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goosewhisker · 4 years ago

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russetfur vs. the entirety of skyclan || ch. 3

read this on ao3 || read this on fanfiction.net

chapter one

chapter two

summary: After enduring months of Turtlekit and Kitekit’s abuse, Rootkit finally snaps and accidentally awakens his powers. This has the unfortunate side effect of reviving the ghost of an angry Shadowclan warrior who: 1) is personally offended by Skyclan’s existence, and 2) has magnanimously taken it upon herself to relieve the world of that burden. Or something

okay so its been a minute since i posted. a lot of things happened, i got a kitten, a job, a new fandom, and i speedran a full semester of calculus in like the past four weeks. im sorry about how late this is and i cant promise when the next one will be up but its half written already so uh hope springs eternal. anyway thanks for coming to my ted talk

also shoutout to @turquoise-tulip for reminding me that ive had this chapter in my drafts for half a year now this ones for you im sorry its so stupid

Chapter Three: In Which Rootkit Practices the Art of Blackmail

The morning after is quiet.

...is what Rootkit would like to say. Actually, he gets woken up by Tree at what his mom likes to call 'the butt-crack of dawn' to go talk to Leafstar, thereby ruining his chances of being a normal warrior forever.

When they get to the leader's den, Violetshine is already there. Rootkit discovers this by walking into her while his eyes are closed in the middle of a yawn.

"See, he's about to fall asleep on his paws," his mom points out, sounding pretty close to yawning herself. "It's too early for this. Morning, kid."

Rootkit mumbles something that's unintelligible even to himself and falls asleep on his mother's paws. A few minutes later, he's woken by gentle paws on his back.

"Hey, kid. Kiddo. You gotta get up."

Rootkit hums absently, still mostly asleep, before realizing abruptly where he is. Mouse dung! Suddenly, he's completely awake. He jerks his head up, almost colliding with Tree's jaw before he pulls out of the way. Rootkit, too busy panicking, doesn't notice. He just fell asleep in Leafstar's den! After she'd brought him over to talk specifically to him! After seeing this humiliating display of incompetence, she'll really never make him a warrior, and Kitekit and Turtlekit will-

"Rootkit." The single word cuts through the panic. Rootkit looks up to see Leafstar, looking very serious with only a hint of amusement seeping through. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Yes!" The answer bursts out of him before he really thinks it through. And, well, it's not entirely true, but it's not entirely untrue either. Either way, he's up for answering any questions, which is probably what she's asking.

Leafstar looks at him just long enough for him to start fidgeting before she begins. "I've already spoken to your parents, Rootkit, so I know most of the story. I just need to know your side. What happened yesterday with the ghost?"

Rootkit looks at his paws, then back to Leafstar's calming gaze. "It started when I was at the grave. I was just- just talking, and then Kitekit found me..."

He tells her the whole, stupid story. How he'd lost it at Kitekit and Turtlekit and turned around to find a ghost looming over him; how he'd asked Tree for help, only for her to disappear; how she'd attacked him and Tree, announced her intentions, and vanished. At last, the story runs dry and he falls silent to watch her expression change.

Leafstar hums thoughtfully. She turns to Tree. "Do you think she's likely to hurt someone?"

Tree shrugs, looking uncomfortable. "If she's serious, yes. Most ghosts can't touch the living. Those who can - like this one - usually died violently or thinking they were wronged. And angry ghosts tend to be... volatile."

"Ah." Leafstar considers this.

"If it comes to that, what'll you do?" Violetshine asks. "Will you be able to stop her?"

Rootkit watches Tree watch his mom, and something in his dad's eyes soften. He leans over to swipe a tongue over her ear. "You want to help her, don't you?" he says quietly. "Because she's Shadowclan?"

Violetshine flushes, but she doesn't back down. "Many of them weren't kind to me," she says, "But Shadowclan was still my home once. I can't just forget that."

Tree purrs and winds his tail with hers. "That's why I love you," he whispers.

Rootkit sticks his tongue out in disgust. Bleh. Grownups!

"To answer your question," Tree adds, "I don't know what I'll do. I suppose-" he pauses, eyes tight with worry. "I've never exorcised a ghost who didn't want to move on before. I don't know if I even can. This may be something of an experiment."

The grownups look at each other for a long moment. "I will do whatever it takes to keep my clan safe," Leafstar says. There's something like a warning in her voice that makes Rootkit shiver.

"What should I do?" he asks. All three adults look at him like they've forgotten he's there.

After a moment, Leafstar's face breaks into a smile. "Tell you what. You can help by keeping an eye out for this Russetfur and letting one of us know when she's nearby. But listen, Rootkit," and her voice goes stern. "You must stay away from her. Russetfur is dangerous, and she may hurt you to get what she wants. Do you understand me, Rootkit?"

Rootkit looks into Leafstar's amber eyes - warm and worried and burning with a fierce, protective fire - and knows what he has to do. "I understand, Leafstar," he says, and just like that, his mission clicks into place.

From somewhere else in the camp - probably the warriors' den - someone screams, followed by Russetfur's haunting cackles.

Rootkit ignores it.

As he double checks his supplies, Rootkit runs through a mental checklist. He's talked to the ghost - check. He's figured out what she wants - check. He's given her what she wants - well... no. Tree's three-step-plan hadn't exactly accounted for what happened if what the ghost wanted was unobtainable.

Well, it doesn't really matter now. This plan is sure to work.

"Are you sure this is gonna work," Needlekit says again.

"Yes, I am, Starclan above will you stop nagging me," Rootkit says.

His sister makes a disgruntled noise and hauls the next bramble into place with a particularly vicious tug. "I'm just concerned you have no idea what you're doing, is all."

"I know exactly what I'm doing."

Rootkit doesn't have any idea what he's doing.

"Hmm." Needlekit seems thoroughly unconvinced, but she gets on with the task anyway. The trailing brambles she's weaving into place will form a turtle-shell-shaped cage laced with warding herbs over the grave when they're done. The plan is more or less to summon Russetfur into a cage she can't phase through, leaving her unable to escape. In Rootkit's opinion, it's a pretty solid plan for someone who has no idea what he's doing. "Why're you so set on doing this, anyway? Didn't Leafstar tell you not to mess with Gingerpelt?"

"Russetfur," Rootkit corrects her automatically. "And, well, yes, but..." he hesitates. "It's just... you know. I was the one who set her free in the first place, and..."

"Yes?" Needlekit prompts him. She's given up on the brambles and moved to stuffing moss and bracken into the gaps.

Rootkit fidgets uncomfortably for a second before the truth bursts out of him. "And now Russetfur's running wild everywhere and it's all my fault, and what if Leafstar decides not to make me an apprentice? If I don't become an apprentice, I can't be a warrior! And if I can't be a warrior-" he cuts himself off. He can't repeat what Kitekit and Turtlekit had said; even saying the words aloud seems like tempting fate... and he can't burden Needlekit with that, anyway.

Needlekit looks at him, though, and her gaze goes soft. "And being a warrior is your dream," she says, and starts stuffing the gaps with renewed vigor. "Well, come on, then! If we can trap Scarletfuzz then Leafstar will have to make us both apprentices! I can't be an apprentice without you; then I'd have to share the den with just Kitekit and Turtlekit. Can you imagine?" She pulls a disgusted face that has Rootkit giggling despite himself.

"Alright, alright," he says. "While you're doing that..." He shoves aside the piles of bracken they'd collected and settles down on the dirt. In his stories, Tree had never really talked about summoning ghosts - his work had been more about getting them to leave - but Rootkit is pretty confident about his ability to summon her again if necessary. More importantly, one or two of his stories had been about things the average, non-ghost-seeing cat could do to ward off spirits.

Rootkit spreads out his supplies, most of which had been scavenged from the medicine cats through a combination of tag-teaming and white lies. The herbs really are going to help his mom, just not in the way Fidgetflake thinks.

Thistledown. Rosemary. Lavender. Thyme. All plants that either attract or repel spirits, according to Tree (from what Rootkit can remember, anyway). Plus a lot of spiderweb.

"Hey, are you sure that's right?" Needlekit asks, leaning over his shoulder. "I thought we were gonna get some sage. And why'd you pick up the thistle?"

Rootkit frowns. "Well, Fidgetflake was coming back too soon and I panicked, alright? If you've got a problem you can get some more yourself."

Needlekit snickers and prods the massive pile of spiderwebs. "No thanks. I think you could've gotten a little more spiderweb, Frecklewish might still have some left over... yeesh, alright, I'll leave off the sarcasm. You don't have to glare at me."

Rootkit rolls his eyes. The immaturity of some cats. "Maybe I went a little overboard, but we need it. Frecklewish can just send the 'paws out to find some more. Now help me apply it; we need to cover the entire cage so there's no chance of getting out."

It's the work of a few minutes to paste it over with cobwebs, and the work of a few more to weave in all the protecting herbs. With luck, they'll prevent her from just phasing through. By the time they're done, it's so dense that a living cat would find it impossible to escape; Rootkit can only hope that the same goes for a dead one.

"Alright, fire 'er up!" Needlekit commands.

Rootkit closes his eyes to focus, trying to recall the feeling of power rushing through his being. Once, Tree had told them of a time when he'd jumped onto a wire fence and been struck by something he'd called electricity- what lightning is made of, apparently. Rootkit imagines it feels something like that.

The power lying dormant in his veins leaps forth eagerly at his call. It swells like a crescendo of sound, rushing out through his paws into the ground.

Rootkit focuses on the grave with every fiber of his being and wills it to summon its spirit. "Russetfur!" he cries out.

For a moment, nothing happens.

Then, something shifts.

It's like a hole is briefly torn through space; instinctively, Rootkit reaches in, grabs something, and drags it through.

Beside him, Needlekit gasps. "What the heck was that?"

But her voice is wavy, distorted. Rootkit opens an eye and finds his world is tilted sideways. Needlekit makes a high pitched noise that scrapes its claws across the most inner parts of Rootkit's ears.

"M'fine," Rootkit mumbles. His words are slurred, he realizes distantly, because half his face is pressed into the dirt.

Needlekit jabs him. "This is no time for sleeping, Rootkit. Did it work?"

Rootkit blinks. For a moment, he has absolutely no idea what she's talking about; then, the memories start to flood back. He narrows his eyes, remembering the feeling of hooking a soul on his clawtips like a fish. "I think-"

He's interrupted by an infuriated caterwaul that drowns out whatever he was going to say.

"What is this?"

The cage shakes as its captive throws her entire weight against the wall, but it holds steady. The herbs have done their job; even a ghost can't pass through.

Needlekit laughs triumphantly. "It's bad kitty jail for bad kitties!"

Russetfur snarls back something absolutely obscene and proceeds to attack the inside of the cage with a ferocious determination. At least, Rootkit thinks she is; it's kind of hard to tell since they can't actually see her.

"Can she get out?" Rootkit wonders.

"No," Needlekit says at the same time Russetfur snaps, "You bet your kittypet hide I will."

Rootkit blinks.

"Literally," Russetfur adds. "Because I'll strip it off your back to line my nest."

"Oh." Rootkit drops his head back on the ground. The dirt here is very comfy, he realizes. Maybe he should just sleep here from now on. "Yeah. That was kind of unclear."

"It'll become very clear in a few minutes, runt. I'll even give you a demonstration."

Needlekit leans against the cage with a smirk that probably would have been infuriating, if Russetfur could actually see it. "Don't worry, Redpelt, you're clear as crystal."

Rootkit freezes. Even the scraping sounds coming from inside the cage cut off. "What was that," Russetfur says suspiciously. "Did you just-"

"Keep your spirits up," Needlekit says. "I'm sure you'll be back to your old haunting grounds in no time."

Rootkit tries to slam his head into the ground and discovers that it's really much harder to do when you're already lying on it.

Russetfur doesn't say anything.

"What's wrong, ghostie? You're as silent as the dead in there."

Then a translucent ear rises out of the ground right next to Rootkit's face and he screams loud enough to be heard halfway to Riverclan, probably, and scrambles out of the way. Needlekit screams, too, and then Russetfur is climbing out of the ground like a corpse emerging from its grave.

She shakes herself off and grins down at them with more teeth than a cat should rightfully have. "You forgot to ward the bottom," she says. Rootkit makes a very small sound that definitely qualifies as a whimper. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."

All the fur on Needlekit's body has bushed out so she looks twice her size - which, compared to the full-grown warrior before them, is almost nothing. She's shaking like a leaf, but undaunted, she spits at Russetfur's feet. "Drop dead!"

Rootkit could kill her.

In a blur of movement, Russetfur pins Needlekit to the cage wall with one paw. "I admire your spirit, kit," she hisses. "But if you want to sass me, you're digging your own grave."

That's it. Rootkit has had enough. That is the final stars-damned straw. "Shut up with the stupid ghost puns, I swear to Starclan," Rootkit screams.

The wind rustles gently in the treetops as the two she-cats stare at him.

"The next person to make a single stars-cursed ghost pun, I am going to snap your fleabitten neck. Is that clear?"

Needlekit makes a stifled noise muted by the heavy paw slowly crushing her windpipe.

"Ah." Russetfur looks to be considering it. "Would you say we're dead m-"

Rootkit makes a very aggressive series of throat-slitting gestures.

"...you've got your father's spirit in you, I see."

"I brought you into this world and I can take you out of it," Rootkit snarls.

That gets her attention. Russetfur's eyes widen, then narrow. "Oh?" Her voice is considerably less friendly.

This is where it gets tricky. Rootkit's at a disadvantage - he's just seriously ticked off a relatively powerful ghost with a grudge against his relatively powerless clan, she's got his sister by the throat, and his only bargaining chip is a bluff. But there's an opportunity somewhere here; he just has to navigate a very prickly, very dangerous minefield and pray he doesn't blow them all up.

Time to channel his inner Tree. "Look," Rootkit says, in his best diplomat voice. "Clearly, we both want something here, something that we can provide for each other. What do you say we make a deal?"

Russetfur narrows her eyes and tightens her grip on Needlekit. "I don't think you're in a position to bargain, here," she says.

"On the contrary." Rootkit raises a paw. "I am in every position to offer a deal... as you just experienced yourself."

Russetfur scoffs. "What could you possibly have to offer me?"

"Your life."

That gives her pause. "If you could exorcise me, you'd have done it already."

Rootkit gives his best imitation of her knife-sharp smile and proceeds to lie through his teeth. "What do you think we were doing just now?"

The ghost narrows her eyes and says nothing.

Rootkit seizes his opportunity and plows onward. "You don't want to be exorcised, and we don't want you in our camp. So here's the deal - you leave and we don't follow." The last few words are growled out, like Leafstar whenever someone threatens the clan.

It's very intimidating, in his opinion, but it doesn't seem to have an effect in Russetfur. If anything, it only seems to make her angrier. "I won't sacrifice my honor as a Shadowclan cat to run from a bunch of kittypets," Russetfur snarls, leaning closer. "Even if you kill me again, I'd sooner die fighting for my clan than kowtow to some coddled housepets."

Rootkit grits his teeth. She hasn't called his bluff, but they can't have her running loose and hurting people. Think, Rootkit! "Another deal, then," he says. "If you won't leave the camp, then you just can't hurt anybody."

"No deal," Russetfur snaps.

"That's the final offer," Rootkit says coldly. "Under no circumstances are you allowed to hurt or injure any Skyclan cats. I'm not going to compromise on that point. And you can't really afford to bargain, anyway," he adds with a shrug. His heart is pounding so loudly he's almost sure Russetfur can hear it. "If you don't, I'll just summon you into the cage again and exorcise you for good. Or who knows? Maybe we'll leave you in there for a while. And this time we'll cover the bottom." He finishes with the nastiest, most hateful smile he can muster - which isn't particularly difficult, right now.

Russetfur goes silent. He can practically hear the gears in her brain ticking as she weighs her options. There's clearly only one real option here; he just hopes she isn't too prideful to take it.

"Fine," Russetfur growls, voice so low he has to strain to hear it. "Fine. I agree to your terms." The hatred seeping from her voice is almost palpable.

Well, the feeling is absolutely mutual. Rootkit dips into a little bow and bares his fangs in a farce of a smile. "Pleasure doing business with you."

Russetfur disappears into the air, leaving Needlekit to slump to the ground, wheezing. Rootkit waits until he's certain the ghost is gone before sinking onto the ground himself, body shaking with all the fear he couldn't allow himself to show before. Holy crap.

"Are you," Needlekit begins, then cuts herself off with a raucous bout of coughs that makes him wince. "Are you... okay?" she whispers hoarsely.

Rootkit makes a high-pitched, keening noise before breaking into nervous laughter. "No, no, not even a little bit. Oh, Starclan, I can't believe I'm alive, I thought she was going to kill us both. Oh stars..." he trails off with a giggle and buries his face in the dirt.

They lie there for a couple minutes, the silence broken only by Needlekit's wheezing and Rootkit's trembling.

"I want Mom and Dad," Needlekit whispers.

Rootkit couldn't agree more.

#warrior cats #warriors fanfiction #wc #wc fanfiction #warriors #rootspring #needleclaw #russetfur #tree #leafstar #violetshine #now that the general premise is done #everything from here on out is stupid ghost shenanigans #you know #if i ever get around to writing them

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muchadoaboutbucky · 5 years ago

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Old Wounds, New Scars (oneshot)

PAIRING: Bucky x Reader WARNINGS: brief description of injury, surgery-related ptsd, comfort fluff, talk of therapy, smut NOTE: Edited by @crispychrissy. Do not save or repost my work without my consent. Image credit. 18+ only.

Bucky’s terrified of doctors. Anything that comes with the smell of antiseptic and the glare of bright lights on white walls and metal tables is a significant trigger. He’s a little more comfortable when you go with him, but his fight-or-flight instincts skyrocket regardless.

This appointment is a little more invasive than usual. When he’d had his old arm, he’d apparently fought to claw it out, gouging deep into his own body around where it was attached to his shoulder and pectoral. The injuries had left him with deep scars that, over time, healed into long, raised marks that he hates to touch or even look at. To add to his discomfort, the battle with Thanos two years before had resulted in his vibranium arm taking a bad hit from an explosive. The metal, of course, was unaffected, but the bone joint of his shoulder has gotten too painful for him to ignore.

The only option for remediating both of his afflictions is surgery. That means doctors, which means Bucky’s scared.

He’s in a private room at New York Presbyterian, pacing back and forth with his arms folded across his chest. The doctors have given him a gown to dress in, but he feels too exposed, especially with the four security cameras constantly monitoring him. The room is reinforced, meant to house enhanced individuals with various abilities. Knowing that he’s trapped in a room he can’t escape only makes him more anxious.

“Buck.”

He glances towards the sound of your voice, sees you perched on the edge of the bed. You’ve been watching him the whole time, barely able to do anything but brace for an explosion of panic. It’s three forty-eight, and the doctors are due to collect him for surgery promptly at four. The minutes are ticking down and he’s only getting more scared.

“Yeah?”

You pat the bed next to you. “Come here.”

“No.” He shakes his head, glancing up at the clock for the upteenth time. “I need to walk.”

“You need to settle down.” Your tone might sound firmer than it needs to be, but Bucky’s reached the point where simply being his kind, gentle wife isn’t going to work. “Come here and sit. Hold my hand.”

He shuffles over, lowering himself onto the stiff mattress. The restraints hang from the steel posts, thick cuffs reinforced with iron buckles. They’re strong enough to hold him, and he flinches at the idea of being tied down.

You gather his vibranium hand into yours and reach up to thread your other fingers through his hair. He leans in, resting his cheek on your shoulder with a deep sigh.

“I hate it here.”

“I know.” You kiss his forehead soothingly, tone growing softer. “But this isn’t HYDRA, baby. They’re good doctors who wanna help you.”

He swallows. His flesh hand fists in the rough fabric of his hospital gown. “How long will it take? I forgot.”

He hasn’t forgotten. He just wants to hear it coming from you. “The doctors said two hours, tops,” you reply. “And when you wake up we’ll be going home, okay?”

He nods slowly, closing his eyes as the clock continues to tick down the seconds. Finally, just when he’s relaxed into you with his nose buried in your hair, the buzzer on the heavy metal door creaks open and he jerks his head over his shoulder so fast you’re sure he’s given himself whiplash.

“Easy.” You reach out to steady him with a hand on his uninjured shoulder. “Two hours and it’s over, Buck.”

He eyes the doctors as they ease into the room with a surgical gurney. Restraints identical to those on the bed hang from the handrails.

“Don’t leave me,” he says, voice low and quaking.

“I’ll go as far as they’ll let me,” you assure him. “And when you wake up I’ll be right there.”

You hold his flesh hand as he climbs onto the gurney. His eyes never leave yours as the doctors fix the restraints around his wrists and ankles. It’s just a precaution, just to prevent him from trying anything between here and the O.R.. With your hand still clenched in his, you walk by his side towards the doors to the operating room. He heaves a quick sigh as the attendants come to a stop, and you bend low to kiss him.

“Two hours,” you remind him, “and then we can go home.”

He swallows thickly and closes his eyes as the attendants wheel him through, and the moment he’s out of sight, you hurry back to the recovery room, tugging your phone from your bag.

You’re going to need backup.

***

Sam gets down to the recovery room an hour later. He’s got two cups of Starbucks with him, and you gratefully take yours when he extends it.

“How long has be been in?” He asks, lowering himself onto the bench next to you.

“Just since I called,” you reply, sipping your drink and closing your eyes. “He was terrified.”

Sam nods in agreement. “I didn’t expect it to be easy for him. You afraid he might snap?”

“I don’t know.” You sigh heavily. “The doctors said the anesthesia could affect his memory slightly, but it’s Bucky… he’s a strong guy, but all it takes is the right triggers and he’ll…”

Sam rubs a palm against his jeans. “He’ll be all right. It’s been six months, he’s been goin’ to therapy, he’s been doing everything right.”

You remain silent, unable to do anything but swallow the emotion that wants to break free.

True to the surgeon’s word, Bucky’s out of surgery in just an hour and thirty two minutes. The scar tissue was an easy cosmetic fix, and the injury to his shoulder only required a simple adjustment to fully realign his shoulder joint with the vibranium socket of his prosthetic. He’ll have to take it easy for a couple of weeks, but overall, he should be just fine.

He’s placed back in the recovery room to wake up from the anesthesia on his own. You and Sam watch him sleep through the thick panes of glass as the doctors work around him, checking his vitals and recording notes in their logs. He looks peaceful, but you know that when he wakes up, it’ll most likely be a different story.

You’ve just reclined back on the bench when a loud crash echoes from inside Bucky’s room, closely followed by an anguished yelp.

“Who are you!? Get off me!”

He’s writhing on the bed, straining at the heavy restraints that bind him. One doctor is clutching his wrist to his chest; Bucky had evidently caught it in his vibranium grip. You reach for the doorknob, but Sam pulls you back.

“Y/N, he’s not balanced,” he warns, “let them calm him down—”

“He won’t calm down,” you protest, tugging out of his grip, “they’ll only hurt him more.”

You storm through the doors, kicking a stand of instruments out of your way as you rush towards his bed. One nurse attempts to hold you back.

“Ma’am, we have this under control, you need to stay back—”

“I’m his wife, damn it!” You shove past them as Bucky lets out a panicked yell, his struggle growing more and more violent. “Bucky! Baby, hey…”

He jerks away from your touch, eyes lit with a combination of fear and rage, but when you bend low, holding his face against your shoulder, he freezes. He can smell your jasmine perfume and feel the texture of your hair on his face.

It’s not HYDRA. It’s just you.

The sob he lets out almost breaks your heart, and you reach down to grip his flesh hand in yours. His breathing is heavy and ragged in his throat, and you can’t help the tears that spring to your eyes at the sound of his distress.

“Shhh,” you soothe him gently, fingers running through his hair. “It’s okay, baby, I’m right here. Nobody’s gonna hurt you.”

You lift your head, nodding at the doctor with a syringe full of sedatives. Quietly, she steps forward and injects the medication into Bucky’s IV. Within seconds, he goes limp, head falling back against the pillow. Gently, you wipe the tears from his cheeks and press a kiss to his forehead.

“We’ll be home soon,” you promise quietly.

***

Bucky wakes up in your bed at home. The sun’s shining through the sheer curtains, casting shafts of light onto the light bedspread. He’s been redressed in a pair of gray sweats, and the bandages from his operation lay thick and heavy on his left shoulder. He can’t move his vibranium arm without feeling an ache.

“Hey, he’s awake.”

He glances to his right. Sam’s sitting in the heavy chair, a Men’s Health magazine in one hand. “Hey,” he croaks back. “What time is it?”

Sam checks his watch. “Just past nine. You’ve been out a long time. You feelin’ okay?”

Bucky gives a tentative shrug. His shoulder aches, and he feels a taut well of emotion filling his throat. “Where’s Y/N?”

“Kitchen,” Sam replies. “Told her I’d keep watch while she made breakfast. She’s been up all night makin’ sure you’re good.”

Bucky swallows. His throat’s dry, and he’s having a hard time keeping his voice steady. “Can you get her, please?”

“Yeah. I gotta head out, but I’m just a phone call away, you got that?” Sam waits for his friend to give a short nod before he pats his uninjured shoulder and walks out of the room. A minute later, Bucky hears your light footsteps on the carpet. You slip into the room, not bothering to close the door as you beeline for his side of the bed.

“Hey.” You cup his face gently and peer into his eyes.

At the feeling of your smooth palms on his cheeks, Bucky gives in to the knot in his throat. Tears blur his vision, and he wants nothing more than to pull you into bed with him and hold on tight forever and ever. “I don’t want to do that ever again.”

You let him cry, pressing a gentle kiss to his hair. “You don’t have to. It’s going to be okay, baby, you’re home.”

Bucky wraps his arm around you, fingers clenching tight into the fabric of your tee-shirt as he lets go of a shuddering breath. You feel his tears wet on your shirt, and all you can do is hold him and allow him to show this sliver of emotion.

You wait until he’s calmed, his breathing resuming its usual slow, deep rhythm. “Do you want to call your therapist?”

Bucky swallows thickly. “I can’t leave the house.”

“You can do a video call.” You pull back to run your thumbs over his cheeks, wiping away the tears that fall. “I’m making breakfast, do you want me to bring you something? We can find something to watch and just stay in bed.”

He takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

***

You spend the rest of the day in bed. He’s calmed by the scent of jasmine and the feeling of your body tucked against his. Around five, Bucky’s stomach growls, and you break away to let him finish an episode of The Great British Bake-Off to whip up something for dinner. When he’s able to stand, he shuffles slowly into the bathroom to relieve himself and splash some water on his face. He’s just turned the tap off when he looks up into the mirror.

God, he looks awful. Dark circles under pink-rimmed eyes. Pale skin. He’s let his hair grow long again, and it looks wild and scraggly… he needs a trim, and soon.

He starts the shower and lowers the wooden bench. Ordinarily he’d stand, but he’s still tired and it’s easier to reach the handheld showerhead. It only takes him a few minutes to lather his hair with shampoo and scrub as much of his body as he can with his good arm. Luckily, he manages to avoid getting his bandages wet, and he dries himself off before retreating back to the bedroom.

By the time you bring dinner, he’s dressed in a simple pair of boxer briefs and gotten back under the covers. He sighs appreciatively at the smell of spaghetti and tomato sauce, and he cradles his larger bowl (he still has a supersoldier appetite) on his lap, biting into large forkfuls of pasta until only a few swipes of red sauce remain.

“Good?” you ask jokingly, setting both your dishes on the bedside table.

He smiles. “I feel much better. Thank you.”

“Mm. I love cooking.” You lean in to kiss him. “Especially for my husband.”

“I thought women didn’t like doing that stuff anymore,” he jokes.

You giggle against his lips. “Women like to do whatever they want.”

Bucky smiles and loops his arm around your waist, dragging you closer. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” You can’t help but blush when he scrapes his teeth over the pulse point on your neck. It’s something he only does when he’s craving intimacy. “Baby, are you sure?”

He nods slowly. “It’s been a rough couple days. Could use the release.”

With a soft sigh, you slide one leg over his hips. Bucky lets out a soft huff against your mouth; due to your schedules, it’s been a few weeks since you’ve been intimate, and he’d be lying if he said it hasn’t been bothering him.

He’s dragged from his thoughts by the feeling of your warm hand sneaking into his briefs, stroking his shaft until he’s hard and throbbing. He lifts his hips enough for you to get the thick waistband down, and you slip your panties off before reaching up to strip your shirt over your head.

“Damn.” Bucky traces his thumb over one nipple and gazes up at you. His eyes flutter closed when you rub the tip of him against your warmth. His hand floats down to hold your waist, fingers digging into soft flesh.

“Just relax,” you whisper, “lemme do the work.”

Bucky hums, sucking in a deep breath as you lower yourself down. His lips part, and when he feels your slick, wet heat fully wrapped around him, he can’t hold back a loud moan of pleasure. You watch, palms braced on his chest as he gathers himself, cheeks flushing pink.

“Feel good?” you ask playfully.

He nods quickly. “Yeah… God, you’re so warm.”

He gives a little push with his hips, and you take his hint, settling into a slow, steady rhythm. He follows the steady rocking of your body, emitting little gasps and groans as waves of pleasure swell and recede. You don’t ask for more, just give him what he needs in silence.

When he decides that the simple teasing isn’t enough, he slips his hand down between your legs, pressing his thumb over your sensitive nub. You tense, squeezing around him, and he smiles when you let out a soft whimper and grind against him a little faster.

You climax together in a single explosive moment, bodies shuddering and clenching as Bucky pours into you, a low moan leaving his throat. He clutches at you, holding you down tight until he’s given you everything and your rapid contractions have subsided.

“Hey,” he pants, gazing up through half-lidded eyes. “You all here?”

You nod and slump down on his chest, lifting your head to meet him in a kiss. “I think we needed that.”

“Me too.” He chuckles and runs his hand down your back. “Baby.”

“Mm.”

“Thanks for not…” he swallows, “y’know… thinkin’ less of me.”

You frown. “Why would I think less of you, Buck?”

“Dunno.” He sighs. “Just… for a little bit, I thought you might be getting fed up with all my crap.”

“Don’t say that.” You run a finger over his lips. “I’ve known about your issues for the last three years, Buck. When we got married, I said ‘in sickness and in health,’ you remember that?”

He closes his eyes. “I just thought… I dunno. Must be my head gettin’ away from me again.”

“I’m never leaving.” You brush a lock of hair off his forehead. “This was just a rough spot. We’ll get through it, we always do.”

He smiles and kisses you again. “How did I get so lucky to find a girl like you, hmm?”

Your cheeks flush hot. “Guess you were just in the right place at the right time.”

If you enjoyed this, reblogs and comments are much appreciated!

MARVEL TAGS: @acf2510 @beefcakebarnes @breezy1415 @cosicas-cuquis @mariekoukie6661 @meganwinchester1999

MUTUAL TAGS (if you wanna get on my tag list or don’t want to be tagged please let me know): @suz-123 @nacho-bucky

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #marvel fanfiction

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petertingle-yipyip · 5 years ago

Text

Where Happiness Begins - Peter Parker

Chapter Nine: Used To Be

// WHB Masterlist //

//Series Inspo: @stuckonspidey @cxptain-capsicle // Series Tags: @writingsbychlo @mc225g @fandom-princess-forevermore @istg-lyssa-stop @olliekookie @rosegoldhome @chubsluda @missmulti @eternaleviee @freerebel @peterparker-glee-other @disgustangg @jackiehollanderr@imsobored3000 @eridanuswave @drunklili //

Pairing: Peter Parker x Stark!Reader

Word Count: 14,475

Summary: Five years is a long time, but it’s time that Tony takes to rebuild his life and his family. He never forgot his oldest daughter, but he did learn to move on. When Steve comes to him asking for help, can Tony get things back to they way they Used To Be?

Things weren’t what they used to be on Earth. No one understood the full extent of what was lost. Half of humanity was gone, that much was the easy part to understand. But what no one knew how to cope with, was why it was the people they loved.

Tony hated that Y/N and Peter were gone. Steve hated that Bucky, and as far as he knew, Tony was gone. Okoye had lost T’Challa and Shuri. Rocket lost all the Guardians. Sam, Stephen Strange, Wanda, and millions of others had turned to ash in front of their friends and loved ones. There is no way to cope with that. And Pepper… Pepper didn’t know what she had lost.

Nebula and Tony were left to find a way home from Titan. They were the only two on that planet that survived. While Tony was friendly to Nebula, he couldn’t ignore the hollow feeling in his chest. The place where his daughter had been, where the ghost of his daughter is.

“What was her name?” Nebula suddenly asked. They had been playing finger football, a game so ordinary that it felt out of place to do in that ship. “Your daughter.”

“Y/N.” Tony said softly. “Her name is Y/N.”

He emphasized the word ‘is’. His brain was refusing to admit that she had disappeared before his eyes. He loved her. He raised her. He had done everything in his power to protect her, and he still failed her. He knew that he should’ve sent her home the minute he sent Peter home. But that didn’t work for the kid either.

Thinking of Peter hurt Tony almost as bad as thinking of Y/N. He remembered that he had told Y/N not to get too attached to Peter because he wasn’t meant to be a permanent addition to their lives, but he ended up finding a place in their hearts. A place in their family.

“I’m sorry you lost her.” Nebula said earnestly, despite her voice being the same monotonous voice she always used.

“Yeah… Me too.” He nodded carefully. “So you won!” He exclaimed, feigning happiness. He didn’t think he could sit and talk about Y/N any longer. It was still so fresh, the image of losing his only daughter. “Have fun?” Tony asked, offering his hand to shake.

“It was fun.” Nebula nodded, shaking his hand.

That was less than a week after Thanos and the battle on Titan. It was pushing the three week mark, maybe even beyond it, by the time he was able to gather the strength to make the message he was dreading. He leaned forward to tap the side of his damaged helmet.

“Guess I should say something, huh?” Tony sighed, a heavy sadness falling on him. “I don’t know, Y/N/N, maybe there’s nothing to say. You’ll never get the chance to see this, and maybe that’s my fault. This is just so I know that I said it to you, even if you can’t hear it…

“Y/N, honey, I’m sorry. I wish more than anything I could’ve saved you. Because you and your mother were what got me out of bed everyday. You were undoubtedly the best thing to ever happen to me. And if I had the chance, I’d trade my life for yours.

“Oh, man. This is hard. I love you, so so much. More than I could ever put into words… But I guess you did that when you were a kid, huh? Forever and ever... Just didn’t think there’d be an end to our forever.

“Well, I’m not gonna bore you with the details of what’s going over here. Just wanted to check in and let you know that I love you and I really messed up time. I failed you, and I have to live with that… Just- Just know that when the inevitable catches up to me and I can’t pull an ace out my sleeve - that ace was usually you - that I’m gonna think about you. Love you, Cupcake.”

Tony ended that message and decided he had to deliver one more. There was someone else who needed to hear Tony’s voice, for possibly the last time.

“This thing on?” He opened with. Tony wanted to leave a message for Pepper, praying that she was okay. But a different part of him was afraid there was going to be no one to receive the message. “ Hey, Miss Potts... Pep. If you find this recording, don't post it on social media. It's gonna be a real tear-jerker. I don't know if you're ever going to see these. I don't even know if you're... if you're still... Oh god, I hope so.” Tony didn’t think he could cope with losing his wife and daughter. “Today is day 21, uh 22. You know, if it wasn't for the existential terror of staring into a void of space, I'd say I'm feeling better today. The infection's run its course, Thanks to the blue meanie back there. You'd love her. Very practical. Only a tiny bit sadistic. Some fuel cells were cracked during battle, but we figured out a way to reverse the ion charge to buy ourselves about 48 hours of time. But it's now dead in the water. We're 1000 light years from the nearest 7-11. Oxygen will run out tomorrow. And that'll be it... And Pep, I- I know I said no more surprises, but I was really hoping to pull off one last one. But it looks like... well you know what it looks like. Don't feel bad about this. I mean, if you grovel for a couple of weeks, and then move on with enormous guilt. I should probably lie down. Please know that... when I drift off, I will think about the two people that meant the world to me… And that’s you and Y/N.... Because it's always you two.”

Nebula helped Tony off the floor and into one of the seats. She even got him a blanket. Nebula knew there was nothing left to do for Tony. There was no way to get the Benatar back to Earth, and no way to help Tony. He would die in the middle of nowhere in space, alone.

As Tony was drifting off, a bright light shone in his face. He tried to ignore it, but it grew brighter and brighter until he couldn’t ignore it. When he opened his eyes, he saw a woman. A woman with blonde hair, a red and blue suit, and glowing a strange blue glow. But Tony didn’t care to ask how she found them. Maybe she could get them home. He felt hope in his chest, a feeling he hadn’t felt in weeks.

And that was exactly what she did. The mysterious space woman was able to guide the Benatar back to Earth, more specifically to the Avengers Compound. Inside was Steve, Nat, Bruce, Pepper, and Rhodey. The incoming ship caused the compound to shake, steadily picking up intensity until the Benatar landed. Nebula helped Tony out the ship and down to the ground as Steve ran to his friend to help.

“Couldn’t stop him.” Tony managed as he walked with Steve.

“Neither could I.” Steve admitted. Steve glanced behind Tony, expecting to see Y/N right behind him.

“I lost the kids.” Tony mumbled, saying it out loud to someone who wasn’t there to see it made it feel fresh again. The image of his daughter disappearing mid-sentence and then the image of Peter disappearing in his arms flashed in his mind.

“Tony, we lost.” Steve said, hoping to console and show solidarity.

“Is uh..” Tony couldn’t ask the question. He couldn’t get his brain to ask Is Pepper alive.

“Oh my god!” Pepper said, rushing to Tony so she could hug him tightly. “Oh my god!”

“It’s okay.” Tony said gently as he held her close. And for the first time in nearly a month, something actually was okay.

Tony now sat inside, an IV inserted into his arm as everyone tried to brief him on what he missed on Earth. The words Rhodey spoke held no weight in Tony’s frazzled mind. Behind his friend were projections, images that resembled mugshots. Images that showed the people that were gone. Some were smiling, like Peter’s, while others were more serious, like his daughter’s.

“It’s been 23 days since Thanos came to Earth.” Rhodey began.

But Tony’s mind wandered. He saw things that were his daughter’s. Her childhood drawings were still on the fridge. Her picture was still hanging on the wall. A framed photo of her and Peter was still on the desk. The mask plate to her first suit was still on the corner of her desk, right beneath her computer screen.

“So where is he?” Tony asked, suddenly full of anger. Full of pain.

“We don’t know.” Steve shrugged. “He just opened a portal and walked through…. Tony, you and Y/N fought him.”

“What?” Tony asked in shock. “Who told you that? No, he wiped my face with a planet and used my daughter as a punching bag while the Bleecker Street magician gave away the Stone. There was no fight, alright? He’s unbeatable.”

“Did he give you any clues?” Steve pressed. He knew he shouldn’t have. He knew he should’ve let Tony rest and ask questions later. But his own grief was pushing him to continue, pushing him to find some sort of lead. “Any coordinates? Anything?” Steve was practically begging.

“I saw this coming a few years back.” Tony said casually, in an ‘I-Told-You-So’ type way. “I had a vision… I didn’t wanna believe it. Thought I was dreaming. You know, I told Y/N about it? And she was ready to wade through Hell and high water with me, if that’s what it took.”

“Tony, I’m gonna need you to focus.” Steve tried to steer Tony back to the present.

“And I needed you.” Tony emphasized. His anger now to a point that he didn’t care to try to control. “As in past tense. Oh, and so did Y/N. Did you know she looked for you for weeks after Germany?”

“No, I didn’t know.” He admitted sadly. “But you knew. Why didn’t you tell her?”

“Because obviously, we can’t count on you for anything.” Tony replied simply. “But that trumps what you need. It’s too late, buddy. Sorry.” Tony shrugged weakly. “You know what I need? I need to shave. And I believe I remember telling all youse-” Tony’s balance faltered as he went for Steve, but Rhodey was able to catch him. Rhodey tried to calm Tony, but the stubborn man continued his rage fueled rant. “Alive and otherwise what we needed was a suit of armor around the world! Remember that? Whether it impacted our precious freedoms or not- that’s what we needed!”

“Well, that didn’t work out. Did it?” Steve snapped. He understood that Tony was in pain, that Tony was grieving arguably more than he was. But Steve wanted to find a way to bring everyone back, to fix what they couldn’t stop. “We’ve got to do something. We owe it to those people-”

“I don’t owe anybody shit!” Tony countered angrily. “I owe my daughter a future. I owe Peter a future. But I can’t give it to them now, because you were too concerned about our freedoms. Look where that got up, Cap.” Tony said, his arms out to the side in a grand gesture.

“I said we’d lose.” Tony continued, his voice no longer full of rage. Instead, his voice was soft, the voice of a man who had given up. Who had lost everything. “You said ‘We’ll do that together too’. And guess what? We lost. And you weren’t there… But that’s what we do, right?” Tony’s anger was resurfacing as his daughter’s face flashed on the holograms again. “We’re the Avengers, we’re the Avengers. Not the Pre-vengers?”

“You made your point.” Rhodey tried, hoping to settle his unstable friend. Rhodey knew Tony better than anyone, could read him better than everyone. He could see the grief in his face, the loss in his eyes. Tony had been through a lot in the past ten years, since Loki first came to New York. But losing his daughter and the kid he had been mentoring at the same time, in the same way, that was a whole different kind of hurt. A kind of hurt that no person deserved. “Just sit down, okay?”

“Nah, nah.” Tony scoffed. “Here’s my point. You know what?”

“Tony, you’re sick.” Rhodey tried again.

“She’s great, by the way.” He pointed to the mysterious space woman. He learned her name was Carol Danvers, an Air Force pilot from the 80’s who had gotten her powers by exploding a Kree reactor. “We need you. You’re new blood. Bunch of tired old mules!” He ranted as he crossed the room to stand face-to-face with Steve. “I got nothing for you, Cap. I got no coordinates, no clues, no strategies, no options. Zero. Zip. Nada. No trust. Liar.” He spat, the venom soaked his words. Tony didn’t care to be polite or kind. Tony didn’t care about anything anymore. He pulled his housing unit off his chest and slammed it into Steve’s hand. “Here. Take this. You find him, and you put that on. Then you hide.”

“Tony-”

“No, cause that’s what you’re good at, right?” Tony mocked. “Hiding? Running away when people need you the most? You lost someone a month ago? So what. I lost my daughter. I don’t care who you lost. It’s not the same. So don’t talk to me like it is.” After that sentence, Tony fell to the floor, losing consciousness on the way down. But he dreamt of her.

You’re twelve years old, designing your own suit. You aren’t planning any of the specifics. You don’t worry about the technical aspects or the functionality of it. You are more concerned with what it would look like. You draw a suit like your dad’s, red with gold accents and the centerpiece of a glowing, blue Arc Reactor. You draw the suit without the mask, filling it in with your own face instead.

“Dad?” You ask, running up to his desk and waving your paper at him. “Dad, when can I be a superhero? I want to be like you!”

Tony laughs a little, picking you up and placing you in his lap. He stares at you with a delighted smile and proud eyes. He doesn’t know how he got as lucky as he is, but he thanks the universe everyday that he has you. “How about this?” He says happily, sliding the glove he’s working on onto your hand. The glove tightens to fit your skinny wrist, lighting up and moving with your hand. “This is a starter piece. When you build the rest of the suit around it, you can be a superhero.”

“Do I get a superhero name?” You ask excitedly, posing heroically with your dad’s glove. “Something cool, like yours!”

“Nope, you don’t get to copy mine.” He shakes his head with finality. “You’ve gotta come up with your own.”

“But I want something cool like yours..” You whine.

“How about this? You can buy it for the low, low price of a million dollars.” He offers with a wink.

You huff and cross your arm, thinking of a counter offer. “How about my dessert for the next month and I promise to only put on the suit when you need help. I’ll be your sidekick!”

“Hmm, no.” He shakes his head, putting you back on the ground and pulling the glove off your hand. “Nope. Iron Man works alone.”

“But Tony Stark works with Y/N Stark.” You counter with a coy smile. “So it’s not ‘Iron Man’ working with anyone. It’s like father-daughter bonding!”

“Father-daughter bonding.” Tony laughs. “That’s a good one. I’ll use that on your mom later when she asks why you’re always drawing suits.”

“You’re the best.” You smile.

“I know.”

“I love you, Dad.”

“I know.”

“Forever.” You hold your hand out for him to take.

“And ever.” He grins, taking your hand. You two lift your joined hands up and then come back down, solidifying your promise. No matter what happens, you know you’ll always love and trust you’ll dad. You’ll follow him anywhere, help him with anything. And Tony knows just how amazing you’re going to be, and he couldn’t be prouder.

Outside the room where Tony rested, the others talked about going after Thanos. They had managed to pinpoint where Thanos was, thanks to Nebula’s help. Bruce tried to reason with the small group, acknowledging that they were lacking in numbers. Carol was the one who suggested using the Stones to bring everyone back. While it seemed unlikely, impossible even, the Avengers knew there was no other option.

Later that day, everyone except Tony was aboard the Benatar and headed to Thanos. But they were too late. Thanos had used the Stones to destroy the Stones, leaving no chance of changing what he had done. The only outcome that had any effect was that Thor decapitated the Titan, offering himself closure but no real comfort.

There were no options left, no hope. No second chances. All of those that were left had no choice but to move on, to start over. But no matter how much time passed, there was a void in everyone’s hearts. A void that no amount of time could heal, that no new people could replace. But people had to try.

Five years had passed. Five years since Tony had watched Peter and Y/N fade away. He could finally talk about her without wanting to cry. He could remember her fondly instead of painfully. He could tell Morgan about her without feeling like he was leaving her behind. He wouldn’t say he felt whole again, but he had learned how to live with the hollow feeling. He knew Pepper was beside him, feeling the same emptiness that he did. But Tony would argue that he felt it deeper since he watched her go, since he heard her final sentence be cut short.

Tony wandered his property, clapping his hands. He had hoped that would’ve gotten their attention.

“Chow time!” He announced happily. But when he got no response, he called her name. “Maguna? Morgan H. Stark. You want some lunch?” He sat on a log near a small tent, waiting for Morgan’s appearance.

She came out of the tent wearing an all-too-familiar helmet. “Define lunch or be disintegrated.” She responded playfully.

“Okay, you should not be wearing that, okay?” Tony said, gently taking the helmet off her head only to be greeted by a mischievous smile that reminded him of Y/N. “That was a part of Y/N’s first suit designs. She was very proud of this.”

“Okay.” She nodded.

“Are you thinking about lunch?” Tony continued his original conversation. “I can give you a handful of crickets on a bed of lettuce.” He teased.

“No.” Morgan laughed.

“That’s what you want.” Tony joked. “How did you find this?”

“Garage.”

“Really? Were you looking for it?”

“No!” She responded quickly. “I found it, though. Y/N had all the cool stuff.”

“Yeah, she did.” He smiled fondly. “You like going to the garage, huh? So does daddy.. It’s fine, actually. Y/N hadn’t touched that thing since she upgraded.”

As Tony was walking Morgan back into the house, a black car rolled up. Steve, Scott, and Nat exited the vehicle. Tony hadn’t heard from them since he returned to Earth five years ago, so he knew whatever they wanted to talk to him about wouldn't be anything he had wanted to be involved in.

They talked on the porch, Scott explaining his wild idea.

“Now, we know what it sounds like…” Scott tried to reason.

“Quantum fluctuation messes with the Planck Scale, which then triggers the Deutsch Proposition. Can we agree on that?” Tony offered. The three looked between each other, visibly confused, as Tony handed each of them a drink.

“Thank you.” Steve quickly added politely.

“In Layman’s terms, it means you’re not coming home.” Tony simplified.

“I did.” Scott defended.

“No, you accidentally survived.” Tony corrected. “It’s a billion to one cosmic fluke. And now you wanna pull off a… What do you call it?”

“A time heist.” Scott chuckled.

“Yeah, a time heist.” Tony nodded. “Of course, why didn’t we think of this before? Oh, because it’s laughable? Because it’s a pipe-dream?”

“The Stones are in the past. We can go back and get them.” Scott pushed.

“We can snap our own fingers.” Nat added. “We can bring everyone back.”

“Or screw it up worse than he already has, right?” Tony countered.

“I don’t believe we would.” Steve said honestly.

“Gotta say, sometimes I miss that giddy optimism. However, high hopes won’t help if there is no logical, tangible way for me to safely execute said time heist,” Tony said firmly. “I believe the most likely outcome would be our collective demise.”

“Not if we strictly follow the rules of time travel.” Scott defended. “That means no talking to our past selves, no betting on sporting events-”

“I’m gonna stop you right there, Scott. Are you seriously telling me that your plan to save the universe is based on Back to the Future?” The fact that it was reminded Tony of Peter, the way he made plans based on what he saw in movies.

“No.” Scott answered, now embarrassed.

“Good. You had me worried there.” Tony nodded. “Cause that’d be horse shit. That’s not how quantum physics works.”

“Tony..” Nat pressed. “We have to take a stand.”

“We did stand.” He replied sadly. “And yet, here we are.. Some of us, anyway.”

“I know you got a lot on the line. You got a wife, a daughter. But I lost someone very important to me. A lot of people did.” Scott desperately said. He practically begged for Tony’s help. “And now- now we have a chance to bring her back. To bring everyone back. And you’re telling me you won’t even-”

“That’s right, Scott. I won’t even. I got a kid.” Tony agreed. “I already lost my daughter, five years ago. She would’ve been twenty two this year, but I watched her turn to dust. So, no. I won’t.”

“Mommy told me to come save you.” Morgan said as she ran up to her dad, who picked her up easily.

“Good job, I’m saved.” He told her before turning to Steve. “I wish you’d come here to ask me something else. Anything else. Honestly, I- I missed you guys, It was… Oh, and the table’s set for six.”

“Tony, I get it.” Steve spoke up. “And I’m happy for you. I really am. But this is a second chance for all of us.”

“I got my second chance right here, Cap.” Tony sighed. “I can’t roll the dice again. If you don’t talk shop, you can stay for lunch.”

“You think if it was the other way around, and you were gone, Y/N would say no?” Steve tried.

“You think Y/N would risk all of your lives just for me?” Tony scoffed.

“I think Y/N would take on Thanos by herself if it meant she could get you back.” Steve said simply. “You were everything to her and you know that. If there was even the slightest chance to get you back, she would do it.”

“She was a kid.” Tony argued, careful not to raise his voice since he was holding Morgan still. “She’d be stupid to try your Time Heist. The answer is no, Steve. I’m sorry, but I’m not losing again.”

Later that night, Tony was washing dishes after dinner. He had accidentally rinsed a spoon with too much water, and it shot out on the surrounding photo frames. When he was drying them off, he realized it was the photo of him, Y/n and Peter took with his Stark Internship certificate. The excitement in Peter’s eyes was obvious, as was the admiration in Y/N’s. He figured he might as well run some numbers, see what the actual probability of the Time Heist was.

“And don’t worry if it doesn’t pan out. I’m just kinda-” Tony rambled as F.R.I.D.A.Y. completed the sim.

“Model rendered.” Her automated voice said, showing a 99.987% success rate.

“Shit!” Tony exclaimed with a chuckle.

“Shit.” A small voice repeated from behind him.

“What are you doing up, little miss?” He whispered.

“Shit.” She repeated.

“No, we don’t say that. Only Mommy says that word. She coined it, belongs to her.”

“Why you up?”

“Cause I got some important shit going on here.” Morgan gave her dad a look. “What do you think? No, I got something on my mind… I got something on my mind.”

“Was it Juice pops?” Morgan asked excitedly.

“Sure was.” Tony nodded. “That’s extortion. Great minds think alike. Juice pops, exactly was on my mind.” Tony said, leading Morgan to the kitchen after glancing at the rendered model one last time.

After the two got their Juice Pops, Tony brought Morgan back to her room.

“That face goes there.” Tony said, pushing Morgan’s face into her pillow.

“Tell me a story.” Morgan said tiredly.

“Once upon a time, Maguna went to bed. The end.”

“That’s a horrible story.” She laughed.

“C’mon, that’s your favorite story.”

“Tell me a story about Y/N.”

“A story about Y/N..” Tony repeated. He thought of what story to tell Morgan. He had so many amazing memories with his daughter, so many laughs, so many triumphs. But there were just as many pitfalls. Every high had a low. “Once upon a time, there was a girl named Y/N. She was super smart and crazy popular, just like her dad. She wanted to be a superhero. She wanted to help people. But she wanted to help her dad the most. And she did. She helped her dad everyday from the moment she woke up to the moment she fell asleep. And then she did it all again the next day. But then, she had to go. She didn’t want to, but she had to.”

“She coming back?” Morgan asked, her eyes half shut.

“Love you tons.” Tony smiled, not wanting to promise anything. Tony wasn’t even sure he wanted to do anything with his successful model.

“I love you 3000.” Morgan replied.

I love you forever. And ever.

“Wow.” He whispered. “3000. That’s crazy… Go to bed or I’ll sell all your toys.”

He went downstairs and found Pepper, reading a book on composting. He tried to listen, but his attention kept shifting back to the successful model that still illuminated his table.

“I figured it out, by the way.” He interjected, unable to keep it in any longer.

“You know, just so we’re talking about the same thing-” Pepper said, wanting to make sure she knew what he meant.

“Time travel.”

“What?” She asked in obvious amazement. “Wow… That’s amazing and terrifying.”

“That’s right.”

“We got really lucky.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“A lot of people didn’t.”

“No, I can’t help everybody.”

“It sort of seems like you can.” Pepper pressed. “Or at least help the person you even considered this for.”

“Not if I stop.” Tony countered. “I can put a pin in it right now, and stop.”

“Trying to get you to stop had been one of the few failures of my life.” She joked. “And so was trying to get Y/N to stop..”

“I sometimes feel I should put it in a locked box and drop it at the bottom of a lake… Go to bed.”

“But would you be able to rest?” She offered gently. “Tony, you did all of this because there’s the chance that you can get our daughter back. I know that’s why you did it. And I also know that you’ve hardly gotten any real rest in the past five years. You’re happy with Morgan, but you still need Y/N.”

“She was the best parts of both of us.” He smiled fondly.

“And the worst parts of you.” Pepper joked.

“She was not!” Tony said, feigning offense.

“She was just as stubborn as you are!”

“I can get her back..” He whispered, as if the words hadn’t truly set in yet. There was a viable chance to bring Y/N back. And he had to take it. “Morgan is gonna love her.”

“Morgan already loves her.” Pepper laughed.

The next day, Tony rode over to the Compound. He was conflicted still. Yes, he had the chance to get his daughter back but was it worth risking the daughter he had now? Tony would have to make sure that he didn’t lose what he found. As he drove up, Steve was waiting outside, seemingly distraught.

“Why the long face?” Tony asked as he rolled down his window. “Let me guess. He turned into a baby.” Tony teased, jumping out the car and heading to the trunk.

“Among other things.” Steve answered hesitantly. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s the EPR Paradox.” Tony explained. “Instead of pushing Lang through time, you pushed time through Lang. It’s tricky, dangerous. Someone should’ve cautioned you against it.”

“You did.”

“Oh, did I?” Tony joked. “Thank God I’m here. Regardless, I fixed it.” He proudly lifted his newest toy. “A fully functional time-space GPS. I just want peace.” Tony threw up a peace sign. “Turns out resentment is corrosive. I hate it.”

“Me too.” Steve agreed.

“We got a shot at getting these stones, but I gotta tell you my priorities. Bring back what we lost? I hope to God, yes. I’d absolutely love to have Y/N and Peter back. Keep what I got? I have to, at all costs. I can’t lose another kid, Cap. And… maybe not die trying would be nice.”

“Sounds like a deal.” Steve smiled, offering his hand for Tony to shake. “We’re gonna get her back.” Before heading inside, Tony pulled something else out of the trunk. He had a new shield for Steve.

“Tony…” Steve hesitated.

“Why?” Tony questioned. “He made it for you. Plus, I don’t think Y/N would recognize you without it and I need to get it out of the garage before Morgan takes it sledding.”

“Thank you.” Steve said honestly.

“Will you keep that a little quiet? Didn’t bring one for the whole team.” Tony stopped and turned to Steve. “We are getting the whole team, yeah?”

“We’re working on that.” Steve replied.

Tony worked with Bruce and Scott to design the Quantum Suits. They resembled the Ant-Man suit with Stark styling. Nebula contributed the helmet design. She said Peter Quill used the same tech. Tony jokingly called her friends the Rings of Uranus. The only thing left was a test run, to which Clint volunteered for.

After the test was successful, they had to figure out when to go to get the Stones. Nat and Clint went after the Soul Stone, Thor and Rocket for the Reality Stone, Bruce for the Time Stone, Tony and Scott for the Tesseract which contained the Space Stone, Steve went for the Mind Stone, and Rhodey and Nebula went for the Power Stone. Everyone had enough Pym particles for one round trip. No one could afford to mess up.

“We can all stand around posing up a storm later.” Past Tony said, hauling Loki to his feet. “By the way, feel free to clean up.”

While the familiar scene played out in front of Tony and Scott, they conversated with Steve about the unflattering fit of his old suit. Scott said that he could tell the undercover HYDRA agents, because they even looked like bad guys.

“Miss Stark?” JARVIS had alerted 2012 Y/N, unbeknownst to either Tony. “There appears to be a second Tony Stark in the building. Your father is descending in the elevator with the others. Should I alert Mr. Stark?”

“What?” 2012 Y/N questioned, leaving the table in your dad’s lab to see the projection JARVIS had given you. It was Y/N’s dad but older. He carried himself with the same Stark pride, but Y/N could tell something heavy was weighing on his shoulders. “Where is this?”

“He is headed to the ground floor.” JARVIS replied. “Dr. Banner is in the stairwell so it seems he’ll be taking the elevator.”

“I’ll intercept him.” 2012 Y/N said, her curiosity taking over. “Let me know if he changes course.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

2012 Y/N headed out of the lab and towards one of the elevators. Y/N knew her dad and the rest of the team was heading down with Loki. The SHIELD team designated to take the Scepter would be in a different elevator. So she had hoped she’d get an empty one and you did. She quickly made her way to the ground floor, able to beat her dad’s doppelganger.

“Who are you?” 2012 Y/N asked when face to face with the older version of her dad. “Well, I know who you are but it doesn’t make sense.”

“Uh, Y/N..” He said softly. A part of him knew that he would see her, but he still wasn’t prepared for it. She was so young, so innocent. The fights and bruises and scars and tiredness hadn’t gotten to her yet. “What are you doing down here? I thought you were working on-”

“I was in the lab until JARVIS told me-” She began before shaking her head quickly. “Don’t distract me! When are you from?”

“Y/N, hon, listen.” Tony said, a slight sigh in his voice. “I’ll be gone in a few minutes. Please. Just pretend you never saw me.”

“Pretend I-” She said in shock. “Do you really expect me to forget that an older Tony Stark lookalike was wandering the Tower the exact day Loki was here? No, you came here for a reason.”

“Y/N?” 2012 Tony called, drawing her attention.

“Don’t move.” She told Tony before hurrying to her dad.

“Alright, move it Stuart Little.” Tony said to Scott, who had slid into 2012 Tony’s Arc Reactor. “Things are getting a little dicey and she won’t leave me alone for long.”

“You promise me you won’t die?” Scott checked.

“You’re only giving me a mild cardiac dysrhythmia.”

“That doesn’t sound mild.”

“Pull my pin!” Tony insisted quietly.

“Here goes!” Scott exclaimed before disconnecting 2012 Tony’s reactor. 2012 Tony fell to the ground, grasping his chest. 2012 Y/N dropped to her knees, calling for a medic. Scott kicked the case to Tony, who picked it up and headed off. Just as it seemed to have gone to plan, 2012 Hulk came barrelling through the door as he yelled about hating stairs. The door flying opened knocked the case from Tony’s hands and sent the Tesseract sliding away.

So Tony and Scott sat in a broken down car, waiting for Steve to leave the Tower. They had one chance. It had to be perfect, but it wasn’t. He had the Tesseract in his hand and he lost it.

“Sorry, buddy.” Tony explained when Steve came out. “We got a problem.”

“Huh, yeah we do.” Scott agreed quickly.

“Well, what are we gonna do now?” Steve asked in defeat.

“You know what, give me a break Steve.” Tony defended himself. “Y/N just interrogated me like I was in cahoots with Loki and I got hit in the head with a Hulk.”

“You talked to Y/N?” Steve asked with raised eyebrows. He was almost insinuating that his conversation with Y/N was the reason he lost the Tesseract.

“No, it was more like she was yelling at me for being in my own building.” Tony countered. “Imagine that. My own daughter scolding me for being in my building.”

“You said we had one shot. This- this was our shot. We shot it. It’s shot.” Scott ranted anxiously. “Six stones or nothing. Six stones or nothing.”

“You’re repeating yourself, you know that?” Tony interrupted. “You’re repeating yourself.”

“You’re repeating yourself.” Scott countered childishly. “You’re repeating yourself.”

“I dropped the ball.” Tony said simply.

“You ruined the time heist.” Scott whined.

“Is that what I did?”

“Yeah!”

“Are there any other options with the Tesseract?” Steve asked loudly, trying to refocus the two.

“No, no, no. There’s no other options. There’s no do-overs. We’re not going anywhere else.” Scott argued. “We have one particle left. Each. That’s it, alright? We use that- Bye bye. You’re not going home.”

“Well if we don’t try-” Steve emphasized. “No one else is going home either. Not Bucky.. Not Hope.. And not Y/N.”

“I got it.” Tony said simply. “There’s another way, to retake the Tesseract and acquire new particles. We’ll stroll down memory lane, military installation. Garden State.”

“When were they both there?” Steve questioned.

“They were there at a- I’ve a vaguely exact idea.”

“How vague?”

While Tony and Steve conversated as if it was obvious, Scott was left in the dark to ask questions that no one would answer. Tony told Scott to get back to the Compound, while he and Steve went to the 70’s. Tony headed off to find the Tesseract, where he ran into his father on the way. Steve went to find Dr. Pym, where he saw Peggy on his way.

“I guess I’ll be eating dinner in the pantry again.” Howard joked.

“I have a little girl. Well, two girls but my oldest is in high school.” Tony said with a proud smile.

“A girl would be nice… Less of a chance she’d turn out exactly like me.”

“What’d be so awful about that?” Tony asked. “My oldest is just like me.”

“Let’s just say that the greater good has rarely outweighed my own self-interests.”

“Where are you with names?” Tony asked, trying to make light conversation until Steve showed up.

“My wife likes Elmonzo for a boy.”

“Might wanna let that stew awhile.. You got time.”

“Let me ask you a question.” Howard said in turn. “When your kid was born- either of them- were you nervous?”

“Wildly, yeah.” Tony laughed. “But those two are the best things that ever happened to me.”

The two finished their conversation before Tony snuck off with Steve. The two went back to the present, where they met with the rest of the team. Everyone except Natasha. She had given up her life so Clint could bring back the Soul Stone. After a tense interaction by the lake, they agreed that Nat’s sacrifice had to be worth it. It had to work.

Rocket and Tony fit the Stones into a Gauntlet. Thor argued to be the one to snap, his personal grief was leaking out. He wanted to do something right, to help fix what he didn’t stop. But Bruce was the one to snap. He said he was made for it since the radiation from the Stones was mostly gamma.

“Remember, just bring back everyone Thanos snapped away to today. Don’t change anything from the past five years.” Tony reminded his friend.

“Got it.” Bruce nodded.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y. do me a favor and activate Barn Door protocol. Will you?” Tony asked as he gave Bruce space.

Metal sheets covered every window in the Compound, locking down the facility. Bruce put on the gauntlet, screaming in pain as the power surged his body. Painfully, he snapped his fingers before passing out, allowing the gauntlet to slide from his hand.

Everyone waited, time seemingly froze. They had no idea if it had worked. They started to wonder if it had been for nothing. Until Clint’s phone rang. It was his wife, his wife who had been lost in the Snap five years prior. They could hear the birds outside the Compound. Everything seemed to be looking up, until a barrage of missiles hit the Compound.

Back on Titan, you finished your original thought.

“-ever.” You said slowly, stepping in a small circle. Your dad was gone. But Quill and the rest of his friends were back, holding onto each other and checking on one another. Strange was there, watching as if he was waiting for something specific to change whatever path you were all on. “Peter…” When you didn’t get a response, you tried again. “Peter!?”

“What?” Quill yelled.

“Not you, moron.” You rolled your eyes. “Where’s my Peter?” You asked Strange.

“Why would I know that?” Strange questioned.

“You seem to know everything else.” You rolled your eyes. “While we’re at it, where’s my dad?”

“And Nebula.” Quill added.

“What happened?” You asked finally.

“Y/N?” Peter asked from the ground. He was laying on his back a few feet away from you. “What the hell just happened?”

“Oh my god!” You exclaimed in relief. You rushed to his side and dropped to your knees. He quickly took your hand in his, squeezing it tightly. “Are you alright?”

“Little queasy but otherwise, I think I’m alright.” He offered a small smile.

“Hey, promise me something.” You said quickly, your joy of seeing him again taking over any rational thoughts.

“Anything.” He grinned.

“Once everything is in the clear, you take me on a date.” You said with a smirk. “A real date too, not just hanging out at my place.”

“Uh, yeah!” He said happily. “Yeah, for sure. Any- anything you want, Y/N.”

“We need to get back to Earth.” Strange announced. “It’s been five years since Thanos and the fight on this planet. Thanos won and snapped his fingers, wiped out half of all life. The ones left on Earth managed to reverse what Thanos did, which is how we’re all here right now.”

“So where’s my dad?” You asked again, helping Peter to his feet. “If we’re all back and everything was reversed, why isn’t he here with us?”

“Your dad didn’t disappear when we did. He’s back on Earth but Thanos is there, right now. We need to get to Earth.”

“In case you forgot, my suit is wrecked.” You laughed. “When we fought Thanos last time, we got our asses kicked. What makes this time different? Is this the one?”

“I can’t tell you that. But it’s different because you’ll be together this time.” Strange vaguely answered. “Now, you need to get to your lab to deal with all of that.” He gestured to your lack of a suit, as well as the gash you had forgotten about.

Strange opened a portal to a lake house. He stepped through and motioned for you to follow. When you crossed through, you didn’t recognize the area. The lake was new. The house was new. A lot had changed in five years apparently. A gentle squeeze of your hand let you know Peter was with you.

“Wait…” You said, taking a couple cautious steps forward. “Where are we? I thought you were taking me to my lab. My suit is- I need-”

“You’re where you’re supposed to be.” Strange interjected. “Go to the front door.”

“I’m not going up to a random person’s front door.” You laughed.

“Uh, Y/N?” Peter interjected quietly, pointing to something low behind you. You slowly turned and saw a small girl standing behind you, staring at you in confusion.

“Hi.” You said awkwardly. “What, uh- What’s your name?”

“Morgan.” She smiled. “Who are you?”

You opened your mouth to speak but saw something familiar around her neck. You knelt to her level, reaching for the pendant but deciding against it. You noted small details about her. Her brown hair, her round face. She seemed sweet, welcoming. Her eyes were kind, full of wonder and hope for the world. You wondered if she knew what happened five years ago.

“That’s a pretty necklace.” You commented. It was the prototype housing unit you designed. After you wore it, you realized you didn’t like the long necklace so you ditched it for the bracelets. The necklace was still a cute accessory, but you wondered how Morgan got it. “Can I ask where it came from?”

“Garage.” She said simply, her small fingers grasping the pendant. “Daddy said Y/N would let me have it.”

“Who’s Y/N?” You asked carefully.

“Daddy said she wanted to be a superhero, but she left. She was smart and popular.”

“Y- Your daddy?” You stammered. “Is your dad’s name Tony?”

“No.” She shook her head. “He’s just Daddy.”

“Okay, fair enough.” You chuckled. “Listen, I uh- I know your dad. Can you take me to the garage? The garage where you found the necklace.”

“I have to ask Mommy.” She held out a hand for you to take. You stood and took her hand, reaching quickly for Peter with the other. “Do you know Mommy too?”

“Y/N, it’s okay.” He nodded, squeezing your hand once before stepping back. Once you felt his grip disappear, you nodded for Morgan to start walking.

“Yeah.” You said suddenly, remembering she had asked a question. “I knew her a few years ago, before this super crazy thing happened.”

“Crazy?”

“Totally.” You nodded, earning a small chuckle from her.

“Mommy!?” She yelled as she entered the home. “I found Y/N!”

“Wha- How did you know?” You said, stopping in your tracks.

“Daddy talks bout you a lot.” She said before pointing to a collection of photos on the wall. “And your picture is everywhere.”

“Huh.” You smiled. “Guess he did miss me.”

“Morgan, honey, what are you yelling about?” Your mom came around the corner. “Oh my god.”

“Hi mom.” You smiled, hurrying across the room to hug her tightly.

“I can’t believe it.” She mumbled into your shoulder. “You’re here. Oh, my god, you’re here. Your dad really did it.”

“Wait, Dad? What did he do?” You asked, the smile still stuck on your lips as you pulled away slightly. “How did he do it?”

“Your dad figured out time travel, Y/N.” She said, still in amazement.

“That’s awesome.” You laughed. “But also terrifying! Anyway, Morgan said she found some of my stuff in the garage… I need to reload my bracelets and if there’s time, update to Dad’s new network.”

“You’re not gonna find what you need in the garage.” She shook her head, heading to a table in a room off of the Living Room. “One, cause it’s a mess. Two, cause your dad told me to give you these if you came by.”

She handed you a set of bracelets, engraved with an arc reactor and the word Stark. They fit your wrist perfectly, a slight blue tint to the metal. They were light, light enough that you could barely tell you were wearing them.

“Woah.” You mumbled in amazement. “These are awesome.”

“And fully upgraded from what I heard.” Your mom added.

“No shit.” You exclaimed, tempted to tap them together and see what upgrades your dad gave you.

“Shit.” Morgan repeated from beside you.

“No, no, no!” You exclaimed quickly. “That’s an adult word, Morgan. You can’t say it.”

“Shit.” She giggled.

“No!” You whined. “Mom is gonna kill me!”

“You’re right about that.” She nodded.

“Hi, sorry to interrupt.” Strange said, suddenly at your side. “But we need to go. Pepper, you’re gonna wanna suit up and come too.”

“I forgot about Rescue!” You exclaimed.

“What about Morgan?” Pepper countered.

“Happy Hogan.” He said, gesturing to Happy who was sitting on your parents’ couch. “We have to go now. Steve Rogers is standing up to Thanos alone.”

“Alone?” You asked, a heavy feeling in your chest. “Where’s my dad?”

“We have to go.” Strange said simply.

“If I get there and he isn’t okay-” You said seriously, knocking your bracelets together. “You are going to be the one to answer for it.”

The suit was remarkably light. You watched the reflection in the window as the nanites spread to cover your body. It moved with ease, as if you weren’t wearing a suit at all. The design was sleek, the way you had always made your suits. It was colored to mimic your dad’s, but your dad had added more gold accents to yours. You wondered what else your dad had upgraded it with, but you knew you’d find out in time.

Strange turned and opened a portal for you, Peter, and your mom to step through. Your mom hurried into the room wearing Rescue. You all quickly went through, armed and ready to fight. The scene you came out to was insane. Strange and his friend Wong had gathered everyone willing to fight.

You recognized T’Challa and his sister Shuri, who you had yet to meet but knew to be brilliant. You saw Bucky and Wanda on the other side of the battlefield. Hundreds of people from Wakanda, spaceships full of people, a woman on a Pegasus, a woman who could shrink the way Scott could. People from all over the universe were collected for the fight.

You saw who you thought was Thor, now holding an axe and seemingly gained a belly the size of a basketball. Steve had a broken shield and Mjolnir, which didn’t quite surprise you. But you still couldn’t see your dad.

“Do you see him?” You asked Peter.

“I do.” Your mom answered. “He’s alright.”

“Avengers..” Steve said over comms. Your body tensed, your heart rate picked up. The adrenaline began rushing through your veins. You weren’t quite sure if it was fear or excitement taking over your thoughts, but you let it wash over you. You looked out at the vast army before you, stretching into what seemed like forever. You sent out a silent prayer to whatever God would hear you, asking to keep you on the one path that would save everyone. “Assemble.”

All hell broke loose. Fighters charged from either side. You were separated from Peter early, having to fend for yourself. Your new suit was highly responsive, picking up on things before they entered your peripherals. The power it had was insane, cutting through Thanos’ army like butter. Your dad had added new extensions to the suit; displacer sentries, stabilizing thrusters, energy refocusers, an upgraded unibeam, and liquid nitrogen cannons.

Finally, you made your way to your dad. The fighting seemed to go around you two, as if the universe knew you two needed a minute. You let your helmet fall away, as did your dad. You both stood frozen for a minute, wondering if it was real.

“I got back and you were gone.” You said simply, your throat now tight. You blamed it on the dirt being kicked up from the fight. “Strange didn’t tell me where you were… Kinda freaked me out.”

“Well, I didn’t wanna hang out on an abandoned planet for five years.” He tried to joke. “Had to get back to your mom.”

“When I came back, I- I thought you-” You felt the tears coming. “I thought you were gone, Dad. And not just gone, like somewhere else, but gone as in dead. And then I thought how I didn’t want to live without you and I- I got really scared, Dad.”

“Y/N/N..” He said gently. You quickly closed the distance between you two and hugged him tightly. “It’s alright. We’re alright.”

“I love you, forever.” You mumbled into his shoulder.

“And ever.” He smiled.

You pulled away and sniffled, wiping your eyes quickly. “You have to tell me how you did it later. Time travel!? That’s insane. Oh! And Morgan, she’s super cute.”

“Morgan?” Tony eyebrows furrowed. “You met Morgan?” He smiled softly.

“Yeah, I met her when I went to get Mom and this awesome new suit.” You smiled, gesturing grandly to the suit you wore. “Which is incredible, by the way. I’m in love.”

“Hey! Holy cow!” Peter exclaimed as he ran into your dad. “You will not believe what’s going on. Do you remember when we were in space? And I got all dusty? I must’ve passed out, because I woke up and you were gone. But Doctor Strange was there, right? He was like ‘It’s been five years. Come on, they need us.’ and then he started doing the yellow sparkly thing that he does all the time and-”

You rolled your eyes in amusement as Peter rambled. Your dad was watching him with a soft look in his eyes, glancing quickly between Peter and you. Tony felt a deep sense of relief, a heavy weight lifted from his chest by seeing you two in front of him. The two people that he wanted to bring back were now in front of him. You stepped behind Peter and nudged him forward. Peter stumbled into Tony, who hugged the boy tightly. “This is nice.” Peter said gently.

“As grateful as I am to have you two alive, we have bigger issues.” You commented, seeing the van that was sounding off with La Cucaracha. “We need to get the Stones to that van.”

“How long do you need to get it working?” Tony asked Scott.

“Ten minutes, maybe.” He answered.

“Who has the Stones?” You asked as you, your dad, and Peter jumped back into the fight. You dodged attacks from either side, effortlessly spinning and ducking shots and projectiles. You saw Clint running through the crowd, one arm tucked against his chest. “Clint has them but he’s gonna need help.”

You were headed that way when you felt your leg being dragged down. You looked and saw a Chitauri soldier had grabbed your ankle and was pulling you down to the ground. You let yourself fall for a moment before turning gravity against the Chitauri and getting your feet aligned with it’s chest. You bent your knees slightly, using the alien as a push off. The thrust from your boosters burnt the Chitauri’s wrist to the point where it released you. You quickly shot off a blast to put a hole in it’s chest as it hit the ground. Your attention turned back to Clint as you saw him become surrounded.

“Hey.” Tony told Strange below you, causing your path to stop so you could listen. “You said one out of 14 million we win, yeah? Tell me this is it.”

Strange glanced up and saw you waiting for his answer. “If I tell you what happens, it won’t happen.”

You rolled your eyes within your helmet and took off. T’Challa got to Clint so you changed your course. You decided on a bit of revenge until you were needed to help move the Stones. “F.R.I.D.A.Y., give me locations on Thanos and Peter.”

“Peter is approximately 36 feet to your left with Shuri, no critical damage to the suit indicates no dire injuries.” Her automated voice answered quickly. “Thanos is six feet straight ahead. Maximoff approaching the target.” She showed you a zoomed image of where the Titan was.

“Keep me posted when those Stones change hands.” You ordered as you landed next to Wanda.

“You took everything from me.” She said angrily.

“From us.” You added, charging a blast from your palm.

“I don’t even know who either of you are.” Thanos replied.

“You will.” Wanda said simply, her eyes glowing red as her power swirled around her.

You stood watching in awe for a moment before remembering where you were. You shot your blast at the charging Thanos, knocking him off balance. Wanda quickly followed up with two huge rock piles, both were knocked in pieces by his sword. Wanda launched quick bursts at him, each one more powerful than the last.

You flipped over Thanos, sending off shots from above and then behind him. Together, you and Wanda brought the Titan to his knees. Wanda kept applying pressure, Thanos groaning in pain.

“The Stones have transferred hands to Peter.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. told you.

“You got this?” You asked, your focus now completely shifted. “I gotta go.”

“Go.” She nodded.

You took off quickly, F.R.I.D.A.Y. guiding you to Peter’s location. You find him surrounded by Chitauri, but his artificial limbs assisted him in the fight. You landed with enough force to push the last few Chitauri away from him and into someone else’s attack.

“You know, I was on the fence about the instant-kill. But it came in handy, didn’t it?” You joked.

Peter chuckled before more Chitauri came at you both. They grabbed at you, throwing you to the side and focusing on Peter. Everytime you tried to help, five of them shoved you off. You heard Peter call for help, to which Steve threw Mjolnir for him to grab. You took off ahead of the Hammer, hoping to keep a clear path for Peter. Peter shot a web, using Mjolnir as a ride out of the chaos.

A shot from one of the ships sliced Peter’s web, sending him to the ground fast. You dropped until you were able to grab him.

“I’m always having to help you out, aren’t I?” You commented teasingly as you tossed him to the woman on the Pegasus. You flew alongside her until a shot came too close for you to successfully dodge and threw you into Peter. It knocked him off the Pegasus and sent both of you crashing to the ground.

Peter had gotten up and tried to run, to get the Stones a little bit closer. A blast from the cannon landed right in front of him, sending him flying backwards so he would land in front of you. The impact shattered his artificial limbs and he let his mask fall away. He grabbed the gauntlet and tucked into a ball to protect himself from the shots still coming. You pushed yourself to your side as you put up an energy shield over you and Peter.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., what are they firing at?” Tony asked as some of the cannons changed direction, the question playing in your helmet too as the system showed a projection of an incoming object.

“Something just entered the upper atmosphere.” She responded.

“Let’s hope it’s on our side.” You mumbled, momentarily dropping the shield to watch.

You looked up to see a bright flash of light break through one of the ships, disabling it and going through it once again to slice it in half. You were so impressed by the power it had that you almost didn’t notice the falling rubble.

“Little help would be nice!” You yelled over comms as you threw up another shield, to which Steve asked Danvers to help. You had assumed Danvers was the one who broke the ship in half so you kept still until help arrived. You dropped the shield and stared in awe as Peter spoke.

“Hi.” He said quickly, still keeping the gauntlet close. “I’m Peter Parker. She’s Y/N Stark.”

“So cool.” You said simply.

“Hey, Peter Parker.” She chuckled. “Y/N Stark. I saved your dad once. He ever tell you that?”

“He did not. But I came back to a giant war so there hasn’t really been time..” You nodded, pushing yourself to your feet and put your helmet on again.

“You got something for me?” She asked Peter, nodding towards the Stones.

“I don’t know how you’re gonna get it through all that.” Peter said tiredly as he stood and handed over the gauntlet.

You noted how tired he was, how beat up he was. But he was still ready to fight. Your heart ached, and you quickly realized that you didn’t just like Peter Parker. You loved Peter Parker. The revelation didn’t surprise you, but you wished it had come at a better time than that moment.

“Don’t worry.” Wanda said as she landed next to you.

“She’s got help.” One of the Wakandan warriors who you later learned to be Okoye added. Your mom joined the group, along with Pegasus woman, Valkyrie. Mantis, Hope Van Dyne, and Nebula showed up, along with Shuri and Nebula’s sister, Gamora. Together, you fought through the army to get the Stones to Scott’s van.

You and your mom focused your fire high, aiming at ships and taller enemies. You followed behind Danvers, working on keeping her path clear. Thanos charged Danvers, dead set on stopping her for the Stones. You, your mom, Shuri, and Hope shot beams at him, knocking him to the ground.

“After this, you gotta show me how you made those.” You yelled to Shuri, who looked over and laughed slightly. “I’m Y/N, by the way.”

“Shuri. You seem to be doing well with what you have.” She teased. “Is it new?”

“First time in it.” You answered with a proud nod.

“Really, Y/N?” Your mom commented. “Now? Your dad just upgraded that suit for you.”

“You wanted me to make friends.” You defended, focusing back on the task at hand.

You all added extra force to throw Thanos back. He rolled, lifting his attention to where Danvers was headed. Since you all wouldn’t let him get to Danvers, he decided to destroy where she was headed. He threw his sword into the tunnel, destroying it and sending a massive energy wave that launched everyone back.

“The gauntlet is about twenty meters behind you.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. told you. “Mr. Stark can reach it but Thanos is already on his way.”

“Not if I have anything to say about it.” You replied, pushing yourself to your feet. You took off in a sprint before pushing off a short ledge, taking flight and headed that way. You watched your dad tackle Thanos before getting elbowed away. Thor and Steve kept him back, using Mjolnir and Thor’s new axe to their aid. Danvers beat you there and fought him off a minute, until Thanos threw her to the side.

You helped your dad up to his knees and watched Thanos put the gauntlet on. You and your dad dropped your masks, not worried about them anymore.

“Not again.” You whispered fearfully.

Danvers came back just in time, stopping him from snapping his fingers. She had the upper hand until Thanos pulled out one Stone and used it to send her flying. Strange looked over at you two, holding up one finger to tell you both that there was only one way.

Your dad stood slowly, understanding what he was meant to do. You understood it at the same time so you grabbed his hand, hoping to pull him back to you. “Dad, please.” You begged. “No. No! It’s not worth it.”

“I can’t lose again.” He said softly.

“Think about Morgan.” You tried desperately. “A-and me. I just got you back.”

“I am thinking of you two.” He replied gently. “I love you, forever.” He said before running to Thanos, trying to take the Stones from him.

You looked to Strange again in anger. You wanted to take it out on Strange, but the look he gave you made you reconsider. Strange looked at you as if you had a role to play, as if it wasn’t just about Tony. You and your dad had been through everything together. You had been glued to his side since Loki first arrived in New York. Every fight, every training session, every injury, and every upgrade you were there. You started it together. You had to end it together.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., did my dad ever add the suit-to-suit interface to exchange nanites?” You asked quickly, running through the possibilities. “If he gets those Stones away from Thanos, it’s too much energy for him to handle. It needs to be dispersed.”

“It’s added but I’ll need time to activate it.” Her automated voice said. “Opening the entirety of both suits to interface with each other-”

“I don’t need a whole suit.” You cut her off. “My left palm. His right shoulder, upper shoulder. Clavicular region.”

“Less than a minute. Initiating interface.”

You ran over to your dad as he was knocked away. Your steps froze when Thanos raised his hand again and your dad laid face down.

“I am inevitable.” Thanos said in triumph. You braced for the second Snap, but nothing happened. You noticed a faint glow from your dad’s suit so you started running again.

“Interface available in 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… Interface active.” F.R.I.D.A.Y. announced to you.

Tony knelt in front of the Titan, Stones in hand. He shoved them into his suit, a Stone aligned with each knuckle. He thought about what he was going to do, the risk he was going to take. Someone had to do it, and it seemed only Tony could. But his mind brought back words that weighed on his heart..

Years ago, Steve had told him “The only thing you really fight for is yourself. You’re not the guy to make the sacrifice play, to lay down on a wire and let the other guy crawl over you.”

Peter said “I just wanted to be like you.”

Y/N had argued “I don’t know how to live a life without you and I don’t want to. I shouldn’t have to!”

Morgan had told him with a smile “I love you, 3000.”

Pepper once told him “You’re all I have too, you know.”

Y/N would always say “I love you, forever.”

But the heaviest one was what Strange had told him just minutes before, “If I tell you what happens, it won’t happen.”

“And I…” Your dad panted. You could see the power of the Stones coursing up his suit, scorched marks climbing to his neck. You got to him quickly, standing beside him. You placed your hand on his shoulder, the energy diverting up into your body as the nanites mixed.

It was white hot, burning every cell in your body. It was intense, scorching every nerve it touched. Your fingers trembled, your pulse beat unevenly. Your stomach muscle clenched, your knees shook. But despite it all, you stood tall. You gathered yourself with a deep breath and spoke.

“We.” You emphasized.

“We-” Your dad nodded slightly.

“-are Starks.” You two said together before he snapped his fingers. The surge brought you to your knees beside your dad, who used his other hand to reach across himself and steady you. You made sure to keep your left hand where it was, refusing to move it until you could get the Stones out. You two watched as every soldier Thanos brought, his whole army, turned to dust the way you did five years ago. Thanos sat on a nearby rock as he turned to dust himself.

You and your dad manage to get to a nearby debris pile where you turned and leaned your backs against. Your dad coughed as you reached over and pulled the Stones from his suit and dropped them next to you. You saw the relief in his posture once you took the Stones away.

“One hell of a day back.” You tried to joke, to which you both laughed weakly.

“You shouldn't have done that, Y/N/N.” Tony said weakly.

“There was only one way, remember?” You countered. “I had to. We started this together, we end it together.”

“Love you, kiddo.” Your dad smiled at you.

“Forever.”

“And ever.”

“Y/N?” Peter said gently. “Mr. Stark?” Peter ran up to you both, falling to his knees between you two. He gently took one of your hands in his. “Hey. Can you guys hear me? It’s Peter. We won. Y/N, Mr. Stark, we won. You did it. You guys did it.”

“You-” You coughed, smiling weakly at him. “You still owe me… a date, Petey.”

“Anywhere you want, Y/N/N.” He laughed sadly. He leaned forward and hugged both of you. “You’re gonna be fine, I promise.”

“Maybe not this time.”

Gently, Peter was guided away from you two, tears slowly falling down his face and leaving streaks in the dirt that covered his cheeks. You smiled softly, knowing you really did love the boy. You wanted to get up and comfort him, wrap your arms around him and hold him tight. But you didn’t have it in you. You could barely manage to keep your eyes open.

Your mom knelt in front of you two where Peter was. She sighed gently, trying to put on a brave face, but she was hurt the most. Your heart sank when you saw the pain she was in. She was looking at two of the three people that meant the world to her, sitting before her and fighting for their lives. She had watched her family sacrifice themselves for the world, a sacrifice those two - especially those two - never should’ve had to make.

“Hey.” She said softly. “You’ve both looked better.”

“Hey, mom.” You said as your dad answered, “Hey, Pep.”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?” She said, hoping for good news.

“Intense emergency surgeries needed. Immediate treatment raises survival rate by about 60%.” Her automated voice answered.

“Brother.” Shuri whispered to T’Challa as Pepper gently comforted her family. “I think I can heal them in my lab. They don’t have to die.”

“How would we get them there?” T’Challa asked honestly. He wanted to help them, but he didn’t think it’d be possible. “It is too far to guarantee there’d be time.”

“We can’t leave them to die here.” Rhodey commented. “We gotta at least take them home.”

“It’s okay.” Pepper nodded to you two. “We’re gonna be okay, alright? You two can rest now.”

“Love you, Mom.” You whispered. “Tell Peter… Tell him I love him too.”

You smiled softly at your mother before leaning your head back against the debris. Your eyes drifted shut, your body feeling heavy. You gave into the darkness as your dad did the same. The reactors in both of your suits faded to a dull glow, not quite off yet.

“The reactors aren’t off.” Peter noted, his voice strained from his pain. Not physical pain, but emotional pain. He had become so close to Y/N Stark to the point where he thought he loved her. She meant so much to him in the short time he knew her, so much so that he convinced himself she was his soulmate. He didn’t even believe in that kind of thing until he met her. Now he really wished he hadn’t hesitated. “They’re not gone.”

“Peter-” Steve tried to console him. Steve was feeling the loss too. He was devastated. Y/N and Tony were both practically family to him, the only family he had left. And now they were gone. They gave up their lives to save the world. Steve felt a pang of guilt, that even though they got everyone back, they still lost. Steve had insisted on it, that they would win this time around, but they still managed to lose.

“I can hear it!” He yelled, his voice breaking. “Their hearts are still beating.” He looked back to Y/N and Tony, their eyes shut. “They’re not gone. Just look!” He threw both hands forward, gesturing to the center glow of their chests.

“So what do we do then?” Thor asked. “The Compound is ruined. How are we supposed to help them?”

“Take them home.” Carol suggested. “You, Sparkles.” Carol pointed to Dr. Strange. “You can make portals. Make a portal to take them home, and then we go from there.”

“What do you actually think we can do for them?” Strange questioned defensively. “Those Stones-”

“I think that Peter Parker is onto something.” Carol countered easily. “Make a portal to take them home.”

“They won’t survive.”

“If you’re so sure, at least let them die somewhere they’d be comfortable.” She rolled her eyes.

“We have the technology to heal them.” T’Challa spoke up. He figured it was the least he could do, to offer whatever Wakanda could give to help. “If you can get them home and keep them stable, Shuri and I can get what we need and bring it to you. But we’d have to hurry.”

“And you’re sure they’re alive?” Strange asked Peter.

“One hundred percent.” He responded confidently, his eyes on Y/N. “I know it.”

Strange opened two portals, one to Wakanda and one to the Stark’s lakehouse. Carefully, Rhodey scooped up Tony and Peter carried Y/N. Pepper went through first, hurrying to get Morgan out of the house so she wouldn’t see what her dad and sister looked like. Tony and Y/N were carried to their rooms and gently set up in their beds.

Wong helped the rest of those who fought get home. Steve, Bruce, Clint, and Thor followed the Stark family to their home, as did Carol. Dr. Strange went with T’Challa so he and Shuri would have a quick way back to Tony and Y/N. Pepper asked F.R.I.D.A.Y. to disable the suits so their housing units could be taken off and to keep their vitals posted. Both of their pulses were extremely weak, but they were still there. They were both put on ventilators - Tony kept a few on hand just in case the Compound wasn’t the best option for treatment - and were given an injection of painkillers.

Peter had been right.

Pepper stayed with Tony in their room, while Peter argued to stay with Y/N. Steve had offered, told Peter he should get home and get some rest, but Peter set himself up in the window nook and refused to get up.He had washed the dirt and blood off his face and out of his hair, his wet curls still dripping onto his shirt slightly. Despite using cold water to wake himself up, he still just wanted to curl up and sleep.

He called May after Steve left the room and went downstairs to talk to others. He had taken off his suit, leaving him in the clothes he had worn to the field trip, before he had gotten on the spaceship.

“Hey, May.” Peter said tiredly. He was exhausted, every muscle ached. He wanted to lay in his own bed and sleep for a year, but he knew what his priority was at the moment. “You okay?”

“Where are you, Peter?” She asked anxiously. “I- I called you twelve times and you didn’t answer. Are you okay? You- you never came home from your MOMA field trip and I-”

“I’m fine.” Peter cut in. “I- I got caught up in that dusty thing a few years ago.”

“Yeah, yeah, I think I did too.” She paused, letting out a heavy sigh. “Come home, Peter.”

“I can’t.” He said sadly. “Y/N, she got hurt real bad, May… I can’t leave her right now.”

“You love her, don’t you?” May asked, a small smile on her lips that Peter didn’t need to see to know it was there.

“Yeah.. I think I do.” Peter chuckled nervously. “I never got a chance to tell her.”

“You’ll get one… Don’t miss it.”

“Love you, May.”

“Love you too, Peter. Text me before you go to sleep and call me in the morning.”

“Will do.” And with that, Peter hung up the phone.

A small knock on the door sounded before it was cracked open enough for a small child to slip inside. She shut the door carefully behind her, as if she was used to sneaking around the house. She ran across the room until she stood in front of Peter, looking at him with her head tilted slightly. Slowly, unsure of what to do, Peter pulled his legs to his chest to make room for her. She climbed into the open space and crossed her legs, dropping her hands in her lap.

“Morgan, right?” Peter asked, leaning his head back as he tried to stay awake.

“Who are you?” She asked plainly.

“Peter Parker.” He gave a lazy salute.

“Are you her boyfriend?”

Peter chuckled. “No.. Not yet, at least.”

“You like her?”

“I do.” He nodded with a lazy smile. “I like her a lot.”

“She’s pretty.” Morgan said, as if Peter hadn’t noticed that. “Is she hurt the way Daddy is?”

“How do you know that?”

“I was sneaky.” She whispered, bringing one finger to her lips to emphasize how quiet she was. Peter chuckled in response.

“Yeah, Y/N is hurt.” Peter said carefully. “But she’s gonna be okay. You know why?”

“Cause she’s like Daddy.” She said confidently. “And Daddy is Iron Man.”

“Yeah, but also because she has to come back to her family. You and your mom and-”

“And you.” Morgan cut in. “Want to make a card with me?”

“You go get started and I’ll meet you down there.” Peter responded, holding out his pinky. “I just need a minute and I’ll go downstairs after. Pinky promise.”

“Okay.” She nodded, quickly finishing the pinky promise. “Bye, Peter!” She said before quickly sneaking out of the room, leaving just Y/N and Peter.

“When we met, I never thought we’d end up here..” Peter said to Y/N, even though he knew she probably couldn’t hear him. “After everything we’ve been through, it kinda seemed like you were invincible. Nothing could really take you out like this. I mean, yeah, we both came out of everything with some sort of aches and pains, but not like this.

“I know you’re fighting for your life, Y/N/N. And I know you have your own reasons to fight, but I gotta ask you to fight for me. Please… I just- I love you, Y/N Stark. And I want to be able to tell you when you can actually acknowledge it. I- I want to take you to parties and school dances. I want you to come to Decathlon a-and laugh at how easy the questions are because you’re brilliant.” He chuckled lightly before closing his eyes, curling in on himself a little more. “Just come back for me, please.”

A light knock sounded before Shuri entered, a cart of equipment being led in behind her. Two Wakandan soldiers followed behind with her equipment, setting things up while Shuri went and spoke to Peter. Peter sat up slowly, unsure of how long he had been asleep.

“We can take it from here.” She told Peter, gently putting a hand on his shoulder. “You should get something to eat, Peter. You look starved.”

“Yeah..” He nodded slightly. “But I have a card to make first.” He smiled lazily before taking one last look at Y/N. “She’s gonna make it, right?”

“I’m going to do everything I can.”

“Oh, she kinda got stabbed like right here-” Peter’s hand hovered over Y/N’s side, where he remembered Thanos using her suit’s blade against her. “That was before we got dusted so I don’t know if it’s still there but…” He shrugged, pausing to decide if he wanted to ask his next question. “How’s Mr. Stark doing?” Peter asked carefully, now fully knowing if he was ready to hear how his mentor was. “Is he gonna..”

“Mr. Stark is going to be okay.” Shuri promised. “We could not save his arm, but we saved him. The only thing I don’t know is how soon he’ll wake up. His injuries were rather traumatic and that kind of shock takes a toll on the human body.”

“Thank you.” Peter said honestly. “For being on my side back there and believing they could be helped. And for being willing to help them.”

“The world owes them a debt that can never be repaid.” Shuri said honestly, scanning Y/N with her Kimoyo Beads. “It is the least I could do.”

“I’ll leave you to it then.” Peter nodded before heading downstairs to join Morgan in her card making.

Steve handed Peter a plate of food and two water bottles, reminding Peter that he had to take care of himself too. Most of the adults stayed in the other room, discussing their worry in quiet whispers. Carol sat with Peter and Morgan around the coffee table, each of them making a card. Morgan was finishing her card for Tony, while Peter worked on one for Y/N and Carol made one that was meant for both of them. Carol and Peter took turns telling jokes or making fun of their own drawings to make Morgan laugh. By the time they were done, they each made a card for Y/N and Tony, until Morgan fell asleep against Peter.

“You really care about them, don’t you?” Carol asked Peter once Morgan was asleep.

“Y/N and Mr. Stark believed in me when no one else did.” Peter began fondly. “When I went with them to Germany to fight Captain America, she told me that I was going to have to put up with her for a long time. She told me that she wasn’t gonna let anything bad happen to me, that we had to stick together. But now... It’s different. When she smiles at me, I feel dizzy. When she laughs, I can’t help but laugh with her. Even when she looks at me, I- I don’t know how to explain it.”

“I can explain it.” She smirked at him. “That’s love, kid.”

“It is?” Peter asked. “That’s kinda what I had hoped it all meant.”

“Did you ever tell her?”

“I had a chance… But I hesitated.” He admitted, remembering on Titan when he wanted to kiss her. “But if I had known this would’ve happened-”

“Yeah, but you didn’t know.” She cut him off. “What matters now is if you’re gonna hesitate next time?” She challenged.

“God, I hope not.” Peter chuckled.

Soon, Shuri and her brother, along with the two Wakandans that came with her, were coming down the stairs. Most of the equipment was packed and being carried with her. Peter was careful not to move and wake Morgan when Shuri came downstairs.

“They’re both going to make it.” She said with a proud smile. “However, there are some things we could not fix.”

“Like what?” Steve asked tensely.

“We could not save Mr. Stark’s right arm. The damage was too severe.” Shuri explained. “They’ll both have burn scars up into their chest and neck area. Mr. Stark’s may even reach the side of his face. As for Y/N..” She paused to show a detailed image of the inner workings of the lower arm, the nervous system breakdown and muscular system. “This is what her right arm looks like, the one that didn’t take on the energy of the Stones. And this-” She swiped to a new image, an image where some of the nerves were in pieces. “-is her left arm. Unfortunately, her damage seemed to have found its way to her nervous system. Some nerves were seared through, meaning she has lost all sensation in her left arm, as well as some of her finer motor control.”

“So what exactly does that mean for her?” Pepper asked anxiously.

“It means she will not be able to fully move her fingers and possibly her wrist, and she won’t physically feel anything at any point on her left arm. But she will live.” Shuri explained. “I’ve also healed a stab wound she had from her first fight with Thanos, and there won’t even be a scar.. They should wake in a few days. They are both on IV drips with painkillers. I’ve done all I can.”

And with that, Shuri left. One by one, the rest of the Avengers that were there left. Peter left the following morning, having fallen asleep on the floor with Morgan. Happy drove him home, but Peter fell asleep again on the way. His body was more exhausted than he had been letting on, and now it had caught up to him.

He tried to get back to normal life. He went back to school, saw Ned and MJ. He went back to Decathlon, but it just didn’t feel right to him until he could hear your voice again. A few days after he was settling back in, he got a call from a number he didn’t recognize.

“Hey, Spiderman.” You said. Your voice was as sweet as honey, making his heart beat three times faster. “Got time for a visit?”

“For you?” Peter replied, pretending he had to think about it. “Definitely. Where at?”

“Right here.” You said, stepping out of the car to stand in front of him. “Hey, Peter.”

“Hi.” He breathed a sigh of relief. Seeing you standing before him, your long-sleeved shirt buttoned up to the top to hide the burns, it made his chest feel tight. He wanted to hug you, to pull you against his chest and never let you go. But he hesitated, just slightly. His biggest concern was how fragile you were.

“You’re looking at me like you’re scared.” You commented, scrunching your eyebrows in confusion. “I thought you’d be happy to see me.”

“I am!” He promised quickly. “I am happy to see you. I just… I have something I want to tell you.”

“I have something I need to tell you too… But it can wait till that date you owe me.” You winked.

“No, it can’t wait.” Peter said, swallowing hard and gathering all his courage. “I wanted to tell you this back on Titan, but I chickened out.”

“Peter, it’s not that serious.” You laughed nervously. “It can wait until tonight, okay?”

“No. It can’t.” He insisted, grabbing your hand. “Y/N, I- I love you and I really want to be with you.”

“That’s great.” You smiled widely, squeezing his hand gently.

“What?”

“Peter, I realized something before this.” You gestured to your left arm. “When Carol came to help us, and I got a good look at how beat up you were but you were still willing to fight… When we were on the beach and you wanted to make sure Toomes didn’t die even though we were on opposite sides… When we were in Germany and you said you trusted me… There are so many little moments between now and the moment I met you that have brought me to this one, single, recurring idea.”

“And what idea is that?” Peter asked smugly, taking a step closer to you. Suddenly, his confidence was through the roof.

“That I love you, Peter Parker.” You smiled widely. “And I really want to be with you.”

“That’s… amazing.” He sighed happily. “Otherwise this could’ve been really awkward."

#beaconfalls whb #where happiness begins #peter parker #peter fanfic #peter parker fanfic #peter parker fic #peter x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker x yn #peter x reader #Peter x Y/N #peter x stark!reader #peter x yn #mcu fanfic #mcu peter parker #MCU Spiderman #avengers fanfic #mcu fic

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perfeggso · 4 years ago

Text

Noir (yutae)

Week IV pt. 2

Tokyo – fall of 1983: Nakamoto Yuta is quickly rising in the ranks of one of Japan’s most notorious yakuza families, and he’s poised to climb even further if he can stop himself from being ruined by the pretty Korean boy who’s shown up out of nowhere.

Glossary of Japanese words

Characters: Yuta x Taeyong + NCT ensemble, Twice J-line (for funsies)

Genres: Gang!AU, angst, smut, fluff, 1980s!AU

Warnings: graphic violence, swearing, minor character death, alcohol use, mentions of drugs, period-typical homophobia, xenophobia, BDSM

Rating: 18+

Length: 6k

In the days that followed, Taeyong declared that he was giving himself three short-term goals. “Oh yeah?” Yuta asked, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. “What would those be?” Taeyong elaborated: Goal number one was for Taeyong to get his friends, new and newer, to help him be a better gangster. So, Yuta arranged for Sicheng and Yukhei to take Taeyong to the training room for workouts and, once he’d confirmed Taeyong was comfortable with it, to have Ten give him more “lessons.” Yuta had sat in on their first session, watching in pained silence as Ten used one of his long metal pins to tether Taeyong to the ground through his shoe and then attacked him. Yuta then enlisted Dejun, Yangyang, and Kunhang to teach Taeyong (and Mark and Jungwoo for good measure – they needed some review) how to follow people effectively and avoid being followed. According to Taeyong’s recounting, it had been exactly like Yuta’s own training, each of the Inagawa members taking turns slinking around the backstreets of Kabuki-chō and getting critiqued by the Triads afterwards. Yuta let Taeyong hang around when he discussed strategy and finances with Doyoung, Taeil, Johnny, and Jaehyun. Taeyong didn’t really understand any of it, nor did he need to, but Yuta figured it was good for him to feel like he was getting the whole picture.

Taeyong’s second goal, he said with almost too much confidence, was to get Yuta to fuck him as much as possible without it becoming a distraction, and it’d been going well for both of them. Taeyong had slept over at Yuta’s place three out of the last four nights and Yuta started taking a kind of dirty pride in the way his regiment grew used to seeing Taeyong in his clothing. They’d started experimenting explicitly with dom/sub dynamics and their own kinks, one of Yuta’s favorite moments coming when Taeyong accompanied him home after a long day. He’d fixed himself a drink and sat, legs spread over his couch and arms elongated over its back, the drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other. Since that night, Yuta had to stop himself intermittently from getting half-hard at the memory of Taeyong trying to get off grinding on his thigh, Yuta more or less ignoring him as his clothes soaked through with his sweat and he cried in frustration into Yuta’s shoulder for him to just do something – touch him, degrade him, anything. Yuta even impressed himself with the willpower he’d used to keep Taeyong strung out like that. So yeah, Taeyong’s second goal was going just fine, Yuta would say.

Goal number three was the most complicated: It was for Taeyong to make up his mind about what he’d do after the Mitsubishi deal (hopefully) went through. As promised, Yuta tried to remain removed from Taeyong’s decision making process, even if Taeyong would sometimes come to him with questions. Would they be able to keep seeing each other? Whether Taeyong stayed or left, they could still be together, Yuta had answered, although part of him worried that if Taeyong left he’d find someone he liked better the minute they no longer shared a lifestyle. But that wouldn’t be the case if Taeyong left after officially joining, right? Taeyong had clarified. If he changed his mind too late? That’s right, if you leave too late, you leave everything for good. It’s okay, Yuta had told him, don’t force yourself into a decision until the deal’s been worked out.

Yuta’s goal, on the other hand, was simply to stay sane and focused, and enjoy everything while it lasted. Specifically, he wanted to enjoy cooking takoyaki, Osaka’s specialty food, for Taeyong one night after a rare day off, and he wanted Taeyong to enjoy eating it. He wandered around Taeyong’s kitchen, alternating between muttering to himself and asking Taeyong why the hell it was so hard to find anything in there. Yuta paused before his metal mixing bowl, trying to remember what the next ingredient for the batter was supposed to be.

“You sure you don’t want help, babe?” Taeyong asked, and Yuta looked over to where he was sitting on the little table he kept in the kitchen, swinging his legs over the edge and giving Yuta moon eyes. He almost laughed. Taeyong had been nervous to have Yuta over, endlessly denigrating his apartment to the point that Yuta would have thought he was being invited over to a literal shack if he hadn’t already seen the building once, so Yuta made a point of fawning over the small space the second he arrived.

“No, darling,” replied Yuta to Taeyong’s question. “I told you, this is my treat.”

Taeyong shrugged as a new Blondie song started to play from his record player in the living room. “Suit yourself.” Yuta stretched his shoulders, finally remembering that the egg was supposed to come next. He’d learned how to cook from his mom, but that meant that sometimes his recipes were more like distant memories from ten to fifteen years ago. Yuta hummed along to the music, turning to search for the egg carton in the fridge.

“So, can we go over this one more time so I don’t screw it up?” Taeyong asked. Yuta was losing track of the number of times Taeyong had already been briefed on their plans for Minatozaki Sana, but if he needed to hear it again to feel secure, Yuta supposed he’d play along.

“Sure,” Yuta confirmed, cracking one egg into the half-finished batter. “But there’s really not that much you have to do, Taeyong. I just told you the whole plan so you won’t be caught off guard by anything.”

Taeyong practically buzzed against the table below him. “Right, so basically I’m going to stand by her door while you and Doyoung convince her to flip on Yamaguchi. There’s a window in the entryway, so I’ll have an easy view out if anyone comes, but I need to be sure not to be seen from the other end.”

“Exactly,” said Yuta, whisking. The yellow yolk was swirling into the sticky mixture like streaks in hair. “I don’t anticipate it taking too long, but I can’t make any promises. If she resists, you just stay at your post and we’ll deal with her, unless she makes it all the way to her front door or something.”

Taeyong nodded, his legs knocking against the table’s. “What’s ‘not too long?’” he asked.

Yuta thought for a moment. “Twenty minutes to an hour.”

“Alright.”

“Alright?” Yuta finished mixing his batter and tapped the butt of the bowl against the counter several times, looking quizzically at Taeyong. “Is that all clear? Can we talk about something not work-related now?”

Taeyong smiled. “Yeah we can,” he agreed, and Yuta let out a sigh of a laugh. “Like what? Is gang talk stressing you out?”

Yuta sniffed the batter. It smelled like it had enough dashi in it, so he figured it was fine. Now where did Taeyong keep his soy sauce? He rattled through Taeyong’s drawers as he answered.

“Honestly, a little bit. This is the most responsibility I’ve ever been given, and I want it to go well.”

When Yuta looked back to Taeyong, soy sauce triumphantly in hand, Taeyong’s face had contorted to show his own worry.

“Wait, you’re really anxious about it?” he asked. “I was sorta joking.”

Yuta set the bottle down on Taeyong’s green plastic countertop, making his way to the table.

Taeyong pouted as Yuta’s palms pressed over his soft cheeks. “I’m a little anxious,” Yuta admitted, a warm feeling flashing through his chest at the sight of Taeyong’s face all squished up, “but I gave you your job description and worrying about my anxiety is not included. Got it?”

Taeyong smiled sheepishly. “Got it.”

Yuta let go of Taeyong’s face and returned to his cooking project. “Just wanted some time together where I didn’t have to worry about work.” He dumped some of the soy sauce into his batter and started to stir again. He registered a little giggle coming from Taeyong.

“Anything I can do to help destress you?” he asked slyly. Yuta mixed harder.

“Yonggie, now is not the time…”

Taeyong just shook his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Yuta tried to ignore the not-so-subtle look Taeyong was giving him, opting to divert the conversation to ask where Taeyong’s takoyaki griddle was. Taeyong hopped off the table, mouthing the words to “Heart of Glass.”

“I’ll get it,” he offered, crouching next to the low cabinet where he kept his pots and pans and extracting the desired item.

“Thanks.”

Taeyong leaned against his counter and watched Yuta rub oil over and then pour the batter into the six half-spheres in the cast iron griddle. Yuta inserted the octopus bits, tenkasu , beni shoga , and sauce into the center of each raw takoyaki, conscious of every movement under Taeyong’s sticky gaze but trying to relax by listening to Taeyong’s whispery singing. Once sufficiently prepped, Yuta brought the griddle over to the table and turned it on, sitting to watch the food cook. Taeyong sat across from him, laying his head against the wooden tabletop and blinking as heat started to sizzle from the takoyaki.

Yuta sighed, thinking. Taeyong made him think a lot about a lot of things. Some of it was serious like, was their relationship sustainable? Was he blinded by his infatuation and risking too much for someone he’d know for barely more than a month? Was Taeyong going to end up hurt? Because if he did, it would be squarely Yuta’s fault. Mostly though, the thoughts Taeyong prompted in Yuta’s head were less dire but just as invasive. Yuta felt a rush at how gorgeous Taeyong looked like that, sleepily gazing and allowing himself to receive the care of someone else’s cooking. On second thought …

“Hey, so I know I just said now is not the time,” Yuta began, rolling his sleeves up as he registered the room warming and noticing Taeyong’s eyes on his arms, “but there might be something that would help me destress. But uh, you might think it’s a little early, I’m not sure.”

Taeyong sat up, smiling. “Oh?”

“I think it would be fun to spend a night at a love hotel,” Yuta admitted, and a splotch of oil jumped out of the griddle as if to punish him for being pushy. “ Ita !”

Taeyong just grinned. “Yuta,” he began, crossing his arms over the table, “why is that such a big deal?”

Yuta sighed, feeling like he was about to get laughed at. “Because, I don’t want to take you to just any love hotel,” he explained. He figured he’d gotten himself this far, he might as well finish digging his own grave. “I want to take you to the Alpha Inn.” To his surprise, Taeyong didn’t laugh, nor did he look confused; his grin only stretched wider, giving him crow’s feet around his eyes. Yuta wondered if he needed to clarify what he’d said. “It’s –”

“I know what the Alpha Inn is,” Taeyong blurted.

Yuta felt his face go small, the sizzling of the takoyaki turning to static in his ears. “Oh, then why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because,” Taeyong explained, “I was waiting for you to tell me why you were being weird about it.”

“Oh,” Yuta repeated, and Taeyong pressed on.

“So why were you? I mean, we’ve already kind of established that we both like that kind of thing, right?”

Yuta was beginning to feel like a first-class idiot. “Yeah,” he tried to backtrack, “but I think it’s a bit different from anything we’ve discussed. There are whips and stuff on the walls there and…”

Yuta hadn’t managed to finish his sentence before Taeyong was laughing in his face.

“Yuta,” he said, “have you been there before?”

“Yeah, I have,” Yuta explained, growing indignant, “but you’re different too.” Taeyong’s eyes rounded in curiosity. “You are! I haven’t had many relationships so when I’ve gone there it’s been, like, with hookups who are there for a specific purpose.”

Taeyong wiggled his eyebrows. “And what if I told you I’d been there with hookups before too?”

Yuta let out a breath of relief, settling into a more self-assured comportment. He honestly should have figured. Taeyong seemed to notice the change in Yuta’s body language, because he wiggled back into his chair, away from the table, and softened his face from the challenging aspect it had taken on before. Yuta smiled in satisfaction. “Then, I wouldn’t worry about anything but us enjoying ourselves,” he answered.

Taeyong smiled to himself as he looked at his hands in his lap. “So, letting you take me to a BDSM-themed love hotel: that’s what I could do to help you destress before next week. Glad I got that out of you.”

“But there are some things we need to discuss first,” Yuta said, figuring the takoyaki looked adequately brown and standing to find a couple plates and pairs of chopsticks.

Taeyong nodded. “Of course.”

Yuta returned, having found what he was looking for with surprising ease.

“First of which being that we have to change up the title, ‘kay?” He sat and turned the griddle off, using his metal chopsticks to pull out two takoyaki balls. “No more Shategashira during sex. I can’t be getting hard every time anyone talks to me at work.”

Yuta slid a plate of food over to Taeyong. “That’s fair. What should I call you, then?”

Yuta blew on his dinner. “Sir? Does that work?”

Taeyong smiled. “Yes, sir .” And Yuta smiled back.

“Perfect,” he remarked, hand reaching out to Taeyong’s hair on instinct. “You’re perfect.”

Taeyong nuzzled into Yuta’s touch, whining when Yuta pulled away. Yuta was happy to have taken back control of the situation, but he also figured he needed to change the topic of conversation if he was going to be able to focus on his food. Thankfully, Taeyong did it for him, picking up a ball of takoyaki and holding it near his face, expression contemplative.

“Smells good,” he said. He blew on it until it had stopped steaming, then nibbled experimentally after a quick "itadakimasu." Yuta still held off, all too familiar with the treacherousness of eating takoyaki.

“How is it?” he asked as Taeyong broke through to the molten center. He paused.

“Yuta?” Taeyong began, holding the takoyaki to show off the liquidy center. He started laughing and Yuta found himself hurled back into embarrassment. “I don’t think it’s cooked all the way…”

“Shit, sorry!” Yuta spluttered. “Here, give it back!”

Taeyong guffawed, letting some of the hot but nearly raw batter fall from his mouth to his cupped hand. “What?”

“Just give it here!”

“Okay…” Taeyong handed over the mangled ball and watched Yuta return it to its iron slot, switching the griddle back on and trying to look competent.

“Guess this will have to do,” he said, placing his own serving back to cook more as well. Yuta smiled to himself, propping the side of his head against his fist and his elbow on the table. Taeyong smiled back and said in a small voice,

“I thought you knew what you were doing, Osaka boy. I’m a good cook, you could have just let me help.”

Yuta shrugged. “Maybe I oversold myself. This’ll work though.”

Taeyong made a pained face (“I’m so hungry though”) and Yuta rolled his eyes.

He became suddenly hyper-aware of the silence framing their conversation, so he got up to switch out the finished album while the food got done cooking.

“What do you want me to play?”

“Kate Bush!” Taeyong yelled in response. “’The Dreaming’ should be sitting right next to the record player.”

Yuta replaced “Parallel Lines” with Taeyong’s suggestion, dropped the pin, and returned to the kitchen as “Sat In Your Lap” began to play. He also realized he forgot the mayo and the bonito for their dinner, and puttered around the kitchen again to find them, feeling like even more of a dumbass than he had for undercooking the food. The takoyaki came out much better the second time around, and once it had cooled off, it was gone in a fraction of the time Yuta had spent making it.

“Okay, I guess you do know what you’re doing,” Taeyong admitted, his mouth contorting around a particularly large bite.

After eating, Taeyong insisted on doing the dishes. Yuta took on Taeyong’s former position watching from the table, thinking to himself how lovely he looked in an apron, focused on getting everything spick and span. Fuck, it was so domestic, and Yuta hadn’t had anything like it in so long. Yuta was so shaken up about it he felt like the takoyaki in his stomach was trying to bust out through his belly button.

Taeyong glanced at his admirer as he scratched the suds from his hands into the sink. “Stop looking at me like that,” he said.

For a mobster, Yuta had kind of a bad poker face when he wasn’t focused enough on it. “Like what?”

“Like you want to…I don’t know, make me a housewife.”

Yuta rested his face in his hands. “What if I do?”

Taeyong chuckled. “First of all, that’s quite literally impossible. Second of all, it makes me feel weird.”

“Weird how?”

Taeyong dried the metal mixing bowl as he spoke. “Not sure how to explain it,” he said. “Kind of itchy. Like I want to hide?”

Yuta tried to calm down so he could stop the fascination from practically dripping over his face. “Sorry.”

Taeyong put the bowl away. “S’okay. I’m also flattered. Thanks for cooking, by the way – even if I gave you shit about it.”

“Of course. It was kind of fun.”

Taeyong finished drying off and putting everything away, took off his apron, and suggested they retire to the living room couch to listen to their music.

Yuta sat down and let Taeyong situate himself so that he was lying down, head in Yuta’s lap. Yuta played with Taeyong’s hair.

“Yuta?”

“Mm?”

Taeyong’s face had an air of stress about it, not like there was anything truly wrong, but more like he had a thought he needed to sort out.

“How did you figure out you liked guys?”

Yuta took a moment to process. That was not what he expected Taeyong to ask.

“Oh, um, I don’t know, how did you figure it out?”

Taeyong scowled. “I mean eventually it just sort of became obvious,” he said.

“Exactly,” Yuta confirmed. “So, that’s not really what you’re asking, is it?”

Taeyong shook his head, skull rocking against Yuta’s thighs.

“Guess not,” he allowed, “How old were you though? When you realized?”

Yuta pulled a strand of Taeyong’s dark hair until it stood on end. “I don’t know, late teens probably, when I really sorted it out?” Yuta chuckled, calling upon some well-repressed memories. “I had tried fooling around with girls at that point, and it wasn’t bad, actually. I was very sure I was straight. I liked the girls I was with – had a real fondness for most of them, but it was never very deep. Momo and I even hooked up once.” Yuta laughed wryly as he watched a look of shock and, maybe jealousy? flicker over Taeyong’s face. “Don’t worry,” he reassured. “It was alright for me, but she made it very clear that it was never to happen again.”

Taeyong hummed thoughtfully. Yuta wanted to grill him back, but it looked like he had another question brewing, so he stayed quiet. “So, who was the first guy?”

Yuta breathed a laugh. “Well, he was actually my boss when I was a Kumi-in…”

Taeyong’s eyes lit up. “Like us?”

“Kind of. He was older though,” Yuta clarified. He smiled, both in recollection and in amusement as he registered the dissonance between Kate Bush’s wailing singing and their quiet conversation. “I remember thinking to myself, oh, now I know what this whole thing is supposed to feel like.” By “thing” he meant to express the nebulous concept of attraction, love, relationships, lust; all those intangibles which tug at the heartstrings. He hoped Taeyong would understand despite his lack of eloquence. “He was the one who convinced me to go to the Alpha Inn the first time, but, uh, I was the one taking the orders back then.”

“What happened to him?” asked Taeyong, twisting the hem of his shirt in his hands.

“He decided this life wasn’t for him, so he left. And, you know, if you do that you get excommunicated, banished – whatever you want to call it – so I haven’t heard from him since.”

Taeyong looked like he wanted to say something, then didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he said instead.

The apology made a pang of guilt run through Yuta. Here he was telling the sob story of his first love in front of poor Taeyong. If he got uncomfortable hearing about Momo, why would he want to know this? “Don’t be sorry. I have you now,” Yuta said with a smile, and he meant it deeply.

Taeyong sat up and sighed, eyes clouded over. “I just feel like this would be a lot easier if I wasn’t…you know…me.”

Yuta felt like he had cold water rushing over his skin. What was Taeyong getting at? “No, I don’t know,” he challenged.

Taeyong refused to make eye contact and Yuta thought he saw the other man’s skin tone draining a bit grey. “I keep thinking about Johnny and Mina,” Taeyong tried to explain. “They seem so normal. Like, they know what each of them is there for. I don’t know how to explain it. I just feel like if I were a woman it’d be easier and make more sense. I wouldn’t be weirdly wrapped up in your work and having to make all these dire decisions and putting you in danger. We could just see each other like average people.”

Yuta didn’t know if he wanted to cry or laugh. He settled instead for gripping Taeyong’s chin with his fingers and forcing their eyes to meet. “Taeyong,” he said softly, “I think you’re missing the point.”

Taeyong’s eyes looked glassy. “Which is?”

“Which is that if you were a woman A) we probably wouldn’t have met in the first place, and B) I wouldn’t be as interested in you.” Yuta searched Taeyong’s face, awaiting a response.

“You mean that?” he asked, finally.

Yuta let go of Taeyong’s face. “I do. Why would I be lying?”

Taeyong smiled slightly. “I dunno. Sometimes you lie for fun.”

“God, Taeyong, not about stuff like this.”

“Alright,” Taeyong said, letting his smile extend and settling his back more squarely into the couch cushions. “Sorry for being so insecure.”

Yuta took Taeyong’s hand. “You and me both, baby.”

“Houdini” started to play and Taeyong closed his eyes, mentioning absently that it was his favorite song on the album. When it was over, he spoke again.

“Mina warned me at the party,” he said, and Yuta was put on immediate alert by the threatening vagueness of the statement. “Back at Johnny’s bar, we started talking. She said I should leave as soon as possible and not get sucked in.”

Yuta stiffened, training his eyes on the stains in Taeyong’s rug and making a mental note to bring this up to Johnny. “Well,” he began, “that’s her opinion. It’s up to you to make up your own mind.”

“I know.”

Yuta laughed breathily, catching Taeyong’s drift. “So, she told you that and then you immediately turned around and landed in my lap; let me pull you in deeper. Was that a sort of decision?”

Taeyong nodded, squeezing Yuta’s hand. “Maybe. I just wanted it at the time. I wanted a real reason to stay.”

Yuta tutted. “I told you not to make me the clincher for such an important choice.”

“Yeah, but that was after,” Taeyong asserted. “I think I’d already decided early on, even if I didn’t want to admit it. Yuta?”

“Taeyong.”

He looked Yuta right in the eyes. “I’m going to stay. I invited you over tonight to tell you that I’m sure I want to join the Inagawa-kai. I just didn’t know how to bring it up until right now.”

Yuta could feel the adrenaline coursing through him, like he was a candle wick being sparked; like he was about to go on a mission. He was exhilarated at the idea that he’d fully gained Taeyong’s trust and admiration, that they would continue on as they had been; but at the same time, the possibility that Taeyong could get hurt or decide too late that he’d gone down the wrong path made Yuta’s blood run cold.

“You’re sure?”

Taeyong nodded. “Yeah, I am.” He looked at Yuta and smiled sideways. “When do I get initiated?”

Yuta didn’t know how to respond to Taeyong’s sudden burst of self-assuredness. “Well – uh – the Oyabun won’t let you until our current project is secured –”

Taeyong pouted.

“But!” Yuta had an idea. “But, but, but, if you want, we can do something fun right now that might help.” Yuta stood, about to head off to the kitchen until he remembered he didn’t know where anything was.

“What is it?”

Yuta placed a finger in front of his mouth. “It’s a secret,” he whispered. “But I need you to help me find some things.”

In a matter of minutes, they were back in the living room, couched in silence with the music having run out and kneeling at either side of Taeyong’s coffee table. Between them, Yuta had set two empty masu cups, a bottle of amazake (since Taeyong didn’t have normal sake), and the knife that Yuta always carried around with him: medium-size and gunmetal grey with teeth like the one in the Rambo movie that had come out a year before. Taeyong had stared at it almost in horror when Yuta took it out.

“Okay,” Taeyong said, eyes roaming over their spread. “Now will you please explain this to me?”

“Sure,” Yuta agreed, grinning at his own creativity. “So, you said you wanted to be initiated,” he began, “but you can’t technically do that for a bit, so I’m going to give you a little run-through; a rehearsal of sorts that can prepare you for the real thing while also making you feel more official right now.”

Taeyong nodded, looking sold. “Okay. What’s the knife for?”

“For when I sacrifice you to Amaterasu,” he deadpanned, and for a moment, Taeyong actually gaped.

“No, I kid,” Yuta said, cracking himself up. “We’ll get to what the knife’s for in a second.”

Taeyong let out a confused breath, making Yuta laugh even harder. Once he had contained himself, he went on.

“So, this will be the setup when you’re initiated. Ideally there’d be witnesses, but you know.” He shrugged. “Okay, and you should know that I am standing in for the Oyabun .”

“You’re Goro?” Taeyong clarified.

Yuta nodded, pressing a hand to his chest. “Yes, I’m Goro, who I don’t think you’ve met yet, by the way.” Taeyong shook his head in confirmation. “Soon enough, then. You’re you, and what we’re going to do first is you’re going to hold out your cup to me and I’ll fill it halfway with sake.”

Taeyong followed directions, prostrating himself ever so slightly as he offered Yuta his cup and watched him pour the cloudy liquid inside. Then, Yuta did the same with his own cup, passing the halfway point and filling it to the brim, images of his own initiation six years earlier flashing across his vision. He’d been a baby in an ill-fitting black suit and Goro had looked more imposing to him than usual – like Mt. Fuji on a clear day. He picked up the knife, remembering the sharp taste of Goro’s blood in a particularly strong batch of sake.

“Now we switch cups,” he instructed, and Taeyong obliged, eyes trained on Yuta’s knife. They went wide when Yuta positioned his hand over Taeyong’s sake and cradled the blade so that it was invisible in his palm, although the implied pressure and discomfort made Taeyong’s face contort. Yuta sliced shallowly into his palm, careful to adhere to the lines of his old scar as much as possible. Taeyong’s gaze followed as a ruby droplet fell and dispersed into the alcoholic liquid.

“We could just get a raspberry or something if you have one and crush it into the other cup,” Yuta teased, “if you don’t want to do this.” He grinned when Taeyong shook his head quickly.

“No, I can do it, Shategashira .”

“Good.” Yuta wiped the blood from the knife onto a paper towel and handed the blade to Taeyong, who took it hesitantly. “Just do the pad of your thumb for now,” Yuta suggested. Taeyong hissed a bit as he cut into the flesh there and pressed down to force out a rivulet of blood. Yuta realized he’d made a slight oversight when he registered that each of them now had one bloodied hand. In the real ritual, this fact would have been ignored, but Yuta was already testing Taeyong and he didn’t want to also stain his nice bamboo cups.

“Gimme a sec,” he said, finding his leather jacket in the entryway and rooting around in it one-handed for another thing he always kept with him: bandage tape. He called Taeyong into the kitchen and they took turns washing up and covering their self-inflicted wounds. Yuta registered neutrally the kind of hazy and quiet state Taeyong was in. Finally, they returned to the coffee table for the next leg of the ritual, starting off by switching their drinks back so Yuta had a full cup with Taeyong’s blood and Taeyong had a half cup with Yuta’s.

“What now?” Taeyong asked.

“Now,” Yuta answered, “you take the seihai-gishiki ; the oath of allegiance to me, Hirai Goro.” They both laughed at that. “Repeat after me okay?”

“Okay.”

Yuta flexed his hand, still adjusting to the feeling of raw openness under the pink-tinged bandages. "I vow never to reveal the secrets of the organization.”

“I vow to never reveal the secrets of the organization.”

“I will never violate the wife or children of another member.”

Taeyong balked. “Wait, that’s kind of messed up,” he said, mouth poised to laugh. “Why is that there?”

“Aish,” said Yuta in mock disappointment, “good thing I’m running you through this – Goro would never accept this interrupting. Actually, the first ever yakuza clan in the 1700’s had a real problem with cheating and child molestation, so their boss had to make up this rule to stop it from turning into one giant super-illegal orgy,” he said matter-of-factly. Taeyong’s eyes went wide.

“Really??”

Yuta frowned. “No!! You need to stop being so gullible with everything I tell you.”

Taeyong bowed his head several times while laughing nervously. “Ah, okay, okay, Shategashira . Gomen , gomen . Got it.”

Yuta smiled. Taeyong was so damn cute it made his muscles hurt. “It’s okay,” he said. “In all seriousness, I have no idea why that rule is there, but it’s a reasonable expectation, anyway. Shall we move on?”

Taeyong nodded.

“Okay,” Yuta restarted, “I vow to have no personal involvement with narcotics.”

“I vow to have no personal involvement with narcotics,” Taeyong repeated.

“I will not withhold money from the gang.”

“I will not fail in my obedience to superiors.”

Taeyong blinked forcefully and gulped before echoing, “I will not fail in my obedience to superiors.”

“Last one, okay? I will not appeal to the police or other legal authorities.”

“I will not appeal to the police or other legal authorities. Now what?”

Yuta picked up his cup with both hands. “Now we drink.”

Taeyong followed his lead. “Kanpai.”

“Kanpai.”

The taste of Taeyong’s blood was less harsh mixed in with this sweet type of sake, mellowed and drowned out until it was nothing more than a heady undertone, like the scent of skin.

They put down their cups once they had finished and stared at each other silently for a beat. Then Taeyong broke into a grin. “Did I pass?” he asked.

Yuta guffawed. “Pass? This isn’t an exam.” He cleared his throat and put on his Hirai Goro voice: gravelly and low and embellished by rolled r’s. “But uh, yes, well done, Kumi-in. Welcome to the Inagawa-kai.”

***

After the elaborate rehearsal, they had a bit of cleaning up to do. Taeyong rinsed their masu cups in the sink as Yuta disinfected his knife and reinforced his bandages.

“The last vow reminded me,” said Taeyong, shutting the water off and setting the cups on the drying rack, “it only occurred to me after Johnny and Mina’s lesson the other day, but what if it’s not another gang that gets ahold of me? What if it’s the police? Wouldn’t they also interrogate me?”

Yuta burst out in laughter and Taeyong looked perplexed, leaning his lower back against the kitchen counter.

“Oh, sorry for laughing at you,” Yuta said, collecting himself. “You’d have no way of knowing this.” He walked over to join Taeyong. “You don’t have to worry about the police,” he explained even if Taeyong looked dubious. “I mean, if we like, killed someone in a public alleyway, sure.” Taeyong’s eyes flickered in recollection. Yuta continued. “But if you’re just going about your business, they won’t dare take you in. Most of them like us anyway – like that we instill a little fear and discipline into public life, that we rake in local tax revenue and do charity work, etc. I mean they’re just as much thugs as we are, too, and I guarantee you in every ten cops you’d find at least three former wannabe gangsters. Anyway, sometimes we get busted by national law enforcement, but you rarely need to worry about the local police; they only get involved if you kill someone, as I mentioned; if public opinion is especially bad; or if someone comes to them directly with proof of wrongdoing.”

Taeyong nodded heavily, taking in this new information with a mixture of horror and relief.

“I know. It can be a bit odd at first,” Yuta offered. “I imagine as a former street kid you’re not used to that kind of free reign.”

Taeyong shook his head. “Yeah, m’not,” he confirmed. “I used to get the cops called on me for standing wrong.”

Yuta hummed a chuckle. He didn’t doubt it. His face hovered closer to Taeyong’s, drinking him in, and he paused over the scar next to Taeyong’s eye. He still had never asked about it, so he did.

“Oh, this?” Taeyong said, pointing to the pitted skin. He demurred a bit, embarrassed, and Yuta suddenly felt bad for asking. “It’s not very interesting. I used to have atopic dermatitis and I picked at my skin a bit too much when I got a flare up there.”

“I see,” Yuta said. “Sounds irritating.”

“It was,” confirmed Taeyong. “Did you have a theory about how I got it?”

“I didn’t but Doyoung did,” said Yuta. “He figured you’d gotten it in a fight or something like that. I didn’t really know.”

Yuta thought he saw a shiver buzz up Taeyong’s body. “Do you guys talk about me often when I’m not there?”

Yuta laughed. “Only at the beginning,” He admitted, settling his elbows back on the countertop. “You were kind of mysterious to us.”

Taeyong looked shocked. “Me? Mysterious? Alright…”

“Well you showed up out of nowhere,” Yuta asserted. “In fact, I got asked on separate occasions by Jungwoo and Jaehyun how I was sure you weren’t a spy.”

Taeyong spluttered. “A spy? That’s too wild.”

Yuta only shrugged. If he was being honest, Taeyong was still a little mysterious to him. He still wanted to turn Taeyong’s earlier questions about sexual awakenings and such back on him, but that could wait. Taeyong pushed away from the counter and shifted so he was facing Yuta, his hands on Yuta’s shoulders.

“Want to dance?” he asked coyly. “Just like after Johnny’s party?”

Yuta slipped his arms around Taeyong’s waist. “How could I say no to that?” he teased, and they plodded like that back into the living room. Yuta let Taeyong go momentarily to put on “Three Imaginary Boys” by The Cure, scooping him back up the second the music began. Taeyong laid his head on Yuta’s shoulder and murmured into the base of his neck.

“I can’t wait to help you destress, sir.”

Yuta petted Taeyong’s soft hair with his bandaged hand and hummed. “You’re too perfect,” he said, and he meant it deeply.

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astralkoo · 6 years ago

Text

Beautifully Misfit

SERIES; Hybrid BTS

�� Genre: fluff, smutt, hybrid au

‣ Word Count: 2.08k

‣ Pairing(s): skunk!Jimin x reader, puppy!Taehyung x reader, bunny!Jungkook x reader

‣ Warning(s): very strong language, lots and lots of f-bombs so beware of that, bit of angst if you squint real hard, nothin else for this chapter so enjoy ;)

‣ to be aware of: sub!jimin, switch!taehyung, switch!jungkook, dom!reader, some kinky ass future happenings, BDSM themes, some heavy angst, and triggering themes.

Summary: you never really saw yourself as a hybrid person. that is, until your best friend introduces you to his hybrid, and you suddenly find yourself craving the companionship. you only intended to bring home one. somewhere between the lines you ended up with three beautifully misfit hybrids who craved nothing but your love.

part. i | ii | iii | iv | v | vi (coming soon)

A/N; this is my first post on here, so I’ll make this short… thanks for reading, I’m sorry, ily

Lonely.

It hit you all of a sudden.

You were lonely. For about four months, you’ve been living in you home, working as an editor for your aunt’s absurd gossip magazine, eating solitary meals, sleeping in your admittedly cold bed, and you were just now realizing how lonely you’ve been all this time.

This wasn’t completely out of the blue. You had been feeling a nagging sensation of emptiness in the pit of your stomach for a while now.

But it wasn’t until you had your best friend’s hybrid curled up in your lap, playing with your hair, and babbling about his love for food and pretty things that it settled in exactly what that feeling was.

“You know, you’re kind of cute. Your face is… decent, I suppose. But Namjoonie is much cuter and— oh my gosh you’re crying,” Jin squealed in surprise, shock lighting up on his features as an onslaught of tears suddenly poured from your eyes.

“Shoot, I’m s–sorry, Jin,” you softly cursed, gently pushing the angora hybrid off your lap as you jumped to your feet, hands feverishly working to dry your wet cheeks.

“Was it the cute comment? I mean, it’s true, but I wasn’t intending to hurt your feelings… didn’t realize you were that sensitive,” he grumbled, pouting at the fact that you’d just ruined the mood for him.

You quickly shook you head, “no– no it wasn’t that, I just— shit, I mean, fuck, excuse my language.”

“Y/n! How many times do I have to tell you to watch your profanity around Jin— holy shit, why are you crying?” Namjoon gasped in concern as he walked out of the kitchen before running to your aid. “Did Jin hurt your feelings? I’m so sorry he has no filter whatsoever and says thing without thinking and—”

“It wasn’t that, a Joonie,” you cut him off with a sniffle, “I just realized something.”

Namjoon stared at you for a moment with worried eyes, before turning to his hybrid. “Jinnie, you stay here for a moment, y/n and I need to have a quick talk, alright?” The angora rolled his eyes, not appreciating the secrecy but not arguing to Namjoon’s relief. He quickly guided you into the kitchen, urging you to take a seat while he made you a glass of water.

“What happened? What upset you? Was it really not Jinnie because I know that he can be—” your best friend in ten years began to ramble out questions.

Chuckling lightly, you shook you head. “No, Joon. I swear it wasn’t anything Jin said. He’s a sweetheart, really. A bit blunt, if anything but nothing extreme,” you reassured him with a soft smile. He nodded, eyes swirling with a mixture of relief and confusion.

“Then, what was it?”

You sighed, turning away from him. “I just… I realized how lonely I’ve been.”

Namjoon settled himself in the seat beside yours, gently placing his hand over yours in a comforting gesture. “What do you mean? Lonely how? You know you’ve always got me, and now Jinnie.”

“Of course I know that. And I am so lucky to have you in my life, seriously. You’re the best best friend a girl could as for… when your clumsy ass isn’t breaking my shit, that is.” He gasped dramatically, swatting at your arm, causing you to giggle quietly. “But, we can’t be around each other 24/7, you know? You have your life, your job, your responsibilities, and now your hybrid; and I have mine– minus the hybrid.”

“What’re you trying to say?” He asked, searching your eyes for further explanation.

“I– I just… I hate being alone all the time. Especially in that big house. I’m home all the time, the only places I go are your place and the grocery store when my fridge empties. That’s really sad, Joon,” you muttered, glancing at your intertwined fingers.

“You’re right… that’s really pathetic, y/n.” You laughed, lightly kicking his ankle to which he grinned and squeezed your hand, “but seriously, if you’re so lonely… why not find a boyfriend?”

You snorted loudly at that. “Me? Boyfriend? Please, let’s not get too crazy here, Joonie. Try to keep it realistic, yeah?”

Namjoon rolled his eyes heavily at your response, scoffing softly, “I’m serious, y/n! When’s the last time you even got laid?” His voice dropped to a whisper at the last word, knowing his impressionable hybrid with impeccable hearing was just the next room over. You gaped at him, taking that as your turn hit his arm.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant to my loneliness in the least,” you countered sharply despite the glowing blush making its way into your cheeks, glaring at him pointedly.

He smirked, cocking a brow. “That long, huh?”

You scowled at him stubbornly for a moment. “…yes. Fine. That long, you asshole.”

“Thought so~” he sang, sticking his tongue out, “why don’t you get out there then, huh? It could do you some good, relieve some of that tension.”

“Because, Joonie,” you groaned, slumping forward onto the countertop, face dropping into your folded arms, “that’s not what I want. I don’t want a stupid hook up with some random guy I met in a germ infested bar. That won’t solve my problem, I’m lonely not horny.”

“Same thing,” he shrugged.

You decided it best to just ignore him, continuing, “but I don’t want a boyfriend either. Every time in the past that I’ve had a boyfriend, they’ve only caused me more trouble then they were worth. Either they found someone they found more attractive and ditched me or found someone more interesting and ditched me. Not to mention, guys are just all around dipshits.”

Namjoon pouted, pointing at himself and waiting for some kind of exclusion.

“Besides you of course, Joonie, you’re an angel. I’m talking about straight dudes. They’re the real problem in this society,” you confirmed with an angry huff.

Namjoon raised your half empty glass, “I’ll drink to that.”

“All guys do is cause problems. They will in no way help to solve mine. So now… I don’t know… I just don’t want to be alone anymore,” you groaned, slapping your palms over your face in frustration, “maybe I should just get a bunch of dogs. Become a crazy dog lady. That’d be fun.”

Namjoon was quiet for a moment. “Or… maybe… you could get a hybrid.”

You choked on air, eyes bulging out of your head. “What? No! You’re crazy.” You immediately shot down the idea, shaking your head rapidly.

You? A hybrid owner? Yeah fucking right. You can barely take care of yourself, let alone an entire other human– er, hybrid being. Not to mention you’d be a terrible influence, with your drinking and cursing habits. No hybrid would stand a chance in your home. Owning a hybrid is essentially adopting a child with animalistic appendages and habits. It was really a two for one. Which also meant two times the responsibility.

Responsibility you were anything but prepared for.

“What’s so crazy about it? You’re great with Jin, you took a course on hybrids in college so you’re well informed, and they make amazing companions,” he informed, hands waving around in emphasis.

You shook your head. “No way. I’m not a hybrid person.”

“Says who?”

“Says me! I don’t know the first thing about hybrids, I only took that stupid course in the first place for the easy grade!” You retorted quickly, before a sudden thought occurred.

“Well, personally, I think—”

“Shit what time is it?”

He glanced down at his watch, “almost ten, why?”

You lurched out of the chair, quickly gathering up your belonging, “I’ve got an article deadline at twelve is why, fuck.”

Namjoon nodded with a quiet sigh, following as you scrambled to his front door. Like the gentleman he was, he opened the door, only to stop you half way out it with a hand on your shoulder. You turned back to him with raised brows and a questioning glint in your eyes.

“Just think about it, okay? For me? I hate seeing you like this.”

For the sake of his sanity, as he had a tendency to over worry, you agreed, “okay, Joon. I’ll think about it,” giving him a parting hug before darting to your car, grumbling under your breath, “when you start eating pussy.”

In other words, you definitely would not be reconsidering your decision.

Okay. So you were reconsidering.

It had been a day since you had dropped by Namjoon’s place. A day since he’d made that absolutely ludicrous suggestion, which gradually looking less and less ludicrous.

It was almost… appealing.

A hybrid companion… that would definitely make the house feel a lot less lonely.

You even wondered about what type you’d get. A dog, maybe. You’ve always had a soft spot for puppies, and you can’t help but coo and swoon whenever you see one on the street.

A cat, perhaps. Cats could be annoying, but they also knew when to step back and give you space, which would be nice. A lot less maintenance than dogs. But dogs were cuddly as hell and you’d enjoy having a cuddle buddy, that’s for sure.

Now, this is all circumstantial depending on the breed.

Hell, you were really bad at making important decisions.

“Shit, focus!” You cursed, smacking your cheeks harshly enough to make yourself groan as the skin tinted a hot red. You were supposed to be working on an article your aunt had just sent to you for editing.

But god damn the only thing on your mind was hybrids, hybrids, hybrids, and… what do you know— more hybrids!

“Fucking mother fucker fucking bitch can’t mind his own god damn son of a bitch business,” you growled under your breath as you slammed your laptop shut and yanked your phone out of the pocket of your baggy sweat (perk of working at home; you never have anyone to impress) and aggressively typing in Namjoon’s number before holding it up to your ear, muttering angrily to empty air. After the third ring, he finally picked up.

“Hey, Y/n, what’s--”

“Fuck you, Kim Namjoon. Fuck you to hell.”

“Up,” a short pause, “okay, I admit, was not expecting that response, but okay. Any particular reason you’re fucking me to hell?”

“Hybrids.”

“Hybrids?”

“Yes, hybrids. I want a hybrid so fuck you.”

“Why fuck me if you’re the one that wants a hybrid?”

“Because you’re the one that put the idea of hybrids into my head in the first place,” you hissed in retaliation, slamming your fist down on your desk for emphasis.

He snorted loudly, “well, it wouldn’t be in your head if you didn’t want it a little bit in the first place. My suggestion just made you realize what was already a subconscious desire.”

It was your turn to pause, lips pursing together as you thought it over. Fuck, you hated logic and reason, always ruining all your fun. “Fuck, you’re right. In that case, fuck me, too. In fact, fuck everything, the world is bullshit and this is not what I signed up for.”

“When has the world ever been fair, babe,” he chuckled.

Groaning loudly, you slumped back in your chair, dramatically throwing your arm over your face. “I don’t know what to do, Joon.”

“Do you really want a hybrid? They can be a lot of responsibility, but they really do make phenomenal companions, especially if you get the perfect one for you.” His words were somewhat consoling for your brain, which was currently going on overdrive.

You pouted, tugging your knees up to your chest. “Do you think I could handle it?”

“I know you can handle it. You’re a lot more mature than you give yourself credit for. And even if it gets a bit overwhelming, I’ll always be there to help you out, you know that.”

You nodded to no one in particular, gnawing at your lip with furrowed brows, buried in your own thoughts, a back and forth battle going on in your brain. Do you really want this? A hybrid all your own. It would be nothing like going and visiting with Jin, you knew that much. It would be completely your responsibility, your companion, all yours.

For some reason, that thought brought a ghost of a smile to your lips.

Yours. That sounds surprisingly nice.

“Okay,” you murmured softly.

“Okay?” He repeated.

“Okay... it looks like I’m adopting a hybrid.”

#hybrid #bts #hybrid!bts #sub!bts #hybrid!jimin #hybrid!taehyung #hyrbid!jungkook #hybrid!au #bts fanfiction #bts hybrid!au #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #sub!jimin #switch!jungkook #switch!taehyung #dom!reader

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rjzimmerman · 5 years ago

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Update on our son

After you read this (if you do), you might ask: why is he doing this post and why is playing Tumblr right now? To get away, to get a break, to escape the sadness and grief and regret. Again, to get a break.

Those of you who follow me, or once in a while read my posts, perhaps recall that our son has been courageously and painfully moving along to retain his transplanted liver and protect his life. He had a liver transplant on December 10, 2019. That liver failed on January 16, 2020, when its vascular system was determined to be so compromised by his surgeons to effectively consider his transplanted liver nonfunctioning. His care team found a second liver, which was transplanted into him on January 17, 2020. During that surgery, he almost died (or perhaps did, and was pulled back to this side) because of extreme blood loss (50 liters were transfused into him). Since then, for five months, he has been subjected to scores of procedures to fix broken or non-functioning internal bits and pieces and invasive diagnostic tests to make sure all was progressing, or not.

He has finally conceded defeat. He can’t take the pain and disability any longer, and does not see a clear path ahead of him for a productive, happy life. As a consequence, he requested that all the tubes and portals and pokes be removed, and that he be transferred to the medical center’s hospice unit to die. He was transferred yesterday. He is on now on the path toward his death, which won’t take long, perhaps a week.

The coronavirus pandemic and the lock-down by most hospitals in the US barred visitors not just to COVID-19 patients, but all patients, including those such as our son. As a consequence, he has not had any visits from family or friends since March 12, 2020, other then three short one-hour visits from his mom. The absence of support from family during this critical phase of his recovery may not be the cause of his death, when that happens, but the absence deprived him of the things we all did for him: moving his arms and legs, cheating and bringing him nutrition (such as blueberry muffins) when the kangaroo bags were providing him with basic crap through IV’s, encouraging him to hang in there, bringing him stuff to do, reading with and to him, talking sports and politics....basically, keeping him active, alive and a member of his various tribes. A couple of weeks ago, he told us, “I can’t do this alone anymore.” I contend, as do several (if not all) of his doctors and nurses, that the visit block directly contributed to the inability of his body to recover and his willingness to continue living.

Which gets me to the real purpose of this post. I dislike the stay-at-home orders and other pesty parts of the pandemic controls. I hate wearing face masks. (I skipped masks at halloween trick-or-treating.) I think it’s insane that I can shop at Walmart but not at the little mom-and-pop store in central business districts. I get really pissed off when I see runners and bicyclists, alone, wearing face masks. But I keep all that to myself, as part of my personal attitudes about convenience and living life as I have always lived life. I accept these restrictions as necessary to restrict the spread of this horrid virus and tamp down the number of people who get sick or die. That is part of my social compact to each of you.

This is addressed to those you who might be republican politicians, or you selfish prima-donnas who want to roast your skin at the beach or play beach volleyball in the sun or who want a pedicure or feel entitled to ignore rules designed to protect me and you, or you who don’t understand the idea that your rights end where my nose begins. Fuck you. My son may not be a COVID-19 patient, but he will be just as dead as a COVID-19 patient who succumbs to the virus, and partially because he couldn’t be around his family when he most needed his family. Thousands of people who will die, and their families, are in the same situation all over the country, so our son and our family members and our son’s friends not alone. Why is this? Because of implementation of rules and policies designed to protect you and your kids and your mom and dad and spouse and grandparents also kept away our son’s family and friends’ support structure. Think of that before you start throwing around concepts such as your constitutional rights. You make me want to puke, if not worse.

#coronavirus pandemic

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96thdayofrage · 4 years ago

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WAR DAY 7️⃣1️⃣0️⃣3️⃣ 🍵 "Secretary of State Anthony Blinken might have been 'outraged' by a rocket attack on a U.S. base in northern Iraq – that killed a foreign contractor and wounded an American service member and several other contractors – but he shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, it’s the muddled US military mission and on-going troop presence itself that creates nearly all the conditions for current crisis. That this particular truth tablet might be rather uncomfortable to swallow doesn’t make it any less so.

"If Blinken’s boss needs proof, he might consider applying what we could call his very own 'Biden Rule:' that staffers should avoid overly academic or elitist language in memos or policy papers. 'Pick up your phone, call your mother, read her what you just told me,' he reportedly tells aides – 'If she understands, we can keep talking.' Well, does Joe really think most American mothers, or fathers, or other lay citizens, could honestly explain just what the heck US troops are doing – and may well die doing – in Iraq, almost 18 years after George W. Bush’s initial invasion? Give us a break! All that Washington wish-wash about avoiding ISIS-resurgence, 'building partner capacity,' and balancing Iran, is liable to get even a hometown boy like Biden laughed out of a Scranton pub.

"Nevertheless, such attacks could very well derail Biden’s announced intent to reestablish Obama’s Iran nuclear deal, or even lead to a military escalation. After all, earlier this week, NATO agreed to an eight-fold increase in troops for its training and advisory mission in Iraq, and Secretary Blinken has himself begun a review America’s Iraq policy – to include feedback from the Pentagon – which may reach the White House as early as next month.

"There’ve actually been three separate rocket attacks on US bases in Iraq over the last week, one targeting each of country’s distinct communal regions – Erbil in semi-autonomous Kurdistan, another on Balad in mostly Sunni Salah al-Din Province, and lastly on the Green Zone in Shia-heavy (especially since the 2005-08 civil war’s ethnic cleansings) Baghdad. It seems American troops and – more on this soon – contractors still aren’t safe anywhere inside Iraq.

"Odd, that, since I recall plenty past (premature) pronouncements that 'the surge worked,' and that 'we have defeated ISIS.' Well, the first [surge success] bit was always a farce, and, while the second suggestion is basically true – despite mop-up-ops that Iraqi and invested regional forces can handle – it ain’t ISIS that’s set to take the blame for the recently raining rockets. No, that supervillain stature shall – as ever – belong to Iran."

Bogus Boogyman Iran

"Iranophobia and Tehran-alarmism are gifts that keep on giving – if mostly to the likes of Lockheed and Raytheon – in Washington. Only there’s hardly any basis to the threat. The whole thing’s political theater, a false binary blame game meant for domestic consumption and signal-sending to America’s Israeli and Gulf Monarchy mates. Thing is, real people die behind such drama.

"It all starts with what should be suspicious certainty of bipartisan policymakers and media pundits that Tehran’s tugging all the rocket-flingers’ strings. Take Ned Price, spokesman for Biden’s polite liberal State Department. He said, after Monday’s attack on Baghdad’s Green Zone that the US holds Iran responsible for the recent rocket spurt. Then there’s Trump’s former assistant secretary of state for Middle East policy, David Schenker, who was sure – after the initial Erbil attack – that: 'Ultimately, this is all about Iran – the missiles, the weaponry, the funding, the direction all comes from Tehran.' Then again, it’s always worth considering the source. In this case, Mr. Schenker is now a senior fellow at the Washington Institute for Near East Policy – which is known for its fiercely and uncritically pro-Israel stance, and was initially funded by the Israel Lobby-top dog AIPAC’s donors, staffed by AIPAC employees, and originally located just one door away from AIPAC’s D.C. headquarters.

"Then throw in Douglas Silliman, formerly US ambassador to Iraq from 2016 to 2019, who asserted after the Erbil attack: 'I have no doubt who’s behind it. It is the Iranian-supported Iraqi Shia militias who are behind this.' Only here again an astute observer must channel the street-wisdom of Queens’ own rapper 50 Cent and thus – 'step up in' the Washington 'club' and ask 'Who you wit?' In Silliman’s case, it isn’t 'G-Unit' but the Arab Gulf States Institute that’s now his post-government service 'clique.' In fact, he’s president of the damn thing. Keep an eye on that, it might matter – seeing as from the think tank’s 2015 inception, it was funded entirely by UAE and Saudi sources. You know, it’s enough to make you wonder whether Silliman’s Gulf autocrat paymasters – locked as they are in perennial quasi-war with Iran – might have some investment (pun intended) in having ol' Doug pin the latest bombs-over-Baghdad squarely on Tehran.

"Still, setting such conflicts of interest aside for the sake of argument, both Schenker’s and Silliman’s Iran-the-omniscient assertions strike as just a little too neat, too convenient for Washington’s hovering hawks. Maybe these specific guns did flow from Iran; maybe they didn’t. However, Tehran’s aren’t the only tools available. Iraq has long been awash with weapons, as anyone who ever walked a Baghdad beat – or frightened a few families with aggressive late-night house searches – knows all too well.

"Furthermore, despite Washington’s bipartisan propensity to 'create the enemies it needs' [in order to reap profits and power, that is] – by fabricating foes that seem ten-feet-tall and bulletproof – the truth is Iran hasn’t half the armed strength, or clear control over Iraqi proxies, as the hawks would have you believe. On the military side, Tehran’s mostly weak and unable to project any real power very far at all. Furthermore, as I noted in a 2019 Defense Priorities analysis, Iran’s American-allied regional antagonists – Turkey, Israel, Saudi Arabia, Egypt, and the UAE, for example – militarily outspend Tehran by a factor of ten!

"As for Iran’s ostensibly ironclad grip on the Iraqi militias allegedly launching all them rockets – if not exactly a mirage, the situation is definitely far more complex and ambiguous than all that. This much even some senior military officers occasionally admit. For example, after the Erbil attack, the U.S.-led coalition’s counter-ISIS mission deputy commander for strategy, British Army Major General Kevin Copsey, surmised that the fusillade was likely the work of an offshoot, not the core, of the mainline militias typically linked to Tehran. He also noted the crucial – if oft-ignored – concept of local agency: that paramilitaries and their associated politicians pursue personal motives and interests when deciding whether to take violent action.

"Copsey described it thus: 'You have your main militia groups, which arguably have their influence back into Tehran, and then you have these splinter groups that are self-interested. And they’re unpredictable and they’re out of control.' Allow me to surmise that the key words there are 'arguably,' 'self-interested,' and 'unpredictable.' In rebellions, proxy conflicts, and civil wars, matters are rarely clear, and always contingent.

"Here’s the basic rub: The ill-advised and illegal 2003 US military invasion caused most of the current madness; Trump’s 'maximum pressure' sanctions and saber-rattling predictably and demonstrably backfired; Iran’s offensive military capacity is actually rather limited and wildly exaggerated. Yet the one weapon it does have – as do the militias Tehran may or may not have sway over – are several variants of ballistic and cruise missiles.

"To review, then: America’s murky, no-exit, mission plays right into Tehran’s only viable military hands – not only strengthening the hardliners in their government, but turning our ever-adulated soldiers into little more than bewildered rocket-magnets."

Context Counts

"If Biden bolsters the US military’s anti-Iran proxy combat mission – which masquerades as ISIS-elimination – it will, by my count, constitute the fifth phase of America’s 30+ year war on or in Iraq. Call it Iraq War IV. Kind of has a nice ring to it, and ask any movie producer – sequels sell, even if they usually make for awful art (Godfather II aside, naturally). The cost of the running franchise has been fatal for some 2.5 million Iraqis – bombed, shot, starved, or diseased – over those three old school-imperial decades.

"Here on the tail end, in January 2020, the Iraqi government’s American friends went so far as to assassinate the top Iranian political and military figure Qasem Suleimani – on Iraqi soil, without informing the Baghdad government – thereby challenging and insulting Iraqi sovereignty. This triggered (imagine that) a not yet broken wave of political fury within both neighboring countries. In response, the Iraqi parliament voted to require the government to 'end any foreign presence on Iraqi soil and prevent the use of Iraqi airspace, soil and water for any reason' by foreign troops.

"Washington promptly ignored the democratic will of the Iraqi democracy it claimed to have built via its absurdly titled 'Operation Iraqi Freedom' 2003 invasion. There may (for now) be only 2,500 uniformed Americans in country, but these days, a big part of what’s long-bothered average Iraqis is Washington’s use of sundry – and often unhinged – civilian security contractors to do much of the occupying."

Mercenary Camouflage

"Given the tortured track record of America’s mercenary misadventures, perhaps Iraqis can be forgiven their frustration with the ongoing US presence in their country. Anger tends to come in waves and flared again last month, when dear Donald pardoned four American security contractors – from the infamous Blackwater outfit – for their roles in massacring 17 Iraqi civilians around Baghdad’s Nisour Square in 2007. I was in town for that sick show, and we in uniform sure felt some of the understandable blowback. Clearly, American policymakers aren’t exactly known for their self-awareness. Still, it hardly seems as outrageous as Secretary Blinken claimed that some locals might fling a few rockets at a few foreigner bases – and many more countrymen view it as legitimate resistance – when their own government’s Washingtonian 'friends' just let four Iraqi-child-killers off the hook. I don’t know, call me crazy.

"Either way, all this raises the not-so-minor matter of America’s shadowy security contracting apparatus in Iraq – an occupation-outsourcing as old as the adventure itself. The combat and logistics privatization factor is exposed in the composition of casualties in these ubiquitous rocket attacks. Over the last few years, more often than not the majority of the dead and injured have been contractors. For example, Saturday night’s strike on Balad airbase reportedly wounded a South African – I know, a bit on the nose for the mercenary game – employee of the US defense company Sallyport.

"This subsidiary of Caliburn International LLC – which has no less than five retired generals and admirals on its board, including former Trump White House chief of staff John Kelly and former Bush-era CIA director Michael Hayden – had been contracted to provide base services supporting Iraq’s F-16 fighter program. Caliburn is perhaps better known for another of its subsidiaries operating America’s largest facility for unaccompanied migrant children. However, as of 2018, the US government had reportedly paid Sallyport itself over $1 billion since 2014 to provide security, life support, and various training at Balad Air Base.

"There, Sallyport has been mired in past scandal. In 2019, a Daily Beast report indicated that The Department of Justice was investigating the company’s earlier alleged role in bribing Iraqi government officials in exchange for contracts costing American taxpayers billions. The Daily Beast’s earlier 2017 investigation also exposed that a clique of white South African security guards – the very nationality of the employee reportedly wounded in the recent rocket strike – had been promoting apartheid and abusing Sallyport’s minority members (along, apparently, with the base’s local dogs). By the way, the irony of Washington – amidst an era of renewed racial turmoil at home – hiring thousands of ex-apartheid soldiers to man its conflicts across the Middle East and North Africa: well, it almost defies imagination.

"So sure, there are key – if rarely reported – contractor connections to the recent rocket attacks. Yet, widening the aperture reveals far the broader and systemic mercenary madness masking – and underpinning – America’s entire enterprise in Iraq and the Greater Middle East. And unless Status Quo Joe, and a largely bought & sold (by defense industry campaign contributions) Congress, address this invisible enemy, then messing at the margins with uniformed boots-on-the-ground counts won’t measurably alter America’s two-decade-old regional adventure-fiasco. Oh, and speaking of those masters of the military-industrial complex contributions to the very congressmen with the power to end this entire hopeless crusade – recall that the F-16s Sallyport secures for the Iraqi Air Force are produced by Lockheed Martin. In the 2018 midterm elections alone, Lockheed bestowed $2,865,014 in blood money on the Capitol Hill crew.

"Only that ain’t the half of it. Consider the scale of the US contractor apparatus, by-the-numbers: In 2019, the Pentagon spent $370 billion on contracting – in other words, more than half its total discretionary spending. By the DOD’s own reckoning – during 1st quarter of FY21 – that translates to 38,164 contractor personnel supporting Pentagon operations in just the US Central Command (CENTCOM) area of responsibility (AOR – from essentially Egypt to Afghanistan). That includes 4,677 in the Iraq-Syria sub-theater – 2,300 of them American citizens. Which is to say, contractors now maintain more than a 2 to 1 ratio over US military members in the CENTCOM sphere.

"There’s a design, and a cost, to all this. According to her June 2020 report, what Heidi Peltier of Brown University’s Cost of War Initiative called the contracting 'Camo Economy,' has been used by the US government to conceal the costs – in cash, killing, and American blood – of its endless, meandering, military missions. The proof is in the mortality pudding: since 2001, some 8,000 US contractors have died in America’s Greater Mideast adventures – that’s actually more than the Pentagon’s official tally of 7,056 uniformed troop deaths.

"That few people know this, exposes its enduring political utility. A one minute Google search offers precise, to-a-man and up-to-date, statistics on US military deaths – but I wouldn’t wish the required Department of Labor archive-mining to find contractor casualty details on my worst enemy. Take it from me, it’s a maddening enough rabbit-hole-spiral to garner a grin from Kafka. And, as matters now stand, more deaths of those once invisible contractors could end up pulling the US into yet another phase of hopeless, wasteful war in Iraq. Now that’d deserve the American foreign policy tragicomedy award for 2021.

"Look, I like context and nuance as much as the next guy, but sometimes the simplicity of 'Sutton’s Law' – a medical mantra that, when diagnosing, one should first test for the obvious – is the best policy prescription. The dictate derives from real-life famed criminal folk hero Willie Sutton, who when asked why he robbed banks, replied – perhaps apocryphally – 'Because that’s where the money is!' It’s a hell of a story, the sort Biden’s sure to like.

"And in a sense, it tracks today’s mess. Ask an ayatollah or a local militiaman why he allegedly attacks US bases in Iraq – and a clever one might accurately quip: 'Because that’s where the Americans are!'

"In other words…because we’re there."

###

Danny Sjursen is a retired US Army officer, senior fellow at the Center for International Policy (CIP), contributing editor at Antiwar.com, and director of the new Eisenhower Media Network (EMN). His work has appeared in the NY Times, LA Times, The Nation, Huff Post, The Hill, Salon, The American Conservative, Mother Jones, Scheer Post and Tom Dispatch, among other publications. He served combat tours in Iraq and Afghanistan and later taught history at West Point. He is the author of a memoir and critical analysis of the Iraq War, Ghostriders of Baghdad: Soldiers, Civilians, and the Myth of the Surge, and Patriotic Dissent: America in the Age of Endless War. Along with fellow vet Chris "Henri" Henriksen, he co-hosts the podcast “Fortress on a Hill.” Follow him on Twitter @SkepticalVet and on his website for media requests and past publications.

_____

🍵 All Risk, No Reward: The Perils and Absurdity of Iraq War 4.0. By Maj. Danny Sjursen, USA (ret.), Antiwar.com, Feb. 25, 2021.

https://original.antiwar.com/Danny_Sjursen/2021/02/24/all-risk-no-reward-the-perils-and-absurdity-of-iraq-war-4-0/?fbclid=IwAR0URXJQNDvEP5zpVqk6hlEiAGapknSZ6vhg5jHMZ_1nI-Zg7Y0h3uyuRjk

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jaebaebie · 5 years ago

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Why Us? Why Now? Why Ever?

In a post apocalyptic world where walkers took over the living, Era realised that she was different from every one else. Wanting to uncover the reasons to her differences, she embarked on a journey to the West where she met a few Strays,, including a man named Hwang Hyun Jin who, just like her, was cold, hot headed, and full of distrust. She thought they would never get along, but what happens when the two cold hearts start to melt?

STRAY KIDS ZOMBIE AU // WUWNWE MASTERLIST

Chapter 2 ~ “Stalker much?

prev // next

“FUCK!”

I knew I was doomed the minute my eyes landed on the walker through the slightest gap between the wooden planks. The corpse, with all its anger and glory, was now squeezing its way through the broken plank, clawing its arms towards me.

I shook the metal chains around my wrist, trying to break out of it. Luckily for me, Han was nice enough to tie the chains tightly, but loose enough for me to squeeze my hands through it. Painfully and forcefully

The walker grabbed hold of my ankle, dragging me towards it. My elbow grazed along the rough cement floor and I kicked it right in the jaw, sparing me more time to pull my hand out of the chains.

I yelled in pain as I pulled my hand out, not caring about the possible sprain I was causing my wrist to have. Heck, I didn’t even care about possibly dislocating it. The walker was waist deep into the attic, and the wooden planks were no longer going to hold. It was either my wrist or my neck and I would rather live with a dislocated wrist rather than die from the savage walker.

I kicked it once more just as my right hand finally got free, and I immediately stretched to grab the crowbar from the table across me. On cue, the wooden plank snapped in half and the walker launched itself towards me, snapping onto my face.

With my legs I pushed it away before lunging the crow bar in between its eyes. My stomach churned as its decaying smell filled my nose. I would have hurled if I was not trying to fight for my life against it. With my left hand freed, I pulled the crowbar for another hit, only to realise that it had stuck in the corpse’s skull.

I kicked it once more, scanning around for anything that I could use. Just above the walker was a sharp plank that had gotten loose upon its entry, allowing a new idea to enter my brain.

I panted, letting out a shriek as the walker attacked once again, barely missing my face. I pushed it back with both hands, feeling my hands sink into its meat. With the last ounce of strength, I pushed it back, driving its head through the sharp plank. I watched as its body went limp, and the sound of its spitty hiss silenced.

The door to the storage attic burst open, revealing three shocked men.

“Holy shit.” Han gasped.

That indeed. I let out shaky breaths, panting uncontrollably as I finally managed to take a break from the event that had just unfolded.

“Im. Still. Not. Bit.”

I tried to catch my breath but it only felt like my breath just got slower. Louder..? My body began to feel heavier with every breath I took and my vision clouded, causing the three guys that appeared in front of me to disappear.

And then nothing.

————————————————————-

I woke up to find myself in a bed. In a small, tiled room lined with shelves of medical supplies. It smelled similar to that of the hospitals I used to visit with my parents before the apocalypse. Like alcohol. I sat up, immediately feeling the ache shoot through my entire body. My arm and wrist were nicely wrapped in bandages and a needle with embedded in the back of my palm, allowing me to be attached to one of those IV drips I had only seen in movies.

I immediately looked away, not liking how to needle looked in my skin and how it felt. I was always afraid of them. So much so that I refused to get injections when I was younger.

The door opened and two boys entered. The two of them brought something special with them. Like the mood in the solemn room immediately lightened the minute they stepped foot in it. I looked at them, noticing the bright cheeky smile on one of their faces, while the other boy had a much shyer smile.

“You’re awake!” Cheeky smile boy exclaimed, rushing to me, “I heard your name was Era from Han. My name is Jeongin. That ‘quiet’ boy over there is Seungmin.”

Slightly taken aback by his sudden friendliness, I flinched back, giving him a weird look which he immediately noticed and apologised for.

“In just one minute you managed to scare her already, Jeongin.” Seungmin shook his head, causing the other to pout, “We got you all stitched up and we cleaned the rest of your wounds. You’re lucky Hyunjin found you.”

I couldn’t help but let out a small scoff, is that what he’s been telling people? “Yeah, I sure am.” I replied, my sarcasm wasn’t left unnoticed.

“You’re IV drip is finished, so Jeongin can take you to eat. You must be starving.”

It was true. I was extremely hungry. Like Seungmin said, Jeongin walked me to the ‘cafeteria’ outside with his non stop cheerful talking. I had to admit, he was cute. As in baby brother cute as he was probably a year or two younger than me. As we walked the halls, Jeongin told me about how him and 8 others found the camp not long after the apocalypse hit. Ever since, they’ve been focusing on trying to establish a walker free zone and strengthening the barricades around the camp.

He stated that it was a great place to start with, especially since it was already equipped with separate rooms, bathrooms, infirmaries. The ‘cafeteria’ was placed outside, where the campfire was set to cook food. He pushed open the double doors of the school, allowing sunlight to hit my face.

“Welcome to Camp Miroh, Era.”

Jeongin passed me a tray, before leading me to walk to a woman managing the pot at the bonfire. She appeared to be in her mid 30s, giving me a warm smile as she scooped my ration into my tray.

As we walked towards one of the tables, I realised that the camp mostly consisted of guys my age, elders and children. Children played with one another, oblivious to the terrors in the world around them while elders watched over them as they stitched or washed clothing. The teenagers were having their lunch, watching every move of mine as I walked with Jeong In.

“Don’t mind them, we never find girls your age.” Jeongin explained, settling down on a table with a couple of boys, “Speaking of which, how old are you, Era?”

“19.”

“Oh cool, were the same age!” Another guy whom we sat on the same table with exclaimed. “I’m Felix, by the way.”

“You’re not very chatty, huh?” Jeongin asked, finally noticing my awkward short answers. It almost felt too overwhelming. I’ve been stuck alone for the past two months with nothing but walkers and deers which I’ve hunted, and now I’m surrounded with plenty of extroverted men who never ran out of conversation starters.

Felix nudged Jeongin at his side, shaking his head, “I think you’re just too chatty, Jeong In. Let her eat.”

Jeong In and Felix began talking more about the camp, which I didn’t mind. Turns out, Chan was the leader who ran the camp, while Han, Hyun Jin and a guy called Chang Bin were his ‘right’ hand men, the three would run the camp should Chan be absent. Though, Hyun Jin was mainly focussed in ensuring the safety of the camp through training men who were skilled in weapons.

Just as I scraped the last bit of my food off the plate, Han jogged towards us, the same smile I had seen on his face the day before,

“Hey. How are you feeling?”

I nodded, “Better.”.

“She’s not very chatty, Han.” Jeongin announced, earning a hit from Felix.

Han let out a low chuckle, glancing towards me with his head tilted, doubting Jeongin’s previous statement, “Really? I’m sure Hyunjin would think otherwise.”

I rolled my eyes, recalling the loud arguments that had occurred the day before.

“Are you done? Chan wants to see you.”

I nodded, standing up as Jeongin and Felix waved to me.

I followed as Han led the way. Han gave off a different aura from the rest of the group. He was quiet, but friendly. It was comforting. Warm. A feeling I hadn’t felt in a while.

“I’m guessing Jeongin told you about our camp?” Han asked, attempting to start a conversation,

“And more..” I replied, earning a chuckle from Han.

“Yeah, he’s like that. He’s the youngest out of the 9 of us but he brings sunshine wherever he goes.”

I nodded, agreeing with Han’s statement. It was true, Jeongin’s charm was just too hard to ignore because he simply was able to lighten any of the darkest souls. Including mine, possibly.

“I’m really sorry for leaving you out there, Era.” Han apologised, the smile on his face being replace with a guilty frown, “We left you with a dog bite and you came back having been almost bitten by a walker, a sprained wrist, a grazed elbow and almost dying from excessive blood loss.”

I gave him a look, finding his rambles funny, “Stalker much?”

Han shrugged, brushing me off with a smile, “Nah. I did have time to examine you on our way back though.”

Right. How did I get back?

“Hyun Jin carried you all the way back,, kinda his punishment for being strongly against helping you.”

I let out a small chuckle, earning a bigger smile from him.

We reached Chan’s so called ‘office’-- A room with a small table and guns, flashlights, crossbows placed at another table stationed at the corner of the room. A large map was taped up to one of the walls, scribbled with many red and blue circles. My eyes landed on Hyun Jin, who was leaning against the Chan’s table with his arms crossed. The cut I left him was still visible on his cheek.

“We’re glad you’re okay, Era. I think we didn’t get to introduce ourselves properly.”

Hyunjin scoffed, muttering a soft, “I wonder why.”

“I’m Chan.” Chan said, ignoring Hyunjin’s unnecessary comment.

“Han.”

Hyunjin frowned when the two guys turned to him, awaiting for his own introduction. Han nudged him at his side, causing him to flinch, sighing, he finally introduced himself

“Hyunjin.” He greeted, clearly unamused with my appearance.

“Can you please be more cooperative now that we’ve saved your life?” Chan asked, a hint of firmness in his attempted soft voice.

“By saving, you mean saving my life only after putting it at risk? Sure.” I replied, catching the three of them off guard by my direct response.

“Okay about that, we’re really sorry. We really just couldn’t risk bringing you back. Locking you and tying you up.. we were just scared.”

I nodded, taking in my surroundings one more time. They had a big camp established which served as a safe haven for many people of different ages. They had to take precautions. Be selfish. Finally, I was able to understand their mindset, “Its alright, I would’ve done the same.”

Chan smiled, “So, how’d you get this far?”

I sighed, tired at the same question being asked. Realising that I haven’t actually answered it, I finally gave in, “I don’t know.. I ran, hid. Just the normal shit.”

“You do know having her around is just gonna worsen our food situation right? She’s just another mouth to feed.” Hyun Jin commented.

“Does everything that comes out of your mouth always have to be shit?” I shot back, “Besides, you don’t have to be worry about that.”

Han straightened out, glancing from Chan and then turning back to me with his eyebrow raised as realisation dawned onto him,

“You’re not staying?” Han asked, eyes immediately widening with some kind of emotion I couldn’t decipher. Shock? Worry?

I shrugged my shoulders, “I don’t remember asking you guys to take me in.”

“But you really should. You’ll be safe here. We’ll protect you.” Chan explained, sending tingles down my spine as I recalled the last time I heard that sentence.

The last time someone had claimed they’d protect me, I was thrown to the walkers after they took everything I owned. My gun. Food. Water. Everything. I was a vulnerable 17 year old who found ‘safe haven’ at the wrong place.

“No thanks. I don’t do people.”

Hyunjin cocked his head to the side, narrowing his eyes on me, “Why? Some boyfriend waiting for you at another base?”

I rolled my eyes, “I already said, I’m not with people. The last time I was with a group I was fed to a group of walkers.”.

Chan nodded, appearing distant and deep in thought. He wasn’t listening to me.

“You’re good with the bow and arrow?” Chan asked, bringing up my bag onto his table. I sighed in relief, seeing that they didn’t leave it behind when they decided to lock me in a cabin.

“I guess. I’d be happy to just take that and go.”

“I’m guessing you can hunt.” Chan added, disregarding my eagerness to leave as he earned the attention of Han and Hyunjin,, as if a light bulb went off in their heads.

I raised my brows, observing the change in their attitudes.

“You can’t?” I realised, “What have you guys been surviving on, then?”

“Non perishables.” Han answered, slumping against Chan’s desk as he sighed, “The camp came along with canned foods which lasted us about a year or so. But then we’ve been running short in supply despite our daily ‘supermarket’ visits.”

“..We’ve tried hunting but none of us are any good with it. It would be really great if you could help us, Era.” Chan continued.

I crossed my arms, stepping back to think about it. I had no intention of staying. I had to be somewhere else. Staying would mean having to work as a team, and I hated the fact that I would have to be fending for others other than myself. But they looked at me hopeful, and I knew that these guys were doing their best to help the others. I pictured the elderly and children who saw this place as their safe haven. These guys were thinking beyond themselves and what they needed.

“I don’t know. Having just another mouth to feed might be too much for you guys.” I remarked, clearly targeting the man who immediately avoided my gaze, “How about we chain you up in an attic and see in the morning?”

The guys sighed, almost in sync.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t know you’d be this useful.” Hyunjin ‘apologised’, earning a smack from Han as I scoffed. “Keep talking and I’ll show you what useless is, asshole.”

I let out a breath, letting sympathy take over. One thing was obvious. All of them, including Hyunjin whom I thought was incapable of caring for others, had the same look in their eyes. Desperation. They knew they wouldn’t last with just canned foods, and they needed to learn how to hunt fast if they were to keep the camp alive to protect the people who lived in it.

“Fine. I’ll teach you how to hunt. Just promise me you don’t throw me to a hoard of walkers.”

#skz #skz imagines #stray kids au #stray kids #stray kids fanfic #han jisung #hwang hyun jin #hyunjin #bang chan #seungmin #skz writing #skz au #skz scenarios #skz fanfic #jeong in

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bma-2020 · 6 years ago

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Okiedok here’s the delio. I have a list of all the blogs from the last six months who’s actively either responded to a meme i sent, responded to a message ive sent, replied to something regarding mally herself, has actually written with me, written a starter for me from my liking a starter call, has at least liked a starter i wrote for them to awknowedge it exists, all that jazz, i have a lot of open field so it’s not just a possible tumblr didnt let them no option anymore, because i send memes to everyone who posts them that i see. I reply to most peoples ooc posts. I like most starter calls I pass by. I try my darndest to actually interact bc i know how it feels to be ignored and its… i’ve been called one before so i’m using the word, thats fluffing cunty behavior, and honestly if you complain about not being interacted with but never even try when i try with you, ya being cunty, end of. I gotta list. That list only entails Mally because she’s who I care about the most. I’m probably gonna start instilling a new rule in all my blogs that if you ignore Mally and/or Darcy( @tasedandconfused ), since I would say they’re my two main blogs tho darcy gets ignored even more than mally does, probably bc i denied canon and left it entirely we know fandom hates that, if either of them is ignored then… Ya out of luck, I’m gonna unfollow you. I’m debating soft blocking everyone who ignored me on both of them but I don’t want to like be mean and deny the chance to eventually try again but at the same time i shouldnt feel bad for taking a stand and saying this is bullsheet, idk my anxiety says im awful for giving a fluff about myself but also i should give a fluff about myself probably, ive nearly died in the last three months, my brain almost exploded, i just had three root canals on one corner of my face, i have to potentially get surgery on my inner ear which i cant even afford, i dont got time to deal with only being used for like smut memes or like as a resource blog or utter bs like that, i dont got time for it. So new rules here. 1: If Mally or Darcy are not acknowledged, written with, responded to, viewed as more than just their fluffing bodies? ya dropped, im unfollowing, potentially soft blocking, which means blocking and unblocking for those not in the know, on all accounts I follow you on. Every single one. I know most of my muses are on sideblogs but despite not being able to send memes from sideblogs you can block people from sideblogs fun fact, i will do that if i have to. 2: I’m gonna be posting SCs, PCs, memes, etc. I like and respond to plotting calls, starter calls, i send memes, all of that. If I don’t get any response within.. I’m giving one week for people who don’t run on a queue and a month and a half to people on a queue based system, if i dont get anything within that time like at least an im being like ‘its posted’ or ‘its queued i wanted to let you know in case tumblrs a fluffbutt’ (i do this sometimes if i dont get even just a like on the starters i post so i at least know people saw it since i know tumblrs bs, i wait until the day they’re active to do so in case theyre busy yknow) basically i need acknowledgment at all. No you can’t claim this is abt follower count bc when you unfollow someone they inevitably unfollow you too, thats gonna drop my following, not as quickly as soft blocking would but i wanna be fair i guess, which leads to: 3: I’m basing this on your activity too, like if i like a think and you’re gone for a month after that its fine, im not gonna unfollow you unless you never come back or youre online and posting others just not mine because that tells me youre specifically ignoring me and im gonna drop you for that end of. I’m done with the bullsheet im done w the dillish behavior, i love friendship but if im giving and never receiving thats extremely one way and not gonna work. I check through my follow list weekly and i go back about five-10 pages on someones feed before i unfollow them to see their actual activity and see if theyre here or if its a q so. I’m thorough basically. 4: You dont have to be active with me on all your blogs, i mean i’d prefer it but thats hard as fluff so essentially if you have like five blogs and are just like trying w me on two or three thats fine. Ten blogs, four or five with at least a plot formed is cool. Multis just one muse is all I’d need. I’m not gonna unfollow the blogs youre not writing w me on if you at least write w me on some. Again, specifically Mally and/or Darcy. If you ignore both of them, we’re done. I havent been active on darcy because of being ignored and its a huge butt mess and im just tired i wanna use my babies, you don’t get to have my ‘better’ muses like i know a lot of ppl only follow me for my boys or my villains, you don’t get them if you ignore my baby. But, there is a limit there too. 5: If you never respond to a meme or thread even once with Mally or Darcy, or post a starter, i reply, its never replied to again after a month, I’m unfollowing and/or soft blocking for that too. Bc that means youre just raising my hopes to fluff with me or get someone else and honestly, youre even more cunty than than the people just flat out ignoring me if you do that. And this isnt a specific person, this is five of the people actually on my list. Yes, my list is also annotated with specifics again I was very thorough on this yesterday, I hyperfixated I’ll admit it, I’m in a fluffing depressionary bubble and being told to get over it because people want something they dont deserve to have to. I am a believer that people deserve good things but if youre purposefully being cunty… no you dont. 6: No I’m not releasing my list, maybe I will and I’ll omit the urls because I don’t want people being buttholes to each other too but otherwise, yall not seeing it im not giving a callout because… really thats just unnecessary here. I don’t think yall are toxic people or something i just think yall are unintentionally being cunty. And no I don’t mean everyone that follows me i mean the ppl that add up to what i’ve documented so far and fit the bill of butthat that i’ve shown, its behaviors yall gotta check before ya wreck. Yes there will be some people who have priority, everyone has those people, I write w kathryn on other platforms since she doesnt go on here as often but when Kathryn returns from war here (if she does cause she also agrees most ppl on this platform are cunty, i feel really bad saying that word so often but im gonna keep doing it i recently deleted an ask saying I was a huge cunt for not sending someone smut memes when I didn’t even follow them or know they existed so, again the travesty of this place is nutballers) same with owly, alex is here too, my most active partners are always going to be priority because theyre the ones who show the most interest and the most care. I understand that with others as well which is why I have the timeframe set up, because I want to be as open and shizz as possible while atill being firm i guess. I don’t want to have extreme double standards like its impossible for double standards not to exist at least a little bit but I want to avoid a golden chest full of them I guess. 7: I don’t have a seven rn, this was an even number and it bothered me. Seven is nust my warning that I’m bittery writing this on mobile so formatting is not real but i tried my dandest to make this look like something people might actually mind. I dont want to be butty, i dont want to be awful, i dont want to start drama or have drama but that shizz comes around anyways so i might as well make my space as okay for me as i can cause im supposed to avoid stress so my brain doesnt almost explode again, like again i almost fluffing died i dont need ppl fake being my friend or anything, i want stuff to be real and clear. I want to be happy to be on here again and have fun like i used to since my health is plummetting and I’m not allowed to go outside near plants by myself anymore because i welt up. I have plants outside my work place and im surrounded by chemicals all day long I’m welted from here to new york constantly and never comfortable in my own skin because of it and constantly see people online acting like these actual real problems are pretentious because ‘its an excuse’ when, im a fluffing sagittarius, do you know how much i want to magically be a millionaire so i can pay for friends and my own medical stuff and go on traveling and adventures, be outside probably not camping bc as a pagan i know thats a death sentence but like be outside, lay on grass, go back to swimming because i used to swim competitively and due to health reasons i can barely even go in a pool anymore because theres too much sunlight which, bit plot twist i know, im fluffing allergic to vitamin D and the rays of the sun, so go figure, attempts to be healthy kill me more, i also cant eat most plants and am constantly dying from just eating food, they dont know whats wrong with me. i cant fix it by going ve/gan for a month inf act i tried and it almost made my heart stop thanks society. These arent excuses these are the lives of disabled and diseased and to a lesser but still very real point, ethnic lives every fluffing day. This is real shit and its murder and online and gaming? It may be all I have soon since I can’t just go out and make new friends cause, again, I’d fluffing die. I get sick going to the mall or the movie theater, I miss theme parks so much but have to minimize it to weeks i dont have work so i dont get fired for having a welt while working in the beauty industry. I may have to get a degree online and change my field entirely because of my illness that nobody understands. People even make fun of it constantly online and I wish I could just drop online entirely because of how unbelievably ableist the entirety of the world is, i wish i could drop humans in general for their ableism, but i cant. I don’t have choices in most cases, but throwing away people who maybe purposefully maybe unintentionally thats why i’m giving you this warning and will be repeating this warning for awhile, this is where i have choice. I have to use what little choice I have in life while I can since everytime i go to movies or a concert or a theme park i almost die because of not having an immune system that functions or being in certain air qualities pr being near plants or unclean people, I may not have much time and I gotta do whats best for what little mental health I have, and if that means dropping people i care about and really want to write with and do things with but who ignore me then, i guess so be it.

#out.#illness cw #health cw #food mention #ive been writing this since noon and its now two pm so this is great #i’s usually put this under a read more but... maybe most people dont deserve a read more rn lol #their behavior will keep being awful if its not pointed out to them so #im done im gonna go welt up from hugging my cat and cry for a bit because i feel mean

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vampiredayflower · 5 years ago

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Bokuroo week 2020, Day 2.

music/dancing

i forgot to at the page for this in my first post, and now ive re-made this one ahhh anyway here’s my second contribution to the week : 00 ao3 @bokurooweek

It starts the first night they were both finally home at the same time, Tetsurou prides himself in knowing Bokuto Koutarou backwards and forwards in every sense of the word, they’ve been together for three years, living together for two of those years.

They both travel for what they love and it takes a lot for both of them to be in the same place, it means the world to him every time it happens, that they both happen to be home at the same time.

But this, this is weird.

For the four hours they’ve both been home, give or take a few minutes, Tetsurou has caught Koutarou humming to himself twice, twice. It wouldn’t be nearly as weird if he were outright singing, Koutarou sings all the time, so much so that he does it in the shower, making breakfast, driving, reading, getting ready for bed, any time he can sing he’s pretty much singing, whether it’s a long or to some song stuck in his head he sings often.

The thing that’s really irking him right now, not even the humming its the song, it sounds familiar, that in itself wouldn’t be weird if they didn’t have such different music tastes, Koutarou tends to stick to the stuff he hears all the time, pop music, the few alt rocks, the one-off rap song, hell even country music if he hears the song enough.

But for him, Tetsurou, he can’t stand listening to songs on the radio, if he doesn’t know the song he can’t do anything, it happens that he listens to a lot of the stuff he grew up listening to, songs his father played around the house, video game music Kenma played around him, music his grandmother listened to, whereas Koutarou listens to a song once and sings it hours later like it’s his favourite song in the world. It’s something he loves about Koutarou, but there’s not a lot of overlap in their music, Koutarou listens to his stuff and he listens to his, and if there’s music playing at the apartment it’s Koutarou’s, stuff he mostly tunes out.

It’s shocking when he walks into the kitchen and Koutarou’s humming a tune he knows, and what makes things worse, as soon as he steps foot in the kitchen he stops. Like he’s ashamed to be caught humming, even though Koutarou isn't the type of person to do that, at least not around him.

So he tries to brush it off, doesn’t think anything of it until he walks into the bedroom and it happens again, there was humming in the hall and as soon as he steps into the bedroom it stops, he drops his bags on the bed, looking over at Koutarou who's putting clean clothes up on hangers in their closet, he doesn’t think twice before he’s crossing the room and wrapping his arms around his waist hooking his chin over his shoulder.

Koutarou leans into him, not stopping putting clothes away, he watches a moment, before he asks. “You ok, babe?”

“Yep! Why wouldn’t I be?” Koutarou seems normal, not any weird tint to his voice, nothing showing in his hands, only struggling with a few of his shirts that have softer fabric.

“Hmm.. ok.”

Koutarou stops, interlacing their fingers, letting the shirt fall from the hanger to the floor, finally giving up. “You ok?”

“Yes?” it comes out more of a question than he wanted it to, but he leaves it. Dropping his hands from around his waist and goes back to unpacking.

Ignoring the look Koutarou sends him, he goes back to unpacking; unpacking his few belongings he left with along with a few shirts he had to pick up along the way, throwing a few in the laundry, he turns to hang up shirts to find him still looking at him, Tetsurou raises an eyebrow all he does, in turn, is holding out his hand for the shirts, he hands them over pressing a kiss to his cheek in thanks, he leaves, he stands in the hall back to the wall waiting, nothing happens.

He sighs and retires to the kitchen to start dinner, wiping the thoughts from his mind,

Dinner ends up being eaten in the living room, pretty much sitting on one another trying to catch up on all the shows they watch. Tetsurou almost falls asleep on the couch at around 1 AM, Koutarou still commenting softly to himself about the show, he tries to listen as much as he can, but his eyes feel so heavy.

He doesn’t notice the room is quiet until Koutaro is shaking him gently, opening his eyes halfway he looks up at him, who smiles softly at him, “You should get into bed, baby.”

He whines, pushing his face into his stomach, “I gotta get my stuff out of the laundry.” He doesn’t think he can move, he’s so warm and comfortable. Koutarou laughs, running a hand through his hair, which makes him lean into his touch.

“Hmm, I can do it. I gotta put my stuff in the dryer anyway, you just get ready for bed.”

He nods begrudgingly, it takes a few tries to get up, and a little help from his lovely boring but before long he’s off to brush his teeth, it’s only after that he’s washed his face and brushed his teeth, that he remembers he put his only comfortable pair of pyjamas in the dryer hours earlier.

With a sigh he sets off to the laundry room, he stops in his tracks out in the hall when he hears it though, it takes him a moment to realize that he does, in fact, knows the song he’s singing, so much so that, it’s one of the ones that his grandmother used to play, her playing it when she’d talk about an old flame she had back in America the one year she went, years before she met his grandfather, all with a far off tone, talking of blue eyes and blond hair, when she’d get quiet singing along as best she could in English.

“Oh, come back to me, darling, you’ll see. I can give you all the things that you wanted before…”

“If you’ll stay with me..”

Tetsurou stands there, heart in his throat, he doesn’t think as he escapes to the bedroom, kicking off his pants to his boxers and laying down on his side, closing his eyes tightly. All he can see is his grandmother who’s know long dead, singing that song well she baked, and him listening to every word with rapt attention, it was one of the reasons he learned English, anything to be closer to her, the years he had with her were short and few but he loved her, he remembers how heartbroken his father had been when she’d passed when he was ten. How he wouldn’t get up out of bed for weeks, and how his grandfather was there every day for months soon moving in with them soon after.

He wants to say that he’s unaffected by the song being sung by Koutarou, but he’s not he squeezes his eyes shut turning on to his side, he opens his eyes to fumble with his side lamp, everything is thrown into darkness on his side, he closes his eyes, even if he feels more awake than ever.

He doesn't think he’ll sleep tonight, so he waits and waits. He knows logically it hasn’t been that long since he left the hall, but it feels like hours before he hears the door creak open followed by Koutarou’s weight settle in next to him.

Koutarou shuffles a moment, before he’s pressed against his back arm around him, his breath on the back of his neck lulls him to a sense of security. He feels himself sink into the warmth as much as he doesn’t want to think about the song he does, the words sounding all too close to home, and something in him aches, hoping that to Koutarou it’s just a song, and nothing more, and that’s not how he’s feeling.

He almost doesn’t hear what he says, he feels it on his back before he registers the words, “You sure you’re okay?”

He nods stiffly, before he gulps and verbally replies, “Yes.” he doesn’t know how to get the other words he wants to say out and not just a stream of gibberish.

“You sure?”

He shakes his head no, he almost worries he did something wrong when he feels Koutarou’s arms unwinding from around his middle until he feels his hand tap on his shoulder twice telling him to turn on to his side.

He keeps his eyes down to Koutarou’s chest, watching him breathe deeply and slowly, he doesn’t dare look into his eyes because he doesn’t think he can take it.

His hand is still on his arm, rubbing up and down his arm in a soothing matter, he feels himself relax into the touch.

“What’s going on, you’ve been weird since you got back.”

He waves that off, he had felt fine until he heard the song, if not a little weirded out by the sudden humming but even that could be played off as one of Koutarou’s moods. It’s always a little weird at first when they get back, just being back in the apartment is weird. Hell not having a game to think of is the oddest about being back, having weeks at a time to relax and do their own training on their own time.

“It's umm… why were you singing that song?” it comes out weakly and nothing how he wanted to, and he can’t make himself look up into those eyes.

Koutarou is quiet for a second. He nearly looks up to see if something is wrong, “What song?”

He snorts feeling lighter, at least that’s the same, the absolute unknowingness of when he’s singing or what he’s singing.

“The one in the laundry room.”

He can pretty much hear the cogs turning in his brain as he tries to work out what song he was singing, “OH” he shouts, he winces, Koutarou pats his arm in apology, “right!”

Now it’s Koutarou’s turn to be quiet, this time he does look up and he comes face to face with a very distressed Koutarou, he’s biting his lip and avoiding looking at him, his hand stilling on his arm.

“I---ummm…”

“What?”

“It’s embarrassing.” he grumbles, when he goes to bite his nails, he stops the hand, putting it on Koutarou’s face and rubbing along his cheekbone forgetting all about his own needs and trying to comfort him.

“I’m sure it’s not nearly as embarrassing as you think if I remember correctly there was this one time in high school that was a lot more---” he jokes before he's rudely interrupted.

“No, no, no.” Koutarou says all too quickly, covering Tetsurou’s mouth with his hand, looking at him with pleading eyes, making him grin under his hand.

God, he missed him. He’s not looking forward to the next time he leaves.

Taking hold of Koutarou’s wrist he pulls it off his mouth and holds that hand to his chest, he knows his heart his beating wildly, but he doesn't care as he stares into Koutarou’s eyes, which makes his heart ache more, him looking sad and far away, even though he’s finally, finally right there.

He thinks he has to say more to get him to talk, but he shushes him when he opens his mouth. Koutarou looks away for a second, before his eyes settle on him once more, so intense with love that Tetsurou feels it in his bones.

“I sometimes…” he goes quiet, he waits. “I listen to your playlist when we’re apart… because it feels like you’re there.” he all but mumbles the last bit, he almost doesn’t hear it, the words make his heart soar, he can’t help the totally lovesick smile that comes over his face.

And Koutarou would know that if he wasn’t looking down at their hands where they’re still held to his chest. “I love you.” he blurts out before he can think of a good reply, it shocks Koutarou so much that he looks up at him, and when he sees the look on his face a matching smile comes to his face, crooked and perfect.

“I love you too.”

#bokuroo week 2020 #bokuroo week #my writing #haikyuu #fanfiction #fanfic #my work

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nightmaretyrantvantas · 6 years ago

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So I’m finally getting around to writing out a bunch of info about my Sander Sides au so I hope youre all ready--(its like 1 am im so sorry for any spelling mistakes and missed tags)

So its 1 am on a work night and I cant sleep and I’ve had lots of ideas and canon things for this au bouncing around my head for days and now TONIGHTS THE NIGHT ITS HAPPENING IM DELIVERING YOU ALL THE DETAILS AND EVERYTHING I CAN THINK OF AND TYPE

Also please feel free to ask about this! I know I got a few new followers from all my recent sander sides art and also thanks to @sugarglider9603 reblogging some art I made of their au I got the biggest flood of exposure and attention on my art ive ever had and I have so much to thank them for, for all recent exposure ive gotten the past couple days( theyre so sweet and lovely and easy to talk to sugar deserves all the love--) and its given me a huge surge of motivation and confidence to post this. And please, my inbox is always open to talk about my aus or my art! Ask questions, send requests, send headcanons or ideas, send fluff angst im open to anything and I try to do all requests sent to me(sooner or later)

Oh oh! and please id you catch any and all the little inspirations or anything let me know

And finally this au is a LAMP au with Remile and Demus on the side

Ahem ahem anyway onto the au!!!

More under the cut so I dont flood your screen too bad!

Ok so!

This Au was originally inspired by @residentanchor‘s amazing fanfic A Lesson in Practicality and also a little bit by @prettyinaccurate‘s fanged virgil au( I’ll get more into that further down)

So it takes place in a (currently) unnamed bigger city I based off San Francisco and Sacramento( because I live in Cali and those are the two major cities ive really visited ya know?) The boys are all in various stages of their twenties when they move into a four bedroom apartment together: Patton Foster is the oldest of the roomies at 27, then Logan Masters at 26, Roman Prince at 24, and finally Virgil Collins at 22. They move in together because it all works out for them really, the apartment is in a good distance to all their current jobs, whether by bus or even in Pat’s case in walking distance and with all four of them it was well affordable and was pretty nice. I mean hey it even came with a little communal balcony ( since theyre on third floor of the building)

Things are understandably a little rocky at first , i mean isnt it always though?

Virgil has alot of anxiety and so he tends not to talk really at all at the beginning unless he ABSOLUTELY had to, mostly communicating in noncomittal noises and soft grumbles, and he was fresh out of collage and barely two years into his job and out on his own for the first time and he wasnt really ready for it either like christ too many people

Patton was bright bubbly and caring. This wasnt his first rodeo with roomies, I mean cmon, hes been sharing a room with his older brother Damian(deceit) on and off almost all his freakin life, nor was it his first time living on his own with strangers(hes lived in two different parts of two when he was job hopping before he settled down in his current part time job)

Roman was extroverted loud and exciteable, he too was used to sharing his living space( he had TWO siblings after all) and before he had moved into the apartment he had tried living on his own and with other roommates while he attended collage, but those just didnt work out well ( he ended up staying with his older brother Remy in his studio apartment across the city while he finished out that semester and searched for a job to keep an income.

Logan was serious minded stern toned and confident, he had a minor degree in teaching that he was slowly repursueing and had been out on his own for awhile before he had moved in. And though cold at first he soon found his group of housemates...enjoyable.

Its about a month into them living together that they learn exactly why despite slowly getting close and getting to know each other Virgil still kept a wide distance: He had entirely sharp teeth.

“ I dunno....I was born with them..theyve always been a sharp pain in my ass...” - virgil, about his teeth

Of course just having sharp teeth wasnt bad enough oh no. You see a few years back when he was about 18 he was young and dumb and made horrifically stupid and reckless decisions under peer pressure and ended up doing something that not only pointedly (haha oh god im not funny) chipped his front teeth but it fucked up his teeth pretty majorly, he went from having a normal overbite to almost having a goddamn underbite and crooked all his teeth, and the only way to fix it( because somehow miraculous for all the damage done it turned out to be mostly reversable aside from the chipping) was getting braces to realign his teeth. So he’s had pretty purple braces over his fangs since he was 18 and they werent expected to come off until he was AT LEAST 25 and he was insecure about them. ( he got mocked for them through his two and a half years of junior collage)

Once the gang finds out they are understanding and helpful and dont make a big deal about it( though virgil gains a significant amount of more vampire related nicknames from roman)

Once they get close and comfortable around each other the apartment is pretty warm and lively!

Virgil works at the art store as an assistant manager and head stocker( a bit of a dream come true since he was an art student)

Roman works as a part time waiter at a family resturant as well as working at a nearby theater( he was of course a lovely theater major)

Patton worked at a nearby cafe and bakery as a bit of everything! He helped wait tables, serve behind the counter, and helped in the back in the kitchen( the owners were family friends and he’d been working there almost four to five years at that point, boi knows how to do everything)

Logan worked at a big name bookstore, and also provided tutoring sessions for highschool students on the side by commision

More FACTS~~

Family ages for the big families go as follows:

Fosters: Damian(28), Patton(27)

Prince: Remy(26), Roman(24, older twin by 10 minutes), Remus(24, younger twin)

Emile is 27 and is a licensed therapist and works as a counselor for young adults that volunteers at the nearby library to ready to children

Remy works as a coffee barista in Emile’s building

Remus does alot of odd jobs, kinda working as an independent for hire and gets a surprising steady flow of work and pay. Hes still a trash man though, but hes a successful trash man( partly thanks to Damian calling in favors with connections)

Damian works at a law firm slowly moving into the position of prosecutor

Virgil doesnt really get along with his family and at some point Emile offers to take virgil in as his adopted brother, with Damian assuring him if he wanted concrete legal papers to start changing his last name, cutting ties with his family, anything needed for it he’d see to it that they’d be providing(something our boi really appreciates)

Remy visits Emile on his breaks since hes literally just...two hallways down and vice versa

Damian and Remus live together in the next, slightly smaller city over because Damian’s work transferred him to a different office in order for him to keep moving up in the ranks so to speak.

Hes also good at what he does.

Family nights happen whenever they can

Patton got to teach them how to cook alot of complicatied dishes from scratch, a bonding time he adores

Roman got Virgil an Espeon hoodie after they all start dating and virgil loves it and wears it alot around the house because its a thicker hoodie and warm( though he tries to ignore the big ears and the obnovious tail

Virgil also loves visiting Roman’s work on what Ro likes to refer to as “ hellish days” AKA kids day which means goofy kid friendly theme days. His favorite was probably alice in wonderland day when Roman was Tweedle Dee

Roman played J.D at the local theater and likes to hum some of the his songs to switch up the Disney

The balcony is covered in houseplants and and a corner of old blankets and pillows to sit and chill on

Once a month Logan and Patton have what is affectionately referred to as the Cat Discourse

After any particularly rough days at work Patton tends to massage Logan’s shoulders and back to make sure Lo doesnt get any really bad stress knots

in return when Logan sees Patton’s head a hard day he makes Patton’s favorite drink and pulls him into a hug and let the older man fall asleep in his arms while they watch movies

Pat and roman sense each other’s bad days and order in some cliche diner food and hole up in pattons room with Pattons computer and relax the shittiness away with comedy specials and movies

Likewise Virgil has a knack of picking up Roman’s bad days and always grabs a couple glasses and a bottle kinda cheap wine and they end up curling up together on Romans bed marathoning Disney movies on Virgil’s laptop

and when Virgil closes himself off more than normal Logan manages to lure him out of his room and they end up sitting out on the balcony quietly talking and stargazing

so loving and fond and soft with each other

you hurt one of them you gonna get BEAT by the others.

Speaking of getting beat, never EVER mess with Roman or Remus in Remy’s proximity

Remy Andrew Prince can and WILL fuck you right up if you hurt his little brothers. He’s protective.

and where Remy will rearrange your face Damian will ruin you mentally and legally if you so much as mistreat a single freckle on his little brother’s face, despite knowing that Patton is fully capable of taking care of himself.

Everyone protects Virgil, dont mess with or hurt virgil or you have the pack coming for ya throat

aaaaaaaaaaaaaand thats all I have for right now! Of course more will be added but now its almost three in the morning and I have work at 1:30pm and im sleepy finally! But I hope you guys like this! And please, feel free to talk to me about it, my inbox is always open!!

Taglist: @phantommoonpeople @sweetsweetemo @loganberrysanders

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blondecarfucker · 6 years ago

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Bed of Roses (Last Chapter - 21)

Roger Taylor x Reader

BoRhap!Roger Taylor x Reader

Fic Summary: It's 1971. You just moved to London to study, and you find a band on a local pub after a bad date. The encounter doesn’t go the way you expect it, and neither does what follows this evening as you try to deal with loving Roger Taylor.

Fic Note: So I’ve had this story in my head for the last three weeks and finally decided to write it down. It’s completely planned. It will have 21 chapters and it’s divided in three acts: Dusk, Night and Dawn. It’s will be a bit angsty in the future, and it will most likely have some smut as well. I hope you guys enjoy it! Tell me what you think about it in the asks/comments/messages. If this is your first time stumbling upon Bed of Roses, thank you for stopping by! The rest of the story is in my masterlist, the link is in my bio - can't put the link here or else the post will disappear from the tags.

Chapter's notes: THE LAST CHAPTER. I CANT FUCKING BELIEVE. i feel like before i start my thank yous i could give you some weird trivia on the story. i wrote the entire outline for the fic at a weekend shift at work, where i always have free time. i had some smaller ideas - them meeting at a bar and not seeing again, the whole kensingon-taxi-class thing from the beginning - but there was a sudden burst of inspiration and in like twenty minutes the outline was done, and very little has changed, i mostly just added some more details. also, i imagine the reader as alicia silverstone in the 90s?? idk. i just do. also, the reader thing with new york comes from the fact that i lived there for a while and i miss it so much, so thats why theres so much detail about places and stuff - its my form of revisiting my favourite spots there. also, will (REMEMBER WHEN) was written with sebastian stan in mind, and liv tyler (in her lord of the rings days) was poppy. i did too much research for this fic on queen history, and everytime i had to change something (especially in the first act) so the dates made more sense, it KILLED ME.

anyway, now the thank yous: SHIT THIS FIC IS SUCH AN IMPORTANT CHAPTER ON MY LIFE. its my first time writing such a long story without abandoning it, and my first time writing fiction in english, so i learned so much!! i was doing some research the other day, and the great gatsby is like 47k words long, and the first harry potter is around 70k words long - bed of roses is around 60k words long. this is crazy.

it's also my first story to get this many readers interacting with me, and i'm so grateful for you all!! i thought about thanking you all by name, but i dont want anyone to feel left out so i just want every and each one of you reading these words to know: if you read my story, thank you. thank you for giving me your time of the day, thank you for connecting with what i wrote, thank you for telling me in any way possible that you've enjoyed it. thank you. a writer must write, but theres not a lot of joy in talking to an empty room. you filled my small room with warmth and love and there's not enough words to express my gratitude for you all. thank you.

about my writing: i plan on FINALLY DOING THE MANY REQUESTS I HAVE IGNORED OVER THIS FINAL ACT OF BED OF ROSES - requests are still open, too! i'm also outlining a smaller roger x reader fic where she's one of the videographers on the news of the world documentary, so keep an eye out for that! i'm gonna open a permanent taglist for the requests (and eventual new fic), so if you want to be added, hit me up in the ask box/comments/inbox!

anyway i'll finally wrap up this chapter's note cause you have the final chapter to read. enjoy my loves

Words: nearly 4k

Warnings: none??? part of their dialogue is inspired by some of my favourite movies and books like her and the wife and almost famous and before sunrise and the fault in our stars and eternal sunshine of the spotless mind and maybe more I DONT KNOW ITS BEEN AN EMOTIONAL RIDE OK I CANT EVEN REMEMBER WHERE DID I PULL THIS FROM EXACTLY. some errors too cause i didnt revise it completely my bad im crying ok

ACT 3 - DAWN

"It's the moment night time seems weaker and everything seems easier to figure out"

Chapter 21

Roger lit a cigarette in the train cabin, and tried to open the top window, the one you can usually pull open.

"Rog, it's not gonna open, you know", you told him as you watched him fiddling with the glass.

"I guess you're right. Hope you won't be bothered by the smoke", he said, taking a puff.

"I won't if you share it with me", you answered, and with a half smile on his lips, Roger lifted the cigarette to your lips, and you breathed in the smoke while looking at him through your lashes.

"Don't look at me like that. Especially if the cigarette smoke is going to leave the cabin sultry and hot", he told you, and you laughed.

"Yeah, and we won't do anything about it", you said, trying to make yourself more comfortable in your seat.

"And why is that?", he asked, batting his lashes innocently at you, you you lightly elbowed his ribs.

"We need to do something else, something we've been ignoring the whole trip", you said, and he raised his brow. "We need to talk about us", you told him, and he breathed out, smoke coming out of his nose.

"I guess you're right again", he said, then slid a bit down on his seat.

You didn't think much about talking about your future with Roger while in Paris, so now has to be the time, on a train that will take you to London and to a whole month of Roger being away, promoting News Of The World.

While in Paris, you never talked to Roger about the future, and talks of the past where subtle - you talked about how you felt with the development Doctor Who took over the years, but didn't think much about the fact that you were separate during years of the show.

You enjoyed the city, but most of all, you enjoyed each other's presence, not only going to museums, churches and castles around you, following them up with fancy dinners and walks along the Seine, but you also spent time inside the room, in your pajamas, ordering take out from restaurants you found on the phone book, having a hard time trying to speak french as Roger tickled the sole of your feet and kept trying to distract you.

You would always remember the peace you felt as you ate cheap chinese food on Roger's shirt on the balcony at night, the Eiffel Tower shining over your meal and Roger's electric blue eyes as he hummed early David Bowie's songs under his breath, or how at home you felt sitting on the couch, Roger on the floor with his head on your lap, his soft strands on your fingers as you tried to braid them while watching re-runs of I Dream of Jenie, Roger focused, trying to understand the french dubbing until he noticed what you were doing.

"Babe, are you trying to braid my hair? Think I'd look better if I'd look more girly?", he said, moving his head back so he can look at you.

"Yeah. Always thought so, but I'll have to keep imagining, since your hair is too short to braid", you pouted, and he laughed.

"Don't you like my new hair, then?", he asked, pouting back, and you moved your head to his level so you could press a quick kiss to his lips.

"I love it, Rog. Especially cause since it's shorter, it looks even messier after I pull it", you said, and he smirked. "My favourite look of yours is when you're all dishevelled after sex", you winked, teasing him.

"That's my favourite, too", he said, turning completely around and pulling you in for a kiss, his hand on the back of your neck.

But now, while in the smoke filled train cabin, you needed to make a few things clear.

"I've been avoiding this for a reason", he said, looking out the window, and you raised your brow, waiting for him to explain. "I have this weird, innate fear of you telling me it's all good but you don't want to see me again, or something", he said, and you gave him a half smile.

"I don't want to do this, Rog. And I won't do it", you told him, and he sighed in relief.

"Even though loving you is a bit complicated, I'll admit. Especially if you're me", you shrugged, and he turned to you, confused.

"Let me explain. I loved your idea for a bed of roses, a few days ago, cause it can exemplify our relationship so well. The roses feel so good against the skin, the smell is so intoxicating, it looks so beautiful - maybe too beautiful, ethereal, even. But then there's always a few thorns here and there, and they hurt so much when they lodge themselves on my skin, but I'm so intoxicated by the whole experience that I don't mind - I convince myself that it's nothing, and even that it's already part of me already, cause the thorns fit so perfectly on me, on my little stabs made by myself, by my own insecurities", you say, and he stares at you.

"What I'm trying to say is that every minute that I'm with you always distract me from the issues that come with being with you - the fact that there's a few expectations that come with being your serious girlfriend, be them always travelling with you while we're young, or eventually staying home once we have kids, knowing that you'll eventually cheat on me with a younger version of myself, while I'm too tired of taking care of the babies to even think about my sexual needs", you said, and you watched him frown.

"I'm not sure where you're going with this-", he started saying, but you cut him off.

"Let me finish, I promise it will get better", you said, fixing your posture as you start again. "But the thing is, I love you. I always have, ever since I started talking to you, you always trying to outflirt me, always seeing me as your equal. You desire me, but you also listen and see me as another human being, you never back down or ignore me if I challenge one of your beliefs, and you never treat me as a trophy-wife-to-be", you say, and you can feel your eyes fill with tears, but you're smiling. That's what you always loved about Roger. He smiled back at you.

"And because I love you, I don't want to deny myself the pleasure of being with you. I'd rather be in a bed of roses than in an empty bed - or worse, a blank bed, someone being there just so it's less cold at night. I want to be with you, Rog", you say, and he pulls you in for a hug, and you hold him back for a few moments before pulling away and looking at him in the eye.

"But also because I love you and I want to be with you, Rog, I don't want us to try to fit into this type of relationship I just mentioned. I don't want you to make me the other woman, either, when you eventually find someone so you can settle down, if it's not me" you said, rubbing your nose. "I guess I want to settle down with you, eventually, as we planned before, but this whole thing - living together and cheating if we're away for too long - it kills me, and I think it kills you, too. I respect you too much to want to cheat on you again, cause if I ever do and you never find out, I'll lose respect for you, and the same thing will happen if you cheat on me and I don't find out. And these are ugly truths, but this isn't our first time together; we know each other, we need to think about this", you told him, and he nodded.

"And I need to make it clear that I'll never be a simple rockstar housewife - I'll never be able to quit my job and look out for the kids while you travel the world and I make them lunch. I'll never be able to sit down on a dinner table on some award show with you and when someone asks me what I'll do, I'll smile as I say I'm a king-maker. I'm not", you said, firmly.

"And I'll never be satisfied with dumb spa and shopping trips as you do the actual work when we travel. If I have to live this life, I'll resent you, and I don't want that. I like being domestic with you, but this type of forced domesticity will poison us again - we're both too wild, too career-focused, for this. We've always been similar", you said, and he gave you a smile as you sighed. "I guess that's all I have to say", you shrugged, and he laughed. "Not much, right?", he said, running his fingers on his hair, pulling the strands back.

"Guess it's my turn now", he said, and you nodded, encouraging him. "When I saw you again, at the pub, there was so much that I wanted to say. I mostly wanted to apologize - it got lost as I got infatuated with you again, and tried to get you in bed - you know, usual stuff", he winked, and you laughed.

"But yeah, I kept looking at you while you updated me on your life, your skin glooming under the stars and the moonlight, and I couldn't stop thinking about all the things I wanted to apologize to you for. All the pain we caused each other. Everything I put on you. Everything I needed you to be or needed you to say. Cause no matter what - even if you had decided on never seeing me again after all this - I'll always love you, because we grew up together. And you helped make me who I am", he said, moving strands of your hair behind your ear.

"I just want you to know that there will always be a piece of you in me, always. Whatever someone you become, wherever you are in the world, however this" he said, pointing his finger to the two of us "works out, in whatever form it might take", he said, sighing "I'll always send you love. Before being anything else to me - and I hope to God you're always something more - you'll always be my friend, to the end", he told you, and the tears were already streaming down your cheeks. His cheeks soon mirrored yours.

"And now, after you so eloquently told me all your fears about our future, I need you to know something else, too", he said, as you wiped the tears under your eyes. "I always loved you for being the way you are. You always challenge me, you always make me work harder, try harder, to be better. And it's not even something you force me to do; I just follow your lead. The way you look was what first got into me, I won't lie, but the way you are is what made me stay. It's what will always make me stay", he said, a genuine smile on his lips. He made you feel warm, like the sun.

"You're the smartest person I know, you're funny, you enjoy sex, you're unapologetic, you're proud of who you are, even proud of your insecurities. And you have such a huge importance in my life: you made me who I am. Whatever way you want to make us work, I trust you. I just want to be with you, in whatever form it takes", he said, smiling, and then getting up and opening his bag.

"I forgot to give you something", he said, pulling a string out of the front pocket. You recognized the red glimmer. It was the heart necklace. "It's still yours to keep. Even though it's not in its original glory, it will always be yours. The necklace and my heart", he said, and you couldn't help but smile at him.

"Always so cheesy, Taylor", you said, joking as you moved your hair to the side so he could put the necklace on.

"You always loved it", he winked, and you laughed. "I do", you said, smiling.

"So, what does it all mean? Where are we?", you asked, and he shrugged. "Wherever you want us to be. I just hope that you keep me around", he told you sincerely.

"I will. So, we're not going back to our old ways, right? We're not back at sharing a flat and stuff", you said, and he nodded. "Sure".

"And you're going to spend a month away, all around the world. I don't want you to feel pressured not to cheat", you said, and he nodded again.

"Yeah, and you're back in London, starting a new job. I don't want you to be worried, too", he said.

"So, maybe no exclusivity, this time? At least not now. This is still debatable, in the future", you said, and he agreed.

"Makes sense. But I'll have a hard time desiring anyone but you", Roger said in a low voice, and you laughed to break any mood that might have settled. You needed to get things clear before making out in the train cabin.

"Me too, Rog. But I don't want to create any expectations of loyalty because we know each other too well, and I don't want a stupid fight to break this thing we're building together", you said.

"It's a good idea. So, no titles, too? I can't call you my girlfriend?", he said, and you laughed.

"You can, if you want to", you told him, and he pulled you closer to him.

"Good, cause I want to call you that on the News of the World launch party, that I'm hoping you'll go as my date", he said, pressing a kiss on top of your head, breathing in your fruity smell.

"Of course I'll go. I need to see the boys again", you told him, and he laughed.

"So you're not going for me, then?", he pouted, and you laughed again.

"No, I'm just going so I can meet Deacy's kid", you told him, and it was his turn to laugh.

Once you got to London, Roger offered to go to the airport alone - he had to get on his flight, and he was late. He knew you had to go home and get ready for work tomorrow, but you wanted to spend as much time with him as possible.

He looked relieved when you got on a cab with him to Heathrow.

"Big day tomorrow, huh", he said, rubbing your arm.

"Yeah, I still can't believe I'm finally going to work at the British Museum. It's so surreal, it feels like a dream. Like I'm living someone else's life", you said, looking out at the window, the early sunday morning reminding you of fresh starts - you were in the middle of one.

"Well, it's your life, and it's your job, cause you deserve it, babe. I never met someone who worked so hard to get where they want", Roger said, smiling, proud.

"I did. You and the boys", you said, and he huffed. "Guess you're right. Me and that pack of idiots, we turned out okay", he joked.

Once you got to the airport, you followed him to his gate.

You were feeling nervous - you had him for a week, and now it's time to say goodbye again.

You're both aware that the rest of the band is already waiting impatiently in the jet, but you can't help it - you hug him, dropping your luggage on the floor, and he does the same, the hug soon turning into a kiss as you rub your hands on each other's body, as if you're trying to remember how every inch of the other feels like, as if you're both about to disappear.

But the airport worker clears her throat, and you break the kiss, looking at each other longingly.

"Don't say goodbye", you beg Roger, putting your hand on his lips as he opens his mouth.

"See you soon", he says between your fingers. You smile at him, grateful he found a way with words so you're not repeating the same old goodbyes.

"See you soon, Roger", you say, hugging him again for a few seconds, just trying to capture every detail - his smell, the feeling of his arms around you, his body against yours.

And once he has to go into the jet, you go to the glass wall, and you can swear you see some familiar faces from the windows of the jet.

But before you can focus, soon Roger's well known face takes over the window you're watching, and he puts a hand on the glass.

You can't help but think about the last time you did that with him, him being on your place as you were inside the plane, moving to another country, your heart weighing down on you, filled with doubts.

But now your heart warmed you up, filled with joy and love, and you could feel Roger's crystal heart on top of your chest. He was right. There would be always a piece of him on you, too.

Epilogue: News of the World Launch Party

"Y/N! You're back!" Brian's voice welcomed you to the ballroom.

You squeezed Roger's hand - it was the first time you saw the band in years, and you couldn't help but feel a bit nervous about it.

"Darling, you're really back! We thought Roger was getting high too often and hallucinated a week in Paris with you. But I guess you did come back to him", Freddie said, hugging you by the side as he held a glass of champagne on his other hand.

"I'm back with him only so I can see you all again, of course", you said, winking at Roger as he pretended to be offended.

But then you heard Deacy and Veronica scream your name in unison, and you turned to see them.

"So you're really back!!" Deacy said, but your eyes were on the baby boy on his lap.

"This is the cutest thing I've ever seen in my life.", you said, trying to get his attention. Roger looked at you, adoringly, as you moved your eyes to Veronica.

"Ronnie!! You're so big!" you said, trying to hug her through her belly. "It's coming out in a few months! It's a boy, Michael. Someone our young Rob can play with", she said, and Roger frowned.

"I could swear it was a girl", he said, and John smiled. "Maybe next time", he said.

"Hey, Bob. Do you want to play with me? C'mon", you said, and he motioned to go to your arms. You picked him up as he started playing with your hair.

"You'd be a good mom, Y/N", Veronica said, and you got tense. "God, Ronnie, don't even joke about this", you said, and Roger chuckled. "It's a sensitive topic at the moment", he explained.

"The moment will take quite some time, you know", you told him, the youngest Deacon pulling your earring before playing with the crystal heart on your neck.

You talked to the boys and Veronica for a while, updating each other, but no one brought up how you and Roger got back together. It just felt natural - no need to question.

You stayed with Roger for the whole night - behind the cameras as he did press, by his side during dinner - where he was back at his old ways, teasing you lightly with his hand under the table. You felt good in his arms, getting back into his life.

He was interested in getting back into your life, too. He came back to London last night, and went straight to dinner with you. You were trying different food, and now was time to try Indian food.

As he ate his Chicken Tikka Masala, dipping the naan in the sauce, you invited him for a party your bosses would be throwing next month to celebrate a new exhibit.

He gave you a bright smile. "I'd love to be your date, my love", he said.

And after the Deacons went home - Robert was asleep on his father's lap - the party got louder, the dance floor more full. You could swear you saw an angular face that could only belong to Bowie pick someone to dance - was this Princess Leia? - but before you could process the whole situation, Roger pulled you to dance.

"Thought you didn't dance, Mr Taylor", you told him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you tried to slow dance to All The Young Dudes, by Mott The Hoople.

"I don't dance very well, indeed. But it's just an excuse to be so close to you in public, and God, I'm dying to call you Ms Taylor", he said, and you chuckled.

"Take it slower, Rog", you told him, and he leaned in to rest his head on the curve of your neck. "And why do you want to be close to me in public? Is it still one of your weird fetishes?", you joked, and you felt him laugh against your skin.

"No, it's just that you've been killing me with this dress of yours, and you've been killing a lot of the guys here, too. Could swear I saw Bowie checking you out", he told you, and you gasped.

"Taylor, don't even joke about this. I'd have a heart attack", you said, and he laughed. "You'd leave me here for Bowie, is that it?", he asked, and you laughed.

"Of course not. I just have a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that he might acknowledge my existence", you said, and it was his turn to laugh. "The only eyes I really like to feel on me when I look away are yours, Rog", you said, and he gave you a quick kiss.

"Okay, had enough of trying to dance. Let's get some fresh air", he told you, and you followed him to the balcony.

As the cold, fresh air brushed against your exposed skin, you heard the first notes to Tiny Dancer, by Elton John. You walked to the balcony, leaning in and taking in the view of London at night.

Roger soon took you into his arms, hugging you from behind, and you felt safe, his body heart making you warm in the cold evening as he jokingly whispered "Pretty eyed, pirate smile, you'll marry a music man" into your ear, and you scoffed. "Slower, Taylor", you told him, and he laughed.

"However you want it, babe", he said, now paying attention to the view, focusing on the feeling on you in his arms again. Finally.

But oh how it feels so real

Lying here with no one near

Only you and you can hear me

When I say softly, slowly

"I could die right now, Y/N. I'm just... happy. I've never felt this type of happiness before. I'm just exactly where I want to be", Roger said in his husky voice, and you nodded lightly in agreement.

Because in Roger's arms, you feel home. You feel what you hoped to feel for years - what got you to move to London in the first place. You feel like you belong.

---

1988 Special

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