “Hana said I’d make friends and you’re my first one!”

Being Tenko’s friend sounded like the best thing in the world to you. “You’re my first friend, too.”

You were his first friend, and he was yours. He and his mom were waiting for you on the sidewalk the next morning, all ready to walk with you to school.

You never understood why he did that, why he pulled away from his mom and ran across the street to help a crying girl he’d never met. You just accepted that it was part of who he was, just one more reason why he’d be the best hero the world had ever seen – and you still see that in him, in the way he avenged Magne and comforted Twice and took out the CRC for Spinner and promised Toga he wouldn’t destroy the things she likes and stole Re-Destro’s money so the League can have all the expensive food they want. You see it in the new world he’s promised to all of you, in his promise to live in it with you.

You know who Tenko is. You’ve always known, and it’s that knowledge that keeps your head up, holding Spinner’s gaze. “I don’t you or anyone else to understand why I’m with him. But I’m loyal to him. Not All For One’s visions or his plans or what anyone else wants for him. Just him. Do you understand?”

“I get it,” Spinner says. “You’re against whatever could hurt him even if it’s part of the plan.”

“Yes,” you say. “And you’ll let him get hurt if it means the plan succeeds.”

“I don’t want –” Spinner breaks off, frustrated. “Look, I know something fucked-up is going on over there. You look like hell every time you come back, and you wouldn’t be so mad at me still if it wasn’t as bad or worse than you said it was going to be. But if it’s your job to be loyal to him, it’s my job to be loyal to his vision and make his dream a reality. And neither of us want him to die.”

It sort of makes sense when he puts it like that. Or maybe you just haven’t slept in a while. “So?”

“So we shouldn’t fight,” Spinner says. He holds the locket out to you, and you take it back, fastening it around your neck and tucking it out of sight. “We should work together.”

Before you can say anything else, like asking Spinner just what he thinks the two of you should work together on, a voice rings out from somewhere behind you. “Hey, what are you two doing out here? It’s freezing!”

Spinner doesn’t jump, but your startle response never bounced back, and your heart rate spikes so fast you almost faint. “Nice to see you, Spinner,” Hawks says, stepping out of the light cast by the windows of the villa and into the shadows where you and Spinner stand. “And you – you must be the Saintess I’ve heard so much about.”

Dabi’s friend. It must be. The Number Two hero is smiling at you, hand outstretched to shake, and you shake in response, wondering how the hell Dabi could have gotten snowed so badly. Kazuo warned you about a spy in the PLF. You’re pretty sure you’re looking at him.

“You’re a hard girl to track down,” Hawks continues, once you’ve both let go. “Seems like everybody knows you, but nobody knows where you are. The Grand Commander must keep you really busy.”

“We’re all busy,” Spinner says. “Shigaraki’s vision won’t come true on its own.”

Spinner doesn’t trust him, either. You can tell by his tone of voice. Hawks laughs, bright and easy. “Of course not! But let’s be honest here – you two work at it way harder than the rest of the League, don’t you? To hear Re-Destro tell it, you two are the true believers. I could learn a lot from you.”

Sure he could. So he could hand it all to the heroes and fuck the two of you over. How the hell did Dabi fall for this? “Based on your last report, you’re doing pretty well on your own,” Spinner says. “All those books on Liberation ideology aren’t selling themselves.”

“I mean, they could,” Hawks says. “You’ve read them. You know. The only people who’d protest the ideology are the quirkless, and they’re a dying breed anyway.”

Is he trying to trick you into outing yourself? It wouldn’t be the worst move – if you overreact to a slight against the quirkless, it’ll drastically narrow the range of possibilities for your true identity. You shrug. “There aren’t many ideologies that can appeal to eighty-plus percent of the population. Maybe you’re right – the books don’t need you passing them around.”

Hawks laughs at that. “I’ll have to find some other way to be useful, then. I’ve got all kinds of insider info from the HPSC. They don’t suspect a thing.”

Of course they don’t – he’s spying for them. Someone calls for Hawks from inside and he grins. “Gotta blast. Good to finally meet you, Saintess. We’ll have to chat later.”

“Nice to meet you, too.” Once he’s gone, you turn to Spinner. “Okay, so he’s –”

“Shh.” Spinner shakes his head. “Feather check.”

Hawks’s feathers? You scan Spinner, looking for any flecks of red, while he does the same to you. You’re both clear, but Spinner doesn’t look relieved. “He could have left other ones,” he says. “Let’s go.”

You follow him further out from the villa, teeth chattering. Spinner’s teeth are chattering, too, and the two of you stand close together, trying to conserve heat. You speak up first. “So Hawks is the spy, right?”

“You think so, too. I knew it wasn’t just me.” Spinner looks relieved. “It’s him for sure.”

“Is Dabi insane? Does he really think the Number Two hero would just –”

“I don’t know how much thinking he’s doing,” Spinner says. He grimaces. “There’s something weird going on with them. I went to wake Dabi up one time when he slept through a strategy meeting, and Hawks was in there, too.”

“Oh.” You need a second to process that. “I thought we were supposed to be making the heroes unfuckable, not fucking them ourselves.”

Spinner snorts, but he sobers up fast. “Nobody else is suspicious. Re-Destro loves that he’s here – the Number Two hero is on our team. Twice gets along with him. Compress and Toga are Compress and Toga. And Dabi –”

“Don’t say it. I don’t want to picture it.”

“I don’t know for sure that they’re – that. All I know is, they’re too close for how suspicious Hawks is.” Spinner looks worried. “He already knows way too much. How many of us there are. Where the other major cells are. Who the lieutenants are. Stuff everybody in the PLF knows, but that’s too much. The heroes could fuck us up on that alone.”

They could. Kazuo couldn’t ask questions that broad without giving himself a seizure, but Hawks can gather the details in-person. And if you and Spinner are the only ones who suspect him – “Is there anything he doesn’t know?”

“Yeah. Feather check.” Spinner turns in a slow circle so you can check him, and you do the same a moment later. “Your costume’s great for this. It would be easy to spot one.”

“It’s about the only thing my costume is good for.” You’ve had more than one thought about how terrible it would be to get your period unexpectedly in this outfit. “What doesn’t he know?”

“He doesn’t know where Shigaraki is. He knows Shigaraki is getting new quirks, but he doesn’t know which ones,” Spinner says. You breathe a sigh of relief. “He doesn’t know when the war’s going to start, but that’s because we don’t yet. He doesn’t know that Toga’s quirk leveled up. And he doesn’t know about you.”

“What do you mean, about me?”

“You run around in white like a ghost. Most of the PLF has never seen your face. They know you have a quirk, but next to nobody knows what it is,” Spinner says. “The one decent thing Re-Destro’s done is lock that info down. They don’t know your real name like they know some of ours. Your code name is really weird for a villain –”

“You gave it to me!”

“And you’re closer to Shigaraki than anybody else,” Spinner continues. “You’re important. No shit he wants to know about you, and he can’t find out. If he knows you’re propping up Shigaraki’s healing factor, he’ll take you down.”

“Heroes don’t kill people.”

“Heroes don’t spy, either,” Spinner points out. “This guy is bad news. I’ve been laying false trails so he doesn’t find out where Shigaraki is. You can help with that. If you act like you’re coming from different places every time, it’ll confuse him. And the formaldehyde thing has to stop. All the hospital smells have to.”

You know there are locker rooms at the hospital for the residents. You can shower off before you leave. “And you have to make sure there aren’t any feathers on you, anywhere. Every time,” Spinner says. “Or he’ll find out where Shigaraki is, and then –”

“I know.” You haven’t felt anything but anxious in months, but your stomach is clenched in a tighter knot than usual. “Does he know about the bullets?”

“The deleter rounds? I don’t think so.”

“Let’s keep it that way.” You’ve never thought about what would happen to a heteromorph if you hit them with something that targets their quirk factor. Hawks would be the perfect person to try it on.

It’s quiet for a second. “Sorry about the code name,” Spinner says. “It was just for us. I didn’t know it was gonna stick.”

“It’s fine,” you say. “Based on some of the code names in the PLF, it could have been a lot worse.”

Spinner nods, and it’s quiet for another few moments. “We’ve got work to do together. Truce?”

“Yeah. Truce.” You don’t have to forgive Spinner, but the two of you are still allies, still in agreement on the most important thing: The new world Tomura will make possible won’t matter if Tomura isn’t in it. “It’s freezing out here. Let’s get back inside.”

The two of you set off. It’s starting to snow, fat flakes falling lazily from the sky. “How is he?” Spinner asks you. “Shigaraki, I mean.”

“We’re about halfway through. The doctor’s happy with how it’s going.”

“What about you?”

Your mind echoes with the alarms that clang as Tomura’s heart rate plummets, with the sounds of his screams, or worse, the sound of him begging for it to stop. Worse than all of that is the silence, when he’s lost consciousness or fallen into a seizure or his vocal cords have ruptured completely. “I’ll be happy when it’s over.”

<- Chapter 21

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Anyway here is my aimless, ‘analysis’ on Color and why he lives, why he may seem focused on Killer, but also why that’s just his character to be outwardly focused on others and rarely allowing any bits of his internal self to slip through, likely because he just doesn’t genuinely think of himself outside of anything involving the six human souls and their needs, and doesn’t really expect others to be much interested in him either. He views himself as easily forgettable and replaceable, even as it’s the things he fears and dreads most.

I’m typing as I think so I’ll probably clean it up later if yall don’t understand.

But he also fears failure. Failing to save people, failing to protect them. Saving Killer is something he’d do for anyone, but it also provides a sense of closure for him.

And stuff on my end copy pasted from Discord,

“Also Random kinda unrelated thought but like. maybe like killer, color doesn’t really know what he’s doing with his life either.

I wonder if he expected to die when he absorbed the souls, and then he never expected to get or be free. I wonder how listless he was before meeting killer. was he only living for others.

People say colors character is only about killer but that’s only because 1. Some refuse to look into his AU. And 2. Color didn’t exactly have much of anyone else??

For all intents and purposes his home isn’t his home. He knows them but they don’t know him and he has no reason to live in canon actual animated othertale (where he doesn’t know killer or the epic sanses) besides once again ensuring that they’re all safe from this new threat when we meet him.

(Edited:) It’s even implied he’s only still alive after his last escape attempt, however long ago (since it’s implied that Color has been with Gaster in the Void for like 17-20 years at least), because of Gaster. Either he was trying to kill himself, or he was willing to risk dying.

but once that was gone, what was he going to do. they still don’t know him, anything about him, and he doesn’t know them. They’re so different from how he remembers.

He has no one. They’re alive but they’re not. He’s risked everything for them and he was happy to die doing do so but he didn’t. What’s he supposed to do with himself now. There’s no place for him in the world, and the world doesn’t even seem to want or need him anymore.”

It’s worth noting that Othertale only exists as it does, instead of being normal Undertale, precisely because Sans/Color was kicked out, patched over, forgotten, erased, replaced by Undyne and then it all moved on without him.

So even in my hc that Color leaves Othertale, takes Core Frisk’s offer to join the Omega Timeline, and became Delta’s roommate; he was still at his lowest point, and didn’t even reach anything resembling a high point until meeting Killer.

He can see Killer, but no one else seems to. He wants to help, and he wants to understand. No one else is gonna pursue this, help Killer—those who have tried have failed. He reasons for helping killer are born from moral principles, past experiences, the belief that no one else would (for valid reasons), and even those who don’t even think Killer needs, wants to be, or deserves to be saved.

Similar to Vi from Arcane, who was thrown into prison for her developmental teenage years, coming out not realizing everything has changed, that her sister has changed, and unwilling to accept that powder has grown up and has a new name.

But unlike Vi, who attempts to make everything go back to the way it was, color just..avoids it. Leaves, away from it, goes looking for something new.

His need for something new comes from having spent years in what amounts to basically solitary confinement, where everything was the same over and over, until eventually even the suicide escape attempts and breakdowns became more of the same.

So while Color makes Killer feel wanted, needed, safe, cared for, loved, validated, protected—Killer makes Color feel seen, heard, remembered, important, needed, fascinating, valued. Seen and valued. They make eachother feel understood.

I think similar to Vi, Color is a caretaker, a protector, of individuals and communities he happens to stray into on his wandering trips—he’s terrified of failure, but also craves acknowledgement for what hes always tried his best to do.

If he’s not looking for something new, not wanting to stay in the same place forever, he’s trying to use his life and freedom to give the six kids keeping him alive a second chance at living—he’s not obligated to anyone, unlike Dream is (being a guardian of positivity), he’s just some ridiculously powerful guy. An afterthought in his own story, because it wasn’t his story, but a major part in Killer’s.

He doesn’t help others only because he wants acknowledgement, but also because it’s just what he thinks is right, but having his efforts acknowledged cements that he’s still real, still existing. That he hasn’t been forgotten. And I just think Killer is particularly skilled at making him feel appreciated, and valued.

He’d do it this for everyone in Killer’s place, who asked him for help. He’d help them to the best of his ability, and he wouldn’t ask for or expect anything.

But Killer gives it to him, knowing he’d never ask for it — because he can see Color, and that he likes being seen, and is maybe even suprised that Killer would see him the way he does. And Killer likes seeing Color—would like to see everything about Color. Not just his souls or his code.

Killer makes Color feel like he isn’t just a step outside the rest of world, or like he isn’t a ghost— or more like, killer stepped outside the world with him and joined him there. Color’s eye doesn’t look through Killer, and Killer’s gaze doesn’t drift right over Color.

This is not accounting for the HC that Color and Delta are roommates, of course, which would change some things—mainly in that Delta would’ve seen Color at all his lowest points and would’ve been the one taking care of Color—and a lot of how Color takes care of Killer may even be somewhat inspired by his relationship with Delta, but again that’s hc and im mainly focusing on the bits we have in canon.

I’ll probably expand on this part in a bit, but I think it’d be the Epic Sanses (and maybe even the Abyss Team) that teach Color to live for himself and what he wants—and he goes on to use that to help Killer.

[justagalwhowrites]

Hi again Bestie!

This is for the Enemies to Lovers Angsty Joel ask. I was thinking a new reader with show Canon Joel? But if that’s too much work and it works better with Lavender Joel and doc that’s fine too!!

aaa thank you so much for responding!!

OMG HI BESTIE!

Thank you so much for the ask and for being patient! I hope this fits with what you're looking for. Thank you for reading and reaching out! Love you!!!

(This ask came in from @dundienominee and they're tagged with permission HAPPY BIRTHDAY LOVE!!!)

Loathe/Lust

You have every reason to hate Joel fucking Miller. He knows it. It doesn't stop him from coming to you for help.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Legal age gap (reader is 27 and has known Joel since she was 25, Joel is 46.) SMUT :D Canon typical violence. No use of Y/N. Minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 7.4k

Spring, 2013

At the end of the world, there were very few constants. 

One, you were fucking tired of jerky. 

Two, there was never a shortage of people who needed healing. 

Three, you hated Joel fucking Miller. 

Everything else could shift and change but those things were facts. 

Jerky was a staple of every meal because, with QZ food, there was no such thing as fresh. There was often no such thing as enough, either, but fuck were you tired of jerky. 

And QZ life wasn’t easy on anybody. People needed a lot of patching up here. You’d come up through FEDRA school, 17 and a junior in high school when the outbreak happened. You were tapped early for your aptitude for biology and taught the very basics for helping to keep people alive. You didn’t know much about the world before, you’d been a teenager when things went to shit, but you knew what they taught you barely qualified as medicine. Still, you did everything you could to help people. It was nice, having purpose in this shitty life. 

Then there was Joel. Joel fucking Miller. Joel fucking Miller, drug smuggler. Joel fucking Miller, guy who got your brother mixed up in his stupid illegal activities. Joel fucking Miller, the man who introduced your brother to fucking Marlene. Joel fucking Miller, the person you really blamed for your idiot brother taking off across the country to help the goddamn Fireflies as though there was a single fucking thing people could do to fix this disaster, to bring down FEDRA. Without Joel fucking Miller, Nathan never would have gotten hooked on drugs to begin with, never would have been vulnerable, never would have fallen for Marlene’s bullshit. 

If it wasn’t for Joel fucking Miller, you wouldn’t be here, alone. 

But you were. 

And you hated him for it. 

And he knew that you hated him for it. 

Which is why it was a hell of a shock when there was a knock on your door late one Thursday night, just before curfew, and Joel was there, grimacing and panting for breath. 

You narrowed your eyes at him. 

“You’ve got some fucking nerve,” you snapped, almost slamming the door on him. He threw his hand out and caught it before you could, his thick fingers closing around the edge of it. 

“Not any happier about this than you are, Brat,” he spoke through clenched teeth, using the nickname your brother always called you. The name he’d called you for 22 years before he went across the country because of Joel fucking Miller. “But I don’t exactly got another choice.” 

He adjusted his leg so you could see it in the light. A knife was embedded there, right where his femoral artery would be. 

“Shit,” you muttered. 

“Can’t exactly go to the clinic with this,” he said. “But you’re dumb enough to take that fuckin’ doctor’s oath seriously so…” 

“Calling me dumb probably isn’t the smartest move when you want me to save your goddamn life,” you glared at him. 

“I ain’t wrong.” 

“Fuck you,” you sighed, opening your door wide and stepping out of the way. He limped inside, going for the couch. “Don’t even think about it, asshole. Kitchen table, if I’ve got to clean your blood off my floor I’m not trying to get it out of the fucking carpet.” 

He grimaced but obeyed, heading for the table and sitting down heavily in one of your mismatched wooden chairs. You went to collect what you’d need to - hopefully - keep him from fucking dying in your apartment and came back, propping his injured leg up on another chair before pulling a third one up alongside him. You put a towel down below him and took your scissors and cut his jeans, exposing his leg where the knife was sticking out. 

“At least you weren’t dumb enough to pull it out,” you muttered, examining the wound. “Know how big the knife is?” 

“Big,” Joel said wryly. 

You glared at him. 

“I meant in inches. Not that you men can judge inches worth a damn…” 

“I can,” he said. “And it’s about 8 inches. Trust me, I know.” 

You rolled your eyes. Of course he did. 

“Alright,” you said, actually meeting his gaze. His eyes were oddly gentle, a softness to them that made your heart ache a little when you looked at him too long. “I’m going to do what I can here and I have my shit set up and ready to go but if this thing shredded your femoral artery, you’re going to bleed out and die in just a few minutes and there won’t be a goddamn thing I can do about it. I’m as prepared as I can be for a heavy bleed but if you’re really fucked you’d need someone to take a blood vessel from one part of your body and use it to patch the femoral and it should go without saying that I can’t do that in my fucking kitchen. I could put a tourniquet on you and try to get you to the clinic but…” 

“FEDRA would just finish me off,” he nodded. “I get it.” 

You paused for a second, looking at him. 

“I really will do everything I can,” you said, actually earnestly speaking to him for a change. You felt… bad for him. For Joel fucking Miller. You didn’t like the guy but you didn’t want him dead. 

You pulled on gloves.

“Look, Brat, I know this is a win/win for you, alright?” He smirked a little. “Either I owe you or I’m dead and you don’t have to fuckin’ deal with me anymore. Promise I won’t haunt you if I finally got myself killed, OK?” 

You nodded and tried to wrap your head around the idea that Joel fucking Miller might be dead at your kitchen table in a few minutes. 

“Anything you want me to tell people if…” 

“Don’t have much I’m leavin’ behind,” he said, actually serious now. You weren’t sure you’d ever heard him be serious before. He sighed. “Been fine with dyin’ for a while. About time it caught up with me. Just tell Tess and Tommy I’m sorry for fuckin’ ‘em over. Sorry to you, too, for draggin’ you into it. Don’t have anyone else.” 

You nodded again. Why was Joel making you feel bad for him? Making you think of him like a person instead of some asshole now? When it’d be on you to keep his stupid ass alive? 

“Right.” 

You cracked your neck and loosened your body up before putting a hand on his bare thigh. His skin was warm and soft, his leg muscled and thick. 

“This is going to hurt like a bitch,” you warned him. “But you need to stay completely still, otherwise something that wasn’t already fucked up might get fucked up. I’ve got to pull the blade out as straight as I can, try to get it to go the same path it went in, OK?” 

“OK,” he nodded, his large hands going to the base of his thigh, like he was going to hold himself still. He looked at you again. “Meant what I said. It’s really… it’s alright if it kills me, OK? Don’t want you to feel like shit if it does. Not your fault.” 

“Yeah, I’d hardly feel like shit for taking you out, Miller,” you rolled your eyes even though the idea of him dying mad your stomach turn. Maybe it was because it would be on your shoulders and you didn’t want anyone to die because of you. Even Joel fucking Miller, the man you hated more than anyone else. The thought that part of him wanted to die made your chest tight. You took a deep breath. “Here we go.” 

You pulled the knife out as quickly as you could while also holding it steady - which, as it happens, wasn’t all that quick. Joel hissed in pain but, to his credit, didn’t move. 

There was a fair bit of blood once the blade was freed but it wasn’t a full-blown arterial bleed. You breathed a sigh of relief. 

“Good news, you’re not going to bleed out on my kitchen floor,” you set the knife down and grabbing gauze, putting pressure on the wound. “You missed your femoral artery. I still need to get this bleeding to slow down before I can stitch you up and you’ll need to take it easy for a bit but you’ll be fine.” 

“Sorry to disappoint,” he smirked a little but still. He looked relieved. 

“You’re a constant disappointment so I’m used to it.” 

He snorted and relaxed back into his seat, crossing his arms, watching you hold the gauze to his leg. His bare, strong leg. You swallowed. 

“Hear from your brother at all?” He asked. 

You looked up at him, eyes narrowed. 

“Every now and then.” 

“He doin’ OK?” 

“Fine, from what I can tell,” you replied. “Doesn’t have anyone giving him a steady stream of fucking drugs which I’m sure helps.” 

He shrugged. 

“Demand is demand, Brat,” he said. “Don’t blame the supply.” 

“Want me to go back in and cut your femoral artery?” You snapped. “Because I can make that happen.” 

“Honey, I don’t think you could cut the femoral artery of someone who was tryin’ to kill you if you had the chance,” he smirked. “Not gonna do it to me. You should work on that.” 

You just rolled your eyes and changed out the gauze. 

“In just a second I’m going to get to stab you over and over with a needle,” you looked up at him through your eyelashes. “Think I’ll see just how close together I can get these stitches. Can’t wait.” 

It didn’t take long for the bleeding to slow and you did, indeed, stab Joel fucking Miller 20 times in the leg with a needle. 

“There,” you said, looking over your handiwork. “Looks like you’ll live to ruin lives another day.” 

“Livin’ the dream,” there was a hint of bitterness in his voice. You set the needle down and took off your gloves before getting up. 

“Alright, you’re not going home tonight,” you said, squatting down so your shoulder was tucked into his underarm. “It’s after curfew, anyway, and I’m not about to let you waste all the trouble I just went through by getting picked up by fucking FEDRA. I’m moving you to the couch and going to set you up so that leg is elevated. You can go home in the morning.” 

He nodded and shifted in his chair until part of his weight was on you. He was big, bigger than you really realized, his weight more substantial than you’d expected. He was so broad. You hadn’t been close to him before, had never realized it. He sat heavily on the couch and he hefted his injured leg up as you grabbed some towels to stack below his ankle. 

“Comfortable?” You asked, hands on your hips. 

“Think there might be a pea under one of these cushions…” You flipped him off with a roll of your eyes. He smiled. “I’m good. Thank you. For… well, all of it. Appreciate it.” 

“Yeah well,” you shrugged. “I’ll work on that so next time I can finish you off.” 

He smirked. 

“Whatever you say, Brat.” 

You woke up early but Joel was already gone. 

You didn’t see him again until he showed up at your door almost a week later, not long after you got home from a shift at the clinic. 

“Who’d you piss off this time?” You asked. 

“Just you.” 

He held out a book and you frowned and took it. It was Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. 

“What…” 

“Saw you had some of her on your bookshelf there,” he nodded toward it. “But didn’t see that one and it’s the only one I’d fuckin’ heard of… Anyway. Thought you’d like it.” 

“I do but…” you turned the book over in your hands. It was a nice copy, with a cloth cover and a ribbon bookmark. It would have cost a small fortune on the black market. You looked up at him. “Why are you giving me this?” 

He shrugged. 

“Saw it, thought of you. Wanted to say thanks for not killin’ me.” 

“You really don’t…” 

“I know.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “See you around, Brat.” 

He left while you were still staring at the book. 

It was three months before he was back at your door again. You’d read Pride and Prejudice twice since then, disappearing into the story, reluctantly thankful to Joel fucking Miller for the best escape you’d had from the QZ in years. 

This time, it was after curfew and he was clutching his arm, soaking wet as it poured rain outside. You just sighed and wordlessly opened your door. 

He came in and sat at your kitchen table while you grabbed towels and gave him one. 

“Don’t have a knife lodged in there do you?” You asked, grabbing your stash of medical supplies. 

“Not this time,” he dried his face and roughly pressed the towel to his hair. “But it’s a nasty cut that hasn’t stopped bleedin’, think I need stitches.” 

“Can you take the shirt off?” You asked, going to the kitchen to wash your hands throughly. 

“Think so,” he called after you. 

You stopped in your tracks when you turned around. The shirt was off and Joel was… fucking beautiful. His chest and arms and shoulders were broad and sculpted, his stomach a little softer and inviting. You wanted to touch him, not as someone treating him but as someone experiencing him, enjoying him. You shook yourself mentally. 

He was Joel fucking Miller. You were not going to get turned on by Joel fucking Miller. 

“You just love giving me an excuse to stab you repeatedly don’t you?” You said, sitting in the char beside him and pulling on gloves. 

“Figured you’d be bored,” he smirked. “Got a big knife if you want to try to take me out this time…” 

He nodded to his belt and you looked down instinctively. He did, indeed, have a large knife strapped to his side. You rolled your eyes. 

“Sit still while I do this,” you demanded. 

“Yes ma’am.” 

You disinfected and cleaned the wound before you started stitching it. You could hear Joel grimacing as you did and you tried to ignore just how good his damn arm looked as you worked on it. 

“How’s Nathan?” He asked after a minute. You looked away from his wound to glare at him. “What?” 

“He’s not here,” you snapped. “You can’t get him involved in your shit, can’t get him running drugs for you again, can’t get him putting his life on the line to feed his damn addiction, you can’t take advantage of his weakness so you can make more goddamn ration cards! So stop fucking asking!” 

He was quiet and you went back to stitching. 

“S’not why I ask,” he said after a moment. 

“Then why do you?” You kept your eyes on your work this time. 

“I’m not the one who got him hooked on that shit, you know,” he said, ignoring your question. You scoffed. “It’s true, I’m not. He was hooked well before I met the guy…” 

“And how’d that happen?” You asked, harsher than you really meant to be. 

“His dealer was a piece of shit,” Joel said. “Asshole named Robert. He knows who’s most vulnerable, who’s desperate, who he can overcharge and drive into debt. Nathan owed him money. A lot of fuckin’ money. He didn’t have it and Robert wasn’t too happy about that. So… I intervened.” 

“Intervened?” 

Joel shrugged and you glared at him, needle in your fingers. 

“Sorry,” he said. “But… Robert’s an asshole but he’s smart enough to know that I’d fuck up him and his guys. So, I made him back off. But Nathan still needed the drugs so…” 

“So he took up with you,” you finished for him, making the last stitch and tying it off. You cut the thread and sat back in your chair. 

“Somethin’ like that,” Joel said, titling his arm to look at your work. “Wasn’t tryin’ to get him into trouble. Was tryin’ to keep him out of it. Seemed like a good kid. Didn’t deserve to get killed because some asshole was takin’ advantage.” 

“And you expect me to believe you?” 

“Not really,” he shrugged. “But still. You deserved to know. And I do hope your brother’s doin’ OK. I know you think I’m bad news but the Fireflies ain’t exactly the Girl Scouts.” 

“Well, nothing is anymore, right?” You took off the gloves and started cleaning up. “Sit tight, I’ll find you a shirt. It’s after curfew because apparently you can’t piss people off at a reasonable time. You can take the couch again.” 

“See, Brat, it’s all part of my plan,” he smirked. “Come here too late for you to send me home so I can sleep on your strangely comfortable couch…” 

You rolled your eyes and found a shirt your ex-boyfriend had abandoned at your place when you’d broken up. You handed it to him and he went to the couch, not needing your help this time. 

“Try not to sleep on the side with the stitches,” you said. “That should go without saying but…” 

“But you think I’m an idiot?” He asked, brows raised, a hint of a smile on his lips. 

“Something like that,” you said, turning to to go bed yourself. But you paused, doubling back. He’d settled back in on the couch, his uninjured arm behind his head. He frowned at you, questioningly. “Thanks. For the book, I mean. Hadn’t read Pride and Prejudice since before the outbreak but it was nice, reading it again. Though I think I’d rather you owe me a favor than get the book…” 

“Still owe you the favor,” he said and then looked at the spot on his arm where the stitches were. “Two, now.” 

You smiled a little. At Joel fucking Miller. 

“Good to know.” 

He was gone by morning. 

The next time you were able to talk to Nathan via radio, you asked how he’d meet Joel. You asked about Robert. 

“Oh yeah,” he said, as though this should have been obvious to you. “Think I owe that guy my life, honestly…”

“He was selling you drugs that could have killed you, Nathan,” you wished he were about 2,000 miles closer so you could grab him and shake him. 

“It’s all relative,” he said. “He sure as shit didn’t do to me what Robert did, I’ll say that.” 

Joel fucking Miller. 

What if your brother was only alive because of Joel fucking Miller? 

It was two months before you saw him again. 

This time, it was at the clinic. He was sitting in one of the small triage areas, just a curtain around the bed and you sighed when you saw him. He smirked. 

“What’d you do now?” You asked, looking down at the chart. 

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I’m here to lie about symptoms so you’ll give me antibiotics to take back to Tommy. Think an injury of his got infected outside. Don’t want anyone lookin’ to closely at it.” 

“Jesus, Miller,” you sighed. “Alright, what symptoms do you supposedly have?” 

He rattled them off and you nodded along before sighing again. 

“Let me get you antibiotics,” you said. “It’s a miracle none of you have fucking died, you realize that.” 

“And I’m sure that’s a big disappointment for you,” he smirked. 

“Every goddamn day.” 

You went to the medicine cupboard and unlocked it, grabbing the pills you needed before closing it again when a strong hand grabbed your shoulder and ripped you around, so fast it made your head spin. You recognized the man standing so close to you that you could smell him. He’d been in the clinic a few times over the last few weeks, always complaining of pain. Everyone turned him away for drug seeking behavior but you could tell, the last time he was here, that he was getting desperate. 

“Look you little bitch,” his large hand went for your throat before you had a chance to even fully realize what was happening, your eyes going wide. He thrust you back against the cabinet with a thud, knocking your head against it so hard that you felt your brain rattle in your skull. You dropped the bottle in your hand and it clattered to the ground as you instinctively clawed at his hand. He tightened his grip. “I’ve tried being nice, I’ve tried asking. You’re going to give me what I fucking need or I’ll kill you and get it from someone else, understand?” 

He squeezed tighter, your vision starting to get spotty. You couldn’t breathe and it’s not like you’d taken a deep breath before diving in the deep end of your parents’ pool. You wouldn’t last long without being able to breathe. Panic flared, acute and sharp, and your body scrambled to fight, to kick and scratch and punch to get a breath but it wasn’t working, he wasn’t letting you go. Your head was getting light and your vision was already narrowing when, suddenly the hand disappeared. 

You collapsed to the ground, coughing and gasping for air and looked up to see Joel on top of the man, a knee in his chest as he brought his fist down on his face again and again and again. The man tried to get his hands up to protect his face, then tried to land a hit on Joel but neither worked. Joel was almost eerily quiet as he pummeled the man, grunting with every blow, an almost unhinged look on his face. 

“Joel!” You tried to yell for him as you pushed yourself to your hands and knees. Your body felt so weak compared to just a few minutes before. You couldn’t really talk, an unfamiliar, raspy sound the only thing that left you. You tried again, anyway. “Joel!” 

You managed to make it to your feet and caught Joel’s elbow as he pulled it back one more time and he stopped, turning to look at you with that mad look on his face but it vanished the second he saw you. He dropped his arms, panting for breath, his eyes running over your face and neck. You pulled him back from the man as a nurse ran over to start examining Joel’s victim. 

One of your hands went to your throat, cradling it gently and feeling for damage and you pointed to the pill bottle with the other one. 

“Should get out of here,” you managed, though it sounded more like a garbled mess than actual words. But he seemed to understand. He picked up the bottle and gave you a last, lingering look before leaving the clinic. 

One of doctors looked you over and said you’d be fine eventually, you just needed to rest. They offered you some pain pills - the same ones Nathan had been hooked on, the same ones the man today had been willing to kill you for - and you turned them down, just trudging home and collapsing on the couch when you got there. 

It wasn’t the first time you’d been attacked. It was the end of the world, after all, it had happened a few times before. But it was the first time you had the feeling that you were about to die. Even when you’d been held at knife point for ration cards you’d had the feeling that everything was going to be fine. Yeah, you’d be short on some ration cards that day but you’d be fine. 

Not this time. 

You tried to relax, drifting in and out of consciousness on your couch, trying not to think of the man with his hand around your throat. The way his fingers had bruised you, the way his palm had crushed into your windpipe. The ruddy tone of his skin, the desperate and angry look in his eyes, the stink of his sweat. It was all there, every time you closed your eyes and relaxed too much it was there. 

You’d just drifted off again when there was a knock on your door. You groaned and forced yourself off the couch and opened the door, your hand cradling your throat. You were half expecting it to be a coworker, coming by to check in on you. 

Instead, it was Joel. 

“Don’t try n’talk if it’s gonna hurt your throat,” he said. You frowned a little at him. He had a canvas bag over one shoulder. “Can I come in?” 

“Not going to try and finish the job right?” You asked, voice strained and scratchy. 

He rolled his eyes. 

“Move, Brat.” 

You made a face but stepped aside, anyway. Joel went past you to your kitchen, put the bag on the counter and started rifling through your cabinets. You followed him, frowning. 

“What…” your hand was still against your throat, voice raw. 

“Will you go sit down?” He gave you a look over his shoulder before going back to sifting through your things. “Jesus Christ…” 

You threw your hands up but obeyed, sitting at your kitchen table and watching as Joel finally found what he was looking for. A pot, apparently. He put it on your stove and turned it on before going into the bag and pulling out a jar that he emptied into the pot. He stirred it for a moment before going into your freezer and finding the ice. He put some handfuls into a towel and came to the table, pulling out a chair and moving it so it was right in front of yours. He sat down and was so close to you that his thigh slotted between yours and you just sat there, looking at him, eyes wide. 

“Move your hand,” he nodded toward it and you realized you were still holding your neck. You obeyed and he gently took your chin in his large hand - his knuckles cut and bruised - adjusting your head so he could examine your throat. “Damn, Honey, he got you real good.” 

“Yeah, well…” 

“Hush,” he ordered. “Hold your head still.” 

He released your chin and lightly trailed his callused fingers over your throat, his touch lingering over where you knew was probably damaged and bruised. He took the ice in the towel and pressed it delicately to your skin. 

“See, you do know how to listen,” he said. “Even does you good every now and then.” 

You scoffed but you took the ice bundle from him, your fingers brushing his as you did. He sat back a little, his eyes running over the rest of you, his leg still between yours, the other brushing the outside of your thigh. 

“He get you anywhere else?” He asked eventually. You shook your head a little. Joel nodded. “Good.” 

“Why are you here?” You asked, voice a little clearer than it had been the last time you spoke. 

“You need to eat somethin’,” he said. “And I owed you.” 

“Why don’t I get to pick the favors?” You glared at him. 

“I’ll still owe ya,” he shook his head a little. “Dyin’ to know what you’d cash it in on.” 

“You and me both.” 

It didn’t take long for the soup he brought to be done and he poured you a bowl of it. He got you both glasses of beer, also from the bag he’d brought. Your eyes went a little wide at your first bite of soup. 

“What?” He frowned. 

“This is good,” you said, going back for another bite. 

Joel laughed. 

“Don’t act so surprised. I’m not totally useless.” 

“How’s your hand?” You asked, looking at his knuckles. He flexed his fingers for a moment. 

“Fine,” he shrugged. “Had worse.” 

You considered him for a moment. He frowned. 

“What.” 

“Why’d you do it?” 

His frown deepened. 

“Do what?” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“Save me. And beat the shit out of that guy. You hate me. Why’d you do it? Was it just that you didn’t want to lose out on the person who will stitch you up in the middle of the night or…” 

“Don’t hate you,” he said, taking a sip of beer. 

You scoffed. 

“You hate me,” you said, taking another bite of soup. The weirdly good soup. “I know you hate me.” 

“How do you know I hate you.” 

“Because I hate you,” you said, though you were starting to think that wasn’t true anymore. 

“Yeah, noticed that,” he smirked a little. 

“You call me brat…” 

“Nate called you brat,” he replied. “And you are a brat. Seemed appropriate.” 

“You’re never nice to me,” you said. “Well, except right now…” 

“You’re never nice to me,” he shrugged. “Didn’t want to make your hatin’ me something that wasn’t fun for you, figured I should be mean back.” 

“Hating you isn’t for fun you dick,” you glared at him. 

“It’s not?” He looked a little amused by it all. “What’s it for then?” 

“It’s for ruining my brother’s life!” You dropped the spoon into the bowl with a clatter and set the ice pack down with a little too much force. “For getting him mixed up in your fucking smuggling operation and getting him involved with the fucking Fireflies and making it so he left town and I’m just left here, alone! I’m alone, I have no one and nothing and it’s all your fucking fault!” 

You weren’t entirely sure when you started crying but you were. The overwhelming, gasping, choking kind of crying that you had to fight to breathe through. You could feel it in your chest, the pressure of the tears building up behind your eyes, every pain you’d suffered the past year welling up and bursting free at once, all of it directed at Joel. 

“Oh, Honey,” he leaned forward and gently took your face in his hand, drying your cheek with his thumb. His legs were on either side of yours. He delicately pulled you against him, your face going to his shoulder, his arms wrapping around you, cradling you securely against his broad body. “I’ve got you, it’s OK…” 

You stayed against him like that for a long time. Longer than you wanted to admit to. But it felt nice to be there in Joel’s arms. You didn’t have anyone here, didn’t really have friends outside of work. Your ex-boyfriend had broken things off a few months back and the idea of dating again the QZ sounded hellish so you just hadn’t done it. Joel, in that moment, felt like someone you had. He was someone that made it so you weren’t totally alone. 

After a while, you’d calmed a bit, your tears slowing and your breaths coming easier. You kept your face buried in Joel’s shoulder, shifting a little so your nose was pressing against his neck. 

“You didn’t answer the question,” you said, voice thick and rough from the tears and your injury. “Why’d you save me?” 

He sat back from you ever so slightly, his hands taking you by the shoulders and guiding you back up so you were looking him in the eye. You wiped your nose on the back of your hand. 

“You might hate me but I never hated you,” he said, his eyes oddly soft and earnest. “Not once.” 

“Joel,” you said quietly. His hand went from your shoulder to your cheek, his fingers threading into your hair. You were suddenly, acutely aware of how little distance there was between the two of you. It seemed like too much. 

He slowly, cautiously moved closer to you, his eyes going from your own to your lips and back again but he stopped just short of kissing you. Like he was waiting for you to close the distance, asking your permission. 

You gave it. 

You pressed your mouth to his and it was delicate at first, your lips brushing his, feather light but electric. Then, Joel’s grip on you got stronger, his kiss growing firmer and more insistent, his tongue slipping into your mouth and tasting you. You let out a little moan, an ache growing between your legs. 

Joel released your face and his hands traveled to your waist and he adjusted as he pulled you closer so that your legs went around him and you were suddenly in his lap. You could feel his hard length through his jeans and you realized that he hadn’t been joking about knowing the size of the knife. You groaned a little, grinding your hips down against him, and Joel moaned into your mouth, his hands sliding down and around your back, fingers spread wide over you. 

“You sure about this?” He asked, peppering kisses along your jawline between words. 

“Yes,” you panted, needy. “I want you…” 

“Fuck, Honey,” he breathed. “No idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say that.” 

His mouth reached the damaged skin of your throat and he delicately kissed each bruise on your neck, his lips warm and soft. His fingers lightly traced your bruises.

“He still alive?” He pulled back from you enough to look up at you from your position on his lap. You draped your arms over his shoulders and nodded. He frowned. “Shoulda killed him for touchin’ you…” 

“Not worth it,” you said, kissing him again, harder this time. His hands moved to your front, unbuttoning your shirt. 

“Yes, you are,” he said, his mouth close enough that his lips brushed yours when he spoke. “Promise you, you are.” 

He nudged your arms down and slid your shirt off, pulling away from you to look down at your half naked body. 

“Fuck, Honey,” he groaned, his large hands coming to your stomach and spreading warm and wide against you, moving over you, skimming over your skin with his rough fingers. He pulled you tight to him as his hands went for your bra clasp, unhooking it as he pressed his lips to your shoulder. He took it off, too, his hands finding your breasts, cradling them in his large palms, his thick thumbs brushing your nipples. “Jesus Christ, got no right lookin’ this fuckin’ good…” 

He kissed over the swell of flesh before he found your nipple, sucking it into his mouth, licking the tip with his tongue, making you moan, your back arching into him. He did the same to your other breast, his fingers sinking into the flesh of your back like he couldn’t get you close enough. When he released you, he looked up at you, panting and desperate. 

“Lemme take you to bed,” his hands slipped down your back to your hips, pulling you down firmly against his hard cock. “Need inside you…” 

You just nodded quickly and his hands moved to your ass, holding onto you from below as he stood with you in his arms. You let out a little yelp as he did before he carried you down the hall to your bedroom. 

He lay you down so gently on the bed it was almost shocking, kissing you deeply as he did. You fumbled with his shirt until it was unbuttoned and you could slide it off his broad shoulders and cast it aside. Joel moved to your jeans, unbuttoning them and hooking his fingers around them and your panties, pulling them down your body together, crawling back and kissing down your body as he did. 

“Oh Honey,” he said once your pants were on the floor and he was kneeling between your thighs. He was looking down at your dripping slit. He spread your legs a little wider, opening the core of you to his gaze, before he ran a single finger over your folds. He left it against your clit, giving it the gentlest pressure. “You’re so fuckin’ wet. You achin’ for me?” 

“Fuck, yes,” you were practically squirming below him, your whole body raw and needy, the heat in you burning. “Please Joel…” 

“Gonna make you come first, Honey,” his finger started working in slow circles, the pressure growing. “Make sure you’re ready for me. Get this pussy so fuckin’ wet for me.” 

He sank a thick finger inside you, moving his thumb to your clit, and he moaned as you whimpered at his touch. 

“Fuck, you’re tight,” the hand not working your pussy went to your lower stomach, his fingers spread out wide against your skin. “Jesus Christ, you feel incredible, fuckin’ incredible and that’s just my finger, fuck…” 

He worked you harder and you rocked your hips against him, your hands going to your breasts and holding them, squeezing them. 

“Holy shit,” he moaned at the sight. “Fuck, need you to come Honey, need you to come for me so I can get inside you, come on baby.” He added another finger and hooked them up into the softest part of your core, making your breath catch in your throat. You started tightening around him, the heat in you growing. “There she is, can feel it, come on Honey, come all over my fingers, you can do it. Come for me, don’t make me beg for it, baby, need you too fuckin’ bad…” 

You came, gasping his name when you did, your hold on your breasts relaxing as your whole body throbbed with your release. 

“Fuck, there we go,” he worked you through your orgasm, his fingers never stopping. “Doin’ so good coming on these fingers Honey, getting yourself all ready for my cock. Gonna take such good care of you, baby, promise I will.” 

Your body went slack and he smiled and almost devilish smile, sliding his fingers from your body and sucking them clean before he opened his pants and took them off. He climbed between your legs, crawling up your pliant form, kissing a trail up your body until his lips were on yours and you could feel his thick length brushing your dripping core. 

“What if I want you to?” You panted, your hands running over his bare back. 

“Want me to what?” He asked. 

“Beg for it.” 

He smiled a little. 

“Please Honey,” he whispered, his nose brushing yours before he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips. “Please, let me inside you. I’m past fuckin’ want you, baby, I’m past needing you. I swear not havin’ you is gonna fuckin’ kill me. I will beg you all damn night if you want, I’ll beg you all damn year if it’ll make you give yourself to me.” 

You laughed softly, your fingers twisting in his hair as you pulled him closer. 

“Guess you should fuck me then,” you smiled before you kissed him. 

He felt as desperate and needy as he sounded, his thick head catching on your entrance before he pushed into you in one long, firm stroke. You gasped at the stretch of him, feeling every inch of his cock as he opened you to him, the tip of him finding a place inside you that you didn’t think anyone had reached before. You were so exquisitely full it was like your body had been holding space for him your whole life. It was something entirely new, so good you were almost happy the world ended just so you could find a feeling like this. You looked up at him, your eyes wide, wondering if he felt it too. 

“Fuck,” he panted, holding himself within you as your body adjusted to taking him, his eyes searching yours. “Jesus Christ, I’ve never… fuck, Honey, I ain’t gonna last long, you feel too good, too goddamn good.” 

“Joel,” you breathed. It was all you could think to say, every thought that wasn’t him gone from your head. Your pussy was already starting to tighten around him, just from the feel of his cock inside you. “Fuck, please…” 

“You already about to come baby?” He asked as he started to move inside you, slow and heavy at first. You moaned and nodded quickly. He thrust into you, hard and firm. “Fuck, fuck, not gonna last when you come, can I come in you, need to come inside you, fuck Honey I need to come inside you.” 

You just nodded again even though you weren’t on birth control and you sure as fuck didn’t know what was happening between the two of you outside of this bed and the fact that you knew this wouldn’t be a one time thing. It couldn’t be, not when he felt this good, like he’d been made to fuck you and you’d been made to take him into yourself. You wanted him to leave part of himself inside you, plant it deep so you could feel him there all warm and wet tomorrow. 

With your nod, he started fucking you - really fucking you. His cock was so deep when he pushed into you you could feel the thick weight of him pressing up against your skin, like you’d be able to see him inside your body if there was enough space between the two of you to look. He pulled back almost totally, leaving just his head inside your grasping hole before fucking back into you, every stroke hard and desperate and your nails sank into his back as your hips rose up to meet his on every thrust. You never wanted him to leave your body, wanted him to make a home deep inside you so you could always be this full, this complete. His body worked your clit and your pussy got tighter and tighter around him, your head swimming with the pressure of it all, your body so needy it felt like you might burst. 

“Want to come with you,” you whimpered. “Please, come for me Joel, I’m so fucking close, want you to come deep inside me, please…” 

“Fuck Honey,” his thrusts stuttered and he groaned. “Gonna fill you up so good, leave this pussy so fuckin’ full of me, fill you up again and again…” 

He thrust deep, so deep it almost hurt and you felt him start to pulse inside you. Your hands went to his lower back, pressing him impossibly deeper and you cried out as you came around him, your channel milking his cock, throbbing around him until there was nothing left inside him to give to you. 

He collapsed on you as you went limp below him and he pressed a kiss to your shoulder as he panted for breath. He stayed inside you as his cock softened and you could feel him leaking out of you. 

“Holy shit,” he said eventually, kissing your throat and then your chin and then your lips. He kissed you deeper as he slid out of you and lap beside you. You hesitated for a moment but he reached over and pulled you on top of him, so your head was on his chest and your legs were nestled between his own. His cock was wet against your skin and you liked it, the reminder that he’d just been inside of you. “Fuck, Honey…” 

“Yeah,” you laughed a little. His hand went to your back, tracing up and down your spine. 

“Still hate me?” You could hear Joel fucking Miller’s cocky smile on his voice. 

“I will if you never fuck me again,” you kissed his chest. 

He laughed. 

“Don’t gotta worry about that. Even though you still found a way to be a brat during the best goddamn sex I’ve ever had.” 

You smirked. 

“Would it be the best sex you’ve ever had if I didn’t?” 

“Guess not,” he said. “S’it OK if I stay the night? Think we got some shit to talk through but I ain’t got it in me to do it tonight.” 

“If you insist,” you teased, pressing yourself a little tighter to him. He held you a little closer. “Night, asshole.” 

You said it the way you’d say baby or love. You meant it that way, too. 

He laughed a little. 

“Night, Brat.” 

His voice was soft, like it was when he called you honey. Something told you he meant it that way, too.

[hanjisungs-bigtittyg0thgf]

Kinktober Day 17: Marking with Seonghwa

Trigger warnings: none?

Content warnings: a little biting and marking (clearly), hardly an actual story i’m probably gonna come back to this one later and rewrite it

Summary: Your new husband can’t help himself on the honeymoon.

Word count: 0.9k

A/N: hi all 🥰 after much consideration, i’ve decided to repost my kinktober 2022 stories. i had a great time writing these a couple years ago and want to share them again now that it’s been a while and i’ve had time to fall in love with them again. i hope you all enjoy! and by all means, feel free to send a message or comment here if you’d like to be part of the new tag list!

Tags: @bahng-chrizz

Smut below the cut

“Hwa-” You giggled his name as he attacked your neck with kisses. “Can’t you wait until we’re back in the room? There’s cameras in here.” You pretended to struggle against him before ultimately giving in and letting him hold you from behind.

“Who cares? I’m not doing anything bad, just being affectionate with my wife.” He emphasized the last word and your smile grew wider as butterflies took flight in your stomach. You were finally married to the love of your life. You’d been married less than twenty-four hours so it still didn’t feel real and nothing was able to burst the bubble of marital bliss that surrounded the two of you. The only reason you weren’t still laid up in bed and were instead on your way back to the room was because you had to eat.

“Mm well your wife thinks you need to hold your horses.” You teased, watching the number change just before the elevator dinged. “This is our floor, surely you can wait until we’re behind closed doors.” You laughed quietly and took his hand, leading him off the elevator and into the hallway.

You managed to get down the hallway without issue but as soon as you reached the door and had to pause to get your room key out, his arms were around your waist again. You gasped quietly when he nipped at your skin, pushing the door open and lightly swatting his hand. “Stop trying to make me horny in public.” You whisper yelled at him, tugging him into the room.

He chuckled softly as the door closed behind him and took your things from you, placing them on the desk before turning back to face you. “That wasn’t my intention, my love. However, if that’s what happened, I’d be more than happy to resolve the issue for you.” He teased, stepping closer with every step back you took until your legs met the bed and you toppled over onto the mattress.

“Please do.” You murmured, looking up at him with a grin. You held your arms open for him and he quickly crawled over you, slotting himself between your legs. For a moment, everything was still as though time was frozen. He looked down at you with nothing but pure adoration in his eyes as you wrapped your arms around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. “I love you.” You whispered, taking note of the way his eyes sparkled. You loved when he looked at you like you hung the stars.

“I love you more.” He whispered back before catching your lips in a slow, passionate kiss.

It didn’t take long for things to devolve and soon his lips were on your neck. He mouthed over the mark he’d left the previous night and you let out a soft sigh. “I still can’t believe you did that.” You laughed breathlessly, tipping your head back to allow him better access.

“What, that I made sure everyone knows you’re all mine?” He hummed against your skin, clearly unapologetic.

“Mm maybe I should return the favor then. Don’t you think it’d compliment the claw marks I left last night?” You teased and he suppressed a snort before pulling back to look down at you.

“I would love to wear your marks, darling.” He whispered, watching you for a moment before flipping the two of you over so you were straddling his waist. “Why don’t you give me some?”

You didn’t have to be told twice. You eagerly leaned down and pecked his lips before moving to press your lips against his jaw. He’d forgotten to shave that morning so his slight stubble scratched against your skin but it only turned you on further. You shivered when he let out a sigh close to your ear and moved lower on his neck, your kisses growing messy.

You were becoming more frantic with each open-mouthed kiss until you settled over his pulse point at last. You sucked on his skin as his hands, which had previously been on your hips, slipped underneath your shirt. You hummed and sucked harder, appreciating the way he couldn’t seem to hold still beneath you. You loved knowing how much of an effect you had on him.

You pulled back for a moment to admire the light red spot on his neck and he took the opportunity to remove your top. You allowed him to toss it aside before ducking back down to continue your work. Your teeth grazed the mark and his breath hitched. You couldn’t stop the satisfied hum you let out as you sucked harshly on his skin.

He started to relax when you showed no signs of attempting to bite him and that’s when you decided to strike. You sank your teeth into his skin and he let out a shocked moan, jolting under your touch. You sucked on his neck at the same time and were delighted to feel him getting hard under you. You fucking loved getting him worked up like this. You’d known for a while he liked to be bitten but you were always careful to do it when he least expected it.

You slowly eased up, releasing your bite on him and licking over the mark before pulling back. It was now bright red and would certainly darken in just a short while. “So pretty…” You sighed as you admired your work before lazily shifting your gaze to his face. “I wonder how many more you can take before you lose yourself and have to put me in my place.” You mused playfully and he smirked back at you. “I don’t think you know what you’re getting yourself into. I won’t break so easily. I think you'll be the one losing your cool, honey.” He was mocking you? Guess I’ll just have to prove him wrong.

[carefulfears]

i know you probably have ten asks from me already but. i need your thoughts on the way scully loves

the thing about scully’s love is that it’s her at her most contradictory. she’s a repressed catholic scientist who writes pulsating gothic enduring love letters. she’s obnoxiously territorial, overt and loud, but relishes subtlety: an opportunity to get away with expressing any extra affection, whether through her credentials (i’m a medical doctor!! you need your hair stroked to cure that scrape on your arm!! the only way to help a dislocated shoulder is for me to snuggle you in the woods!!), or hidden beneath a situational joke (“i’d kiss you if you weren’t so damn ugly”).

she always requires proof, but she tossed her robe off the day she met him, without any sign of trust. she can never get enough, always wants more, but she overwhelms easily: she can never respond or speak when he’s just present with her, she cries. she is sharply aware of who she is, what she wants, she is debilitatingly insecure. she rebels by burning her cycle of rebellion into her skin.

she chases the same 3 moments for the rest of her life: laughing in the rain, a confession in an apartment hallway, absolution via a kiss to the forehead. she has memorized everything that he has ever said. she turns his words around in her head, reveres them, repeats them back. (his dopey face in paper hearts when she cites something he had casually said 2 years earlier, verbatim. the way he lightly covers his mouth. someone listens.)

she fills her home with him when he’s gone. sleeps holding his shirt. puts his fish tank next to her couch. sings the same song she sang to him, all those years ago, to their baby. writes to him while smiling over at the stroller. (17 years later, next to her son, weeping that she’s “so sorry” he didn’t get to know his father).

she wants his presence everywhere in the world, wants him involved and affective, needs “to know [he’s] out there” if she is to survive, as she writes on her deathbed. she wants to keep him somewhere safe and never let him out. she tells him she “worries” about him in “isolation,” then walks out and shuts the door, makes sure the gate is latched when she leaves him in the morning.

she’s always “the strong one,” she cries when it’s safe. she’s an “ice queen” that flirts and giggles girlishly when she feels valued.

she’s brave. there’s nowhere she won’t follow, yes, but there’s also nowhere she won’t stay. there’s no darkness or truth or reality that she wouldn’t sit in, if that’s where he is. she’ll shake and scream and cry when there’s a gun pointed at her: but she will not leave him there, she will not run. she‘s blunt. she spends years tiptoeing around acknowledgment.

she’s 10 inches shorter than he is, but she constantly rises to envelop him. she pulls him to her shoulder. she lowers herself to cover him. she rocks him on the floor.

she stands in the doorway and does not move from in-between him and the world. she blocks him in. she’d never let anything touch him. she never gets her way.

she’s a know-it-all who minds her business, only betrays her awareness quietly and sparingly. she’s almost always wrong. she always knows what’s truly behind an agenda, the exact right thing to say.

she’s embarrassing!! she sleeps holding the phone just in case he calls. she gets ditched for mothmen. she whines for attention, she’ll do anything to spend time with him, SHE WANTS TO HAVE HIS BABIES SOOOOO BAD. she asks “what are we?” after 25 years and 2 kids just to be annoying.

her ass is not escaping that ouroboros (not ever, if that’s where he is), but she doesn’t want to. she “wouldn’t change a day.” she “would do it all over again.” she wants to “remember how it all was.” no matter how dark and drastic the progression of loss gets, she still chooses this life, just like she chose it in the beginning.

she’s rarely truly jealous, she’s outrageously protective. when she is jealous, she retreats. she needs a moment to herself.

(when she’s protective, you won’t be able to shake her for anything)

she shares him with the world only reluctantly. she’s judgmental and mean. she’s inadvertently prophetic. if the person turns out to be a cheat/a thief/a spy, is it really her fault that she was hating on them as soon as they were breathing his air??

she’s heart-achingly kind, and perceptive. she “just knew” that he would be okay, she went to his father’s funeral because he couldn’t. she paused to share hope with his mother. she breaches the astral plane from a coma to tell her sister not to call him “fox.”

for scully, to love is to bear witness. she knows the importance of recognition. she listens. she cries with him. she always suggests he get some sleep, even when it’s laughable. there’s room in any tense situation to stop, check in, acknowledge. love is trust, love is respect, love is devotion. love is consumption.

love is free will winning out over fate, the grief that comes with being starbuck, the price paid to believe in something. to adventure with your best friend. being willing to pay it over, again, again. wanting him to know that.

[pisupsala]

Of All The Stars in The Sky | 19 | Bradley ‘Rooster’ Bradshaw

Summary | War looks different from high above in the sky. But when Bradley finds himself on the ground, far behind enemy lines, it becomes a race against the clock to get out. And try not to look back at what he’s leaving behind.

Pairing | Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!reader / Bradley 'Rooster' Bradshaw x fem!oc (no use of y/n)

Warnings |Mature content | 18+ only[WWII AU] swearing, war, violence, death, explicit smut

Words | 8.8k

Index | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20

Library

Chapter 19 - It Had to Be You

“Do you feel… strange?” Emil phrases the question awkwardly. “Since the war, I mean.”

You pause and look up from the mushroom you had been inspecting before popping it out of the ground with your knife and placing it in the wicker basket on your arm. You nod.

Strange is a good word for it. You just don’t know if the world has become estranged or you. 

It’s late autumn and still pleasantly warm. The sun is low, but your heavy white cable-knitted sweater is still a bit too warm. You haven’t spoken to Emil since you marched out of the hospital last June, so you were surprised when you received a letter from an estate in the northern mountains with an invitation to visit. It had your old address on it, but your downstairs neighbor forwarded it to you.

“I can’t be in the city anymore,” He admits with difficulty, eyes trained firmly on the forest path before you. His stance is casual, hands in pockets of his dark green pants, in stark contrast to his near-wavering tone. Emil left the army abruptly, and this is the closest he’s come to admit as to why. The tranquility of the forest and the smell of pine and moss are soothing. “It’s too… busy. Too many people, you know?”

“I understand,” You reply softly. Too many people, no oversight, and blocked escape paths. “I don’t feel like I really have a place anymore.”

“Yeah…” 

Silence falls as you walk, looking around for more mushrooms. It’s only the two of you and the sounds of the forest. 

“Are you still waiting?” He doesn’t elaborate. There is no need to. Your hand automatically moves to the pocket of your gray slacks. The metal of the bracelet is cool and familiar.

“I’m not sure if I’m waiting or just stuck,” You admit, smiling sadly. You should have given up by now. 

For years, you thought everything was on hold temporarily, and you’d return to your life, classes, and books after the war. But you came to the realization you are not that person anymore. It’s a version of you that stayed behind on that dreary September day in 1939; you just didn’t realize until everything and everyone else returned. And now you’ve lost that; you no longer know where your place is. You’re not even really sure of who you are anymore. 

The only time you were reminded of the person you once were, which made you believe that you still existed, was with Bradley. He so skillfully unwrapped you to the barest essentials. But when you go looking now, there’s nothing left – like it was only a fleeting illusion that existed between the two of you, a flash of a chemical reaction before it all went up in smoke.

It’s like you’re in stasis. Again.

“Do you still hope?” There is no bitterness or accusation in the question.

“Hope?” You croak out. Of course, you still hope. It’s just becoming harder to believe by the day. The world has changed, and Bradley has probably changed with it. You don’t think you could blame him—not really. Not after what you’ve become. You blink rapidly a few times. “It mostly hurts.”

It’s a more honest admission than you would typically make. But who else could yet tell?

“I’m sorry,” Emil mumbles, aimlessly kicking a pine cone down the small path. 

“Times have changed. For the better, I might add,” You shake your head with a chuckle as you move your wicker basket to your right hand, balling your left hand in a fist, trying to stop it from shaking. “And people changed with it. That’s okay.” 

You slow down your pace, looking at Emil. “It has to be, you know?” You say urgently like you’re trying to convince yourself as much as him.

“I suppose we both got left behind in more ways than one,” He sighs before meeting your gaze. “I always believed you, of all people, were destined for more, Anya.”

“Maybe some version of me was,” You chuckle dryly, playfully bumping him with your elbow, holding out the basket to him. Emil takes it without argument. “Don’t you think we’ve had enough adventure for a lifetime?”

He laughs, a small, genuine laugh. Finally, you’re unsure if you can forgive Emil for planting those seeds of doubt in your head about Bradley. Maybe one day you’ll be grateful. Perhaps you never fully believed what Bradley told you, and you’re mad at Emil for voicing what you had been too afraid to confront. But whatever he said, whatever you sniped in return — he’s still your friend. Brother in arms. 

“You’d be content with just being a housekeeper?” He asks, almost incredulously. Just a few years ago, you would have been offended by the question—because of course not. You were going to travel the world and become a diplomat, a writer, an explorer. Now, you only count the steps from your home to the tram stop.

“Are you content with just being a gamekeeper?” You counter without malice. Emil doesn’t react. “Maybe we both deserve some peace, in whichever form.” 

“I hope you find your peace, Anya.” Emil looks at you sadly. “You more than anyone.” 

Peace.

The city is cleaned up quickly, but the splatter of blood, the agonizing screams, and the explosions have become indelible in your mind's eye. It’s like a ghostly shadow wrapping around the bustling city. Maybe Emil could see it, too. Perhaps that’s why he couldn’t stay.

Was the city like this before the war? Were you part of that crowd? Why can’t you go back? 

You’re moving through life without purpose, just getting by. It’s enough. 

Right?

You live a quiet, frugal life. You dutifully add to your monthly savings, but it’s a slow undertaking. Your salary is okay, all things considered, but traveling to the United States is expensive — and you’d need to get to a port city first. And that’s just travel. You need money for hotels, food, and a visa — it makes your head spin when you think about it. It’s that sliver of a dream that keeps you going. So you just keep your head down.

You don’t question Mrs. Parker’s particular requests; even though you figured out pretty quickly, she puts a lot of stock in seeing hard work and effort over results. You don’t question why Mrs. Parker appears craftier than her husband, the ambassador. You especially don’t question why the ambassador and his wife sleep in separate rooms. You clean them all the same.

And then there is Loretta. Beautiful, young Miss Lo. She came with silken blonde curls, bright green eyes, and trunks of dresses from exquisite fabrics on a gap year. You don’t question that she seems more interested in parties, men, and dancing than anything else. But you recognize the insatiable hunger recognition: being great at your work. And Miss Lo is excellent at being fun, young, and beautiful. And not a single man in the long parade of officers and dignitaries visiting would disagree.

Deep inside, you know you don’t question it because if you did, you’d have to see the lingering envy in you for what it is. So you just keep your head down.

Almost a year passes. You’ve hemmed and re-hemmed more dressed than you count, scrubbed more stains from delicate fabrics than you care to identify, sweeping piles upon piles of ashes from the marble floors. 

If anything, you are an excellent seamstress now, especially considering how awful you were at most handwork, like knitting. Miss Lo caused you plenty of practice, and your roommates were gratefully making use of your offer to mend and tailor what they needed. But you’ve had enough of your dresses that needed tailoring — raising necklines, adding collars, and sometimes even adding new sleeves. Anything that would keep prying away from the scarred skin that your ever-longer hair could not hide.

You’re in stasis.

It’s May again. It’s a year since the war has ended, and it’s a beautiful day — warm, with a gentle breeze swaying the blooming trees. In a few days, you turn 27, although you’ve not celebrated your birthday… well, since Eva last baked you a small cake. That’s four years ago now.

It still hurts. It’s like every memory is now overgrown with thorns, the edges irreparably singed by the fire. Eva. Your parents. Bradley. It still hurts, and it will probably never stop hurting. Like your shoulder aches and hand shakes after a long day after a long day of work. Like your head is always buzzing, the ceaseless noise in your ear painfully keeps you awake. You long for the morning you wake up and finally accept that this is it. None of them are coming back. You will never be whole again. When waves finally wash you away, and you’ll see them again. Like in that dream, on that beach, when for a moment nothing hurt.

Standing at the back of the tram, a bucket full of beautifully arranged bouquets wedged between your foot and the wall, you are entirely focused on the leather-bound booklet in your hand, tapping the back of the small pencil against your lips. You try to scratch the itch in your brain by doing crossword puzzles. Your dad bought you all those newspapers, after all.

Maybe you’ll even get good at doing crosswords, finally.

You don’t need to pay attention to where you are going; you’ve taken this route hundreds of times. You know where you are just by a glance from the corner of your eye. You recognize the shape of the buildings, the way that the sun hits the street, the gait of the tall figure walking out of the train station -

You swing your head around so hard your forehead rams into the window with a dull crack. You see stars for a moment, colors melting into each other in strange shapes. When your vision returns, the tram has already turned a corner. Ignoring the stares around you, your hand flies into your pocket, dropping your pencil. It rolls away between the legs of the other passengers, but you pay it no mind. You are trying to catch your breath. The metal loops around your fingers, but it scarcely brings you comfort. 

Your bored brain must be hallucinating; the cruel sun must be playing tricks on you; your poor heart must be dreaming. 

Because of the tiniest second, you could have sworn you saw Bradley walk out of the station.

***

Dear Captain Bradshaw,

I am writing to you in response to your repeated inquiries to the International Red Cross about Anna Sokolova, born December 25, 1919, in Prague. No person matching that name and birthdate has been found in our records of wounded, dead, or missing in Czechoslovakia. The IRC has also been unable to confirm Ms. Sokolova’s current whereabouts with any local authorities due to a lack of records.

I hope to have sufficiently informed you. Please understand that at the time of writing, our resources are stretched, and we regret to inform you that we cannot further assist you on this case.

Bradley must have read the letter a hundred times before crumpling it up in frustration and jamming it into the side pocket of his duffle bag. It’s all coming down to this last-ditch attempt. Getting to Europe was actually surprisingly easy — Cyclone seemed more than pleased that Bradley had decided to follow his advice and take a desk post in Nuremberg. By the end of January 1946, Bradley was making his way back across the Atlantic.

However, getting a liberty pass was more difficult, especially a week pass for international travel. Bradley had called in about every single favor he could, signing on to stay an additional month in Germany, ultimately getting Mav to pull some strings for him. It’s May by the time he finally boards a train east, restless in his seat, looking out the window, waiting for when he will eventually see something he recognizes. Something, anything, will make all the puzzle places fall in place again and show him a path to you. 

Bradley desperately hoped that everything would fall into place when he got off the train. That he would remember. 

But in the back of the large black car that was waiting for him, zipping through the city, everything is just a blur. 

It makes him uneasy. Nervous. 

It’s like that moment of take-off; the second the wheels leave the carrier runway, there’s nothing but dark water beneath him. In that fraction of a second, his stomach drops — what am I even doing here?

Meeting his hosts does little to calm the mounting anxiety he feels. The ambassador’s residence is a grand villa surrounded by a beautiful garden overlooking the city. In the distance, the river glitters happily in the sunlight; the fruit trees are in fragrant bloom, colorful bunches of lilac in pink, blue, and purple color the city. The ambassador himself is almost unremarkable in stature as well as demeanor. Mrs. Parker appraises him with a sharp look and a too-kind smile. The daughter bats her eyelashes a little too hard for it to be genuinely demure; her perfectly sweet smile is a little too well-practiced, not a wrinkle on her pretty dress, not a hair out of place. 

Behind them stand two maids in matching dark dresses and white aprons, with blank, borderline bored looks. After exchanging pleasantries, one of the maids leads him wordlessly up the grand staircase. Red carpet on marble. Gold latches on the windows.

It all seems very… formal, considering Bradley is not here on business. But when he received his travel visa, it came with an invitation to stay. It seemed rude to decline. Now Bradley is starting to regret not doing so anyway. Something about the house and these people is making him uneasy. It’s making his head hurt like he’s even more out of place here than anywhere else in the world.

Walking into the large sunny guestroom, a fresh flower arrangement in the vase on the dresser, Bradley closes his eyes for a moment. You once said May was your favorite time in the city because you liked how everything bloomed. Breathing in deeply, trying to gather his thoughts, floral notes hit his nose. There’s something familiar in the air. 

He can smell your soap.

Bradley drops his duffle bag; it crashes on the carpeted floor. The smell, the tiniest hint that lingers, is making his stomach lurch like at take-off. God, it’s like your ghost is in the air, dancing around him, evading him every step. Bradley screws his eyes shut, balling his hands into fists. He wants to remember. 

Every route you showed him. 

Every street corner he kissed you on.

Even that goddamn small room tucked away behind the hidden servant's entrance.

Your steps echo around him, running up the stairs, coming closer and closer. Suddenly, his heart was beating so fast, and his breath was coming out, heaving, somewhere between panic and elation. Before he can pinpoint where the footsteps are coming from, they disappear. A door closes. Silence.

You are haunting him.

***

Eyes closed, blouse sleeves rolled up, cigarette dangling loosely between your lips, you’re lounging on the old, creaky wooden chair outside the kitchen entrance. The empty bucket sits at your feet. Your new red and blue plaid coat hangs from the chair. It’s quiet. The sun feels pleasant. Behind your closed lids, you see the shadows of the trees move in the breeze. Inside, you hear the cook pottering around the kitchen, whistling.

It’s such an odd day. Despite the gorgeous weather, you have that foreboding feeling, like when a storm is brewing — not a cloud in the sky, but you feel how the air pressure suddenly drops. Your forehead still stings. 

It’s ridiculous. You’re being ridiculous. Eva would have already set you straight. If not for her, your mom would have. You thought you saw Bradley in a flash, in a flicker of shadow, and your heart soared with such force that you nearly knocked yourself out, falling over to catch another glimpse of his ghost. How incredibly pathetic. 

The pit in your stomach is there again. The consuming darkness expands through your flesh and bones again. You managed to keep it at bay all this time, simply not admitting it was eating away at you. But the split second of your dream leaking into reality broke the dam.

Men like Bradley don’t wait for a girl for three years. They don’t need to. Men like Bradley sure as shit don’t settle for jumped-up little schoolgirls that dropped out of college. Why would they? And men like Bradley, you swallow heavily, have no use for a broken and burned body like yours. You have nothing to offer him.

You knew this. But it was your mistake to make, you tell yourself again. You thought you accepted that. Logically and rationally, it shouldn’t hurt like this. Your hand sneaks into your coat pocket again, the tip of your finger just brushing against the nameplate. It brings you no comfort — instead, you feel so much more aware of the pit in your stomach. 

What would Bradley say if he knew you still had it in your pocket? He would probably make fun of you and tease you for falling for him so hard, still pining despite your constant protests as if he would remember. He never gave it to you to keep. He flung it at you. You just never gave it back, and Bradley never asked for it.

You screw your eyes shut tighter for a second, exhaling deeply. It’s Sunday, your day off, and you should be enjoying yourself. Not pondering the maybes of life long passed. Moreover, you shouldn’t be at the residence today — you’re only here to drop off the flowers for the guestroom because the florist forgot to deliver them. Which you did, and then you bolted through the servant’s entrance to the back of the house.  

So why do you hear someone calling your name?

You wonder how much longer you can pretend not to hear and just bask in the sun a bit longer. The rapid footsteps approaching spell the end of your moment of quiet. Sitting up, rolling down your sleeves, and brushing the carefully styled curls back into place, framing the left side of your face.

“Annie!” 

You wince. You hate that name.

Smiling broadly, Julie comes bursting out of the house. Her red hair is like a flame. Unceremoniously, she sits herself down in the doorway, legs stretched in front of her, toeing her neat black lacquered shoes off.

Automatically, you hand her your cigarette holder and a box of matches, which she gratefully accepts.

“Don’t sit on the floor, Julie,” You say in way of greeting. “You’ll get your dress dirty.”

She ignores you, stretching languidly.

“Did you take a peek at the new house guest?” She asks instead, a devilish look on her face.

“Do I ever?” You reply, ashing your cigarette absentmindedly. You ensure everything runs smoothly behind the scenes: the rooms look beautiful, not a crinkled sheet or speck of dust, magically laundered clothes each morning, fresh flowers. But it’s not your job to serve drinks or dinner. 

It was hiding away in the shadows that once protected you. The shadows that wrapped their branches around you, through you, rooting you into place.

“He had Miss Lo on the ceiling with one look,” she continues, giddy. “This is promising to be such an entertaining week!”

“Oh please,” you close your eyes again, leaning back. “Nothing will happen. Miss Lo will simper, fawn, and complain, Mrs. Parker will loom over every step we make, and then the ambassador and his guest will probably burn a hole in the smoking room curtains again.”

Julie snorts. 

“I get her, though,” she adds thoughtfully. “Miss Lo, I mean.”

You shoot her a skeptical look.

“What, you never have a little daydream about one of those handsome officers sweeping you off your feet?”

“Me?” You gesture vaguely at your face. “Hardly,” you lie. 

“Especially you,” Julie continues, undeterred. Your mouth sets in a hard line. “You pine.”

“I don’t,” Annoyance is seeping through your voice.

“Yeah, you do. When you think no one is looking, when you’re working, it’s like your eyes glaze over. You’re pining for someone,” She’s pointing her index finger at you playfully. You roll your eyes.

“You know you could just tell me, right?” She presses, a little too eager. “You’re inviting all the gossip because you never tell us anything,”

“It’s annoying when Miss Lo does it, but it’s rude coming from you, Julie,” You cut her off sharply. Your head still hurts, and your ear feels heavy like it’s full of water. 

You could talk about Bradley. There is no reason to keep it a secret anymore — the danger has passed. Once, you were waiting for the time when your great wartime romance would only be a story lovingly recounted over too many wines. 

You could talk about what happened in those final days of the war. You were hardly the only one that came home broken in more ways than one. You thought that one day you’d look back at everything that happened, everything that you did, and feel some pride. 

But it just hurts. And that hurt is all you have left. It’s yours to suffer because you convince yourself it’s the only way you are sure everything that happened was real: the good and the bad. 

“You’re doing it again, Anya,” Julie takes a long drag from her cigarette, mercifully dropping the horrid new nickname bestowed on you by Mrs. Parker. You shoot her a long-suffering look.

“You know what they say, right?” Julie says calmly, legs stretched before her, languishing in the sun. “The best way to get over a man is to get under another one.”

You start laughing, despite yourself. You don’t know what has suddenly gotten into you. Maybe the shadows had become too cold and lonely for you to handle. 

Maybe you finally allowed yourself to break free from your stasis. 

Maybe you really stopped believing Bradley would ever come back to you. 

Maybe you are ready to admit you never truly believed it in the first place.

The music is too loud. Your head is spinning — not from the collision, but from the white wine spritz going down too quickly. Why are you in a club on Sunday night? Why is it so busy? Someone is talking to you. You can see his mouth move, shaping the words, but you cannot hear his voice. It simply disappears in the wave of dissonant sounds. Julie is dancing. You see flashes of her red hair twirl in and out of sight. 

It’s the creeping realization that you shouldn’t be here. 

The room moves in strange waves. Fingers wrap around your chin. You want to stumble back, but your back is against a wall. Were you here the whole time? Nervously, you brush your fingers through your hair, ensuring the curls framing your face's left side are still in place. Another hand brushes them away again. You wish you could melt through the wall. The puffs of breath against your skin tell you he’s whispering something in your ear. 

“Leave me alone,” You try.

You can’t hear your own words. You can’t hear the fucking words. Panic is bubbling up now. The grip on your chin is painful — you jerk your head away, throwing up your arms to create a shield between yourself and the hulking mass hovering over you. It doesn’t have the intended effect. The moment you think you’ve made an escape for yourself, he closes in on you more. 

The hand threading through your hair yanks your head back painfully. You are sure that you screamed out. But it’s like the sound disappeared into the void. Maybe you only screamed in your head. His lips crash roughly into yours. Every action elicits a reaction — whenever you pull away, he pulls you back in closer.

It’s like a switch flips in your head. For a few seconds, the surge of adrenaline sharpens your vision again—the wave of noise stills.  You stop struggling.

You know where you are.

Your wine glass is on the table, on your right-hand side. Your fingers sneak towards it, gripping the stem tightly. You have one shot at this. He is taller than you, heavier. You don’t stand a chance in a fair fight.

That’s okay. You won’t fight fair.

Shattering the bell of the glass on the side of the table shocks him enough to break off the kiss. The shock changes to wide-eyed horror when the sharp edge of the wine glass is pressed against his jugular. You use the moment to switch positions. It’s almost comical how meekly the man allows himself to get pushed against the wall.

You want to say something clever. But it’s like your tongue is paralyzed. 

This is your chance. You need to get out before people start noticing you are poised to stab someone in the neck. 

Stay in your shadow.

You are halfway down the street in the pitch dark night when you realize you are still holding the broken wine glass. The fine shards have made your fingers bleed. You stumble to a halt. The world is spinning uncomfortably again.

Why are you holding that glass? Where is your coat? Your purse?

Fuck. Fuck. 

You don’t care about the coat. You don’t care about the purse or anything in it. Everything is replaceable. 

 A broken sob escapes you. 

You care about that fucking bracelet in your pocket. It’s the one thing you can’t make yourself leave behind. You let out a scream from frustration. A window slams shut somewhere.

Why can’t you move on? Why are you allowing Bradley — fucking Rooster — who is not even fucking here, that you haven’t seen or heard from in the three years, who spent the better part of two months sweet-talking you into bed with him when he could have fucking died, who fucked with you, your head and heart so thoroughly in just six short days, and you let him, why are you still allowing him all this power over you? Why can’t you just let him go already?

You will yourself forward, but your feet won’t move. 

You’re in stasis.

Tears streaming down your face, broken wine glass in your bloodied hand, you are sure you look as unhinged as you feel. Turning around, you march back to the club.

You will get back what’s yours. 

You will get what was promised to you. 

And you’ll do it your fucking self. 

***

Looking at the picture he tore from Life, Bradley tries to determine if the church spires in the background are the same ones he’s looking at now. Has he been here before? Did you ever take him through this part of the city? It’s frustrating how little he seems to remember and how hard it is to recall the things he was so sure were branded onto his brain.

That place, the villa, was messing with his head. Something there was putting him on edge like he had to be on the lookout the whole time. It was almost like he was expecting to turn a corner, open a door, walk into any room, and find you there. He barely made it through the one night there before the anxiety became too overwhelming, and he packed his bag and checked into a hotel. 

It settled some of his anxiety, but it didn’t help Bradley remember anything. Instead, he snaps a picture of the church. He got a new camera so he can play the part of tourist fully, but he mostly hopes someday, somehow, something will click in his brain again, and he’ll find his way to you. As of today, he has five days to find you in this maze of a city before he needs to get back to Germany and finish his assignment there. After that, there is no telling how long it will be before Bradley gets another chance to come to Europe.

He has to find you.

“Rooster!”

Alarmed, Bradley turns around, stuffing the picture back into his wallet. He’s not sure if he should be relieved or annoyed at the person calling his name. 

“Bradley Bradshaw, as I live and breathe,” Jake Seresin saunters to Bradley, grinning widely. Bradley closes his eyes for a moment, cursing. Of all the people in this city, he had to run into Bagman. A Bagman that looks and smells like he just rolled out of a bar, no less, his RAF uniform jacket unbuttoned, tie loose, cover askew. 

“What on earth are you doing here?” Jake asks, attempting to fix his hair by running his hand through it several times, just making it stick out worse. “Did you miss me so much you came to see me on my home turf?” He adds arrogantly, still smiling like the devil.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Seresin,” Bradley retorts flatly. “I didn’t come to see you, and right now, I’m not sure I want to be seen with you,”

“You’re such a stick in the mud, lieutenant,” Jake drawls sarcastically.

“It’s captain,” It shouldn’t feel so good to Bradley to lord his rank over Hangman, who is still a lieutenant. But of course, Hangman only responds with a deliberately poorly executed salute to Bradley. 

“I know a good watering hole near here,” Jake says offhandedly as he searches his pockets, only to pull out an empty carton of cigarettes, crush it, and stuff it back in his pocket — if it’s supposed to be an invitation, it sure as hell doesn’t sound like one. “You can buy me a drink and tell me what you’re doing here.” 

“It’s 11 in the morning, Hangman,”

“When in Rome and all that,” He waves Bradley’s protests away. 

Bradley hates the idea. Absolutely hates it. But what if. What if Bagman, of all people, could actually help him? 

“Fine,” Bradley tries to sound indifferent. “I’ll buy you a drink, but you have to help me with something,”

The broad smile on Jake’s face at the mention of Bradley needing his help has Bradley convinced that this is all one big mistake. 

Bradley still thinks Jake is arrogant and annoying at best, but he begrudgingly appreciates him tagging along. Jake seems to be at least somewhat genuinely interested in helping him, and he cleans up quite well. Bradley needs a guide and someone who speaks the language, even when that guide is more interested in catching the eye of as many girls as possible in his flashy uniform, adorned with medals for bravery and the highest orders of service. It’s not that Jake didn’t fairly deserve those—Bradley still thinks he’s an absolute madman, both in the air and on the ground. A madman with his heart in the right place, however.

And he can hardly blame Jake for using his uniform to charm the local ladies—Bradley has done the exact same many times. But he’s only looking for one lady to charm again.

“I’m sure even you thought of this before, but are you sure you have her real name?” Jake asks conversationally as they walk across the bridge over the Vltava. 

He has four days to find you. Yesterday Jake was of relatively little actual help, and somewhere, it pains Bradley that the first and only person that he has spoken to about you, is Jake fucking Seresin. Bradley couldn’t tell Jake all the details, but he put together the details. He thinks that by now he has seen every part of the city in the last two days, but he still hasn’t found you.

“I know her first name is Anna—everyone consistently referred to her as Anya, though,” Bradley replies, looking around. A little tug in his heart. Carefully, he thinks he sees something familiar when you connect the first two pieces of a puzzle.  Bradley remembers the bridge, with the golden ornamented columns at either end. He remembers your teasing smile as you helped him practice the pronunciation.  He walked past it with you so many times, the national theater behind them.

“Yeah, people do that here.” Jake shrugs. “It’s a common nickname to a very common first name, though.”

“As for her last name—I know for a fact, her initials are A.S.” Bradley continues. “She gave me her handkerchief with her initials embroidered on it and a little bird. Sokol, for falcon.”

“Sure, her last would be Sokolova.” Jake interjects, bored. “But,” he continues, lighting a cigarette. “Have you considered that, even if her initials are A.S., she could have a different first name? Alzhbyeta, Alitse, Anastasia, Alena—I mean, if I had to pick a cover name, I would probably pick the most bog-standard first name in the whole country, too.” 

Bradley knows Jake is inferring it will be next to impossible to find you. They walk along the colorful buildings along the water—Bradley feels like he’s walked this route a million times in his dreams, and the moment he waited for is finally here. He knows exactly where to go without being able to explain which turn to take.

“I grew up near here.” Jake suddenly pipes up as he walks next to Bradley, looking around the stately buildings. “My mother still lives around here,”

“Anya said she grew up here too.” Bradley’s heart is beating loudly. Maybe asking Hangman for help was a good idea after all. “Do you think there’s a chance you might have known her?”

Jake shrugs, eyeing the girls walking down the opposite side of the street. Bradley describes what you look like; you were in your sophomore year in university in 1939.

“She could be my age,” Jake admits flatly. “But there were at least five girls named Anna that could roughly fit your description in my cohort in high school—if she even went to the same school as I did. And I don’t remember what they went to college for.” 

Jake is not the most encouraging companion, but Bradley’s heart still skips a beat as he sees the familiar street. It’s all slotting into place now. The row of yellow, white, pink, and green. The statues look down at the entrance. He speeds up his pace, Jake jogging behind him.

Bradley quickly scans the names next to the doorbells before moving on to the next one, Jake hot on his tail. 

“Bradshaw, listen.” Jake puts a hand on his shoulder, face concerned. It’s strange to see him so serious suddenly. “I grew up in the next building over,” He gestures at the yellow building at the end of the block. “I don’t remember a family called Sokol living in one of these buildings.” 

“Fuck.” Bradley mumbles as he pulls out your handkerchief from the inner pocket of his jacket. He traces the stitching of your initials. Was it really all a ruse? Did you never truly believe he’d come back for you? Were you just playing out a role in the end?

Jake glances down before clearing his throat awkwardly. “Can I see that?”

Bradley hands it to him wordlessly, tucking his hands in his pockets. Did he not tell you enough times? Did you forget or simply stop believing? Did you never believe him in the first place, and were you only happy to dream with him? The fact that he had spun so many girls so many tales over the years this might finally be his comeuppance. 

All the dark thoughts he had tried to keep at bay have broken through. He would be crazy not to consider that you might not have gotten married in the meantime or still living in the same place. You were never going to wait for him. Why would you? He knew he was right when he saw your real smile, and you could see everyone wrapped around your little finger, and you did the same thing so effortlessly with him. And he’s more and more sure you could have a devoted husband now, maybe a baby. And you’re happy. Without him.

You never told him your last name. You really didn’t mean for him to find you after the war. 

“Bradshaw, I cannot believe I have to tell you this.” Jake sounds like he’s holding in laughter, breaking Bradley out of his reverie and thrusting the neatly folded fabric back into his line of vision. “This,” He jabs at the embroidered corner. “Is not a fucking S with a little bird,” He bursts out laughing.

“Wai- what?” Bradley forcefully grabs the handkerchief, looking at it intently, like it now contains some new information.

“Did she tell you it was an S with a little bird?” Jake asks, barely able to contain himself.

“No, no…” Bradley is sunk in thought. “I just… I just thought Anya was awful at embroidering.” He mumbles.

Jake absolutely loses it at that, doubling over in laughter. An old lady looks out of her opened window, staring both men down judgmentally. When Jake finally stops laughing, he tries to catch his breath to explain how this could be funny.

“So, it’s not an S,” Bradley asks impatiently. “Then what — Hangman, get a grip! — What is it?” 

“It’s a Sh,” He replies simply, rubbing his face and giggling. “It’s a completely different letter.” 

Bradley stands rooted to the ground, speechless, as Jake keeps laughing.

“You know what would be even more hilarious?” Jake is leaning his forearm against the building, hand covering his eyes with his hand as his shoulder shakes from laughing. “If this whole time, you had been actually talking about Anna Shafrankova, my neighbor who tutored me in high school.”

“They say it’s a small world,” He takes a deep breath, wiping the tears from his eyes. “But man, that would actually be really weird.”

“Jesus fucking Christ…” Bradley throws himself against the wall, closing his eyes. He feels the sun shine warmly on his face. The gears in his head turn, overheating. He tries to desperately remember every bit of information you shared with him, sometimes offhandedly. As a child, you were scared of ghosts and explored the passageways between buildings with other neighborhood kids. Jake must have been one of them. The arrogant classmate who went to flight school and then disappeared. Was that also Jake?

“Was she scared of ghosts?” Bradley ventures carefully. Suddenly, Jake’s laughter evaporates, and he’s looking at Bradley with astonishment. “When exploring the buildings, as kids, she told me she was scared of the ghosts haunting the servant stairwell,”

“What the…” The look on Jake’s face is confirmation enough. Bradley is sure of it. They are talking about the same person: you. This means, embarrassingly, that Bradley now actually knows less about you than he thought. Those identity papers had been fake. 

“Was her birthday on Christmas?” 

Jake actually looks confused for a moment. “No,” He ventures carefully. “I’m pretty sure it was sometime in summer — we used to go swimming in the reservoir lake and build camp fires for her birthday, so definitely not in winter.” 

Those papers had been very fake, indeed. It’s both a relief and a setback. 

“Come on, let’s see if old Shafrankova is home,” Jake announces, clapping Bradley on his back. “After that, you can buy me a drink or ten, and I want an invitation to the wedding.” 

Bradley follows Jake in a daze to the green house – you always took him out of another exit, so Bradley never knew which building you lived in. Or which apartment for that matter?

“There’s a different name on 2B now.” Jake comments. “But maybe she left a forwarding address.”

Jake is playing up his natural charm to the lady of the house, who is blushing furiously, answering his questions. Bradley looks around. You never talked much about your home or family. The apartment is light and spacious, with high ceilings and hardwood floors. It’s ornately furnished. What was it like to grow up here? You always seemed humble, never complaining about the conditions you found yourself in, from sleeping on the floor to eating old dry bread. But to live here, surely your family must have been well off, solidly middle-class.

You were well-educated; that should probably have been a hint of your background. But Bradley thought you were just determined. Because you had proven time and time again in the short time he knew you that you had determination and discipline in spades.

“Come on, let’s go.” Jake motions him out, and the lady of the house waves at them with a dreamy look in her eye.

“What did you learn?” Bradley can’t contain his curiosity.

“She didn’t leave a forwarding address,” Jake grumbles. “The lady said Shafrankova sold everything and disappeared.”

Jake hesitates suddenly, eyeing Bradley wearily.

“She said that she only saw Shafrankova once.” He says, choosing his words carefully. “She said she looked… scarred.”

Bradley stops mid-descended on the stairs.

“Scarred, how?” He asks sharply. The vision from his dream, blood gushing from your head, the smell of burning flesh, your face contorted in a voiceless scream, flashes through his head.

Jake shrugs. “She didn’t elaborate. She only said it was a waste of such a lovely face.”

Bradley feels the blood drain from his face. Someone hurt you. Someone came after you. His mind keeps flashing back to when he looked out the train window. What if he wasn’t misremembering? What if it was really someone dragging you off the platform by force? What if you had been arrested? Locked up?

What if that dream really had been more than just a dream?

He tries to find solace in the idea that you aren’t dead. That picture in Life, with his bracelet, must have been you, and if the new tenant saw you, you must have survived the uprising. But you got hurt. And he’s getting the sinking feeling it’s because of him.

“I need to find her.” He utters, panicked.

“That’s the idea,” Jake replies in a bored tone again. “But let’s figure out a plan first. I know a good bar near.”

Dragging his feet, Bradley follows Jake down the street. All the progress they made today was for naught in the end. He is no closer to actually finding you; he only knows where you are not. Time is ticking, and tomorrow, he needs to spend the whole evening as a dinner guest of the ambassador.

“Hey, cheer up,” Hangman turns to look at Bradley with that exact shit-eating grin that never spells anything good out of his mouth. “If you don’t find her by Saturday, I’ll happily introduce you to another Anna,”

***

Mrs. Parker likes to see effort over results. Even though the windows in the smoking room are squeaky clean — the room hadn’t been used since it was cleaned just a week prior — she won’t be satisfied until she has seen you scrub everything and sweat on your brow. She is always particular, but now she is doing it to punish you.

A searing headache and repeated nightmares that kept you bedbound until yesterday. You couldn’t sleep, you couldn’t stay awake. You just lay there, tears streaming down your face. 

And from what you had heard, the houseguest suddenly left without a real explanation. It’s not your fault, but Mrs. Parker needs to get rid of her frustration somewhere.

You hate washing windows. You hate it even more when someone hovers over you. But dinner is in an hour and a half, and Mrs. Parker is getting nervous. You don’t bother to ask if important guests are coming; they are all important. Decorated, distinguished, loud, and drunk.

The big windows of the smoking room on the second floor open outward into the beautiful garden of the villa on the hill, the city sprawling below it. The sun is low, and the blue sky slowly colors pink and orange. You wish you could take a moment to enjoy it rather than scrubbing nonexistent dirt from the window sill and listening to Mrs. Parker going through what appears to be a nervous breakdown as she zooms through the room.

“Annie, make sure that there is fresh ice here before dinner ends,”

“Yes, ma’am,” You reply lightly.

“Annie, this tablecloth has a gray sheen; please replace it and rewash it.”

“Yes, ma’am,” You reply dutifully as you strain to reach the top of the window with your cleaning cloth.

“Annie, Annie, these flowers look like they are wilting. Are you sure they are fresh?”

You look over your shoulder at the vase Mrs. Parker is holding. Wilting is a strong word.

“I’ll replace them with fresh cuts before them men arrive after dinner, ma’am,” You assure her, although you doubt they will notice the difference or care.

“Oh, Annie, I need to go check on dinner,” Mrs. Parker dramatizes. She grasps you by the shoulder as you stand by the open window, the long sleeves of your dark work dress awkwardly rolled up, sweat prickling on your forehead, and sopping cloth in your hand, slowly dripping onto the hardwood floor. “You’re the only one I can trust,” She implores you. “You’ll help me, won’t you?”

She’s asking you like she’s not paying you to do this.

“Of course,” You smile politely. “Don’t worry about it, ma’am.” 

You sigh deeply when you hear the door click close, returning to the open window. You plop the rag back into the metal bucket on the window sill, wiping your hands on your apron as you look out over the garden. The blooming colors, the sweet smells — it’s really at its most beautiful right now. The apple tree is so full of blossoms it’s almost completely white. The rose bushes have come in beautifully again in pink, red, and yellow. The lavender is abundant.

When you hear the high-pitched giggle, you step back from the window, averting your gaze. Miss Lo is strolling through the garden with tonight’s guest, showing him the lush surroundings and stunning view. You busy yourself with changing the allegedly grayish tablecloth and taking the perfectly fine flowers out of the vase. 

You can hear Miss Lo’s melodic voice, although you cannot make out any words. Envy is searing through you like a red-hot iron. Today, you just can’t take it. Resolutely, you march back to the window, expressly not looking at the two figures slowly walking down the garden path in the sunset. As you reach the window latch, you plant your left hand on the window sill to keep yourself stead.

The windows are so unnecessarily large you have to strain to reach far enough — your fingertips barely touch the handle. As you put more weight on your left arm, leaning forward, you feel the pain building in your shoulder.

Just a little further.

Finally, you get a grip on the handle, but it’s like a bomb bursts in your left shoulder. Your elbow buckles from the sudden wave of pain, colliding with the metal bucket that you stupidly left on the window sill. Time almost slows to a crawl as you grab your left arm, pressing it against your chest to stop it from violently shaking, and you watch in partial fascination, partial horror as the metal bucket is no longer standing on the window sill but rather tortuously slowly is sailing down to the patio. 

You scrunch up your face and hold your breath in preparation for the screech and clang of the metal against the stone, still standing in the window, looking down at the inevitable chaos below you. 

The impact echoes, drawing out your mortification. You close your eyes in frustration.

The high-pitched girlish scream is several orders of magnitude louder than the bucket hitting the stone patio.

Shit. Fucking shit. Miss Lo.

Hesitantly, you open your eyes, still frozen in the open window. You don’t see the bucket and the soapy water sloshed over the stones. You don’t see Miss Lo in her evening dress and glittering jewelry, her face etched in horror, clinging to her companion. Everything has disappeared, melting away in the background.

Because on the garden path leading up to the house, in a resplendent white Navy uniform, looking right at you, is Bradley.

You can’t breathe. You can’t think. Bradley pulls his arm away from Miss Lo, shaking her off almost rudely. He’s still staring at you like he’s just seen a ghost. As he takes one step forward, you take a step back. With one last look, you start running. 

In the war, you left small parts of yourself scattered. A version, a part of you, stayed on that square in front of the university between the bodies of your classmates. Another part of you broke off in that mountain cabin when you first aimed a gun at another person. Bradley chipped off and pocketed so many bits of you, and oh, how gladly you let him. Finding Eva’s murdered body in the stairwell of your apartment cracked deep into your soul. When you shot Jan, you didn’t feel anything; you were already so broken, but more bits of the person that you once were died there that day. The explosions, the bodies, the blood, the shots—they cling to the wreckage of your former self.

As you stand at the top of the stairs, tugging your sleeve down out of habit, you’ve never been more acutely aware of how incomplete you truly are. There is nothing but debris left of the girl Bradley met that day in that barn. You are surprised he even recognizes you.

He is looking up at you in wonder from the bottom of the stairs. Hurriedly, clumsily, he grabs his cover off his head, holding it in his hands almost nervously, unsure what to do next. The black pit in your stomach is still there — you are so afraid that the look of wonder will disappear forever when he sees you up close. Despite your heart beating as much in fear as in excitement, your feet start moving down the stairs of their own accord, going faster and faster. Every broken piece of you rattles like broken china with every step, the sound becoming deafening the closer you get. 

Bradley is running up the stairs, taking two steps at a time. His brain is going a mile a minute: you look exactly like he remembers, but also different. Still beautiful, so much more beautiful than in his memories. Your hair is different than he remembers— longer for sure, but he could swear you used to wear it parted to the right rather than the left. The long-sleeved, high-collared, dark charcoal dress looks severe on you in the light summer weather.

You almost crash into him as you race down the stairs. You grab onto his uniform jacket to steady yourself, your face automatically moving to his, only just stopping yourself short. His scars have faded, although you can still see the raised ridges on his skin. There is no way he cannot see yours now. His arm is wrapped around your waist, holding you flush against him. His warm hazel eyes roam over your face, unreadable. You hesitate, averting your gaze. 

Maybe you’ve changed too much. Maybe there’s really nothing left of the person Bradley once knew. He can probably see that now. Maybe this Bradley is not the one you remember anymore. His fingers graze the damaged skin along your hairline. Swallowing dryly, you look up at him.

He’s smirking at you, eyes twinkling. 

How you hate that cocky smile. How you’ve missed it. Seeing it again, feeling him again, is so overwhelming you feel your poor heart might give out. You tighten your grip on him, pulling yourself closer, as if you’re scared he’s going to turn to smoke in your arms, or, worse, push you away.

But Bradley moves his face closer to you, his mouth only a fraction away from yours. You can feel his warm breath on your face. You can feel his heartbeat under your fingers.

“Do it, you coward,” He whispers.

He sees the flash of anger in your eyes. How dare he use your own words against you? But it has the intended effect. It’s all you need to hear. You kiss him, arms wrapping around his neck, barely giving him a moment to recover from your ferocity, slanting your mouth against his, begging him to let you deepen the kiss. Bradley allows you without hesitation, easily catching your weight as you fall into him. Your body still fits so perfectly against his.

This is what it should have felt like, Bradley realizes. Coming home, finally closing the long chapter of war. He had been chasing this feeling: the benevolent calm, the warm intimacy.

Home is where the heart is, and that was always in your arms. 

note | good things come to those who wait. Also, this chapter has some of the earliest scenes that I actually wrote over a year ago, and those were the exact things that kept me awake the whole night when I came up with this story. Which is more than a year ago, actually. God, I hope the payoff is really going to be worth it hahahaha. Thanks for sticking by me, still. There was actually a full chapter of material before this, titled Blue Skies. But I cut a lot of stuff out to start moving the story a bit faster, mostly because I really want to write this finally!

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[malissasjournal]

Lying with my head on your chest, listening to your heartbeat, everything felt perfect. I looked up at you, and when you smiled, I couldn’t help but blush. The moment was so innocent and pure, just two teenagers in love. We never kissed, but our moments together were so intimate that they felt better than any kiss could. The way you embraced me in your arms made me feel small, like I was being protected by you. When you looked at me with so much love, I forgot what I was even trying to say. Your gaze wasn’t intense, but it made me feel so many things all at once.

One of my favorite moments was when I had my first drink ever. I was so talkative, and you found it funny since I was usually very shy around you. We were sitting by the side of the road; it was dark and silent, just us and the stars shining up in the sky. You lit up your joint—at the time, your girlfriend hated when you smoked, but you didn’t care. We didn’t talk much; we were just enjoying each other’s company. I looked at you while you inhaled and exhaled the smoke each time. You looked so good with your long, waist-length curly brown hair, and your freckles were darker since it was summer. You smiled at me when you noticed I was staring. You found it funny, but I didn’t care—the only thing I could see was your big smile and the gap between your teeth that you were insecure about, but to me, it was beautiful.

How I wish I could go back in time and experience all of that again. But now I’m 18, and you’re 20. I check your Instagram once in a while, and I see you’re dating a woman eight years older than you. She looks... interesting, if that’s the nicest way to say not very good-looking. She has two missing teeth in the front, and I can’t help but wonder what you saw in her.

I noticed you look unhealthy in every picture. I can see your bones peeking out from under your skin. You never ate much—not because of any disorder, but because you just didn’t enjoy eating. I suspect your addiction has worsened, and that’s probably the reason for your weight loss. You also got braces to close the gap in your teeth, and you cut your beautiful hair—now it’s super short, and you don’t embrace your curls anymore. You’ve got tattoos now, one on your neck and a full sleeve on your left arm .

We’ve both changed so much. Now we’re adults, but to me, you’ll always be 17. You’ll always be my first love, the girl I would’ve given up everything for. And I’ll always remember you as the reason for my life being a mess…

[slytherheign]

WORTH IT ALL | tasm!peter parker

PART 5/5 OF WORTH: THE SERIES.

PAIRING: tasm!peter parker x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 12.9k

SUMMARY: the question of worth will be answered as the battle continues and the only thing you and peter need to do is survive.

WARNINGS: cursing/swearing, depression, grieving, blood, multiple deaths, heavy traumas, murder, descriptions of major injuries, extreme violence, and dismembered body parts. let me know if i missed any warnings. [⚠︎︎RATING: 17+]

AUTHOR’S NOTE: if you don’t have a strong stomach for extreme violence, i suggest you don’t read this. but if you still want to know what happens, please skip the violent parts. i think you’ll feel and know when the said scenes start as i wrote it in a way where it builds up and the scenes become more and more violent. remember that you are responsible for your own media consumption.

DESTINATION: Angst Avenue | GO TO SERIES MASTERLIST or GO BACK TO THE STATION.

Peter was proven right yet again.

Mac was the original Scorpion, the one who attacked the neighborhood but his twin Mitch got ahold of the news, stole the formula, and manipulated it. There were two Scorpions. One in New York, right in front of him. And one in Japan, living in the same apartment building as you.

Anger and worry flowed through his veins. He wanted to go after you so badly, but he knew that leaving Mac alone would be a poor decision. The glass holding Scorpion captive was strong, but Peter did not trust it enough. With Mac’s enhanced strength, he knew that he would be able to break through the glass at any moment. 

The wisest decision would be to let Charlene and Carlos deal with Mitch. And as for him, he needed to stay and deal with Mac.

So he did.

It didn’t matter if you couldn’t feel your legs anymore, you just kept running as if your life depended on it. Because it did.

You only stopped when you reached a bus station. Going inside the vehicle, you made a plan of going straight to the airport. You would wait there until your flight, which was luckily scheduled a few hours from now.

As you reached the airport, you prayed that Mitch wouldn’t find you there. But in the meantime, you needed to blend in with people. You made your way towards the bathroom, heading straight to the mirror to look over the state of yourself. Your jacket covered the layers of sweat along your body. Your hair was in a ponytail but many strands managed to get out when you were running. You didn’t look like a mess, but you definitely didn’t look decent. You were surprised the guards even let you in this place, they probably assumed your current state was a result of you running late to your scheduled flight.

You went inside a cubicle, putting down the toilet lid so you can rest your bag on top. Escaping that vile apartment was your priority so you didn’t even bother bringing all your things, only the essential ones that can fit in a bag. Opening your bag, you pulled out a white sweatshirt and changed your sweaty clothes. It wasn’t much as you’d prefer to take a shower instead, but it did do the job so you weren’t complaining. When you exited the cubicle, you went back to the mirror to fix your face and hair. Just as you were securing your ponytail, you heard a couple arguing outside. 

“You need to go fast, we can’t waste too much time,” the man said. He seemed frantic and almost out of breath.

“Do you think I don’t know that? What do you want me to do? Just pee myself?” the woman replied. She seemed highly stressed.

“Okay–you know I didn’t say that. Charlene, that’s not what I said at all. Come on,” he tried to reduce the tension of their conversation.

The woman, who you now know was named Charlene, let out a deep breath. “I know, I’m sorry… everything is just too much right now,” she sighed again. “I’ll just make it quick.”

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but hey, your curiosity got the best of you. And besides, they weren’t exactly trying to keep their conversation a secret as they conversed quite loudly. You heard the door open as Charlene went in. You looked at her out of concern and curiosity just to check if she was okay because she sounded anxious before. She didn’t seem to notice you as she went straight inside a cubicle without throwing you a glance. You decided to wait for her just to check once again if she was fine. 

Minutes later, Charlene left the cubicle and you didn’t hesitate to talk to her. Inching closer, you gently touched her arm before she could even get out of the bathroom. “Miss, are you alright?” you asked.

Charlene smiled, although her face still showed a glimpse of annoyance. Her eyes were still glued to the door, ready to leave at any moment. “Oh, thanks but I’m–” she started, but her smile faded and her eyes widened when she finally looked at you. “Holy shit,” she gripped your arms with slight roughness, seemingly shocked at your presence and scared that you would get away. You stared at her confused as you repeated your question. “Is everything okay?”

“No–yes. Yes!” she replied. You smiled at her response, wiggling out of her grip to start leaving the room yourself. She wouldn’t budge. “Wait! Don’t leave. I’m Charlene. NYPD,” she showed her ID. Your eyebrows furrowed, but your face slightly lit up in the presence of another person from New York City. You didn’t know why she didn’t want you to leave, though.

“You’re Y/N, right? Y/N L/N?” she asked and you nodded skeptically. “Yes… why?” you asked when suddenly your overthinking nature started creeping up again. “Shit. Did I do something? D-did I commit a crime? Am I wanted?!” you screamed in a whisper.

Charlene let you go eventually, chuckling at your reaction. “No. It’s a–shit,” she laughed again but you noticed there was relief behind it. “We were looking for you, Y/N.” 

“But why?” you asked again. “Scorpion,” she only said one word but you understood. “You’re not safe here. You need to go back to New York. We’re taking you back,” she explained.  “Okay. I’ll go with you,” you said. You knew you probably shouldn’t trust her so easily, but you were desperate to escape this country. It was only a matter of time until Mitch would find you here. And besides, she was an officer, or at least that’s what she claimed to be. 

“Can I ask you a question?” you started gathering your things as she fixed herself in the mirror. “Sure,” she replied. “How do you know me? and how did you know I’m in this country?” you questioned.

“Pe–” she started to say, but then she remembered that Peter Parker was dead for you. “Spider-Man informed us about you. He couldn’t go here and rescue you himself because he was dealing with the other Scorpion back in New York.”

You froze at her answer. “What do you mean other Scorpion in New York? There are two?!” 

“Yes,” she replied as if it was such a simple thing. Working with Spider-Man definitely got her used to dealing with unusual things. She noticed your frozen expression. “I’ll explain more when we get out of here,” she assured you. 

Charlene came out of the door first, with an annoyed Carlos waiting for her. “How in the world was that quick?” he complained. “Relax,” Charlene teased, a knowing smile creeping up on her lips. “How could you smile knowing–” he started to say before Charlene interrupted him. “I found her.” 

You stepped out of the door, waving at the man. “Hi, I’m Y/N,” you held your hand out for him to shake. “I know,” he shook your hand. “Carlos,” he replied. He let out a sigh of relief and looked at Charlene. “What a coincidence. You’re lucky,” he told her and she agreed.

“We still have an hour left before the next flight to New York,” you informed them, showing your ticket. They shook their heads. “You don’t need that anymore. Come with us,” Carlos said and you followed.

“You have a private helicopter?!” you almost screamed as they led you up the stairs. “It’s not ours,” Carlos replied. “Then who owns it?” you questioned. “James Jonah Jameson. The pilot is his friend too.”

“The anchor from the Daily Bugle?” you asked while the three of you found a seat to sit on.

“Yup. We’re friends with him,” Carlos replied. “We’re great friends with him,” Charlene laughed. “Seriously,” she stopped laughing. “Who owns this helicopter is not important. What’s important is that we found you, and we’re going back to New York, we’re gonna get you somewhere safe before we go and help Spider-Man again with these Scorpions.”

“I can help too,” you offered but Charlene instantly held a hand up before you could continue. “Oh no no no. We are under strict instructions to keep you safe and that’s what we're gonna do.” 

“But–”

“No,” they said in unison and you didn’t push any further. They explained the whole situation to you before you fell asleep with the heavy weight of knowing how dangerous the whole thing was to everyone, but most of all to Spider-Man and you.

Exhaustion was slowly eating Peter up as he stared at Mac Gargan through the glass. Many hours had passed, it has probably been a day or two since Charlene and Carlos left New York to come after you. He had instructed them to fly to Japan as soon as possible, and when the couple discovered Jameson’s private helicopter, he made Jameson call his pilot to fly it. With the amount of time that had passed, he hoped that you were already with them and were already on the way back here. 

He wished he could call Charlene and ask about you, but his phone was still missing until now. He thought that he should probably find it, but could he leave Mac alone and expect nothing would happen? No. He was smarter than that. 

The grumbling of his stomach interrupted his thoughts. Shit. He hasn’t eaten since his friends left. For all he knew, he hasn’t drank water as well. All he did was pretty much stare at Mac as he sat on a sturdy chair in front of the glass. All the while his head thought of ways to end this mess. He just wanted all of this to end. He imagined how it would be if the Scorpions did not exist. Peter Parker would still be alive and still be with you. He probably would’ve confessed his feelings already and if you felt the same, you probably were already together.

Someone behind him cleared their throat, interrupting yet again his train of thought. He turned around to face Jameson, who actually turned out to be quite friendly in the time he was spending in his basement. Jameson held a water bottle and a box of Chinese takeout, offering them to Peter knowing the boy hadn’t eaten for a long time. As it turned out, letting Jameson go was one of the best decisions he ever made. He let him go some time ago, deciding that watching Mac would be much easier than watching both Mac and Jameson. Besides, he knew people at the Daily Bugle would be suspicious without their anchor present for days. He wasn’t worried he’d escape or reveal his identity to the authorities, Peter knew his knowledge about Jameson and his illegal schemes was more than enough for Jameson to give his loyalty to him. Weirdly enough, the entire situation made Peter and Jameson sort out their differences and get along with each other.

Peter accepted the food and water with a big smile when an idea presented itself in his head. “Can you guard Mac for a while?” he asked. Jameson was obviously hesitant, but Peter managed to convince him eventually. He told him he would leave his house after he was done with his meal, go on his way to the station which was the last place he hasn’t checked yet for his missing phone, and return immediately. “It won’t take long,” he assured.

And so after his meal, Peter finally left the suffocating basement after staying there for more than a day. He entered the station with a smile, thinking of a way to get to Charlene’s desk without getting reprimanded by the officers. Sure, he could just don his suit and enter as Spider-Man, but it would make the questions about the case start flooding in—questions that he had no energy to answer at the moment.

An old female officer recognized Peter the moment he came from the door. “Hey, are you Peter Parker?” she questioned and he nodded. “Sorry, kid. Charlene’s not here.”

“How do you know I’m here for her?”

“Oh, she told me about you, even described you. That's why I recognized it was you when you entered here.”

Now, why would Charlene talk about him to other people? What else did she talk about? Did she talk about Spider-Man and him being one and the same? She couldn’t be a traitor. No, he trusted her way too much.

“Are you okay?” she asked, noticing his frowned expression. Peter nodded. “What did she tell you about me?”

There was a glint of sympathy in the officer’s expression that Peter couldn’t understand what for. She guided them both to a waiting area where they could sit down. “Well, she told me how you reminded her of her brother. Her brother, Charles, died because of a car crash. She hasn’t been the same when he died, she was always composed to herself, and she wouldn’t talk to anyone except her husband unless it was necessary. But then she started getting all lively again, and when I asked her why, she told me about you. She said that ever since she met you, you filled a hole that her brother left in her heart and made her complete for once.”

Peter didn’t know what to say. But at that moment, he finally understood why Charlene never questioned his decisions and why she easily supported and helped him in whatever the situation was. “She cares a lot about you, so you best be careful when you’re driving. Always check the car,” the officer continued.

“Always check the car…” he repeated in his head. 

The car. Shit.

“Oh! I’ve probably talked too much. I should go. Do you need anything?”

Peter shook his head, remembering now where he left his phone. It wasn’t in the station. It was in Charlene’s car. He put it in the compartment on the way home after they had a tiring night surveying the Mega Grand.

He had never entered a car so swiftly up until now. His heart was beating so loud he could hear its rhythm as he put his hand in the compartment and tried to find his phone.

He found it.

You landed at Jameson’s helipad with relief. You were away from Mitch but you knew that you still weren’t safe. Charlene guided you straight to the parking lot so she could get her car and take you away from this place.

You had no idea how dangerous this place was at the moment and Charlene made sure to get you out of the area immediately. As soon as you were out of the house, Charlene noticed that her car was missing. Peter probably used it, she thought.

“Let’s use mine,” Carlos offered. And so, the three of you went inside the car and drove off while the pilot of the helicopter you borrowed left the place on his own.

“Can we go to my house?” you requested. “With all of these things happening, I think I can only feel comfortable when I’m in there.”

“Okay. We’ll be with you anyway.”

“Thank you,” you smiled before telling them the directions.

The silence was the only thing that surrounded the house the moment the three of you entered it. You were all in the living room, sitting on the sofas while the television played softly in the background. None of you were even paying attention to the news, you just opened it to cope with the tension and silence that was eating you. Carlos was staring at the floor, Charlene was playing with her fingers, and you were tapping your foot anxiously on the hardwood floor.

No one knew how much time had passed.

No one knew what was happening to Peter.

No one knew what was going on outside.

But you all knew that you were all scared.

Peter held his phone close to his chest, gripping it tight as he was scared of losing it again. This wasn’t just a normal object he could replace anytime. It was his phone which had your number and the countless conversations he had with you. To say that he was relieved was an understatement.

The battery was dead as expected but luckily Charlene had a charger in the car he could use. He drove back to Jameson’s as he waited impatiently for the phone to turn on. As soon as he saw the lock screen, he was immediately met with numerous notifications from you. God, how much time had even passed since he heard your voice or last saw your face as Peter Parker?

Keeping his eyes on the road while glancing at his phone every now and then, he debated on whether to open the messages right now or wait until he was parked at Jameson’s house safely. Upon realizing he was already close to his destination, he decided to open them while driving instead.

Hey, Pete.

God, I haven’t texted you for so long.

I just wanted to let you know that I’m leaving the city.

He knew these texts were from before you left the city after he told you that he died. He also noticed your missed calls. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he realized that you still continued to talk to him even after knowing he was gone.

But don’t worry, I’m still going to visit you and the house. Oh and speaking of the house, your things are there too. I figured you wouldn’t want them to stay at the old apartment (they might throw it away haha).

The first tear fell as he chuckled. Smiling afterwards with pain ringing in his chest. You truly were the kindest and most precious person to ever step foot on this earth. He wished he could hold you again. But he knew he couldn’t. This was for you. To protect you. He sent Charlene and Carlos to get you and keep you safe. He swore to himself that after all of this mess was done, he would stop talking to you anymore.

I’m sorry, Peter.

For leaving.

It hurt him to know that you were apologizing for simply leaving and trying to move on. And now, just as he realized he sent people to get you back in the city again, he hated himself even more for putting you in harm and hurting you over and over again.

I miss you so much, Pete.

He missed you too. So fucking much. He missed the smell of your perfume, the touch of your hand, the warmth you always brought when you entered the room—everything. He missed everything about you.

I love you.

Time stopped all of a sudden. Even his eyes, wet from tears, stopped blinking. His grip on the wheel became tighter. You loved him just as he loved you and those words were the confirmation he needed. His past decisions flashed in his memory and those three words coming from you clouded his mind.

Was this the life he would live until the end of his days?

To love someone and let that someone go over and over again to keep them safe?

He remembered Gwen, how she died for him, and how her eyes told him that it wasn’t his fault. Even in her last breath, Gwen chose to fight for him.

He remembered you, how you reacted when he told you that Peter Parker died. You didn’t believe him initially, you demanded proof and accused Spider-Man of lying. You also chose to fight for him.

He was a coward, always choosing to build up a wall and shutting people out every time instead of telling them the truth and fighting the challenges of life together.

It was his turn to fight for himself.

He didn’t want to be lonely anymore.

He was aware of the danger he would bring into your life. And maybe what he was about to do was selfish. But if it was then…

He would be selfish just this once.

Fuck all of his plans. He wasn’t letting go of you anymore.

Just as he was parking the car in the parking lot, only one thing came to mind.

He would fight for this love.

He pulled the keys out of the car. He removed his phone from the charger and started to type the four words that would confirm he was still alive and that he loved you too. He was about to send it, but the moment he opened the door and left the car, the atmosphere changed.

The hair on his arms stood up. The smell of metal entered his nose but he knew that it wasn’t metal he was smelling. Rust. It smelled like rust as well and from that moment he knew that he was smelling blood.

The house was dark. Not even a single light was on. No doubt, there was no electricity. Something bad happened when he was gone.

He threw the phone on the seat, leaving it on the car and closing the door before rushing towards the basement. 

The emergency switch was on the other side of the basement. Because he couldn’t see anything, he closed his eyes and focused his senses to find where the switch was.

“Jameson?” he called out. 

Silence.

“Jonah?” he tried again.

The only thing he could hear was his footsteps until he eventually found the switch and flicked it. All the lights were turned on in a second and reality attacked him in the worst way possible the moment he opened his eyes.

Blood.

Blood was everywhere.

The once-white walls and tiles were now stained with red and the giant cylinder glass that used to hold Mac Gargan’s Scorpion was shattered. He was nowhere to be found. 

But what he saw next was even worse.

“Fuck,” he couldn’t believe the sight in front of him.

“Fuck fuck fuck. Shit.”

It was Jonah. But it wasn’t the entirety of him. It was his left leg separated from his body. Not too far from the right, he saw his right arm. His eyes roamed the entire place and sure enough, the other parts were scattered everywhere. 

The blood in the room was Jonah’s. It was everywhere because his body parts were everywhere. His decapitated head was on top of a table.

“No,” his trembling lips whispered. It was all he could say as he continued to study the room.

“No no no no.”

He started crying the more he saw the dismembered parts of his friend’s body. He had been Spider-Man for years. He had encountered violence and experienced injuries. But he had never seen something like this before. 

He had a fair share of traumas. But this—this brought an unwelcome kind of trauma that would surely change his view of the world for the worst.

His knees gave up on trying to hold his shaking body. He was on the floor for who knows how long. He cried, and cried some more just to somehow get ahold of himself and try to move on from what he just saw. But it was hard. 

Now, he knew who or what he was fighting. If one Scorpion could do this, what more would happen if the two Scorpions teamed up against him?

This… this just showed him what the Scorpions were capable of doing. And if Mac could do this to Jonah, then Mitch could do it to you.

No. He quickly shook his head as soon as the thought entered his mind. He wouldn’t let anything happen to you. He didn’t need his mind creating negative thoughts that would distract him. He needed to prepare himself and stay strong… and for you, he would.

Peter put on the Spider-Man suit and went to exit the property as fast as he could. He decided not to take the car as he thought that swinging would be faster. Just as he reached the road where Jameson’s property ended, two more roads greeted him and he had to make a choice. Left or right, which was the road that would lead him to Scorpion?

He did something he had never done before. He shut down all his senses. He closed his eyes, paused his movements, and stopped his breathing. He focused on one sense only—the sense of smell. If there was one thing Peter remembered in relation to Scorpion other than the sight of him was the scent of chemicals around the basement that he was sure were used on him. 

Just like magic, his mind created a map for him leading to Mac Gargan. With his eyes still closed, the once absolute darkness that one was supposed to see when one’s eyes were closed was changed into images of roads leading up to one building. The Daily Bugle.

An emergency broadcast from the Daily Bugle interrupted the silence that surrounded the three of you in the living room. Charlene and Carlos stood up, almost knowing what the emergency was on the news. They faced the television and you stood up to follow their actions. 

A live broadcast of the Daily Bugle building, no doubt the cameraman was recording from a helicopter. You were all confused for a moment about why the news would broadcast a view of their building but then just as instantly you realized the reason why.

A figure similar to what you have seen Mitch become when you ran away from him appeared on the screen, they were on the rooftop with Spider-Man. It was a full-on battle, and just by the sight of some windows broken and some walls holed out, you knew that they had been fighting for quite some time until one of them eventually led the two of them to the rooftop to prevent breaking any more things. You were sure that that one person was Spider-Man.

The person behind the camera cried out for help, saying that some of his friends were dead in the building and some were still stuck there. Immediately, you understood why they broadcasted this live—the employees were begging for help. They were begging for the police, for everyone who was willing to help them in an instant. Just by his broken voice, you didn’t want to imagine the extremity of things that had happened in that building.

The screen showed at least 40 police cars arriving at the premises. While Spider-Man was busy fighting the Scorpion on his own, you saw the NYPD enter the building and help the people inside.

“He needs help,” Carlos mumbled, his voice shaking. Charlene was nervous too, but still, she nodded. 

“Are you alright being alone here?” she asked as she faced you. With both her hands gripping tightly on your shoulders, you realized the danger of the circumstance. You knew they would help Spider-Man. And so, even though you were scared to be left alone, you nodded.

“Go to the safest room in here. Be careful and attentive at all times,” she ordered. And then she left with Carlos to help Spider-Man.

You felt small being alone inside the big house. How could you not? When there were ghosts of your childhood in every corner and every room?

When Charlene told you to go to the safest room in the house, you immediately knew the room you needed to go to. The only problem was, the safest room in the house was the scariest one for you. 

Your parents’ bedroom. 

The room you refused to enter ever since that tragic moment. You locked this room the last time you were in this house, making a promise to yourself not to enter it again. But given the circumstances, maybe it was time to grow up and face your fears. You looked for the keys, it wasn’t hard to find the key to the room since the key was very different from the other ones. 

You inserted the metal into the door knob. You slowly twisted it until you heard the familiar click that told you that the room was now open. You put the key in your pocket, keeping it safe there along with other important keys in the house.

You withdrew a shaking sigh, closing your eyes as you pushed the door open and entered the room. Still with your eyes closed, you turned to close the door quietly. You turned back facing the room, opening your eyes slowly until it was wide open.

And there it was.

The king-sized bed with yellow sheets.

The large window that overlooked the most painful view.

You smiled but there were tears on your face. It had been years since you entered this room. You stood beside the window that overlooked a road. The road where your father died.

“I want some donuts!” the 7-year-old you shouted from the backseat. 

“Honey, please stop playing with your seatbelt,” your mother requested.

“But I want to get out so we can get some donuts!” 

“Sorry baby, we’re way past the donut shop,” your father told you. But the little you wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“Pleaseeee!” you pleaded.

“Honey, we can’t. Put on your seatbelt back, please.”

“No donuts, no seatbelt.”

You saw your father glance at you from the rearview mirror. “Okay, baby, we’ll get donuts once you put your seatbelt on. Alright?”

“Promise?”

You didn’t notice it, but your mother nudged him. Shaking her head as she whispered not to promise something he cannot do right now. It was already night, they were both exhausted. But their daughter was still energetic and wanted some donuts. It was way too late in the night, they couldn’t allow her sweets. Besides, they were close to home, they could see a glimpse of the window of their room from where they were.

“Promise, baby.”

The little you noticed that you were close to home as well. But still, you didn’t get the donuts you wanted.

“Daddy, where’s the donuts?”

“Sorry, Y/N, it’s too late.”

“BUT YOU PROMISED!” you screamed.

“Y/N, baby, please stop shouting,” your mother told you.

“NO!” you were having a tantrum at this point. “DONUTS! DONUTS! DONUTS!”

“Stop shouting, Y/N. I told you we can’t,” your father said.

“BUT YOU PROMISED ME!”

“Y/N, please… it’s late and you’re being too loud.”

You were crying and screaming. Both your parents were having enough of it.

“Please, stop… Baby, we’ll get donuts tomorrow. I promise,” your dad practically begged you to stop shouting.

“But I want it now! You promised donuts now!”

“Please stop shouting, baby. You’re distracting daddy’s driving,” your mom said.

You didn’t stop. Instead, you continued shouting and crying. “Donuts! Now! Now! NOW!”

“Y/N. Stop,” your father warned.

You didn’t listen.

The next thing you knew, a bright light blinded the three of you and a harsh force impacted the car. You heard the windows shatter before everything turned black.

The beeping of the machines interrupted your peaceful resting. But soon that peaceful state would turn into a headache so painful you thought you just got into a car accident. But you did, though. You were in a car accident.

You started crying, calling out for your mom and dad. Because you knew that just their cuddles would fix everything that was broken and heal everywhere that was painful. The nurse immediately went beside you, whispering sweet words to comfort you. But it did nothing. You wanted your parents. You looked everywhere, but you couldn’t find them so you cried even more. The nurse rubbed your arms, telling you to rest.

“Sleep, little Y/N. Your parents will be here when you wake up,” she said softly.

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

So you believed her.

And you did wake up, and your mom was there beside you… but why was she crying and saying sorry about your dad? 

You looked over at the nurse, the one who made a promise to you, you asked her where your dad was and all she could do was shake her head. 

The kind nurse didn’t know anything, she probably didn’t have any idea at that moment when she made that promise. You hated her for that. It wasn’t her fault, you knew that. But then again, she promised you your mom and dad would be right beside you the next moment you would wake up and that wasn’t what happened. The only one beside you was your mom.

You stopped believing in promises anymore after that.

Most people would be elated the moment they’d be released from the hospital after an accident. That wasn’t the case for you and your mom. In the hospital, it was quiet, just the two of you basking in the unusual comfort of the four white walls. Also, being in the hospital stalled the two of you from dealing with life yet again. You knew your mother wasn’t ready to be without your father and you couldn’t help but feel guilty that you may have killed your father because you distracted him from driving. Life went on, so you both had to accept and deal with it.

The first ever time you saw your mother break down was at your father’s funeral. It was kind of terrifying to know that a person you could touch before would just turn into a tombstone once they took their final breath. On the other side of the cemetery, you saw a lady mourning her brother. Her face was turned back from you but you knew she was crying just by the movement of her shoulder. Your father wasn’t the only one who died that tragic night. The driver of the other car, a guy named Charles, also died. The reports said that Charles was drunk that night, but at the same time your father was distracted and wasn’t focusing on the road, so you guessed that both parties were at fault. Not that it mattered anyway, because you all lost someone special and important.

For a few weeks after the funeral, your mother became numb. She wouldn’t talk to you unless it was time to eat. You had to learn how to deal with pain on your own because clearly, your mom needed to be left alone. You understood her. She just needed time.

You were right because, after a few more weeks, she started returning to her normal self. The smile on her face returned, and the joy that her body radiated was back.

Or maybe she was just good at hiding pain behind a smile, but of course, she would never let you know that.

You wiped your tears as you next stared at the bed. Its yellow sheets were still in the same state and unwashed as when your mother last rested on it. 

“How long have you had this, Mom?” you finally had the courage to ask. You sat on the bed beside your mother, holding her hand as she rested weakly on there. 

“You don’t need to know that.”

“Yes, I do!” you didn’t mean to shout. “I need to know, Mom, please. I-I need to know how long you have been suffering with this.”

“Long enough.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you wait until it’s so severe that you can’t even stand or sit or hold your head up?” you pretty much cried out. 

“Because I thought it was getting better,” she smiled at you. “I knew it was getting better…”

You held her cheeks in between your palms. You wiped the tears that fell down from her eyes. You hated this. You hated seeing your mother, your best friend, your confidant, suffer. For every tear that her eyes shed, a tear of your own followed.

“I was getting treatments. Your dad was always with me. I was getting better but… but then your father died and instead of getting better… I started getting worse.”

“Mom…” 

“I realized then that my treatment was him. His presence. But now that he’s gone and he’s not coming back, I don’t think I��ll get better anymore or last any longer.”

“Shh-no. Don’t say that. Mom, please…”

“Y/N, I love you so much, you know that, right?”

Every now and then you’d glance at the machine that monitored her heart.

“If you love me, show me. Stay with me. I can’t do this without you. I-I need you,” you pleaded.

“Y/N, baby, mommy’s tired…”

“Please. M-mom, please… stay. I-is there something I can do? Is there something you need?” you said the words in between shallow breaths. “What do you need, Mom? Please t-tell me, Mom. Come on…”

“Look at me, baby. I’m tied to these machines. I’m only living because of them.”

“Tell me what I need to do, please…”

“You can’t do anything, baby–”

“No!” you stood up, facing her. “Don’t tell me I can’t do anything, Mom!” you pointed a finger at her. “You’re dying for god’s sake! I want to do at least something… just tell me what to do… I’ll do anything.”

She could only shake her head.

“Stay with me,” you went back to holding her hand. You were kneeling on her bedside. “Please…”

“I can’t.”

Those two fucking words cracked your heart like it was just a cup of glass. And then threw it on the floor and kicked it again and again until it shattered into shards and into merely… particles.

“At least try?” you smiled at her, trying to convince her not to succumb to the pain and leave you. 

“Darling, I already did,” she looked at you with the most broken eyes you’d ever seen.

“Try a little bit more?” you pleaded.

“I don’t want to anymore.”

All hopes were shattered in an instant. You saw the setting of the sun from the large window in the room. Soon, the day would turn into night. But for you, it wasn’t just the day turning into night at that moment. The bright world was turning into a dark one. You hated it.

“Y/N, baby, look at mommy.”

And you did.

“I’m exhausted… can we stop fighting? Please, let’s just talk?”

You could do that.

“Okay…”

Maybe all of this would hurt a little less if you already start the path to acceptance. You stood up from your kneeling position and sat beside your mother once again.

“Honey, can you hold my hand?”

“Of course,” you obliged. You intertwined her right hand with your left and then cupped them with your right. You didn’t know what to say, so you kept quiet.

“Darling, talk to me please.”

You looked around the room, thinking of a topic you could talk about. Your eyes found the bright bed sheets interesting. “Bright yellow bed sheets? I thought you always went for neutral ones when it comes to bedding.”

“That’s true. I hate bright colors when it comes to bedding,” she laughed. “But then your father and I… when we argue, he would always joke about changing the sheets with a bright yellow one if we didn’t stop fighting. It was definitely the argument finisher. He knew how much I hated overly bright colors.”

Your mother smiled thinking about the memory, your lips presented a smile as well. “Then why’d you change the sheets to bright yellow?”

“I want to remember him in every way. Everything that reminds me of him, I want it.”

“I miss Dad…” you mumbled.

“I do too,” your mother replied. “I miss him so much.”

“I’m sor–”

“Don’t even finish that. How many times have I told you that it’s not your fault he died?”

“But–”

“No, baby, no. Let’s just not talk about it anymore, okay?”

“Okay.”

For a while, only the beeping of the machines was what you heard. Even the silence was heartbreaking. You hated every single second you were spending in this room.

“Y/N?”

“Yes?” you looked at her, she was looking at you with joy again. How could she even experience joy at that moment?

“Come here, let me kiss your forehead.”

She was weak, her body was frail. She couldn’t move by herself. As you moved your head close to her face, you felt the light tap of her lips on your forehead. And then with her delicate body, she hugged you… or at least tried to. You moved your head away from her face so you could smile and look at her. She smiled back.

“Y/N, baby, can you close your eyes?”

“Why?” your eyebrows furrowed with confusion.

“Just close them. Don’t open them for a minute.”

And you did.

“I love you, my baby.”

You knew what was happening.

You wished you didn’t close your eyes. You wished you could’ve stared at her eyes for even longer. But you were obedient. You loved her so you followed what she wanted you to do.

You thought your closed eyes would hold the tears back but they didn’t. You were sobbing, silently praying for anyone above who was listening to help. You were asking for a miracle at this point. You wanted, no, you needed a miracle. And you need it right now, at this moment, in an instant.

Her hand intertwined with yours felt heavier because she wasn’t holding your hand anymore. You squeezed her hand, again and again, pleading for her to squeeze your hand back. But she didn’t.

She has let go.

Let go of you.

Let go of life.

She was gone.

You sat on the bed, not caring how much dust had collected on it. You placed your palm over the pillows, stroking it as you closed your eyes imagining that your mother was still there. But of course, as soon as you opened them, she wasn’t.

Something caught your eye. A television. 

You hadn’t been in this room for so long that you forgot that there was even a television. You wondered if you should turn it on and watch what was happening with Carlos, Charlene, and Spider-Man. 

You remembered the moments you spent with Spider-Man, how one of the reasons you left this city was because you had to get away from him. It scared you—the feeling that you were slowly falling in love with him. You felt you were betraying Peter, so you left before that feeling of comfort you felt with him bloomed into a feeling of love. He remained as your friend though, and you were grateful for that. Your mind shifted to your friends from school, the ones scattered around the world achieving their dreams. How were they now? It had been a while since you all talked. Were you still even friends or have the people you know now turned into people you don’t? 

You shook your head, shaking out the thoughts. You decided to turn on the television. It was better to watch and worry than panic because you didn’t know what was happening. 

You watched Scorpion getting the upper hand, with Spider-Man underneath him. He was trying to land an attack on your web-slinging friend’s face, but Spider-Man was able to stop him by gripping his arms and pushing him off of him. Now, it was Spider-Man on top and Scorpion underneath him. You kept your focus on the television in front of you, observing the intense fight on the screen. Moments after, you saw your two police friends enter the scene. With their guns raised, they immediately threw shots at the opponent but Mac’s suit was strong enough to withhold gunshots.

And then the large window in the room suddenly shattered.

“You can’t run away from me forever, you know that right?”

There he was. Your greatest nightmare—Mitchell Gargan. He was in his human form but there were hints of his Scorpion form in his body. You went to the side of the bed quickly before he could even take another step closer to you. You pulled out a box from under it, opening it to find a gun you knew your father kept for situations like this. You raised the gun, pointing it at him.

He just laughed. He wasn’t even afraid. For each step that he took closer to you, his body changed until it transitioned to his full Scorpion form. You backed away until your back touched the TV that was attached to the wall. 

Mitch glanced at the TV and noticed the live footage. “They’re having a party and they didn’t even invite us?” 

He took another step and you didn’t hesitate to pull the trigger. It hit his shoulder. He hissed from pain, touching the wound you created. But then, he continued laughing, looking at you as if you made him even more turned on.

“Don’t you dare take another step or I'll shoot again,” you warned.

“Oh come on, where’s the fun in that?”

You pulled the trigger once more, only to find out that the magazine was already empty. You panicked and Mitch noticed.

“You should’ve gone for the head,” he smirked. 

You threw the gun, it didn’t have any use anymore. You fixed your stance, doing your best to appear confident and brave in front of the monster that was once your friend.

“We’re going to the party,” he demanded.

“No,” you replied sternly.

“You’re cute. But I wasn’t really asking for your permission.”

“I said no. I’m not moving.”

He chuckled darkly.

“Too bad. You’re coming with me.”

The next thing you knew, he grabbed you forcefully by the waist and dragged you along as he journeyed to the Daily Bugle building.

Peter was starting to feel the rising exhaustion of his body but he knew that giving up or merely stopping for a second was not an option. If he was being honest, his body had already given up a long time ago and only his mind was pushing him to continue. When Carlos and Charlene showed up to help him, he felt slightly relieved knowing that the couple was there to help him. However, their presence made him worry because if they were there then that would mean that you were alone. He shouted at them to ask where you were to which they assured him that you were somewhere safe and reassured him that you were fine.

Having Carlos and Charlene with him helped a lot. Their only weapons were guns but nonetheless, he knew that three people against one gave them a far better chance of winning. Somehow, they were able to create a strategy that every time Peter would seem to slow down, the couple would shoot at Scorpion as much as they could. The only problem was Mac Gargan’s suit which made him Scorpion was bulletproof and they had to find an uncovered spot to shoot at.

He managed to get Mac trapped under him. He punched his head over and over again until the helmet on his head broke. He pulled the shards away so that he could see his face and land his punches with more impact. But because the suit was connected to his entire body, Mac’s skin was pulled with it. Mac screamed from pain but he was still putting up a fight, eventually managing to push Peter by kicking him in the stomach.

Peter was quick to react and still stood on his feet, not letting himself be pushed under Mac again. He saw an opportunity to web Mac’s ankles together and took it. And before Mac could release his ankles from the hold of his webs, he flicked his wrists again, circling him until Mac’s body was cocooned by his sticky webs. His spider sense alerted him again, but he paid it no attention because he already knew that the danger was in front of him. Peter called for Carlos and Charlene, informing them that this was the chance to shoot because Mac couldn’t move and his head wasn’t covered anymore.

He heard them shoot, however, no bullets came towards Mac Gargan. He turned his body to face his friends, only to realize that new but not unfamiliar faces just entered the scene.

The second scorpion was here. Mitchell Gargan. The helicopter with the cameraman who recorded the scene live immediately left when they noticed the second monster, scared that they would be caught up in the mess as well.

Mitch was here but that wasn’t what made Peter terrified. It was you. You were there on his side, begging for help.

Peter swore he could feel his blood boil from anger. He was seeing red. He ran towards him, throwing a kick on his head that made Mitch release his hold of you. You ran quickly towards Carlos and Charlene, both of them going in front of you to cover you in an instant. 

Mitchell Gargan’s scorpion proved to be stronger than his brother’s. While the four of you were busy observing and fighting Mitch, none of you seemed to realize Mac slowly escaping from Peter’s webs. 

And then Mitch did something no one expected, he managed to dodge every attack that was thrown at him and ran towards you. He grabbed you by the waist for the second time that day, and with no remorse, he threw you off the rooftop.

“NO!” Peter screamed. The blood on his body seemed to drain at that moment. His mind was blank, but he was sure his heart pushed his body to move on its own. 

He jumped after you instantly. He wasted no time as every second counted. He saw your hand trying to reach out, but your eyes were closed. It was almost like you weren’t expecting to be saved, but you were still hoping for a savior. 

For you, the whole thing was confusing. Different emotions released themselves all at once. For a moment you were shocked and angry, and then you were sad and anxious, but now as you feel your body close to reaching the hard ground in a swift manner, you felt… accepting. Maybe this was your fate. Maybe this was the way it all had to end.

You opened your eyes a little bit and saw Spider-Man trying to save you. Suddenly, there was a glimmer of hope… but he was too far to reach you. It was impossible. You swore you could already feel the ground… he wouldn’t be able to do it… 

He did it.

He saved you.

He had learned his lesson. He didn’t catch you with his webs, he caught you with his arms. He made sure you wouldn’t suffer the same tragic fate as Gwen. He held you close for a long while in his arms. Underneath his mask, he was crying. 

You heard his stifled cries as he set you down and helped you stand up. You cradled his masked face with your hands. For a moment, you wanted to rip it off his face but he stopped you. You didn’t push anymore.

Not now, Peter thought. As much as he wanted to show you he was still alive. He knew that as soon as you saw his face, you would follow him back to the rooftop.

“Thank you,” you whispered. You couldn’t stop yourself from crying as well. Death has knocked on your door and you really thought it was the end.

Spider-Man held your hands in his, nodding in response to your gratefulness. He was crying too much, he couldn’t speak even if he wanted to. How could he not cry? Being able to save you was a moment of redemption for him. He hoped Gwen was proud of him.

A loud clang from the rooftop reminded him that the job was far from being finished. He let you go before crawling on the walls like a true spider.

He almost lost you and that made him angry. Now, all sympathy has left his body. Spider-Man was not going to pull his punches anymore. As he faced his opponents once again, one thing was different.

Fuck being the friendly neighborhood hero. Fuck giving second chances. Fuck hoping for people to change. He was tired of fighting, tired of always being on the defense. He was going to end this once and for all. Right now, he meant to kill.

He was going to kill MacDonald Gargan and Mitchell Gargan.

He didn’t know how it happened, but all of a sudden, Mitch Gargan’s chest was under his foot and Mac Gargan was somewhere on the rooftop with a bloody face and struggling to stand up.

Carlos and Charlene rested their backs on the ledge. They suffered a significant amount of injuries as well, but thankfully they weren’t fatal. Their bodies were exhausted though, it seemed that their legs and knees had given up and no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t instruct their bodies to stand.

While on the ground floor alone and left with your thoughts, you decided to go back to the rooftop. It was probably a bad idea. But fuck it, you already lost Peter. You weren’t losing Spider-Man.

You were forced to take the stairs because the elevator wasn’t working. The state inside the building was absolutely horrifying. Back at your house, the only thing shown on the live footage was the action on the rooftop, it didn’t prepare you for what you were seeing right now. NYPD scattered the building, officers were roaming each floor of the building. People, both dead and injured, were being escorted out. Puddles of blood marked the floors. You knew you weren’t supposed to be in there, you would be in so much trouble if an officer saw you. But you were on a mission, so you sneaked your way up.

You arrived on the rooftop with a heavy breath. You immediately saw Carlos and Charlene who were both resting on the ledge. Their eyes were closed and their chests were heaving. You made your way over them.

“Are you alright?” you asked, kneeling in front of them. They immediately opened their eyes at the sound of your voice. “What are you doing here?” Carlos asked.

“I’m here to help,” you answered. “Are you nuts?!” Charlene yelled. “You got thrown off the building, you’re lucky you got saved, and now you’re putting yourself in danger again?!” 

“I want to help Spider-Man. I want to help you guys. I don’t wanna be left alone down there when I know the only people I care for are fighting for their lives up here.” 

“You don’t understand, Y/N. I know you only want to help. We appreciate it, we really do. But you being here will only make things worse for Pe–” Carlos stopped himself. “Spider-Man,” he finished.

“Why? What do you mean?” you asked. You could hear the fight happening behind you but you focused on your friends at the moment. “Stop asking questions and just leave,” Charlene demanded, looking at the fight behind you. 

“No. I’m staying.”

“Wha–” before Charlene could even start to scold you, you heard Carlos let out a pained sigh. You both turned to face him instantly. Carlos was holding his left side, you looked at where his hand rested and you noticed his blood start to seep through his uniform. It looked like a scorpion’s tail had pierced his side.

“You told me you were fine!” Charlene yelled at him, tears of frustration visible on her face. “I didn’t want you to worry. I’m fine. I can still fight,” Carlos reasoned but Charlene wasn’t having it. “No, you are not fine! You need help. Where’s the ambulance?” she asked you.

“It’s down there. Let’s get him down there, let me help,” you said. Charlene nodded, gathering every last bit of strength she had to stand and help the love of her life. It was crazy how love could influence your body to do things you thought were impossible before. Just minutes before, Charlene was unable to stand because of exhaustion but now she was on her husband’s side helping him. It was her love for Carlos who made that possible. You went to Carlos’ other side to help him steady himself and stand up. You guided them towards the door where you came from, the door that would take them down and out of the building. 

But the door was locked. It wouldn’t open anymore.

“What’s wrong?” Charlene noticed you struggling to open the door. “It won’t open,” you answered honestly.

“Let me try. Hold Carlos,” she told you and you followed her. No matter how hard Charlene tried to open the door, she couldn’t do it. But still, she refused to give up. It was her husband’s life on the line. While Charlene was busy thinking of ways to open the door, you set Carlos down beside the door and rested his back on the wall. You already knew that the door wasn’t going to open, but you didn’t tell Charlene to not break her heart even more. She was already under so much stress, you didn’t want to add up more to that. Instead, you started administering first aid to Carlos. You weren’t a professional, but you knew some things. Besides, Carlos guided you on what to do as he let his wife fight with the door. He didn’t want to stop her because he knew that the door was keeping her distracted from his injury. Carlos knew what to do, having had knowledge of first aid since he was an officer. You had limited supplies but you were able to clean his wound using the first aid kit that he kept on his uniform. Just as you were starting to wrap his wound, you heard Charlene kick the door and scream with frustration.

The scream was so loud it made Peter turn to look at where it came from, making Mitch grab that opportunity to hit his face with his tail and throw him off to the side. The unexpected strike from Mitch made Peter fly before he hit the floor with a smashing force. The impact of Mitch’s tail on his face was extremely hard, blood was pouring out of his nose and his head was spinning. And because his body met the floor with so much force, he was struggling to stand. The mere thing he could do at the moment was lift his head to see Mitch approaching you as you were wrapping Carlos’ wound.

Carlos’ eyes were closed as he coped with the pain of his injury, Charlene was busy kicking and punching the door, and you were busy helping Carlos. None of you realized that Mitch was approaching you.

He had never felt so helpless until now. And the fact that the person he was trying to protect was there caught up in the mess made him feel disappointed in himself. His body was recovering but it still wasn’t enough to help him stand immediately. The only thing he could do was watch as the danger got closer and closer to his best friends and the love of his life.

Before Mitch could reach you, Mac jumped in front of him and attacked his twin with a brutal face. Mitch attacked him in return. All of a sudden, the twins were battling each other. The shocking turn of events grabbed everyone’s attention. 

“You are a fucking monster. Look at you,” Mac told his twin just as he threw an impactful punch at his face.

“And you’re not?” Mitch said in return before he used his tail to attack him.

Mac was able to grip his tail with his hand before it could make an impact on his skin. “You should’ve stopped messing with chemicals before everything led to this. You’re fucking obsessed with science, look what it did to you.”

“And you’re fucking obsessed with pleasing people,” Mitch taunted. “Didn’t you volunteer to be experimented on? For what? To please Jameson. You and I are just the same.”

“At least I didn’t let an innocent girl be involved with my unhealthy obsessions.”

Mitch scoffed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I love Y/N. I’ve admired her and followed her for a long time.”

“And yet you don’t realize that she doesn’t love you? How fucking stupid are you?” Mac fired back.

“Not yet. But she will. She will love me. I will make her.”

Mitch tried to get to you again, but Mac stopped him once again. “You need to stop this. This is not your fight. You can turn back to being human, right? I can’t. You have the choice to live normally. Choose that. Live normally.”

None of you chose to intervene as the brothers spoke to each other. However, for every minute the Gargans were distracted, Peter was gathering back the strength he had lost.

Mac rested his hands on top of his twin’s shoulders. He looked him in the eye, trying to get into his soul. The world may see them as monsters right now, but deep down, Mac knew that they were just twins with broken hearts and broken dreams. “You need to realize that not all wishes come true,” he said softly.

“None of my wishes come true,” Mitch replied. “Let me have this, Mac. I don’t wanna hurt you.”

“Then don’t,” Mac replied. “Put a stop to these obsessions. Let the girl live her life without you in it. Look at her. She’s scared of you. She doesn’t want to be with you. End this dream of yours.”

“Why?” Mitch sneered. “What is it about your dreams that made it more important than mine?”

Everyone but the exception of you knew what Mitch was talking about. His failed dream of becoming a scientist and being unsupported for almost all his life—it made sense why he became this mad and angry.

As Mac was left speechless, Mitch strode towards you again. With Mitch’s back in front of him, Mac slashed his back with his sharp claws. Mitch hissed in pain and turned to face him to attack him back. 

There was something so heartbreaking at the sight of two brothers who resorted to violence because the world has treated them with so much cruelty. You watched as Mitch ultimately got the upper hand and trapped his brother under him. With his extremely sharp tail, he pierced his brother’s chest with no remorse. You heard Mac struggle to breathe, but he was still alive. You knew that he wouldn’t be for long.

As Mitch retrieved his tail with no mercy, Mac held his chest to stop the bleeding. Mac knew that it was the end for him too, but still, he tried to delay the inevitable. 

The moment you saw that Mitch was winning was the moment you realized that if he won he would have the chance to get you again. The fear of Mitch getting close to you again terrified you. So, you acted on fear and adrenaline and grabbed the gun from Carlos’ belt, you pointed it straight to Mitch Gargan. 

You pulled the trigger.

This time, you went for the head.

Mitch fell to the floor instantly. And all at once, reality slapped you in the face as you took in what you have done. You dropped the gun on the floor instantly as you felt everyone on the rooftop looking at you with a look of surprise plastered on their faces. Your chest started to rise and fall at an alarmingly fast rate. You could feel your lips tremble, and your hands shake. You were on the verge of a panic attack, but your quivering lips refused to call for help. Your feet were stuck on the floor and you couldn’t move as much as you tried to. 

A gentle hand touched your back and hugged you. It was Charlene. You didn’t know when she walked up to you but she was now there beside you, letting your head rest in the space between her neck and shoulder so you could hide your face from the world. You hugged her back tightly, sobbing into her shoulders as she tried to calm you down by brushing your hair with her careful fingers.

The sight broke Peter’s heart but he had one job left to do before he could come to you. He knelt down beside Mac Gargan, choosing to be beside him in his final moments. “Why the change of heart?” he asked softly, hoping to distract Mac from the excruciating pain he must be feeling.

“I’ve killed Jameson, and probably almost everyone in this building. And it felt great—the killing. I was able to take out some anger. But I’m still angry. At the world, at you, at everyone, and at myself. Then when I saw Mitch, when he fought me, I had a taste of my own medicine. I experienced what the other people experienced from me,” he coughed, blood spitting out from his mouth. “Everything has dawned on me. I realize, who am I pleasing anymore? ‘Cause it’s certainly not myself.”

“I want to thank you… for stopping Mitch from getting to Y/N,” Peter spoke. “You didn’t have to do that, but you did.”

Mac nodded before chuckling. “As much as I’d like to apologize for everything I’ve done, I know it won’t change anything…” he paused for a second. “If this is to be the last conversation I will ever have, I’d like it to be with Peter Parker. I’m not talking to a masked man. If you really want to thank me, the least you could do is remove that mask.”

Peter smiled but it faltered for a second when he noticed Mac’s breathing start to slow. He granted his final request and carefully removed his mask and revealed his face. They exchanged a smile before Mac took his final breath.

You pulled your head up from Charlene’s shoulder the moment your panic attack stopped. You hugged her again, thanking her for comforting you. As you fixed your state, you noticed Spider-Man beside Mac Gargan, talking to him about something you couldn’t hear. His masked face was facing you.

And then all of a sudden, his hand touched his face and started to slowly remove the mask that covered it. 

It was happening. You were finally going to see the man behind the spider mask…

Only for it to be the face of someone you long thought was dead and buried.

Spider-Man was Peter Parker.

“Peter?” you couldn’t believe the sight in front of you. Peter, your best friend, and the love of your life, was alive and breathing. He stood up as soon as he heard your voice. You walked towards him.

You cradled his face with your shaking hands, tracing every feature of the face you thought you’d never see again. Suddenly, your cheeks were stained with tears that continuously flowed. You cried out of anger, out of pain, out of elation, out of everything. “What the fuck!” you slapped his chest. “I thought you were dead! I believed you were dead!”

“I know–I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” you scoffed. “Sorry?! I was miserable! You just left me–” your breath hitched as you sobbed. “You just left me all alone. I grieved for you, I mourned you. There were days… a lot of them… where I couldn’t get out of bed because the thought of you buried six feet deep underground left me suffering with so much pain that I became numb. I couldn’t even move, Peter.”

“I’m sorry,” he cried.

“The moment you died, I felt lifeless too,” you told him.

“Y/N, please,” he tried to hug you but you stepped back.

“It’s so unfair!” you screamed, exhausted. “You’re fucking unfair. You were hiding behind a fucking mask as Spider-Man, talking to me and listening to me while I was mourning you. How could you do that? How could you enter my life as someone else? You witnessed me crying for you and yet you still chose to put up an act.”

“I did it to protect you.”

“Well, look at me now. I just killed someone. I’m still heavily involved in this mess. You can’t stop everything from happening.”

“I know that now, and trust me, I’m disappointed in myself as well. Just listen to me, please,” he pleaded.

“You didn’t just mess with my heart, Peter. You messed with my life.”

“Please! Y/N…” he cried out. He was scared of losing you again. “You’re allowed to get angry. I understand why you’re mad at me but please just listen. Hear me out, at least.” 

You looked at him with your tearful eyes. As much as you hated him right now, your love for him was so much bigger than the anger you were feeling. “Go ahead,” you replied.

“I never told you how Gwen died,” he swallowed. “She died because of me. I have a lot of enemies. As Spider-Man, I bear heavy responsibilities that come with the power I have. As long as I’m Spider-Man, there’s always going to be danger following my footsteps. I…” he paused. “I bring harm to people close to me, to people that I care for and love. Years ago, I fought a friend turned enemy. Gwen was there, she was so adamant about helping me and I will always regret that I let her. He dropped Gwen through the top of a clock tower and I was able to catch her. But when Harry and I fought again, one thing led to another, she got caught up in the mess and fell. I tried to save her, I-I caught her with my webs but–but my webs weren’t enough.”

You didn’t dare to speak and let him say everything he needed to say.

“You know that thing that happened to you just moments ago? When Mitch threw you off the building and you almost fell to your death? That’s almost exactly what happened to Gwen years ago. The only difference is she didn’t survive because I failed to save her,” his lips started to quiver but he continued to talk. “What almost happened to you was the reason I didn’t tell you I was Spider-Man. It was why I chose to pretend I was dead because I’d rather be out of your life than bring harm to it.”

“Peter, I…”

“I don’t wanna lose anyone anymore, Y/N…” he sobbed. “I’m tired of visiting graves, tired of saving other people when I couldn’t even save the ones closest to me. I know I hurt you, but it hurt me to do it too. Please understand, Y/N. I’m not forcing you to forgive me, I just need you to understand.”

You hugged him tightly, letting his head rest on your shoulder. He closed his eyes.

“I’m sorry… I was stupid. I saw a major threat and my first instinct was to get you out of my life. But then I realized that I can’t function properly when I’m not with you, so I entered your life as Spider-Man. I-I was gonna tell you the truth eventually, I swear,” he confessed.

You were certain you knew Peter before, but now you saw him in an entirely different light. “I can’t forgive you right now. You left my life, you can’t just walk right in and expect that everything will be the same…” you told him with full honesty. “But I do understand you, Peter. I have some secrets too that I haven’t told you—about my parents and my past.”  

He looked up to meet your eyes. He knew you still loved him, and he was going to do everything to make it up to you. “If you’re still up to it, can we start again?” he asked.

“This time, no secrets,” you added.

He nodded. 

“I have an idea,” you said.

“Hmm?”

“What if you move in with me?” you asked him, saying the exact same thing he said when he first offered you to be his roommate. “Be roommates with me?” you smirked.

“Deal,” he answered, also saying the word you said when you accepted his offer back then. He laughed before letting his forehead gently touch yours.

“I love you, Peter.”

“I know,” he teased. “I read your texts.”

“And?” you asked cheekily.

“And I love you too, Y/N. With all of my being.”

His lips met yours passionately. The kiss wasn’t just a declaration of love but also a sharing of understanding between the two of you. Every kept-up emotion you and Peter buried inside yourselves was poured into that kiss. When the two of you opened your eyes and pulled away to catch your breaths, you saw that Carlos was lifted up by a helicopter and was immediately sent to the hospital. Charlene went as well. 

Peter immediately put on his mask again when he noticed the medics walking up to both of you. When they reached you to offer their help, you accepted it while Spider-Man declined. However, when they lead you to another helicopter that will direct you to the hospital, he insisted on staying with you. The authorities didn’t dare to disagree.

6 MONTHS LATER.

A lot has happened in the course of 6 months.

After the tragedy, the whole city of New York was left in mourning. People from all over the world heard the news. Some of your friends from other countries even called you to check up on you. You told them you were fine. They didn’t need to know the truth.

J. Jonah Jameson and everyone in the Daily Bugle building that day was recognized for their contribution to the journalism world. There was no Daily Bugle for a couple of months to give way for its rebuilding and out of respect for everyone who passed away. When the news program came back, the Daily Bugle was relocated to a new building because the old building held so much tragedy and trauma. 

Spider-Man made a deal with the government, he told them everything—including the names of everyone involved in Mac Gargan’s experiment, the people that Jameson mentioned were his and Stillwell’s ‘trusted friends’. In exchange, he asked them not to reveal the scorpions’ real identities. In the eyes of the public, MacDonald and Mitchell Gargan were just two unfortunate souls who got involved in the fight and died. As for Jameson, because his ‘trusted friends’ were now in jail, they got angry and revealed to the public that Jameson was also involved. To save his reputation in the slightest bit, Spider-Man spoke to the public that Jameson was only forced to do it and he was only threatened to have the experiment be conducted in his basement. The people believed Spider-Man.

As for Carlos and Charlene, they moved out of their old house and purchased a home that was situated near yours. A home where Carlos was finally free to design with as many bonsai trees as he liked. Since some of the officers were in jail because of their involvement with the scorpion experiment, they both got promoted and Charlene became the head of NYPD.

As for you, you weren’t afraid to go to your late parents’ room anymore. In fact, after the window that Mitch Gargan broke was fixed, you claimed it as your room and Peter claimed your old room. You both agreed on still having separate rooms, although most nights, you slept beside each other in one of them. About your job, you transferred back to Greta Marketing Co. in New York, and because Mitch was gone, you took up his position. You and Charlene also discovered that it was her brother who died with your father in that accident. After that discovery, you two became closer and treated each other as sisters.

As for Peter, he kept his close friends closer and loved you more than ever. He told you everything about his past and how he was feeling every time. He kept his word when he agreed that there will be no more secrets between you. When you told him about your past, including the significance of the window and the bed in your room, he empathized with you even more. 

The truth was, you and Peter have already lost a lot of important people in your lives, forcing both of you to build up a wall to surround yourselves in hopes of protecting yourselves from experiencing the hurt that comes with yet another loss.

But with life came the death, and with beginning came the end. Loss in life was inevitable, and building up a wall would only create a barrier that would stop you from enjoying life as it was. The two of you realized that. So, each and every day, little by little, you were breaking down his wall and he was breaking yours.

Two broken people were healing each other.

“I’m sleepy,” you yawned. You had your head on his shoulder as the two of you watched a movie in your room.

Peter chuckled. “Go ahead, sleep. I’ll stay here,” he replied. He adjusted your head in a more comfortable position. The television was still playing but his mind was somewhere else.

He mused about how love came with realizations.

When you love, you were bound to take risks.

When you love, you were bound to shed tears.

When you love, you were bound to wait.

When you love, you were bound to feel pain.

And as Peter kissed your forehead while you were sound asleep, he revisited all the risks he took, the tears he shed, the moments he had to wait, and the pain he had to endure just to have you here, beside him, where he could finally call you his, and him, yours.

You were worth it all.

SLYTHERHEIGN TAGLIST: @writingstoraes @joshiiieeenesx

TASM!PETER PARKER TAGLIST: @mymilkducts @i-am-woman-strong @lauraneedstochill @jeanettexkillian @ms-mandalore @enaraism @alessandralol @sad-darksoul @sincericida @mentallystablepotato @mich0731 @logolepsic-insomniac @k0miiki @dreamsarecloserwithyou @jumilzzz @primroseparker @preciousbabypeter @myheartonthemove @rebecca-johnson-28 @silkholland @ellievickstar @okkulta @geekygamerchick @starqwerty20 ​ @the-quiet-observer @softiepeterpan @willowhaired @sflame15-blog

a letter from the author:

this is it! WORTH: THE SERIES has finally ended. thank you so much for being with me as i ventured through the world of peter, y/n, carlos, and charlene. this series took almost a year to make. after 5 parts and thousands of words, we have reached the finish line. i’m forever grateful for all the support and patience you’ve given this story. worth the risk was the first imagine i ever posted on tumblr, and since then i have gained a lot of friends from this app. i hope you’ll stay with me because WTS may be done, but there is more to come from this writer.

love, rheign.