#fucking knew Brooklyn wasn’t dead

[angst-is-love-angst-is-life]

WHY IS CHAOS THEORY SO MUCH CREEPIER THAN CAMP CRETACEOUS

I’M LEGIT GONNA HAVE NIGHTMARES AFTER EPISODE 5 WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHY DOES SHE LOOK LIKE THAT

Update: after revisting, “why does she look like that” isn’t the issue. It’s WHY DOES SHE M O V E LIKE THAT

[gutsby]

Benign

Pairing: Mob!Bucky x Reader

Summary: Marrying a former Soviet sleeper agent was your first mistake. Letting curiosity get the better of you and saying his trigger words before sex was your second.

Warnings: 18+. DUBCON - Bucky is partly brainwashed; R is reluctant at first. Reliving past trauma (i.e., grief, prior HYDRA captivity). Rough, unprotected p-in-v.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5

Marrying into the mob meant one of two things: turning a blind eye to your husband’s crimes or taking them up as your own. Most of the women who had gone before you chose the former, leading lives of willful ignorance while their spouses cut deals, shed blood, stole guns, and submitted only to the laws of secrecy and discretion.

You, unlike those wives, hadn’t had the luxury of choice.

Your life, unlike theirs, had been sold to a man you didn’t know, by a father you couldn’t stand, and now your dad was dead, and this man—your husband—was to blame.

The least Bucky could do was fuck you hard to say sorry.

But no, ever since the Winter Soldier had reared its ugly head that dreadful night in Madripoor two weeks prior, your husband hadn’t laid one finger on your body that was not soft, sweet, and sickeningly apologetic to you. He seemed almost scared to initiate sex, and when he did, couldn’t help but act like a touch might break you.

After all, one almost had. Those hands he’d hear you beg and plead to put on you now were the very same ones he’d used to kill dozens, if not hundreds, including blood of your own blood. To the world, Bucky’s reputation commanded fear. To his wife, now, he felt duly obliged to prove he was more—that you were safe with him, not from him. He’d carted you off to every GP, hematologist, nutritionist, and grief specialist lauded among Brooklyn’s elite to make that happen. Fast. Frankly, these days, the thought of fucking was the furthest thing from his mind.

Unbeknownst to Bucky, somewhere along the spectrum of grief, you’d already come to settle comfortably at the ‘Need-to-be-fucked-until-I-can-no-longer-think-or-feel’ phase, and every bone in your body was crying out for respite in the form of ruthless, mind-numbing sex. It didn’t make sense. You hardly knew what to do with it. You should have lashed out, shut down, cried rivers and lakes of tears for that integral part of family that had been lost, but for whatever reason, you had to go numb.

You wanted to do something really, really fucking dumb.

Remorseful as he was, Bucky and his explanations for who or what the Winter Soldier was had been sparse. He’d told you that he had once been held in captivity by HYDRA, had his brain re-wired some way to make him a merciless Soviet sleeper agent, and that the night in Madripoor was the first in ages he had been ‘activated.’ How did activation happen? Of course, he wouldn’t tell.

But Steve would.

Steve had told you everything you wanted to know about your soldat, describing in painstaking detail how he worked, trained, operated, and could be called to action. You were almost certain Rogers had said it all as a way to assure you that it wasn’t Bucky who’d killed your father—it was someone inside him. You were more than positive Steve had never intended for you to use his intel like this.

You hadn’t believed him. Couldn’t believe him. How the fuck could someone sever all ties to their conscious mind and just transform anew into a killer? You got to be hell-bent on knowing for certain whether it’d been Bucky or him, it, whatever the hell the Winter Solider was, and on knowing it now. If your husband was faking it all and simply using this persona to justify the killing, that would be it. Trust gone, marriage over. If he wasn’t, well…you hadn’t gotten that far into your own line of thinking.

“Tell me what you want, doll,” Bucky said, pulling you back to the present.

He shifted gently against you, cotton trousers raising the friction a little as he slotted between your legs. He was still dressed head-to-toe from his meeting that morning.

“I want you to fuck me. Make me cum. Please.”

You were bare, save for one small scrap of linen and lace that somehow passed as a nightie. Your gaze was soft.

Bucky didn’t want to say no, but he also felt too guilty to say yes. The way you were watching him now, eyes so helpless and pleading, body writhing for contact, he knew you didn’t want his touch so much as needed it. Desperately. Couldn’t bear to be burdened with grief so you brushed it aside, to the furthest recesses of your mind until all that was left was desire. Starvation, really.

He could satiate you for now, but that hunger might not ever leave. The corners of his lips twitched into a frown.

“Gentle?” he mumbled.

“Rough,” you countered.

“Baby—”

“I really don’t need another fucking lecture on death, Bucky. I know I’m not myself right now, but I can still make these decisions, okay? Don’t talk to me like I can’t.”

Anger flashed in your eyes for a second, then indignation, then nothing. Without much energy left, you pushed him away. Flopped back on the bed and, seeming to sink into yourself, heaved a low, feeble sigh.

“I know. Hey,” Bucky leaned over to press a touch to your tummy, and it made you want to hurl, “I’m sorry.”

You turned onto your side.

“You still don’t remember what happened?”

The question came suddenly, almost from somewhere outside your body, it seemed. For the hundredth time.

“No,” Bucky answered, for what felt like the thousandth.

“This Winter Soldier—”

“He isn’t me.”

“You didn’t know?”

“Couldn’t know. Wasn’t…programmed for it.”

Bucky was watching you now, eyes as contrite as they’d ever been while you rehashed this subject to the brink of tears. He never could stay composed when he saw you cry.

“Baby…” he started, arms reaching out for you.

Eyes still filling with tears, you shook your head and swatted him off. You sat up, and your brows pinched together in a look he couldn’t read. Contemplating.

At last, you made up your mind.

You would try something new—and really, really stupid:

“Zhelaniye.”

“What?”

Bucky’s own expression contorted with uncertainty.

“—semnadtsat, rzhaviy, rasvet—”

He heard that. He immediately wished he hadn’t.

“Wait—”

You were curious. You had no idea what you were doing.

“Baby, baby, stop—”

“—pech, devyat—”

You were speaking so fast, surely it wouldn’t work like that. Either way, he had to stop you. He seized your arms, giving a sharp, deliberate shake, pupils blown to the size of saucers in his eyes. There wasn’t much time.

“Don’t—”

“—adin—”

No time at all.

“—dothisdon’tfuckingdothishoneyplease.”

Losing himself already. Feeling it stir inside his mind.

“—dobroserdechniy—”

‘Kind-hearted.’ ‘Benign’. You truly had no clue what these words were liable to do, much less what they meant.

Having enunciated this last part, you swallowed. Took the tip of your tongue and rolled it left-to-right across the backs of your teeth, waiting for your speech to take effect like some magical performance before your eyes.

It hadn’t, it seemed. You blinked. He blinked. You sat in a protracted silence for what seemed like seventeen years, and presently, your stomach began to churn. Nothing happened—you’d been right about this fuckery all along.

Then you remembered one last word of the sequence.

Faintly, you said:

“Soldat.”

The man above you straightened. Sitting. Stiff. Still perched by your legs at a comfortable distance but regarding you now with a pointed stare. Expectancy made manifest in a simple, sharp glare from his eyes to yours.

“...Bucky?”

The look on his face grew even harder. For a time, he persisted in that strange and silent grimace, and just when you started to suspect he was faking this whole demeanor of deadened stoicism, you heard a voice. Clawing out of his throat but sounding nothing like him:

“Who the hell is Bucky?”

The words drove a fear to the greatest depths of your bones, and you hardly knew why. You stared back at the handsome, barren man still watching you with severity, and you couldn’t seem to find your husband anywhere.

“James?” You weren’t sure why you tried his name again. You just didn’t know what else to say.

The scowl seeped into his mouth, and he frowned.

“James,” he repeated, like the word was foreign to him.

You found yourself shuffling back on the bed just then—to what, you didn’t know. You just felt a gnawing need to put some space between you and this person, this glowering face, however you could. When he grabbed your ankle, you let out a startled sound, and when he followed you up on the bed, you did more than just whimper; you lifted your leg to knee him directly in the stomach. He caught it.

Then he stared again, expression bloodless and wan.

“You’re scaring me, Bucky.” Your voice trembled as you tried to free your leg from his fist—grip unusually strong.

The man paused another moment, if only to soak in your words and let his gaze trail over your face. Your exertions did not register. And, for the very first time, you felt as though you were something more like a plaything in your husband’s eyes—not a full-fledged human being but a system to be gamed. The feeling was so unsettling that you had to turn away.

Or try to, anyway.

Craning your neck just far enough to spy your phone on the nightstand, your first thought was Steve; he would know what to do. But before you could even think to twist and lift your body in that direction, you felt a hand yank you to the bed, flat on your back. You looked up at Bucky and found yourself caged between two arms. He lowered himself to his elbows, shifted his weight to one side, and seemed not to notice your movements at all when you tried to slide away. The man just splayed his hand across your stomach and pressed it firmly. Stay.

You weren’t one to shy away from a challenge—or keep hope alive against the odds. You put your hand over his.

“James—”

“Zhena.”

The abruptness of Bucky’s word stole the rest of yours. You cocked a brow and followed his gaze to your hand.

To the gaps between your fingers, then the touch that fanned across them to settle on one digit in particular.

Bucky thumbed at the diamond and smiled. He smiled.

“Zhena,” he repeated.

You blinked.

“I— you...gave me that, Bucky. You did.”

He hummed in acknowledgment.

Bucky stared at the ring for what could’ve been five seconds or several years, and then he did something unexpected. He shifted his touch to the bodice of your dress—again, if you could even call it that—and he began to tug at the satin bow situated between your breasts.

Of course, this nightie being designed for honeymoons and supremely easy access, it didn’t take much effort at all for the folds of your dress to come apart. Your breasts spilled out of the fabric without so much as a hint of protest, your torso was quick to become fully exposed, and suddenly, shortly, your hands were fumbling at your chest in an effort to regain some smidgen of modesty. Your husband just shook his head, following your hands.

“Moya zhena,” he said, a touch more emphasis and fervor to the first of the two words.

Now it was you who was shaking your head. Trying to pry his touch away as you slid up the bed. When he followed, you saw the icy expression had been supplanted by intrigue and, though you still felt ill at ease, you couldn’t deny you were curious to know what he was thinking. Who was thinking it? Soft, plush lips swiftly replaced his hands, and before you even knew what he was doing, Bucky, or someone, was latching onto your left breast. Using teeth to graze the hardened nub and send a ripple of thick, guilty pleasure coursing through you.

You whimpered. Bucky groaned.

Your fingers slotted through his hair with every intention of pushing him away, but when you tried, he just flicked his tongue and made another delicious sound against you.

You pushed with even more force, and he groaned again.

Not Bucky, not Bucky, not him, you have to—

“Stop!” you cried.

A set of soft, warm baby blues darted up to meet you.

Some flicker of recognition seemed to cross them, too.

“Honey?”

You almost lurched toward the sound. It was Bucky.

Suddenly, your hands were making fists in the collar of his crisp white button-up, and you were trying to yank him up. You murmured his name in disbelief, relief, and gathered him up in your arms to pull him in for a kiss.

The lips that met you were soft for a moment—just one.

Then the teeth reappeared. Harsh, jarring, biting. You jerked back at the sensation, and when you found his face again, it seemed your husband was lost to you all over. The eyes were attentive still—nowhere near as cold and aloof as they had been before—but they did not radiate the same warmth and admiration that Bucky’s always did. You almost couldn’t believe what you were seeing. He was gone, just like that, and there was nothing you could do to stop it from happening.

A broad palm cupped your cheek to bring you in for another kiss, and you weren’t sure if you should indulge. It didn’t seem you had much choice anyway, because the lips that were seeking yours were hungry. Starved. Searing into your mouth with a force you couldn’t refuse.

But something inside you wanted to find Bucky again.

Somewhere inside this stranger was lying dormant a trace of your husband; you’d seen it yourself, if only for a second. It made you curious. Where had he gone? What did he do when forced to retreat into this strange, preprogrammed being, and how could you get him back?

“Bucky,” you mumbled, more of a plea than a moan.

You were kissed harder than you had been in a long time. You didn’t have to think, or do, or breathe one puff of air that this man didn’t account for. His tongue wedged a gaping space in your wet, welcoming mouth for him to fill, and somehow, you didn’t feel the urge to protest. A familiarity in the way he kissed almost put you at ease, and when his body lifted slightly, yours lifted with it.

Before long, Bucky was sitting. Kneeling between your legs with an eye to your soft, shaking torso. You’d barely even come to notice just how hard you were breathing until you felt a palm on your stomach again. There was an oddly calming insinuation in that one simple touch.

And again, he smiled. Brighter than before.

“Nashe?” He sounded eager as he said it.

You peered up at him and raised an eyebrow in question. Perhaps you should’ve felt more exposed; after all, you were sitting half-naked with your husband’s assassin alter ego stroking your stomach and beaming over you, eyeing you expectantly, and you didn’t know what to say. Apart from the short set of words Steve had taught you, you were totally clueless to Russian, and you weren’t quite sure you were in a place to ask Bucky to translate.

When it seemed words might never come, the gleaming teeth above you were shrouded in a tighter, close-lipped smile, and Bucky nodded. Appearing to understand. Instead of forcing a response from you, he just let his hand migrate down your belly, fingers tracing the skin, then settle comfortably—momentarily—at the crest of your pubic bone. Then he pressed the heel of his palm into the place residing right below it, and without really meaning to, you moaned. A quiet maelstrom of pleasure circled low in your abdomen, threatening to draw noises from your throat you weren’t planning to make with every gentle gyration of Bucky’s lower hand.

You had to purse your lips to contain the sounds.

Again, he nodded.

“It’s okay,” he said, so quiet he almost couldn’t be heard.

He let the friction continue for a while like that: just palming you, watching you react to the simplest of motions against your swollen, aching clit and try not to writhe. At length, you squirmed a little bit. Bucky seemed to want to wait for something to happen, and when you bucked your hips, a look in his eye said that was enough.

He lowered himself between your legs. Shoulders bumping your thighs as he spread them apart, chest rising and falling in measured breaths, and lips smiling all the while. You sucked in a breath when his face came to rest just a few inches shy of your bare, aching warmth.

“Bucky?”

The man looked up at you and blinked.

“Yeah, honey?”

One thumb traced over the seam of your cunt, and your back nearly arched off the bed. There he was, again, gaze safe and secure to yours and hands moving in tandem as they always would. His tongue calmly followed suit. When you fisted his hair, he blinked once more and then directed his attention back to your wet, warm, velvety folds with a pointed look and a purpose.

The sound that escaped you next could hardly be classed as anything less than a scream, but the soft and unperturbed demeanor of the man between your legs showed he hadn’t noticed at all. He just sucked diligently—damn near dutifully—on your clit with a vigor you’d never felt, and when you yanked at his hair, he hummed.

It was like his lips had been trained for perfect suction; that was how well and thoroughly he descended upon your swollen little bud. An airtight kiss and a quick flick of his tongue, paired with his hot and heavy breaths fanning over your cunt, sent your senses into overdrive. Your toes curled inward, your throat let loose a gasp, and without fully realizing it, your walls were clamping down, pulsing and leaking out desire for more of this touch.

Then, without warning, Bucky brought a hand to the throbbing and slick cunt that was presently clenching around nothing, and he fed it two fingers. So forceful and deep he nearly buried his knuckles right along with them. Then he started scissoring those two fingers, sharply.

“Open, milaya,” he said. Again, it wasn’t entirely Bucky.

But you felt a faint remembrance there. You didn’t want him to stop. Maybe you were led astray by the gentle laps of his tongue or the prodding of his fingertips, or perhaps there was something stubbornly familiar about the way he was touching you now. You couldn’t tell.

All you knew was that both of your hands were holding tight to his head and begging him, wordlessly, for more.

Your moans rang all the way through the bedroom in your new, far-too-big penthouse apartment in Brooklyn, down the hall, reverberating through every inch of the space until all that could be heard were your sounds and his and the delectable little noises of your bodies working together. Bucky hadn’t even stirred to pleasure himself.

You wanted that part to change.

With your hip pinned to the mattress and Bucky’s tongue laving over your clit in ruthlessly quick movements, you probably would’ve liked to cum all over his mouth and fingers, but you wanted to see him pleased even more.

Just when he’d worked a third finger inside you and was driving you close to your peak, you pushed him away.

Bucky parted from your folds with a glistening chin and two furrowed eyebrows, clearly frustrated to have been torn from his mission before you reached completion, but you wouldn’t let that look linger for long. You used your leverage in his hair—however slight, comparatively, that grip might have been—to pull him up on the bed.

Bucky surprised you with just how swiftly he moved.

His steel-blue gaze was on yours in a second, equally penetrating and soft.

“What’s the matter?” he asked.

“Nothing—”

“My baby okay?”

He surprised you again; this time by how quick his demeanor was to shift the second he sensed something was wrong. Just like Bucky. It had to be him in there.

You nodded, still out of breath from the wonders he’d been working with his tongue. You squeezed his arm and tried to coax him toward you, to help him lower his body some, and when he seemed uncertain, you offered a smile. It’s okay to touch, you won’t break anything.

Bucky eyed you skeptically, but it was clear he was more wary of himself than of you. He glanced over your body, briefly to his, then slowly, apprehensively, sank down.

“Just fine,” you mumbled, hooking your legs around his back the second his chest was close enough to yours.

You felt an uptick in his heartbeat when your heels dug a little more firmly into the waistband of his pants. While your hands started working their way toward the front of that fabric, wedging clumsily between your bodies, his gaze flitted to yours, and his brows drew even tighter together. He didn’t try to stop you, but he certainly seemed confused as to why you wanted to include him so soon. Why you cared to show concern for him at all.

You noticed that then, and in just about every moment preceding, the man was taken aback by kindness.

Whether it was pulling him closer to you, tugging his pants down with a tender touch, running your fingers across the bulge in his boxers, or simply nodding your head and letting him know it was okay to touch you back, Bucky seemed unaccustomed to any care in this area.

When your fingers made it around his cock and started stroking him, gently, he just might’ve come apart.

His chest shuddered with the inhale of a short, strained breath, and his eyelids fluttered, as if meaning to close.

Bucky’s jaw clenched, and he started to shake his head.

“No, let me—”

“Let me,” you finished for him, wrist flicking back and forth quietly. You paused just to rub a quick touch between your folds, collect some arousal, then return to touching him when he met your eyes again and allowed you to continue. You skimmed his sensitive underside with your palm and let the warmth of him bleed into your fingertips as you worked him up to a comfortable pace.

Bucky rutted into your touch, probably harder than he meant to. Then he planted a hand beside your head and anchored his weight above you so that he was close enough to reach your lips—but he didn’t kiss you.

His expression hardened again, and he forcibly removed himself from the pulse of your fingers. He frowned.

“You want me to fuck you, no? Make you cum?”

He sounded irritated again.

Briefly, you recalled your words from earlier and nodded. It was true, you’d said it to him like that, and you’d meant it. You just couldn’t make sense of what he wanted now.

It seemed Bucky couldn’t wait to indulge you any longer. He fisted his cock in one hand, angled the head just outside of your cunt, and burst in with one thrust.

“Then let me,” he muttered, plunging down to the hilt.

The first go was rough, and the second was no kinder. Bucky’s face screwed up with indifference again, like he wanted to get something out of his brain and just do.

Like there was a task at hand that needed to be finished.

You couldn’t deny it felt fine at first. Fucking edifying after all those horrific thoughts had been eating away at your mind and rousing your own hunger for numbness. The drive of Bucky’s thick girth in and out, in and out repeatedly was no doubt capable of rendering you dumb. But being slammed into and taken so roughly was only good for you when you knew he was feeling good too.

This Bucky was back to being entirely flinty and lifeless—practically devoid of all emotion as he railed into you.

The back of your head was forced into the pillow with the weight of each thrust and Bucky’s thumb pushing into your chin—‘Better, milaya? Is this better for you?’—and frankly, you wanted to push him back and ask the same.

But you couldn’t. The pace he’d set was suffocating, and the stretch of his cock inside you was unusually tough.

Instead, you sank your nails into his arm and mumbled:

“Bucky.”

The man’s thrusts were both stabbing and rhythmic, sending a welt of pleasure blossoming up in your chest. You tried again:

“Bucky.”

He blinked.

And slowed.

“Bucky,” he mumbled back.

Seemingly mindless and mechanical, he snaked a hand behind your head to lift your face and tilt it toward the sight below: his cock splitting you open before him, parting your insides with an easy, welcome glide through the slick of your folds. You watched as your arousal enveloped him fully. Not a single inch of his rock-hard, throbbing shaft was spared; even his balls were soaked. They felt even heavier slapping your ass with each thrust.

“You remember?” you asked, hating how small you sounded.

The man’s nostrils flared, but he gave a curt nod. Expression taut and vigilant, as though anticipating something going wrong at any second. Still, he nodded.

“Years,” he answered.

“Years?”

Since he’d done this? Felt good? Become this way?

No, Bucky was activated in Madripoor just weeks ago. He didn’t look like he was ready to indulge in any ‘feel-good’ pleasure, and you weren’t sure when he’d last been with anyone else before you. Years could mean anything.

You chanced a few soft fingertips up to his cheeks, cupping either side of his clean-shaven face in an effort to anchor you both to one place. The pit of your stomach was reeling with warmth, and friction, and fullness. It took everything in you just to pull him in for a quick, grounding kiss before the feeling gave way to even more.

Bucky’s teeth nicked your bottom lip. He flinched back.

You ignored the sting and repeated his name, murmuring it carefully up to the seal of his mouth as if requesting entry with that word alone.

It seemed to work. Bucky kissed you back with a gentle, albeit guarded, sort of tenderness that made him soften. His thrusts weren’t as rough and punishing as they were before. The dull, throbbing ache between your legs transformed into something sweeter, and your body no longer had to brace itself against strokes that, to you, were nearly bruising and, to Bucky, were just necessary.

For once, your husband let out a soft grunt of pleasure.

“They never let us,” Bucky said as his teeth grit together, “It’s been years.”

“Since what?”

The face above you tempered more—this time with a trace of sadness behind it. He continued to rut into you, but now his thrusts were sloppy, and it seemed as though he were battling against his own pleasure with every motion. He lowered one hand between your legs and began to thumb at your clit, gaze torn from yours.

“Close now?” he muttered.

Ignoring the question you’d asked.

“Years since what?” you pressed anyway. The tiny ripples preceding bliss had already begun to stir inside you, maddeningly, with every flick of his thumb, but your curiosity to know the whole truth was stronger still.

Bucky’s hips were moving at a feverish pace now; his free hand made a fist in the sheets beside your head, and his chest heaved with a series of short, ragged breaths that were no doubt meant to mask his moans as well. Notwithstanding the burn you felt between your legs—he really was much rougher and stronger now, you saw—you cupped his cheek again to tilt his face toward yours.

What you saw made your stomach drop.

Your heart clenched like a fist within the confines of your ribcage, and there it was—that terrible ache you felt each time you saw something awful materialize before you.

Bucky’s eyes were wet with tears. He wouldn’t blink.

He tilted his head into your touch, as if for support, but really, the weight of it signaled to you that he just wanted to feel you. Be assured that you were there. His big, broad arms seemed suddenly unable to hold his weight, and then he sank into your frame with a grunt and another stuttered breath. Like he was ready to collapse.

“Don’t leave again,” he said quietly.

The pain in your chest elevated, in bloom.

“Bucky I didn’t— wasn’t—” you started to say.

The friction between your bodies was almost too much to bear. You couldn’t be sure if you were talking to your husband, soldat, or some strange, inconceivable mixture of the two, but you could tell that this one was desperate.

Pleading.

“I can’t lose you again.”

The head of his cock grazed your most sensitive spot inside, and a whine seeped out through your teeth. Bucky’s whole body was blanketing yours, torso flush with your front and hips working an erratic cadence as he got a glimpse of release himself. He groaned out in pleasure and begged you to stay. You promised that you would. Your legs were still wound around his sides, but both of your bodies were slick with a sheen of sweat; it was hard to hang on. Bucky’s hair was wild and pushed back from his face, but his eyes were clear when they finally met yours, and you heard him mumble again, ‘Please stay.’

You didn’t know what else to say but okay, baby, I will.

You swore you would stay, and in between oaths, your mouth was consumed by a barrage of kisses—Bucky got to feast with a full set of teeth again, primal as ever—and then your climax hit. Euphoria washed over you whole with a force you weren’t expecting to feel, and you couldn’t help but cry out and whine as waves of pleasure coursed straight from the innermost depths of your core.

Bucky’s hips collided with yours in two more stuttered thrusts, and when he bottomed out at the last, you felt a heavy spurt of warmth. A groan coiling out of his chest. Muscles growing lax and two sturdy arms coming to bracket your head as your husband’s whole body weight went folding into yours. You kissed some more, in between frenzied intakes of breaths and steadying moments where you were simply trying to ground your body and get your heart to slow down to a normal rate.

You held each other in silence for a while. Bucky’s head fell next to yours on the pillow when the last of his spend had been emptied, but otherwise, he didn’t stir. At some point, his hands slid behind your back, and the second he hugged you to him, you felt secure in that embrace.

You were probably as far as you’d ever been from understanding who the fuck your husband was, but all it seemed you were capable of feeling for now was pity.

Pity for the years he’d lost to captivity; pity for what was little more than mere existence under HYDRA’s thumb; pity for all the things you still didn’t know about his past.

You held Bucky tighter, and, flooded with this strange, grating emotion and an overwhelming sense of powerlessness, you wished you could protect him, too.

“James?” you mumbled into his hair.

Bucky didn’t respond.

You squeezed his shoulder. Still nothing.

Against your better judgment, you tried to shift yourself underneath his body. You figured you wouldn’t make it far at all, but at least he would be aware that you were trying to get up. Maybe even start to move with you.

He didn’t.

It took everything in you just to wedge an elbow back, struggle to prop yourself up against his weight, and when you were about to let out a huff of an exasperated laugh and tell him, Bucky, you’re crushing me, honey, could you please ease up a little, your request was answered before the words could even leave your mouth.

At the sound of two new muffled voices carrying up from the living room and what appeared to be noises from shuffling feet, Bucky rose straight from the bed, off you.

Your gaze trailed his to the door, and you reached for him.

“Baby, it’s just—”

Bucky was back on his feet. Yanking his boxers and pants up his legs and buckling his belt in no time at all.

The movers. It’s just the movers bringing in furniture—

You moved your hand closer to your husband in the hopes of stalling his movements for half a second, but then a set of ruthless blue eyes had you pinned, quick:

“Stay.”

Your outstretched arm was taken up in a much stronger, stiffer one, and you were suddenly pulled over to Bucky.

But you knew from the eyes it wasn’t him at all.

And you weren’t so much being tugged toward him as you were being hauled to the floor. Thrown on your knees beside the bed, next to Bucky. He was about to leave.

Without thinking, you reached for one of the legs of his trousers and sank your nails into the fabric to hold him in place, to tell him again that there was nothing to see out there but the people you knew, no threat outside at all. But Bucky was deaf to your pleas, it seemed. He shrugged you off easily and made a move for his gun, expression blank, stolid, calm, hardened. Decided.

You tried to rise to your feet but were stopped.

“STAY,” Bucky boomed again, this time an order that he didn’t even deign to complete with a look your way.

If he had—if he even possessed the ability to consider anything but the immediate task at hand—he would’ve seen his own hand knock you to the floor to keep you from standing. Might’ve caught a glimpse of the instant your head struck the edge of the nightstand before you hit the ground. Could’ve even made out the first traces of blood that came trickling out from above your temple. Would’ve seen you cower back, viscerally, out of fear.

But holding the side of your head and watching him leave, grim realization twisted at the pit of your stomach, and you knew the man wouldn’t have stopped if he had.

If your soldat’s objective was to protect you from any harm lurking outside that door, real or illusory, nothing you were capable of doing now could stop that. At expense to yourself, at expense to him, at expense to whatever lives stood between the Winter Soldier and that unwavering, hardwired goal, he still would not ever stop.

Thinking of new, innocent lives in the balance, now, you scrambled for your phone the next second to call Steve.

You tried him once. Twice. A third time crawling on your knees, then standing, then staggering over to the door and pulling the phone from your ear just to send a string of texts to your friend while the thing continued to ring.

SOS

Need help

Pick up please

Bucky’s stuck and he’s

About to hurt people here

A crash sounded outside. You hurried to the door. Your hand closed around the knob and tried to turn it. The handle turned freely, but something behind it was refusing to let you leave the room. You pressed again.

“Bucky!”

Your cry was useless in the face of the barricade outside.

You pushed your shoulder and, behind it, the whole force of your weight against it anyway, trying to get out.

The line went dead. You tried again.

Now with your phone to one ear and the bedroom door taking the brunt of your hits from the other, bleeding side of your body, you scarcely heard much of anything else. The ring started. Stopped. Began again when you pressed a shaky finger to Steve’s contact name, and continued in a cycle for some time while you tried to force whatever was on the other side of the door away.

The second a voice broke through the haze of your frantic, half-crazed state of consciousness, you cried:

“STEVE!”

“Mrs. Barnes?”

You were shocked to hear a woman on the other end. Your pulse was still racing, shoulder aching from the impact of each desperate push you’d been forcing against the door, and then you stopped. Another loud something sounded down the hallway, further away, but you were too startled and unnerved to take any note of it.

You started to ask, ‘Where’s Steve?’ when the voice continued:

“This is Mrs. Barnes?”

“Yes,” you answered woodenly.

You held the phone as close to your ear as you could, but still, the woman’s words were coming in and out in bursts. You must’ve mistakenly accepted the call when trying to reach Steve—you couldn’t think right now; could barely retract the phone far enough to see a strange number displayed on the screen. You swallowed.

“—from Lenox Hill Hospital at Northwell Health—”

The high-rise medical center on the Upper East Side you’d visited that week. Bucky had wanted you tested for nutritional deficiencies and anemia, of all fucking things.

“—if you had a moment or two to chat and maybe—”

No, you needed Steve, not this outpatient courtesy call.

You would’ve liked to hang up. Should’ve hung up. In fact, your fingers were practically itching to hit the button the whole time the nurse was speaking to you, but something in you just couldn’t be persuaded to do it. It took several more seconds before your senses began to creep back, and by then, when you were about to drop the call, you heard a phrase that stopped you on a dime.

“—but the doctor advises prenatal vitamins—”

“What?” you snapped, far more harshly than you meant.

The nurse paused a beat, whether from incredulity at how rude you’d just sounded or to consider something. When she resumed, she sounded a little more guarded.

“Yes…Dr. Watkins did reach out to you about your bloodwork from your last visit, didn’t she? I thought—”

“No,” you said, rushed and painfully brusque, again. You tried to rein in your tone some before continuing, “She didn’t—didn’t reach out about anything. What vitamins?”

Another pause.

“Prenatals.”

You hated that she gave you another second to chew on that word before taking a breath and pressing on.

“I’m terribly, terribly sorry to be the one to spring that on you, Mrs. Barnes—I thought you knew…um—” The nurse was sheepish now, almost embarrassed to be speaking, “—you’re about…three weeks along in your pregnancy.”

Three weeks along.

Advised prenatal vitamins.

For the child growing inside of you.

A rivulet of blood trickled into your left eye.

Your whole body was apt to convulse, but it didn’t.

You hung up.

—

Taglist: (please lmk if I missed anyone! I can only tag 50 at a time so will continue in a separate post) @vicmc624 @she-could-never @mcira @kentokaze @identity2212 @unaxv, @buchi91, @ordelixx @stinkerbelle007 @opibarnes @wilsons-striped-ties @desigirlxx @pono-pura-vida @geminiflanagansblog @buggy14 @sky-full-0f-fl0wers @buckysdoll1520 @armystay89 @minimarvelingmarvel @kunakizen @ghostiebby06 @blackhawkfanatic @dameron-grantspector @sushiseoks @deansapplepie @mrsjoequinn @gyokujyn @lunaroserites @first-edition @kaybaby2494, @jaggedsi @excusememrbarnes @daisychainsoflove @mostlymarvelgirl @diannana @shawnberry @yujyujj @urmomsalex @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @athenabarnes @christinabae @sluttylittlewaistenthusiast @wintrsoldrluvr @bethbunnyy @i-heart-smut @aagn360 @dahliawolfe @fantasyfootballchampion @lilyevanstan1325 @kandis-mom @thealyrs

[despairots]

━━━━━━━━ in another another dimension.

1610! miles morales x gn! spiderman! reader x 42! miles morales. angst, and sorta fluff?? also spoilers if u havent seen the movie yet, shit writing since i havent wrote in a long time 👎

where miles morales was your boyfriend and died in your dimension ‘cause you couldn’t save him in time after he was pushed off a building. where earth 1610 & earth 42, you’re dead ‘cause you got pushed off a building.

you couldn’t save him in time. by the time you saw his figure disappear from the ledge of the building, you were already frozen in spot, seeing as if the love of your life was gonna die and it was because of you.

even though you caught him by the chest with one of your webs, the recoil already impacted his head and back, causing him to die. you couldn’t apologize to him after the argument you two had.

“miles… i am so sorry. please wake up. wake the fuck up, miles! this isn’t funny. please tell me i’m dreaming, please tell me you’ll wake me up from a nightmare like before. please, i can’t lose you too…”

he always would wake you up and comfort you after a nightmare, he wouldn’t do that anymore. he would always whisper sweet things in your ear that always made you blush, he wouldn’t do that anymore.

nothing that was only exchanged between the two of you wouldn’t happen anymore, nothing. it was meaningless to you, you missed him. it was obvious to everyone.

your parents, friends, miles’s parents, classmates, teachers, schoolmates. they all knew how much you cherished eachother, how much you couldn’t keep living without eachother.

when he needed you the most, you weren’t there. you weren’t able to save him in time. maybe you could this time, saving him from a hundred other spider people.

EARLIER.

“this your friend, gwen?” a familiar voice was heard behind you making you quickly turn around, your spider sense going off. “miles?” “[name]?” the two of you spoke at the same time, jaw dropped and eyes widened.

“this was the surprise you meant, gwen.” all guilt that you thought you buried long time ago was to much to handle when you saw him, the same beauty that he had when you he died in your universe.

you couldn’t help but hug him tightly, face buried into his chest, he was always taller then you. miles jumped a little bit before hugging you back, his face buried on top of your hair.

you were restraining yourself for crying, small sniffles came from you as you could see gwen lightly smiling at the two of you. embarrassment was the only thing that made you pull away.

“sorry! i— um, have a miles morales in my dimension b - but he died.” you stumbled upon your words, blush on your cheek as miles blinked at you. “it’s fine. i have a you in my dimension but they — uh, died.”

miles nervously chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. it was awkward between the two of you, completely embarrassed that you hugged eachother even though you technically knew eachother too.

when you think about it, maybe you could save him this time… from millions of spider people and being thrown to his earth with him.

EARTH ???.

miles told you to wait in the living to talk to his mother, brooklyn was totally wrecked on his earth. spiderman was gone for just two days or maybe more and brooklyn looked like hell.

it didn’t feel right, you felt uneasy. it felt to surreal, to unrealistic in your opinion. you turned invisible when you saw mrs. morales, miles’ mother, walk out of his room, laughing.

he tried speaking to her before getting cut off by glitching, scaring you. ‘he’s in the wrong dimension.’ miles and you shared a look, signifying the look of terror.

‘the spider that bit him… it wasn’t from his dimension. miguel was right… he was never meant to be spiderman.’ the door creaked open, revealing the man who thought had died in miles’ dimension.

the two chattered, his uncle taking him to the roof as miles looked at you and gestured to follow him. it was shocking, to say the least, watching the two look at a mural.

your eyes widened at the art, instead of miles’ uncle dead, it was his dad and you. until then, you realized, you were always going to die in ever dimension but yours.

no matter how many times, no matter how many dimensions, the universes were working together to stop you and miles from every getting together.

that’s why miles died in yours, you dying in miles, and you dying in this world too. the universes never wanted you two to get together, maybe it was because of the saying:

in every other universe, gwen stacy falls for spiderman.

you were too lost in thought that you didn’t realize miles was knocked out until your spider senses tingled, reflexes making you dodged the incoming punch.

your hood (from your black sweater that you wore over your suit) flipped off, revealing the tight frown and scowl on your face. “what the f— miles…” you whispered the last part, seeing him on the floor.

something was poked into your neck, injecting you with something and forced you to sleep. losing authority over your body, you fell to the ground, unbothered by it.

your body didn’t touch the ground, that’s the thing, someone caught you in time. they cradled you softly in their arms, watching your eyes blink in and out if reality before completely closing.

aaron scoffed at his nephew, “that’s not the [name] you knew, they ain’t yours.” his nephew mumbled a yes, watching you sleep with the beauty you still had when you died.

your fingers were twitching, a small habit that you always had when sleeping. he missed you, he missed you so damn much.

and when he saw your face when your hood flipped over, he felt like he got a second chance to be with you.

but when he looked over at the other miles that was over his uncle’s shoulder, he felt hatred. he didn’t want to risk you to his other counterpart, he didn’t want to lose you, again.

and that was the same feeling 1610 miles felt, he didn’t want to lose you again. and for sure, you felt that way too.

[mayearies]

˚ʚ ©hiimayee ɞ˚

OPEN ARMS? …. miles g. morales ⟡

જ⁀➴ genre : angst | warnings : breakup, no happy ending, lengthy blurb

꒰ঌ ໒꒱ note! : yeah this made me cry if u cry sorrieee

miles knew you too well. you wanted him to choose a new path in life, and he thought different.

you liked to take him out on random dates sometimes. walks around brooklyn, stay up talking, but most of all—convincing him he doesn’t need to do this. he’s heard it a thousand times. he has to.

today was a bad day to catch him. and he would later come to you in the dead of night and find your endless persuasive ramblings being an earworm for him.

“ listen. i get your point, i seriously do. but can you shut up with the prowler shit. for five seconds.”

“ i’m sorry-”

“ i just- i dont wanna talk about it, okay?”

miles wasn’t like this all the time. in fact, he was rather sweet towards you. no matter how annoyed he was, he was usually nice. but he didn’t look recognizable to you anymore. he looked disappointed.

he didn’t hold your hand like he used to when you walked down the street, he was more distant. and you didn’t see him as much anymore.

the ringing of your protests against him were always in his ear, even if you weren’t speaking. thats just what made him more upset. but he didn’t know what to be upset at.

you walked slightly beside him. he would slow down if you trailed too far behind. you didn’t know if you should follow him back home. suddenly, he stopped. “ can i ask you somethin’?”

“ mhm.”

“ do you really think i’m a hero?”

you knew what he had to see. some die, some live, some injured. some of those he had to inflict. but he said he did it for the greater good. for you and brooklyn. “ …i don’t know.”

miles scoffed at your answer, kicking the rocks on the pavement. his sudden change startled you a bit. “ great answer. just absolutely amazing.”

now, there’s one thing here. he can be upset all he wants. but he shouldn’t gain an attitude.

“ you need to chill out-”

“ don’t tell me what to do, [name].”

he doesn’t use your first name a lot. what happened to nicknames? what happened to ‘ma?’ ‘darling?’ ‘amor?’ what happened to those? are they just lost to time now..?

his distance was bothering you. he just wasn’t miles anymore. you don’t know who this is. is this the prowler you’re talking to? you grabbed his wrist making him stumble back. “ i’m worried! i’m worried about you.”

“ well don’t.” snapping at you was something he never did. never once in his life. he would tell you to back off, yeah, but never like that before. “ i’m fine.”

“that’s bullshit!”

he was really trying not to snap at you right now. you were working his last nerve. he doesn’t want to argue. he just wants you to leave it alone and move on. as you always do.

he huffed before relaxing his expression. “ look. just don’t worry about me, alright?” he paused, “ you hear me? just stop.”

you felt unheard. you felt so ignored. " you're a fucking liar! do you expect me not to worry about you when you come to my window at three in the morning? covered in bruises?! is that how you wanna play this out!?"

miles’ expression turned stern. even as he began to shake a little. you couldn’t believe this was miles. “ you think i’m still your sweet boy ?? do you really think that !?"

he looked hurt, he wasn’t happy.

" …i-" you felt your heart shatter into a million pieces. he used to be so loving. so caring. it didnt feel like he was here at all. he just felt like a stranger. someone who walked all over your heart.

“ forget it-” silence filled the thick atmosphere again.

“ do you even think im alive, miles?"

miles stopped walking, he looked back quickly. he seemed confused.. and a little hurt. he saw you on the verge of crying. he would always say if he made you cry, he would never forgive himself for that.

" do you think im here? do you think i just-" your voice started breaking, " i just dont ever think about what you're going through? when i clean up your blood from my sheets? do you think i dont care?"

you cant avoid the inevitable, huh? yeah. he thought that too. he knew this would happen. “ because i assure you— i do care. i care more than- more than anyone else! anyone else that you know as a friend. thats why i ask. but you never tell me. never once. i do all of this for you, and i get nothing. miles.”

miles sighed, he had always felt this way—he didn’t deserve you. he knew he didn’t. you? he doesn’t know. it’s just hard for him to show how he really feels sometimes. “ ..please know i care.” he paused, wrapping his arms around you.

“ i really do. i hate to see you so worried about me.. and i hate that i have to put you through that.” he looked down over your shoulder, ashamed.

"then why? why, miles?"

miles paused for a minute, trying to find the right words. “ i have to do it.” he knew those weren’t the words you wanted to hear.

"for what sake!?"

" …i can’t just stand by..” miles sighed, his voice becoming weak. " i can’t."

you cried into his jacket as he rubbed your back. you knew a solution to this. you did, but it wouldn’t be pretty. it wouldn’t be anything considered nice.

pulling away, you stared at you feet. some tears still dripping to the pavement, "… maybe it isnt best… we see each other right now." your breath was shaky, and you could feel his demeanor change. "its just- you have a lot on your plate and… i dont wanna be involved in that."

miles was now silent, there didn’t seem to be anything he could say right now. he felt defeated, like there wasn’t anything he could do to change your mind. “ are you sure?”

you sighed lightly, “ no.”

you knew it had to happen. it was the only way to catch him a break. this was for him, not you. "you cant have it all, miles. i just wish we had better timing… you know?" you were on the verge of crying again.

miles was trying his best to keep you from crying. he knew that. he was lucky enough to even know you. he wish you met somewhere else. some other universe. “ no- please don’t cry. don’t do this to me.." he took his hand to yours, he really didn’t want this to be the last time you talked.

you had to let him go. you had to. it was for the greater good.

miles was still waiting with his hand in yours.. “ please. just tell me your not going to leave. im sorry." he said, he sounded.. really worried. he hated this.

"i just.. feel like i cant love you the same.."

miles had frozen, he didn’t know what to say. he felt like you were leaving forever. tears had started to form in his eyes, he was speechless. those were the words he’s always feared. the one thing he wanted to avoid.

“ please don’t leave me.. it’s just- i dont- i dont know what to do anymore. please. i love you.”

even after everything, you still believed he could figure it out. but you weren’t part of that equation at all. you could see his breath hitching softly as tears stained his face.

you cupped his face and smiled weakly at him. "… meet me in a year. just… find yourself before you find me. can you promise me that?"

your eyes looked pleading and caring. he shakily nodded his head which made you giggle a little. he seemed to have calmed down now, and was prepared for whatever the future has to hold. “ you’re a pretty crier, y’know?”

“ heh,” he sniffled, “ you never fail to make me smile.”

even with all his doubts, he still couldnt grasp how he met someone like you. you were his everything. everything he liked in one. he couldn’t ask for any less.

“i’ll be waiting for you with open arms, mamita.”

and he did. but you never came.

as i said before. you can’t avoid the inevitable, yeah?

afterwards note! : my layout will continue to be inconsistent thanks for asking

[rookthorne]

They had many titles. To name a few: Bastards of Brooklyn, The Pack — though, when it came down to it, they were a pride of beasts behind the wheel, and when their prey was targeted, there was no hope in hell to outwit, or outrun. For a pride of lions had a king, and he was cunning, ruthless, and he had you in his sights.

⠈⠂⠄⠄ 𝑪𝑶𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 𝑷𝑨𝑰𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 ❯❯❯ Street Racer!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

⠈⠂⠄⠄ 𝑪𝑶𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 𝑲𝑬𝒀 ❯❯❯ 𝐅 + 𝐒

⠈⠂⠄⠄ 𝑪𝑶𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 𝑭𝑰𝑪 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑻 ❯❯❯ 4

⠈⠂⠄⠄ 𝑪𝑶𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 𝑾𝑶𝑹𝑫 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑵𝑻 ❯❯❯ 8,725

⠈⠂⠄⠄ 𝑪𝑶𝑳𝑳𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 𝑷𝑳𝑨𝒀𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻 ❯❯❯ 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄

⠈⠂⠄⠄ 𝑨𝑹𝑪𝑯𝑰𝑽𝑬 𝑶𝑭 𝑶𝑼𝑹 𝑶𝑾𝑵 ❯❯❯ 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄

𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐥𝐲𝐧 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─── 𝐊𝐄𝐘 ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

— 𝐀  = angst — 𝐖  = whump — 𝐈 = sick fic — 𝐃  = dark — 𝐃² = dead dove — 𝐏 = poly — 𝐊 = kid fic — 𝐅  = fluff — 𝐒  = smut

These are in timeline order - this is subject to change as I add entries.

❯❯❯ 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐃𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐅

Coming to a meet alone might have been a bad idea, so it’s a good thing your knight in shining armour is always there to rescue you — but what happens when he takes it a step too far?

You could only hope that he leaves them still breathing, whether that’s through a tube, or of their own volition.

❯❯❯ 𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐍𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐅

There were never any words adequate enough to describe the feeling of being behind the wheel and tearing down the street, becoming one with a machine — it was addicting.

Tonight, you would get a taste.

❯❯❯ 𝐋𝐮𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐅

Bucky was nothing if he wasn’t dramatic or pulling off one hell of a stunt, but this one by far shattered any limit you thought he wouldn’t break — you just had to hold the fuck on.

❯❯❯ 𝐒𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐑𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐟 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐅 + 𝐒

Stress relief came in many forms, and for Bucky? You knew just how to maximise the relief and get his mind entirely off the troubles of his racing career, you just needed to carry out your plan — subtly, of course.

❯❯❯

❯❯❯ 𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄   𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲

❯❯❯ 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐥𝐩𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐞𝐭 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄   𝐁𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲

❯❯❯ 𝐀𝐬𝐤 𝟏 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ A wild Charger!

❯❯❯ 𝐂𝐚𝐫 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ by @smutconnoisseur

❯❯❯ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐆𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠 ⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄ 𝐅 + 𝐒

Some birthday smut.

[fandom-chic]

The Time We Lost: Chapter 4

Summary: 40 years have passed since you saw Soldier Boy. Yet here he was at your door. With so many things having changed, will you two be able to withstand the modern world?

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Y/N

*JAMIE’S POV*

“Are you there yet?”

“Yeah, I just got to 5th and 81st; how long will I be waiting here?” Jamie says into the phone. The Manhattan crowds shove past him, acting as if a 6’3” wall of a man is not there. That is the main difference between Manhattan and Brooklyn, the number of people.

“Not long, Hughie, and I won’t take too much time.” Jamie could swear he heard Butcher’s lighter click on the other line. He shuddered at the idea of Billy’s plan, but it had to be done. After that day in the hospital, Jamie knew he had to take action into his own hands. His mother was dying. If there was a solution to this, he had to try and find it. 

The plan wasn’t too complicated. On the contrary, it was straightforward: save the family from the burning building. He did this daily at his job. He knew it would just be another day in the office; however, this felt different. Usually, he only took his own life into his hands, but today, his mother was counting on him. No pressure, right?

“Alright, just give me the signal when you’re ready.” Jamie heard a dark chuckle on the other line.

“Oh, you will definitely get a signal.” Jamie could swear he heard Butcher smirking on the other line. Fuck that guy. Jamie lightly kicked an empty soda can in frustration, watching it fly a little farther than he wanted it to. Sometimes he forgets his strength, but here he was, planning to show it to the world. Letting himself finally fall onto the path his father had followed.

That might be why his mother was so protective of him. Jamie leans against a bodega, watching the people walk by as he remembers that conversation with his mother all those years ago.

He was barely sixteen when he came home from school with a giant smirk. Y/N could not help but smile back at her son as he seemed to glide into the yard.

“Well, someone had a good day at school,” She says, shutting her book. “What’s got you smiling so much?”

“I did a really good thing today.” He sounded excited, overjoyed about what had happened that day.

“What may that be?” She says, trying to match his energy.

“You know that kid Martin? The one in my English class who gets the shit beat outta him every other day? Well, today, they got a taste of their own medicine.” Immediately, Y/N’s smile dropped. Jamie’s was still plastered on his face as he continued, “Mom, I think it’s time I make something of myself. I want to follow my dad’s footsteps and try out for Vought-” 

“No.” The thought had barely left his lips before Y/N shut him up. There was a beat before the inevitable question came up.

“Why not?” He asked.

“Jamie, we’ve talked about this. Being a full-time hero is extremely dangerous.” Y/N wanted to add the caveat that it’s what got his father killed, but Jamie already knew that.

“And that’s why I’d be so good at it! I’m basically indestructible.” He hits himself in the chest to prove to Y/N that he wasn’t stretching the truth.

“Jamie, it’s a no, and that’s final,” Y/N said, her voice cutting at the final syllable. Jamie takes a step toward his mother.

“Mom, it’s what I’m meant to do. I want to be like my dad. He was the greatest supe of all time, and I want to live up to him. I want to make him proud. Please?” Jamie was pleading, wishing with everything in his heart for this dream to come true. But it didn’t seem to be in the cards for him.

“How many times must I tell you that the answer is no? Do you want to wind up dead like your father? Do you want to make your loved ones constantly fear for your life? The answer better be no, or you’re no son of mine.” And at that, the conversation was truly over. Jamie could feel tears coming into his eyes as he ran past his mother into the house, slamming the front door behind him.

From that day forward, there was a rift between Jamie and Y/N. Things were said that couldn’t be unsaid. The day Jamie turned 18, he left home and kept to his mother's wishes but on his terms. That’s how he ended up becoming a firefighter. Still saving people, but he wasn’t a supe. Although, he was a hero by a technicality. 

Jamie sighed as he stared at the silhouette of The Metropolitan Museum of Art. True, Brooklyn was superior to Manhattan, but The MET truly was glorious. He took a deep breath then, focusing on what was about to happen any minute now. He looked away from The MET to the apartment building a block away. That building was the target. There were people in that building that he was going to save. This would be the day that things looked up for him. 

Almost as if on cue, Jamie heard an explosion erupt from the top story of the apartment complex. All heads shot to the building as screaming and running began. 

Showtime. 

Jamie ran against the grain of the foot traffic, taking massive strides toward the fire. He made it in no time at all. He stopped and looked up, taking in the situation. It was a relatively big fire, but it was controlled. Easy. When initially assessing this building with Billy and Hughie, they realized there were only four families in this medium-sized townhouse. He will have the families in and out within five minutes. 

Jamie’s sprint quickened as he approached the front door. It didn’t take much force to break it down. He almost flew inside as he went to the top floor. The door opened with ease as it was already half broken. Inside, a small child was cowering in his mother’s arms. Jamie approaches them.

“I’m here to save you!” He yells over the sound of flames smacking the walls. The woman nodded and gave her child to Jamie. Her little arms held on tight to him as the woman grabbed his arm. He knew she would only slow him down, so he scoops her onto his back. Once she is secured, he runs out of the apartment and the building. When he has returned outside, he notices that groups of people have started to form near the building, watching his heroism. All he could think about was how smoothly this was going. As if all the pieces were falling into place. 

That was until he heard a crack.

At this point, there was only one person left in the building. He could see her in the window as the flames seemed to sneak up behind her. Her tears were staining her cheeks as she watched his attention turn. There was another crack, this time louder. That was when the building began to fall. There was no way he would be able to make it inside. If he were to save the woman, the building would land on the people in the crowd. If he didn’t save the one woman��� what was the point of all of this? He was stuck, and he had no way to get unstuck.

Well, he did have one. And that was when the building’s base cracked in half and fell. He couldn’t be stuck anymore. Suddenly, the weight of the world is on his back. Usually, objects weren’t heavy, almost like picking up stuffed animals, but this was different. He could feel himself falter under a new level of weight. Everything seemed to freeze as the building lay on his back, but his mind was racing. He had to put it down, or he would die. 

And that was when he took all the effort left in him to shout, “Move!” And the crowd parted like the Red Sea. That was the new home of the carcass of this building. Once it made a home on the rugged ground, he grabbed the woman from the building. It was over. He did it. And he managed to get the front page shot with the beautiful damsel in his arms, carrying her into safety.

It took less than a day for Vought to find him. He was back at the fire station, going through the motions of a typical day—just an average Joe Hero. The red-headed woman who entered had a flustered energy. One that immediately brought his attention to alert.

“You’re the Brownstone Hero, right?” She exclaims.

“I guess I am,” Jamie says, giving a knowing laugh.

“Ashley Barrett,” Her hand shoots out for him to shake, “Director of Talent Relations at Vought.” Vought. Perfect. He shook her hand.

“Nice to meet you, Ashley. I’m Jamie.” He let go of her hand, but she held on.

“Let’s cut the formalities,” That was when she pulled her hand away, “The Seven is in desperate need of a new member, and we want it to be you.” It was like taking candy from a baby.

“Wow,” Feigning shock was not difficult, “I can’t believe this is happening.” Ashley's smile was like a statue trying to break marble that had been there for thousands of years.

“Your interview is at 2:00 PM,” It was currently 9:00 AM. “Don’t be late.” And she was gone. 

It wasn’t long until Jamie found himself seated in front of a set of familiar faces. The Seven. They were exactly like he expected. He smiled to himself.

“And that is why we think you should join The Seven.” Jamie had not listened to a word Starlight had said. He knew he was a shoe-in. 

“This is all so exciting,” They are all eating his bullshit, “I don’t know what to say,” Almost all of them.

“Say yes, dude!” The Deep exclaimed.

“It’s all I’ve ever wanted, but I feel like there’s something you all should know,” Jamie looks over at Ashley as she stares daggers at him over her laptop. “And it may impact whether you want me or not.”

“What’s the fucking caveat?” Maeve said, crossing her arms.

“My dad is Solider Boy.” The whole room lit up, and he was signed. 

“Guess you’re the new Solider Boy!” Starlight says through a smile. They were all smiles, except one man. Jamie turned to see Homelander’s glare deepen. If only he knew what he had gotten himself into.

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[xxshewritesinblacknwhitexx]

Imagine Meeting Peggy

Imagine Steve taking you to finally meet Peggy for the first time.

Steve Rogers x Fury!Reader

WARNINGS: slight smut, angst, insecure reader

SET DURING: After Age of Ultron and Before Civil War

BETA’D: @titty-teetee

Your toes curled, as your body tensed, exploding with intense pleasure coursing through your veins. Your vision turned white, forcing you to see stars.

Steve finally released his climax, shuddering against you, before he finally rolled off to the side and collapsed next to you. The two of you laid there trying to catch your breath.

Sweat clung to you like second skin, soaking through the cotton t-shirt you were currently wearing. You squeezed your legs together, trying to alleviate the aftershocks of your orgasm, the sensations still running through your system.

“You alright?” Steve breathed, looking over at you.

“I’m getting there.” You giggled softly with your eyes closed, as you began to feel your body grow heavy with exhaustion. “Talk about a homecoming.”

You heard Steve chuckle deeply, before feeling him grab your hand. You opened your eyes just in time to see him place a soft kiss to the back of it, and then lay it against his bare chest, that was coated with a light sheen of sweat.

You and Steve had been living together for almost two years now in that brownstone in Brooklyn, and your relationship was as normal as it could be for a former SHIELD agent turned Avenger and your super soldier enhanced boyfriend.

Since Ultron, business had almost seemed to slow down a bit. The Avengers were being called on less, and things were fairly quiet at the moment. You all still had your missions both together and separate; Steve being on the hunt for Brock Rumlow and you were taking on smaller, home base missions since your secret search for the Winter Soldier went cold. Although you two spent time apart, it did make the coming home amazing. Not to mention that sex with a super enhanced partner was out of this fucking world.

You and Steve were getting a hang of this whole relationship thing. You had dated quite a few guys in the past, but no one like Steve. He was still old school when it came to courting you. He’d never show up without bringing you fresh lilies; your favorite flower. He would show you around Brooklyn; the places he used to go to when he was a boy. Or he’d just take you on his motorcycle across the Brooklyn Bridge at night to watch the stars. He was the perfect gentleman.

Steve was actually the first guy you really felt this deeply for, that it kind of scared you at times. Although things were definitely going better than you could imagine so far, it hadn’t stopped you from waiting for the other shoe to drop.

There were things about Steve’s past that he still refused to share with you, and that’s what worried you the most.

And speaking of your super soldier...

You watched him through hooded eyelids, as he pulled on his boxer briefs and stood from your king sized bed.

”Going somewhere?” You questioned, still trying to catch your breath, feeling the edges of your brand new relaxed hair, start to curl again.

Steve was now making his way around your bedroom, shoving things into a duffel bag.

“I have to catch a flight in a couple of hours.”

You quickly sat up, looking at your boyfriend confused. “Wait? You’re leaving again?”

“Yeah,” he tossed the bag on the bed, explaining, “I’ll be back in like a day or two.”

“Steve, you just got back last night. Is it another mission? Avenger stuff?” You rambled, trying to figure out why your boyfriend would be leaving after not even spending a full 24 hours at home with you.

Steve shook his head, throwing a few more items into the duffel and zipped it up. “No, this is something a little personal.”

And now you were really confused. “Personal?” You waited a bit, allowing him to elaborate on this personal business he had, but after nearly 20 seconds of dead silence you knew he wasn’t going to explain further. So, you thought you’d coax him yourself. “You care to share with the rest of the class?”

He chuckled, walking over to you and kissing your temple. “Trust me, doll, this is something you don’t want to know about.”

And that didn’t settle well with you.

You watched as he made his way over to your master bathroom, before stopping in his tracks. His shoulders slumped, and he then turned to face you, leaning against the frame of the bathroom door. He had a look of guilt across his face.

What could he be feeling guilty about?

“Come with me.” He offered.

You blinked several times, making sure you heard what you heard. “What?”

“Come with me tonight. It’s better that I show you anyway.” He sounded so sincere, but you weren’t sure what your answer would be. “So, whadda you say?” He reached his hand out toward you.

You took in a deep breath, contemplating on what you should do. But the answer came to you quickly, as you reluctantly stood to your feet and walked over to him. He smiled softly, pulling you into his arms and kissing your lips, before the two of you walked into the bathroom together.

Holding your shaking hand, Steve walked you into what you now knew was a hospice located in Washington, DC. You kept trying to rack your brain about this personal business Steve had until the moment you stepped through the door.

It was the other shoe, and it dropped hard.

You had never mentioned it, even after your father insisted that you should. You tried to justify that you could live your life without it ever being brought up ever again. Or you always believe that if Steve brought it up, that he would tell you in his own way. But it never happened, and it also never stopped it from burning a hole in your mind from time to time.

“Wait here.” Steve told you, as the two of you stopped outside of a room. He gave your hand a small squeeze, leaning down to kiss your cheek.

All you could do was nod, watching him walk into the room. You leaned up against the wall, to keep your legs from going out and to possibly eavesdrop.

“...and how’s my best girl doing?”

The words you heard Steve utter on the other side of the wall, cut through you like a knife. You knew they shouldn’t have, but they did.

You could barely hear anyone in the room other than Steve’s voice.

“...there’s someone I want you to meet. She’s real special to me.”

Was the last thing you heard when Steve appeared at the doorway, eyes shining down at you. He grabbed your hand in his, once more, giving it another squeeze. You wanted to run at this moment, because you knew exactly what was going to happen, but your legs reluctantly betrayed you, and you started following your boyfriend.

When you walked into the room, and Steve stepped out of the way, you finally saw her.

She was weak and frail, but the woman you knew so little of was beautiful and strong. She was the first woman to ever defy the odds of being the first woman SHIELD agent. She paved the way for women like you, your mom, Nat, and Agent Hill.

Her eyes were the most familiar. No matter how much she had aged over the years, physically, her eyes were still the same. Dark, mysterious, and full of hope. Those eyes had been haunting you ever since you and Steve nearly got blown to smithereens by corrupt SHIELD agents, nearly four years ago.

Those eyes belonged to none other than Margaret Carter, or so you knew her as Agent Peggy Carter.

A woman who’s memory you had been afraid of for years.

Only she wasn’t a memory.

She was here.

Right now.

In the present.

Staring back at you.

“Y/N, this is Peggy. Peggy, this is Y/N, my girlfriend.” Steve said, introducing the two of you.

You smiled shyly, giving the elderly woman in front of you a wave. While on the inside you were dying.

“Oh, Steven, she’s beautiful.” Peggy managed to muster out in her current state.

“I told you.” Steve smiled, placing his hand on your lower back.

“Come.” She was barely able to lift her hand to beckon you over. “Come, sit. A bit of a girl’s chat, yeah?”

Again, all you could do was nod, as Steve guided you to a vacant chair next to Peggy’s bed. A chair that you knew that Steve had occupied before.

To say you were nervous was an understatement. Here you were sitting next to the woman of whom the man you love, had loved, or still loved. You weren’t quite sure of that anymore.

Steve explained to you about her growing Alzheimers, which was now beginning to worsen with each passing day. She remembered Steve, but five minutes into the conversation, she would be shocked and surprised to see that he made it out of the ice alive. He had to explain to her who you were, and each time she took you with kindness. No bitterness or resentment. She would comment every single time that Steve looked happy with you, and you had a certain glow that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Then, five minutes later, like an eraser to a chalkboard, her mind would be wiped clean.

“So,” Steve began nervously, hands shoved into his pockets.

You both were now standing outside the facility, as visiting hours were over.

You didn’t know how you were going to handle this conversation. You were both upset and relieved. Relieved that Steve finally opened up about Peggy, but upset that it took him this long and hadn’t even bothered to tell you she was at least alive in the first place.

“How long’ve you been coming here?”

He looked off to the side, avoiding eye contact with you. “Since I found out she was still alive.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Honestly?” He finally looked at you. “I wasn’t sure how you’d react. Every time’s Peggy’s name was mentioned, in any capacity, I could see how it would hurt you, and I didn’t want you to go through that.”

You folded your arms, across your chest. “I’m a big girl, Steve. You should have told me. I had to hear it from my father.”

His head snapped back, looking at you surprised. “Your father? Fury told you? When?”

“When I woke up, after Ultron.”

Now his hands were placed on his hips. “You mean to tell me that you’ve known for almost two years, and you didn’t say anything?”

“You’ve known longer than that and you never said shit to me.” You argued back. It was the audacity of him that had you reeling right now. “For the last two years, I have been patiently waiting for you to come clean, Steve. Why now?”

Steve waited a few seconds, sighing, and looking down at his shuffling feet. “She’s dying. They told me she doesn’t have much longer to go.”

You didn’t know why, but that made you even more angry. He waited until the possibility of Peggy’s death to tell you that she was even alive. You couldn’t deal with this. At least not right now.

“I’m sorry, Steve,” this time it was you who tried to avoid Steve’s gaze, “but I need to be alone right now to process all of this.” You immediately turned and started walking away from him, ignoring his calls, as the tears fell from your eyes.

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[w33nies]

Qué Maravilla CH.12 - 'Something Wicked This Way Comes'

Previous Chapter Next Chapter Miguel O'hara x SpiderReaderrating: E for Everyone bby warnings: Aplogies in advance for this shit is long as fuck. I didn't know where to cut it because I have attachment issues. angst, bad words + proofreader? I hardly know her summary: exposition + you and Miguel angst because I need to make things harder for everyone because I like drama

----- Ch.12 - Something Wicked This Way Comes -----

It was concerning to Miguel how easy it was to travel undetected in the subway station of Brooklyn,New York on Earth-42. There was an abundance of dark corners and corridors to hide in thanks to the faulty, neglected overhead lighting. Every officer he passed was either on their phone, passed out, or blatantly disinterested in his presence.  Even shamelessly sticking to the side of train cart windows would only be met with brief disinterested glances from the passengers before they nonchalantly resumed whatever business had them preoccupied prior. It was…disorienting to say the least. To be in a world where crime was so ingrained in its foundation the sight of random masked vigilantes climbing walls and swinging mere feet above peoples head raised zero concern. 

It wasn’t all rough though. By his side through it all as his anchor in this sea of uncertainty… 

... Was you.

Just your mere presence was enough to keep him sane. That compounded with the high of your recent kiss and newly realized mutual attraction between the two of you. His elation was bordering on giddiness. He found himself meticulously crafting his every movement. Taking grace with each jump and flip, making sure he gracefully stuck each landing solely  because he knew you were watching (though probably only through your peripheral vision).

After what felt like hours of searching and a slew of dead ends, the two of you eventually reach a dark corridor blocked by a metal gate with an ‘AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY ’ sign (which you climb over without hesitation). At the end of the long hallway lies a large switch on the wall. You pull it downwards to be greeted with dim flickering lights accompanied by loud buzzing sounds that come from its archaic wiring. You blink your eyes to adjust to your surroundings. This tall room is large and bare save for the graffiti covering almost every square inch of the walls. It's only contents being five archways all pointing in different directions. Whatever is on the other side is completely obscured by the darkness each corridor holds. 

“Hmm….Alright.” Miguels claps hands together, turning his head to ponder each identical archway. “How should we do this?  Stick together? Or divide and conquer?” 

You both take a moment to contemplate individually before responding in unison. 

“Divide and conquer” you say at the same time Miguel concludes “Stick together.” His response leaves you frowning with confusion. 

“Stick together? We’ll find him a lot faster if we split up.” 

Miguel snorts, leaning down to bring his face closer to yours. “Would you really tell me where he is if you found him first?”  

“I mean, I would eventually-” 

“-That’s what I’m getting at Mi Amor.” His mask dissipates to show his face. You move to remove yours as well. He gently grabs you by the sides of your arms, rubbing his hand up and soothing methodical strokes. 

“As much as I love you, I know you and I know that once you see something you think is wrong, you’ll do anything and everything to make it right. No matter what I or anyone else tells you… But this time, doing the right thing is the wrong thing to do. Which is why I can’t afford to let you out of my sight.”

You heard his criticisms, but you didn’t hear him. Not after the first several words. “Did you just tell me that you love me?” 

“AHH! Uhhh-NO!”  Miguel retracts his hands quickly, his arms hovering in front of his chest  like limp T-rex arms.

“I MEAN YES! I’m sorry it just kind of came out! I mean- I didn’t mean to just spring that on you- You don’t have to say it back. ” Every square inch of his face is red with blush. His holographic mask moves to obscure his face again. 

“One second thought, you’re right. Let’s divide and conquer.” He turns around hastily, picking a random corridor to speed walk towards. 

You stifle a laugh as you chase after him. Stopping him with a hand on his broad shoulder. 

“Why do you think I wouldn’t want to?

“...Why do you think I wouldn’t want you to do what?” 

“Hear you tell me you love me.” 

His mask immediately retracts, showing his astonished expression. “Are you serious?” 

“Yeah. ” 

“You don’t think I’m weird for saying it so soon?” 

“No. Not at all.” 

“So…” his pointer fingers draw circles around one another, “...does that mean you love me too?” 

“I mean yeah why wouldn’t I-” 

Miguel interrupts you by sweeping you off the ground in a massive hug, leaving you with your feet dangling off the ground. Your hands are caught between both of your bodies, pressed firmly against his chest. Now it was your turn to be embarrassed. You were almost certain that he could feel the burning heat radiating off your face. 

“Miguel what!-”

“-¡Gracias a dios!” His muffled voice reverberates through your shoulder that his face muzzled in. “I never thought I would ever hear you say that.” 

Again, he wants to say but he manages to filter himself in time. 

“Well I love you Miguel.” You attempt to hug him back, but with your arms caught up in his bear hug you opt to place a small kiss on his jaw. He perks his head up and responds by smashing his lips touch-starved against yours.

“Miguel-” you mutter against his mouth. 

He breaks the kiss with an exhale so your foreheads rest against one another. “Yes mi vida.” 

“Do you think you can put me down now?” 

“Right! Sorry!” He gently lowers you to the ground, coyly rubbing the back of his neck  “I got so excited I just couldn’t help it.” 

You move to rub imaginary dust off his shoulders, mostly as an excuse to touch him again. “When this is all settled maybe we can-” 

A familiar frequency buzzes in your ears, subtle, like TV static coming from another room. The accompanying intense pulling sensation on the back of your head that causes you to immediately turn around to face the source. You find yourself staring down the darkness of the furthermost left archway. 

“What’s wrong?” Miguel looks at you, then towards the hallway. “Spider sense?” 

You whip your head back towards him, “You can tell?” 

He gives a single nod, “Mmmhmm.” 

“How?”

“You just always...I don’t know. You just kinda freeze up for a second and your eyes just-” he makes a  popping motion with his hands and widens his eyes “-Kind of like a dog.” 

You gingerly touch your face self consciously.

“I mean that in a cute way!” 

 “Really?” 

“Uh Huh.” He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck, “I anticipate incoming attacks by watching you…sometimes” 

You flash a teasing smile, “Is that's why you always keep me around?” 

“Among other things,” he mumbles with a smug look of his own, He steps closer, sliding his hand to hold you by the waist. 

“If you got the sense then he’s definitely in there and we can’t afford to waste anymore time.” he places a small peck on your forehead. “We’re almost done here cariño.” 

His hand lingers as he pulls away. He nods towards the arch, beckoning you to follow as he urgently jogs to its opening. You reluctantly trail behind, your feet weighed down by dread mixed with a twinge of guilt. You had a good guess of what lay on the other side or rather who. Whatever love he felt for you would surely be put to the test soon enough. It left you worrying as you tugged your mask back over your head. 

 ‘Is this as good as it was going to get?’

You finally reach the end of the tunnel. On the other side sits a vast lab that looks like it’s been freshly run through by a tornado. Your pulse quickens when your eyes land on what seems to be Miles. The disappointment is immediate upon your realization that it’s the Earth-42 variant. The Miles you’re looking for is nowhere to be seen. Under normal circumstances this would be cause for alarm, though you find yourself fixed on the silent standoff between Miguel and the other spiders.

 His gaze is vicious, slowly shifting his head to make eye contact with each perceived traitor. From Hobie, to Pavitir, to Margo, to a long sustained glare towards Gwen, to Noir, to Penni, to Porker, and then finally to Peter. 

You remove your mask and give a small awkwards wave with it in your hand

“Hey y’all.” 

“Hey,” all spiders greet you distractedly and unenthusiastically in unison, all without ever taking their eyes off the distressed man. 

You had never seen Miguel so upset, which was saying a lot. His face was stained red with anger, his scowl was somehow even deeper than usual. Each moment of silence only worked to intensify animosity written on his face. It was like watching the water boiling in a lidded pot, knowing it could blow at any moment.

Oh boy, Here it comes. 

“Well?” Miguel speaks with a shrug. “Anyone want to tell me what’s going on here?

All spiders erupt at once. 

‘Sightseeing! It was an accident! We got lost? I Just wanted to take the scenic route. I heard there was a good kabob place down the street! For the pub of course! We’re just broadening our horizons!’

They all look at each other in panic before attempting to correct with wildly different answers.  

‘It was an accident! We took the scenic route? I was trying to study my colors! There’s a guy here who owes me fifty bucks. A spiritual retreat. Collecting signatures for a petition. What they said! ’

“Uh Huh.” Miguel raises a single brow in skepticism, hands now placed on his hips. 

“Guess I’m going to have to go down the line then.” He singles out Gwen, pointing a finger in her direction. 

“What are you doing here, specifically ?” 

The girl squares her shoulders and returns his glare. “Fixing this mess. I’m getting Miles back home. We all are.” 

He narrows his eyes in a scrutinizing fashion, “You mean you want to help him destroy the fabric of space and time.” 

“Saving his father isn’t going to do that! Canons don't mean anything! I know that for a fact-”

 “-Aye dios mio, esta mierda otra vez.”  Miguel mumbles to himself while massaging his aching temples. The kind of ache that felt like a knife scraping at your skull from the inside, “You’ve gotta be kidding me! Is that why you’re all here?” 

“Can you at least let me finish!?”

 “Don’t tell me you all actually believe this nonsense!?” He looks wildly from person to person, flailing his arms in frustration looking for another person to interrogate before deciding on the father with his baby strapped to the front of his body. 

 “You too, Peter? After everything we’ve been through.” 

“Sue me,” Peter shrugs, “I just don’t think the kid deserves to be stranded in an alternate dimension where his atoms are probably gonna…” - he does little jazz hands while trying to find the words- “...I don’t know, maybe fry themselves to oblivion?”

“And you didn’t think to come to me? You thought the best course of action was rubbing elbows with the enemy.” Miguel aims a nod in Gwen’s direction, she scoffs at the gesture. 

Peter shifts his weight from one foot to the other, patting the baby’s tummy to calm her stirring. A soothing tactic, though mainly for him. 

“I just-” 

Peter pauses, turning to look at his comrades. Peter Porker, Spider-Noir, and Penni each returning with vacant, unreadable stares. Margo is biting down on her fist, shrinking into herself. Pavitir's hands are on his hips and Hobie's are crossed. Finally, he sees Gwen. It hurts more to look at her. The look on her face just made him feel… guilty. He turns away shamefully. 

“-It’s not about the canon” 

Gwen lets out a defeated tisk. Pavitr sighs.  Hobie simply shakes his head. 

Peter can feel a collective disappointment without looking at them. He turns only his head to the side, speaking more so to his peers than his boss“...Not for me at least…” 

“You’re not answering the question and on top of that you’re sneaking around behind my back. What do you think I’m trying to do here? It’s not like I’m gonna kill the kid.” 

All the spiders (including yourself) murmur skeptically amongst themselves. 

‘Could’ve fooled me,’ Noir mumbles just a bit too loud. 

“Oooh.  I get it now,” Miguel chuckles sardonically, waving his finger up and down. “You all think I’m a horrible person. That’s what this is! Forget the fact that I gave you all the gift of dimensional travel. That I saved all of your dimensions. That I’m busting my ass to save yours,” he snaps his head at Pavitir.  “Because I’m the only one here that’s willing to do what I have to do. That’s why none  of you even bothered to call me or send me a-” 

Wait a minute…

 Just a little over an hour ago, when you were preoccupied with your web watch Peter had messaged you. What did it say? Something like, ‘Whatever happens we’ll make it work’ What work? You said it was nothing and he trusted you. 

You wouldn’t lie to him… would you?

He slowly twists to face you.  “That message…The one Peter sent you…Did you know?” 

“Miguel-” 

“-Please don’t fucking lie to me.” He inches closer, his large frame towering over you. His mask vanishes, deep crimson eyes staring pleadingly into yours. His is but a low whisper. 

“Did you know?” 

You eventually relent under his harsh gaze, looking away shamefully.

“...Yeah… I did.”

An apology sat on the tip of your tongue, but you didn’t dare let it slip. As bad as you felt for hurting him, you were not sorry. It was a horrible thing to violate his trust, but you only did it because you had to. 

Not that it made it any easier to watch his heartbreak in real time. The plausible deniability quickly gives way to solemn acceptance. Miguel turns away abruptly like a wounded animal. 

He should’ve known it was all too good to be true. 

He immediately turns  attention to the contraption on his wrist. 

“Layla!” 

The virtual assistant materializes with a stretch and a yawn. “Finally! Was starting to think you forgot about me.” When she finally looks up to assess her surroundings, she hums with content.

“Ooooo, Look at this party goin’ on over here.”  

Miguel ignores her invitation for banter. “I need you to get a hold of Jessica.” 

“Okay.” She teleports back towards his wrist, which now projects a call screen with Jessica Drew’s name and face. It rings several times before emitting a ‘Caller Unavailable' message large enough for the entire room to see

Layla peers at the denied call notification from above his shoulder. “Oooooooo,” she instigates, like a child about to tattle. “Thaaat’s no bueno, huh?” 

“Great.” He raises his hands exhaustedly, landing on his thighs with a slap. “Isn’t that just amazing?” 

He attempts to call her again. Nothing. He dials Ben Riley, it doesn’t even ring. He calls other spiders. Still nothing. Even lego spiderman seems preoccupied to pick up. Over and over again he’s met with the same piece of sepia toned holographic text. After his patience runs out he begins pacing and mumbling angrily to himself. 

“Ya know, they’ve probably set their watches to stealth mode.” Layla attempts to reassure, “You did dispatch everyone on patrol. They’re probably just caught up with Spot or…something.” 

Miguel continues to pace distractedly through her pixelated form. She reappears again on the side lines, now a part of the nervous glances being exchanged between all the spectors in the room.  

It’s Jonathon Ohnn, the scientist, who eventually tries to break the silence. Ohnn loudly clears his throat.

 “So…uhhh… are we gonna-” 

Miguel grabs a nearby chair and hurls it against the wall dangerously close to his head 

Jonathan ducks with a yelp, hands covering his head. “-Jeez Louise! Alright then! I’m sorry!”  

Margo and Pavitir elbow each other in disbelief, “Yooooo!”  Just as you shout “Miguel!”  While Peter yelps, “Dude!”  And Penni sighs “Okaaay then.” And Noir goes “Easy there Daddy-O!” And Proker mumbles “Okay. That’s fine.” And Hobie mutters “Here we go.” 

“Damn, what the desk do?” Miles asks with a thumb pointed at the discarded chair.

Miguel just stands there. His shoulders rising up and down in cadence with his empathic breathing. “What the hell is going on!? Where is everyone!?” 

“Uh, Miguel.” Layla whispers in his ear. He keeps ranting despite her.

“What am I? Chopped fucking liver?” He smacks the back of his hand in the other repeatedly for emphasis. “Have you all lost your goddamn minds? Like I don’t have enough on my plate as it is-” 

“Miguel.” Layla raises her voice above his vicious rambles

“What.” 

The A.I clears her pixelated throat. Uncomfortable with the added attention she had initially tried to circumvent. “Have you taken your -uh- medicine recently?”

“Excuse me?” 

“Have you taken your medicine?” She repeats more matter of factly. “I know you can get a bit tense when-”

“Tense!? Do I look tense to you!?”

Layla doesn’t respond. Instead she puts her hands on her hips and shoots him a look. Physically embodiment of “Do I really need to answer that?” 

“Don’t patronize me.” He waves away at her form, only for her to reappear a few inches further out of  reach. This time her arms are crossed and she holds her chin in the air knowingly. 

“When was your last dose Miguel?” 

“Ugh, Who cares-” 

“- Who cares?” she jabs an accusing finger in his direction. “You can’t even remember can you? That’s a bad sign pal.” 

“Oh my god. Who’s side are you on!?”

“Yours! Why do you think I’m  trying to help you!” 

“You’re not helping mierda. What's the point of an assistant that makes everything worse?” 

“Woooah.” Everyone bellows in tandem offense on Layla’s behalf 

You step in front of the man to command his attention. “Miguel I understand you’re upset-”

“-I’m not upset! Stop saying I’m upset.”

You and Layla share a brief look before responding together. 

 “...Riiight.” 

“You guys telling me I’m upset is what’s making me upset!” Spit flies from his mouth as he hollers. Miguel’s hands are shaking. His scleras are a shade of red on par with his pupils.  A single vein can be seen protruding from his forehead. You couldn’t if what you were witnessing was simply unwarranted rage or symptoms of withdrawals. Probably both.

“So…you are upset,” Margo concludes.

“Are you listening? I just said I’m not.” 

“Well, you said it’s making you upset,” Penni adds. “Which means technically you are, at least to some degree, a bit upse-” 

Miguel picks up another chair and slams it vehemently and throws it towards Penni. Her humanoid robot seems to act on her behalf, catching the projectile in midair with her not so much as raising an eyebrow. The girl just sighs, reclining in the cockpit of the robot with her cheek resting on her palm. 

“-Never mind. Just keep doing that I guess.” Penni mumbles under her breath. 

The girl shoots Peter a desperate look, ‘Help us out here maybe?’

He sighs, moving to put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Look man-” 

“-Don’t.” Miguel swats his arm away, “I’ve had just about enough of you today.” 

Peter raises his hands in defeat, walking to the other end of the room with a look on his face that says ‘Welp I tried.’

“Did you mean anything you said?” Miguel turns to you, not doing anything to disguise the hurt in his voice.

 “Everything we talked about, was it all just to let my guard down?” he throws his arm towards the others in a sweeping gesture. “To get in my head? To bring my guard down so you all could gang up on me?

“Miguel. ” You instinctively reach out to touch him but then stop yourself, quickly returning your arm back to your side.  “You know that’s not true.” 

“How am I supposed to believe you when you just lied to me?” 

You physically recoil at the assertion. “That’s only because you lied to me too!” 

“That was different!” 

“Oh so it’s okay when you do it!?” You couldn’t help but raise your voice. 

It was as if your rose colored lenses had been ripped from your eyes.  Was this really the same Miguel that sweeped you into his arms moments ago and whispered sweet nothings into your ear? This anger, this bitterness, the hypocrisy. It was incredibly disillusioning. You had never seen such an aggressive pendulum shift in temperment before, not even in an nemesis or anomaly. 

You felt like a fool. If the tender moments you shared together were the true Miguel , so was this. The Miguel spitting and shouting in your face while throwing furniture at innocent bystanders. This was all the true Miguel O’Hara, and you weren’t sure you liked what you saw. 

The epiphany hit you like a punch to the stomach. 

What did you ever see in him?

“I only did it because I lov-” he winces at his Freudian slip, “-Because I care about you. Meanwhile you lied so you can sneak around with Peter.” 

Peter erupts before you can argue. “Woah, dude!” He covers his baby’s ears as if he just said a curse word. “When you say it like that you’re making it sound like I’m having an affair.”

“Yeah! Don’t forget us too!” Hobie jokes, raising his hand in the air like an earnest student during roll call. 

“Oh my…” Jonathan stammers,  “...Why do I feel like we’re interrupting something?’ 

“Oh we definitely are.” In contrast to Jonathons discomfort, Miles crosses his arms and reclines against the wall, thoroughly amused. “This is better than those novelas my mom makes me watch.” 

Sniffling noises can be heard by the group. Everyone turns to look and see Pavitr wiping his teary eyes. 

“The heartbreak. The betrayal. Oh. It’s just like Laila and Manju.” 

“Uh, Who?” Margo asks, confused. 

Pavitir rolls his eyes “It’s like Romeo and Juliet.” 

“Ooooh,” they all erupt in understanding, like they had just solved a difficult math problem

Pavitir mumbles something under his breath about “westerners” and “the failure of public education.” 

Layla brings their attention back to the squabble at hand. “Yeah Mig, Even I have to say that’s quite a reach.” 

Miguel laughs angrily. “You think I’m going to listen to you?” 

“I’m just saying, the only reason this is escalating is because of you.” 

“Because of me!?” he points to everyone in the lab.“You all betrayed me!” 

“Me? Betrayed you? Really Miguel?” Layla rebukes, uncharacteristically impassioned. 

“First of all, All I said that you’re due for an injection. That’s it. Second, instead of freaking out, why don’t you just -I don’t know- talk to them.” 

“What do you think I’m doing, Layla.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. His migraine now screams at him for some desperately needed relief. “Aye dios Mio, remind me to reboot you when this is all over.” 

All spiders react in shock once more. 

“Oh what!? She just has a bunch of lines of ones and zeros. Who cares?” 

Everyone reacts in even louder shock.

“Wow. Okay. I’m only letting that slide because I know you’re…” Layla twirls around her hand before the words arrive “...Under a lot of stress. But look at this…” 

Layla pulls up various holographic screens. Loaded with charts, figures, and calculations “...Do you see these numbers? It’s about a 50/50 chance that the multiverse can sustain itself through changes like this.” 

Miguels doesn’t say anything, his mean mug just frowns at the various screens flying around him. The glow of endless, ever changing formulas and passages lightly coat his face

“Look, I’m not saying it’s a good idea. I’m not even saying I agree with it but like-” Layla turns to you, “-Come on, tell him what you told me.” 

“I already did.” You say with a sigh and shake of your head. 

“Really?” Layla turns to Miguel, “Dude, can we be for real for a second? This info is kinda a game changer to everything we thought we knew-” 

“You mean what we do know. What I know from personal experience mind you.” He opens his mouth to speak, but pauses. His face taking on an air of confusion. 

“What a minute… You two talked about this?” 

“Well yeah?” You respond, the answer being seemingly apparent.  “You locked me up at HQ for like an hour. What was I supposed to do, take up knitting? 

“It would be awkward if we didn’t talk honestly,” Layla concurs. 

“So you ‘talked’ and yet you didn’t notice they escaped?” 

You and Layla looked at each other nervously, now realizing the hole you both dug yourselves into.

“Well it’s not like we talked the whole time-” 

“-But surely you would’ve noticed something eventually, Layla. “ He steps toward her menacingly scowl on full display.

 “Layla…” 

The avatar gulps nervously,“...Miguel…” 

“...You didn’t let them go did you?” 

For the first time since you’ve known her Layla is at a loss for words. No witty remark or flashy comeback to mask the ‘deer in headlights’ look plastered on her face. 

“Pfff!Ha! No! That’s crazy!” she stammers unconvincingly. “Why would I do something like that? HA HA HA. Good one Migs!”

Layla playfully punches Miguel's shoulder with her mini hands. It does nothing to erase the scowl on his face. 

The A.I rocks back and forth on her heels. “Well, it’s been real! It really has. But I-I gotta go crunch some numbers- And take inventory and, uh, see if the plumbing is working and- uh- yeah. All super important stuff!” 

“Layla-” 

The A.I she blips away instantly, before Miguel can finish his thought. 

Miguel lets out a low groan, his gaze fixed towards the ceiling. “I have to do everything by myself don’t I?” he mumbles. 

“Not everything is about you mate, ” Hobie half shouts. Miguel’s head snaps in his direction. 

“Don’t you even start with me!” he snarls. “It’s bad enough I got to deal with insubordination now I have to deal with your smartass too?” 

“And you’ve just proved my point.” 

Miguel bares his claws, his fangs also on full display. “You think this is funny?”

“Nope. I don’t.” The young man affirms with a cross of his arms, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Well, except the bit where you and Layla go into it. That gave me a bit of a laugh.” 

Miguel instantly lunges toward the young man. Leaping through the air with a rageful snarl and extended claws. Hobie calmly reaches for the guitar on his back, plucking the strings and twisting the tuning pegs as if he had all the time in the world. Once he’s satisfied, he takes a pick from his pocket and raises his arm with a dramatic flourish posed to deliver a powerful sound wave. 

 All the gathering of information, snooping around and tech swiping had brought Hobie Brown to this moment. The moment when he would finally stick it to the man. A big F’ off to this dictator, this tyrant. All his deporting of anomalies, the brainwashing It was all like a bad religion. He widens his stance the more Miguel closes the gap. All he had to do now was  time it right. 

This is it. Here it comes… 

Hobie gets ready to deliver a deafening strum, but is blocked by a blur of green and purple who swipes away at the oncoming hulking figure. Sending the large man stumbling back a few feet. 

Even Hobie can’t hide the shock on his face. 

“Uh, big stepper?” Hobie leans forward to whisper into Miles’-42 ear. The sudden sensation of causes the boy's entire body to stiffen. “Waaat are you doing???”

“Saving you from a violent attack.” he mutters, never taking his eyes off Miguel. “You’re welcome.” 

“And I appreciate bruv, I really do… but you kinda stole my thunder there.” 

The boy scoffs. “Next time, it’s pronounced thank you.”

“Awwwww. Que lindo,” Miguel laughs condescendingly, massaging his chin which suffered the brunt of the blow. “Looks like you got yourself a little guard dog.” 

“HA.” Miles yelps at his weak attempt to provoke him. “I don’t just bark.This perro bites.”

“Look kid, This doesn’t concern you. Just stand aside and I promise you won’t get hurt, okay?”

Miles jolts his fist, activating his metal talons with high pitched whir and purple light. “Don’t call me kid.” 

“God. What are you, in love with him or something?” Miguel barks with laughter, holding his stomach.

“Qué vergüenza” he sighs, whipping a tear from his eye. “You’re so wrapped behind his finger you can’t tell that he’s using you.” 

“Oi,” Hobie frowns, his colorful aura desaturates to black and white “Can it, you geezer.” 

“But it’s true isn’t Hobie.” Miguel bridges the gap, completely overlooking Miles to sneer down at Hobie. 

“You’re shifty, dishonest, and pride yourself on your lack of consistency.” he jabs a finger in his face, gesturing towards his ever changing magazine-esque aura. 

“Look at you! You can’t even decide how to present yourself. Let alone what you believe.” Miles puffs his chest as a barrier and raises his chin to command his attention. 

“Woah, down boy.” Miguel points a finger to Miles, but speaks to Hobie. 

 “Maybe it’s you invest in a muzzle for your bitc-” 

Miles lunges forward without a second though. He aims to swipe his sharp claws at his face, Miguel's recoils at the last second. The man swipes back in retaliation. Earning a clean cut on the boy's eyebrow. Miles stumbles back in dismay, gingerly touches the cut with the cool metal that covers his hands, pulling them back to find fresh blood coating his fingers. 

With a yell, the boy recklessly leaps toward the large man with the added momentum of his pneumonic shoes. Just as he is about to make contact with his face, Miguel grabs his wrist. He attempts to punch with the other, but Miguel grabs hold of it as well. 

‘Shit.’

“Watch yourself niño. You obviously don’t know what you’re doing! ” Miguel growls in the boy's face. Miles attempts to wriggle his hands free, but is caught firmly in his grasp.

Miles is barely able to spit out a sentence whilst fighting a losing battle  “You- Know nothing About- Me.” 

“Again Miguel? Really?” Peter shouts, leading the charge alongside Gwen to go and subdue the mad man. 

“Okay this is getting ridiculous,” Noir says as he follows suit with everyone else, though it only takes you, Noir, Gwen and Peter to successfully pry him off the boy. 

 “I bet he hasn’t even told you the truth about his powers!” Miguel roars as he  thrashes against his human restrains like a rabid animal. “The spider that bit him was supposed to bite someone else! Someone from here!”

“So?” Miles manages to sputter through deep breaths. “I know all of that already.” 

“That person was you.” Miguel's arm breaks free to jab a finger at the boy before quickly being snatched again by Spider-Noir. 

“If it wasn’t for him, your father would still be alive. He took him from you. He took everything from you.”

Miles makes his way towards the man so that they are face to face. Miguel jolts forward though is kept in check by his detainers. 

“Stop lying.”

“Ask anyone here,” the man  suddenly stops fighting, panting to catch his breath.  “They’ll tell you it’s true.”

Miles looks around at the spiders widely scanning each of their faces, expecting a rebuttal or condemnation. No one says a word until he finally turns to  Hobie. 

“...Yeah. It is,” the young man relents with a sigh. “But it’s not the way he’s making it seem.” 

“What?” Miles suddenly felt exposed. Raw almost.  “What do you mean?” 

“It was an accident,” Gwen pipes up immediately. “It's just- your spider was sent to his dimension because of the collider from there. I know how it sounds, but he never meant to take it from you. I swear. ” 

Miles isn’t sure why he even asked. He couldn’t hear a single word they said. His gaze fixed directly at the man who dropped this bomb of information on him. The blood from his cut begins dripping from his forehead into his face, forcing him to wink profusely to get the blood out of his eye.

“My dad… Is it supposed to be alive?” He still finds himself fighting for enough air for his lungs. 

“Yes he is,’Miguel doubles down.  “Your life was never supposed to look like this. Everything you’ve been through, this reality you live, is all his fault.  Think about it, he ruined everything. Your family. Your future. And look at what he left you. A shell of a city. An absolute dump.”

“...Ruined me?” Miles-42 repeats the words to himself slowly. As if trying them on like a pair of shoes that don’t fit. “There’s nothing ruined about me… or Brooklyn for that matter.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Miguel snarls, almost animalistic. “Look around you. You genuinely think this place is worth saving?”

Miles seethes silently. He could get over attacks on his character, but to insult Brookyln? His home? The place that housed all his friends and family. It was exactly the things distant relatives and everyone upstate said about this place. Barbaric, dirty, unsalvageable. Funny how it was always the outsiders looking in that would tell him how he should feel about a place they hardly stepped foot in. They refused to see what he saw. The different cultures that resided just a stone throw away from one another. The artistic prowess in every piece of graffiti that littered the sides of subway trains. The man who was always giving free beef patties to any hungry inner city kid that stepped in his bodega. His roommate who played violin for senior citizens at the retirement home. The lady who knits blankets for the homeless. His mother, who refused to leave despite being overworked and underpaid at the hospital because she knew how much people desperately need the care. Despite having every reason to be nasty and bitter like he was, the people always found a way. Sure, maybe it was impossible to love unless you came from it, but that’s why they would never see all the roses that grew from the cracks of the concrete. 

He would make them see. He would make everyone see. Brooklyn wasn’t a lost cause, more like a success in progress. 

It would’ve been a great thing to say out loud, but the words were lost to his mounting frustrations. Especially with his mind moving at a mile per minute. All he could string together in defense was…

“You’re wrong.” 

Could you tell he got an A in AP Literature?

Miguel scoffs, “If that’s what you need to believe in order to like yourself, then sure. ”

Miles recognized this type of argument.  The excessive need to get the last word, the attempt to turn everyone against each other when he was out of aces. This man was lashing out like a wild animal being backed into a corner. 

The boy smiles to himself. It was almost too easy to the point he almost felt bad. Dare he exploit it? Dare he expose such blatant insecurity compounded with delirium?Dare he resort to such low blows? 

Yes. Yes he does. 

The boy  simply shrugs. “ You would know all about that wouldn’t you?”

The man rushes towards Miles, taking advantage of the lowered guard of his captors. He propels himself with his hands planted on the ground like an apex predator. His claws leave deep indents in the ground. Miles lunges as well, fist raised high in the air ready to deliver a violent jab. Miguel bares his claws once more, ready to put this stubborn boy in his place once and for all. And this time he was going for a K.O. 

Miguel balls his hand into a fist and aims it straight for his jaw, only for it to be halted in its tracks by unseen force. His eyes waver to his hand and find it caught in a web.

“What the-” 

Before he can fully turn around and see the culprit, he suffers a brutal blow to his face by some invisible force accompanied by a… floating dog? Miles wastes no time, immediately punching the man square in the face before finishing with an uppercut. The blow causes him to stagger back, chin pointed towards the ceiling, before going limp and falling backwards towards the floor. He would’ve suffered a serious concussion on impact if it wasn’t for you catching him at the last second. Your hands cushion his head before it violently smacks the floor.  

The hero rescinds his camouflage, revealing a certain black and red clad superhero. Holding a wounded dalmatian and a briefcase shoddily webbed to his back. 

 “Miles!” many of the spiders exclaim ecstatically 

“About time mate,” Hobie jostles the teen playfully by his shoulders. 

Everyone rushes towards the boy, minus Miguel, who is slowly recovering from the barrage of attacks. 

“Boy, am I glad to see you kid,” Peter half jogs to the boy, arms outstretched for a hug. 

Gwen leads the pack, her face plastered with concern. “Miles are you okay-”

Miles defensively sticks his free arm out in front of him, stopping the crowd in their tracks.  

“Uh absolutely not.” He instinctively tucks the dog further under his arm like a baby. “Y'all can stay the hell away from me.”

“Um, Is this what I think it is?” Jonathon points to the case on his back, 

“Yes sir.” Miles turns around to give the scientist a better look. “Hold on let me-” 

He attempts to pry it off with one hand, but is only after being assisted by Miles-42 is he able to remove the box . The prowler and the scientist both open the case to view its contents. Jonathon smiles. Miles frowns. 

“Dude. There's only three of each in here.” 

“I know. I couldn’t carry them all and this little guy here.” He readjusts the pup in his arm to show him off, “So I just grabbed a few of each.” 

“You had time to bring a dog, but you couldn’t grab another case?” 

Offended, Miles-1610 covers the puppies ears. One floppy ear  is covered by his hand while the other is placed close to his chest. “Uh, it’s pronounced thank you.”

“HAH! Get ‘em! ” Hobie barks from behind the crowd 

“Thanks or whatever.” Miles- 42 mumbles under his breath.

An unsure voice speaks up. “Um… Miles?” 

The teen groans, turning begrudgingly to be met with Gwen’s sorry gaze. Just as he opens his mouth to tell her off, he pauses. 

“Hold up, is that my jacket?”

Gwen looks down at  the coat flustered. She then quickly takes it off , holding it out for him to take. “Oh! Yeah, I’m sorry.” 

“Why were you wearing my jacket?” he snatches it away aggressively, slinging it over his shoulder.  “Are you insane?”

“I know! I’m sorry!” she blurts out clumsily.  “I was looking for you so I stopped by your apartment but you weren’t there and then I saw your parents and they were so worried and- I don’t know- I just thought I should say something-” 

“-You what!?!” Miles' voice crack echoes within the dome ceiling. Miles-42 quickly clasps his hand over his mouth to mask his giggles. “How could that possibly be a good idea!?” 

“I don’t know! I just wanted to tell them-” 

“-Tell them what?” Anger is bubbling inside him like the lid to a boiling pot. He’s not sure if he’ll regret what he is about to say, but to be honest, he doesn’t care. She forfeited the right when she lied and abandoned him. 

“My parents don’t even like you! And I’m starting to realize they weren’t wrong to think that way.” 

“Don’t you think I know!?” Gwen exclaims, her outburst takes Miles by surprise.  “If it was the other way around I would feel the exact same way. I’m not here to ask you to forgive me. I know that we are way past that. Miles you have every right to be mad at me. I just want to help you fix this. Please just- at least let me help you fix this,” her voice trembles as she grovels. “And then I promise, you will never see me again.” 

“Screw see you again, I don’t want to see you now! How do I know what you’re saying right now isn’t just another lie-” 

Miles’s frenzy is cut short by the trembling feeling against his arms. He looks down to see the puppy he had all but forgot he was holding. The poor thing whimpered into his chest, undoubtedly shaken by his sudden temper. He offers his apologies in hushed tones and soothing strokes, but the whining persists. 

Gwen sighs, beginning a soothing rhythm of deep breaths. She closes her eyes, focusing purely on the cadence of her inhales and exhales. She intentionally exaggerated each gasp just enough so that they were audible to the boy and the dog across from her. Just enough for the rhythm to reach.

She never changed rhythms when around Miles, she never needed to, even now. Though she would give anything to remedy his frustration, she knew she deserved it. But this rhythm wasn’t for him. 

It only takes a few breaths for the room to reach equilibrium. Shortly after, the puppy stops crying. 

She opens her eyes to Miles cheek placed gingerly on its head, stroking its back with an apologetic frown on his face. 

“When my dad found out I was a spider woman, he tried to arrest me.” Miles shows no reaction, though he stops petting the dog and lifts his head to face her. As if to decide whether or not he was going to allow himself to believe her story.

 “The only reason I got away was because of Jess… and Miguel.” She gestures to the disgraced man, currently disabled by delirium and a gnarly headache. 

“I stayed because I felt like I had to. Because I had nowhere else to go, but also because I felt like I owed them so much. But then I got kicked out and honestly? That’s probably the best thing that could’ve happened to me,” Gwen chuckles bleakly. 

“My dad quit being captain. I didn’t even think that was possible before. I thought…The reason I never cared about that canon personally was because I thought I had already lost him. Going home made me realize… I never did. We don’t have to. Why should we lose the people we love just to be like everyone else? Or in order to be spiderman and women. Anyone can wear that mask. Anyone.” She holds both biceps with her hands, hugging herself to soothe. 

“And it’s stupid to say there’s only one way to live in order to be who we want to be.” 

Miles stares at the ground as he digests her testimony. “I’m happy for you Gwen, I really am, but I don’t need your help or anybody’s. I can do both, and I can do it without you guys.” The young man solemnly shakes his head. 

“Sorry, I just… I just don’t know how to trust you guys anymore.” 

It didn’t feel good to Miles to deny Gwen, but it just wasn’t the same anymore. He wasn’t sure if they could ever get back to the way things were before. He hated himself for letting himself be obsessed with her. That he was going to devote his future to a niche science just to find his way back to her and his other friends. A courtesy they obviously didn’t extend to him when given the chance. 

It really made him wonder. Did she lose herself in the wrong crowd or did he never know her the way he thought he did. Was it the idea of her? Was it the thought of having someone to love?

“If I may, दोस्त.” 

Miles snaps his head upwards to see Pavitir Prabhakbar. He walks forward calmly with his hands clasped behind his back. His head is bowed slightly. 

“I get where you’re coming from Miles. I always thought being spiderman was an easy job. Up until yesterday I was always able to save everyone. I always found a way. Having to choose between Gayatri and Inspector Singh… It was scary.  That was the first time I ever felt completely… helpless. And out of everyone, you were the only one willing to save him. I’m in debt to you Miles. More than you’ll ever know. That’s why I’m here. ” 

Miguel slowly begins to rise with a groan, attempting to rub away the pain from his forehead and the grogginess from his eyes (thanks withdrawals). 

“Uggh. What the-” 

 Without breaking eye contact, Pavitr and Miles immediately shoot webs in his direction. Tethering the man to the ground in a position akin to a track runner in position for a race. 

“Hey!-”

Pavitr shoots a final web at his mouth, muffling his protests.   

“I have no doubt in my mind that you can do both Miles.but you can’t do it alone.” Pavitr strides forward to briefly place his hand on his shoulder. 

 “You’re the one who taught me that.” 

A small smile forms on Miles’ lips, “Thank you Pav.” 

“Anytime.” The young boy gives one last shake of his shoulder before retreating back to the sidelines. 

Miles pouts as a question forms in his head. 

“...My parents…” 

Gwen's head whips back to see Miles. He doesn’t return her gaze, staring off into the distance as he absentmindedly pets the puppy. 

“...What did they say?” 

It takes Gwen a second to realize that the question was for her. She stumbles and stammers before a complete sentence escapes her lips. 

“I told them that it wasn’t your fault, that it was mine. And that I was going to find you and bring you home. They’re worried about you. They wanted me to tell you that they love you.”

Bites his lips as his brow furrows, deep with thought. “That’s it?” 

 “That and something about…five months?”

Miles' face scrunches, perplexed.  “Five months? What- Oh, right” he chuckles. 

He then gives a shaky sigh, dragging his free hand down the side of his face. “I don’t know man-” 

“-Miles, she’s the reason we’re all here.” Peter Parker speaks up, the baby gurgles happily as if to concur his statement. 

Miles looks around everyone for confirmation. He’s met nods and hums of agreement, even from Hobie. 

“She was the first to find out where you were.” Peter places a hand on Miles' shoulder. He hastily takes a step back, swatting his hand away. 

Peter is taken aback for just a moment, before raising his palms in surrender and taking a few steps back to give him space. 

“You know, when I’m out there doing spider-man stuff -getting knocked around like a rag doll and whatever- I find it hard to care about saving the whole entire world. I mean- I do! But everytime I try to think of everyone that’s counting on me, it’s just so… scary I guess. So whenever I work I start to think about one person. One person to do it all for. And now, thanks to you, not only do I finally have her back in my life I’ve got another one.” Peter tickles Mayday under her armpits as he speaks, the child laughs loudly.

“Look, I’m going to be honest with you, kid. I’m not sure which side I fall on this whole thing, but I’m here-we’re here because we care about you Miles.”

Miles looks around to each face in the room, scrutinizing each spider. 

“Fine.” Miles eventually relents. There are several sighs of relief. 

“Just to be clear, the only people I trust here are you… ” he points to Hobie,

 “...you…” then to Pavitir, 

“...you…” then to Spider-Byte,

“annnd….you.” then finally to Peter Porker

The pigs hands clasp over his mouth as he gasps.  “Really?” 

“Well yeah,” the teen shrugs nonchalantly.  “I didn’t see you in the mob chasing me through that tower-” 

In the blink of an eye Porker rushes toward Miles embracing his leg while crying into his calf 

“You- Have- No Idea- How Much- That means to me.” Porker musters through choked sobs. 

Miles replies stunned. “Uh, Yeah. Don’t sweat it man.” 

“You- don’t- understand.” Porker looks up at Miles streams of tears spilling from his comically large eyes, “They- They said you hated me!” 

 “Stop lying!” Margo says, while Peter shouts “Drama Queen!”, and Penni goes “What are you talking about? " and Noir concludes with  “Literally nobody said that.” 

“See? Look at how they treat me!” Porker wails before continuing to cry into Miles' leg. 

At a loss, Miles resolves to awkwardly pat the pig on his head. “Um, There there-”

‘Look out,’ the voice in his head whispers urgently. 

Miles dives to the side just in time to avoid Miguel's attempt to leap on top of him. He twirls around to let his back take the brunt of the impact, protecting the dog he held in his arms. Porker has long since leaped back to the sidelines. 

“Here hold this.” Miles shoves the puppy, now swaddled in his jacket, into Jonathon’s arms. Immediately having to leap into the air to dodge the fist Miguel attempted to slam on top of his head. Again dangerously close to Jonathon

“Oh- Okay then.” Jonathan holds the puppy with two hands. 

The battle ensues. Miguel mainly on the offensive, throwing things and delivering blows. Miles on the defensive, dodging and hiding all while trying to get through to him. 

“How can you tell me what I’m doing is wrong? Spider man's job is to save everyone!”

“Don’t be an idiot! I’ve been through the same thing! If you do this there will be nothing left to save!” 

 “How is that the same!?” Miles narrowly dodges the bright red webs, sticking to the wall as refuge. “You swapped places with a dead version of yourself. I’m not doing any of that! I’m making sure he doesn’t die to begin with.”

Miguel’s response comes in the form of a hand on the boy’s throat, his giant fist being enough to encase his whole neck. Miles shoots a web at Miguel’s forehead and yanks it down causing the two to head butt one another. Miguel recoils in pain, letting go of the boy’s throat. Miles is also reeling from the impact. 

Miles-42 wastes no time. Racing towards the large man and leaping atop him for an impromptu wrestling match. 

“Dude! Now!” The Prowler yells, his helmet giving his voice its titular robotic tone. 

“Oi! Miles! Catch!” Hobie hurls a small object in the air in Miles’s direction.  At first he’s not sure what it is, it isn’t until it’s closer that Miles can see the device clearly. 

A watch. He was finally going to get his own watch. 

It all seems to happen in slow motion. Miles leaping in the air, one hand outstretched like a baseball player. The watch being mere millimeters away from his fingertips. The premature celebration from all the onlookers. The dropped jaws as Miguel breaks free from the Prowlers clutches and tackles Miles just before he can close a fist around the object. 

Miles groans as his ribs smack the ground. The watch slips through his fingertips and rolls across the room until its path is intercepted by a pair of black boots. His slow eyes trail upwards to get a better look at the wearer. 

His heart stops and his blood runs cold.

‘Oh no.’ 

‘Oh no. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.’ 

The woman in the boots and white black coat bends down to pick up the contraption, holding it up high above her face. She pushes the goggles off her eyes and atop her head of thick, curly hair. She rotates the watch in her fingers, squinting her eyes as she holds it up to the light. 

“My, my…” she whispers to herself in astonishment, paying no mind to the others in the room, who watch stupefied. 

“Dr. Octavious!” The scientist pipes up with glee, totally oblivious to the atmosphere. “Thank goodness you’re here!” His outburst shocks her from her stupor, she finally scans the room as if just realizing their presence

“Ahh. Hello Jonathon...” Dr. Octavious turns to face the crowd, eyeing each stranger with lingering suspicion. 

 “...And friends…” she adds through gritted teeth, her sternness poorly masked with chuckle and a half hearted smile. 

“Well, it appears we have some catching up to do Mr.Ohnn.”

A/N:  I used google translate for the languages so sorry if it's hot shit. If you made it this far ur the best. Thanks for reading <3!

[fleurieds]

*  ｡  ◜ 𝙎𝙊𝙈𝙀𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙉𝙂 𝙏𝙃𝘼𝙏 𝙄𝙎 𝙇𝙊𝙑𝙀𝘿 𝙄𝙎 𝙉𝙀𝙑𝙀𝙍 𝙇𝙊𝙎𝙏.

full name: esme valentine faceclaim: madelyn cline age: twenty-five nickname(s): ez occupation: writer for rolling stones magazine & podcast host neighborhood: cardinal hills hometown: brooklyn, new  york pronouns: she / her gender: cisfemale sexual orientation: bisexual

𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐄𝐒𝐌𝐄

( drugs, child neglect, overdose, car accident, death. ) esme valentine’s existence was a result of a drunken one night stand between her groupie mother and her rockstar father. esme’s mother, emma, had spent her early adult life in the sixties on the road with multiple different bands and artists chasing a high she was addicted to — sex & drugs. she met esme’s father, keaton, a world-famous musician with multiple grammy’s and platinum-selling albums under his belt ( think kurt cobain iconic ) at a show one night in atlanta, georgia and the two got together after his performance. the next morning when she awoke in their hotel room, he was already gone and on the way to the next leg of his tour. unfortunately, her nineteen-year-old mother hadn’t found out she was pregnant until three months later when one of her friends got her a pregnancy test after she’d spent the morning on a tour bus throwing up. even though she wasn’t stable emotionally or financially, she decided to keep esme and decided to keep her existence a secret from keaton as well. while esme should have been enrolled in kindergarten by the time she was five, she actually spent her childhood years on the road with whatever band her mother was hanging out with at the time, surrounded by men and women that were complete strangers to her. due to her addiction to cocaine and heroin, emma would often leave esme alone for days at a time with friends; no food or water or comfort given to her during that time. the times that she was around, esme wish she wouldn’t be as she was always with men who reeked of booze and who she would watch inject her mother with whatever drug of choice was wanted that night. child services were called when esme was six and her mother had no choice but to put her groupie lifestyle on hold. she got a part-time job as a waitress and they rented a sketchy one-bedroom apartment in downtown new york while esme went to school. her mother was honestly… a horrible and really messed up woman. by the time she was nine emma would often make comments that her daughter was trying to steal whatever boyfriend she was with a time ( srsly.. she was fucked up ) and anything she would say to her would be taken the wrong way. she lived in that hell up until she was twelve and after coming home from school one day, esme found her mother on the bathroom floor dead from an overdose. that’s when keaton was finally notified he had a daughter. her dad who was on the road in europe when child services called put everything on hold to come to meet her and the two bonded instantly. he decided to cancel the rest of his shows that year so that he could make sure to get everything she needed and to spend time with the daughter he never knew he had. her life was quite stable after that point, her dad was always involved and took care of her as a parent should. like her father, esme fell in love with music and when she graduated high school, she published a blog that reviewed and interviewed upcoming musicians across the globe. her content was a hit and gained a big following by the time she was twenty and eventually got her hired as a writer rolling stones. soon after she started a podcast and her career took off. her father died tragically in a car accident about three years ago and to say esme was devastated was an understatement. she kinda went through a dark patch but luckily her friends were there for her during that time. she moved to blue harbour with her best friend  ( she lived in europe from age 12-24 ) and while her father left her millions of dollars in her name, she hasn’t touched a penny of it.

𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘

esme is kind of a firecracker, tbh? but she’s really approachable and people seem to be drawn by her presence when she’s around. it’s one of the reasons her blog & articles are such a success, people want to talk to her and feel comfortable in doing so. due to her mother’s toxicity, she really tries to stay away from the party scene ( which isn’t easy due to her job ) and to those involved with hard drugs. her ex-boyfriend of three years was a huge dick, cheated on her a bunch of times and treated her like shit, so she’s quite… reserved on that front. like she’s totally fine with one night stands and meaningless flings but if the guy starts showing signs that they’re really into her… she’ll bounce DGHDGH. although deep down, i really think she wants to find her soulmate and someone who will fight for her, you know? her friends are her favorite people in the world and she’ll do just about anything for them. also a lil bit of a tomboy tbh!

𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐍𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

platonic soulmate/best friend. gimme a best friend who’s honestly her ride or die. they could of either known each other in new york when they were kids or met europe. they would have moved here together. they know everything about each other and would do anything for one another.

will they won’t they. these two have crazy chemistry and are really close friends and everyone thinks they’re gonna end up together but… will they?

close friends, confidants, one night stand, wingman/wingwoman, crush, unrequited crush, good influence, etc.

[light-wayland]

"well, their exile was supposed to be a punishment, so it had to suck at least a bit..."

Before we started talking about it I thought their punishment was kind of a joke because seriously, they get to run an Institute, a thing a lot of Shadowhunters dream of. (It still is a joke I mean, what the fuck, who's the one who came to this decision, was it the entire Clave?)

But yeah, they're sent to New York to run an Institute. An Institute whose heads they personally killed two years prior. An Institute leading the Conclave that probably hates them because A) they killed the Whitelaws and B) who knows how many of their friends and relatives died in the Uprising. Most of the Shadowhunters in the Conclave are probably not really willing to take their orders. They can count on no support from The Clave or Idris. The Inquisitor, who is supposed to be their advisor, is Imogen Herondale, the mother of their dead friend who blames them for his death and Céline's death and the death of her unborn grandchild and also loathes the Circle.

In addition, there's the Downworld, who's understandably both afraid and furious with them. The High Warlock of Brooklyn has a very personal beef with them. The largest vampire clan in New York is led by Camille Belcourt who is difficult at the best of times. The Seelies doubly so. We don't know who ran the New York pack, possibly Kito or Véronique whom we don't know anything about but I do not imagine them as very happy after the whole... incident that killed the Whitelaws, seeing as there were werewolves involved (and a child left blind, fuck you Valentine).

Add to it that they cannot leave unless is for official business, they live in the house of the people they murdered and wherever they go, there's someone more or less openly hostile. They're grappling with the recent loss, death of their friends, the betrayal of Valentine leaving them behind to "burn himself alive," and, quite likely, the burgeoning guilt of what they've done. They have to raise a child, ideally not at all like they were raised and they have no idea how to do that. They have another child on the way or already born. We don't know about their families but I imagine most would've cut contact with them.

New York would've been a right mess for years and, frankly, it's a miracle Robert/Maryse/Hodge didn't kill themselves - and I am willing to bet that it's largely because of the stigma Shadowhunters have about it too.

Back to the original point though: it is hysterical that the Clave has given them a mentally and emotionally tormenting punishment on what was, more than likely, a fucking accident.

who made that decision is something explained contradictory in the books. we know there was votes involved (as we know patrick and jia voted favorably for a lighter punishment) and that imogen was involved but wasn’t happy with how it turned out.

robert's parents died in the year of the uprising. we don't know how related to the uprising their death was, as i wish we knew. he certainly had feelings about that, but unfortunately we don't know anything about maryse's

i don't think it was necessarily an accident. for the punishment to be accepted, all the difficulty included would have to be considered, so the fact that they would have no allies in ny to conspire with would be taken in consideration. they were supposed to be uncomfortable there.

also, michael was considered to be alive. the punishment was deliberately forcing robert a continent away from his parabatai and having his bond forcefully weakened in the exile ritual. separating parabatai in any way is very frowned upon so of course this was something considered

about not commiting suicide, i don't think it's that surprising. well, suicide is not the answer people usually go for! that usually has to be caused by severe mental illness, and shadowhunters are not like mundanes,

thinking about robert's character, i wondered how suicidal thoughts that he used to have when he was 12-13 years old didn't persist, and i then something clicked when i realized why: at that time, his reality was of being a shadowhunter who wouldn’t/couldn't follow his purpose as a shadowhunter, and that was killing him inside. after he met michael, he found his purpose again, because he found out he could still train to be a shadowhunter with his best friend/parabatai at his side.

so for shadowhunters, their shadowhunter mission is connected to their will to live. something that can break that is extreme grief/heartbreak over their loved ones, as shadowhunters seem to feel very, very intensely about their dear ones (i have been thinking about this because i want to explore that in my fic!) but robert and maryse weren't at that stage: they were building their own family and as heads of the ny institute they still got the chance to follow their purpose as shadowhunters. we (mundanes) don't have anything of the sort. except maybe for very devoted believers of their religions (i don't mean violent fanatics, but actually people with extremely strong faith), something that in the real world many consider to be unhealthy and that can be broken via trauma or other means

i think the theme of shadowhunter purpose was more well present in tmi/tid/tfsa than in later books. it seems to be far more vague now, as we have the cohort who is a giant number of people who abandoned their duty of protecting mundanes

now, the same can't really be said about hodge. he was a prisioner, and couldn’t get outside to fight anything, but that never had been his way of doing things, he was more interested in research and knowledge and he had the job to use that being a tutor. i would say it was being unable to cherish any sort of relationship with people outside the institute that was the most harmful, as humans are not supposed to be lonely like that. but even people who live completely alone have will to survive

[hellcab]

@heavensxstray / @villains4hire

{ Roth tensed up. His eyes grew nervous, consumed with dread. He crossed his arms, pulling his arms tight. He wanted so much to leave right now, to just go. But something kept him in that booth. Maybe, Roth wanted to drain out his misery. Tell about his painful memory. }

{ Grasping the coffee cup, Roth took his morning “communion”. The bitter drink served little comfort. He started building his courage to speak. }

“It was February. I was . . . walking home from work. I was going into work tomorrow. I was done. Finished.”

{ Roth remembered Yellow. That old, familiar color, along with the black and white checker patterns. Yellow Cab was the only job he could even get. The only one he could hold down long enough. Still though, the job was Hell. Dehumanizing. Roth felt more isolated than ever. Little has changed. }

“I was behind on rent. Drowning in debt . . . with no relief. No religion. No nobody special. I was alone and miserable. So y’know, I started feeling tempted. The bridge was not far away.”

{ He took The Brooklyn Bridge every day to work and home. He never thought that place would be his finale. His final night on Earth. He never imagined the kind of terror that waited. Roth forced out some small, weary laughter. }

“I must’ve stood on that bridge for hours. Snow on my shoulders. Just peering out across the Hudson. Just contemplating what would get me first. The cold or the fall.”

{ It was abundantly clear why Roth was on that bridge. He came there to die. But for some reason, Roth never jumped. }

“-But he was there. I think he was always there. Waiting for someone, anyone, to cross that bridge.”

{ Roth’s voice started growing fearful. Even after all these years, that man struck fear in his heart. The Enigma Killer, the man who could never be caught. Then again, with how severe his crimes where, Roth doubted he was even human. He committed a string of murders from Quebec to New Jersey. Roth was his last and finale kill. But nobody knew that, since Roth was declared a "suicide victim". }

“He attacked. Wrapping wire around my throat. We struggled back and forth. Finally, I managed to break free. Land some punches and kicks. I was winning . . . despite how fucking miserable I was. I wanted to fucking live. I  . . . . I lost though.”

{ Roth hanged his head low, he remembering how the fall felt. How slow everything was and yet, how quick. He remembered tumbling further and further down. Down towards the icy waters below. To drown. }

“Threw me over. I landed below  . . . but I wasn’t dead. I drowned in the river. I died . . . . then I ended up here . . .”

[dantebsinferno]

Is that DANTE BARO? A JUNIOR originally from BROOKLYN, NEW YORK, they decided to come to Ogden College to study FINE ART & STUDIO ART. They’re THE HELLKITE on campus, but even they could get blamed for Greer’s disappearance.

pinterest | connections |

BASIC STATS

Full Name: Dante Miguel Baro Velasquez

Nicknames: Baro, DB (hates it), most curse words

Date of Birth: March 2nd, 2000

Hometown: Brooklyn, New York

Nationality: American

Ethnicity: Hispanic (Venezuelan)

Western Zodiac: ☼ Aries | ☽ Aquarius | ↑ Libra

Sexuality:  Publicly Straight | Privately Pansexual

Relationship Status: Erratic

Socioeconomic Status: Rich

Occupation: Ew that’s for poor people

PERSONALITY

FOUR POSITIVE TRAITS: Competitive, Loyal, Quick witted, Protective 

FOUR NEGATIVE TRAITS: Opinionated, Ruthless, Unpredictable, Self-centered

THREE SKILLS: Stealing, Art, Intimidation

Moral Alignment: Chaotic Evil

MBTI: ENTJ: The Commander

On the Outside, the phrase ‘you are going to fight me or fuck me’ truly describes Dante Baro. The man comes across as rude at first, but slowly, the rudeness almost becomes charming. He’s a major playboy with a long list of broken hearts. Dante is quick to anger and thrives in chaotic situations. However, like the dog he is, when treated well, he is devoted, affectionate, and protective.

On the Inside, Dante is teetering on becoming unhinged. Every moment he wonders when he will finally snap and unleash the rage within him, at his parents, at the universe, or those who’ve done nothing to him. Usually, he had Greer as an outlet, but with her gone, Dante worries if he’ll finally snap.

FICTIONAL CHARACTER INSPO

Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer), Klaus Hargreeves (Umbrella Academy), Loki (Marvel), Negan (The Walking Dead),

STUDENT FILE

School Year: Junior

Major: Fine Art 

Minor: Studio Art

Sports: Swimming & Diving Team & Crew (Rower) (Captain)

Extracurriculars: Sigma Alpha Epsilon (VP of Recruitment), Boxing Club, Tae Kwon Do Club, & Art Club

FAMILY

César Baro - Father

Luciana Baro - Stepmother

Vera Baro - Younger Half Sister

Lara Velasquez Hernandez - Mother

Raphael Hernandez - Stepfather

Santiago Hernandez - Younger-Half Brother

BACKGROUND

As the son of a famous Spanish soap opera star turned businesswomen and a brilliant engineer that builds planes for all the major airlines, as well as a major stockholder, Dante has never known life without money. He attended the best schools, traveled around the world, and was given anything his heart desired. However it was not without a cost, his parents were too busy and with no other siblings, he was left with nannies to watch out for him.

A rambunctious, wild child, most Nannie’s quit after a few months. One nanny did managed to stick around, Raquel. Dante worshipped her, seeing as the mother he wished he had. However, a falling out with his parents, lead to her being deported. He never got attached to another nanny after that,

His parents later got divorced when he turned twelve. Both parents stayed in New York where he was shuttled between two homes. Neither house felt like home. Family dinners were awkward and tense as neither household knew how to deal with Dante’s anger and instability. Eventually, both parents remarried, having children with their new spouses. Dante was forgotten, left to his own devices.

His comfortable yet loveless life brightened when he met Greer Morrison. She overlooked his gruff exterior, seeing the scared boy hiding behind the anger. It did not take long for him to become infatuated, doing anything she wished.

When he turned eighteen, Dante had a falling out with his parents when he told them he wouldn’t go to college. It was tense night, where Dante revealed his knowledge about a dark deal his parents made and threatening to expose them both to the world. It silenced them, and gave Dante free reign over his life. He did not go to college then, choosing to travel and pursue some hobbies,

It wasn’t until Greer mentioned Ogden that he decided to pursue college. He figured he might as well get a fancy, yet useless, degree just to spite his parents and if it meant more access to Greer, why not?

While the idea of more school was never appealing, Dante found he enjoyed it. He loved parties, the hookups, and the power he held as Greer’s right hand. No messed with him or Greer and if he would keep it that way.

THEIR RELATIONSHIP WITH GREER - Greer’s Guard Dog

The magnitude of Dante’s devotion towards Greer is like that of a dog and his master. A childhood play date sparked their relationship when Greer and Dante’s mothers became friends at a charity gala. Some would claim Dante was another soul under Greer’s control, but how could you not adore the one person who never betrayed you. They’d grown close, with Dante making regular visits to the Morrison household. Dante could be seen at Greer’s side at any event, or not too far off. In many ways, Dante was her right hand, and she was the only one to keep him under control. There’s been questions of whether or not this infatuation became romantic or physical. Dante never hid that he loved Greer, the good parts and the darker side only he was privy to. It didn't matter who she was dating. It was only a matter of time before they would be together permanently. Greer’s disappearance has him desperate for answers.

HOW THEY EMBODY THEIR TROPE - The Hellkite

Like his namesake, Dante has seen hell and people who will undoubtedly be there. Cruelty and depravity is all you can assume from anyone. He treats everyone as if they are beneath him, and no one is exempt from his harsh criticism or cruel actions. Dante simply doesn’t care how his actions affect people and it’s your fault if you are offended by something he does. He doesn’t have the time or the energy for the sensitivity of other people. A part of him finds delight in hurting others. He knows he’s messed up and therapists have tried to heal him, but at the end of the day, he will chase his own pleasure.

MISCELLANEOUS/HEADCANONS/RANDOM THOUGHTS

After high school, Dante went to culinary school in Paris. He loves to cook and it kills him that his dorm doesn’t have a kitchen.

For someone so arrogant and self-absorbed, he’s a generous lover. His famous quote: “if only one of us comes, then it’s masturbation.”

Dante is a morning person.

When he can’t sleep, Dante goes for a run.

Raised Catholic, but doesn’t practice.

Is terrified by dolls.

Has a motorcycle.

Dante is working on a comic book.

Believes liquor bottles are decorative.

Has a ranking list of who he’s slept with, very open about having it, but never gives out any specifics.

He really wants a pet, but not responsible enough to take care of it.

Is banned from borrowing books from the library.

[vodkababy]

pretty when you cry🕯 ·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳

mike wheeler x fem! reader

angst (?) 🫡 [ inspo : pretty when you cry by lana del rey ]

age pairings; between 14-15 ༊*·˚

💋 warnings: douche mike, cheating

୨⎯ . ♡ . ⎯୧

y/n l/n.

the girl who i loved the most. she moved here to hawkins from brooklyn. and the first when i caught her eyes, i knew that i wasn’t in love with el anymore. sure she had all those powers but, what else? this girl was heaven. she was an angel. every time the pretty stars shine, i always feel like they shine for her. she’s the girl i dream of.

“you’re my girl.”

“you make me feel like your whole world.” she giggles. i loved her laugh. i loved everything about her. her eyes, her hair, her body. all of her.

we were young and in love. she loved me, i loved her. she didn’t know i was with el. she knew el, she was a part of our little friend group. i just never tried to be affectionate with el whenever she was there. and when she knew about it, she was upset. i didn’t mean to upset her, but she wouldn’t stop crying.

i didn’t get why she wouldn’t stop crying. was she jealous of el? did she feel bad for el? her tears were like gold. she was beautiful whenever she cried.

“you’re pretty when you cry.”

when y/n died, 1985. from the starcourt mall incident. i was feeling the worst pain in my life. worse than almost getting killed by a demogorgon, or a mind flayer. this was worse.

i felt sadness pool into my life. like i stopped caring. i stopped caring about el. i stopped caring about my friends. and i didn’t plan to show that, so i didn’t. i pretended that i was still the mike that the party was best friends with.

el and the byers’ moved to california. el sent me letters, i felt loved. but i didn’t love her anymore. she doesn’t know that. whenever i write back to her, i leave it with “from, mike.” i know that i seem like a total bitch right now, but trust me, thats how i really feel.

my mind flashed back when i wrote a letter for her trying to apologize.

“all those special times i spent with you, my love.”

“they don’t mean shit. compared to all or any drugs.”

“i’m sorry y/n. i love you.”

ever since y/n died, i started to change.

i started to act different. that’s how lucas says it. lucas got into the basketball team and, he started hanging with the basketball douchebags. like jason carver, mckinney, andy, and the other dudes. dustin and i? stayed loyal to dnd. every time, all i think about is y/n.

i swore to wait for her. when i’m gone. when i’m gone, i’ll be with her. she’s the death of me. my love.

୨⎯ " ♡ " ⎯୧

it was summer of 1986, i came to california to visit el and the byers. i had a gut feeling that i wasn’t supposed to be here, right after telling myself that i wasn’t in love with el. not now.

“mike!” el’s coming. i forced myself to hug her. to kiss her. it wasn’t the same anymore. i didn’t feel the same for her anymore. all of us, we weren’t the same after y/n’s death.

when we were at the roller skating rink, el hit a girl. with a rollerskate. will and i were terrified, i feel terrible for the girl, blood was scattered, trickling down her face.

we were home at the byers’ house. the tension at dinner was fucking terrible. i was outside to get some air walking to another random neighborhood where my legs led me to. just when i saw a familiar girl faced backwards by someone’s house’s window. she— she reminded me of y/n. the hair. the eyes, the eyes i loved. her body language. it was all the same. the way she walked. i saw her calling someone, the way she was holding her hip and it would turn to the left when she was holding on to her telephone.

she turned to the window and i saw her. the girl that i loved. but she’s dead. wasn’t she?

her eyes caught mine and she put the phone down. the way i knew her eyes were watering. she was starting to turn red. she went downstairs and opened the door. there she was. y/n. my y/n.

“mike.. i’m— what are you doing here.“

“i thought you were dead gone. you’re—you’re real.”

“i’m sorry. i had to, i couldn’t risk getting hurt anymore.

“hurt? why would you get hurt.”

why would she be hurt? was there anything to hurt her? she was looking into my eyes with sadness. she was starting to cry. tears of heaven were sliding down her rosy cheeks. eyes puffy, her long lashes dampened.

“you. you guys. every year, we all get hurt. because of that— that girl!”

“it’s her fault! not mine, y/n. you could have just told me. you could’ve just said that you were leaving than— than just faking a death!”

i was crying. not tears of joy after seeing her, not tears of sadness, nor tears of anger after she faked her death. i just cried.

“y/n, every thing changed when you left. even us. every one of us in the party. i felt like i wanted to jump off a cliff y/n. i felt terrible.”

“mike, i’m sorry. i loved you i know, i still do. i couldn’t help it. that damn eleven was getting us all tracked with every thing we do, every fucking summer! every fucking time mike, someone dies.”

she needed me. i needed her. she still loved me. i still loved her. but she wouldn’t accept the feelings she still had for me. we weren’t meant to be, were we?

“mike, just stop. please. i’m— m’ leaving.”

“th-there. you’re leaving. and you leave me again. what— what is it that you want, what is it that you need for yourself y/n? tell me. just tell me!”

“you know what. i can’t. i— i can’t do it. i love you y/n. i still do. i always have. i’m sorry. i love you y/n.”

“i love you too mike.”

she kissed me. that kiss that i’ve been longing for, for so long. our salty tears mixing. she was still pretty when she cried. it was just 1 year, but it felt like 10. but she left me, again. it was hard not having her. it was hard not having my pretty girl by my side,

my y/n.

୨⎯ . ♡ . ⎯୧

thinkin ab a part two 🫣

[fandom-chic]

The Time We Lost: Chapter 1

Summary: 40 years have passed since you saw Soldier Boy. Yet here he was at your door. With so many things having changed, will you two be able to withstand the modern world?

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Y/N

A/N: Hello everyone, and welcome back! Here is the first part of the sequel to Happy Little Family. Let me know what you think of the direction and if this interests you. Reviews are welcome.

He was a ghost. Maybe even a demon. Yet all you knew was that he wasn’t standing before you. That was impossible. He had been dead for 40 years. That was a fact. 

But then he spoke, “Y/N,” That’s when he pulled you into his arms. “I’m home.” The ghostly apparition was solid. Its arms wrapped around you, locking into the familiar places you had before been accustomed to. Even the scent matched perfectly. 

“No.” You whispered. There was no way. This was some kind of mind fuck. A cruel prank by the Gods. But when your eyes met his, your hand instinctively reached out to touch his cheek. You knew. He saw the recognition in your eyes. 

“It’s me, baby,” His rough voice broke you, and you fell into a heap in his arms. It was him. He was home. Your Soldier Boy had finally come home. His hand rubs up and down your back as you cry into his shoulder. 

“I-I-I… I thought you were d-dead.” You stutter between sobs. One of his hands comes up, and his fingers get tangled in your gray hair. 

“I know.” You take your head off of his shoulder and pull his face into your hands.

“Never leave again.” This time you see the semblance of a tear in his eye. It is immediately wiped away as he gives a sad smile.

“I never will.” That’s when you pull his lips to yours. He tasted the same. His lips were the same softness that you dreamt of every night. You waited forty years to kiss your husband again. If you knew that night in 1985 would be the last for more than half of your lifetime, you would have held him tight and never let him go. 

That was when you hear a grunt from behind Ben. You pull away from him, and you finally notice two men standing behind him. One reminded you of the only human in a Muppet movie. He had a kind smile. The other was something entirely different. This man exuded a kind of danger and darkness that you had stayed away from for years.

“Oy, you gonna introduce us?” The second man asked. There was a moment of annoyance on Ben’s face before he turned around.

“Butcher, Hughie, meet my wife, Y/N.” You give a curt smile.

“Wife?” The one you presume to be Hughie questions. “I thought that was all a PR stunt from the 80s?” You wanted to cackle at the boy’s naivety, but how could he know?

“That’s a long story, but yes, she’s my wife.” His wife. You missed being called that.

“So you really are an old lady fucker aren’t you?” Butcher smirked at his own joke. Before you could retort, the sound of skin hitting skin reverberated through your yard. Butcher was holding his face as Ben’s fist unfurled.

“Say that shit again, and you’re fucking dead.” You knew you didn’t have to say anything at this point, but you might as well. 

“Tea, anyone?” 

Once everyone had a mug of tea in their hands, you let the questioning officially begin. You first answered Hughie’s questions about the realities of your relationship with Ben. You smiled to yourself, recounting the few weeks of bliss you had shared while trying to gloss over the traumas as quickly as possible. The story eventually got to the part where Ben was no longer a part of it, and he perked up, wanting to know what happened next. 

“And Jamie was born four months after Ben left.” You finished, taking a sip of your green tea.

“So where is he now?” Hughie asked, curious about the lore around your months with Ben. You smile, knowing he was expecting something Supe-like of him, especially since he was Soldier Boy’s son.

“He’s a firefighter in Brooklyn.” You place your mug down, “The whole Supe thing wasn’t quite for him.” You look at Ben to see how he took that reality, but his face said nothing as he gazed into the abyss of your living room. 

“Firefighter, eh? What a way to have supe abilities without being an absolute cunt.” You couldn't help but snicker at Butcher’s comment. 

“You can say that I raised him right.” 

“So, he’s ok?” It came out as a meek sputter from his mouth, but you knew it was Ben. Not the Ben you remembered from years ago, but it was still him. You place a hand on top of his.

“He’s ok.” You squeeze his hand at this. You knew that’s what he needed to hear at that moment. 

“When can we see him?” Ben asks, almost sounding like a child asking to see Santa for the first time.

“Let’s talk about this later.” You say, knowing this was a more intimate conversation. “Now, I must ask, why are you both with Ben?” Butcher and Hughie give each other a knowing look before going into detail about their goal to take down Vought (which you knew had to be in vain), unearthing Ben from Russia, his revenge on Payback, and his request to come to see you. 

“I knew that once they were all gone, I had to come to see my girl.” You stared in shock at your cup. You knew what Ben was capable of and the violence he could commit, but this was something you weren’t prepared for.

“But Ben, people died-”

“Those weren’t people; those were fucking monsters.” He cuts you off, gripping his mug harder in his hand. You notice a crack appear and know that this conversation would also continue in private as well. Although Butcher is a dark man, you could sense a sort of kindness under that exterior, one that led him to say:

“Alright now, why don’t we let these two get some alone time? Hughie?” At that, the two of them make their way to the front porch. You two were alone at last. The door is barely shut before you hear Ben ask:

“When can I see my son?” You sigh, letting your fingers run up the side of your cup.

“Ben, it’s tough to get him over here. Especially when-”

“He doesn’t have to come here. We can go to him.” You couldn’t tell if his voice was excited or just truly curious about his boy. Your hand moves to grasp his and squeeze. Ben looks down at your hand on top of his. 

“We’ll see what we can do.” 

“I don’t know what that shit means, but I want to see him as soon as fucking possible.” He moves his hand out from under yours. “Why don’t you want to see him?” The question you didn’t want to get, but here it was. You try to reach for him again, soothe him, but he rises from his spot at the table. You stay seated.

“I’m not saying that at all.” You retort.

“Then why are you avoiding my questions? You do realize I have never met my fucking son, right?” His face is turning red as his voice starts to rise in volume.

“You don’t think I know that?” It was your turn to get out of your chair. “You do realize I had to parent a supe baby all by myself. Every day I not only had to try not to get accidentally torn apart by my kid, but I also had my emotions drained right out of me. Do you want to know why? Because he wanted a Dad.” 

“You don’t think I wanted to be there?” This time he was pointing his finger in your face, “You think I wanted to spend my time trapped by a bunch of fucking Russians getting the shit beat out of me?” You felt a tear well into your eye. You knew it wasn’t fair of you to blame him for being gone, but how could you not? All the years of loneliness seemed to be making themselves known. 

You are about to apologize and give some sort of explanation to Ben, but the aches returned. They do that at the worst times. They start at your feet and go up your body, enrapturing you to a cocoon of pain. When it reaches your eyes, you feel your vision blacken, and your feet go out beneath you. Before you are taken into blackness, you feel two strong arms catch you. Then you’re gone.

Hours must have passed when you woke up in your bed. You looked outside to see the sun had set. You sit up and yawn before hearing the TV on in your living room. You get up and wrap a cardigan around yourself to see who is still awake. You’re happy to see Ben watching reruns of MASH. You smile to yourself as you watch him. He turns to you and returns the smile.

“Did you know there’s a whole channel to the good stuff?” He motions toward the MeTV logo. You laugh and take a seat next to him.

“Just wait until 2 AM. That’s when they play Star Trek.” He raises his eyebrows at that, liking the sound of that. A beat passes before you say what’s on your mind. “We’ll head into the city tomorrow.” He turns toward you.

“Are you sure? That was-”

“It’s fine. We’ll head out in the morning.” You get up and make your way back to your bedroom, leaving Ben in the light of the TV screen.

[storiesofsvu]

Under Over Ch 15

Joe Velasco x reader Warnings: language, mentions of sex work, and a little bit of murder. A/N: i just wanted to say a HUGE thank you to everyone who's reading this, cause y'all that asked to be on the taglist are actually being the best readers a girl could ask for. I'm **loving** the interactions, messages, comments and you're all reblogging too which is like, the fucking absolute best. Hence why you're getting rewarded with another chapter so soon!! I looove yooouuu

The next morning Joe found himself unable to sleep in any later than six thirty, his mind racing with the possibilities of what could have happened to you or where you could’ve been. The looming sense of dread was still there, and not helped by the fact that the ID he’d been asked to make was not sapphire. Her body was still out there somewhere, and no one knew where. He made his usual run through the park, this time earlier than normal, stopping for coffee at the same place Amanda had bought him one at. His eyes were lingering on a missing persons poster while he waited for his drink and he realized that you might’ve been a regular here, hell, you only lived a couple of blocks from his UC apartment. You were probably a regular at plenty of places around here.

He quickly headed home to shower and freshen up, digging out his NYPD badge and stuffing it in his pocket. While he had been truthful the previous day about you not having social media, he did realize he had a couple of photos of you on his phone, a couple of silly selfies you’d insisted on taking and one of you laying on your stomach on his bed smiling up at him, sheet down around your waist as the sun sparkled on your skin. He made a copy of one of the selfies before cropping himself out of it and saving the cropped version and quickly headed out of the house.

He headed up to twelfth, starting at a couple of coffee shops and bodegas around there, knowing your apartment was somewhere on that block. A few of them said they recognized you, but hadn’t seen you around in a while, sorry that they couldn’t help more. He continued the process around the area, continually meeting dead end after dead end until he ended up at B-Side bar for lunch. He grabbed a burger and a beer, figuring he wasn’t technically on the job right now and made some small talk with the bartender. He’d become a bit of a regular over the past little bit, so it was a bit more personal than if he’d stopped somewhere else and Andy knew he was on the job.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Joe started and Andy nodded, leaning against the bar top.

“Yeah.”

“Have you seen this girl?” He swiped open his phone to the picture of you, sliding it across the bar top, Andy picking it up and studying it for a minute.

“Oh! Y/N, yeah. Comes in every couple of weeks, meets with the same girl. Super friendly, great tippers.”

“You know the girl’s name?”

“I can’t remember….” He paused to think, “little bit shorter than y/n, brunette, hazel eyes, athletic build, nose ring.” The realization washed over Joe quickly, remembering another connection you may have had.

“Brooklyn?”

“Yeah, I think that’s actually it!”

“When was the last time you saw them?”

“About…three, four weeks ago? Y/n had a nasty black eye, I overheard something about Brooklyn being concerned about it, but y/n was insisting on staying in the game, whatever that means. You think she’s got a bad boyfriend or something?”

“Something.” Joe let out a sigh, taking a sip of his beer, “you seen y/n on her own since?”

“No. But she ordered delivery from us about a week ago.”

“You guys do delivery?” He raised a curious brow, something that he hadn’t expected from a dive bar.

“Not technically.” Andy laughed, “but we’re one of the only places open when y/n gets home from work, I’m guessing she’s a bartender, maybe a club girl? She’ll always tip a hundred percent and pay cash, so we send one of the bus boys over to her, it’s only about a block away.”

“You got an address?”

“Yeah, just give me a sec.” Andy pushed off the bar top and turned around to the back bar, hands sorting through a small box filled with trinkets. Joe finished off his beer in hopes that this would be some sort of a lead, that there would be something in your apartment that would tell him where you were. “Here.” Andy turned back around with a piece of receipt paper in his hand, your writing scrawled across it ‘507 E 12th #1B.’

“Can I keep this?” He asked and Andy nodded, “thanks man.” He pocketed the paper and pulled out more than enough cash to cover his bill and said a quick goodbye to the other man.

The apartment truly was just down a block and around the corner and luckily for him, the front door was propped open with a stack of flyers. He made his way to your apartment door, frowning at the small pile of flyers and take out menus half shoved under the door, but still knocked anyways. After waiting and knocking again, louder the second time he glanced up and down the hallway hoping he wasn’t about to be caught in the act. He took a heavy breath, praying that he wasn’t about to regret his actions, braced himself and booted the door open.

Cautiously, he stepped into the apartment, eyes sweeping through the space as he swung the door shut behind him. It opened directly into the living room, a tiny kitchen right in front of him tucked in a corner, a door open on his right led into the bathroom, and mock French doors opened into what he guessed was the bedroom. The place was small, and it was almost too tidy, it felt nearly like an air bnb or a display unit rather than an actual lived in apartment. Then again, you did spend an awful amount of time at the penthouse, if it wasn’t for Andy he would have thought you hadn’t set foot in here in ages.

There was a pair of heels and a pair of runners by the door, a cardigan thrown over the back of the couch and an abandoned coffee mug on the coffee table. He crossed into the kitchen, the fridge didn’t have much in it, some rotting vegetables, a carton of milk that expired two days prior and some leftover take out from B-Side. The bedroom at least showed some signs of life, the shirt and shorts you’d borrowed from him strewn onto the unmade bed. The closet was a bit of a disaster, a pile of clothes that looked like they’d fallen from the top shelf on the floor, things half on hangers, it was looking like wherever you were, you’d gone in a hurry.

At the very least, there were no signs of a break in, a struggle, or any blood. If you were hurt, it hadn’t happened here. After making sure he’d searched every inch of the apartment, he let out a sigh, there wasn’t anything here worth noting. He’d have to try and find the time to sneak through your room at the penthouse and check things out there on Friday.

**

Friday had an earlier start to the party, a hotel in midtown hosting a banquet dinner followed by cocktails and socializing. Jose made his way up to the penthouse, knowing his night was starting by driving the girls over before doing the usual loops. He once again, knew the instant he stepped into the penthouse that things were on edge, though this time it was because Kayra’s anger was directed at him.

“You’re fucking late!”

“I’m sorry man, traffic was terrible.” He replied with the truth, “won’t happen again.”

“It better not!” Kayra snarled, turning back to the kitchen as he muttered to himself, “stupid little shit, just like that ungrateful bitch y/n.” Jose’s eyes widened as Kayra bent over to snort a line of coke off the kitchen island, he’d never seen such obvious drug use by the man, he’d just known he was high.

“I take it she’s not attending tonight then?” He asked, the tone in his voice changing to one of respect to try and get on Kayra’s good side, maybe help calm him down.

“No.” The man laughed, “don’t plan on having her around at all anymore. You’ll have to find a new bitch to suck up to.”

“Hey, I was just doing my job helping her out when she was running the show.”

“She wasn’t running the show!” Kayra snapped back as Jose stepped into the kitchen, noticing Carly and a few of the girls in the connected living room, “it’s my show! It’s my business! That little fucking cunt of a whore thinks she’s the hottest shit just because she spreads her legs for whoever makes the highest bid of the night? She’s fucking useless! She would be out on the streets if it wasn’t for me!”

“Okay, okay…” Jose surrendered, eyes trained on the other man as he paced through the kitchen, continuing to rant and scream about you.

“Thinks she’s so fucking special because she gets Tiffany’s. Fucking useless cunt.”

“Hey!” A voice cut in from the living room and Jose’s eyes widened at Carly stepping up to defend your name, “she was the best girl you had and you know it!”

“Watch your fucking mouth!” Kayra roared, finger waving in her face and she winced.

“You’re just pissed she’s not here and you have to actually do your job instead of getting high and getting your dick wet!”

Before Jose could even think of making a move, try to get in between them, or attempt to get Carly to stop, Kayra’s hand whipped to the back of his pants and pulled out a gun. Carly was on the ground dead before the sound of the shot even registered in Jose’s ears. Screams echoed from the other girls, little whimpers as the gun swivelled around to them, Kayra continuing on his rampage as he yelled at them.

“That should teach you what happens to backtalkers! Downstairs now! Get in the fucking car, you’ve got jobs to do!” He stuffed the gun into the back of his pants and turned to Jose, “new job for you tonight, clean that up. Leave the bracelet on the counter.” He gestured vaguely towards Carly’s body before disappearing down the back stairs.

**

Across town Olivia was wrapping up taking a statement from a new victim on a different case at Mercy Hospital. She finished up her notes and said thank you before pausing at the nurses station to make sure she had everything from Rudy. Her phone buzzed with an incoming call and she picked it up while reading through the chart.

“Benson?”

“Cap… I need your help.”

“Velasco? What’s up? I thought there was a party tonight?”

“There was. Kayra’s snapped.”

“Another body we need to look for?”

“Uh…” he hesitated and Oliva felt her pulse pick up, “nope. Body’s in the back of my car… I’ve been tasked with cleaning up. I don’t exactly want to dump it and I don’t have my shield on me, if I show up at the morgue I’m pretty sure I’d be leaving in cuffs.”

“I’m at Mercy right now. There’s a back door that leads right into the morgue in an alley off fifth, I’ll meet you down there with Melinda.”

“Thank you.” Joe let out a breath he barely realized he was holding, “I should be there in ten.”

“Okay.” She paused, “Velasco?”

“Yeah.”

“You did the right thing.” She assured before they said a quick goodbye and she hung up, heading down to the morgue to fill Melinda in on what was happening.

Joe was right on the time schedule he’d told Olivia and she was instantly worried with how frazzled he seemed. Once they dealt with the matter at hand, leaving the medical side of things to Melinda, Olivia guided Joe to clean himself up and meet them back in Melinda’s office.

“Thanks.” He muttered, taking the bottle of water Olivia handed him.

“What happened?” She asked and he let out a sigh.

“Kayra was high, it looked like coke, but it could’ve been anything. Oh—” he paused, digging through his pockets to produce two Ziploc bags, “I swiped some of it for the lab to test. And..” he handed the other one to Melinda, “slug went all the way through, figured I should save it for ballistics.”

“Good work.” Melinda praised with a small smile before retreating back into the morgue.

“He was yelling from the minute I walked in, complaining about y/n, calling her names—”

“She was there?!” Oliva’s eyes lit up for a moment before Joe’s expression changed and she felt the all too familiar sinking feeling.

“No. Kayra said something about her, I asked if she was attending tonight, he started ranting. Then Carly got defensive… the gun was out so fast, I… I couldn’t do anything…”

“Hey… this is not your fault. Alright? And I’m pulling you out.”

“What?!” Joe’s eyes shot up to her, “Cap, no! You can’t!”

“Two girls are dead and one is missing. I’m not risking your life on this op too.”

“But—”

“No Velasco.” She warned, “you’re not to go back to that penthouse unless ordered by myself. Go home. And I want you to clear your stuff out of that apartment first thing tomorrow, you’re no longer UC, I want to see you at your desk no later than ten a.m.”

“What about y/n?”

“We’ll find her.” She squeezed at his shoulder, giving him a tight smile.

“And if it’s in a body bag?”

“That’s worst case scenario. Best case scenario she left voluntarily, or maybe got picked up and spent a week at Rikers. Listen, this case will still get solved, okay? We’re working it alongside Manhattan South Vice now, comparing notes tomorrow, you’re still my lead so I expect you to be there.”

“Copy that.” He let out a tired sigh, not wanting to say anything else on the matter he simply turned away from her after a brief nod of his head. As much as he wanted to keep trying, keep searching, he knew right now it was best to follow orders.

____________ @witches-unruly-heartt @fandom-princess-forevermore @cycat4077 @xoxabs88xoxx @alwaysachorusgirl @teamsladsandgents @thatesqcrush @im-just-a-mississippi-girll @wandas-wife @katieslotherford @almatra @momlifebehard @dondivajade

[jortsaaaaaaart]

To Be Forgotten Amongst Friends chp1

Omega! Reader x avengers

Hello all! I revamped my story "ikaros" and this is the new story! Also the name is long rip.

Trigger warnings (later chapters mostly)- ptsd, noncon, kidnapping, human experimentation, Stockholm and lima syndrome

The following chapters will be posted on- https://archiveofourown.org/works/33890977     (seriously- may not post here that often cause i hate the tagging system- go check out ao3)

It's a beautiful day in New York and you're a terrible, no good, thief. 

You were considered New York’s very own Robin Hood. Two hundred ATM robberies in two years, the money flying out of the machines and into the hands of people who needed it. The banks, collectively, had lost over $300,000 from the ATMs alone. But of course, it wasn't just the ATMs. A rash of robberies had spread over the East coast. Most were digital, companies funneling their own money to offshore accounts that wanted nothing to do with U.S. intervention. The FBI were notified, then the CIA, and eventually- after a daring cyber attack against the DOD- SHIELD itself turned it's one eyed gaze onto you.

Nick Fury saw something the other agencies didn't. You had certain gifts that made your line of work incredibly easy. Whether they were natural mutations or some sort of superpower, they allowed you to break into some of the most secure networks known to man. He had almost found you when SHIELD fell and his resources vanished. After the dust cleared he was forced to start from scratch. Hunting you and the remnants of Hydra down at the same time wasn't easy, but, in a strange twist of fate, he found someone else that was searching for you too.

+++

New York was filled with so many people. Most of them were good, in your opinion. (Well, maybe half, actually.) You spent most of your off time working on "projects" or walking around the city. You had become a fixture at the local Bodega. Single omegas were extremely  rare, marked single omegas were almost unheard of. The mark gave you certain freedoms other omegas, sadly, didn't have. It drove away most potential suitors and the ones who were particularly bold would be given a taste of your powers. Once the burrow had gotten used to your presence they saw you as a generous person, but a secretive one. Someone who took no shit even with their designation. You gave to the community and different Omega rights groups in the area. After years of watching you quietly go about helping people you had been welcomed into the burrow's heart with open arms.

You loved helping people in your own way. You loved it just as much as you hated corporations and the police, but when you could make an ATM spew it's contents out into the poorest streets of Brooklyn or make Fox News send a million dollars to Planned Parenthood, you could have the best of both worlds.

At least, for a time. All good things had to end, right? That's what you told yourself as the redhead picked her way through the crowd towards you. 

Seeing an avenger in your neighborhood was an odd occurrence. It was a poorer part of town, untouched in the battle of New York, and too out of the way for any super villain origin stories. In fact, you seemed to be the only mutant in the entire block. You'd always thought, if someone was going to come for you, it would be a couple of FBI agents and not the fucking Black Widow. Your brain and heart went into overdrive as you tried to remember doing anything worth the avenger's time. But there was nothing. The DOD hack had been almost a year ago and all you did was release government files showing attacks on civilians overseas. It hardly seemed like an avengers worthy crime, especially when Black Widow herself had leaked government secrets before.

Any hope of her not not looking for you was dashed when her eyes locked onto yours. She tilted her head, asking a silent question. 

The burst of adrenaline sent you careening through the lunchtime crowds. You couldn't feel anyone on the rooftops but there was a large form blocking your path, trying to box you in. They were stronger and faster but you knew the environment. You ducked into Charlie's, your sneakers skidding on the asphalt as you took the sharp turn. The person behind the counter lazily looked up as you walked to the back. They knew you well enough to not care, they also weren't paid enough to care. The alley would open up into a busy side street. More people meant a better chance to blend in and get away. You were almost to the end when the door opened behind you. Black Widow and fucking Captain America stepped into the alley. For a moment the three of you stood in something akin to a standoff. 

You felt wildly undressed for this life-threatening situation.

"We just want to talk, (Y/N)" Captain America told you, hands raised. The unmistakable stink of an alpha radiated from the captain. You were momentarily thankful for your mark dulling its effect on you. Though, the blonde's scent was tinged with something hauntingly familiar. Something you didn't want to recognize.

Behind him, Black widow's free hand went to her ear. "Target is in the alley between 31st and 32nd," A twitch of your finger and the line went dead. Her hand dropped to the gun at her hip.

"I'm feeling pretty under equipped for this 'conversation'," You replied, slowly raising your hands as well, wondering if they could feel what you were doing. They didn't react and you slowly let your power seep from you.

Natasha was the first to react, drawing her gun and spinning around. Steve looked at her with confusion as her wide eyes scanned the alley as if she was seeing ghosts. She was afraid he realized, a cold feeling settling in his stomach. He moved towards her and you took off running. You felt him hesitate then take off after you, gaining on you with an embarrassingly low number of strides. You tried your powers again, stronger this time, but his focus was unwavering. He was almost to you now and you were running out of options. That’s when the alpha in him came out.

“Omega!” He snarled, “Stop!” Your feet slowed down immediately. It wasn’t as strong as your own alpha’s command would be, but the super soldier certainly commanded respect and obedience. You were forced to stand still, eyes burning holes in the asphalt, as the alpha’s footsteps grew closer. You really didn't want to do this but it looked like you had no choice. Your jaw clenched, and you spun around when his hand grabbed your arm. The blonde's eyes widened as you placed a palm to his chest. 

He barely had time to glance down at your hand before the electricity hit him.

The 1,000 volts you sent into him were supposed to stun him or send him flying, allowing you to escape. However, his muscles spasmed just a bit stronger than you intended. In an instant his grip crushed the bones in your arm and sent the two of you careening backwards into a brick wall. Natasha would find you a moment later, passed out on top of the super soldier, a sizable hole in the wall.

You woke up in an unfamiliar bed, a few blurry white shapes milled about in the corners of your vision. You couldn't remember how you got here, or where here was. All your senses seemed to be dulled. Your wrist was throbbing and each time you opened your eyes the room came in and out of focus. You closed your eyes, opting to ignore the funhouse effect and focus on the sounds around you. The beeping of the monitors, footsteps on concrete, and two low voices.

"She's alright, Buck, I promise." Steve's voice wavered in and out of your consciousness bringing with it the memory of how you got into this bed. "She did something to Nat and ran before I could explain. I wasn't expecting her powers to be so strong."

"I should have come with you," Another voice snarled. Your heart skipped a beat at the low growl. You knew that voice. It evoked a sickening combination of need and terror and you couldn't remember why. "She wouldn't have gotten hurt if I had. What idiot doesn't know omegas are fragile?!"

"It was an accident!" His voice raised slightly before sighing. "I know you're worried, but she's fine."

The scent you had smelled on Steve earlier swirled around the room. Metal and burning pine, it affected you just like the voice had, triggering both panic and yearning. You knew it somehow. The memory was there somewhere, tucked away where it couldn’t hurt you. Where it should have been forgotten.

The scent grew unbearably strong as he leaned over you, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. When he pulled back he wasn't expecting his eyes to catch yours. 

His expression softened as soon as he realized you were awake. "Omega," Bucky whispered reverently. Stormy blue eyes stared down at you with love and adoration, watching the color drain from your face. "Doll?" 

Somewhere in the back of your mind you could hear the panicked beeping of the machines and Steve trying to calm you down. But it didn't matter. All that you could feel was the need to get far, far, away from this man. You didn't know how you knew him but you knew he was dangerous. You knew he had hurt you. That's why, as he reached out to gently cup your face, you slapped his hand away. 

"Get away from me!" You gasped, voice breaking. You scooted back and tried to back up as far as possible. Your shaky legs barely held your weight as you slid off the bed. Pure terror coursed through your veins, it was the only thing keeping you on your feet. You found yourself pressed into the corner of the room while the men stared at you in shock. Steve and Bucky gaped like you had just told them the Germans had actually won WWII. Eyebrows knit together, blue eyes wide and frantic, Bucky looked like he was in emotional turmoil.

“(Y/N), doll, it’s okay. It’s me. It’s your alpha.” Bucky reached out to you carefully as a low purr rumbled from his chest.

You felt the purr relax you and dull your senses even more. It was nauseating. “I don’t have an alpha! And I don’t know who the hell you are!” You tried to shout and grit your teeth but the words came out in broken sobs, betraying your weakness. Who was this? Why was he the most terrifying thing you had ever seen?

Your teeth were bared at this point but the man kept coming towards you. The tunnel vision and rapid shallow breaths were the only warnings your body gave you as it reverted to its animalistic omega framework. Bucky watched as, in slow motion, your eyes went blank as your body gave out. 

+++

Your alpha held your body to his chest in disbelief. He had expected some shock at seeing him but this went far beyond his expectations. It had been over three years since he'd last seen you. Since he'd last been able to drink in your scent. He'd figured you might not recognize him at first. He had changed a lot over the years. No longer under Hydra's control his physical appearance, demeanor, and scent had changed. But your body should've known your alpha. 

"What was that?" Steve asked. "Why did she react like that when she has your mark?" The two alphas were on edge. Seeing a vulnerable omega drop triggered their protective instincts. Steve desperately wanted to take you and hold you close, ease you out of the drop. If the alpha holding you was anyone other than his closest friend and packmate he would have ripped you out of his grasp immediately. For now he'd have to hold himself back.

"She didn't remember me." Bucky nuzzled his head into your neck, nursing your mark softly. After a moment he pulled back and gazed at your unchanged features. He couldn't wake you from this drop that easily. He pressed in harder this time, teeth lining up with the scar perfectly, but there was still no change. No purr, command, or bite was waking you up.

"We should let her rest, Buck. The pain meds will wear off soon and we'll try again. . . Bring her to the den. She'll need to get used to everyone's scents sooner or later." Steve laid a hand on his friend's shoulder. It was a gentle but firm suggestion. He knew tensions were high, the den, with it's heavy curtains and plush blankets, would calm down his friend and the omega. With little argument the brunette lifted you up and carried you to the den. It was aptly named and extremely well constructed thanks to Stark. Curtains blocked off all light from the windows, mattresses were inlaid into the ground, and the temperature was always cool. It was one good thing about being in a pack with that narcissist, Bucky thought dryly.

Steve led them into a cozy corner of the room. The captain hummed happily as they moved the pillows and blankets, creating a makeshift nest for the three of them. The feeling of the omega pressing into his chest was addictive. He couldn't wait for you to remember your alpha.

The sooner you remembered your bond with Bucky the sooner the rest of the pack, Steve included, could court you.