#why because that sport will take his mind and make it a Stepping Razor

[whereisthedamndaddymanual]

People: he chose him to be his apprentice

Me: the truth is I am the master but our birth order is a little weird temporally

[queenshelby]

The Concubine - Part Eight

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warning: Graphic Torture, Blood, Angst, Violence, Loss of Pregnancy, Smut

Words: 2,656

One week has passed since you miscarried and your life had changed quite significantly. You were sharing it with Tommy now and he was very different to Steven. To your surprise, he was gentle and caring and this wasn’t something you were expecting from a man in his position and with his standing.

You knew what he did and what he was involved in. The murders, the killing, the drug trafficking. You weren’t blind and business was always on his mind. In fact, his mind never rested. He couldn’t rest. There was too much to do and he still craved revenge.

Whilst you had never spoken about it again, the beatings and causing you to miscarry, you knew that he wanted to see Steven suffer for what he did to you. But, Steven was nowhere to be found until that very cold Sunday evening where everything changed with a phone call from Arthur.

‘Fucking got em Tom’ Arthur said through the phone and Tommy was quick to put on his jacket and coat, making his way through the door and to his silver Bentley.  

‘Where are you going Tommy?’ you asked surprised as you followed him through the door. He seemed to be in a mad rush.

‘I’ve got work to do Love. Don’t wait up, eh’ Tommy said, turning around briefly to give you a kiss.

‘Tommy, you promised’ you pouted, knowing that tonight was the night your abstinence and hunger for him was to come to end.

‘I will make it up to you, eh?’ Tommy said with a grin before you pulled him in for another kiss.

‘You will?’ you asked, biting your lip seductively. Whilst you were still bruised and hurt, you were desperate for him to take you. You loved being intimate with him.

‘Yes, I will, and you won’t be able to walk straight for fucking days, eh’ Tommy winked before getting into his car, causing you to laugh.

***

When Tommy arrived at the factory building where Arthur and Michael held Steven captive, the anger within him was building and so was his rage.

He knew what Steven had done to you and he knew what he had done to other women, including several working girls at establishments owned by the Shelby family while using an alias.

‘At last, we meet, eh’ Tommy said harshly as he sat down on a chair across from Steven who was bound to a pole with a with rope. A white piece of fabric was tied around his mouth to keep him quiet while he was sweating profusely.

‘It was fucking hard to find you. But now that you are here, your father can go free, get on with business or, more so, start over again because you fucked up, eh’ Tommy said as he removed the white fabric from Steven’s mouth.

‘I haven’t done anything to you. What the hell do you want from me?’ Steven asked, shivering and crying as he did. He was fearful and believed that Tommy was there to kill him.

‘I don’t want anything from scum like you. All I want is for you to pay for your fucking sins, eh’ Tommy growled, pulling Steven up on his shirt as he did.

‘If this is about this whore your brother saved, she fucking deserved it’ Steven then said, unable to hold back his emotion and, just as he did, Tommy pulled off his razor cap and slowly dragged it across Steven’s face, causing him to bleed profusely.

‘Listen to me you little fuck. I have made a deal with your father not to kill you but if you disrespect Y/N again, I will end you in the most painful way possible’ Tommy then said louder as Steven’s screams.

‘She cheated on me and I should have beaten her to death’ Steven growled in anger and pain.

‘He didn’t fucking listen to a word I said’ Tommy observed with a chuckle. ‘Did he fucking listen Arthur?’ he then asked, looking at Arthur.

‘No Tommy. He didn’t listen’ Arthur confirmed.

‘Pull him up, put him onto the table and start with what he did to his fiancée and the whores he visited at our establishments’ Tommy growled, handing one of his men a belt and they were quick to comply with Tommy’s request while Tommy watched.

‘She did fucking cheat on you, didn’t she, eh’ Tommy then said as the tenth stroke hit Steven’s back.

‘Because why would she be with someone like you...’ he went on to say as the twelfth stroke came down, causing Steven to cry in pain.

‘He is enjoying this too fucking much. Hit him harder’ Tommy then instructed before he continued on.

‘Now, I tell you a little secret Steven. The man she cheated on you with was me. Unlike you, I didn’t force her to do anything, treated her with respect and, if it wasn’t for you fucking animal, she would still be carrying my child. You killed my child and you can be grateful that I didn’t know that she was pregnant before she lost the baby, eh. Because if I would have known, you most certainly would die tonight’ Tommy then said, pulling on Steven’s cheek with anger as the 20th stroke hit him.

‘How does it fucking feel, eh? Being treated and abused like this’ Tommy growled when the final stroke came down on Steven’s back and he told his men that this was enough.

‘I am sorry please…please just stop’ Steven pleaded as tears were running down his face.

‘So that you can go back and rape more prostitutes, beat more women or take your anger out on anyone else who is not equal in size to you?’ Tommy asked.

‘I promise, I won’t hurt anyone…please just let me go’ Steven pleaded.

‘No, you won’t. I will make sure of that’ Tommy then said, pulling his face close as the blood from Steven’s cheek-stained Tommy’s clothes.

Then Tommy pulled Steven of the table and, whilst the blood from Steven’s back now also covered Tommy, he forced him to turn around and sit on the chair in the corner.

‘If you come near Y/N, or her family or any of my establishments, I will have you killed and I will also have your father and brothers killed. Do you understand?’ Tommy asked, causing Steven to nod.

‘Good’ he growled before turning around, facing his men.

‘Finish it’ he then ordered before lightening himself a cigarette and handing one of his men a hot piece of metal.

‘This will hurt’ Arthur then said as he followed Tommy to his car and, just as they left the building, they could hear the screams in the distance as Tommy’s men were branding Steven’s skin with the word ‘Rapist’ as a warning for any women who would cross his path.

‘See that the women in our establishments receive compensation for what he has done to them. Also, I am taking a break for two weeks. I trust you can handle matters without me, eh’ Tommy then said to Arthur, causing Arthur to nod.

‘A break? Arthur asked surprised.

‘I promised Y/N a holiday when this is over. And now it’s over’ Tommy then said.

***

It was at around midnight when you heard Tommy’s car pull up in front of the house and, whilst he told you not to stay up, you did and waited for him in the small reading room leading to his office.

‘You waited up, eh’ Tommy said somewhat surprised when he saw you wearing nothing but black and very seductive lingerie as he hung up his jacket and gun holster.

‘Tommy, are you alright? Your clothes are covered in blood’ you said with worry as you quickly walked over towards him.

‘Yes Love, it’s not my blood’ Tommy said, reassuring you before kissing you gently.

‘Then who’s blood is it?’ you asked almost unbothered by it.

‘Steven’s’ Tommy said carefully, leaving you speechless.

‘I wanted to kill him. But I didn’t. Yet, he got what deserved and he won’t be hurting anyone else’ Tommy then said, sighing as he did and, just like that, you crashed your lips onto his in haste.

There was something wrong but yet sexy about all of this, Tommy covered in blood, the man you loved seeking revenge on the man you hated with all your heart.

‘I need you to fuck me, right here and right now’ you said. Your crimson lips curled, taking on a sinful countenance as your ever hungry tongue slithered forth before whispering ‘I need you Tommy’.

‘My clothes are stained with blood Y/N, I should…’ Tommy said, holding back and, before he could finish his sentence, you responded.

‘I don’t care’ you said with urge and Tommy was quick to return your kiss.

You felt small as he towered over you but you drew up to your full height and boldly ran your hands over his chest.

You then stepped back just far enough to let your nimble fingers glide over Tommy’s tie and shirt, unbuttoning his vest and releasing the loose knot of his tie.

‘Fuck’ he simply growled and you watched his eyes crawl from your encased feet, up your stocking legs, to the clasp of the garter...following the garter straps up and noticing what the frame job was doing to your immaculately bare pussy.

You couldn't help but shiver as Tommy took in the sight of your mound. You could tell just how excited he was by your swollen glistening pussy lips and clit peeking out from under its protective hood. Tommy’s eyes only pulled away reluctantly, to continue the sight-seeing journey they started until your eyes met.

What you saw there made your heart skip a beat. Gone was the selfless man that saved you as he once again transformed into a predator ... and you were his prey.

The smile that your face sported grew with a devilish delight. Finally, the week of abstinence was coming to an end and you would get to experience the beast within Tommy again.

You had no time to react as Tommy stepped close, pushing you back against the wall with a resounding grunt, his hands moving to the lace barely covering your breasts and tugged the flimsy material down.

‘Tell me if I am hurting you, alright? Your back is still bruised’ Tommy said caringly and you nodded before pulling him closer again.

‘I need you to fuck me, Tommy. No holding back, please’ you demanded, causing Tommy to chuckle.

Your breasts were fully exposed now with the prickly lace under the tender flesh, your nipples extended and aching. Tommy used this moment to exert his prowess, as strong fingers captured the taut buds, pinching, rolling and tugging them until he heard a familiar moan.

His lips quickly and fiercely covered yours in a consuming kiss, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth, finding yours and battling with it. You knew the demanding kiss was intended to keep you as quiet as possible with the maids around but you couldn't help but return it with equal urgency and demand.

You felt one of Tommy’s hands release your aching nipple and slither down to your fiery pussy. His fingers rough as they worked between the slick folds and against your erect clit. You cried out, his mouth the only thing keeping the sound to a minimum, as your hips bucked against his questing fingers. You ached for those same fingers to worm their way into your seeping hole and give you the slightest moment of relief, but no ... that was not his plan at all.

Your own hands were not still, as the nails of your left hand raked harshly against his shoulder, while your right hand found the buttons of his pants and tore at them. You needed this just as much as he did and were rewarded with little "pops" as the buttons released. You fished your hand behind Tommy’s briefs seeking what you had hoped was his throbbing cock and were again rewarded as your fingers wrapped around his steely member and began to stroke.

Tommy groaned and broke the kiss, panting heavily, nostrils flaring and you saw the darkness in his eyes deepening. His fingers still danced between your thighs and your own hand continued to stroke his hot cock all the while you dared to whisper, ‘I need you inside me Tommy, please’

With each word spilling from your lips, you squeezed his cock in exclamation. There was no doubting your words or purpose.

Tommy needed no other prompting as he pulled his hands from your needy body and worked his pants and boxers down just past his ass, his beautiful cock sprang into full view now, swollen,

Some pre-cum was glistening at the deep red tip and though you longed to tongue bathe that precious organ, Tommy again decided the outcome of this particular adventure.

His hands cupped your ass, lifting you and you wrapped your legs around his waist, your back hard against the wall, your left-hand clutching at him while your right was positioning his cock at your seeping hole. Tommy’s eyes never left yours as he thrusted forward, burying his cock easily into your lava-like cavern.

‘Oh god yes, fuck Tommy’ you moaned before you tucked your bottom lip between your teeth and bit down, wanting so badly to cry out in pure pleasure as Tommy quite literally took you. Each thrust was more powerful than the last and you knew that you would most definitely be sore in the morning.

Tommy’s fingers curled painfully into the flesh of your ass, holding you tightly as he roughly drove his member into your spasming pussy. It didn't surprise you when you felt the index fingers of his hands work their way to your wicked hole and pry before pushing them inside the sinful star.

‘Oh god, fuck’ you moaned as you bit down harder on your lip, tasting blood but managing to squelch the whorish moan that threatened to burst forth.

Tommy worked his fingers in deeper and though you tried, you couldn't gain enough purchase to meet his pounding thrusts. Tommy pulled back just far enough that his swollen tip rubbed the hidden bundle of nerves within you and sent you flying over the edge.

He saw how your eyes widened, how your own nostrils flared and knew you were about to cum. His mouth covered yours possessively again, drinking in the scream of utter bliss and complete orgasmic delight. Your pussy rippled down Tommy’s length, pulling his own release from him.

Your hand left his shoulder and found Tommy’s head, pulling his mouth tightly to yours. It was your turn to devour his guttural growl and devour you did. You drank his pleasure down as his cock spit his precious seed deep into your mound, painting you.

It all happened so fast with an urgency born of intense need. As Tommy’s cock slipped free, he looked into your eyes.

‘Fuck’ Tommy huffed, letting go of you slowly before kissing you again passionately.

‘I missed this Tommy’ you said just before Tommy pulled up his pants and lifted you up.

‘Where are we going?’ you asked as Tommy carried you upstairs.

‘The bathtub for round two, then the bed for round three and I haven’t decided where we will take round four yet, maybe my office…’ Tommy smirked and your eyes widened in disbelieve.

‘I told you, you won’t be walking straight for days, eh’ he then grinned, causing you to giggle.

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[goodgirlofglory]

A hairy situation / One-shot

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Word count: 4,3k

Warnings: 18+, Explicit sexual content, Explicit language, smut, oral (m/f recieving), slight fingering, hair pulling, pubic hair pulling, pubic hair!kink, dirty talk, fluffy dirty talk, slight soft dom!Steve, some standard fluff in there too.

Summary: You usually keep yourself neatly shaved for when Steve returns from missions, but this time things change and you find yourself with a full blown bush by the time Steve’s about to remove your pants. His reaction is quite different from what you expected (*wink* *wink*) …

Author’s note: This has not been proofread by anyone but me, so all the mistakes are mine<3 Hope you enjoy<3

The warm water ran down your back as your hand absentmindedly caressed your naked stomach. Nowadays the shower was the only relief for your touch-starved body.

Usually, Steve would be gone for about three months when on missions. This one was bordering on four, and he had warned you the prognosis was five. You were already wallowing in self pity, your body practically humming with built up arousal at being left untouched for so long.

Only a month left, only a month left, only a month left...

Your hand found your mound and started playing in the curls that were adorning it. An impressive mop of dark curls had grown there during your months of loneliness, and you had now grown quite used to feeling the soft hair between your fingers. 

Usually you kept yourself bald except for a neatly trimmed triangle or heart above your slit - one time you even managed to make a circle with a star in the middle, which had made Steve both cringe, blush and laugh his eyes out at the same time. 

He’d fucked you all the same though, quite fervently too if memory served you right.

Now, however, you had let the razor lie for a while and suddenly you were sporting the bush of a 60’s hippie.

You quite enjoyed it, and would actually miss it somewhat when you’d shave it upon Steve’s return.

Steve always gave you a heads up when he returned from missions. Several actually. Usually he would call once he had landed at the compound, so he could hear your voice and how happy you became once you realized he was back. 

Then he would text once he had debriefed, showered and was leaving the compound, and then again once he had reached your apartment complex, mostly because he couldn’t help his excitement. 

That last text was usually just a heart emoji (you had laboured hard to teach him texting - especially emoji use - so those hearts were particularly satisfying).

So you always had plenty of time to clean the apartment up a bit, shower (and shave), dress in something sexy and maybe even light some candles and put on some sweet 30’s jazz (a special treat for Steve).

That’s why you weren’t stressing about letting your hair grow out down there, it would simply take a bit longer to shave once you got the notice from Steve.

Which would be a month away at least.

God

You stepped out of the shower, got dressed and left for work, ready to throw yourself into your tasks at the gallery in order to distract yourself from your misery. Maybe you’d even get some Ben and Jerry’s on your way home.

§

You struggled to push through the front door with your work bag on one arm and a bag of groceries (Ben and Jerry’s included) on the other. That’s when you noticed the music softly playing from the living room. Weird, you didn’t remember leaving the radio on…

When you’d closed the door and shook off your shoes, you noticed the distinct smell of your honey and rose body soap lingering in the air. There was no way that had kept since your shower this morning. Something was amiss...

You barely begun to feel anxious when a large pair of hands clasped around your face and a pair of familiar lips crushed onto yours. Your yelp was muffled by the passionate kiss, and a second later your mind caught up and you realized. 

It was Steve! There, in your apartment, his tongue sliding passed your lips and into your mouth as it opened willingly for him. 

The bag of groceries fell to the ground along with your bag and you flung your arms around his neck as he whipped his hands around the back of your thighs and hoisted them up to wrap around his slim hips in one, smooth movement.

You broke away from the kiss with a gleeful squeal. 

“You’re here!?” You were dumbfounded in your joy. 

“I couldn’t stay away from my best girl any longer,” he responded with a smile, pushing you up against the front door.  

“But I didn’t get a call! Or a text. Or even a heart emoji,” you said, more incredulous than anything else. It was a wonderful surprise that caught you completely off guard, blizz surging through your body. 

“Yeah, I wanted to surprise you, actually see you when you got the news for once. I had the team do the debriefing on the jet so they could drop me off here directly,” he said as he leaned in for another kiss. “Totally worth it to see your reaction,” he said against your lips, and laughed when you slapped his chest.

“You scared me, you asshole,” you exclaimed, but you were laughing with him.

“Sorry,” he answered as he kissed his way down your jaw and onto your neck, warm hands squeezing your thighs. He didn’t sound sorry at all, teeth nipping at your pulse point, drawing a tiny gasp from your lips.

Touch-starved indeed. 

Your mind started to fog over with a wave of arousal as you started to feel down his back. The muscles rippled under your fingertips, and you raked your nails back up to his neck, eliciting a quiet groan from his throat. 

That’s when you noticed he was completely nude except for a rather tiny towel around his hips.

“You showered here? And you used my body soap?” you asked.

“I had to shower, I don’t think you could have handled the smell. Three months undercover in the Croatian black market, the last three weeks on a pig farm in the countryside. Plus, your body soap reminds me of you. Got me hard just smelling it,” he said, letting you down on your feet again as he started ripping off your layers of clothing, breath coming out in pants.

Hard indeed, you thought, as you looked down to see the tiny towel struggle against the tent at the front. 

Instinctively, you reached for it, throwing the towel off as he threw your jacket and scarf aside, grasping his hard cock in one hand, feeling how hot and heavy it was in your palm.

He threw his head back and let out a shuddering breath, hands loosely wrapped around your neck as you gave an experimental tug. He seemed pretty much as touch-starved as you. 

There was a reason you reacted so quickly once you got the heads up. Aggression, stress, adrenaline plus his enhanced physique usually meant a lot of pent up energy needed release once Steve got back from missions. You had no qualm at all being the vessel through which that energy was released. Steve would put you through the mattress two to three times during the first night back, and you absolutely fucking loved it. And you loved him, and were pretty sure he loved you back.

“I love you,” he muttered against your lips as he started pushing you towards the bedroom, your hand still wrapped around his cock, pulling at it slowly as leakage began to spring forth at the tip. Your mouth watered at the sight. 

“I missed you, I need you. Now,” he continued, voice breathy as his eyes gazed sweetly into your own. Your breath caught in your throat at the piercing blue. 

“God, Steve, you have no idea how much I’ve longed for you,” you heard yourself saying, emotion washing over you almost making you whimper. You still couldn’t believe he was here, a whole month before time!

The back of your knees hit the bed and he gently pushed you down onto your back, hands going straight for your pants when you froze.

Shit. A month before time. Fuck

Without the heads up you hadn’t had the opportunity to shave. You hadn’t even gotten your bag off your shoulder before he had practically thrown himself over you in the hallway.

You had no idea what this would mean to Steve. Would it be a turn off? Did women sport bushes in the 40’s? Had he even seen a woman’s pussy before he went in the ice?

The thought of this moment being ruined sparked a panic in your mind and your hands shot up to grab Steve’s wrists as he was undoing the button of your pants. 

His hands stilled and he gave you a confused look. 

“What is it?” he asked, concerned.

You gave a strained smile and bit your lips as you stared into his curious eyes. Why were you suddenly being so unsure of yourself? This was Steve, you could say anything to Steve!

“You know, since you were a month early, and didn’t text before you came over...I didn’t have time to...freshen up...down there,” you said slowly and gestured awkwardly to your crotch.

He huffed a laughter. 

“Honey, you know I love the way you taste. Just let me get these off you,” he said confidently as he undid your sipper swiftly and started to tug at the waistband of your trousers.

“It’s not that,” you said, again stopping his hands mid-movement.

You took a deep breath.

“I haven’t shaved...in four months...so it’s kinda...bushy” you said, averting your eyes in embarrassment. 

This was truly uncharted territory, seeing how you couldn’t even keep eye contact. This was the man who’d had his whole tongue up your ass. 

“Oh” he said, surprised, though there was a hint of curiosity in it. 

His eyes grew wider as he stared at your pant clad crotch, hands still on the waist band. His tongue darted out to wet his lower lip as he focused intently on the space between your legs. You couldn’t read his expression, he didn’t seem to know exactly what he was feeling himself.

Then he slowly pulled your pants down your legs and threw them on the floor. He sat down on his knees in front of the bed and pulled at your thighs with ease until your butt was right at the edge. He never let his eyes away from your crotch, you watching him intently.

When his eyes darted up to meet yours, they were dilated to the point where only a small rim of blue shone around the black pools of...lust?

“You’ve grown a whole forest for me, have you?” he asked, voice suddenly gone dark and ruff, and he looked back down between your legs. 

You tiny lace thong concealed your slit and puckered back entrance, but not much more. On all sides of the light purple fabric was wild, dark hair, some even springing forth through the lace. You thought it was actually quite a pretty sight, but was still holding out on the verdict from Steve. 

He let a finger trail the hair that was growing on one side of your panties, and a hum rang through his chest. That seemed like something you could recognize. It was a hum of approval. Of appreciation almost.

He took one of the curls sticking out of the lace between his fingers and pulled lightly. The tugging sensation provoked a gasp from you, and the responding grunt from Steve’s lips caught both of you off guard. Your eyes met briefly in surprise, before you both returned your focus to your hairy core.

You were starting to understand his reaction now, intrigued. Reaching down, you tugged your panties to the side, letting him see your slit and the puckered lips between the two mops of hair. 

His breath came out harder as he spread his fingers through the hair before pulling at the lips, spreading them open to reveal your weeping hole and red clit, swollen and needy for attention. Without another word, Steve leaned in and gave a swipe of his tongue up the entire length of your slit, and you moaned at the pleasure that bolted through your core. 

He started licking and sucking at your leaking sex like a man starved (which he to some degree was), hands gripping your hips and holding you down as you sqiurmed at the stimulation. 

As he worked you, you threw your shirt off along with your bra, and his hands automatically reached up to your breasts as you lay back down on your back. Deftly, he rolled and pinched your hardening nipples with coarse fingertips, all while lapping at your clit with quick and wet expertise. He moaned into your core, sending a shiver up your spine and you started to rock your hips against his face in rhythm with his licks. 

You knew you wouldn't need long tonight, and when Steve pulled his right hand down and slipped two fingers right into your cunt, he only needed to curl his fingers a couple of times before you came undone, back arching and lips open in a silent scream as you came, convulsing around his fingers. He languidly licked you through your orgasm, groaning into your wet heat as you relaxed back down on the mattress, breath ragged. 

He removed his fingers from within you, and you lamented the absence. He put the fingers in his mouth, sucking greedily on the digits. He kept your eyes in a locked gaze as he moaned at the taste, and you whimpered at his unabashedness. 

“You taste so good, baby,” he said between licking the residue of your orgasm of his knuckles. 

America’s golden boy was such a dirty bastard in bed, and you couldn’t help your proud giggle at being the one who unleashed his inner beast. 

His eyes went back to your quivering cunt and he let his fingertips gently play at your entrance. You didn’t quite understand where he was going with the gesture, but didn’t mind at all. He looked on entranced as he moved his fingers around your weeping hole, and you looked at him.

“God, what a sight,” he whispered, almost to himself. “Such pretty, wet curls”.

Your cheeks flushed and you let out another giggle. His attention drew to your face, and he laughed as well as you hid your face in the crook of your elbow. He raised himself to his feet and crawled over you on the bed.

“What?” he asked, smiling from ear to ear as you giggled again.

He was so darn cute, and still rock hard, his engorged length brushing against your inner thigh.

Instead of answering, you lifted your head up and caught his lips in a kiss. Enthusiastically, he threw himself into it, gasping when you took his bottom lip between your teeth and sucked lightly. A shiver went through him, a near pornographic groan leaving his throat. 

Oh he was on tonight 

You couldn’t wait to taste him. To feel his throbbing cock stretch your mouth, salty on your tongue. 

You gently pushed at his chest, and he let you roll him over on his back. Lord knows you would never be able to move him without his help, but you both liked the feeling of you being in charge. 

He watched you intently with those breathtaking blue eyes as you slithered down his body, laying wet kisses to his strapping chest, dipping your tongue into every divot of his abs. He let out these wonderful, small gasps every so often, his hands going into fists at his sides. 

You wasted no time when you reached his cock, only licking once at the small drop of clear fluid sitting at the tip before taking the purple head into your mouth, sucking lightly. 

Steve let out a strangled moan and threw his head back, eyes falling closed. 

"Oh my god, baby, that's it," he panted.

Spurred on by his words, you started to work your head up and down his throbbing length, pushing him further in each time. When he hit the back of your throat, you pushed through your need to gag and swallowed around him. 

He groaned, a deep, vibrating sound that went straight to your core like a lightning bolt. 

You felt his hands on the back of your head as he held you in place.

Yes, yes, yes, you thought through your body's surge for air. 

Tears pricked at your eyes as your throat convulsed around him, and Steve called out in that stern and commanding voice above you. 

"Look at me" 

And you did. His heavy brow furrowed, cheeks flushed and lips red, swollen and slightly parted. He was a vision and your cunt clamped around nothing, screaming for attention. 

He gripped a fistful of hair and dragged your face off his cock. Your ragged breath ripped out as oxygen finally found your lounges, long strings of saliva connecting your mouth to his red and angry cock. 

You could feel him losing control of himself in the way his look darkened, his muscles twitching. You eagerly anticipated it. He gripped your jaw and slammed his mouth to yours, spit and precum mingling between you in an open and obscene kiss that was mostly tongue.

He drew you up to straddle his waist with the hand on your jaw and you eagerly obeyed his manhandling. 

You splayed one hand on his chest, while the other reached between you to grab his cock and lining it to your entrance. He let his hands glide up your thighs and settle on each ass cheek as he spread them slightly. 

You locked eyes with him as you felt his tip breach you, forcing your flesh to yield to his massive girth. 

A groan escaped his gritted teeth.

As you tried to lower yourself though, you felt his hands holding you put, not letting you move a centimeter.

You looked down at him, and you saw him smugly cock a brow at your obvious frustration. A needy whine escaped you. 

"Tell me what you need, baby," he commanded, almost encouraged. 

The cocky bastard was getting off on denying you, enjoying torturing you. 

You secretly loved it. 

"Come on, baby, tell me. What do you need?" 

You knew the questions applied to more than just the serious fucking you craved that moment, and had craved for months now. 

"I need you," you whispered, staring into his intense eyes. 

He moved you with ease a few inches down on his cock, relishing in your gasp as he stretched you so sweetly. 

"Tell me how you feel about me," he demanded, keeping you pinned in place as you squirmed in his grip. 

You whimpered in your desperation to be filled. 

"I love you, Steve. I love your face, your tongue, your cock. Even your sadistic pleasure at torturing me like this," you gritted out, nails digging into his chest. 

He groaned at your words and pushed you down on his cock in one swift motion until he bottomed out inside you. 

You struggled to take in air as he kept you put with his hands on your hips, the new torture not being able to get away.

He looked on, eyes hooded as you gripped him like a vice. 

"That's it, baby. You need this, you need me. You love me. You’re so good at taking me, swallowing me so greedily," he kept repeating as he rocked you slowly on him, waiting for you to adjust. 

"Yes,” you repeated breathily as you started moving your hips in tandem with his hands. Soon he removed them, letting them hover over your waist as you moved on your own, riding him harder and harder. 

You started riding in earnest, slamming yourself down on his cock as the squelching sounds of your arousal filled the room. 

“Fuck,” he exclaimed. Your chest swelled with pride.

His eyebrows started to raise in a telling way that made you think you were actually gonna make him come, and you moaned at the prospect.

That's when he caught you by surprise, sitting up and flipping you over so you were under him, remaining inside you the entire time. 

He wasted no time before he was pounding into you, the bed protesting the vigorous movement underneath, you encouraging it above. 

He threw one of your legs on his shoulder, sitting up on his knees to get that angle that always made you see stars. 

And boy, was he right on cue. His cock punched right onto your sweet spot and you arched your back, cunt involuntarily squeezing him. 

"G-god," you choked out, hands clasping at his thighs, feeling how his taunt, bulging muscles moved under your touch as he fucked into your yielding body, bringing you closer to the edge with every thrust.

You looked up at his face, and saw how his hand reached around your thigh to ghost above your lower abdomen, seemingly contemplating.

You were right on the edge, vision blurred, sweat on your forehead as you looked on. 

That's when he ran his fingers through the hair on the top of your mound and closed his fist around it. He took in a sharp, shuddering gasp and his movement faltered for a moment. His brows raised again. 

His hand tugged harshly at your pubic hair and to your utter surprise, your orgasm exploded within you, your mouth opening in a small whine as your body went rigid. 

Steve groaned deep in his chest before his eyes rolled back. His hand tugged harder on the fistful of hair, sparking your prolonged orgasm with a painful sting. 

He gave a few, deep thrusts as his own release coursed through him and into you, filling you up with four months worth of pent up juice. 

Through your haze you squeezed his thighs lovingly, nails digging into the skin. He was so goddamn, fucking beautiful. 

Steve released his grip on your hair and let his softening cock slip out of you. He collapsed beside you on the bed, one massive, hot hand on your thigh to keep you connected.

You had early on learned that The Captain's love language was touch, and he would usually keep himself physically connected with you at all times during the first 24 hours back from missions - to your varying delight.

You lay there, listening to your pants as you came down from your high. It was all so strange, and all so good. 

You turned your head towards him, taking in his glorious side profile with his straight and imposing nose, strong chin and ruff stubble, piercing blue eyes concealed by pale eyelids and a flutter of thick, long eyelashes. 

“I gather the bush wasn’t a problem?” you teased.

The way he had reacted to it had been anything other than what you expected. You thought maybe you’d get some mild discomfort, some awkwardness and then just ignoring it all together. 

Not ...that. 

You mound still stung a bit from his harsh tugging at the end there.

He smiled and turned to meet your eyes, cheeks slightly pink. 

“You gathered right,” he said, and averted his eyes in the cutest way possible. You rolled onto his chest and made him look you in the eyes. His hands found your back and started stroking a couple of fingers lightly up and down your spine.

“Where did that come from? If I’d known you’d react like that, I would have grown it out a long time ago!”

He laughed.

“If I’d known, I would have let you know a long time ago. Everyone I’ve been with before you sported the same...baldness as you normally do. And it’s not like I saw a lot og nude dames back in the day, ya know.”

Ah, that answered that question

As your thoughts lingered on his response, he saw his opportunity to grab the back of your head and bring you in for a sweet kiss. Starving and deprived, the kiss soon turned heated, and his tongue effortlessly slid into your mouth as you moaned at the intrusion. 

You broke the kiss before it became too consuming, earning a disappointed pout from Steve as you quickly threw yourself from the bed. You pointed a finger at him.

“No, no, no, I am going to shower before you go any further, mister!”

He raised his hands in defense at your tone, but a smirk was playing at his lips. 

“Plus, I think I need to shave a bit, don’t you?” you asked innocently.

Before you knew it, he had rushed forward, grabbed your wrist and waist and hoisted you back on the bed, effectively pinning you under his weight, one wrist in each hand at the side of your face. You felt your body humming with energy at his power demonstration.

“You’re not going to shave a goddamn thing,” he said matter-of-factly, though there was a playful tone to his voice. 

You giggled at his words, which turned into a gasp as he leaned down and nipped at your neck.

“Do I need to go down there and remind you who you belong to? Eat your wet and hairy pussy like cream, taste my stain as it leaks out of you?” he rasped in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine and right to your core. The dirtier side of your Captain still took you by surprise sometimes.

Then your eyes flashed open as realization hit you. Cream.

“Oh my god, Ben and Jerry!” you shouted as you pushed at your restraint, and Steve, ever the intuitive, let you go immediately when he understood the moodshift.

You darted out of the bed and sprinted from the room.

“That better not be someone you're expecting,” Steve called from the room, and you couldn’t control your laugh as you bounded for the discarded grocery bag in the hallway.

As if...

Author’s note: This was my first one-shot, and a hell of a lot of fun. I don’t really remember where the whole pubic hair!kink-idea came from, but once it entered my mind, I couldn’t get it out until it hit the paper. I just imagine Steve being a real lover of natural bodies and natural body hair, ya feel<3 Thanks for reading, love you<3

[gallavictorious]

Gallavich Week Day 5: Fix-It / Rewrite

Right, so fix-its aren’t so much my jam, but there is this one weird, weird, weird thing that I’ve (so far) been unable to meta into any sort of sense. Namely, Mickey looking like that in season 11 while apparently not working out. It’s just… uh… he… what? At one point I hypothesized that he’s been bitten by a radioactive spider or the like, leaving him magically super buff, and to be honest, that’s still the most reasonable explanation I can think of, soooo…

Today I'm back at my nonsense to bring you, everyone and especially our dear @gallavichthings, 2,711 Very Serious words about Mickey being a secret superhero. Well. Except for the hero bit.

Read it below or on AO3.

---

In Which Mickey Milkovich Does Not Save the World

Afterwards, he would always refer to it as the radioactive motherfucker bug from hell, but the truth is that Mickey never saw the thing that got him.

He was going about his business (namely poking around the Gallagher basement for any forgotten shit he could sell for beer money now that all the cash from the wedding had been surreptitiously replaced with I.O.U:s) when he felt a sudden, sharp pain just above his ankle. Cursing up a storm, he desperately waved his foot around and lost his balance and stumbled straight into one of the many piles of boxes that littered the basement. By the time he was back on his feet whatever creature that had dug its nasty little teeth/pincers/claws into his tender flesh had scurried off, leaving Mickey with a throbbing ache and a halfway impressive puncture wound on his left leg.

Muttering darkly about fucking Gallaghers being so used Frank they didn’t know how to keep goddamned monster vermin out of their shitty house Mickey limped up the stairs to pour some Jamison on the wound, and then pour some down his throat because he had the bottle out already so he might as well. He borrowed one of Franny’s colourful pirate-patterned band-aids, and when his nosy as fuck ex-EMT of a husband asked about it later that evening Mickey said he’d dropped a can on his foot, it’s just a scratch, man, no you don’t need to take a look at it, just put your fingers back in my ass, please.

Mickey didn’t make a habit of lying to Ian, but he figured that telling the truth would lead to all sorts of questions about why he was in the basement and having to come up with plausible explanation for that when he should just be focusing on getting railed wasn’t part of his plans for the evening. Besides, it wouldn’t be fair to Ian, who’d been getting so worked up over money lately, to distract him with that sort of unimportant stuff while they were banging. Mickey was a considerate spouse.

Thankfully, Ian dropped the subject and proceeded to do his husbandly duty. Mickey went to sleep deeply satisfied.

He was almost as satisfied the next morning when he woke up to realize that the pain in his leg was gone, as were all traces of the wound itself. Mickey had always healed pretty fast, but this was quick enough to have him questioning whether or not he’d really been bitten/stung/whatever at all. Maybe he’d had more beers than he thought and imagined the whole thing… ?

It didn’t really matter, and if that had been the whole of it Mickey was likely to soon have forgotten all about the radioactive motherfucker bug from hell. However, in the next few weeks he started noticing stuff, weird stuff. For instance, it wasn’t just the (possibly imagined) bite/sting that healed far more quickly than normal; it was all the little cuts and scrapes he tended to acquire. A big bruise from running into the table while playing with Franny; faded to nothing the next morning. A cut from the razor; gone within the hour. For the first time he could remember, Mickey looked at his naked body in the mirror and saw not one single wound (though there were still scars aplenty). It wasn’t a bad thing, per se, but it was weird.

Then there was that thing with his muscles. Mickey had been in decent shape for most of his life and whenever he got locked up for extended periods of time he made a habit of hitting the gym on the regular. Really wasn’t much else to do in the joint, and having a decent bulk reminded the other inmates that you weren’t someone they could push around; letting people know that you could beat the shit out of them often meant you didn’t have to actually do it, which saved everyone a lot of time and energy and trips to the prison quack. But on the outside, exercise wasn’t very high on Mickey’s list of priorities, meaning he tended to slim down a bit after a while in freedom.

Not now, though. Almost a year after being out of prison, and he was still as built as ever; if anything he seemed to be developing more muscles, in spite rarely engaging in anything more taxing than vigorous fucking. (Okay, so there was a lot of vigorous fucking, but still. If anyone ought to be building their biceps from the sex they were having, it should be Ian.)

Mickey didn’t mind being inexplicably ripped, though. He felt great, looked great – and Ian seemed to be pretty into it, too. Then again, Ian seemed to be pretty into Mickey whether he wore dirty clothes, sported a beard, sported a dress, or hadn’t showered in a week, so maybe that wasn’t saying a lot.

But even given all that, maybe Mickey still wouldn’t have thought too much about it (he was, after all, very busy being on his honeymoon, which required lots of determined sleep-ins, dedicated beer-drinking, and – obviously – lots and lots of banging) if there hadn’t one day come a knock on the front door. At first he ignored itm in the hopes that someone else would get it, but when it became apparent that a, he was alone in the house, and b, whoever was at the door wasn’t giving up anytime soon, he grabbed the family baseball bat (even big soft ass Larry would react to Mickey opening the door with an extremely illegal gun in hand) and went to answer the insistent knocking.

Outside stood two women, looking an unsettling mix of sober and apprehensive and eager. One of them reminded him vaguely of Angie Zago; the other was taller and darker and quite possibly brooding.

“Can I help you?” he demanded, not quite as rudely as he might have. He didn’t think they were social workers, but one never knew; they’d been checking up on Debbie and Franny ever since Debbie pleaded guilty to statutory rape.

“Mr. Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich?” Not-Angie inquired in a polite sort of tremble. 

“Who’s asking?” Mickey demanded, feeling a little thrown by the use of his full name. The only people who pulled that out was law enforcement, and neither of these ladies had that feel about them. Especially since they seemed to be… excited to meet him, which wasn’t a reaction Mickey was used to getting. Particularly not from ladies looking like they ought to be out collecting for the fucking Red Cross.

They better not be asking for donations for the Red Cross.

“I’m Tania and this is Dreamweaver,” Not-Angie said. “Can we come in? It’s really best if we talk in private.”

Mickey didn’t move. “Dreamweaver? You kick your mama too many times in the kidneys before you were born or something?”

The women glanced uncertainly at each other. “Mr. Milkovich,” the one improbably called Dreamweaver began, but Mickey cut her off:

“You with the police?”

They quickly shook their heads. “No, we— “

“You here to give me money?”

“No, you see, it’s— “

“Okay, thank you, bye.” But as he moved to close the door, Tania – displaying more spunk than he’d have given her credit for – took a step forward and blocked the entrance.

“Have you been experiencing any strange body phenomena lately, Mr. Milkovich?” she blurted. “Wounds healing very quickly, perhaps, or increased muscle mass?”

Mickey stilled, eyes darting between the two women. Small, small smiles on their faces now, as if they knew they had him. There was a hint of hunger to those smiles, making Mickey feel uncharacteristically uncomfortable. The urge to push Tania back and slam the door shut was strong, but…

“Fine,” he said at long last. “Come on in.”

They better not be fucking cannibals either.

---

They called themselves The Guardians, and they wanted him to save the world.

Mickey asked what numbers they were talking and, after getting bored of their uncomprehending stares, clarified: “How much is it gonna pay? What’s my cut?”

Dreamweaver frowned. “You mean… money? As in a… salary?”

“Yeah, sure. What’s my salary?”

“Mr. Milkovich, saving the world is a higher calling and a duty, it’s not something that– “

“Uh-huh. So, just to be clear, you’re not gonna pay me?”

They weren’t. Mickey laughed in their faces, stood from the couch, and told them bye and good luck with that and don’t let the door hit ya on the way out.

They reasoned with him. They pleaded. They explained, again and again, that after the evil society USCH destroyed The Guardian’s headquarters in a devastating attack, the two of them–and Mickey–was the only thing standing between the world and utter destruction. Surely, he must understand that it was nothing less than Fate that had brought the one remaining Bestower Bot into the Gallagher basement and his path? Admittedly, injecting Mickey with the bio enhancer might have been the result of a malfunction – Tania and Dreamweaver had found the bot dead down the street a couple of nights ago – but didn’t he see that he had been called to serve as a warrior in the fight against evil?

“Yeah, no thanks,” Mickey told them, and then he picked up the bat and waved it around until they took the hint and left.

When Ian returned home a few hours later, Mickey carefully didn’t mention the curious visit or any of what Tania and Dreamweaver had told him. Ian was pretty into saving people and had all these lame ideas about service and honor, and Mickey found it more likely than not that his husband would both be upset that Mickey, rather than Ian himself, had been called as a warrior (it’d be Lip and West Point all over again, Mickey just knew it), and demand that Mickey answer the call and run off like some loon to get himself killed by evil technomancers.

Mickey didn’t particularly feel like dying and he didn’t like the idea of hurting his husband’s feelings either, so he kept his mouth shut and skillfully derailed all of Ian’s attempts at asking about his day by giving him a blow job, teasing him about being a grunt, and allowing himself to be wrestled to the floor when Ian decided he’d had enough of teasing. It was a good evening.

As he lay in bed that night, back against Ian’s chest and with those strong arms wrapped around him, Mickey wondered if it would be worth risking Ian’s reaction by going public. Okay, Tania and Dreamweaver had mentioned how he’d probably gotten a pretty small dose of the bio-whatever-the-fuck, lending him nothing more exciting than enduring muscle mass and enhanced healing, but that should probably be enough to turn him into a cut above the rest, right? He could hire himself out to the highest bidder and make a fortune doing private security or collections or stuff like that. Fuck, he’d even consider taking on jobs for The Guardians, if they just agreed to pay him.

It was a fun thought to play with, but in the end a long life in the shadows made Mickey wary of putting himself out there like that. Besides, he’d seen enough movies to know that it’d probably wouldn’t be long before he mysteriously disappeared to some secret government facility to be experimented on. He’d had enough of the state’s hospitality to last him a lifetime, so thanks, but no fucking thanks.

And that could have been it. Should have been it, but of course Tania and Dreamweaver wouldn’t leave well enough alone. They started showing up at the Gallagher house at all hours, whenever they knew they could get Mickey alone. They accosted him on the way to the Alibi, they sat down next to him on the L, and they left him pictures of puppies with little notes saying stuff like “Only YOU can SAVE him from BURNING. Have a HEART”.

It was exhausting. Fearing the retribution of the cartel hadn’t anything on fearing seeing Tania and Dreamweaver’s disappointed-yet-still-somehow-hopeful-and-terribly-determined faces appear in a crowd, or round a corner, or on the porch when he went out for his evening smoke.

Mickey began to lose sleep. He’d spend the nights tossing and turning, which led to him staying in bed half the day to catch up on much needed rest, and he was often so tired he couldn’t bring himself to put on proper clothes or go outside the door the whole day. 

Ian was on his ass about getting a job; he didn’t get that Mickey had a job, and that job was not getting lured into sacrificing his life for the greater good. If Ian didn’t like the prospects of being a prison widow, how offensive wouldn’t he find the prospect of being an actual widower, after his husband got blown to bits by some big bad villain?

It got to the point of Ian initiating a sex strike to force Mickey to get “a real job”, which struck Mickey as really fucking unfair, considering how all he was trying to do was make sure Ian even had a husband to refuse to fuck.

Enough was enough. Something had to be done. Fortunately for Mickey – and unfortunately for Tania and Dreamweaver – Mickey had a guy for everything. As annoying as The Guardians were, Mickey didn’t have the heart to see them killed, but he figured that having them kidnapped and shipped off to some sweatshop on the other side of the world would serve the same purpose. He felt a little bad about it, sure, but he had given them plenty of chances to fuck off. Not his fault they couldn’t respect a fucking boundary.

Mickey called Johnny, told him the score, and a few night later Johnny called Mickey to tell him it was done.

It was done. Over. Mickey would finally be able go about his life in peace again, giving all his attention to his husband and doing his outmost to make him the happiest man alive every single day, even when Ian was annoying as hell and started asking pointless fucking questions about how Mickey was in such great shape even though he never did as much as one single curl up.

I see. So… you’re telling me that you have secret superpowers.

Yeah. Except, not actually secret anymore. ‘Cause, you know, you told me we shouldn’t have secrets.

… yeah, that was three months ago.

Guess it must have slipped my mind, huh.

Must have. But let me get this straight: you couldn’t get a real job because you were busy dodging secret agents, and your muscles are the result of you getting bitten by some magic robot—

Radioactive motherfucker bug from hell.

—and not you sneaking down to the basement to do weights and cardio almost every day?

… oh.

Yeah, oh. Carl told me about it, asshole. He noticed you using some of the stuff down there. Don’t get why you’d wanna keep that a secret though?

…

Mick. We have to be honest with each other, remember?

Jesus Christ, I don’t know, okay? I don’t know.

Okay.

Guess the first time was back when you had that dip a couple of months after the wedding. Few times after that, if we had a fight or whatever and I needed to let off some steam. Then you started working and sometimes I got bored watching TV all day but you were all mopey about your shitty job and me not having any and you have this thing about your body—

I don’t have a thing about my body.

­—so I didn’t really wanna rub your face in me having all that time to work out when you could barely squeeze in dozen push-ups in the evening. And I guess I didn’t really want anyone to know that I… cared, or whatever.

Cared? About what? Being healthy? Looking good? Being strong?

Whatever, man, I told I don’t fucking know. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, ‘cause it was a radioactive motherfucker bug from hell that did it.

Of course it was. Come here. Show me what that bio enhanced body of yours can do.

---

Ahahahahahaha, would you look at that. I tried to meta it anyway. 😭😭😭

You might reasonably ask about Mickey’s visit to Kev Fit – how does that fit? WELL, I rather imagine that whatever Mickey does in that basement is enough to keep him fit but still not SUPER hardcore? So when he starts worrying about Ian thinking him weaker than, he decides to take it up a notch and do it properly in a real(ish) gym? And his comment about “not remembering how much working out sucks” is part of the whole “not wanting anyone to know this is something I care to do on the regular”… Yeah, it’s pretty weak. All in all, I’d say the radioactive motherfucker bug from hell is still our best bet. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

This is probably the last time I have one of them tell the other a story this week, but I make no promises. These little ficlets don’t tend to go as planned. (Ha! She said, as if there was a plan to begin with. Oh, well. I guess it’s working out so far.)

[chloelucia13]

Part 3: Eye of the Hurricane

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Prompt: After your breakup with Spencer, you tried everything in your power to forget him, to grow from what happened. However, life (especially yours) doesn’t work that way 

Warnings: a lot more angst, language, violence, gore, kidnapping, mentions of death, it’s a doozy

Word Count: 6406

A/N: And here’s part 3! This one is by far the darkest, so I would advise not reading if you’re sensitive to anything mentioned in the warnings. This part involves the kidnapping of Maeve, but if you noticed, I didn’t put death in the warnings because (unlike literally everyone in television and movies) I won’t be using any woman’s death to further a man’s character arc. 

Tags: @sojournmichael​

Part one, part two 

It had been a month.

A month of pain, of heartache so unbelievably miserable that at one point you thought you were having a heart attack.

But you couldn’t stop yourself from thinking of him, thinking of every detail about him.

His laugh echoed in your mind, the sound that was once so sweet but now left a bitter taste on your tongue.

Each night, as you tried to lull yourself to sleep, you retraced the steps up to his apartment. Through the double doors, past the second pair of doors that separated the mailboxes from the rest of the apartments, into the entryway, up the flight of fifteen wooden steps, turn to the right, second door on the left. 

You wondered if this was how Spencer felt, able to recall any memory at will with great detail.

You wondered if he had even thought of you at all. 

Stop.

With a sigh, you pushed yourself to your feet to get another cup of tea, your blanket wrapped snugly around your shoulders. The warmth of the water radiating through the ceramic and caressing your fingers was the only thing that kept you aware, in the moment.

You tossed your old tea bag in the trash and retrieved a new one, plopping it in the water before carrying the mug back over to your perch, the place in your apartment that you rarely left these days.

After he left, the apartment felt so... big. So vast and empty and haunting that you confined yourself to a small area and didn’t stray away from it.

You felt like Ed Gein, boarding yourself up into one area of your home and living like a hermit.

But instead of the memories of your parents haunting you, confining you into a small area, it was Spencer. 

You couldn’t make yourself clean up his things that were scattered about your apartment. His razor on your bathroom sink, his mug in your kitchen cabinet, his clothes in the top two drawers of the dresser in your bedroom. That wasn’t to mention the dozens of pictures of the two of you hung up on the walls, tucked into the corners of the vanity in your room, placed on your bedside table. 

He had made his home inside your apartment to the point that it no longer felt like your apartment.

So there you sat, perched on your couch that sat against your wall, your legs pulled up to your chest as your body was turned to look out the open window behind the couch, a mug cupped in your hands and permanent bags under your eyes.

The smell of rain wafted into your apartment. Petrichor. 

That was the only word you had said in the past three days. Your voice was hoarse from disuse, and it felt alien on your tongue.

Every word felt alien on your tongue, as if you were speaking a language you didn’t know. As if you were possessed, spewing out a dead dialect that you spat from your mouth like venom.

For the first few weeks, people bombarded you with calls. Penelope, JJ, Alex, even Derek. Even Emily. It seemed like everyone knew, and everyone wanted to help you in any way you can. However, you just pushed them away, assuring them that you were fine. 

It seems that they got the hint, for the most part, as you now only received the stray text from Penelope, asking if you wanted her to come over or if you needed her to go grocery shopping for you.

No matter how much you let yourself wallow and suffer at night and on weekends, you knew that you still had a responsibility and hundreds of patients who relied on you.

Going to work seemed to be the only thing you did nowadays (well, outside of your house, that is). And as strange as it sounds, talking to the patients you knew so well seemed to help pull you out of that rut, at least for the moment.

Helping people was your pride and joy, even though you weren’t able to help yourself.

Before you knew it, you had already drained your second cup of tea. With a sigh, you placed the mug on the coffee table and rose to your feet to draw the window closed.

This was your least favorite time of night. Once the window was closed, the hustle and bustle of Washington D.C. immediately faded away to static silence, making you feel like you were in a soundproof room with all of your thoughts screaming at you.

And screaming was never easy to sleep through.

***

Your cheeks were warm when you woke up.

Tonight was one of the “better” nights, one where you dreamt of kisses being exchanged and holding one another being held in safe, comforting arms. Though it did nothing to help you move on, it was much preferred to the nightmares you were used to. Nightmares that held screaming and venomous words and one final gunshot that rang in your ears when you woke up in a cold sweat.

You pressed “stop” on your alarm before reluctantly rising from your couch and wrapping your blanket around your shoulders, feeling a strange chill flow through the room. With a palm pressed to your closed eye, you wandered into your kitchen and grabbed a bagel, placing it between your teeth as you filled up a glass of water. 

A small creak in your bedroom made the hair on the back of your neck stand on end. You spat the bagel out of your mouth and pulled a knife from your knife block with quivering hands, the familiar feeling of panic settling in your chest. “Hello?” you shouted, knuckles flooding white.

There was silence, and after a moment of waiting, you let out a sigh and placed the knife back down on the counter. God, why am I being so paranoid?

You chugged down the glass of water before clutching onto your blanket with both hands, holding it securely around your shoulders as you glanced around the room.

The window was open.

“God, I’m such an idiot,” you whispered, shuffling your feet over to the window and pushing it shut, listening to the nearly-silent sealing sound that the window breathed out before flipping the latch, locking it in place.

And then your back collided with your hardwood floor, all the air leaving your lungs and a stinging sensation beginning to burn along your scalp. 

A gasp fell from your lips as a foot stood on your stomach, pinning you in place as a hand clutched the neck of a full wine bottle, swinging it down and having it connect against your temple before your vision faded to black.

***

With a sputtering cough, you came to, eyes darting around the room with panic. “Good, you’re both awake!” a woman’s voice hummed, stepping in front of you and staring you in the eye. “Now we just need one more.”

“What are you doing?” you hissed, not daring to break eye contact. “What’s going on?”

She scoffed. “Y/N, for having a doctorate in psychology, you’re not that bright.” She stepped out of your viewpoint, revealing another woman who seemed to be in the same predicament as you. Your eyes glanced her over before you turned your head to look at the other woman. “I’ll be back. You two behave now.”

With a smirk, she stepped stepped out the door.

You waited for her footsteps to fade away before scooting your chair over to the other woman, examining her bindings and her face. “We’re gonna get out of here,” you immediately reassured her. “Did she say why you’re here?”

She searched your face, a crease in her brow and water in her eyes. “She-she said I took something from her,” she whispered, biting down on her lower lip.

You nodded, tugging your wrists against your binds for a moment. “What’s your name?”

“Maeve.”

Oh my god.

The puzzle pieces started to fit together in your mind as you examined her once more.

Pretty dark brown hair tied up into a ponytail with bangs and strands of hair to frame her face. A pretty cardigan and shirt with jeans. A pretty face. A pretty body.

Pretty.

“What?” she urged, taking note of the look that settled upon your face. “What’s wrong?”

You shook your head, quickly blinking the tears away. “Oh, it’s nothing. That name, I-it’s just... familiar.” You gulped, forcing a smile on your face. “We’re gonna get out of here, Maeve. You’re gonna be just fine.”

Her lower lip trembled, but she nodded. “Okay.”

You nodded with her, glancing around the room. “What do you do for work, Maeve?”

She gulped, letting out a shuddering breath. “I’m a geneticist.”

Pretty and smart. Good going, Spence.

“Your name is Y/N?” she asked, pulling you from your spiral.

You nodded. “Yeah, it is.”

“What do you do for work, Y/N?” A small smile sat on your lips. “I’m a psychologist.”

She gave you a smile in return. “That sounds like an amazing job.”

“Well, it’s not as cool as being a geneticist, but it’s pretty nice.”

That earned a chuckle from her before her lips pressed together, forming a thin line. 

The rest of the time that you two were alone, you were both silent. 

***

It had been about an hour before the woman returned, now with a limp body in her arms. You could hear the thump of the body as she dragged it up the flight of stairs and into the room you and Maeve were tucked away in. 

It was a man’s body, and by the way Maeve’s breath audibly fled from her lungs, it was one that she knew.

The woman situated the man in another rolling chair, binding his wrists with zip ties in the same way that yours were bound.

you could assume by the blood on his temple that he was also knocked out like you were, and you knew that if either of you didn’t get help for the definite concussions both of you sported, things would be going downhill fairly quickly.

He woke up within moments, a groan falling from his lips. This alerted the woman of his new awareness, as she walked over to him, placing her hand on his shoulder. “You know,” she sighed, “I couldn’t understand it, Bobby. I really couldn’t.” She stopped in front of him, crouching down and whispering in his ear, “You could have had me. Instead you wanted that.”

She grabbed the arms of Bobby’s chair and spun him around, forcing him to face Maeve, who was only feet from him. Tears were dripping down her face, the look that mirrored that of a kicked puppy on her face.

“Maeve?” he whispered, to which she nodded.

“I’m so sorry,” she cried, casting her gaze to the ground. 

“Why are you doing this! Why!”

“Let’s just say, Maeve here has a habit of taking things from people,” the woman hissed before snapping her gaze to you, holding the barrel of a gun against Bobby’s temple. “Isn’t that right, Y/N?”

Your heart dropped to your shoes and bile rose in your esophagus. You shook your head fervently. “No,” you choked out.

“No? Are you sure? Because from what I know, I think she has.”

“Y/N, what is she talking about?” Maeve urged, and you looked over at her with tear-blurred vision.

“Maeve already took Bobby from me, but she also took someone from both of us.”

“Shut up!” you screamed, clenching your teeth.

She just chuckled, walking away from Bobby and stepping over to you, her gun now trained on you. “Oh come on, Y/N. Tell me, how long were you and Spencer together? How much did she take away from you?”

“What?” Maeve gasped out, her eyes growing wide as she examined your profile.

“We were together for almost a year,” you finally breathed out, tilting your head up to the ceiling to try and keep the tears at bay. 

“See, Y/N? She took him from you, and then me. It’s all her fault.”

“You never had him, you sick bitch.” You shook your head before directing your gaze on the woman. “None of this is her fault. She didn’t know. But this...” With your limited range of hand movements, you circled your hand around the room. “This is all your fault.”

“No, don’t you dare turn this on me!” she shrieked. “This is all her fault! She took my life from me!” Her demeanor instantly changed, becoming calm and collected, though her voice wavered slightly. “So, I decided, if I can’t have my life, I’m gonna take hers.” 

The woman cocked her gun, and your brain worked a mile a moment to try and distract her. 

“What are you talking about? She did nothing to you! We did nothing to you!” Bobby shouted out. “Maeve, what is she talking about?”

“I-I don’t know. I don’t know who she is,” she stuttered out, her chest rising and falling with rapid breaths.

“After hunting her for ten months, after stealing her man-” she gestured to Bobby- “After her stealing your man-” she pointed at you- “I had to stop and say, what is so freaking special about her? I couldn’t see it. Until I saw him.”

“Him who?” Bobby huffed.

“The night you followed her, I followed you. And I saw him.” You worked quickly to try and connect the puzzle that was lying in front of you, your jaw dropping when you finally realized. 

“I want what they have,” she concluded. “What Y/N and him had. I want him.”

“That’s why you’re doing this?” Bobby scoffed, challenging her. “Because of this stupid FBI agent?”

“That stupid FBI agent is the reason you’re still alive!” 

As she directed her attention back to Bobby, Maeve turned to face you. “I’m so sorry,” she mouthed, guilt-ridden. You just shook your head and gave her a pained smile.

“You’re gonna get them to tell me about him,” the woman continued, jamming her gun into Bobby’s neck.

“I don’t want to hear what she has to say,” he shouted back as his resolve began to crumble, his lower lip quivering.

“I know. But it wasn’t a request.”

He just clenched his jaw, unwilling to speak. She let out a huff before stomping over to a table behind you, shuffling through a few papers before walking back over to Maeve, crouching between you and her with a stack of papers in her hand.

“So, let’s talk about this, hmm?” She grinned at Maeve. “Because this I didn’t expect.” She glanced between you and Bobby. “Oh, I’m sorry. let me catch you two up. I found these letters in Maeve’s loft. And I guess she didn’t get around to sending this one, and... It’s really good.” She cleared her throat before speaking. “’I bought the blindfold today. I can’t wait to use it.’ Blindfold.”

At this point, your teeth were so tightly clenched together that you were sure your teeth were going to shatter.

“You know, I thought I knew your fiancee. But I guess she’s kinkier than we thought.” “It’s not what you think,” Maeve’s voice hummed, and you noticed how her eyes flashed over to you for a moment.

“’It’s not what you think’ is girl code for ‘it’s exactly what you think.’”

“No, it’s not what you think.”

“Did you sleep with him?”

“I never even saw him.”

“Why risk your life to meet him?” “I’ve been alone for so long, I just wanted to be with somebody. But if I knew about...”

“You could’ve been with Bobby.”

“It was different with him.”

“Different how?”

“He was just...”

“he was just what Maeve?” Bobby pushed, his fuse growing shorter by the second.

“When we would talk, I would... It was effortless,” Maeve breathed out, and you couldn't help but notice the glimmer in her eye when she thought of Spencer.

“That is so interesting,” the woman deadpanned, pushing herself to her feet and rushing over to Bobby, waving her gun around erratically. “You see, when men cheat, it’s below the belt. But when women cheat, it’s above the neck.”

“No, we were broken up. I never cheated on you.”

“But someone cheated on someone.” The woman stared between you and Maeve as she spoke.

“I told you it wasn’t her fault!” you hissed, thrashing your arms in your binds.

“You never really loved me, did you?” Bobby spoke up. “Not like you loved him, anyways.”

The woman feigned an empathetic look, sinking to her knees in front of Bobby. “Now you know how I felt, to be ignored, cast aside. It’s not fun, is it?”

As she spoke, bile rose in your throat. You hated how much you understood exactly what she was saying. You were like her, in a loveless relationship with a man who was too focused on another woman.

No, don’t think like that.

“Let us go, goddammit!” Bobby shouted, startling you out of your thoughts. “What else do you want?”

“Oh, so, so much more,” she hummed sweetly, walking back over to Maeve and standing behind her. “You had him eating out of the palm of your hand every Sunday, and he never even saw your face. I have to admit, that takes skill. That takes finesse.” She turned to look at you. “how does it feel, Y/N? Knowing Spencer was in love with a woman he had never met, ever even seen, when he still had you?”

“Shut up,” you spat through your teeth.

She just chuckled, pushing Maeve’s chair forward so her and Bobby were facing each other, so close that her knees were touching his. “How’d you do it, Maeve? I think your audience would like to know.”

Maeve stayed silent, her lips pressed together tightly.

“Hello!” the woman shouted. “Doctor, are you in there? Seriously? Ok, fine.” With a jerk of her hand, she fired a round into the ground, the gun settled between Maeve and Bobby. You all flinched from the noise, and adrenaline coursed through your veins. You tugged harder at your binds.

“Just tell her,” Bobby demanded.

“There was a moment when you had him. When you knew you had him. What was it?”

“Euclidean geometry,” Maeve breathed out finally, her voice trembling, but you couldn’t tell if it was from terror or from sadness. “There’s this thing called the Penrose triangle. He told me a story about how he tried to build one when he was 8.”

“This better get sexy quick. I’m getting bored,” the woman hummed, her hip jutted out.

“You can’t build it. It’s an impossible physical structure. It only exists in conceptual geometry. But I said every Penrose triangle has its thorns. he laughed. It was a stupid pun, but he laughed.”

“That’s it.” She huffed, grabbing the arms of Maeve’s chair and turning Maeve so her back was facing Bobby. “I finally sees what he sees. He sees you as an equal. That’s it, isn’t it?” The woman turned to face you. “How do you feel about that.”

You gulped, thinking for a moment. You decided that if you played her game, you’d gain more time, so with a sigh, you spoke the words that had plagued your mind when Maeve spoke: “I don’t think I can remember the last time I heard him laugh.”

The woman’s lips pursed, clearly satisfied, and she rose to her feet. “Well, I know his secret now. As long as he can see me as his equal, he can love me. Like he loved you two.”

“Great, you figured it out,” Bobby deadpanned. “Now, please, will you let us go?”

“No.” She walked over to him, glaring down at him. “I have to show her that I can take everything she has. Then she’s going to remember me. And  I can get what she took from me. You, however, are superfluous.” She grabbed Bobby’s chair and wheeled him back, pushing the back of his chair against the back of Maeve’s. “Sorry, Bobby. You’ve always been runner up in this beauty pageant.”

“Wait, Wait, wait, wait,” Bobby begged, and you watched in horror as the woman solidly pressed the barrel of the gun against Bobby’s temple. “Please, Maeve...”

“Don’t hurt him,” Maeve urged. “Please! Please don’t hurt him. Don’t hurt him.”

But it was to no avail.

You squeezed your eyes shut as a gunshot rang through the empty warehouse, biting your tongue so hard to keep from screaming that the bitter taste of iron flooded your mouth.

You were all silent as the woman pulled the chair that held Bobby’s lifeless body, dragging it into a room that branched off from the main room that you were being held in. 

“You still don’t know who I am, do you?” the woman sighed, leaning against a desk. 

“No,” Maeve stated simply, though her voice revealed that she was still shaken. “I’ve tried and tried to remember and I can’t. But whatever I did to you, I’m sorry. Forgive me. Tell me what it is you want me to say to you and I’ll say it.”

“Why am I here?” you spoke up, your breath nearly hitching when you felt the zipties give a little.

“Because I needed Maeve to see everyone she ruined,” the woman said, not even sparing a glance at you. “And because Spencer still loves you, and if Maeve wouldn’t lead him here, you definitely would.”

“What makes you think he still loves me? I don’t know if you remember, but he left me. He doesn’t want me.”

“Oh honey, don’t be so naive.”

“I just want this to be over,” Maeve breathed out, which clearly caught the woman’s attention.

“I can do that.” Slowly, the woman grabbed a pair of wire cutters and rushed over to Maeve, clipping the zipties around Maeve’s wrists. “You just have to do something for me first.”

Maeve could barely nod before the woman yanked Maeve out of her chair, pushing her out of the room and out of your sight.

A bad feeling settled in the pit of your stomach, and you scooted over to the table where the woman laid all of her gear. Your eyes searched through the items as you tried your hardest to yank just one hand free from its binds.

Finally, after a minute or so of pulling, you pulled so hard that your hand slipped out. You let out a small cry of pain, tears welling in your eyes as your hand throbbed. It was definitely dislocated, but you pushed on, grabbing onto the wire cutters with all the strength you could muster and cutting your other hand free.

The echoing of footsteps coming from the stairwell startled you slightly, rushing to put the wire cutters back into place before moving back to your original spot, acting as if your hands were still bound. 

The woman yanked Maeve into the room, tossing her into her chair and strapping her wrists down with one hand while the other held her phone. You shot Maeve a quizzical look, wondering what happened to her while she was gone. She just shook her head, biting down on her lower lip to keep from crying out. 

Meanwhile, the woman typed on her phone before holding it next to Maeve’s mouth. 

“Hello?”

You thought you were about to vomit.

What did Spencer get himself into?

“Hey, it’s me,” Maeve spoke, her face ridden with guilt as she risked a glance at you.

“Are you okay?”

“She killed Bobby.” “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. We’ve both got concussions and some bruising, but we’re okay.”

“We?”

He didn’t even know you were there. He didn’t care.

You couldn’t help but notice the twisted smile on the woman’s face at Spencer’s words. Meanwhile, Maeve looked at if she was about to burst at any moment, so filled with guilt and misery that she could barely handle it. 

“Y/N’s here with me,” Maeve sobbed out.

He was silent, but you could practically hear all of the thoughts running through his mind. “Can... Can I talk to her?” he spoke finally.

The woman smirked, stepping away from Maeve and going over to you. You silently prayed that she wouldn’t notice your freed wrists, holding your breath as she finally put the receiver near your mouth. 

“Hi Spencer,” you choked out, squeezing your eyes shut.

“I... I’m so sorry.”

You sniffled, but stayed silent, not knowing what else to say.

“You’re going to be okay. Everything’s gonna be okay.”

“I know.”

He sighed. “Can I talk to Diane?”

You looked back at the woman, at Diane. “No. She’s listening.”

“Good. But I want to meet her. I need to see her face to face.”

Diane hurried back over to Maeve, jamming the gun into the back of her neck to urge her to talk. “She has a message she wants me to give to you,” Maeve rushed out.

“What is it?” Spence spoke.

“The message is, she left you a present. And if you want to find it, it’s easy as pie.”

“What does that mean? I don’t understand what that means.”

“Neither do I.” 

“Spencer, it’s a trap,” you shouted out. “If you come here, she’s gonna kill you or us-” Your words fell short as Diane ran over to you and connected her fist with your jaw. You gripped onto the armrests of the chair and bit back a hiss.

She hung up the phone.

***

Police sirens wailed through the empty night, a small sob bubbling up in your throat as the red and blue lights shone through the large window.

Diane was giddy with excitement, hurrying over to the intercom and holding the button down. “Take your gun and vest off,” she instructed, glancing back at you and Maeve. “Now come in alone.” She pressed another button before going over to your two, arranging your chairs so you were sat side-by-side, facing a singular chair that laid about ten feet from you both.

The creak of the old door echoed into the room and you extended your pinky out until it brushed over Maeve’s. She gripped onto your pinky with hers as you both exchanged a look, tears swimming in both of your eyes.

You counted his footsteps, heart rate increasing as they grew nearer and nearer. Diane stepped out of the room, just out of your sight, and you wound your jaw tightly shut.

“Put it on,” she demanded.

A moment later, two pairs of footsteps stepped into the room, and your eyes lingered on Spencer’s form as he appeared from behind a shelf, his eyes covered with a strip of fabric. Diane led him into the room with a gun to his back.

“Can I take off the blindfold?” Spencer asked.

“No,” she grumbled, shoving him down into the chair that faced you and Maeve.

He was silent for a moment, his lips parted. “Hello.”

“Hi,” Maeve whispered, tightening her grip on your pinky.

You were silent, your lips pursed.

“I was hoping you’d figure out my riddle,” Diane hummed, one hand deftly unbuttoning his shirt.

The shirt you bought him for your six month anniversary.

“I mean, I knew you would,” she continued. “The fun was just how fast you’d do it.” Her hand slid down his chest, gliding underneath his shirt. “All this, and brains too.” 

“It took me a long time,” Spencer hummed, humoring her. “To be honest, I was distracted by your thesis.” She pulled away, stepping back to look at him. “You read my thesis?” She was beaming.

“I did. You know, I think your writing can put you on the same plane as Jonas Salk. I’ve already sent it in to the NIH.”

She stomped away. “Flattery is not gonna get you out of this. I know what’s waiting for me outside.”

“I’ve arranged for your freedom.”

The federal government doesn’t make deals with people like me.”

“Not true. Nazi scientists were recruited for the Manhattan Project. Mafia bosses are regularly put into Witness Protection. If what you have is valuable enough, the federal government will work with you. And what you have is very valuable.”

She rose the gun to his throat. “And what do I have, doctor?”

“You have a brain that doesn’t play by normal societal rules. And I know that all your life, the people you care about the most keep leaving. There’s a part of you that thinks it’s because of that brain. Well, I’m here because I’m not going to leave you. I’m here because... I just hope that I get the chance.” “Chance at what?”

“To be with you.”

As he spoke, you knew he wasn’t telling the truth to Diane. But you did know, however, that he was speaking to someone in the room.

And that someone wasn’t you.

“Me for her, that was the deal, right?” Spencer spoke up. “Me for them.”

“You’re choosing me over them?” Diane questioned.

“Diane, how could it be anyone else?”

“Prove it.” 

“Alright. How?”

“Say it again.” She stepped behind him. “This time say it to their faces.” She yanked the blindfold off, revealing both of you to him.

His eyes flickered between you two, letting out a breath. You dropped your gaze to the floor, too scared to look him in the eye. Slowly, your grip fell from Maeve’s.

“I don’t love you,” his voice rang through your ears, sounding too familiar to you. Sounding so similar to the nightmares that plagued your mind nearly every night. “Sorry.”

“I understand,” Maeve choked out, though her voice didn't waver.

Diane let out a sigh of relief. “I don’t need her anymore,” she breathed out, rushing over to Maeve, pointing the gun to her head.

“Kill her and she won’t have to live with the fact that you’re smarter,” he shouted, distracting Diane. “Let her live with her irrelevancy.”

Diane squatted down next to Maeve, clipping one of her zipties. She rose back up a moment later, aiming the gun back at Maeve’s head. “I just want her to see one more thing. And Y/N, you should watch too.”

You gritted your teeth but looked up, following her movements with your eyes as she knelt down next to Spencer and pressed her lips to his. He seemed disgusted, but didn’t pull away, taking deep breaths to stay on task.

She pulled away from him a few moment later, searching his eyes. “Liar,” she hissed. She shot up to her feet, aiming the gun at his chest. “Liar!”

He grabbed her hands and aimed the gun above his head as she fired, the shot ringing through the building. As they wrestled for the gun, you turned and worked to help Maeve out of the other zip tie. 

Stomping boots neared the second floor where you were held, and another gunshot rung out. Spencer stumbled to the ground, and you yanked Maeve’s zip tie with all the strength you had left in your body.

“Stay back! Stay back! Stay back!” Spencer shouted, and you looked up to see Hotch aiming his gun directly at Diane.

Diane grabbed Maeve from her chair and held Maeve against her chest, pressing the gun against Maeve’s temple.

“Diane, there’s still a way out of this!” Spencer begged.

“You never wanted me,” Diane cried. “Never!”

She was growing angry rapidly, and you knew this was your last chance to keep Maeve safe.

“Kill me instead.”

Everyone grew silent at your words, their gazes directed at you. “What?” Diane whispered.

“Kill me instead,” you urged. “Let Maeve live with her pain. Killing Maeve might hurt Spencer, but it’ll wreck him if you kill me.”

She kept her eyes on you as you slowly rose from your chair, making your way over to her and Maeve. “Don’t-”

“Spencer won’t be able to live with the fact that he ruined my life. He hurt me while I was living, and I’ll take that pain to my deathbed. He couldn’t live with himself.”

You watched her contemplate her options for a moment before shoving Maeve forward and replacing her with you, shoving the barrel of the gun sharply against your neck. Spencer grabbed Maeve and directed her to run before he turned his gaze back to you.

“Y/N-” he started, only for you to shake your head.

“I hate you, Spencer,” you choked out, letting the tears finally stream down your face. “You broke me.”

You flinched slightly as she cocked her gun, letting all of your inhibitions flow out with a deep breath before you grabbed onto the gun and yanked it from her grip.

She shouldered you to the ground, but you kept your grip tight on the gun as she tried to wrestle it out of your hands. 

But with one jab to the nose, your grip loosened enough for her to fire a bullet straight into your lower abdomen.

A moment later, another shot rang out, and her body slid off of you.

Everything moved in a slow haze as you tried to focus on anything but the blood gushing out of your stomach. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, eyes slowly beginning to fall shut.

“Hey, hey, stay awake for me.” With a wince, you forced your eyes open to stare straight into a pair of hazel ones. “Is Maeve okay?” you coughed out, searching his face.

“Why did you do that? I had her,” Spencer questioned, brushing your hair away from your face.

“I’m not the one you need, Spence. Not the one you want.”

His lower lip trembled, eyes dripping with tears. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. I’m so, so sorry.”

A gasp stumbled past your lips when you felt an immense pressure on your wound, tears spilling over your face when you squeezed your eyes shut. “Is she okay?” 

“What?”

“Is Maeve okay?” Another surge of pain coursed through your body and you let out a cry. 

“Hey, it’s okay. The medics are supposed to be here any moment now. Just hold on for me.” 

“Spencer, is she okay?”

You heard him breathe out a shuddering sigh. “Yeah, she’s okay. You saved her.”

***

A tickling in your nose made your eyes flutter open, wincing slightly from the bright lights. One hand reached up to soothe the itch, only for your hand to be pulled away. 

“Hey, don’t mess with that,” a voice cooed. You turned your head towards the sound, seeing Spencer search your face, worry marring his features.

“How long was I out?” you breathed, voice rough with disuse.

“About 12 hours.” He reluctantly let go of your hand, instead resting his hands on the side of your bed. “How do you feel?”

“Like I just got shot.” You let out a chuckle, but Spencer didn’t find very funny. “I’m okay, Spencer. Really.”

“If the bullet was 3 millimeters to the right it would’ve hit your spine. You could’ve been paralyzed from the waist down. Do you understand how reckless you were?”

“Well, everyone’s safe and Diane’s dead. That sounds like a pretty good outcome to me.”

“You could’ve died!” “Maybe I wanted to fucking die!” You stared him in the eye for a moment before leaning back into the bed, closing your eyes.

“You don’t mean that,” he whispered.

“It seems you don’t really know me at all. Too busy spending ten out of the eleven months we were together talking to another woman.” You sniffled, adjusting the blanket on your bed. “Shouldn’t you be with her anyways? She probably needs someone with her more than I do.”

He was silent, and you watched his hands retreat off of your bed. “Why did you risk your life for her?”

“Because she didn’t deserve to die.”

“But that’s not the only reason.”

“Because...” You pursed your lips, tilted your head up to look up at the ceiling. The words ebbed and flowed in your mind, but none of them were right. “Because I still want you to be happy. Because I’m a fucking masochist, I guess. I hurt myself to help the ones I love, even if they don’t love me back.”

For what seemed like the first time in his life, he had no clue what to say.

Finally, with a sigh, he buried his head in his hands.

“Maeve is gone,” he choked out.

You shifted your gaze back to him. “What?”

“She left. She just... disappeared. She left me a note telling me not to find her.”

You wrapped your arms around yourself, chewing on your lower lip. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “You shouldn’t be the one apologizing.” He pulled his head from his hands, looking into your damp eyes with his red-rimmed ones. “I ruined everything for us. For you. I hurt you more than I could even imagine. I’m so sorry.” He sniffled, rubbing at his cheeks. “I still love you. I-I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I do. I don’t think I could ever stop loving you.”

You nodded. “I love you too. I just... I don’t know if I can.”

He let his eyes close. “I ruined everything for us, didn’t I?”

You extended your hand, palm facing up. Hesitantly, Spencer placed his hand in yours, entwining his fingers with yours. “I don’t know yet. Maybe, maybe not.”

He dropped his head, pulling your hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. His eyes fluttered closed once more, his lips lingering on your skin as he huffed out a breath. “I’m so sorry.”

You lifted your hand from his to run your fingers through his hair. “Go home, Spence. Get some sleep. I’ll have JJ come and get me in the morning.”

His fingers tangled into the blanket on your bed for a moment before he nodded, releasing his grip and rising to his feet. “Are you sure?”

You nodded, giving him a small smile. “Yeah. I... I need some time to process everything.”

You watched as he mentally argued with himself before he slouched, defeated. He made his way to the door of your room, stopping in the doorway and turning to you. “Just know I’m a phone call away if you need me.”

You nodded. “I know, thank you. Goodnight, Spencer.”

“Goodnight, Y/N.”

[winter-soldier-vibes]

I was never good enough for you (Lance Tucker x reader)

Lance Tucker x reader

Warnings: self harm, Lance being Lance, followed by a softer Lance, swearing (but you saw that coming)

Word count: 2884

Summary: Reader is under the direction of Coach Lance Tucker and he can be really tough on his gymnasts. She takes his criticism a little too personally and reverts to unhealthy coping mechanisms to deal with it, but one day Lance finds out

A/N this is my first Lance imagine and I really like the way it turned out, I hope you like it! This is also my first imagine including gymnastics which I don’t know too much about, forgive me if I made a mistake.

-----------------------

“Sloppy. Again.”

You internally groaned as you walked back to your starting position. You had been working on this routine for an hour now and you were getting worn out. Not that you’d say that. No, Lance wouldn’t tolerate tiredness. Olympists don’t give in to exhaustion. And you weren’t about to give him another excuse to yell at you.

You loved gymnastics. At least, you did. You weren’t quite sure anymore.

You loved the sport, and you grew up with a passion for it. You thought it would be a dream come true when Lance became your coach. Being trained by a gold-medalist was an amazing opportunity. You were so excited.

But you didn’t expect him to always be so angry with you.

Nothing you did ever pleased him. No matter how hard you worked or how much of your day was dedicated to the gym or the routines. You were growing exhausted, you didn’t remember the last time you weren’t sore. But again, you weren't about to say anything. He’d just tell you you were weak. 

You attempted the routine once again, and when you were finished Lance sighed with exhaustion and frustration. He shook his head.  “That’s it. We’re done for the day.”

You tried to hide your disappointment and went to grab your water bottle before heading to the exit.

“Be here 5 AM tomorrow.”

You looked back and nodded before walking outside the building, tears forming in your eyes. You sat in your car and started it, pulling out of the gym parking lot and speeding your way home.

Once the gym was out of sight you allowed the tears to fall. The harsh criticism that Lance spat at you really got under your skin, but you’d be damned if you were to show him how it really got to you. No, you had a different way to handle things

You pulled into the garage of your apartment and made your way inside, careful to lock the door behind you. You rubbed your face and made your way into the bathroom so you could take a shower. You turned the water on and waited for it to heat up. You stepped in, allowing the warm water to wash over your skin.

Worthless

Sloppy

Not good enough

Never good enough

Again!

You allowed the tears to come, sobs wracking your body. All you wanted was to please him, just once. But it didn’t seem to be anything you could do. There was no pleasing him. You were the problem. Why couldn’t you just be better?

You looked down at your body, at the scars littered across your torso. You weren’t proud of your methods of coping. You just couldn’t find anything that gave you the same relief. You couldn’t explain why you were hurting yourself, you just knew that it felt deserved.

You grabbed the broken razor that was still on the corner of the bathtub from the last time you did this. You took the cool blade and gripped it between your fingers. It felt so natural. You had never done this before working with Lance, but now you didn’t know how to stop. It was just something you did now.

You pressed the blade into your side, dragging it downwards and letting out a pained gasp. The water immediately stung the fresh wound, and you let out a small sigh. You repeated the action a few times, each cut deeper than the last, and one for each new thought that entered your mind.

Never good enough

Piece of shit

Fuck-up

Are you even trying?

Why are you even alive?

The last cut you made brought you back into your awareness. You looked down at your stomach and your eyes widened. There were more cuts than you’d made all at once before, and the last one was a lot deeper than you had anticipated. The water was now turning a dark pink at your feet. The pain was beginning to set in after the initial shock, and you let out pained gasps as you turned the water off and reached for a towel.

This was bad. You had never let it get this far before, fuck. You quickly dried yourself off and opened the medicine cabinet for your first aid supplies. You bandaged up your stomach as quickly as you could, and though it wasn’t stellar work, it was enough to stop the bleeding. You sighed and put on some loose fitting pajamas, walking into your room. You collapsed on the bed only to cry out in pain from lying on your side. You flipped onto your back and groaned. Tomorrow was going to suck.

Your alarm woke you with a start at 4:30 the next morning so you could get ready. You groaned and rolled over on your side, only to get a searing reminder that you shouldn’t. You sat up in your bed and turned off your alarm before making your way to get dressed. You replaced the bandages with newer ones, thinner ones. Ones that wouldn’t be noticeable underneath your gym attire. 

They weren’t as bad when you got another look at them. That didn’t mean they didn’t sting like a bitch though. You winced as the air hit the wounds and you put on new dressings before throwing on your clothes and booking it out the door. You kicked yourself mentally looking at the clock on the dashboard - you were going to be late.

You parked the car and ran into the gym building, to a very unimpressed Lance pacing back and forth with his arms crossed over his chest. “You’re late.”

You nodded, not wanting to give an excuse, knowing it would just make it worse. You looked away, ashamed, and he sighed before telling you to get on the mat and stretch out before you started.

Once you finished stretching, you made your way over to get ready for your bars routine that you were working on yesterday. You went to stretch your arms overhead to reach for the bars and had to resist crying out in pain as you brought your arms back down.

Lance gave you a confused and irritated look. “Something wrong?” he asked.

You shook your head and jumped up to the bar, ignoring the searing pain shooting through your sides. You went through your routine and made your dismount, which as soon as your feet hit the mat, you knew you were in for it.

“What the fuck was that?” he asked, exasperated. “You’re hesitating, you’re sloppy, what the hell is going on? Do it again.”

You walked back to your starting position and jumped up once again made your way through your routine, cursing yourself for small mistakes you made throughout, but you stuck the landing a little better.

Lance walked over to you, shaking his head. “What the hell is happening? I’ve never seen you so sloppy before. Do you even want to be a gymnast? Do it again!”

You walked back over to the bar, sides burning with pain. You jumped up to the bar and started your routine for the third time. Halfway through, you went to move to the second bar, but one of your hands slipped. Your right arm was above you and stretched out your side and you couldn’t help but yell out a cry and fall to the mat, hands going to the side of your torso.

Lance quickly came over to you, and you could’ve sworn you saw concern on his face. You tried to stand but he stopped you, pushing you back down to the mat. You tried again, but he wouldn’t let you. “Stop, stop, just take a minute. What happened?”

You tried to take the tears in your eyes away, as you pushed away from him “Nothing, I’m fine.”

“No you’re not. Now tell me, what the hell is going on.”

You finally made your way to stand and shouted “NOTHING! I AM FINE LANCE.”

His eyes flitted from you to your stomach before he stood and came over to you. This time there was no mistaking the concern on his face. You tried to step away from him but he wouldn’t let you. “Why are you bleeding?”

What?

You followed his eyes down and saw that blood was starting to spot your t-shirt. You tried to turn away. “It’s nothing Lance just drop it.”

“No I’m not dropping the fact that you’re hurt!” he said a little more sternly. You shut your mouth and crossed your arms, looking away. “What happened y/n?” he said a little more softly.

You tried to find some sort of excuse, some story that could explain why your stomach was bleeding. But nothing was coming to mind. You shook your head, unable to produce a suitable answer.

“Y/n.”

You looked back at him, still unable to say anything. No way you were about to tell him that you did this to yourself. 

“What happened?”

His eyes searched your face, trying to get some sort of answer from you. But you remained silent. He sighed, and said “Look, let’s just….let me help you with that.”

Your eyes widened and you shook your head. “No! I mean -no...It’s fine I swear.”

“Y/n.” he started, “you’re bleeding.” 

You shook your head again and he looked at you with confusion. “Why won’t you let me help you?”

“Because maybe I don’t fucking want your help Lance!” you said before you could think about it, bringing a hand to your mouth. He shifted on his feet. “What’s really going on here?”

“Nothing -”

“Don’t bullshit me.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, anger growing inside you. “Fine. I did it to myself. I cut myself most nights. Last night things got a little too out of hand. But you wanna know why I do it?” you seethed. “Because I’m never going to be good enough for you.”

And with that you stormed off to the locker room, slamming the door behind you and ignoring Lance calling your name. You slammed your hands against a bathroom stall and tried not to scream. You sat down on a bench and brought your hands to your head. What the fuck did you just do? What were you thinking? You just confessed your darkest secret to your asshole of a coach. And blamed him for it. You’d be lucky if he’d still want to coach you after this.

You heard the door open after a while and you didn’t even look up. You knew who it was and you didn’t need to see the disappointment on his face. He sat next to you and stayed silent for a few minutes. 

“Did you really mean what you said?”

You looked at him for a moment before putting your head back in your hands. You nodded. No use in lying now.

Lance let out a sigh. Muttering “Fuck” to himself. He rubbed a hand over his face before he asked, “How long have you been doing this?”

“How long have you been my coach?”

He sighed again, shaking his head. You thought it was in disappointment or anger, and it was, but it wasn’t directed towards you. Lance knew he was rough on you but he felt like a complete dick now that he knew what it was making you do. After a few moments, he said “I’m sorry.” 

You looked up at him, baffled. You didn’t think his ego allowed for apologies. You laughed a little, looking him up and down. “Yeah, sure.”

“Will you shut up and let me apologize?” he said a little more sternly. You shut your mouth and let him continue. “Look, I know I’m hard on you but it’s because I know you can take it. You’ve got something special and I just wanted to push you. I had no idea it was getting to you like this. You should have told me, if I had known then -”

“Then what? You would’ve just yelled at me or some shit like that.”

“No I wouldn’t -”

“Wouldn’t you?” you spat back. 

He raised his eyebrows at you and asked “Am I yelling at you now?”

You went for another retort but you realized that he was right. You were the one who was angry with him here, not the other way around. You looked away again, hand subconsciously drifting to your side and ghosting over where the blood was. His eyes followed your hands and he sighed sadly. “Why didn’t you say something?”

You shrugged. “I didn’t want you to get more angry than you already were. I didn’t want to give you another reason to berate me.”

Lance shook his head a little, feeling even more like an asshole than he already did. He stood up and told you he’d be right back before leaving for a few minutes, returning with a first aid kit. Much more than you ever provided yourself with. He sat down beside you again and asked you to lift up your t-shirt.

You looked at him as if he had just asked you to walk on the ceiling. “What? No, I’m not taking off my shirt for you.” you said incredulously.

He looked at you unamused. “This isn’t anything like that y/n. I just want to help you. I am your coach, and you are bleeding. This doesn’t have to be weird unless you make it that way.”

You looked at him for a few moments, him looking back expectantly. You groaned and went to pull your shirt over your head, leaving you in just a sports bra. Lance’s face went white when he saw all the marks littered across your torso. “Oh my god…” he whispered.

“Lance.”

His eyes flittled up to yours and he swallowed. He went to inspect the newest one, the one that had bled through the bandage. He removed the ones you had put on that morning and he had to resist gasping again as he went to work with dabbing antibiotic ointment on them. 

It was silent for a few minutes as he patched you up. You are looking just about anywhere else and Lance is trying to figure out what to say or do. Finally, he asked softly, “Who knows?”

“You.”

He nodded slowly. “How often -”

“Most nights.” You let yourself look at him before adding “I can't explain it, it just...helps.”

He looked back at you. “With what?”

You shook your head. “Everything.”

He went back to finishing up with the bandages before sitting back and crossing his arms, you putting your shirt back on. Once again the air was thick with silent tension.

“You’re suspended for a week.”

Your eyes snapped up to his. “What?”

“You need a little break from the gym and from me. Give your injuries some time to heal and give you some time to look for a therapist.”

Your eyebrows shot up as your eyes widened, you shaking your head. “You can’t do that.”

He nodded, “Yes I can. Look, you’re really good but no one would be able to practice at their best with injuries like those. And you can’t just not talk to anyone about this kind of thing. It’s only going to get worse if you keep it to yourself.”

“I’m not seeing a fucking shrink Lance.”

“Would you rather talk to me about it?” he asked with slight sarcasm.

If your eyes could get any wider, they did at that moment. “NO.”

“Fine. But you need to find someone. I don’t care really who it is but it has to be someone. Okay?”

You looked at him, hoping he was kidding, but he was dead serious. You eventually nodded, unwilling to look at him. He grabbed your shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze. “I am proud of you, I just want you to know that.”

You looked back at him, surely you heard him wrong. “You have a terrible way of showing that Lance.”

He laughed a little and nodded. “Maybe. But I mean it y/n. I meant it when I said you had something special. And I really am sorry for being an asshole to you.”

You laughed a little. “You were such a fucking asshole.”

His eyes narrowed a little. “Okay, thank you, I get it I fucked up, let’s move on.” the two of you laughed again. “Seriously though y/n.”

You nodded and smiled a little. “Thanks.”

He gave you a pat on the back. “Go home. See you next Tuesday.”

You cocked an eyebrow at him. “5 AM?”

He smiled back at you. “Don’t be late.”

[whirlybirbs]

CYAR’IKA – iii

summary: the issue of conflict. rating: t for some emotions, m next ;) pairing: the mandalorian x reader a/n: read part one, and part two. part four will be smut.

the razor crest is no large ship.

it’s small enough to breed an immense amount of discomfort between the two souls avoiding one another like asteroids whizzing by far off moons. in fact, the size of the ship nurtures it -- it nurses this horrible, wretched little feeling and waters it and watches it grow to a size bigger than it can hold.

you try your best to beat back the heart-ache; you try and trim the vines that are strangling you slowly, but dyn... 

kriff, you could kill him. 

it’s been nearly a whole week, tracking bounties and anchored in the cool hum of space, since the incident. 

and, maybe at best, a shared ten words between the two of you.

you hadn’t meant it -- when you’d said “i wish i could see you” -- the way he’d taken it. to him, it had been a blow of guilt; a reminder of these irrational thoughts of inadequacy he holds. to you, it’d been a merely expression of hope for the future. someday, maybe, you’ll be able to pull your eyes open and marvel at the man before you. now, simply put, isn’t the time.

and every single time you open your damn mouth to try and explain that, dyn jarren just... walks away. slips past you, moves into another part of the ship, and dodges your orbit.

it’s the third time today that you try and corner him. this time, as he’s hauling open his armory and grabbing a blaster pistol to strap to his hip. 

“dyn --”

“i’ll be back soon.”

he explains curtly that he’s going out on a bounty. tracked the poor soul to a cantina on the west side of tatooine. easy prey. quick catch. 

“i’ll come,” you supply readily, tone a bit bitter.

dyn spares you one look; his dark visor provides little to no emotion.

“no.”

you really could kill him. 

“you can’t keep walking away --”

the bay-door to the razor crest hisses shut on your words and so you’re stuck, alone, in the ship for the time being. promptly, you throttle your boot through the paneling by the door. the dent is hardly enough to explain your frustrations. 

dyn is trying to be an utreekov. he isn’t. he just... every time he tries to talk about this whole thing, a lump worms it’s way up his throat and leaves him choking on his words. talking isn’t his thing. it’s never been. 

you are his thing. his everything, if he’s being honest with himself.

sun, moon, stars. everything. 

he can hear you kick the inside of the ship as he stalks away from the space depot. 

you’re mad at him. he knows that -- he knows you’ve been trying to sort this out, and he is, too. just... differently. inwardly. and... it’s not as easy as just... talking. i mean, what if he lets you see his face? then, he has no one -- he’s not a mandalorian. and... what if he’s not your everything? what if cycles down the road, you realize he’s nothing but an insufferable, cranky bastard? 

(you already know that. that’s why you love him.)

... -- oh.

you do, don’t you?

you love him. 

you love dyn jarren. 

love. 

hm. 

you sit in his chair in the cabin, knee jumping up and down and up and down, and you stare at the ceiling for so long, you’ve counted every bolt (all 147 of the poly-magnate 55mm screws -- there’s three missing on the right back panel) six times over. this realization has been a long time coming. cycles worth of time spent by his side. and all this... 

the sun is setting when he finally arrives back at the ship, sporting a new char mark on his beskar cuirass and a squirming bounty -- a young twi’lek with green skin who’s more terrified than anything. a sandstorm has started to kick up, sending buffs of sand along the outside of the ship and leaving a cloud of dust in dyn’s wake. 

the twi’lek coughs and waves his hands. his wrists are cuffed. 

“c’mon, up,” dyn grits, shoving the bounty inside the ship as he punches the doors shut.

“ -- dyn.”

the mandalorian blinks. you’re there, scaling down the ladder into the gut of the ship to greet him; your face is set in an emotion he hasn’t seen before. 

... fear?

or... confusion? 

you’re out of it. distant. you pay no mind to to the bounty in dyn’s grip when you speak. in fact, you don’t look at the twi’lek once. 

“i need to tell you something.”

anger. yep. that’s one emotion he can pin down, at least.

dyn moves through the ship anyways, ignoring the churning of emotions in his gut, and shoves the bounty down along the bench across from the weapon’s stall. “sit.”

“dyn.”

“-- right now?”

the twi’lek blinks up between the two of you. 

you approach him quickly, jaw set, as dyn unloads the blaster from his hip and hangs it up in the locker. he slings his rifle over his shoulder, unclipping the strap, and does the same. 

“yes,” you grit, “can you listen to me?”

“can this wait,” dyn barks, facing you and tilting his helmet, “until i’ve sorted out our guest?”

... oh, the guest who’s making a move for the DH-447 mounted to the left of him?

your own matte black DL-44 whines alive, pulled from your thigh holster in a blink -- and again, you don’t even bother to spare the twi’lek a second glance. the bounty freezes, squeaking, and raises his hands. 

dyn whirls around.

“can you,” you snap suddenly, glare pinning the bounty in place as he suddenly realizes he’s the subject of your apparent molten anger, “please, move away from the blaster? because, right now? i’m trying to tell the man i love that i love him and you’re making it a little difficult --”

“o-of course --”

“what --”

you raise a finger, jaw set tight. dyn’s mouth snaps shut.

his -- he... did you -- you...

he must have misheard.

“when you’re done,” you bite at dyn, gesturing to the bounty, “you’re going to come up deck, and then, we are going to have a conversation. do you understand?”

dyn’s heart is hammering.

yes ma’am.

he clears his throat. he nods. and you slide an icy glare to both the men in the cabin. 

he’s never put a bounty on ice faster. 

kriff -- he’s sweating when he gets to the cabin and you’re there, knee still bouncing and arms crossed and counting. your eyes are moving along the ceiling and you don’t even acknowledge him when he freezes in the doorway. 

there’s a moment of silence. 

then, you exhale.

"are you done?”

he makes a strained sound.

you sit up quick, eyes narrowed as you stand and approach him. he feels a bit like he’s being stalked, about to be gutted and strung up for you to feed -- the way you move through the cabin reminds him of a nexu on a hunt. 

terrifying. 

“ -- because i --” you raise a finger, “have been trying to talk to you for --”

“a week.”

“a week, dyn!”

“i know.”

“do you?” you hiss, a moment of irritation bubbling over and blinding you, “because -- because i -- i feel like an idiot. an idiot, dyn!”

his helmet drops. his hands move to his hips. silence runs like a river between you both. 

you exhale. you take a step back, and you try to cool down.

“... can you look at me, please?”

beneath his visor, his eyes shut for a second. he sighs, nodding weakly. he -- he should be looking at you. he can’t avoid this. it’s not... it’s not fair. not to you. 

“i’m sorry,” he says quietly, words shaking a bit, “for not being... good at this. at talking or...”

he waves his hands.

“-- all of it,” dyn gives a ragged sigh, “and for being afraid of change. and -- and for being so... unsure --”

when he looks at you, your face is soft. you can see the anxiety bubbling into the bouncing of the finger drumming on his waist. it’s a micro-movement. but you know him. you know he’s trying. he’s trying to breathe and stay calm and not walk away.

“i love you.”

... or maybe he hadn’t misheard you earlier.

the drumming stops.

he nearly rips his helmet off, then -- throttles it across the razor crest and never looks back. 

the words are sweet like honey coming from your lips. the words sound like home; whole and full of the warmest emotion in the galaxy. and you smile, then, so small and timid -- and his heart sings. 

he doesn’t know what to do.

but, you’re quicker than him. 

you dig out a single strip of cloth from your pocket -- inky black and opaque. 

“i’m going to tie this around my eyes,” you speak matter-of-factly, raising it and draping it across your eyes, “and you’re gonna take your helmet off and i’m gonna kiss you. because i don’t need to see you. because i love you. and -- and that helmet is your life. and i understand that.”

you’ve barely got a single knot tied when his hands meet your waist and he crushes his lips against your own.

it steals your breathe away.

and, when dyn jarren is done peppering your face with kisses, he speaks slowly.

“ni kar'tayl gar darasuum, cyar'ika.”

he loves you. and you love him. and you don’t have to see him to know he’s happy. 

[roguesandsaviors]

First Meetings

Fandom: Grudge Match

Characters: BJ Rose, Billy “The Kid” McDonnen, Trey Rose, Shea Grant (OFC)

Pairing: BJ Rose x Shea Grant (OFC)

Summary: BJ takes on training Kid for his upcoming match with Razor. He finds himself a little distracted by someone else in the gym though.

Word Count: 2,188

Rating: SFW

Warning: None

A/N: I decided to give BJ Sally’s last name since he wouldn’t go by McDonnen. I adored this character in the movie and it doesn’t seem like there is too much love out there for him. Mistakes are all my own as it is un-beta’ed. Hope everyone enjoys. 

****************************************************************************************

He first saw her on the second day in the gym. He was half paying attention to the pull up that Kid was attempting to make, knowing that he really was going to have his work cut out for him. The movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Normally, he would be able to brush it off. It was a gym, there were people moving all around him. There was a fluidity to the movement though, a sort of grace that only someone who was naturally talented at the sport. He had watched enough video and had heard it about himself before his father had signed him up for football. 

“Enough of that Kid. Go jump some rope.” He directed the older man, attention back on him to make it seem like he wasn’t distracted. Once the man was settled into a rhythm, BJ shifted and looked towards the ring. 

Whoever the woman was, she didn’t have that sorry excuse of a trainer outside the ring directing her. No, Frankie had someone who knew what they were doing working with her. Though there wasn’t much instruction being given. She was good, really good. It would be awkward to ask about her, making him look like a creep if he did, and he couldn’t spend that much time just watching when he was getting Kid ready for his fight. His eyes were pulled away from her when he heard Trey ask something to Kid. if he didn’t monitor the conversation, he could be in a world of trouble. Kid didn’t know how to interact with children and that was obvious from the first moment. 

********

The next time that he saw her, she wasn’t done up in practice gear and for the first time since he had met Trey’s mother, his breath was taken away. She was laughing and joking with one of the other guys, a smile on her face that was genuine and sincere. It was the sort of smile that lit up a room and he couldn’t bring himself to look away this time. He was going to end up caught staring but it didn’t matter at that moment. He didn’t know her name or even if she was with someone else. Surely a woman like that had to have a boyfriend or even husband. There were a lot of assumptions being made but his mind was in a rush of a million different sorts of thoughts. 

He was saved from embarrassment though when he felt a tug on his sleeve. He had been ready to abandon Kid and go right over to her. As if he had anything to say to her. The object was to not look like a creep and he had nearly failed that. Trey was standing at his side and asking about the bathroom, providing him the perfect escape from the wandering thoughts that had taken over his mind. 

“Yeah, of course. Come on.” He had to walk past the woman and the few guys that she was talking to, doing everything that he could not to stare. Thankfully, Trey had decided to talk, giving him a bit of a distraction, being forced to focus on the eight year old. He was asking about the hand wraps that he was seeing some of the other fighters in the gym working on. BJ chuckled and began explaining it to his son, appreciating the curiosity that had not left him yet. His son was the most important person in the world to him and even small little moments like these were cherished. 

**********

It was the third time that he found himself looking at her did she notice him. He had Kid working combinations on the pads on his hand, pushing the older man to the point of puking his guts out. It wasn’t the first time and he knew that it would set off a chain reaction in the gym so he had at least set up a few buckets. Frankie had been pissed about having to clean that the first time around. Apparently it was a rule in the gym that the guy that had done it had to clean all of it. Kid had skipped out, leaving BJ to do the cleaning. He wasn’t doing that again, having learned his lesson. 

“Faster with the jab Kid.” He grunted out. “Come on.” Kid still had his form but he needed to pick up more speed. He wouldn’t be able to keep Razor at bay if he didn’t move that leading hand faster. It was when the timer went off and Kid took a second to grab some water did BJ realize his eyes had wandered and she had caught him. He gave her a small smile, hoping not to seem like a complete ass before turning his attention back to Kid. 

“We aren’t done yet. Got another two rounds to go.” Kid had been ready to pull off the gloves. The fight was being taken seriously, BJ couldn’t doubt that but he wondered if Kid realized the sort of preparation and training that he needed. One too many Scotches and meals over at Knock Out had really done their number on his body over the years. Kid grumbled but got back up. BJ was thankful that they weren’t really done because otherwise he might have had to do something about the fact that the woman caught him looking. Not that he didn’t want to do something about it, ask her on a date or something, but he still didn’t even know her name. Or how to begin to approach her. It had been easier to approach Kid and tell him that he was the son that he had never bothered to learn about than it felt like it was going to be to approach the woman. 

BJ was pulling off the mitts at the end of the session when he realized Trey was talking to someone. He swallowed hard when he realized it was the woman that he had been watching for the past two weeks. The two were in a fairly animated conversation, with her having taken a seat on the bench besides his son. Trey was all smiles and clearly enjoying whatever it was that they were talking about. For a second his nerves were forgotten about and he enjoyed the look of happiness on his son’s face. Then he remembered that he was going to have to make his way over. 

Setting the pads back, it gave him a second to compose himself before he walked over to them. 

“Hey buddy. You ready to go?” He asked before looking towards her. Licking his lips, he shoved the foolish nerves to the back of his mind the best that he could. “I’m sorry, he wasn’t bothering you was he?” Trey gave him a deadpan look like it was the worst possible question that he could have asked. Sometimes the kid was too smart for his own good. Something that BJ would never discourage but in moments like these it was not convenient. 

“No, not at all. We were having a great conversation about the lovely art project he is working on.” Some relief washed over him and he gave her a more relaxed smile. 

“Showing off again are you?” He teased Trey, who was in the process of packing up his bag. 

“I needed an opinion dad and you were working with Kid.” It was a matter of fact answer and caused both adults to laugh. BJ couldn’t argue with that. Of all the people though, he had to choose her. BJ reached out and ruffled the boy’s hair as he came to stand beside him.

“Thank you,” he offered to the woman before extending his hand to her. “BJ Rose.” His breath was once more caught in his throat when her smaller hand fit against his for a shake. 

“Shea Grant, nice to meet you.” Her eyes flickered over to Kid, who was making his way over to them. “I’ll let you guys get out of here. Let me know how your teacher likes that wonderful picture Trey.” It wasn’t patronizing or belittling. She was being kind to his son and that had him more sold than anything else. Trey beamed. 

“I will.” He watched her head off to talk to someone else, eyes flickering to Kid again. Something was there and he would have to get to the bottom of it. For now, he really did have to get Trey out of there. It was time for a meal and he needed to finish his homework. 

******

The fight was creeping closer and BJ had to devote a little more time to Kid while maintaining a balance of his work and his son. The kids at the college still needed him and his son was always first priority. He hadn’t been able to get to talk to Shea too much more than an occasional passing greeting or a brief conversation about Trey. 

When he entered the gym that morning, he didn’t expect to see Kid there already. Or the way that he was leaning in a little too close to Shea. BJ didn’t like the sight at all and it was clear that Shea was feeling more than a little uncomfortable. Gritting his teeth, he was alone today and didn’t have to worry about Trey seeing anything. Or asking questions that might be difficult to answer.

Making his way over, he quickly caught the older man’s attention. 

“Hey Kid. I don’t see you wrapped up yet. Why don’t you go and do that?” Unconsciously, he had shifted a little closer to Shea. She could handle herself, that much was clear by watching her in the ring. That didn’t mean that he couldn’t step in and offer some assistance. Kid looked a little confused for a moment, smiling before giving Shea a wink and heading off. Anger built up and he wanted to haul off on the other but knew that he couldn’t. He forced himself to turn and face Shea. She had a look of relief on her face. At least that was some vindication that he had done the right thing. There had been a second that he was worried she would lay into him for stepping in when he didn’t need to. “I’m sorry.” The apology came blurting out before he could stop it. 

Shea looked up at him, confused. BJ realized he was going to need to explain himself. 

“You can tell him off if he is making you uncomfortable. You don’t have to put up with any of that just because of who he is…” He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling more self conscious by the second. “I mean, if that is why you weren’t. And if you were going to, I’m sorry that I interrupted that chance.” The man may have been his father but that sort of behavior wasn’t going to fly. Especially not around someone like Shea. He didn’t need Kid ruining anything before it even started. There was another few seconds of silence before she finally responded.

“It’s okay. Thank you.” She shook her head and hefted her bag up on her shoulder a little higher. She was still uncomfortable but less so in the presence of BJ. “Not really sure he knows how to take a hint anyway and I didn’t want to cause a scene.” There was some shyness there that hadn’t been present in their previous interactions and certainly not in the way that she normally held herself in the gym. 

“He can take the knock to his ego. Trust me.” He glanced towards Kid for a second before returning his gaze back to Shea. Now was probably not the best time to make the offer but he felt compelled to. Kid would give him a hard time but if he ended up with a date out of it, it would all be worth it. A date. He hadn’t been on one since before Trey was born. He didn’t let that get to him as he opened his mouth.

“Listen, uh. Trey is at his grandmother’s tonight. I thought maybe you might be free for some dinner?” BJ could have cringed at how he sounded. He wasn’t in high school anymore. Something about the woman had him as nervous as a teenager all over again. Shea seemed surprised by the offer before a more genuine smile came to her face. 

“Dinner would be nice.” She reached into her bag and handed him her cellphone. “Uh, put your number in there and you can give me all the details later. I gotta get to work, sorry.” BJ waved it off, more relieved than anything that she had said yes. He quickly punched his number into the phone and handed back to her. 

“What time do you get off?”

“Shouldn’t be later than five. But I can let you know if that is going to change.” 

“Sounds perfect. I’ll see you later tonight Shea.” He was graced with another smile. 

“I’ll see you then BJ.”

[flatfootmonster]

Running Past Empty

(read on A03 here)

Red seeps into my sweater. I didn’t even have time to use my newly honed anger because whoever ran into me, and spilt whatever this is, is long gone. I can’t even see the cup they must’ve been carrying. Whatever it is, it’s sticky. But it can wait. It has to wait. Voices and horns build to an overwhelming chorus behind me but it’s dampened by a fog that I summoned. I can’t focus on noise right now; I have to cross the road. 

“Fuck. Fuck. Are you OK?” One of the voices is a panicked buzz in my ear—and too close. Much too close. I feel sick. “Jesus.” That sound hisses between teeth; steam escaping a kettle that boiled too long.

“I’m fine, I need to go,” my words are thick, stammered through numb lips. Sangwoo was just there. I can catch up with him. He’ll probably scoff over the state of my sweater, say that I’m a baby that needs looking after. I don’t mind when he teases though. 

A shackle attaches itself to my arm. “You’ll stay there.” The buzzy-buzzy bee is persistent. I think I hate it.

There’s no time to look at whoever this fuck is that won’t listen, and I won’t reply either. I pull away with so much force his hand might’ve come clean off because his grip is still there as I leave him behind. When did I get so strong? I’m moving now, that’s all that matters. I’m moving fast and it’s OK. The bee follows though, like the memory of the hand, but the fog cuts in front of those sensations. I’m blocking them out because I have somewhere to be. 

My feet beat the pavement, each step smooth and measured. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this coordinated before. It’s because of Sangwoo, I’m sure of it. He gave me things; I can shout now, and I can pull away, I can run. He never said it would hurt though. Pain jolts up my legs—a familiar hurt but this time it spreads, it bleeds from bone to vein to nerve ending. When I find him I’ll rest, and catch my breath, too. Lungs shouldn’t be so difficult to inflate. Maybe I need more exercise. That’s probably it. Does he play sports? I should know that. 

Skidding to a jittery halt, I take a second to find my bearings. It’s no surprise the buildings that tower over my head are unrecognisable. They choke out the sky with dirty fingers of brick. I get disorientated a lot, you see. Plus, I was running towards the point I last saw him rather than pay attention to this road or that. Yet he seems to slip around the next corner when I think I’m gaining ground, the only thing I catch is a glimpse and even that is on the peripheral—right on the edge of the earth. Can’t he hear me? I’ve been shouting, haven’t I? Maybe this is a game.

“Did you call them?” Someone snaps those words out and they snatch my attention. I turn to find a mother looking down at a child. He’s holding skis. That seems odd but what business is it of mine what a stranger chooses to carry around? He used to carry me around a lot—Sangwoo did—and no one said anything about that. “Did you?” she presses, fear in place of impatience. What is she scared of? The shadows the buildings cast make their faces dark, features as indistinguishable and ruddy as the bricks. I can’t even see which direction their blackened eyes are pointing.

“Yes, yes. I did. I can’t make them get here any faster,” the kid replies but the voice belongs to the bee—it’s still stuck in my ear. When I blink their faces are pressed to mine, breath hot and sickening as their words decompose in their mouths. But there’s still no detail. The expanse where their features should be is pale, cold, and blank—a human-sized dead worm. I don’t want to look at them. My stomach squeals as my heart thuds once against my ribs in protest and they’re back in the shadows, merging with the buildings, voices melting and flowing into the cement that links brick to brick to brick. They are inconsequential—irrelevant to life; dead worms wriggling back into ashy soil.

If I stopped to catch my breath maybe they’d come back into focus, I'd find detail and explanation, and perhaps the buzzing would subside. I could maybe help with whoever it is they need to call—or mediate their disagreement. But I don’t want their faces so close to mine or their breath misting my vision—I have to go. Time is running out. It’s ticking away, it itches beneath my skin. 

It’s a narrow alley next, I chose it simply because this way avoids streets and voices and worms and bees. There’s only one voice that I’m looking for—I’m desperate for it because I’m drowning and it’s a diving bell; I need it to get to where I’m going. 

A man stands in a cobwebbed archway, phone pressed to his ear while glasses slide down a greasy, porous nose. He mutters, again and again, the same thing, “keep breathing, keep breathing, keep breathing.” His eyes don’t focus, they skitter this way and that like a spider, roaming the scratched wood behind him and the grey concrete beneath him. His face is grey, too, and when his eight-legged eyes find me the greyness spills over him. He’s a statue now and I’m glad because his gaze crept and crawled along my skin, his voice was needle scratching vinyl. A broken record. A broken, tired, useless record. Does he even understand what the fuck he’s saying? I know I don’t. It’s nonsense.

The narrow walls give way to a square but it’s empty, all I can hear is an alarm coming from somewhere—everywhere. It echoes from concrete planes the same way it bounces around the walls of my skull. Ignoring it is as simple and irritating as muting the agony throbbing in my veins. I still don’t recognise where I am. Slowing, the pain embeds itself deeply in bone, my marrow vibrates with every serrated inhale. Razors are in my lungs trying to cut their way out, climbing up my throat; the scores they gouge ooze with frigid sap. 

There’s a stand. It was empty before, I’m sure of it, but this won’t be the first time I’m wrong. It’s a cake stand, too far away to make out details past that. There’s a girl, standing with her back to me. Something about her stance is familiar but memories are on the other side of the fog, I can reach them if I want yet I have no desire to. She’s fumbling around in her pockets frantically. Behind the counter, there’s a blank slate of a man and one red round cake sat between them. He holds a bag of white icing in his left hand.

“His name? What’s his name? Isn’t there any ID?” 

“I couldn’t find any. There’s nothing,” her voice is the bees' voice as well. Too low to be authentically hers, it’s familiar but not in the same way her stance is. It should be odd, and it is, but I’m used to slipping and sliding around the wet tiled surfaces of reality. I’m used to things not making sense. And I’m used to being solely focussed on one thing so that it didn’t matter how reality is consumed by my abstract senses.

The man sighs, looks down at the cake before addressing it mournfully. “OK sweetheart, it’s going to be OK. Hold on,” he reassures the sticky, red surface beneath his bulbous nose. I suppose it’ll stay unnamed unless they’re going to write sweetheart on the top. Why doesn’t she know the name of the person she’s buying a cake for? And why is the bee still stuck in my fucking head? 

My body jump starts, every atom eager to move. I lurch forward, transitioning into an easy run, eating up the ground in long strides. Between the waves of discomfort and crushing loneliness pressing down on my sternum, I feel fluid and capable. My form flows and slips, if I just trust in the magnetism pulling at me I’ll find the sensation of belonging that my atoms are begging for. I’ll slip down the right cracks when I find it; I’ll write the correct letters; I’ll outrun the concrete.

I need to catch up with him. There was something off—for days and days it was off. I did something, or he did, and I can’t unpick it. I don’t know where the stitching went wrong to unthread and rework. If I catch him I can, I’m sure. If he just listens… 

I promised, you see. Wait. What did I promise? No—that’s a stupid question; It doesn’t matter if my brain cells can’t recall because my body seems to be making up for that ignorance. 

A wall towers above the building in front of me. It doesn’t seem to be a part of its surroundings; there’s no adjoining structure or roof to give it relevance within this rigid environment. It’s a misfit—I can relate. There’s only one thing that marks it useful. Up top, an old advertisement is plastered down with crumbling, infertile glue. Its corners are peeling, weather-worn, dull, and barely discernible. But I can make out a pair of bulbous eyes in a green face—I see a squat animal. There’s my compass. I’ve found my bearings.

An alarm’s going off again. It’s different somehow, in the way one hymn is different from another but when you’re outside the church—when you’re skulking around in the graveyard—it simply sounds like another incessant drone. I cover my ears, it needs to be blocked out. It can’t dictate my route. But it’s loud. I don’t like it, and—just like the composting heat of the stranger’s breath and the stinging, grabbing bee—I don’t want it. 

My skin prickles under the scratching hands of ticking minutes and seconds, counted out by a silent omnipotent force, pressing down on my sternum. My surface area needs to be peeled off because it burns. Everything is so fucking distracting. If my lungs were working like normal I’d sigh as all those things dull once more; the fog is back. It looks more like a veil now—cascading and shimmering in its divisive nature.

I round a corner where those spherical eyes were beckoning. This area is flattened. A building was demolished here and all that’s left is gravel, dust, and rocks. The debris forces its way into my mouth and fills my throat; I am the ground—desiccated and ruined. But I’m not sad because this is where I’m supposed to be, it’s how I’m supposed to be. I’m sure of it. 

But how do I find belonging?

There’s a new sound, a beeping when my lazy heart thuds against my rib cage. Maybe it’s a timer about to go off, but if it does go off and I don’t find him, then what? I can’t let that happen. He’ll be gone. Gone forever. I’m losing time, running on empty.

My gaze devours the gravelly tarmac and the bare walls, desperate for the merest taste of a clue. It’s just dust, everywhere is dust and nothing—like me. Where do I go? There should be an opening somewhere, maybe on the floor, steps leading down. There’s nothing though. There’s only stillness but I swear I hear him, his voice saying my name, muffled like he’s hiding in this silly game we’re playing without rules. He’s the childish one.

The wall. 

In the centre of the ruins, where the frog sits on top, there’s an old bricked up doorway. It’s the only entrance—or exit—and I can’t go back the way I came. I just can’t. 

Bum. 

There! It’s not a bee. It’s him. And now I know. 

Logic slips away, just like that mother and child did, as I run at the wall and throw all my strength at it. The barrier punches right back, sending me flying away from the threshold. The floor hits, if there was any air inside of my body I’d be winded. Hesitation doesn’t weigh my mass down so I scramble to my feet and run towards that same spot. Those nondescript breeze-blocks will give way, they don’t know how strong I am now but I do. I’ll prove it. 

My chest bursts again. The beeping stopped—the timer is done. In its place there are footfalls, bouncing from the concrete behind me, voices reverberate and buzz—a stampede of chaos that I’m trying with every last molecule to outrun. I never did understand it and now I don’t have time to learn. I don’t want to understand, not anymore.

“Hold on, sweetheart.” 

Bum! 

He’s here. He’s waiting for me.

“Stay with us.”

Maybe the statue came to life or the child became solid again, maybe it’s the girl with the cake or the man selling it. Maybe it’s all of them. I don’t want them, I don’t need any single one of them— 

This time the explosion makes everything reverberate, the ground shudders beneath my feet as buildings sway in a sickening dance. Brick fingers are pushing into the sky, choking the sun. Cracks appear between the bricks and there’s light there—on the other side. I will do it, they won’t catch me. They can’t catch me. 

The light says this is my last chance.

When I collide on the final assault my lungs tear themselves apart under the force of a silent scream. It’s been clawing at my throat, dying to be freed. It sets fire to salted rivulets the razors made before heat surges to a flashpoint. I’m turning inside-out. My burnt skin is splitting, the marrow is lava. The air in my ruined chest is ash. 

I’m combusting but no concrete punch lands; the floor doesn’t hit my back;

Four, twenty-eight PM, the fifth of the eighth. 

Water sloshes manically, slopping against a surface it found to break the cascade. It’s cold—the water is, and so is the air pouring down my throat. Haggard breaths send ripples across the crystalline surface, it’s the first thing to break through static-filled vision, pale and unblemished skin is the second. Everything is bright—pure.

“Bum?!”

Sight recovering, my gaze devours mint green tiles. I can’t grasp why it feels so desperate; notions and memories of panic and pain are slipping away like sand through my fingers. A squat green shape, two bulbous eyes staring at me from the sink, becomes the focal point as the black and white dots fade. It’s a ceramic frog, two toothbrushes and a half squeezed out tube of toothpaste sticking out from its back. It’s clean and simple, a faint smell of genuine pine lingers underneath the tang of generic shower products. Nothing is out of the ordinary, everything is exactly as it should be, so why does it feel like I’ve been pulled inside-out? Or maybe outside-in. 

“Bum! Where are you?”

He’s calling—that’s all that matters. That fact didn’t change in whatever seismic shift occurred. “Sangwoo?” My voice trembles, lips and tongue feeling as unpractised as an infant’s, but it doesn’t hurt to speak. Why would it hurt? 

If the water is cool, it’s nothing compared to the tide of relief that pulls me under, leaving my skin tingling and the fine hair on my body upright when he bursts into the bathroom. Why would I be relieved? He’s always here. We’re never far away from each other, people gossip over how inseparable we are. 

His face. I can see his face. It’s close to mine as he kneels, breath warm on my pebbled skin but it doesn’t twist my gut. There was something nauseating in that dream.

“I’ve been calling you for… for I don’t know how long. I thought—I don’t know what I thought. It was silly to worry. But I’m sure I checked here…” he stops, bowing until his forehead is pressed to my shoulder and huffs a laugh. He shakes his head, the imbalance of understanding that we’re sharing is echoed in a weak laugh.

And, powerless to the forces that move me, I reach for him—we’re magnets, we can’t be anything else. “I promised,” the sentiment tastes familiar, spawned from the crumb of a memory that slips beyond reason. What did I promise? Worry ebbs away and nerves soften because he feels right: skin clear, hair soft, and his heartbeat is so strong—like it usually is, like the rest of him. But maybe the vehemence in his grip says he understands the words, that somehow, in the hangover of an abstract dreamscape, it made sense to him. If anyone was going to understand the things I say that I don’t even comprehend it would be him. It’s always been him. 

“I think maybe it was a bad dream,” he sighs.

“Me too. Maybe we were stuck in a nightmare together.”

He looks up, the troubled tightness in his face melting away and leaving only easy, weather-worn memories in their place. “Like when we were kids?” 

Humming, I stroke through his hair. I’ve sat here long enough for my fingertips to wrinkle. The darkness seems vague, another era—another universe entirely. Yet, at the same time, it lingers over my shoulder, hidden only by a veil. The urge to look behind is dwindling, just like any solid dream fragments I could share. What does it matter anyway? “I think I spilt something on myself but—” I stop and frown at the floor. Apart from the small puddles of water, it’s clear. “I don’t know where my clothes are.” 

His mirth turns rueful. “Probably kicked them off somewhere that I’ll find later. Cmon, the dryer just stopped, you can put something fresh on.”

I try to sit but my muscles are infantile, too. “Whatever that dream was, it zapped my energy,” I sigh. Even my lungs are exhausted.

He shakes his head, fingers dipping into the tub. “It’s cold. How long have you been sitting here?” he tsks the question to a close. We look after each other, it’s just what we do. “You’re gonna freeze if you stay here any longer—and it’s dangerous to sleep in the bath,” he tuts again as one arm slides around my shoulders, the other beneath my knees. 

I’m not given time to disagree but I try anyway. “You don’t have to—“ 

“Shush. You’ve done this enough times for me—well, for the five minutes you were bigger than me anyway.” He grins down while plucking my mass from the water with casual ease. Contrary to my words, I soften against him. We have different strengths that we lend each other, you see. It’s always been that way. I know that. I remember. 

The journey is a quiet ceremony; we migrate from one room to another before I’m eased into a kitchen chair, wrapped in a fluffy, white towel. The clothes are still warm, Sangwoo stays centred and focused as he helps me dress. I’m quite capable of doing it myself, just like I could have walked here on my own two feet, but he’s persistent. There is always a dire plea in his eyes when he silently lends his hands to whatever task needs doing, and it’s fulfilled with a gentle touch and stern focus. It feels like repentance or supplication, and so earnest that I can never fight it. 

He’s always been determined, since the day we first met. Gripping tight to my sleeve, Sangwoo wailed until my mum came to investigate and forged an alliance with his mum. The rest is history. He can’t possibly remember that day but that doesn’t stop him from swearing otherwise—says he knew we were soulmates and that it was a matter of life or death to hold on with stubby, sticky fingers. After all this time I’m schooled to the silly, sweet things he says, letting them be without anything more than a grin and a shake of my head. Yet there’s something shiny about that memory. It shimmers in the ancient light of a summer evening and, for whatever reason, I forgot about its existence; slept too long and lost track of identity and time and place. Seeing it there, reflecting true warmth, drapes a comfort blanket over my consciousness; I want to bask in our history.

Those same fingers that gripped my sleeve back then now drag a sock up my calf, but they possess a few decades of knowledge beneath their fingerprints—they are no long stubby or sticky but calm, attentive, and skilled. He smoothes the wool flat and tugs at the seam over my toes to make sure it sits perfectly. 

“Do you wanna listen to something?” His movements effortless, Sangwoo turns to the fridge and items are taken out and placed on the countertop: eggs, milk, butter, a bar of chocolate—flour and sugar joins them from the cupboard. I’m transfixed by every last detail and action, every syllable that falls from his lips without it being translated within the confines of my upside-down skull. My body is righting myself and so I’m simply happy to sit here, snug in warm, fresh clothes and absorb. “Maybe the tape you made last week, or—I don’t know. Which one is your favourite today?” There’s a note in his words that proclaims years of experience when it comes to my quickly evolving, and perhaps fickle, favourites. And, of course, there would be. 

There’s no radio up here, we’re too far out to get signal, and so when we go to the lake to fish or swim we take the old cassette radio with us. A blank tape will be ready in the cassette slot to record songs as they’re aired. We have a kitchen drawer full of compilations, Sangwoo’s precise scrawl can be found on the case of each to note the date and song list. His methodical ideology doesn’t just stop at me, there’s notebook after notebook of days gone by filling shelves around this small home. Moments are recorded in detail as if to prove our existence in this world; we are here in this universe and this story will be left. It never fails to cast a spell of enchantment over everything. 

“Bum?” Feet planted before mine and a crease between his brows, he’s observing me. “You’re spacing out,” he mutters before pressings a palm to my forehead, “but you don’t have a fever. Do you need some fresh air?” 

I think he’s right. Air sounds good. I like the air where we live—it tastes freshly baked as opposed to the staleness lingering everywhere else in the world. “OK.” He weighs me up with his measuring gaze when I get to my feet but there’s no reason to worry, strength is restoring itself and even the memory of pain is unintelligible now. “I’m OK.”

“I’ll bring you some tea.” With that, he’s back to whatever it is that’s being conjured, and I’m trusted to get on with my own job—as simple as it is. A kettle full of water is placed on the stove while I retrace the path he made carrying me in his arms. 

Just past the bathroom is the front door. I say door but it’s mostly window; two large panels that make up top and bottom of the portal are crystal clear. It’s flanked by massive windows, too, because why wouldn’t it be that way up here? Where a panelled wall is required you have it, but if there’s any chance to capture a living portrait you do just that. 

Wood clanks against wood, the door swings shut as I venture out onto the porch. That sensation of experiencing something for the first time settles again, like a dewy web, yet it’s not discomforting. It doesn’t spark curiosity either because I’ve known since we came here that I’ll never get tired of the stretch of cosmos that wraps itself around these stone walls. It stretches this way and that. Green trees that sway in the breeze, dancing to a silent tune, build behind the house, rising to lofty peaks. There’s a handful of hiking routes that wind their way up there. Before me, the pines subside and flow towards the lake. The body of water below glints and shimmers; a mesmerising world of fluid secrets. The amber-blue sky stretches on forever, when the sun sets its understudy arrives and millions of diamonds provide a twilit reverie. Every day is like the first, and at the same time utterly unique. The secrets whispered are always slightly different, the shapes the stars make are always evolving.

This place might not seem much to some, or most for that matter, but it’s everything to me. Eyebrows tend to rise when people know we live together out here, like a couple of hermits, but we’re beyond caring about the thoughts or assumptions they paint. There were times we tried to be apart, building independent lives, but things would spiral into chaos and confusion; bad things ultimately happened. It was never worth the discomfort of trying to squeeze ourselves into empty slots in a puzzle when we never came from the same box in the first place. We found this peace right here, our belonging, and it really doesn’t matter what the world outside thinks.

Besides, we’re not hurting anyone. 

“Here.” I didn’t hear the door open and neither do I flinch with his apparition.

My gaze shifts from lush, green leaves to earthy, rich irises. The pleasure found there is fertile enough to coax a smile. It feels like the most natural thing in the world, and why shouldn’t it be? The mug offered is steaming—chamomile by the smell of it, probably with a little too much honey. 

“Thank you.” It’s sighed while I inhale the scent and let it wrap around me along with every other element within reach that’s whole and perfect. 

“And there’s that smile,” he coos the gentle tease. I’ve always loved the way he teases. His humour is mildly provocative but it soothes instead of stinging, the worst side effect being blushes. It makes up for my quiet demeanour and—if anything—he preens under the laughter that always comes easily from his audience of one. Sometimes my rare sarcasm trips him up, too—it’s served extremely dry. I have to admit a hunger in my gut is fed when his knees buckle under unforeseen hysterics. “You look much better,” he adds, expression mirroring the one he just shone a spotlight on. 

“I feel much better.” To prove the point to myself, my toes wiggle within their thick, woollen confines. Everything feels as it should again—better than it should. Energy coils itself deep in muscle and bone, eager to spring into action. Reaching out, I sate that desire. My fingers brush against his cheek while a pinprick of panic plucks at my imagination over what I’ll find. There was no need to worry, there’s nothing other than him. Past the stubble, he’s warm and smooth—soft even. Most wouldn’t attach that adjective to Sangwoo but, then again, no one knows him as I do.

He sighs, his eyes close, his head tilts into my touch. Yes, he is soft. 

“I’m glad.” Hand finding mine, Sangwoo’s grip weaves  around my fingers until they are entwined with his. There’s a ring he wears, a gift from me. It’s never been removed no matter what graft is demanded. There should be no surprise in seeing it where it belongs. “If you stay out here too long you might catch a cold.” To highlight the gently presented advice, and with an added chuckle, he ruffles my damp hair. “At least get dry first if you want to take a walk.” A light kiss is pressed to my forehead; a full stop for his nurturing thought. I bookmark the moment, recording every last atom vibrating around and within. I’ll return to this page—over and over and over. I just know it. “I have a cake to make,” he adds, taking a step back. A new spark of enticement kindles in his gaze, hoping that he’ll provoke some curiosity—or at the least hunger. 

Where I know him well, he matches that—step for step, word for word, breath for breath. 

“Cake? What kind of cake?” I can’t hide the eager giddiness in my voice, I wouldn’t attempt to either.

“Chocolate.”

My stomach rumbles on cue. “What’s the occasion?” Honestly, I don’t care, I’m already fantasising about the dessert induced coma I’ll fall into later, regardless of the reasoning behind it. Sangwoo is a magician in many things and baking is one of them.

A casual shrug is offered as a response before words follow. “It just felt like a cake kinda day.” Taking another step backwards, he’s halfway over the threshold. “If you’re around in about twenty minutes there’ll be a bowl and spoon to lick clean.” There’s another grin, full of mischief, and eyebrows that quirk before he disappears back into the warmth of our home. 

I’m caught up in the sweetest quandary. My legs long to pace earth and my fingers ache to touch pine, but the cosmos isn’t going anywhere right now… whereas that bowl and spoon might. 

His argument is compelling; Sangwoo knows my weaknesses. But we’ve never truly needed anything to persuade ourselves or convince the other. Nothing binds us here aside from free will, shone and reflected back in equal measures. He is me and I am him. We can’t breathe alone. 

[main-to-card-games-and-pain]

fifty-four

I'm back on that angst train y’all! I just started university, I’m stressed to all Hell, and my most dear and wonderful friend - blondsak - wanted some angst, so here we are. I really hope you enjoy this piece, I worked on it for literal months. Reblogs are always appreciated. As always ST*RKERS CAN F*CK OFF. 

Read on A03

...

Tony Stark, despite popular belief, felt fear quite regularly. He had PTSD and frequent panic attacks, of course he did. The fear he felt when he woke up chained to a wall, the Hydra emblem gleaning at him in the red light of his cell was unmatched to anything he’d felt before. 

He remembered the attack in Manhattan, it had come out of nowhere, sudden charges of power exploding and taking out buildings in their wake. He’d felt the explosions throw his suit like little more than a plaything, all the civilians running, screaming, devastated. Then he was falling, the suddenness of it making his heart stutter in his chest.

Peter had called for him- Peter. 

Oh God, what if they had him too? They couldn’t have got him too. Please.

He didn’t remember what happened after he hit the ground, but he could guess. 

He was here, after all. He was here and he was terrified. 

Tony debated whether or not he should move and attempt to escape his restraints, at the risk of alerting his captors he was awake, or stay still and bide his time a for a little longer, when the door opened with a metallic screech and four silhouettes entered the cell. 

Perhaps in another situation the inventor might’ve made a sarcastic comment, but this was Hydra, and even Tony Stark wouldn’t dare. 

“We know you’re awake,” one of the silhouettes singsonged in an English accent. “You can’t hide anything from us here.” 

His voice sent goosebumps up Tony’s spine, like the brush of a razor blade - not painful but ever so threatening. He responded by lifting his head to face the man. 

He watched in mild fascination as the Hydra agent tapped his watch and activated a hologram which projected Tony’s heart rate, location, and a counter which at the moment said zero. The cuffs, the billionaire realized belatedly, the cuffs must have sensors in them. 

Swallowing, Tony made his first attempt at a reply. “Why am I here?”

Without warning the lights burst into existence, attacking Tony’s eyes with their fluorescence. He bit back a cry and shielded his eyes as best as he could, tilting his head to the side and furrowing his eyes shut. 

The room glowed it was so white.

Tony’s fingers itched for his sunglasses, the brightness of his surroundings pounding into his corneas and piercing the back of his skull. Warily he let his eyes relax open, hoping that they would eventually adjust and allow him to see his captors. 

They were grinning at him, sinister, dangerous things that reminded him of snakes more than people. He knew which one had spoken to him; the man was the only one dressed in a business suit whereas his colleagues all sported crude Hydra uniforms and were armed to their teeth. He had light skin, chestnut hair, and eyes so blue they appeared ethereal. 

“You’re here because we felt like it,” the man finally replied, touching another button on his wrist and releasing Tony’s cuffs from their chains. Tony landed with a grunt, his ankle giving out and sending him crashing to his knees. He made to get up but was halted by that man’s cutting voice once again, “No, stay there.”

Tony did, but didn’t shy away from making eye contact with his captor. “I like to know the name of my kidnappers,” he grit, clenched fists hanging uselessly at his sides. 

“Warner,” the man supplied, an amused smirk pulling his lip upwards. He bowed exaggeratedly. “At your service, oh Highness of Death.” 

“That’s not my title anymore.” It never was, Tony thought. 

“We’ll see about that, after we’re finished with you.” 

Cold washed through Tony’s veins. Before he could properly think about his words he was blurting, “I won’t build you anything, no matter what you do to me.”

Warner laughed. “We are not some low grade terrorists who want you to build us one of your infamous weapons. Firstly, we’ve our own; a fact you were made privy to in Manhattan today. Secondly, we know you’ve some experience with... physical coercion... but let me assure you that that is nothing compared to what we have in store for you.” 

Tony watched with dejected expectation as Warner pressed another button on his watch and the cuffs instantly began to shoot streams of agony through his veins. He collapsed to the ground with a hoarse shout, going boneless in the fire’s wake. His muscles were going to spasm but he could hardly care when his entire body was screaming in agony. 

It stopped as suddenly as it came, leaving the inventor panting on the ground. 

“A little more complex than simple waterboarding, yes? More effective I suspect as well.” 

“I told you, I won’t build you anything.” 

The entire group suddenly advanced on him, quickly invading his personal space as Warner knelt next to him and harshly yanked his hair back. 

“And I told you that that’s not what we’re after. No, you’re going to kill many, many people all because we want you to.” 

Tony blinked, his confusion evident. Flashes of the Winter Soldier invaded his mind and he wondered if the same fate awaited him.

“No,” Warner smirked like he could read his mind, his voice condescending, “we’re not interested in another of Steve Rogers’ ex-boyfriends becoming our newest assassin.” 

Tony couldn’t restrain his eye-roll. “Then what,” he grunted, “what do you expect me to do?” 

“You never had children, did you?” Tony’s body tensed at the sudden change in topic. 

“No,” he replied warily. “Never got around to it.” It was a lie, but not on paper.

“But you’ve a wife?”

“Never got around to making that official either.”

Warner hummed. “I don’t appreciate being lied to, Mr.Stark,” he tutted. 

“I haven’t-” he was cut off by a scream tearing its way through his throat, jerking messily against the ground as the cuffs reactivated. 

“I told you, you can’t hide anything from us here, including your whelp,” Warner hissed as Tony writhed, the inventor’s eyes widening in fear. “So I expect you to do as we say, or you can expect to watch dear Peter Parker be tortured until he begs for death, and then we’ll slit his throat and you can watch him bleed.” 

“N-no,” Tony gasped, “y-you don’t have him-” another wave of pain cut his sentence off. 

“Not yet, but we have you, how hard do you think it’ll be to get him here?” 

The pain ended abruptly, but Tony felt a new kind of pain rip through him at the thought of Peter being brought here. “I’ll do whatever you want me to do,” he hissed, “don’t bring him into this.”

“Good,” Warner smiled, standing straight and stepping away from Tony’s collapsed form. “In a few moments you’ll hear that door buzz open, when it does one of our more... disposable men will enter, unarmed of course. You will kill him, and if you fail you know what will happen.” 

 Eyes widened almost comically, Tony sputtered in response to the demand. “W-what? You’re insane! N-”

“I’d think very hard about what you’re about to say, Stark.” The man’s voice promised nothing but pain and blood and screams, gone was the false sense of amusement. “And the consequences of your actions.”

Something beeped and a projection flickered onto the wall opposite Tony’s restraints. The inventor gasped in dismay. “No. How did you...?”

“We’ve your suit, and you had quite a surveillance system set up for your boy. Poor thing, look at him, crying for his father.” Peter’s eyes were rimmed with red, and he looked truly wrecked as he stared aimlessly at his wall. It was a live feed, Tony could tell, Peter’s alarm clock blaring the time back at him. “Hydra is closer to him than you thought, I hope you realize.”

Tony’s suit was supposed to be un-hackable for this exact reason. He was supposed to keep Peter safe; the thought of him being taken and tortured because of him was unbearable. So he would do whatever they said, for he could handle blood on his hands but he couldn’t handle Peter’s. The feed cut away away and Tony felt such an immense sense of loss he couldn’t breathe. 

“Fine,” he whispered. “Fine, I’ll do it.” 

Warner smiled at him, reminding Tony too much of a shark. “Good,” he said, “I’m going to enjoy this.” 

Tony was only alone for a moment after they left, only able to try and come to terms to what he’d agreed to for a moment before an ugly, blaring, buzzing, sound went off and held for one second, two, and the door opened. 

The inventor stood, determined to face down his opponent with as much dignity as possible. But it was just a boy; he was in a Hydra uniform and looked very intent on killing Tony, but still, he was just a boy. 

Ten minutes later Tony collapsed back to the floor, the white room stained with a growing red, and he sobbed. 

And somewhere in the facility the counter in Warner’s watch beeped and the counter flickered from zero to one. 

...

Two months later

Peter knew that Mr.Stark was still alive, he would’ve felt if they killed him. When Rhodey found out it was Hydra behind the attack he’d taken Peter aside and told him that even if he was right Tony was as good as dead. 

Peter had pushed him, yelled at him, accused him of indifference and abandonment. 

The words felt like lead on his tongue as soon as he saw the flash of pain in the colonel’s eyes. Rhodey had lost his best friend, he missed him just as much as Peter did, and Peter had been cruel to him. The teen apologized the next day, but explained that he couldn’t just give up. 

Now he’d finally found a way to locate Mr.Stark, knew which warehouse he was being kept in, and Rhodey didn’t want him going. Talk about adult hypocrisy. 

“But I’m the one who found him,” Peter argued, pacing frustratedly. “You didn’t even want to try!”

“I did try, Peter,” Rhodey groaned, “and I’m proud of you for finding that warehouse but you have to understand why I can’t let you go.”

Peter wasn’t stupid, he knew what they’d all been doing since Tony went missing. Rhodey, Happy, even Pepper had gotten it into their heads that since they thought Mr.Stark wasn’t coming back it was up to them to protect Peter. 

“No, explain it to me. I’m enhanced, I can help.” 

“And what would Tony say to this?”

“Don’t do that,” Peter ground out. “Don’t use him as an excuse, if you won’t let me go you tell me why.” 

“Because I don’t want you seeing something you won’t recover from,” Rhodey finally hissed. “This is Hydra, Peter, do you understand what that means? That means that we have no guarantee that Tony is alive, and if he is, what condition he’s in. I don’t want you seeing that. And I don’t want to put you into that kind of danger, bringing you there.”

“Tony would go for me in a second.”

“Of course he would, Peter, but he’s an adult and you’re a-”

“Don’t call me a child, I’m not-”

“Yes you are. You’re Tony’s kid, and I can’t let you be hurt.”

“The other Avengers aren’t here anymore. You need me.” Grim satisfaction overtook Peter as he caught Rhodey’s jaw clench. He was right. Hydra was definitely Avengers business, and without the others the police may not be enough. “I won’t do the fighting bits Rhodey, just let me look for Mr.Stark, please.” 

Before, the colonel had always wondered how and why Tony always caved in whenever Peter begged him for something. Now, he understood just fine. 

“Fine, but things go south and you’re gone, promise.”

“I promise.” 

Peter had never needed anything as much as he needed to be there when they rescued Mr.Stark. It was like a primal instinct, the same instinct that had driven him to continue a seemingly hopeless search, or told him to cling to that spaceship when everything else told him to let go; he was quite sure he’d never have been able to sit idle on the sidelines. 

What the teenager hadn’t anticipated was the vehement resistance from Happy. 

He’d actually shouted at Rhodey about Peter’s attendance. Yelling about responsibility, and risk, and really yelling about Peter’s safety. In the end, he knew it was a losing battle, so in a moment of uncharacteristic tenderness he grabbed Peter by the arms and made the teen look at him. 

“You stay safe, you hear?” Peter nodded his head, trying to reassure the man with his eyes alone. “No, I want to hear you say it.”

“I already promised Rho-”

“Well, promise me now,” Happy insisted. 

“I promise I’ll do my best to stay safe.”

“Good.” Happy released him. “Because we are not-” the bodyguard cut off his sentence but Peter knew what he meant. We are not losing you too. “We’re not dealing with the paperwork of an injured intern.” 

“Of course not,” Peter grinned. “I probably won’t even be noticed, I’m going in in one of their uniforms.”

“Alright,” Happy said softly, taking a step back from Peter. He locked eyes with Rhodey and the two shared an understanding. 

Take care of him. 

I will. 

...

He remembered when the room was white enough to hurt his eyes. 

The blood had been so noticeable then, a splash of crimson that demanded his attention. Look at me, it shouted, look at what you did!

It shouted and it whispered and somehow it did both. 

Then the tenth body had been removed, the fifteenth, the twentieth, and the blood itself wasn’t so noticeable anymore, spread as it was around the room. The whispers, however, they were ever constant. 

But there was a routine. Rules. An order to things. They had never been unpredictably cruel to him and Tony didn’t know if he should be grateful or not. 

Because yes, he’d had his fair share of torture in the past weeks, agony that erupted from the cuffs and spread through his veins like liquid fire, but at least he always knew why. Why, and what he could do to not upset them in the future. 

And if he was good they let him watch Peter for a little while, sometimes he was patrolling (which wasn’t all that often anymore) and sometimes he was sleeping, but it was Peter and Tony knew it would be the only way he’d ever get to see the kid again. 

And then the signal would go off and the door opened and Tony attacked. Because that was the rule: noise=attack silence=kneel and if he got it wrong they’d make sure he was sorry. 

When he was done and the bodies were taken away he still felt the same guilt as his first, but he didn’t cry, not anymore. He felt shame too, he was little more than a trained dog and he knew it, despite being called his former moniker. Prince of Death indeed. 

Had they not threatened to take Peter if he died Tony was sure he’d have taken his own life by now. 

...

Peter heard the shouts and the bullets from above, enhanced hearing and all, and he winced every time a bullet cut off a shout, but it was necessary. 

No one really shot him a second glance, dressed as he was, face hidden under the standard issue ski-mask and uniform matching them all. Everyone was running around after all, no one person really in charge of what should be done about the twenty plus Iron Man suits attacking their base, headed by the War Machine. They were all just attacking the threat willy-nilly. Peter had a suit on him as well, underneath the Hydra uniform Spider-Man was waiting - more bullet protection than anything, he didn’t hope nor expect to be taking off his disguise - and in a buttoned pocket one of Mr.Stark’s nanobot watches. For when they took him home. When, not if.

He rushed through the corridors, mindful how the security progressively got tighter and tighter. The prison cells were around here, he knew it. 

574RK, one read. Peter recognized its other meaning instantly. STARK 

Huh. For the most deadly and cruelest evil organization in the world they sure had a lame sense of humour. 

Peter removed the Trojan drive from his belt, inserting it covertly into the keypad on Tony’s cell, waiting patiently as it flashed orange. The door would be open soon, and Tony would be on the other side, and he would be alive. Peter knew it. 

He had to be.  

...

By the time he’d breached the control room Rhodey was exhausted. Emotionally, spiritually, physically, you name it, he was tired. He didn’t like killing and yet he’d done enough of it today to last a person their lifetime. 

But then Peter’s voice had flickered through his comm, a hushed whisper of “I’ve located Mr.Stark’s cell, retrieval time is an estimated three minutes,” and Rhodey found within himself a new vigour. 

He prepared himself for another fight, so it was a jarring shock when he breached the control room and found not twenty men but one. One man, with light brown hair and piercing blue eyes, lounging with his feet propped on the desk and playing with a holographic image above his watch. 

Frankly, it stopped Rhodey in his tracks. 

“Good afternoon, Colonel Rhodes,” the man drawled with an English accent. “Did you make it here okay? I’ve found traffic in America doesn’t fare much better than London.” 

Rhodey would bet his entire life-savings that this man was in charge. He raised his blaster. “We got here fine, thanks.”

“Yes, you and the Peter Parker boy.” Rhodey froze, his heartbeat drumming obnoxiously in his ear. “Don’t worry,” the man teased, “we won’t touch him; our little deal with Mr.Stark.”

“Tony’s alive then?” Rhodey hoped it did not sound as desperately hopeful as he thought it did. 

“Of course,” Warner hummed, finally swivelling to fully face Rhodey. “Would you like to see?”

Rhodey watched tensely as Warner fiddled with his watch. His blaster twitched, unsure if there was a threat or not. The man seemed to see this, slowing his movements almost mockingly and displaying a new hologram. 

Tony’s face glared at Rhodey, right above his location - the warehouse they were in - and next to his steady heartbeat. It released a knot in Rhodey’s heart he hadn’t exactly known was there. Then something else caught the colonel’s eyes. 

Swallowing past a lump in his throat, he regained his voice. “What does fifty-four mean?” 

The Englishmen smiled, and it sent goosebumps up Rhodey’s spine. “You’ll see.” 

SHIELD definitely wants someone like him. “Get on your knees,” Rhodey said, regaining his nerve slowly, “hands up.” 

Warner complied, sinking from the seat in surrender. And still, Rhodey felt like he was the prey and this smirking, mild man the predator. 

“Before you take me in, I’m afraid there’s one more thing I must show you,” Warner said casually. “For I see that the boy hero is close to entering Anthony’s cell.” 

Rhodey’s eyes flickered to the security screens. He was right. “Don’t move,” he hissed. 

“Oh, but colonel,” the man grinned, “I assure you, you will want to see this.”

“I said don’t move!” Warner’s hands began to drift down from their surrender. “Stay where you are!” 

“Our final curtain;” Warner announced, “what we turned Tony Stark into...” And his hand shot for a button on the desk. 

Rhodey’s blaster fired, killing on impact.

But it was too late, because at that very same second four floors beneath them a cell door opened and a signal alarm blared through the air. 

...

Peter huffed a sigh of relief as the locking mechanism released. He was antsy to get in there and get Mr.Stark out. The noise that followed the door opening almost collapsed the boy where he stood, loud and shrill and so very ominous, but it ended after a few seconds and he was still standing, so he carried on. 

“Mr.Stark,” he called into the bright room, “Mr.Stark?”

It smelled overwhelmingly like copper. Peter realized belatedly that it was the stench of blood, the place positively was covered in it; Peter turned to the side, struggling not to vomit. 

A fatal mistake on his part, it turns out, because the next thing he knew he was being slammed to the ground by something - someone. Mr.Stark, specifically. No wonder his Spidey-Senses didn’t go off, Mr.Stark could never hurt him. 

Well- he definitely could, but he wouldn’t. Right? 

Tony’s fist slammed into his cheek, forcing his head against the cement-hard floor. Right. 

“Tony stop!” Peter twisted underneath his mentor’s knees, wrapping his own around the inventor’s waist and flipping them over. “It’s me! It’s Peter!” 

The man let out a guttural yell, pulling his fist back and swinging. Peter caught it easily, pushing it back towards the ground; he felt Tony’s wrist snap underneath his grip, and Tony screamed. 

“Shit,” the boy yelped, scrambling away from his mentor. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to-” 

Peter watched wide-eyed as Tony tried to overcome the pain. His stomach churned with guilt, he was here to help Mr.Stark and he just broke his arm. The man was too weak for someone like Peter to handle roughly. Mr.Stark just didn’t know it was him, if he took off his ski-mask he would recognize him and it’d be fine. 

So he did. And it did nothing. Mr.Stark writhed for a second more before turning himself over, standing, and setting his eyes on the teenager again. It didn’t even look like he recognized Peter. 

Tony advanced on him still, clutching the fractured limb close to his chest. Peter began backing himself up towards the wall, determined not to fight the man. 

“Tony stop. It’s me, it’s Peter.” He felt his back hit the wall as the mechanic closed the distance between them. Peter lamely pressed his palms against the man’s chest, trying to gently push him away. “Mr.Stark, it’s me!” 

Even with the broken wrist Tony was able to strike Peter, the teen felt the fist collide with his cheek once, twice, and finally it twisted into his hair and smashed his head into the wall. 

The boy collapsed with a gasp, stars bursting across his vision. Tony didn’t waste any time, taking the opportunity to kick Peter’s ribs until he was sure one cracked. 

Now Peter’s Spidey-Sense was going off full gusto but he was too dazed to do anything without hurting his attac- without hurting Tony. 

“Stop!” He curled into himself as Tony’s blows began to escalate in force. “Tony, stop it,” he shrieked, “Stop it!” 

The inventor’s weight settled on his chest, the pressure of his knees adding a new layer of bruises. Panicked hands scrambled for purchase as the inventor made his intent to choke Peter’s life away very clear. Peter pushed the grip around his throat away as forcefully as he dared, flipping them over again. 

He was so dizzy, and a pain had spread to his entire body, permeating his muscles and blood vessels and bones. Tears trickled down his cheeks and splashed against Mr.Stark’s chest. 

Peter took his chance, knowing moving his arms would allow Mr.Stark to attack him again, he desperately smashed the button against his ear that opened his comm-link to Rhodey. 

“Rhodey!” he shrieked, his pain too intense to even try and hide the tears in his voice, “Rhodey I need hel-!”

Mr.Stark drove his knee into Peter’s stomach, earning his release and grappling with the teenager for his position. Knowing he’d be unable to get to his neck the inventor flipped the pair over and drove his elbow into the boy’s chest. 

Peter cried out before suddenly cutting himself off, gasping for air that wouldn’t come. It was like a vacuum had opened in his lungs, he was breathing but he wasn’t getting air. It felt... wet. 

Tony hit him again. And again. And again. And Peter realized he was sobbing because it hurt and it was Tony and he didn’t want to hurt him and he wasn’t even sure if he could at this point. 

Tony Stark was beating him to death. 

It was a disturbing reality to face because, by all means, it made no sense. Peter’s own brain was having a hard time even understanding that that statement was truth, reality, not a nightmare he could wake up from. 

That was the scene Rhodey found when he finally made it to the cell. His chest heaved with the efforts of his mad dash down there, but when he crossed the threshold into that horrific room he froze. 

He thought, when Peter had screamed for him, that he’d find his best friend dead and his kid being attacked by some Hydra agent; the mere thought of it had gripped his heart with despair but it was somehow better than this. 

Because this, this Hell of a scene where his best friend was beating Peter, meant that they’d well and truly broken Tony Stark. Because Rhodey knew with certainty Tony -two months ago - would have rather died than hurt his kid. 

“Tony!” He sprinted across the room to where the two were struggling with each other, ripping the inventor away from the teen. “Tony, what are you doing?!” 

Rhodey didn’t expect the ferocity that Tony fought him with, animalistic struggles desperate to attack the boy. “Tony! It’s Rhodey! You need to stop! It’s over! It’s over!” 

Tony blinked a few times, the change in routine disorientating him away from his now automatic response. It was like something had cut all of his strings, he sagged in Rhodey’s arms, unable to hold himself up anymore. 

The realization of what he’d done came crashing through his mind and ripped horrified wails from his throat. 

“No... no, no, no, no, no, Peter-” he sobbed, “Rhodey please! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please, help him.” 

Peter watched the scene through blurry eyes, his tears and blood obscuring his vision. He didn’t understand what was happening; why Mr.Stark started nor why he now stopped, why he was desperately sucking air and yet still felt like he was drowning, why he hurt everywhere and yet felt absolutely numb. In a kind of displaced way, he could feel his body’s efforts to heal him, had he been unenhanced he’d be dead, because none of his injuries were mending. He knew everything he had was being spent keeping himself alive. 

Rhodey reluctantly let his grip slacken, wincing a bit when Tony collapsed to the ground in both pain and anguish. The man was gasping wretched, horrible breaths, rocking and pulling at his hair, almost unaware of the unnatural angle of his arm. 

Dear God, what happened to him?

The thought didn’t have long to settle in the colonel’s mind before his attentions were turned back to Peter. 

Peter, who had blood dribbling down his mouth, and was making awful wet sounding noises that might’ve been gasps for air, and was slowly beginning to slow his movements as he fell unconscious. 

Rhodey rushed to him with widened eyes, terror making his limbs clumsy and stiff as he examined the child. Tony made another desperate plea and stumbled towards them. It was instinctual, and Rhodey didn’t mean to, but everything was so confusing because Peter had been attacked and the attacker was still there, but it was Tony and Tony looked and sounded devastated, but he was the attacker. 

And all of this left Rhodey confused and desperate to protect the both of them. So when Tony rushed towards them the colonel hadn’t had time to sort through everything that happened and just reacted.

Tony stumbled forward only to halt like he’d been hit as Rhodey rounded on him and protectively shielded Peter. “No, stay there,” his friend barked, half looking like he was going to shoot him. 

He could. Tony was a threat. Look at what he did. 

Something snapped in his chest at the thought. Rhodey saw it break and immediately regretted his actions, but he didn’t know what to do. Shaking away his own anguish the ever in control solider fished the watch from Peter’s pocket and approached Tony as fast as he dared to. 

It was hard to talk through the tightness in his chest as he watched his friend kneel unprompted in front of him with practiced ease, tears gathered on his lashes and staining his face. He took Tony’s arm gently and snapped the watch on, his fingers brushing over the cuffs despairingly. “We’ll find a way to get these off soon,” he mumbled. “Until then, FRIDAY take us home.” 

The nanobots encased their creator, responding both to and for him as they formed his suit, following taking flight with their pre-designated route. Meanwhile, Rhodey awkwardly picked Peter up and followed, hoping to God that he wasn’t too late, for either of them. 

...

It was a rush from there, they’d expected a mad dash back to the medical facility, so the med team was ready, but they weren’t expecting two patients in such critical condition.

Not that Tony was accepting any medical attention, oh no, some things never change. 

As soon as the Mark had released him he’d collapsed away from it, not waiting for the nanobots to degenerate back to his wrist and instead ripping away the watch and throwing it away from himself. 

Despite his absence he could still maneuver the suit like it was a second nature, he simply didn’t have the energy. 

Happy had been waiting for him, the hope that lit in his eyes when he saw his boss and friend return alive might’ve endeared Tony before, but now it just nauseated him. 

The inventor swayed just enough to snap Happy out of his stupor and the man rushed towards Tony just in time to catch his collapsing form. 

“We’re gonna take a trip to the MedBay now,” he murmured shifting Tony in his arms a bit. He didn’t expect the resistance he was met with. 

“No!” Tony tried pushing himself away from his friend’s grip. “Peter-” he gasped, and Happy felt a jolt of fear freeze his blood, “Peter needs it more than me - help him- oh God,” Tony wailed. 

Struggling to keep his composure Happy angled the inventor so he had a grip on both his arms but they now faced each other properly. “What happened to Peter, Tony?” There was an urgency in his voice that pulled Tony out of his tormented ramblings. “Tony, Peter and Rhodey aren’t back yet, you need to tell me what happened so I can tell the med team.” 

“I did,” he whispered. 

Alarm bells rang in Happy’s head but he persisted. “What exactly happened?”

“He took a beating,” Tony swallowed, looking haunted as ever, “his rib broke, I felt it go... he- he was spitting blood; I think his lung collapsed. And, and internal bleeding. He might have internal bleeding too.” 

Happy nodded frantically and released Tony for a moment, nervously glancing at him every few seconds, making sure he didn’t collapse as he called Cho. When he returned it was like the inventor had just... shut down. 

“Okay,” Happy said as softly as he could. “Okay let’s get you to the MedBay now too.”

“No,” Tony snarled, “I told you, Peter needs it more.”

“Boss, you need to go to the MedBay you’ve been-”

“They made me see a... someone, every few weeks. Or if I was hurt. I’m fine.” Happy didn’t look too convinced. “Look, if I died or couldn’t put up a fight I was no fun, okay? I’m fine.”

Happy might have fought with Tony more had Rhodey and Peter not arrived in that moment. Tony stiffened, too ashamed and too frightened to turn and see his carnage up close again. Instead, he watched as Happy’s breath hitched in dismay, his eye widening at the sight of Peter, bloodied and mangled. 

“End of the hall,” he managed to bark. “Helen’s waiting. Tony already told me probable injuries.” 

Rhodey nodded silently, casting his own worried glances at his friend while rushing the teenager away to his hopeful salvation. 

As soon as the mechanic lost sight of Peter it was like his last shred of hope and goodness and light had disappeared too, because he absolutely lost it. Happy darted to catch him again as his knees gave way to his grief, pulling the friend he thought he’d lost for good closer to his chest while he sobbed. 

“I did it!” Tony finally cried, unprompted and innocent but still confessing. “I’m the reason Peter- I was the one who-”

But Happy didn’t care, he gripped Tony tighter and let a few of his own tears loose. 

Eventually, when Rhodey was finished helping prep Peter, he made his way back to where the crumpled pair sat. Gently the colonel lowered himself to their level, crouched where Tony could see him. 

“You were right about the lung,” he whispered. Tony flinched. “They’re going for emergency surgeries now. Now it’s time for you to-” 

“I already told you, no,” Tony hissed. 

“Peter broke your arm Tony,” Rhodey growled. “And I know there was other stuff that... happened.” 

Happened. Past tense. Like it wasn’t still happening as Peter bleed into his lungs. Like this wasn’t the worst thing they’d done to him, could do to him. 

“He needs-” 

“Not everyone on your team is a surgeon Tony, we’ll just go see someone not working right now to set your arm.” 

Maybe it was because he was so, so tired, or maybe it was because he simply didn’t have the energy to fight anymore, but Tony finally agreed. 

Outside the observation windows Happy pulled Rhodey to the side and hissed, “What the Hell happened?” 

“You think I don’t want to know that too?” 

“How did Peter-”

“Tony did it.” 

“What?”

“I got there and Tony was beating the crap out of Peter; he was trying to kill him.”

The statement hung heavy in the air, neither man knowing what to say to that. 

“Colonel Rhodes,” the doctor finally called, “he’s asking for you.”

Rhodey nodded and followed her into the small sterile med-room, where Tony was laying on the cot with a newly cast arm. He glanced at Rhodey indifferently but sat himself up nevertheless. 

“How do you feel?” 

“Like I look,” Tony replied, a sardonic smile playing on his lips. So, terrible. 

Rhodey huffed and slumped down on the bed as Tony shifted over, and they lapsed into an awkward silence. Silences weren’t usually possible with Tony, he’d always rambled when he was nervous; so this was wrong on so many levels. Everything was wrong. From the moment they got to the facility- no, the moment Tony was taken. 

 “I wasn’t mind-controlled, brainwashed, drugged, or otherwise unaware,” the inventor finally stated matter-of-factly. “I was completely in my right mind when I attacked the kid.” 

“We both know that isn’t true,” Rhodey growled, just barely tipping his head to watch Tony’s facial expressions - he didn’t really have any. “I took an external drive of their file for you; what are the chances I find they didn’t just leave you in a cell for two months?” 

Tony quirked an eyebrow like he was amused and huffed a laugh. “Is that how long it was? Felt longer.” He laid down again, the world once again too heavy. “Did he show you the watch?”

Shifting uncomfortably, in a way only Tony knew he did, Rhodey hesitated. “Yeah, he did.”

“What was the number there?”

Another hesitation, another unknown territory. “Fifty-four.”

A sharp laugh that was too much like a sob escaped the inventor, and a wince in a way only Rhodey knew he did. “Christ that’s a lot. That could put me in a record book somewhere for that.”

“What does fifty-four mean?” Rhodey snapped. Tony went quiet, and then turned himself away from his friend, the broken arm cradled close. 

“People,” he finally mumbled. 

“Excuse me?” A million scenarios rang through Rhodey‘s head, each somehow more horrifying than the other, and he found himself blanching. 

“People,” Tony repeated, softer. “People who I killed while I was there.” 

Rhodey felt the breath leave his lungs, but not like he was choking, like he’d been punched. Tony still wasn’t looking at him, but the colonel could imagine the guilt-stricken, pained expression ruining his expression. 

“So, uh- how long until we find out if it’s fifty-five?” 

“Tony,” Rhodey warned, “stop it. Peter’s going to be fine, and it wasn’t your faul-”

“I wouldn’t have stopped. I would have kept going until he was dead, and then I would have been glad. Just for a bit though, before I realized I just beat my kid to death.” And wow was there a lot to unpack there.

“Why would you have been glad?” His voice was so soft a draft could’ve carried the words away were Tony not clinging to them.

“No torture, food, they would have maybe let me see Peter.” It seemed so simple now, what he’d been living and killing for, but he remembered the complicated mess of his mind every time the buzzer went off. He didn’t remember fighting for those things when he’d do it, not after a while, after a while he would just do it. 

“Show you Peter?”

“They hacked my security.” The statement wasn’t as horrifying as it’d first been, he’d come to realize he couldn’t actually do much good to his loved ones. “Sometimes he’d let me just watch him. They said if I didn’t- if I didn’t do as I was told they’d take him instead.” 

“You didn’t have a choice then Tony; you were forced, conditioned even.” 

“Still fifty-four people dead because of me,” Tony hummed. “You took care of him, when you thought I was dead.” 

The abruptness of the topic change left his companion scrambling for ground, Tony could tell, but the whole affair was rather shaking to begin with. “Yes,” Rhodey replied eventually, “we knew it’s what you would have wanted.”

“I do,” Tony whispered, choking on a lump in his throat. “And it makes me feel better that you’ll do it again, right?” 

Every muscle in Rhodey’s body went rigid. “What does that mean Tony?” The inventor didn’t answer and Rhodey’s mind was assaulted by image after image of a drunken college student confessing he was ready to die at twenty years old. That was then, after what’s happened now? “What does that mean?” 

“I can’t see that kid after this, I mean Christ, look what I did to him.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous Tony! Peter was the one who fought to find you! He wanted you back more than anything else!” Tony had not said Peter’s name through the entire conversation. 

“Yeah, and look what I did! Some gratitude right? Punctured lung, internal bleeding, pain for weeks!” 

“You thought you didn’t have a choice! You are not walking away from him after he-”

“This is not your decision to make! You’ll see, he’ll never want to see me again, I guarantee. He shouldn’t have to! If he knew what was best he’d pack up and get as far away from me as possible! So just- just look after him, okay?” 

Tony sat up faster than he had any right to do, with the shape he was in, and stormed away. 

“Where are you going?” Rhodey followed him, too wary of his injuries to reach and grab him back. 

“I’m going to see if I can still do something worthwhile with my fucking time or if I forgot how to do that too! Tell me if I killed the kid or not but otherwise leave me alone.” 

He’d descended the stairs to the lab and locked the door before Rhodey could even think to reply. 

...

The next few hours were a painful blur for all involved. 

Peter, not having Tony there to calculate his anesthesia, woke up once during his operation. It was bad; the boy had woken up howling in pain, and for a moment the surgeons had thought his flailing would be so bad that they wouldn’t be able to safely approach him. Luckily for all, Peter had stilled on his own and mewled in pain instead. 

It was not easy for Rhodey and Happy to watch, but they both agreed - no one tells Tony about it; it’d just be more ammunition for him to hate himself with. 

If Happy had to excuse himself to throw up, and Rhodey later had to go to the training room and take out his frustrations destroy it, that was no one’s business. 

In truth, they’d both hoped for this day, dreamed about it, as much as Peter had. But unlike Peter, they’d known there would be a price to pay for their friend’s return. If this was the price they weren’t sure they were ready to pay it. 

But Peter survived, he was brought into the recovery room Tony had once jokingly called his. (It was the nearest to Tony’s bedroom.) Now, the joke was just a bit too close to home to repeat. 

Pepper was told of Tony’s rescue over a phone call, because Rhodey was a coward. There was no sobbing in relief, or soft exclamations of gratitude to a higher power. No, there was only a breathless gasp and nimble whisper of, “How bad is it?” 

“Bad,” Rhodey replied. “It’s real bad Pep, I don’t think he’s ready to see you yet.” 

“Alright.” And the call ended. 

But Tony was the worse of them all. 

He didn’t remember how to tinker, as he’d so hoped he would - just to get that agonizing screaming out of his head; sometimes Peter, sometimes one of the others, sometimes Peter but dying like he’d killed the others - and had instead opted to destroy whatever he could find. 

He screamed at a god he didn’t believe in anymore, asking Him why, why he’d been so cruel. What was the point? Of Tony doing all of that to keep Peter safe only to kill him himself. He understood wanting to punish him, but Peter was just a child, he was innocent. 

Jesus Christ, he’d killed his own kid. He- he begged Tony to stop, he was confused too. Tony had wanted to kill him, he remembered what was almost pure instinct running through his veins and all he could think of was the possibility of seeing Peter if he did this right. 

Peter hadn’t wanted to hurt Tony. He wouldn’t even raise his hands after he broke his wrist; he shouldn’t have stopped with the wrist. 

Tony was absolutely certain that if Rhodey came down and told him they’d lost Peter that he would follow shortly after. 

Though, he doubted he would be going to where Peter would be; Hell is a much more appropriate destination for murderers like him. 

His body, as it was, was beginning to fail him. Holding on to any thought was growing more and more difficult, trickling through his fingers like water. (Or blood.) His fingers bled from his rampage, both in his lab and in his Hell, as did the soles of his feet. He was bruised in so many places it was easier to say where he wasn’t bruised. 

It had nothing on what his mind was doing. 

MurdererMurdererMurderer- FIFTY-FOUR - I wonder what their names were; no,no,no,no! Peter’s dead because of you. You you you always you. You’re poisonpoisonpoisonpoison you should take poison, you deserve it. Peter’s dead. Dead dead DEAD DEAD. You liked it you liked killing him you wouldn’t stop he begged you to stop and you didn’t. Monster. Monster. MonsterMonsterMonsterMurdererMurderer- fifty-four is a lot. Listen to him scream he screamed they all screamed and you didn’t stop murderer murderer murderer monster. WHY? you know why you know it’s because you’re poison. Anything you touch is ruined. Fifty-four is a lot - fifty-four? Fifty-five. 

So many. Too many. 

No matter how much he screamed his agony, or sobbed bonelessly against the floor, or sat numbly against a lab bench which had once felt like home, his mind kept screaming. He didn’t think it’d ever stop screaming. 

That’s how Rhodey found him, hours later. After Peter had finished his disaster surgery. Tony sat against his and Peter’s old bench, staring at nothing, looking absolutely destroyed; looking dead.

“Peter is alive,” he announced first, knowing it was the only thing Tony cared about right now. “He’s in recovery but they’re pretty confident that with the healing factor he’ll be okay in a week or two.”

Tony nodded minutely, the only response he’d put his battered body and throat through. 

“Do you want to see him...?” Rhodey crouched in front of him, taking stock of every injury big or small, of the burns and abrasions on his wrists, of the bruises, of the hollowness of his eyes. 

“No,” Tony croaked. “No, I told you what’s going to happen.” 

“Peter wouldn’t want that Tones- doesn’t want that.  He won’t blame you for any of this.” 

“Yeah, well, Peter’s always been too trusting for his own good.” 

I should have never knocked on that kid’s door. 

... 

So for the first time in the two years they’d known each other, Peter woke up in the MedBay alone. 

He was sore pretty well everywhere, aching in a way he’d never experienced before. His head pounded something fiercely and his chest positively screamed. 

But all of that didn’t matter; Tony wasn’t here. Tony was always here. 

And then he remembered what had happened - all of it - from Tony’s capture to the moment they got him back. 

He broke Tony’s arm. 

Tony would obviously never really want to hurt him, he’d just been confused, and Peter broke his arm for it. Maybe that’s why Tony wasn’t around. Or what if he was hurt before all of that (he probably was, he was with Hydra for two months) and it was all too much and he collapsed or something? 

His heart monitor gradually increased speed until it was going crazy, and with its sudden appearance also came Happy. Peter’s breathing shuddered in his chest, causing quick jabs of pain to radiate through his lungs, but it slowly slowed as Happy rubbed his back as gently as he could. 

He appreciated it, he did. He loved Happy, and he’d been great for the past two months, but he wanted Mr.Stark. 

“Where’s Mr.Stark?” He drew away from Happy, not liking the look of foreboding on his face. “Is he okay? What happened after I passed out? Happy?” 

“He’s okay, kid,” Happy finally responded, unable to mask his trepidation, “physically, anyways. But- uh- mentally he’s not doing great. For a while there it wasn’t looking good...” the bodyguard trailed off before gasping once in relief. “You have no idea how good it is to see you awake Peter.” 

“How long have I been asleep...?” He was sixteen years old, he shouldn’t sound like a child, and yet in that moment that’s exactly how he sounded; scared and unsure. 

“Just a day, but they thought it might be longer. No one really knew how your healing factor would react to what happened.” 

“Right, yeah, I remember feeling it work really hard on the inside and not so much on the outside; must be why I’m still so sore,” Peter huffed a half-hearted laugh. “So, I uh- I got close hey?” 

There was a silence that could cut and then, “Closer than anyone ever wants repeated. It was terrifying.” 

Peter broke eye contact first, fiddling with his bedsheets instead. “And Tony doesn’t want to see me, because of it?” 

It didn’t take a genius to work out that Tony would be feeling guilty about this, he thought he was responsible for the world when it came to Peter and so this? This was probably ten times worse than usual. 

“-but he wants to see you, Peter.” Peter blinked, suddenly realizing Happy had been talking. “Are you okay kid, you look a bit spacey... I don’t think they gave you any morphine...” 

“No, no, it’s- I don’t know, I feel a bit woozy to be honest - I’ll sleep it off. I probably just have a bit of a concussion or something, so just wake me in a few hours.” 

“Sure kid.” Happy turned away to leave but stopped- “Peter, do you remember your surgery?” 

“No...” 

Oh thank God.

“I’m guessing I woke up? Otherwise you wouldn’t ask.” Happy winced, Peter was so clever, too clever sometimes.

“Just go to sleep, kid.”  

... 

When he woke up again everything felt much better, except his head, which had zeroed in on one spot and promptly decided to do its best ice pick impression, but he normally had a bit of a headache after a concussion, so he ignored it and focussed on his company. 

No Tony, yet. But Rhodey was visiting with Happy and Pepper. He’d asked of course, but figured it was rather a pitiful sight when his “Is Tony coming?” Was met with a quick shaking head and his own crestfallen expression. 

Tony always made sure he was okay. 

He’d been filled in on everything that had happened to his mentor in the time he was gone, possible triggers, why things had happened as they did, etc. He felt sick just thinking about it. 

He hacked Rhodey’s servers, watched some of the footage, and did get sick. 

But they’d moved on from grim topics for now. Now they were chatting not-quite-happily as Peter adamantly defended his position on why Hercules is the best Disney movie of its time, and Rhodey tries to rebuff that anyone else would say The Lion King had Hercules beat by miles. 

“But you can un-ironically bop to the music from Hercules though,” Peter rebutted, “I don’t know anyone who parties to “Under the Sea.”” 

“Wrong movie, and you’re just not hanging out with the right people then, kid.” 

“Jesus, kid, what is your morphine on?” Happy interjected, leaning in close to Peter’s face. “Your eyes are absolutely blown.” 

“ ‘m not on morphine,” Peter mumbled, confused. “Wish I was, my head is killing me.” 

“Want your water?” Pepper asked, already standing to fetch it. 

“Sure. Yea’wat’r soun’s good,” Peter slurred, furrowing his brow when the words wouldn’t come properly. Everyone else was watching him intently too, wearing similar masks of confusion and concern. 

Pepper held the plastic cup towards him, he reached to grab it and tipped it onto Pepper’s shirt, having pushed it towards her instead of holding it. The woman gasped but was unconcerned about the blouse, Peter shouldn’t be behaving like this. 

“Sorry! I’m s’ sorry...” he tried, wincing again. “My head... h’rts.” 

“Rhodey,” Happy looked to the colonel, who looked just as alarmed, “what’s going on? Is he on a new medication?” 

“Two plus two, Peter,” Rhodey demanded, catching the teen’s attention, “what’s two plus two?” 

“Five...?” 

“Call the doctor.” Rhodey whipped around to order Happy, but the man was already off, pressing the call button and waiting for Cho’s appearance. “I didn’t see him hit his head, but if he did and it was hard...” 

Pepper stripped Peter’s bed of all the various objects he’d had strewn about. “Stay awake,” she snapped at the boy as his eyes drifted shut. “Don’t sleep Peter.” 

Too late. He slipped unconscious and his heart monitor gradually began to slow. 

“Rhodey!” 

“I know Pepper, there’s nothing I can do until-”

“Cho’s here, what the Hell is going on?” 

How could something that had been so mundane go so wrong, so quickly? 

“Someone needs to get Tony,” Pepper finally hissed, “he needs to be here, whether he wants to or not.” 

No one dared argue against Pepper Potts when she used that tone. 

“I’ll get him.” Rhodey cast one last look at Peter, who wouldn’t wake up no matter how hard Happy shook him. The doctors were rushing in now, ready to assess and diagnose and hopefully treat. Happy and Pepper were going to be removed from the room soon too. 

He darted away, leaving Pepper and Happy to listen to Cho as she began to dictate to her team. 

“We missed the head wound during initial surgeries and I don’t think his enhanced healing is able to combat this,” she said as she began her assessment. She shone a light into Peter’s eye and stilled. “ICP is at critical; prep the surgery room.” 

Happy and Pepper knew better than to get in their way while they helped Peter but as soon as the flurry of doctors and movement had begun to take the kid away they grabbed onto Cho. They needed an explanation, he was recovering - what the Hell happened?   

“His ICP is dangerously high, we need to release it immediately.” 

“We don’t know what that is,” Pepper ground out, “just- what is wrong with him? 

“His intra-cranial pressure has been increasing since he was hurt; it’s caused by a brain bleed.” 

...

“Tony you need to come see Peter, now.”

“I already told you-”

“Something’s wrong!” That stopped the inventor in his tracks. “He was talking with us, he kept saying his head hurt and then all of a sudden it was like his brain just shut off. Slurred speech, no motor control, no comprehension; Tony, you need to be up there.” 

In case he dies, was left unsaid.  

Tony was standing stock still, his whole body tense as he listened to Rhodey, but only for a moment - the next he was gone, sprinting for the MedBay. 

There were many, many, things he’d never forgive himself for - this was one of them - but he’d realized last time that sitting and waiting for news was worse, cowardly.

Before then, he’d always wondered why dying patients had their loved ones called; why would you want a family to watch their loved one die? 

Now he knew, it was about being there to the very end, about showing that person - if there was something afterwards - that they’d impacted their life. Peter Parker had done that with Tony Stark more than could be possibly put into words. 

He wasn’t prepared for the moment he skid to a stop outside of the surgery room, only to be met with a devastatingly flat heart monitor. 

The doctors shocked Peter’s chest, no change. 

“No,” he gasped breathlessly, “no, no, no... Peter- c’mon buddy, come back.” 

Happy had his fists clenched by his sides as he watched, nails creating little half-moon shapes in his palms. Pepper had looked away. Rhodey gasped as he caught up. 

Tony’s world was ending. 

“Come back,” he wailed, “come back Peter please.” Another shock, more compressions, no change. “I’m sorry- I’m so sorry Peter. Please...” 

Another shock. Tony’s legs wouldn’t hold him anymore, Rhodey caught him. “I’m sorry Tony,” he was murmuring, “I’m sorry- we shouldn’t have- you shouldn’t have to watch this.” 

The billionaire wailed again, fighting Rhodey’s hold to desperately hold onto the window ledge. “Peter, please. You can’t go; you’re supposed to be safe. I was supposed to keep you safe.” 

The doctors were still trying to bring him back. 

This was somehow so much worse than the first time around. Rhodey understood why Tony had retreated to his lab now - he wouldn’t have been able to handle the first surgery. 

Tony’s sobs echoed down the hall, no one daring to make any other sounds. “Come back, come back, come back, come back...” 

It felt like all the air in his chest had been ripped away, he wished it was, because this hurt. It hurt worse than anything he could have possibly imagined - and it was his fault. 

He wanted to scream, he wanted to sob, he wanted to die. 

And then Peter’s heart started beating again. 

“Oh my God,” Pepper breathed. Tony couldn’t do anything but gasp, watch the line move with Peter’s heartbeat. He hiccuped, watching the monitor for any change until they’d finished. 

Alive. He was alive. AliveAliveAlive 

No thanks to you. 

After what was wrong with Peter was explained to him he felt that gut-twisting sense of guilt again - he remembered the exact moment Peter had been hit hard enough to cause a brain bleed; he’d slammed his head into a wall. 

He followed Peter into recovery and watched him sleep for just a moment, he turned to leave, stopping only when Pepper’s slim hand encircled his own. 

“You can’t disappear again,” she whispered, “he was crushed. You need to do what’s best for him - even if you feel it’s not what you feel is best - and stay. I know it’s hard, but Peter needs you here.” 

And God, Tony had never wanted anything more. But-

“Pepper, I did this to him.” 

“He knows, and he still wanted to talk to you. If you’re going to cut yourself out of his life at least let him say he wants it that way, otherwise you’re just punishing him as well as yourself. He understands what happened to you, and I think- I think you will too, eventually, after we get you some help.” 

Tony nodded, his gaze going back to his sleeping son. “He- we almost lost him.” 

“And he almost lost you. Don’t waste anymore time - just sit with him.” 

Tony swallowed, pushed away the screaming in his head, and sat stiffly next to the boy. Pepper’s heels retreated, shutting the door behind her gently. Tentatively, hesitantly, like an abused dog, Tony reached out and and grasped Peter’s hand with his own. 

It felt like home. 

The blood had been removed from his brain, the pressure had been released, his vitals had been stabilized, the only thing left was completely up to Peter - he needed to wake up. 

At some point after the first three hours Tony had begun talking to him, anything and everything really. He talked about old memories the two had shared, and he made promises for new adventures for them to partake in; he bargained with Peter to wake himself up, and if the universe had worked like that he would’ve willingly given it anything. 

“You know,” Tony said softly, rubbing a circle on Peter’s wrist, “when I first woke up in that Hydra facility I was so terrified that they had you too. You were my one mercy - that you weren’t with me was both a blessing and a curse, but I missed you so much, Pete. I stayed alive for you; kept living in hope that I’d see you again, safe and sound, and I knew that if I died they’d take you anyways.”

Tony huffed out a laugh, tightening his grip around Peter’s wrist. “It ended up not being them that hurt you, it was me. And I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for that,” he took a shaky breathe, steeled himself to say words that needed to be said, “and because of that, I figured I’d leave you alone. I didn’t want to be reminded of what I’d done to you, or ever have the chance of doing it again. But I was wrong Peter.” 

A sob ripped itself from his throat. “I was wrong to do that, and it was selfish and cowardly of me and I’m sorry Peter, I’m so, so sorry. I love you so much, I can’t- I can’t lose you. And I can’t run from you, I won’t, never again. And I need to say this to you but you need to wake up for me to do that so please - whatever you want, whatever price I have to pay, I’ll do it; just wake up.” Tony wasn’t sure who he was talking to by the end of it. 

If this were a fairytale, or a movie, Peter would wake up then. But it wasn’t and he didn’t. So the only thing that met Tony’s emotional declaration was the sound of the teenager’s beeping heart monitor, but honestly, Tony would take it. 

Much better than the silence he never wanted to hear again. 

As it turns out however, life had its own mercies. One of them was that when Peter Parker did wake up it was during a time when Tony Stark was also awake. 

He hadn’t liked waking up alone, before. So when his eyes blinked open and he saw his mentor there, holding his hand, his face split into a grin. 

“It’s you,” he breathed. “You’re here.” 

Tony’s head snapped up, his eyes searching Peter’s face in a desperate kind of hope. Peter met him with all the trust and love in the world, still contently smiling purely at the man’s very presence. 

“Peter,” Tony whispered, standing a bit faster than he could. “How- You’re- How do you feel?” 

“I’m alright,” Peter answered easily. “I’m really glad you’re here.” 

“I... I messed up kid, I know that, and I’m so, so sorry but-”

“Mr.Stark, it’s okay... I heard you.” Peter’s voice sounded brittle, Tony knew if he tried to speak his would be already broken. “I, um- I know what happened at that place. I was told and... I saw some of the footage.” Tony turned away, the whispers of murderer gaining volume. “I don’t blame you for what happened, I never have, but what they did to you there-”

To the inventor’s horror, tears formed in Peter’s eyes. “Oh, no, bud- don’t. It’s okay, don’t cry.” Tony wanted to hold him, his fingers absolutely ached with the want, but he refrained. “Don’t cry Peter, it’s over now.” 

“No, it’s not! Cause they hurt you so many times and it was because of me and then I hurt you, and now you won’t even touch me, you didn’t want to even see me.” Peter’s tears fell unbidden, his distress palpable. 

“No, Peter- You did nothing wrong, and I wish you would have fought me harder. I... I didn’t know if you’d want me to be around anymore, after what I did.”

“How could you wonder that? I missed you; I know you’d never intentionally hurt me, and... and I know you love me.” The last point Peter sounded unsure about, which was absolutely unacceptable. 

“Peter, look at me,” Tony realized belatedly he’d taken hold of the teen’s arms “I love you more than I’ve ever loved anything before. You’re my kid. You mean the world and beyond to me, and losing you... that’s my Hell on earth.”

“Don’t leave me behind then,” Peter whispered, drawing his arms up and around Tony’s neck. “We’ve got a lot to talk about, but you taking the blame for this isn’t on the agenda. Just don’t- don’t disappear again.” 

Tony hesitantly reciprocated the gesture, wrapping his arms around Peter’s waist and just holding him. “I won’t,” he promised, “not like that again.”

Peter let out one more sob, his arms tightening around his mentor’s neck. “I thought I was never going to see you again,” he cried, burrowing his head into Tony’s neck. 

“Me too.” Tony pulled him closer, mindful of the still sore ribs. The cast lay awkward and heavy against Peter’s back, but Tony could live with it. Tony could live with anything, so long as Peter did too. 

They both calmed down a bit after, but didn’t release the other from their hold. Right now, this was what they both needed. Peter fell asleep nestled in Tony’s embrace, the inventor felt the moment the breaths on his neck evened. 

This used to happen a lot, before everything had happened. He’d taken it for granted then, but he wouldn’t now; like Pepper said, no more wasted time. 

He carded his fingers through Peter’s hair, traced circles on his back, absentmindedly place a kiss against his forehead. It had been hard to find the courage to touch Peter again, now it was doubly so to let go of him. 

He eventually got Peter tucked back against his pillows, detangling lanky teenage limbs from his neck. 

The inventor cast one more fond smile at his kid and rose to leave. Peter’s hand shot out and caught his uninjured wrist. 

“Don’t go...” he mumbled sleepily, not opening his eyes, “stay.”

Tony had always been wrapped around Peter’s finger, but he was quite happy to be there. “Alright,” he replied, taking his seat again. “Alright I’m right here.” 

Peter was right, they had a lot to talk about. And so was Pepper, he needed to get someone to help him. But right now he felt what had been so cruelly ripped away from him in that facility; hope. 

Hope, and his kid.

... 

Do I say sorry? It ended happily, so no, right? xD Thank you everyone for reading, I hope you all enjoyed it! Please tell me what you thought of it, much love to everyone! 

taglist: @just-the-daydreamer @keep-a-bucket-full-of-stars @ladyreyreigns  @thetranslucentwallaby @friendly-neighborhood-ash @delphinium2 @the-persian-slipper @four-am-fangirling @steamypanda @mysterio-is-a-little-bitch @my-name-is-marcy @autisticbabynurse @blondsak @wicked-starlight-collector @selling-my-soul-for-tony-stark 

let me know if you want to be added! 

[camillemontespan]

oblivion [raleigh carrera] [part four: addicted]

Part Three if you want to catch up

@emichelle​ @ifyouseekheart​ @ibldw-main​  @burnsoslow​ @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld​ @star-spangled-eyes​ @pedudley​ @omgjasminesimone​  @ritachacha​ @shakespeareanwannabe​  @gardeningourmet​  @malakbesharah​ @msjpuddleduck​ @pug-bitch​ @katedrakeohd​ @sirbeepsalot​ @moonlightgem7​

Warnings: Mentions about drug abuse. NSFW.

**********************************************************************************

Raleigh woke up with Marina’s hair in his mouth. As his vision adjusted, he saw that she was curled right up into him, as close as she could get, with her knees pulled up to her chest. Raleigh felt a stirring in his heart but he pushed it down. Now was not the right time. Now was not the right time to think about his relationship with Marina. 

He did wonder if they were back together though.

Stop it, Raleigh, he thought to himself. You’re helping her because you’re friends. You’re the only friend she has left. Fucking act like it. 

He managed to disentangle himself from her sleeping form without waking her. Quietly, he padded out of the bedroom and downstairs to the kitchen. The smell of coffee hit his nose. He saw that his mom had left him a note. 

Gone to work, back at 11! Have a good day. There’s bacon for breakfast. Take a walk with Marina by the lake if she feels up to it. Love you babe x 

She was a nurse at the local hospital which meant late nights and long, long shifts. But she loved it. His mom was such a people person; she loved to care for others. Her medical experience was one reason why Raleigh had first gone to her when he went down the rabbit hole. He didn’t trust anyone else -not even himself- to help him get out of it. 

Raleigh brewed fresh coffee and got to work with cooking the bacon. He was so engrossed in actually doing a domestic task, something normal, that he didn’t see Marina quietly enter the kitchen. 

He jumped when he saw her. ‘Jesus, Marina!’

She smiled apologetically and sat on one of the tall chairs at the kitchen island. ‘Bacon smells good.’

Raleigh felt relief. He was worried she wouldn’t want to eat anything. 

‘There’s plenty here,’ he told her. ‘Have loads if you want. Coffee?’

‘Please,’ she said. 

Raleigh poured her a cup then added two sugars with a slug of milk, just as she liked it. He handed her the cup and Marina took it. Their fingers brushed but Raleigh ignored the electricity. 

Be her friend. 

‘I’m sorry about last night,’ she told him, turning red. ‘I.. I guess I was having withdrawal.’

‘It’s okay, I’ve been there,’ he replied, dishing up the bacon onto a plate for her. ‘You just have to go through it. No escape.’

‘Great..’ she said dryly. 

Raleigh smiled weakly. ‘You got me here with you. I’ll help.’

‘Thank you.’

There was a silence as Marina ate bacon and Raleigh sipped his coffee. Marina paused to look around the room. ‘Your house is beautiful.’

‘It’s not mine, it’s mom’s,’ he said. ‘I didn’t grow up here.’

‘Oh. But it looks so cosy and homely.’

Raleigh grinned and sat down beside her. His arm touched hers. ‘That’s because my mom is shit hot at interior stuff,’ he joked. ‘I bought her this house when my first album went platinum. It was the least I could do after everything she’s done for me.’

‘You bought her this house?!’ Marina cried, her eyes bulging. ‘Wow. That’s so generous.’

‘It was nothing compared to what she’s done for me,’ he answered, sipping his coffee. ‘I wanted to pay her back for being the best mom. When I was little, we lived in this tiny apartment. Electricity always went out and it was always cold. My mom took on so many jobs when I grew up so she could support us and I mean really crap jobs, low pay. But she always smiled. She never complained. But her dream was to live in a house like this. A house in Michigan with a picket fence and a garden. She wanted a home. So I bought her it.’

Marina was silent for a long time. ‘That’s really nice,’ she said. ‘Really nice, Raleigh. Most people would have bought themselves a house or something ridiculous like a luxury sports car.’

Raleigh chuckled. ‘Oh, make no mistake, I also bought myself a sports car.’ 

Marina grinned and shook her head. ‘Of course you did.’ 

They sat in comfortable quiet. Marina finished her breakfast and Raleigh finished his coffee. Raleigh tried to look casual but really, he was studying her for signs of withdrawal. No sweat, which was good. No shaking. She looked tired but so did he. 

‘Do you want to go for a walk along the lake today?’ he asked. 

Marina blinked. ‘The lake?’

���Yeah, Lake Michigan,’ Raleigh explained. ‘It’s on our doorstep.’

He gestured for her to follow him. Curious, Marina followed him through the house towards the back where the French doors opened out to the back garden. Marina’s breath caught. The garden gate opened out onto the shore of Lake Michigan. ‘Oh my God!’ she shrieked. ‘I didn’t realise you had this view! Oh, it’s gorgeous!’

Raleigh grinned. ‘So you want to walk?’

‘Definitely,’ Marina said. ‘I’d love to see it.’ 

*******************************************************************************************

An hour later, the two of them wandered along the shore of Lake Michigan. As it was late October, a few days before Halloween, the air was cold and the sky was grey with cloud. The two of them were wrapped up in coats and chunky sweaters. Marina wore a purple beanie hat and matching scarf which covered the bottom half of her face, just in case there were people taking a walk who might recognise her. She needn’t have worried; the shoreline was deserted apart from them.

‘How are you feeling?’ he asked her. ‘Honestly.’

She bit her lip. ‘I’m okay.’

Silence.

‘Marina-’

‘I’m fine,’ she interrupted, her voice now showing its razor sharp edge. ‘Let’s talk about something else.’

Raleigh thought he had fucked it up. He had taken this nice activity and ruined it. He was about to apologise when Marina beat him to it. 

‘Sorry, Raleigh,’ she whispered. ‘I know you’re only trying to help. I do appreciate it.’

‘I know,’ he murmured. ‘I just want to be supportive.’

He jumped when he felt her take his hand. It was so small and delicate in his. 

‘You are,’ she whispered.

*******************************************************************************************

Later that day, their comfort was threatened by more of Marina’s withdrawal symptoms. She broke out into a cold sweat with goosebumps visibly blooming on her skin. Her breathing became ragged, more hitched, and she couldn’t stop panicking. 

‘Hey, it’s okay, I got you,’ Raleigh kept repeating as he draped the duvet around her body and kept a wet flannel on her forehead. She was cold and hot at the same time. Raleigh was trying to regulate her body temperature. On the bedside table was a glass of water for when she became light headed.

Eventually, she fell asleep. After sitting with her for ten minutes, making sure she was still breathing, Raleigh dragged himself downstairs. It was almost dinner time and he needed something to distract himself from the situation; cooking always helped.

Outside, the clouds were turning black. Raleigh could see out the kitchen window that a storm was brewing and he was relieved to be indoors. Hopefully, Marina would wake up later and they could curl up by the fire and watch a film. Maybe they could binge watch a TV show. Marina adored Queer Eye; Raleigh wasn’t as keen on it but he would watch it with her if it made her happy.

He jumped when he heard the doors in the dining room slam. 

Turning off the stove, Raleigh rushed through to the dining room to see Marina running haphazardly through the garden towards the gate to the lake beyond 

‘Fuck!’ he cursed. ‘Marina, come back!’

But she didn’t. She kept running towards the lake, her dark hair billowing in the wind. Raleigh bolted through the garden to catch up to her. 

‘Marina!’ he shouted. ‘Come back inside!’

His heart was hammering against his chest. He could hear ringing in his ears, not sure if it was from the howling wind or just his mind screaming at him to get her back. Raleigh kept running and was so close to her now, so close to touching her - 

She was in the water. Striding with purpose, she had managed to get waist deep. 

‘Marina, get out of there!’ Raleigh yelled, grabbing her arm. ‘It’s fucking freezing!’

‘Leave me alone!’ she screamed, whipping around to face him. ‘Leave me the fuck alone!’

Her eyes were wild. Her hair was being blown around her face, showing her cheekbones and angles. She looked like an avenging angel.  Raleigh stepped closer, wading into the water, so he could calm her down. 

‘Marina, it’s okay-’

‘You made me like this!’ she burst out, her voice sounding like someone was choking her. ‘You turned me into this! I don’t know who I am anymore!’

‘You’re Marina Cortez!’ Raleigh yelled, trying to make her see sense. ‘You’re the same person! We can get you through this-’

‘I don’t want your help, Raleigh!’ she interrupted. ‘Not really! I can’t even look at you properly without thinking about the shit you put me through!’

The clouds above them were black now and the wind was shrieking. Marina was shouting at the top of her lungs so he could hear her properly. ‘You left me! I needed someone in my corner, someone who could show me there were still good people in this world, but I had no one! I had fake friends, people who let me pay for dinner, drinks, their drugs! People who sold stories about me to the papers! Men who treated me like I was an object, men who wouldn’t take no for an answer! You left me!’’

‘I did it to save you!’ Raleigh protested. ‘I told you that. It was my fault you got into drugs, I thought if I left, you wouldn’t be tempted anymore-’

‘I loved you!’ she screamed. ‘I fucking loved you, Raleigh Carerra. At least if I had you, everything was okay, but you took that from me. You broke my fucking heart.’

Raleigh reached out to take her hands but she shoved him away. 

‘You show up at the hospital acting like you’re my fucking knight in shining armour,’ she continued, her words like bullets into his heart, ‘when you’re the one who started this! You’re the one who bought all the coke. You’re the one who showed me how to use my credit card to cut it up. You’re the one who watched with a smug smile on your face as I took my first hit. It was all you, Raleigh! I know it was my fault to keep going down that path but I would never have dreamed of going down it if it wasn’t for you! 

Tears were streaming down both their faces. Raleigh’s hands cupped her face and this time, she didn’t push him away. 

‘I’m so, so sorry,’ he said, his voice cracking. ‘I take the blame for everything. I’m not gonna try and weasle out of it, I know this is my fault. I ruined you. I broke your heart and for that, I will never forgive myself. Never. But I still love you, Marina,’ he broke off to kiss her forehead, ‘I still love you. I love you so fucking much and I will never deserve you.’ 

He kissed her cheekbones and his lips travelled down to kiss her dimples. Marina was still crying and she clutched his wet shirt with her hands. 

‘I love you,’ he murmured. He couldn’t stop saying it. Not now. It was like a dam had broken inside him.

His mouth caught hers. 

Fire fuelled them both when Marina’s lips responded. She let out a moan as their kiss deepened. Tongues twisted and swirled, fingers tangled in hair, rain poured down brown skin. She tasted of vanilla and sugar; familiar. Raleigh pulled her further into him, no longer caring that water swirled around them and the clouds were turning the world dark. 

All that he was aware of was Marina. She jumped up and he caught her, pulling her legs around his waist as he kept her suspended, their bodies pressed close. She tugged on his lower lip with her teeth, drawing out a low groan from Raleigh, and they kissed harder and more desperately now, desperate to make a connection. 

With Marina still in his arms, he carried her back to the house, their mouths still crashing together, addicted to each other. The warm air of the house greeted them but Raleigh knew they needed to get out of these clothes, not for sex reasons but like hell did he want to catch hypothermia. 

‘I want you,’ she murmured against his lips. 

They definitely needed out of these clothes.

Raleigh carried her upstairs, trying not to trip up while still kissing her. He didn’t want to stop kissing; it was the familiar rush he loved and it had been so long since he had been with her like this. 

They burst into the bathroom. Raleigh set Marina down and turned on the shower. ‘Get in before you catch hypothermia,’ he told her. Marina stared at him as she silently pulled off her wet sweater. Raleigh’s breath caught when he took her in. He watched as she unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them off, throwing them to the side of the room. Her fingers latched onto the edge of her thong and she slid the tiny garment off, not once taking her eyes off Raleigh. 

‘Hermosa..’ Raleigh breathed. 

Marina blushed and stepped into the shower, leaning her head back so the water cascaded down her body in sheets. She turned to him, water dripping from her eyelashes, and whispered, ‘I don’t want you to get hypothermia either.’

Raleigh’s clothes were off in a moment. He got into the shower and shut the glass door. It was a small shower with barely enough room for the two of them; her breasts were pressed up against his chest. Their eyes lingered on each other for a long, charged moment before colliding again to continue where they left off. 

‘This reminds me of one time we had..’ Raleigh murmured in her ear. He bit her earlobe gently. 

‘I remember,’ Marina whispered, reaching down to grasp his cock with her hand. ‘I remember everything.’

‘Oh really?’ Raleigh asked, giving her a smirk. His hand slid down her slick, wet body until he stopped at the space between her legs. ‘Do you remember how easily I can make you come?’

Marina’s breath hitched. ‘Funnily enough, I might need a reminder.’

‘Happily,’ Raleigh whispered. 

He pulled her up around him. Marina’s legs clenched around his waist and Raleigh pinned her arms up against the wall tiles. Positioning himself at her entrance, he teased her slowly, watching her eyes roll back. 

‘Raleigh..’ she warned. 

Raleigh smiled and gently eased himself inside, letting out a hiss as he felt her walls around him. 

He was home. 

[angstalottle]

Soul Full

Part 1:

The thing about Keith is that he needs a very particular type of person to work with, a kind of person that can put up with his impulsive bull shit and self-sacrificing attitude 24/7.

From day one it was clear that Keith had the potential to be the most powerful Myster ever seen, it was also clear that no sane weapon would stick with him more than a week.

Hell, even the legendary Excalibur gave up on him and demanded to be returned to his stone rather than remain with him.

By his second year, Keith had been rejected by pretty much every weapon in the school, it didn't matter if he could fight with any close combat weapon. No one wanted to deal with his attitude.

Perhaps that was why when he was sat in the dorm reading one day he was so surprised when someone plopped down in the seat next to him.

“I heard you don't have a weapon.”

Keith shrugged not taking his eyes off the page, now and again someone would try and make him the butt of a joke and more often than not would walk away sporting a black eye.

“Yeah. And what of it?” Keith rolled his eyes preparing himself for whatever kind of prank this was.

“Well then mullet this is your lucky day because I just happen to be without a mystery”

That did make Keith look up in surprise. No weapon had ever come up to him before to form a partnership. He had to always be the one to awkwardly approach someone in class with the idea.

He was even more surprised by the dazzling blue eyes that he was met with.

They didn't seem to hold even the slightest bit of malice or resentment towards him. In fact, they were the loveliest things Keith had ever seen.

“W-what?” Keith asked not sure he heard right.

“Your Keith right? I heard you're crazy strong and if anyone can make me a death scythe it's going to be you.”  He held out his hand and Keith stared at it for a solid minute “the names Lance and I have a feeling we’re gonna make a great team.”

Keith couldn't help but snort “let me guess you turn into a lance?”

Lance pouted “no Mr funny guy, I got named before I got my weapon form im a trident actually, a pretty cool one if I do say so myself.”

“Look I don't know what you heard about me but I don't do the whole team thing. I don't play well with others.” Keith stared at the still outstretched hand. He had an urge to take it, to accept this offer and finally have a chance. But… well, he's been hurt before.

It was just easier to pretend your not interested then have your spirit broken over and over again.

“Neither do i. So the way I see it if no one wants to be with us then why not team up.” Lance grinned.

Keith sat there in silence before a laugh burst its way past his lips “ok...you're clearly crazy. What the hell kind of logic is that?”

“Genius logic if you ask me.” Lance leaned forwards ever so slightly “I'm not hearing a no.”

Keith groaned “ok since I have a feeling no won't get you to shut up and get you to leave me alone how about this. We see how we fight together and if you're even half decent I'll consider it.”

Keith took Lance’s hand and firmly shook it slightly surprised by the cool touch of the other boy. He seemed so warm yet his hand was ice cold.

“You won't regret this mullet.

“I already am.”

One of the benefits of going to a combat oriented school is the state of the art sports facilities that had enough training scenarios available at all hours of the day to provide a challenge to someone even like Keith that practically lived in the gym.

The two had raced over with Lance’s long legs allowing him to win by barely a second much to Keith’s annoyance.

He was bragging about it even as they entered a training room and started up a simulation.

“You barely won.”

“A victory is still a victory my dude. I take what I can get.” Lance smirked even as Keith held out his hand and he vanished in a flash of light and reappeared as a trident.

Keith wasn't really sure what he was expecting.

It certainly wasn't a beautifully ornate light blue trident with a large blue gem implanted in the centre. Keith could see Lance looking at him smugly from within the gem so it was easy to guess he looked as stunned as he felt.

“Not bad right?” Lance’s voice echoed within Keith's head.

Keith rolled his eyes “let's hope your not all flash and no bang. A pretty weapon isn't much good in a fight if it's not efficient”

“I'll have you know I'm a great weapon!” Lance huffed “on your left!”

Keith spun around just in time to see a faceless enemy swinging an axe at him. Acting on pure instinct he held Lance up to block the blow stopping the blade only inches away from his face.

Keith struggled under the weight for a moment. He was an agility fighter. He couldn't brute strength his way through a fight. He had to be smart about this.

He suddenly dove forwards skidding the staff against the blade until Keith was out of its path and it hit the floor with an echoing bang.

“Nice!” Lance cheered and Keith couldn't help the grin that pulled at the edge of his lips. It had been a while since he had a cheerleader.

While the enemy was off balance Keith spun Lance round to try and ram to the blades into the back. Unfortunately soon as he got close the axe was swinging back at him so fast that all he could do was jump back to avoid getting his head sliced off.

“Fast fucker huh?” Lance quipped.

“Shut up!” Keith hissed as he dodged the numerous attacks “I'm trying to concentrate”.

The enemy was so fast that it was taking all Keith had on just defence leaving him no room to attack.

“Point me at the floor and be ready to move,” Lance said suddenly pulling Keith’s attention away from the fight long enough for a kick to send Keith flying into the opposite wall.

“The floor?” he grunted.

“Just trust me mullet.”

Considering the enemy was closing in and Keith saw no other option he held lance firmly with both hands and pointed at the floor just by its feet.

Some weapons can transform for Keith hoped that maybe Lance would suddenly become a bazooka or something. However never in his wildest dreams would Keith have imagined what happened next.

A beam of white light burst from each trident point and twisted together until they were one powerful beam that hit the floor pinning Keith against the wall from the force.

Keith could only watch as ice began to rapidly grow out from beneath the enemies feet and shoot out in razor sharp spiked through its body.

It stood their trapped and struggling when the light faded away and Keith jumped to his feet to go in for a kill.

With a run and a jump, Keith was able to drink Lance right down through its head causing it to explode in a cloud of black particles around them.

Keith didn't even realise he was smiling until he caught sight of himself in the ice.

Panting he stood there staring in Lance in his hand as he returned to human form.

“Jeez man, you can really fight that was incredible!” Lance grinned at him and Keith couldn't believe it.

“Your kidding right? I would have been toast without your attack! Why the hell didn't you tell me you could use ice attacks? I didn't think anyone but the Altean family could even do that.” Keith ranted excitedly. He didn't even notice how when he mentioned the Alteans Lance’s confident demeanour dropped to a much more sheepish one.

“Yeah about them… I'm kinda one of them.” Lance muttered softly.

Keith watched his sudden shift in confusion “but if your part of that family why the hell have you got a partner yet?”

As if on cue Lance’s nose began to bleed and the legendary Weapon Allura herself came storming through the doors.

“Lance! What are you doing here?!” She yelled grabbing him by the arm and stuffing a handkerchief into his hand to stem the blood flow.

“I told you I was going to find a mystery today. You can't keep me from becoming a death scythe.”

Keith watched on awkwardly as she glared at Lance before turning her harsh look on him “and this is who you have chosen? Who even are you?”

Before Keith could answer Lance beat him to it “he's Keith Kogane. Shiro’s little brother, you know Shiro, I mean he's only your fucking myster.”

Allura snapped her mouth shut like she suddenly thought better of whatever comment she had.

It took her a few moments of deep breaths before she continued “even if he is as good a mystery as his brother that doesn't change the fact that this is too dangerous for you.”

Lance pulled away so he stood next to Keith. “Just because your my big sister doesn't mean you get to decide my life for me.”

“No, but it does mean I know you're not strong enough.”

Keith suddenly stepping in front of Lance. “Who are you to say he isn't strong enough? Did you miss how he used that ice? I have no doubt in my mind he could be an even more powerful death scythe then you.”

Allura feed him with a cold look “Lance you can't do this, father would never allow you to-”

“Father doesn't give a shit about what I do as long as I don't embarrass him or you. Maybe I get a bloody nose when I use my ice but that doesn't mean I'm a weak little kid anymore and you can't treat me like I'm delicate.” Lance placed a hand on Keith’s shoulder and gave him a soft smile “I've found my myster… if he will have me?”

Keith nodded “after this, I couldn't imagine ever fighting with another weapon.”

The two smiled at each other for a long time before Allura let out a long sigh.

“Fine but… Lance, please be careful your mother she-”

One look from Lance quieted her and instead, she turned to leave “Look after him, Keith… he may seem powerful but he needs protecting.”

“That's what being a team is, looking out for each other.”

Allura nodded before she slipped out of the room leaving a tense silence in her wake.

A silence that was broken the second Keith and Lance made eye contact and burst out laughing.

“Holy shit. I can't believe you're stood up to my sister!” Lance grabbed Keith by the shoulders excitedly and Keith found himself with the sudden urge to kiss the other boy.

“Well can't have someone bad mouthing my weapon like that.” Keith mumbled as he pulled away and offered his hand “partners?”

“Partners” Lance shook his hand and for a moment everything was perfect.

The two quickly became the most powerful team in schools history collecting souls faster than anyone else.

After a year they had 96 souls and were happily living together.

What Keith didn't realise though with every new soul collect and every battle won Lance was getting closer and closer to death.

[leonardo-capulet]

Not While I’m Around || Cris/Leo

Who: Cris and Leo

What: Cris offers to make some changes to Leo’s appearance for the better.

Where: Their apartment.

When: June 12th.

@cristian-capulet

Cristian sighed, running a hand through Leonardo’s hair as they laid cuddle up in bed after a particularly lengthy scene. His body ached, though he felt fairly awake after resting in the other’s embrace. They had been taking things slow— and Cristian was grateful for that, but he knew it would be a while before things began to feel like where they’d left off years prior. Simultaneously though, they were in unfamiliar territory with an eventual claim on the horizon, and he couldn’t help but want to reach the point where he felt ready for that step even faster. The thought came to a halt as Cristian’s fingers tugged when they hit a knot in the other’s hair. A note of frustration crossed his features as his gaze flickered to his hand and the other’s hair. “We really need to do something about this,” he muttered to himself, finding himself missing the well-maintained appearance Leo always had in Verona.

As Leo laid next to Cris, feeling his hand running through his hair, a sigh escaped his lips as he felt his body relaxing. A small smile turned up the corners of his lips and he opened his eyes to look back at Cristian for a moment before he let his eyelids fall shut again. He truly loved the feel of the submissive's fingers in his hair, he also loved to do the same, but somehow he was finding himself being spoiled this time, while his own fingers trailed over the other male's skin. As Cristian's fingers caught in his hair he grimaced, eyes opening to look back at the other, and he rolled his eyes playfully. "Do we? And what do you suggest? I have a brush somewhere over there." He waved his hand in the general direction of the bathroom but didn't make any effort to move.

“Well...” Cristian hesitated before responding, fingers playing with Leo’s hair again as his gaze flickered up to it again before his palm moved down to cup Leo’s cheek briefly. “More than that... Do you trust me?”

Leo turned his face into Cristian’s hand to brush his lips against the other’s palm before his eyes took in the submissive’s face. “Of course I do. More than anyone.” He answered as his hand lifted to run along Cristian’s arm. “Why do you ask?”

“Up,” Cristian instructed, moving to sit up himself. He slid out of the bed and took a moment to stretch his arms and upper body groaning softly before he turned to face Leo again. “I’m going to give you a haircut,” he explained with a  matter of fact tone.

With a light laugh, Leo watched Cristian get up, getting ready to move before pausing simply to watch him stretch, a slow smile tugging at his lips. The reason Leo had been instructed to get up caught him by surprise. “You’re going to cut my hair?” Leo asked with amusement as he got up and faced Cristian with his hands on his hips, arching a brow at the submissive. “I’m going to ask one question, and don’t take this as a lack of trust because it isn’t... but I’m genuinely curious. Have you ever cut hair before?” He didn’t care either way, it would grow back and he had faith that Cristian wouldn’t make him look ridiculous. After all, Leo had to still look professional for work, and the submissive understood that. “Where do you want me?” He asked.

“Nope,” Cristian responded with a laugh and easy shrug. “Well— that’s a lie. I cut my first Domme’s bangs for her a few times in Uni, but I’ve never cut a guy’s hair before. You have an electric razor though, yeah? I’m not too worried— I’ll go slow and make sure it’s even,“ he explained, moving to stand and leaning down to give Leo a quick peck on the lips. Anything to cut the damn hair— which perhaps he’d have liked under other conditions, but it simply seemed unkept and disorganized— not the Leo he knew. It certainly didn’t hurt either, that all he could think of was the others he’d been with since apart, and how many strangers had run their hands through the damned hair during sex. Cristian would never deny it— he was a jealous man, and exceptionally possessive of what he considered his. A haircut would do them both good— anything at all to close the chapter on their lives since separation and make a clean start together. A return to the handsome, meticulously groomed look he’d always remembered Leo sporting in Verona.  “Just let me grab a chair from the kitchen, Wait for me in the bathroom.”

At the admittance that Cristian hadn’t really cut hair, a look of amusement crossed Leo’s face. “I’m not worried, you’ll do fine, I’m sure.” It had been a long time since Leo’s hair had been short, clean cut. The long hair he’d had all this time was so different from the look he was so used to because he had tried to distance himself from who he used to be. Yet, there was something important, pivotal, to Cristian being the one to cut his hair. With a nod to his request, he went into the bathroom and stood there for a moment looking back at his reflection, the long hair, the different look and how much he’d avoided paying attention to it all this time. Leo turned and leaned back against the sink with his arms crossed over his chest, and waited for Cristian to enter with the chair.

Cristian returned a moment later from the kitchen with a chair in his hands. He placed it facing away from the mirror, not sure he wanted Leo watching as he worked. He was a perfectionist, but still a novice with hair cutting. “Sit, Sit,” he instructed casually as he then moved to dig out the dominant’s brush along with his razor, adjusting the settings so he could trim the sides short, but still leave quite a bit on top. He also pulled a small pair of scissors from his own toiletry bag that he usually used for facial hair, figuring he could use them for any areas he perhaps needed to tweak, or if they decided to trim Leo’s beard as well versus shave it. It wouldn’t be perfect, but he would touch it up after, or send Leo to a barber if he totally screwed up. The fact Leo was letting him do this had him delighted though, eager to help Leo return to his old self and acknowledge who he was— for better or worse. He was the man Cristian loved, after all, and he was determined to help Leo pull himself out of the emotional hole he’d fallen into over the last two years. A haircut simply seemed like a nice way to start.

Leo slid into the chair smoothly, and then watched as Cristian gathered all the things he needed. “For someone who hasn’t really cut hair, you sure are preparing yourself like a professional.” He observed with a smile. He relaxed back against the chair with a comfortable sigh. “Ready whenever you are.”

“Well it’s not rocket science,” Cristian countered with a grin, running a hand through Leo’s hair before taking a brush to it to at least straighten it up before he began. “Worst case we swing by a barber tomorrow to touch up any mistakes I make,” he added with a shrug, reaching for the razor. “Now don’t move.”

“Oooh, excuse me. I’m just in awe of the fact that you’re looking like a natural, that’s all.” Leo let his eyes close as he felt the brush move through his hair. His eyes opened again at the mention of going to a barber, making a point to look at Cristian. “Let’s just see how it goes. I have faith in you.” He settled back in the chair again with a soft chuckle. “Does talking count as moving? Should I be completely still and silent?” He teased, but he remained carefully still so that the submissive could work.

“Still, yes. Silent no— but try not to make me laugh,” he suggested with a grin. Powering on the razor, Cristian hesitated little as he got to work. He had a vision in mind, and carefully set about getting Leo’s hair as close as he could to how it had been back in Verona— albeit perhaps a smidge shorter, due to his lack of experience as well as limited tools.

“I will try, but I make no promises about not making you laugh as I know how terribly witty I am.” Leo joked with a smile on his face. He certainly didn’t think himself a funny man, humor wasn’t something that came easily to him, even if he did appreciate the quality in others. It was a nice feeling, though, to have Cristian so focused on cutting his hair. This was the first time that he’d ever had a submissive pay so much attention to him, and certainly the first time he’d allowed one to do something that required so much trust. It was easy for him to relax so he was still, and let Cristian do what he needed, even if there was no telling what the outcome of his hair would be.

Cristian rolled his eyes at the wit comment, sarcastically responding, “Terribly, Sir. How could I forget,” with a smile. He was silent for several minutes as he focused on the task, mindful and deliberate with each action he took. When he finally finished with the razor, he reached for the brush and scissors, doing as he’d expected and touching up a few areas. It wasn’t perfect, but he proudly felt it was also quite good considering his lack of experience— and simply seeing Leo with short hair again had him beaming. “We can go to the barber tomorrow if you want, but I think I’m done.” He leaned in to kiss Leo, adding, “Now your beard just needs a little trim, but you can handle that yourself if you’d prefer. Go— take a look.”

“How could you, indeed?” Leo asked, amusement coloring his tone. He enjoyed the sarcasm, the joking conversation, and he thought over that brief exchange as Cristian finished up with his hair. Seeing the way that the submissive smiled after he’d finished cutting Leo’s hair made the Dominant incredibly happy. He leaned into the kiss but did take a quick look. It wasn’t bad at all, and the short hair made him look less like a stranger to himself, and much more like the man he usually considered himself to be. Leo sat back down on the chair and reached out for Cristian. “I want you to do it. Trim it how you like it. And we don’t need to go to the barber tomorrow. You did a good job, Cris. Now... let’s see how you do with my beard.”

“How about a full shave?” He’d never shaved another, though he couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Leo absolutely clean shaven without even a hint of scruff, let alone a beard. He had a feeling Leo would cave to his request too, noting the Dominant seemed to be doing a lot of that lately.  “I just sharpened my straight razor... if you trust me, of course,” he added, smiling challengingly.

Leo had to admit it had been a while since he'd had a full shave. He hadn't even tried to keep himself clean shaven since leaving Verona. The small challenge had Leo looking up at Cristian with an arched brow. "If I trust you? Hmm... I don't know... completely at your mercy and all?" He asked teasingly. "Sounds a little dangerous. But I did tell you to do it, after all. So... let's see how skilled you are with that straight razor."

Cristian’s eyes narrowed with amusement, feeling somewhat more confident about a shave versus the haircut. He also couldn’t help is own excitement at the prospect of a clean shaven Leo. “Hold still then,” he murmured, setting about collecting a warm, hot hand towel, shaving cream, and everything else he would need before he finally got started.

A low chuckle escaped him and he settled back against the seat again. "Tell me if and when you need me to move my head at all." Leo replied as he watched the other prepare his items. Watching Cristian, for a moment, he couldn't help but smile. "Before you start, I demand at least one more kiss, and then I promise to be still for you."

Cristian couldn’t help his smile, leaning down to give Leo a loving, eager kiss as requested. He took his time with it, not overly eager to break contact despite the task that awaited. “You’re horribly demanding, you know that?”

There was a slightly triumphant smile on Leo’s face as Cris leaned in for a kiss. Pleased that he got what he wanted, even more so when the kiss wasn’t quick, leaning into the other male to draw out the contact for as long as he could. His smile returned the moment the kiss ended, only to turn into a laugh at the question. Leo arched a brow in amusement at the submissive. “I do know that, and so do you. But can you blame me? I have you in my life, and what’s more, I rather love kissing you.” He replied as he reached out to touch Cris before dropping his hand back into his lap. “Alright. As promised, I’ll be very still since I got the kiss I requested.”

“Good,” Cristian answered back with a pleased, wide grin as they pulled apart. He wasted little time then, going quiet as he concentrated and worked to do away with the facial hair. Had it come about while they dated, Cristian thought he might grow to love it. He certainly enjoyed a small amount that was neatly trimmed and maintained on Leo— but at the moment a clean slate, or rather a clean face, was what he desired. The Leo he remembered from Verona, who put effort into his appearance and was meticulous about it if anything. He wanted Leo to reclaim that— for the both of them. “Now... I just want to remind you that I’m not opposed to facial hair,” he chimed as he worked, running the blade along the soaped up cheek of the Dominant. “Otherwise I would be a hypocrite. I just thought a nice clean shave... might be relaxing and a good refresh. For us both. If you want to grow it out again after, so be it.”

Leo comfortably sat still, eyes closed as he let Cristian shave him. He'd never considered enjoying an act like this, but he found it relaxing to have his lover focus on him so intently. As he finished speaking, Leo opened his eyes and looked up at Cristian, "I'm not likely to ever let it grow out quite this much." He replied. In truth, he'd only let his facial hair grow this thick in his grief, and depression. His hair and beard had been the last reminders of a time in his life he'd much rather forget. A clean shave and a haircut felt like a fresh start to him, and he was eager to get back to the man he knew. His eyes closed again as he let the submissive continue to work. "This is nice, by the way." He commented, softly.

"Hmm?" Cristian's voice was soft, smiling to himself as Leo complimented the feeling. "Perhaps we can do this again some time then," he offered, still attentively working at the Dominant's neck and jawline. "I enjoy this too... Getting to do something for you, considering all you've done for me, Sir."

Leo opened one eye to look up at the submissive in slight amusement, “You’d really do this again?” He asked curiously. He paused a moment and then opened both eyes, “I think you’ve done more for me than I have you. Although it’s not intentional in any way. Fortunately, I have plenty of time to do more in future.”

"Well then perhaps we can find more.... activities such as this in the future then," Cristian responded back with an almost shy tone as he focused. "I enjoy the attention and focus this requires... And the peacefulness of it, honestly." And the trust.

It was incredibly peaceful, despite the amount of trust that went into this act. Leo wondered if Cristian could see just how trustworthy he found the submissive. It was something he hadn’t felt to this extent since his parents, and even then, this was in a completely different way.  A smile crossed his features as he shut down his mind and focused on the man before him, the other’s tone hadn’t been missed but he also didn’t want to point it out. “I’m sure we can find more things like this.” And Leo would enjoy the calm, and peace that came along with it.

[giasonesdream]

I was tagged by @moonchildjunoon and goodness it’s been a while since I’ve seen/done a post like this

▸NICKNAME(S): Mainly Cam, nothing special

▸BIAS: I double bias Yoongi and Tae but Yoongi is the ultimate

▸BLOOD TYPE: I think AB+ ? I know both my parents are

▸FAVOURITE FOOD: atm tacos are really getting to me. especially with cilantro

▸BIRTHDAY: August 18

▸ZODIAC: Leo, year of the Ox

▸PRONOUNS: she/her

▸HAIR LENGTH: Just at my shoulders when it’s straightened. I had shaved an under cut about 3 years ago...someone take the razor away from me

▸HEIGHT: 5′6″ soooo still shorter than Jimin and that’s all that matters

▸A CRUSH: Having a crush is gay

▸WHAT DO YOU LIKE ABOUT YOURSELF: I love how creative and dramatic my mind is. I come up with story ideas constantly

▸LEFT OR RIGHT HANDED: right handed, but I carry the left-hand gene

▸LIST OF THREE FAVOURITE COLOURS: Pink, Yellow and...is gold a colour? I’m counting it

▸(RIGHT NOW) EATING: my words

▸(RIGHT NOW) DRINKING: in the dying sun

▸I’M ABOUT TO: break! I need a little room to breathe, ‘cause I’m one step closer to the edge, and I’m about to break!

▸LISTENING TO: 44 Lies by Two Lies

▸KIDS: yeah, they’re pretty powerful. Why? Lookin’ to start a revolution?

▸GET MARRIED: Don’t tell me what to do. I don’t wanna

▸RECENT PHONE CALL: Probs my mother. Oh yeah, she called asking what I wanted from DD and I was still asleep so I said pick whatever

▸(HAVE YOU EVER) DATED SOMEONE TWICE: I’ve barely dated someone once

▸BEEN CHEATED ON: Never been in a relationship soooo yes very often

▸KISSED SOMEONE AND REGRETTED IT: Don’t think so? I regret the people I haven’t kissed

▸LOST SOMEONE SPECIAL: Not sure how special they were to me...but they made me feel special sometimes (wow I sound like a jerk)

▸BEEN DEPRESSED: MAJOR DEPRESSION SINCE 2010 BABYYYYYY

▸BEEN DRUNK AND THROWN UP: 21st Birthday. My dumbass thought I would be able to go to work the next day. Also New Years. I slept on the bathroom floor

▸HAD GLASSES OR CONTACTS: I had glasses that I wore just to drive in and my optometrist was like “Dude...you should be wearing these, like, all day.” And I was like “shit...facts”.

▸HAD SEX ON THE FIRST DATE: No just some making out. He tasted like salsa

▸BROKEN SOMEONE’S HEART: Think when I told that not so special someone I didn’t want to have her in my life anymore.

▸TURNED SOMEONE DOWN: i’ve turned down three marriage proposals now- awkward, but yes THIS WAS MOONCHILDJUNOON’S ANSWER HOLY FUCK GIRL but I mean if you count tinder idiots sure loads of times

▸CRIED WHEN SOMEONE DIED: My heart might be made of stone, but it still shakes when the ground rumbles

▸FALLEN FOR A FRIEND: Yep. Like 2 years after we stopped being friends. Also discovered at that point I was pansexual. So is she.

▸(IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU) MADE A NEW FRIEND: I guess it’s been a year since I became friends with MK, yeah

▸LAUGHED UNTIL YOU CRIED: all the time. tiktok people are funny

▸MET SOMEONE WHO CHANGED YOU: Of course...every friend I’ve had has had some impact on me

▸FOUND OUT WHO YOUR TRUE FRIENDS WERE: Think I’m still working on that, but getting close

▸FOUND OUT SOMEONE WAS TALKING ABOUT YOU: Yeah but it was good to know. I didn’t want to be friends with them anyways

▸LIPS OR EYES: porque no las dos?

▸HUGS OR KISSES: no thanks

▸ROMANTIC OR SPONTANEOUS: I’m a rather organized person, so spontaneity scares me...but I never regret those moments

▸HOOKUP OR RELATIONSHIP: tacos

▸FIRST BEST FRIEND: That not so special someone. Met her in high shcool

▸SURGERY: wisdom teeth. Like two weeks ago. Turns out I had five. Now I only have one haha

▸SPORTS I JOINED: I did soccer when I was a wee youngin’. Softball in high school. I was always more into dance

▸DO YOU BELIEVE IN YOURSELF: Does God believe in itself?

▸MIRACLES: I believe it’s a mix of free-will and fate. The miracles are what you accept of your situation

▸LOVE AT FIRST SIGHT: more of a “love at first laugh” kinda person

▸HEAVEN: is a place on Earth...with you <3

▸DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS: I have a kitty named Smitty! Much like his owners, he only takes affection when he asks for it.

▸DO YOU WANT TO CHANGE YOUR NAME: Nah. I can’t imagine myself with a different name. It would just feel like I would have to change who I am.

▸WHAT DID YOU DO FOR YOUR LAST BIRTHDAY: Stayed in a fancy hotel downtown right next to the lake. Drank vodka sodas and cried in the bathroom just as the clock struck midnight and I was officially another year older.

▸WHAT TIME DID YOU WAKE UP TODAY: 9am but only cause I’m on my period

▸WHAT WERE YOU DOING LAST NIGHT AT MIDNIGHT: Watching that new show on freeform called Motherland. It’s pretty good

▸SOMETHING I CAN’T WAIT FOR: some progress on this covid shit

▸LAST TIME YOU SAW YOUR MUM: She just came downstairs to take the chips

▸WHAT IS ONE THING YOU WISH YOU COULD CHANGE ABOUT YOUR LIFE: I don’t think I would change anything because I’m content? I mean...I wish I thought I was beautiful

I can only think to tag @multifandomnerd4532 and @yoonseok hm...I see @cassiavioletblue. There ^-^ this is actually pretty interesting so I’m excited to see your responses if you do it.

[freedomfighterposts]

Spider-Gwen x Reader.

Symbiosis refers to two organisms co-existing in perfect harmony. That was the idea behind the so called ‘symbiotes’. However, many times have these symbiotes showed that they cannot live with humans. The symbiotes are an alien race called Klyntar and only express the emotions of its host. When Venom plagued the world, it was because Eddie Brock wanted to kill Spiderman for inadvertently ruining his life. Next, the asexual offspring of Venom the Carnage symbiote bonded with Cletus Kasady a known serial killer and deranged mind. However, these symbiotes can be shown to do good as well. This is the case of Conquest. The silver symbiote had never bonded with a host before and hadn’t been corrupted to neither the side of bad or good. So, when Conquest broke free of containment and bonded with Oscorp scientist (Y/n) Hill the pair didn’t turn out like the others. The first few weeks was full of adjustments and lifestyle changes. Later however, (Y/n) found that his symbiote was aiding him in his botany research. Despite being only eighteen years old, (Y/n) has been crowned the brightest mind of his generation. Discovering groundbreaking research on how to grow plants without oxygen to help colonize space. Then after bonding with Conquest, (Y/n) researched the Klyntar in secret… Sadly before (Y/n) could complete his research one of his colleges, who worked in interdimensional travel accidentally sent (Y/n) to dimension sixty-five. When (Y/n) first arrived, he didn’t know what to do. Luckily, he wasn’t alone. Conquest was literally a helpful voice in his head that pointed him toward meeting his mother. Maria Hill. Thankfully, SHIELD existed in most dimensions and after a few days Maria enrolled (Y/n) in Midtown high school. Where he met Gwen Stacy in his first and last year. But two years have passed since then.

“And because Z equals X to the power of negative three point seventy-six that means Q equals… negative twelve…” (Y/n) looked over the equations scribbled over the whiteboard in front of him. A frown spread over his face while his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “But then that would render the solution non-applicable.” Suddenly (Y/n) felt something slip over his shoulder. Then the liquid like, silver alien head of Conquest leaked out and floated next to (Y/n), connected to his shoulder by tendrils of moving symbiote.

“But gravity cancels out does it not?” came the inquisitive, deep voice of the Klyntar symbiote.

“How does gravity cancel out?” Asked (Y/n) “Gravity affects all things within the atmosphere” There was an amused hum from Conquest.

“Not if you could walk on walls…”

“Like our resident Wall crawler.” (Y/n) smiled to himself. “God, I’m an idiot sometimes. So really Q is 1.3… So, the ratio is 1.3 to 1 to 4.6.”

“Exactly” replied Conquest “I must ask, why are you doing all this? I thought you wanted to grow plants in space.”

“Spider Woman will need as much help as she can get, if she is to go through similar experiences to the Spider Man in our universe.” (Y/n) replied smoothly as he began to write yet another equation on the whiteboard in his lab. Conquest hummed yet again.

“You like her.” The Klyntar accused. (Y/n)’s hand slipped in surprise causing him to draw a line through his equations.

“What? No, I do not!” (Y/n) defended himself, if he had pupils instead of soulless red eyes (Y/n) was sure Conquest would have rolled them.

“What do you humans say? Something about denial being a river somewhere… Hold on, someone’s coming” Suddenly the symbiotic goo that created the liquid like Conquest head seeped back into (Y/n)’s body leaving behind no trace of the symbiote at all.

(Y/n) worked in a S.H.I.E.L.D. sanctioned lab and worked with the semi-secret organization closely as one of the leading scientists regarding the Symbiotes. Thankfully, not one agent not even (Y/n)’s mother from Earth sixty-five figured out that Conquest had bonded with (Y/n). The S.H.I.E.L.D. lab that was designated for (Y/n) resided on the top floor of an illustrious apartment complex that had been completely purchased by S.H.I.E.L.D. for housing agents. Due to (Y/n)’s expertise with the symbiotes he was given the task of helping Spider Woman also known as Gwen Stacy. Suddenly there was a knock on (Y/n)’s door. Leaving his equations and ratios for the moment (Y/n) walked across the room, stepping over empty pizza boxes and almost tripping over a pile of reports just to open the door. On the other side stood a woman with stunningly bright, short blonde hair and bright baby blue eyes. Dressed in blue jeans being held up by a brown belt, a white tank top and a light brown overcoat Gwen Stacy stood with a smile on her face, twirling a drumstick with her fingers.

“Hey (Y/n)” Greeted the wall walker, (Y/n) smiled at the woman before him.

“Hey Gwen, come in.” (Y/n) stepped to the side, allowing Gwen to walk into the apartment turned lab. As (Y/n) closed the door he heard the taunting voice of Conquest in his head.

“If you don’t want to mate with her… Then why are you staring at her lusciously thick rear?” Conquest asked as innocently as his gruff voice would allow. (Y/n) scowled at the wall behind Gwen as he thought back an answer. Because Conquest bonded to (Y/n)’s brain instead of body like Venom, the pair are able to communicate by thoughts.

“Shut up!” Was (Y/n)’s eloquent reply. Gwen looked at (Y/n) with confusion.

“Uh, hey. Why the frowny face?” Desperate to keep his symbiotic friend a secret (Y/n) said the first thing that came to mind.

“Just thinking.” He replied vaguely, Gwen raised an eyebrow.

“Right… Anyway… Me and the Mary Janes are playing a concert this Friday down at central park. And I get to give away a backstage pass… I was wondering if you’d like to go?”

(Y/n) was so stunned by this news that even Conquest was at a loss for words. His facial expression must have been humorous as Gwen started to chuckle.

“Relax dude, I’m not asking you to marry me. Just, be my plus one?” she spoke with confidence but (Y/n) could hear the worry in her words.

“Hurry up and say something!” Yelled Conquest from inside (Y/n)’s thoughts.

“What about Harry?” Asked the botanist. Inside (Y/n)’s mind, Conquest groaned.

“Harry… Osborn?” Asked Gwen

“Yeah, I thought you two were…?” (Y/n) rubbed the back of his neck nervously as he picked his words carefully

“Going out?” Gwen answered for him.

“Yeah.” At (Y/n)’s weak reply Gwen gave a small laugh.

“We broke up a few weeks ago, and I don’t really feel like inviting my ex so, yeah.” Gwen’s smile never faded giving (Y/n) a small confidence boost.

“In that case sure, I’d be happy to come.” (Y/n) smiled, Gwen sighed with relief.

“That’s awesome. I’ll swing by at seven tomorrow” Gwen sent a flirtatious wink (Y/n)’s way.

“Speaking of swing, follow me.” (Y/n) walked back over to one of the spare bedrooms in the apartment that had been changed into a chemicals lab.

(Y/n) led Gwen over to a titanium plated desk, which was sporting more than a few burn marks. Three vials were held in place with metal claws above the table and each vial was filled with a different coloured substance. (Y/n) placed a beaker on the table and gingerly grasped two of the vials.

“I was doing some calculations and…” (Y/n) started but Gwen’s groan interrupted him.

“(Y/n) I like you, I do. But please, you know science hurts my brain.” She pleaded, (Y/n) grumbled something about science being cool but didn’t argue out loud, too busy trying to drown out Conquest’s constant laughter. Gwen smiled as she stood beside him.

“So, what’s gonna happen?” She asked, pointing to the beaker.

“I thought you didn’t like science” (Y/n) mocked.

“Oh, burn!” Yelled Conquest in (Y/n)’s thoughts. Gwen feigned shock, holding a spread hand to the top of her breasts over her heart.

“I am hurt (Y/n).” But her words had little meaning and her infectious smile betrayed her.

“Right… Anyway, if I’m correct…” (Y/n) started as he began to mix the chemicals

“And you usually are” interrupted Gwen again

“Then this should make…” (Y/n) didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence as the chemicals inside the beaker reacted and shot a giant spurt of white goo straight up which stuck to the ceiling. “Stronger web fluid” (Y/n) finished with a sigh. Gwen was so surprised she dropped her drumstick on the ground, the wood clattered on the tiled floor.

“Woah. That’s awesome!” shouted Gwen in awe at the giant pillar of web fluid.

“Yes, anyway. This web fluid should be as strong as titanium while still being able to be easily shot from your slingers” (Y/n) explained as he poked the webs with a pen.

Gwen opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by the ringtone of her cell phone. Taking the pink mobile from her jeans pocket, Gwen saw that it was her friend, fellow band member and roommate Betty Brant. Looking back to (Y/n), Gwen pursed her lips as if to say something but (Y/n) bet her to it.

“Take it. I need to finish this anyway. You said it yourself anyway, you’ll pick me up at seven tomorrow.” (Y/n) smiled at the blonde vigilante who muttered a quick ‘thank you’ before running from the apartment, closing the door behind herself as she answered the phone. When the door clicked shut, tendrils of moon like silver spiraled from the back of (Y/n)’s neck before twisting together to reform Conquest’s symbiote head. A ghoulish looking head similar to the other symbiotes with his long red eyes that allowed for a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view, and a mouth that stretched from one side of his face to the other whilst being filled with black, razor sharp teeth.

“What’s wrong?” asked (Y/n), knowing that Conquest wouldn’t have manifested if something wasn’t wrong.

“Gwen smelled different.” Conquest said, his voice raspy, yet clear at the same time.

“And you smell Gwen, often?” asked (Y/n) with a raised brow. Conquest’s demonic eyes swiveled to stare into (Y/n)’s own.

“Do not pretended you have never done the same. You’re like a puppy in need of affection.”

“Okay, that hurt me where I live” (Y/n) said, placing a hand over his heart.

“She reeked of Venom” The words hung in the air, a mixture of a statement and a threat.

“Are you sure? Last time you thought Venom was the old hotdog salesman on the street. Turns out you were just hungry.” (Y/n) asked, hoping that Conquest was wrong and he wouldn’t have to hurt the woman he cared about.

“That was one time!” Conquest argued

“You cost me fifty bucks!” (Y/n) countered.

“No matter, Gwen is a perfect host for Venom. She’s strong, agile and in desperate need to clear her name.” (Y/n) cursed under his breath, Conquest’s reasoning was undoubtedly reasonable. Gwen had been accused of murdering Peter Parker after fighting him when he turned into the Lizard. However, Peter died not because of Gwen but because of his injuries and Gwen had not forgiven herself. Yet every night she strived to do good where she could and thus had gathered quite a formidable size of followers ranging from creepy basement dwellers who made her into hentai comics. All the way to people who cosplay her at Comic-Con.

“I don’t want to hurt her.” (Y/n) said, looking in the fridge for the tater tots “But if I know Venom. It’s not going to leave Gwen willingly”

Friday came sooner than expected. (Y/n) hadn’t seen Gwen since last night. However, she had called and said to wait for her on the roof of his building. (Y/n) had wanted to tell her to use a car but before he got a chance Gwen had ended the call. So, as the sun started to set behind the concrete jungle, (Y/n) locked his apartment laboratory dressed in jeans, a white t-shirt and a leather jacket. Jingling his keys into his pocket and bringing out his phone, (Y/n) called Gwen.

“Hey Gwen” (Y/n) called when the blonde punk star picked up her phone. By the sounds of things, she was on her way, if the sounds of cars honking and wind whipping past the speakers were anything to go by.

“Hey… (Y/n)” Gwen managed to say between grunts “I’m almost there… Two minutes tops” (Y/n) smiled to himself as he looked towards New York’s busiest area, Times Square, where Spider-Gwen was most likely swinging past.

“Take your time Gwen. There’s no need to rush.” (Y/n) squinted his eyes as he saw something fly past a building.

“Almost there!” Came Gwen’s reply. Suddenly there was a whoosh of air and a flash of pink and white as Spider-Woman flew up (Y/n)’s apartment building and landed on the water tower of the building, legs crouched and a phone to her ear.

“I’m here” She cooed cockily.

(Y/n) ended the phone call, slipped his phone into his pocket and smirked up at Gwen, who was dangling one of her legs off the side of the water tower.

“So, will you be going as Gwen Stacy or Spider Woman?” (Y/N) asked, gesturing to the fact that Gwen was wearing her Lycra, white and pink heroine costume. Although her mask was off revealing her blonde hair and bright baby blue eyes. Looking down at herself Gwen chuckled at her appearance. Brining her feet onto the tower roof, Gwen flipped down beside (Y/n) who then saw the bag on her back.

“That’s what this is for dummy.” Opening her pack, Gwen showed (Y/n) that it was full of normal clothes befitting a punk drummer, including the two mahogany drum sticks (Y/n) had gifted Gwen as a show of thanks for her saving his life after a Green Goblin incident. Zipping up the bag, Gwen smiled at (Y/n) who smiled back. The glow of the New York skyline silhouetted the pair slowly inching closer. The only thing (Y/n) could focus on was Gwen, even the excited roaring of Conquest was ignored as Gwen placed her hands against (Y/n)’s chest and leaned in.

“Gwen” (Y/n) gasped, breathlessly. Gwen moved one of her Lycia covered fingers to (Y/n)’s lips and shushed hum.   

“No more talking” Gwen whispered, sending shivers down (Y/n)’s spine. “Only… action” Gwen moved her body until it was pressed hard against (Y/n)’s own. Gwen’s lips pursed together as (Y/n) and Gwen both closed their eyes and leaned forward.

Until they were interrupted by Gwen’s ringtone. The cherry jingle was Gwen’s newest, most hated thing in existence. She groaned in frustration as her romantic moment ended with the man she had been crushing on, now stepped away from Gwen.

“It’s okay, you take it” Said (Y/n) with a smile, Gwen gave an apologetic one back and glared at her friend and another member of her band Glory Grant’s caller ID.

“Kill her!” Screamed the voice in her head

“But she’s my friend” Countered Gwen softly, so softly that she hoped (Y/n) wouldn’t hear.

“She’s ruining our chances with (Y/n)!” yelled Venom. The symbiote living in Gwen’s body had been very troublesome. Ever since the two bonded, Gwen had been plagued by the endless, unrelenting need to let the symbiote take control. But she knew this would only lead to her killing innocent people. True Venom helped her in her fights, but Gwen wanted it gone… Trouble is, she doesn’t know how. And she doesn’t want to scare (Y/n) away.

Answering Glory’s call, Gwen was bombarded with her friend’s worried and angry voice.

“Where the hell are you!” Yelled Glory, her anger easily recognizable through the phone.

“I’m in the middle of something!” Whisper shouted Gwen with a nervous smile directed at (Y/n).

“Oh, is it (Y/n)… Wait no, I don’t care. Our air headed leader is badgering me and Betty because you’re not here!” Gwen groaned at the news. When they had first formed the Mary Janes, the lead singer Mary Jane was pretty much a normal girl. But over time turned out to be an A-grade bitch. The red head was nosey, commanding and bratty… and those were her best qualities!

“Fine” sighed Gwen “I’ll be there in five”

“Make it four!” said Glory before the call was ended. Gwen huffed angrily as she dropped her phone into her pack, zipping the bag up and slinging it over her shoulders, Gwen turned back to (Y/n).

“I’m… sorry about that.” Gwen said nervously, a light pink blush creeping across her cheeks as Gwen fought against the embarrassment. (Y/n) shrugged his shoulders.

“It’s fine… But it sounds like we should go.” He said. Gwen cursed Glory in her mind.

“Yess” Hissed Venom “Kill Glory! Then Mary Jane! Then (Y/n) will be ours, forever!”

“You’re right” Sighed Gwen

“Wait. I am?” Asked Venom in surprise

“Not you!” Whispered Gwen to herself. Shaking her head and ignoring her symbiote, Gwen held out a hand to (Y/n) who took it. The pair smiled at each other before Gwen used her free hand to zip them across the city to Central Park.

Central Park was about a thirty-minute drive from (Y/n)’s apartment, but by web slinging it was only three. Unfortunately for all parties involved, (Y/n) wasn’t the best with heights. As soon as Gwen held him in her arm and leapt of his apartment, he shut his eyes tightly. He could feel the wind rushing past him, hear the short bursts of gas from Gwen’s web slingers and his stomach churned at the feeling of swinging through the air, knowing that it would be death if he fell or something happened to Gwen.

“Stop being a baby” groaned Conquest as (Y/n) wrapped his hands around Gwen’s waist.

“I’m a scientist, not an adventurer!” Screamed (Y/n) in his mind

“You’re embarrassing us!” Conquest countered

“Shut up!”

When Gwen felt (Y/n) hold onto her waist tighter, she smiled gleefully.

“Maybe I should do this with him more often” She thought to herself, relishing in the close contact with (Y/n) and how tightly he held onto her.

“Look at him” came Venom’s raspy voice “So, vulnerable. We could make him our pet.” Gwen frowned in annoyance, why is it that she could never just be happy for more than two seconds now.

“We are not making him our pet” Whispered Gwen, shooting a web to the corner of the nearest building and pulling. While swinging with one hand wasn’t hard, it wasn’t exactly easy with someone weighing her down.

“Why not? He looks so cute. So… delicious.” The alien yet somehow feminine voice angered Gwen with its words. “First we kill Glory and that bimbo redhead. Then we show (Y/n) who we truly are and he submits to our love!” Gwen frowned but said nothing. She really wanted (Y/n) to love her… But how far was she willing to go to get the love.

The concert in Central Park was being held at a moving sage. People were filling the area in front of the elevated stage dressed in punk clothing. Stands of various foods, drinks and other questionable substances lined the ring before the stage. The backdrop of the stage was a blood red curtain with the words “THE MARY JANES!” printed in the middle in a font that looked like wet paint. On the stage was a set of drums, two mic stands and a keyboard. Gwen, still dressed as Spider Woman, swung down behind the stage and away from prying eyes. (Y/n) was holding onto her tightly as to not fall and breathed a sigh of relief when his feet landed on the ground.

“Oh, it’s not that bad” chastised Gwen as she unzipped her bag. (Y/n)’s stomach was doing flips but even Conquest was not impressed with (Y/n)’s less than graceful display during their transport.

“Oh god. Do not be sick. You’ll ruin our chances!” Conquest commanded.

“Then can you help me so my stomach doesn’t feel like it’s in a tornado?” (Y/n) asked.

“Fine. But you need to start exercising. Brains can’t solve every problem.” Reminded Conquest. Because Conquest had bonded with (Y/n)’s internal organs and blood stream, the symbiote was able to easily repair any damage done to (Y/n)’s body, which included fatigue and nausea.

Meanwhile, Gwen had leapt into the branches of a nearby tree and pulled out her clothes. All she had under her Lycra and Spandex suit was her pink bra and a pair of white boxers because she hated panties. Hidden beneath the foliage of the tree, Gwen unzipped her suit and peeled it off her body as quickly as she could. Which caused her to lose her balance and she almost fell to the ground mostly naked but luckily her feet managed to stick to a tree branch and she was still hidden. Gwen saw (Y/n) leaning against the base of the tree she was in as he sucked in air.

“So cute” Gwen thought as she slinked back up into the tree. Pulling out her red shirt with black, diagonal stripes Gwen pulled the shirt over her body as she shimmed on some black skinny jeans before hurriedly pulling some slip-on shoes on and stuffing her spider woman costume in her bag, followed by her mask of course. Taking the drum sticks (Y/n) had given her, Gwen zipped her bag closed and jumped down to (Y/n) with a smile.

“Let’s go.” Was all she said.

Gwen led (Y/n) backstage where Gwen’s friends Glory and Betty were waiting, as well as Mary Jane the lead singer. The red haired stuck up, snobby, pompous bane of Gwen’s existence had her hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. Glory and Betty shuffled off to the side as Mary Jane glared harshly at the drummer.

“And where exactly have you been?” She asked acting high and mighty. (Y/n) stood awkwardly behind Gwen who stood in front of him in a protective stance.

“I was out getting my friend. You see, unlike you, he actually wants me to play.” Gwen barked back aggressively. Mary Jane scoffed at the accusation and turned to Glory and Betty for assistance but the two rolled their eyes at the red head and looked away. Growling, Mary Jane threw away the microphone she had been holding, it flew in (Y/n)’s direction and he had to duck to avoid being hit. Gwen growled at Mary Jane for this.

“What the hell, psycho!” Gwen yelled

“You’re the psycho if you think you can do this gig without me. You know what, fuck it, have fun without me losers.” Mary Jane yelled back as she stormed off leaving the three band members and (Y/n) alone.

Out in the front, the audience had begun chanting “M, J. M, J” over and over as time crept forward. Gwen looked to Glory and Betty.

“What do we do know?” asked Gwen in panic, she hadn’t expected Mary Jane to storm off like that.

“Don’t look at us girl. You did the talking” Glory reminded Gwen. Peeking out from behind the curtain, Gwen saw the mass of people waiting and wondering why she and the others weren’t on stage yet.

“We’ll have to cancel” Said Betty when Gwen turned back around.

“No, you don’t” reassured (Y/n), the three band members turned to (Y/n) in confusion.

“What do you mean we don’t? We just lost our lead singer and also the reason we’re called the Mary Janes!” said Glory, (Y/n) stepped forward.

“So? Call yourselves something different.” (Y/n) said turning to Betty. “Gwen always goes on about how good of a singer you are compared to Mary Jane. I bet you’ll do better than she ever could.” Betty blushed at his compliment.

“Why thank you.” She said, (Y/n) nodded and turned to Glory.

“I don’t think you need anyone to tell you how awesome you are Glory, I mean it’s in your name.” He said. Glory beamed at the man.

“Got that right sugah.” She said. And finally (Y/n) turned to Gwen with a soft smile.

“And you Gwen. Well… You’re perfect in my eyes.” At these words, Gwen couldn’t help but blush. Glory and Betty both screeched in happiness as their number one ship just sailed. Even Conquest joined in.

“Aww, that’s nice” he said in (Y/n)’s mind. When Gwen finally got over the shock of (Y/n) basically saying he liked her back she smiled back at (Y/n).

“You know, you still owe me a kiss.” Gwen declared as she linked her hands behind (Y/n)’s neck. The man in her arms smiled and placed a soft kiss to her cheek but nothing more. “What was that?” asked Gwen slightly annoyed “I thought we were having a moment? You missed my mouth.” Glory and Betty laughed in the background.

“We’ll finish our ‘moment’ when you finish this concert.” (Y/n) promised. Gwen pouted but relented as she let go of (Y/n). Turning to her two friends Gwen brought out her drumsticks and twirled them in her hands.

“Right girls… Let’s do this thing.”

(Y/n) watched as Gwen, Glory and Betty all made their way onto the stage. The crowd erupted into applause and cheer as Betty slung her guitar strap over her shoulder, Glory stood next to her keyboard and Gwen sat down at her drum set. Gwen gripped the microphone near her head and spoke clearly into it.

“Alright everyone listen up, my name’s Gwen and we got a killer show tonight!” she yelled, in response hundreds of dedicated fans screamed in appreciation. “Luckily for us, our bitchy lead singer left and so you got yourselves a new band. We are… The SPIDER WOMAN!” (Y/n) and Conquest couldn’t help themselves, they burst into laughter. A few people in the audience mumbled to others in confusion or anger at the name. But the vast majority only screamed louder with applause. Gwen, Glory and Betty all smiled at each other. Gwen twisted her sticks and crashed them together.

“One, two, three, four!” At ‘four’ all three women started expertly playing their instruments in such a way that it was impossible for (Y/n) to not dance to.

(If you guys want… There’s this for reference. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0mBXOcNcZvs)

Gwen poured her heart and soul into her song and drums. Playing music had always been a conduit for her, having no one to really console her feelings with, Gwen had often hidden behind the lyrics of songs to express her emotions. Tonight, Gwen and the SPIDER WOMAN played a song that Gwen felt was about her. Every note, lyric, beat and breath were perfect and the crowd’s cheers only grew louder. At one point, Gwen looked to the side to see (Y/n), hidden behind a curtain, smiling away gleefully at her and she couldn’t help but smile back. This only spurred her to play harder, better. Gwen felt as if she was on another level, nothing could go wrong, she was untouchable. This was a feeling Gwen never had when Mary Jane had been with the band. Gwen’s new demeanor didn’t go unnoticed by Glory and Betty. The keyboardist looked to the guitarist with a surprised yet overjoyed look and a smile graced each of their lips as they played.

Hours later and the concert was still going but Gwen and the others needed a break from the constant playing and so let another, lesser known band take the stage as the SPIDER WOMAN walked backstage. As Gwen and the others came into view (Y/n) started clapping and whistling catching the attention of the three girls.

“Now that’s a show to behold.” Exclaimed (Y/n). Gwen, who felt undefeatable, rushed forward and jumped onto (Y/n)’s body, sending the pair crashing into the sofa of which (Y/n) had been sitting in moments ago. Glory and Betty looked at each other.

“Let’s give our girl some privacy” Said Glory with a smile, Betty smiled back and nodded. Together the two left to give Gwen and (Y/n) some much needed alone time. Now laying on top of (Y/n), Gwen felt in control… Just how she liked it. She could tell Venom liked it too as all it was saying was ‘Yes.’ Over and over. Gwen breathed in (Y/n)’s scent deeply, loving the earthy smell he had from working with plants.

“I believe you owe me something” Breathed Gwen, her face inches from (Y/n)’s own. (Y/n) smiled looking up at the beauty on top of him, Gwen’s short blonde hair shimmered in the dim lights of the concert stage even from behind the curtain.

“Of course” (Y/n) closed his eyes and leaned forward with his head, Gwen did the same and tried to silence the giddy feeling within her. And finally, it happened. After close to two years of waiting, yearning Gwen Stacy finally got to kissed (Y/n) Hill. And the best part? He was kissing back.

After thirteen minutes of consecutive ‘marking territory’ as Venom said, Gwen and (Y/n) finally separated. Gwen curled up on (Y/n)’s body like a cat. In (Y/n)’s mind a full blown fiesta was going on between Conquest and (Y/n) as they both celebrated ‘getting the girl.’ Sadly, the good time was not to last as one of the stage hands walked over.

“Miss Stacy. You’re on now.” He said before walking away. Gwen groaned in annoyance as she rolled off (Y/n)’s body and into a standing position.

“And I was just getting comfy too” She moaned. (Y/n) chortled at this remark and stood as well, stretching his arms as he did so.

“Will a kiss be enough?” (Y/n) asked slyly, a coy smile appearing on his lips. Gwen smirked back.

“Hmm, I don’t know. I might need further convincing” Gwen said challengingly

“Nope, deals off then.” (Y/n) said with a confident smirk of his own. Gwen’s smile fell away, replaced instead by a look of shock.

“What? That wasn’t how this was meant to go.” She outraged but (Y/n) kept smiling.

“Then you best finish this concert” Gwen opened her mouth to say something, but the unyielding shouting of the waiting fans stopped her.

“You better not forget” Warned Gwen as she started to walk away.

“I’ll be here when you finish.” (Y/n) said.

Gwen turned around, intent of saying some kind of snarky remark. But what she saw chilled her blood. (Y/n) stood happily, a smile on his face and without a care in the world. Behind him, a man dressed in all black from head to toe, with a small firearm in his hand, the gun barrel was pointed directly at (Y/n)’s head. Time seemed to slow for Gwen, willing Venom to her aid she reached out with an arm molded by the Symbiote as it stretched towards (Y/n), intent of pushing him out of harm’s way. The man fired his gun, a flash of fire erupted from the barrel as the empty shell flew from the gun and the deadly bullet started its journey. (Y/n)’s smile slowly dropped and his eyes widened as he saw Gwen using the Symbiote and Gwen couldn’t help but feel the hurt in her chest at this. But she needed to save (Y/n)… Even if he hated her afterwards. Gwen and Venom yelled with defiance as they surged towards (Y/n)… But the gunman was closer. The bullet entered the back of (Y/n)’s head with an explosion of blood and gore as it travelled through his skull and into his brain. Gwen screamed in sadness and rage as (Y/n) fell lifeless to the dirty floor.

At the sound of the gunshot the crowd outside quieted before most screamed in shock and panic, running for the exits as security guards swarmed the grounds. The mysterious invader fled the scene, knowing his contract was finished. Venom wanted to go after the villain but Gwen was too distraught with sadness and loss to do anything more than rush to (Y/n)’s side. The White Widow looked into (Y/n)’s dead eyes and tears left her own.

“No, no, no.” Gwen muttered, rolling (Y/n) to the side she noticed how irreversible the wound was. (Y/n) was gone, forever. And the was nothing Gwen could do about it.

“Catch him.” Hissed Venom “Kill him, rip him apart! Make him suffer!” And for once, Gwen couldn’t agree more.

Venom overtook Gwen’s body. The symbiote’s black body encased Gwen, turning her into a living weapon. Serrated blade like teeth covered Gwen’s face as they shifted to form a mouth. Two milky white, curved eyes curved around the top of Gwenom’s head as her body grew slightly bigger, leaner and deadlier. Now fully morphed into Gwenom, Gwen relinquished control of her mind. Sadness, guilt and anger coursed through Venom’s mind, making it stronger. Sniffing the air around it, Venom locked on to the scent of the attacker and blocked all other thoughts from its mind.

“I’m going to shred you into an appetizer” It growled, leaping from where it stood, away from the stage.

Meanwhile, as soon as the bullet hit (Y/n), Conquest hadn’t stopped working. Because Conquest had bonded with (Y/n) organs and primarily his brain, Conquest was able to fix most wounds. But a direct headshot from almost point black range was proving to be difficult. The Klyntar worked as fast as it could to repair damage, luckily because Conquest’s home is inside (Y/n)’s brain, the symbiote had taken the piercing and brute force of the bullet, stopping it from actually hitting the brain. But the wound could still prove to be fatal.

“Come on. If you die, I die” Conquest muttered to himself as the wound on (Y/n)’s head slowly but surely stitched itself back together. “Alright, heads working… Thirty seconds until complete body failure… Need to restart heart.” Conquest listed. Tendrils of silver rushed through (Y/n)’s veins, heading for his heart. (Y/n)’s heart had stopped beating, Conquest could feel (Y/n)’s life drift away and doubled his efforts. The tendrils of silver spun around inside (Y/n)’s heart like a typhoon. Slowly, the muscles of (Y/n)’s heart began to expand and contract. Slowly at first as if the muscle was being driven by a cautious snail, then the beats grew faster and faster, suddenly (Y/n)’s heart was racing and Conquest could feel the blood pumping again. And his hard work paid off as (Y/n)’s eyes snapped open.

Venom had only one goal in mind. Slaughter the person responsible for (Y/n)’s death in the most gruesome way possible. Cars and trucks passed underneath Gwenom as they zipped across building tops. The smell of nicotine and gunpowder led Gwenom across the city, for just one man living in New York, he sure knew how to move. But Gwenom didn’t falter, the anger and rage spurred her on like a combustion engine of pure fury. Venom’s symbiotic abilities allowed Gwen to move faster and hit harder. And so, when Gwenom leapt through the air and saw the masked murderer that had killed their (Y/n), they shot their symbiotic limbs around the individual on the streets, trapping them in a jail of inky darkness. The other civilians on the streets screamed in terror as Gwenom pulled herself to the ground, her legs outstretched towards the assailant. Gwenom could feel bones breaking under their feet as their target slammed into the ground. The tendrils of Venom’s flesh snaked their ways back into their host as Gwenom crawled atop the murderer.

“Who. Are. YOU!” Gwenom screeched, ripping off the assaliant’s mask revealed a man with short black hair and terrified black eyes. The man tried to reach for his gun which had skidded across the sidewalk. But Gwenom saw this and, taking the man’s hand in her own clawed one, broke every bone in the man’s hand. The man screamed in agony as Gwenom slowly started to pull his arm out of its socket.

“ALRIGHT! ALRIGHT!” He shouted, gritting his teeth in pain. The pulling stopped. “I’ll tell you everything… Just please stop” The man pleaded for his life and sanity, but Gwenom wasn’t even half finished with him.

“Too late.” She growled. With inhuman strength, Gwenom leapt into the air pulling the man by his already dislocated and broken hand. With their free hand Gwenom crawled up the side of the nearest building and threw the man onto the roof. He tried desperately to crawl away, even trying to stop the pain by crawling to the ledge… But Gwenom was faster.

Gwenom’s arms bubbled and twisted, changing shape and form until they were no longer hands. But the blades of scythes. The assassin looked on in fear as the vigilante stalked ever closer, weapons set to kill. He closed his eyes and prayed to every religion he could think of for forgiveness as he awaited his death… Which never came. The assassin opened his eyes and saw two swirling points of darkness directly in front of his eyes and the only thing between them and himself, were two tendrils of silver. There was a loud crash as something crawled up the side of the building, following the two silver tendrils. And as it appeared over the ledge, the assassin couldn’t help but faint. Another symbiote. This time its body was a lustrous silver with swirling red eyes of similar shape to that of Gwenom. Rows of black razors filled its mouth and despite having a male appearance was exceptionally lean and built for speed.

“Stop! Now!” Warned the Silver Symbiote, its voice sounding like the other symbiotes, a mix between Klyntar and its host, two voices acting as one. Gwenom took a step back in surprise, its scythe blades crossing over their chest in a defensive stance.

“Who are you?” asked Gwenom, the silver symbiote stepped forward, walking over the unconscious man and stepping closer to Gwenom who growled in warning.

“We, are Conquest.” Conquest explained “And you need to stop Gwen.” Gwenom recoiled in shock.

“How do you know that name?” they asked cautiously.

“Because I know you. Venom is controlling you Gwen. Don’t let it take away what you already have.” Conquest tried to negotiate terms.

“We work together. I don’t control her!” Gwenom said

“Gwen wouldn’t kill for revenge. The Gwen I know would do everything in her power to find another way.” Conquest continued, taking another step forward.

“Then you don’t know me at all!” shouted Gwen, her voice acting on her own and sounding close to tears.

“I know you love music. I know you love your friends… I know you hate pickles with a scary passion. Let me help you Gwen.”

Gwenom screamed in pain, their scythe hands turning back to claws as they gripped their head. Conquest stood nearby, watching the scene unfold before him with a curious gaze. Finally, when Gwenom looked up, Conquest knew it wasn’t going to be fun for the next few minutes. Gwenom launched themselves at Conquest and together the four flew off the side of the building, smashing through the glass of the account’s offices across the street. The two symbiotes rolled through the boring grey cubicles, razing everything in their paths. Papers, files and computers flew and smashed around the offices as black punches were traded with silver kicks. It looked to be a stalemate, neither Gwenom nor Conquest giving in but as Conquest sent a devastating uppercut directly to Venom’s head it seemed Conquest had the upper hand. Until Venom’s arms morphed back into scythes and with one swift motion she cut everything in the room clean in half. Seeing the attack coming, Conquest’s whole body twisted together until it became a swirling mass in the form of a ball. Gwenom’s usually powerful attack, bounced off harmlessly. Venom’s attack triggered the alarms, sirens started blaring and the fire suppression system kicked in, showering the two combatants with water. As Gwenom stumbled back in confusion, Conquest uncurled from its ball and sprung at Venom. The mad Symbiote could do nothing as Conquest pushed it to the ground, straddling its waist and pinning its limbs and any other tendrils it formed to the ground.

Gwenom screeched in disapproval. “Last chance Venom. Leave Gwen.” Commanded the silver symbiote.

“NEVER!” hissed Venom, staring directly into its opponents red eyes. With a growl of defiance, a small tendril of silver, snaked its way from Conquest’s chest. It moved slowly, carefully through the air towards Venom who withered and flailed underneath its captor. Gwenom watched as the small tendril slithered its way around her face before suddenly jabbing into the space between her eyes. From a third perspective it was a sight to behold. As Gwenom screeched and withered in pain, the symbiote was actually being forcefully, removed from Gwen’s body. The black form of the Klyntar swirled around the silver body of Conquest, molding together with the other symbiote forming inky black, constantly moving rows around its body. Eventually, as the last of the Venom symbiote was extracted from Gwen’s body, the drummer laid on the ground her breathing heavy, a look of fear on her face as she backed away from Conquest having no way to defend herself. She didn’t get far, barely three inches before Gwen felt a wall pressed up against her back.

“Who, who are you?” Gwen managed to stammer, despite the majority of her strength being sapped away with the Venom symbiote who now swirled around Conquest’s body like moving armour.

“You need not be afraid Gwen. We wish you no harm.” Conquest proclaimed, kneeling down in front of the drummer. Gwen watched with fear as black tendrils swirled in with silver before Conquest began to shrink in size. If Gwen was scared before, it was nothing compared to now, when she found that not only was he alive, but (Y/n) had a symbiote. His kind, friendly face seemed so alien now. Gwen felt as though he had lied to her since the beginning.

“You’re… alive?” Gwen whispered, not trusting herself to speak any louder.

“I just got you. I’m not losing you.” (Y/n)’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper. It was a miracle that Gwen could hear him over the sounds of the sirens.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Gwen asked, caressing (Y/n)’s face, leaning against the wall with the man she had just recently fought standing over her, protecting her from the downpour from the sprinklers. Even though Gwen’s body was already soaked, from her jeans to her top.

“I could say the same thing” was the answer (Y/n) gave. Gwen trialed a smile and, for her efforts, received one back.

“Touché. Mister Hill.” Gwen spoke.

“Wanna get outta here? I think I can hear police storming the building.” (Y/n) offered Gwen his hand. Blue eyes looked into (Y/n)’s own. And by the time the police kicked the doors down, (Y/n) and Gwen were already long gone.

“SINCE WHEN CAN SYMBIOTES FLY!” Gwen screamed as she clung to Conquest’s back, two insectoid-like wings keeping the pair in the clouds.

“Since they realized that shape-shifting is the coolest power ever.” (Y/n) replied “No more swinging around for this guy” Gwen had to admit she felt a little saddened by this, remembering the time (Y/n) had clung so tightly to her body on the way to the concert. The city of New York seemed akin to a painting, as Gwen and (Y/n) flew over the city. Gwen looked at the swirling black marks on Conquest’s silver body and grimaced.

“Do, do they talk to you?” asked Gwen over the sound of rushing air.

“Conquest keeps Venom in check, most times. I dunno, it’s weird. Never heard of two symbiotes on one body before. Although I must admit I’m flattered that you and Venom had so many plans to get my attention.” Gwen blushed at the last part and slapped the black lines on the body beneath her.

“Bad Venom.” She muttered.

Two months had passed since Gwen and (Y/n) became more than friends. During which they talked about each other, telling each other their secrets. Gwen learned that (Y/n) was from another universe and (Y/n) learned that Gwen wanted to dye her hair pink. Gwen didn’t apparently have many secrets besides being Spider-Woman. Today the pair were taking a day off, that led to them taking the entire week off from work with S.H.I.E.L.D. Gwen had taken (Y/n) for a drive out of the city, to a nearby lake side cabin she used to frequent with her parents. The cabin itself could have down with a makeover but it was the lake that made the two want to stay. With crystal clear, sparkling waters filled with life it was no wonder that most of the day was spent in the water, which was conveniently heated by a series of tiny, underground, harmless lava rivers which made the water a comfy twenty-two degrees Celsius. Gwen had wanted to surprise (Y/n) on the trip and so she brought her special swimming suit. It was fashioned after her spider-woman uniform with a pink inside covered with neon blue ‘webbing’ lining. The outside was often white but the bikini top that was attached to her hood had two black diamonds covering her breasts and her bottoms had a large black patch covering her nether regions while two white straps held the garment securely to Gwen’s body. When (Y/n) had first seen Gwen wearing such astounding clothing he had immediately submerged his lower half in the water. Likewise, Gwen felt aroused often due to (Y/n) physique. While he wasn’t a ripped jock with bulging muscles. (Y/n) still had a somewhat defined stomach with only hits of fat and Gwen smiled to herself thinking he was just more cuddly, despite hosting two of the most dangerous living aliens on the planet inside himself. The two spent their days, having fun in the water and the nights roasting marshmallows over an open fire. After a strenuous make out session which involved Gwen wearing her Spider-Woman outfit, (Y/n) was resting his head atop Gwen’s breasts, her arm wrapped over his waist, pulling him closer.

“That was great” Said Gwen, looking at the webbing hanging from the ceiling. “I always wanted to try that.”

“I think you need to work on your Spiderwoman kiss. Considering that you dropped a few extra inches.” (Y/n) said remembering the first time Gwen had tried to perform her new favorite kiss only to misjudge the distance and shoved her crotch in her boyfriend’s face.

“You liked it” Cooed Gwen. (Y/n) decided not to dignify that with a response. The pair laid there on their bed, content with each other. Neither of them knew that when they would next wake, their lives would never be the same again.

[mldrgrl]

Somebody Likes a Math Geek

by: mldrgrl Rating: PG Summary: Look, I was supposed to be off running errands today since I was gone this weekend, but instead I was at home staring at my dog all day, so while he slept, I wrote some post-Millennium fluff.

Mulder expected a knock on his door the next morning, he just didn’t expect it so early.  He opened the door with a sheepish look on his face, smears of shaving cream on his cheeks and bare chest.  He’d intended to prove he was capable of functioning like normal, even with the use of one arm, but obviously he’d failed.  He couldn’t even button his jeans all the way, let alone shave.  He didn’t know what he was thinking.

“What were you thinking?” Scully asked, clearly reading his mind.  She dropped a white paper bag he knew contained bagels from the corner deli onto his table.

“I thought I could manage,” he grumbled.  “You’re early.”

“It’s already nine.”  She took his arm (the good one) and led him towards his bedroom.  “Let’s get you cleaned up.  Did you take your meds yet?”

He shook his head.  She chastised him with her eyes and then turned her disapproving glare to the state of the bathroom.  There was shaving cream on the mirror and the knobs to turn on the faucet.  A large puddle surrounded the base of the sink.  Wet towels and yesterday’s clothes were strewn about the floor.

“Mulder,” she said, and stopped at his name.  She didn’t have to go on, it was obvious neither of them knew what he’d been thinking.

“I hear beard is the new black.”

“Wait here.”

She was gone maybe two minutes.  When she came back, her jacket was off and the sleeves of her baby blue sweater were pushed up past her elbows.  She had a glass of water with her and a painkiller in her hand, which she made him take before she inspected the sling that was holding the weight of his injured arm.

“Sit down,” she ordered, pointing to the toilet.

Curious as to her agenda, he obediently lowered the lid on the toilet and took a seat.  Scully grabbed a towel from the rack against the wall and dropped it over the puddle at the sink, nudging it into place with the toe of her boot.  She rifled through the rest of the haphazardly folded towels until she come out with a washcloth which she soaked in warm water.  He closed his eyes when she cleaned his face and chest.  The gentle swipe of the washcloth against his skin was unexpected.

Mulder opened his eyes when she finished and rubbed his hand against his damp chin as she rinsed the cloth.  The day-old stubble rasped against his palm and itched his skin annoyingly.  

“Where’s your razor?” Scully asked.

“Cabinet,” he answered.  “I hadn’t made it that far.”

She opened the medicine cabinet and took out his razor.  He watched her wash her hands and then wet the razor with interest.  When she started shaking the can of shaving cream, he raised his brows.

“What are you planning?” he asked.

“You need a shave, right?”

“Yeah.”

She pumped out too much foam into her hand and he was unable to protest before she started lathering his cheeks and jaw.  He had to press his lips shut and then grimaced as she drew the cream around his mouth.  He relaxed a little when she turned to rinse her hands.

“Do you even have any experience with this?” he asked, trying not to move his lips as he spoke.

“Sure I do,” she answered, standing in front of him with the razor poised at the ready.  “It’s common to shave a corpse dur-”

“Corpses!”  He grabbed her wrist to keep her hand suspended in the air, away from his face.

She tried not to smile, but failed.  “Don’t trust me?”

“I don’t know if I should answer that while you’re holding a sharp object.”

“I was a med student once, you know.  Prepping a patient for surgery is just the type of grunt work they love to give first years on rotation.  I never had any complaints.”

Hesitantly, he let go of her wrist.  Of course he knew she wouldn’t hurt him.  It was the intimacy of the act that gave him pause.  He didn’t know how should could be so cool and steady when she touched him.  If he had his hand at her throat, thumb and forefinger pressed to the back of her jaw like she did now, he would be trembling.

“Turn to the right a little,” she said, guiding his head into a slight tilt with the press of her thumb.  When she had him where she wanted him, she put her hand on his head to hold him steady and then made the first pass with the razor where his sideburns ended to the curve of his jaw.

He kept his eyes on her face, so concentrated and determined.  Her tongue came out to sweep across her bottom lip every so often and he tried not to let his gaze linger too long on her mouth, lest he get caught.  Her hand stayed on his head, fingers deep in his hair even as she twisted to rinse the razor in the sink after every pass over his face.  He took her subtle, unspoken cues to push his chin forward or stretch his upper lip down when she was ready for either area.

She was a little more than halfway done when her eyes finally shifted and met his.  He gazed up at her adoringly, fully aware that it was written all over his face just how much he was enjoying this.  Her lips parted as though she was about to speak and then her eyes darted back down to his chin.  With her next stroke of the razor, she nicked him at the cleft in his chin.  The sudden sting made him wince slightly and her fingers tightened in his hair.

“Dammit,” she whispered, turning to quickly to drop the razor in the sink.  “I’m sorry.”

“Happens all the time.”  He watched her rip a section of toilet paper from the roll next to him, chuckling to himself when it was obvious she had no idea what she was doing.  “Just the corner.”

“What?”

“Just take the corner off.  Small piece.”

“Oh.”  She pulled the corner of the paper from the rest of the scrap in her hand and he nodded.  The confident look she’d had earlier disappeared as her hand hovered by his chin.  He waited for her to do something, but she just stared at his chin.  

“Need help?” he asked.

“No, it’s just…”

“Doesn’t hurt.”

After a few more moments of hesitation, Scully turned and found the washcloth she’d used on him earlier and dabbed at his chin.  She then carefully placed the little dot of paper onto the knicked spot with her thumb.  She threw the remainder of paper away and dropped the washcloth back on the sink.  Her hand went to her head again, but she didn’t have the razor.

Mulder reached up and tugged a little at the hem of her sweater.  “You’re not going to let me go with a half shaved face are you?” he asked.

“Oh.”  She shook her head slightly like she was coming out of a trance.

The concentrated look came back over her and she finished shaving the rest of his face with slow and steady strokes.  Once again, she wiped away bits of remaining cream with the washcloth and then he reached up to feel the smoothness of his cheeks.

“I wouldn’t quit your day job or anything,” he said.  “But, well done.”

“Aftershave?”

“Behind you.”

Mulder had to close his eyes again when Scully patted his cheeks with Polo Sport.  He very nearly leaned closer when she stepped away and wiped her hands with the damp washcloth.  She stood between his knees and put a finger under his chin to lift his face, inspecting her work.  He took a deep breath.  She smelled like him and somewhere deep in a primal sector of his brain, he felt wholly possessive of her in that moment.

“Scully,” he said, sliding his good arm around her hips.  His immobile shoulder ached to do the same.

“Yeah?”  Her reply was slow in coming, voice wary, but she slid his hand to his neck and her nails scratched lightly at his nape.

“Would it be alright if I wished you a happy new year again?”

She cocked her head quizzically, but a few moments later when she caught on to his meaning, she straightened and her eyes bounced back and forth between his mouth and his stare.  Suddenly she became flustered and fiddled with the strap on his sling.

“Does this need to be loosened?” she asked.  “Is it too tight?”

“It’s fine.”

She focused completely and unnecessarily on his sling until he tapped his fingers against her hip to urge her to stop.  She went still, her hands resting gently on his shoulders.  When she raised her eyes to his, her cheeks darkened into a rosy shade of embarrassment.

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I’ve been having some very unpartnerly feelings about you for awhile and I can do better than what I gave you last night.”

“Mulder…”  She looked away and bit licked at the top curve of her mouth.  “How unpartnerly?”

“Ones that would probably get me written up by HR if I tell you.”

“So why are you telling me now?”

“A new millennium seems like the perfect place to start something else new.”

“I already told you, 2001 is the actual start of the millennium.”

Mulder scoffed a little and tipped his head back.  Scully cupped the back of his head and touched his cheek.  She leaned closer and he tightened his arm around her.

“I can do better too,” she whispered, as her mouth descended onto his.

As though they were both stunned to find themselves in a sudden liplock, both inhaled swiftly through the nose and opened their mouths to each other.  Mulder groaned in both joy and frustration when their tongues slid over one another.  He wanted to be able to put his arms around her (both of them), but he was restricted by the throbbing in his shoulder and the sling pinning him in place.

Scully broke away and held her forehead to Mulder’s, her nose pressed comfortably inside the pocket between his nose and cheek.  Her ragged breath mingled with his.

“Have you been having unpartnerly thoughts as well?” he rasped.

“You’re not the only one that could make HR blush.”

Mulder leaned back to look at her.  She wore a neutral expression, but the swift rise and fall of her chest indicated that perhaps she felt as exhilarated and frightened as he did.  He moved his thumb up to stroke her hip and, just grazing a wisp of bare skin along the waistband of her jeans.  Her mouth fell open as she sucked in a breath and his chest swelled as he held his.

“I brought bagels,” she whispered.

“I saw them,” he whispered back.

“We could have breakfast.”

“And then?”

“See where the day takes us?”

“You think it might lead to more of...this?” he asked, nuzzling the underside of her jaw.  “Before the ‘actual’ millennium?”

“Are you admitting that I’m right?”

“Does it turn you on at all?”

A smile bloomed on Scully’s face and then she chuckled.  “That’s for me to know and you to find out, Agent Mulder.”

If it was possible to die of happiness and feel one’s soul leave their body, it happened to Mulder.  That smile, that flirty tone, that look in her eye, it made him feel he was about to have a very good millennium (or almost millennium, depending on who you asked) indeed.

The End