#I need to train myself to not have such a bumpy voice

[randombush3]

revocate animos (with or without me)

alexia putellas x reader

part one, part two, part three, part four

the second half of this part (it didn't fit in one post lol)

words: it's over 14k. i had lots to say.

summary: the final part, which originally had a different ending but i was told it was evil so i changed it.

warnings: it's mainly just sad, there's a bit of smut though

notes: i could give you so many excuses as to why this is being posted now but no one wants to read that so i'll just say sorry x

anyway, i got very lost along the way at points and had some serious plot crises that had me tearing my hair out. i researched children's behaviour to the point of needing an honourory qualification, and i spent the last three hours ignoring my girlfriend while i finished this off.

for as much as i put these two through (and myself tbh), i'm sad to finish it off. BUT ALSO NOW IM FREE.

have fun reading! and sorry about the length of it

London smells of dirty rain and exhaust fumes, of a homelessness crisis and inflation attempting to impersonate that of the Weimar Republic; greyish streets, cracks in the pavement, thousands of spices from all over the world. Grubby patterns, hidden by the smudging of millions of bottoms, coloured poles that used to match the train line but no longer do. You breathe it all in, eyes closed as the motion of the underground jerks you sideways, the train leaving London Bridge just as you left Barcelona. Without looking back. 

You had laughed when they told you they’d send a driver to get you from the airport. The luxury of some shiny black car held no appeal when compared to the familiar Northern line, its blackened route well-travelled and your own brick-road home. 

Part of this choice to ‘slum it’ is borne of your desire to return to the past; a time before the fame and the fortune, when camera flashes came from your parents’ Sony Cyber-shot and not paparazzos with a hunger to splash you across the front page of a slimy gossip magazine. There was no Alexia, then. The extent of Spanish in your life was Anya studying for her A-levels, and you’d spend time writing songs without it feeling like pulling teeth. Without having to relive some of the worst moments of your life. 

Those hadn’t happened yet.

God, you were so naive then back then. 

Your London shows are in Wembley. Two nights, two journeys through your album, through your heartbreak. Both are sold out. 

“See it, say it, sorted,” you mouth along to the voice, pushing the handle of your suitcase upwards, rising from your seat. The doors of the tube swoosh open, the yellow line of the platform attacking your tired eyes as Highgate station is revealed to you. You hear a whisper of ‘is that Y/n L/n?’ but you don’t turn around. 

The wheels of your suitcase gurgle against the bumpy pavement leading up to your house, but they grow quieter as you approach. They must sense the tension, glad to have the smoother surface of your driveway to move across as you force yourself to continue walking forwards. 

A woman is standing on your porch. Her body swivels around as she hears you stop just behind her. 

Leah takes in the sight of you, deciding that you definitely did not enjoy Barcelona. “I was just about to ring the doorbell, but I guess you wouldn’t have answered the door anyway,” she says with an awkward chuckle, not sure if you want to talk about how rough you look. You cried the entire flight, and refused to contact anyone once you had landed, hoping they assumed your plane had crashed and you had drowned somewhere in the English Channel. 

“I got here in the morning.” Your voice is unused. It croaks, shattered. 

“Let me get your bag?” asks Leah, rather firmly, leaving you no room to decline her request before she has stepped off the porch and into your personal space. She looks up at you, wondering how you manage to look so beautiful even now, hand blindly reaching out for the hard shell of your suitcase as she stares. “How’re Nico and–” 

Your lips silence her before she is finished. Leah freezes, surprised this is the moment you have chosen to kiss her.

But she misses you as soon as you pull away. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper, and she cringes at the self-loathing that drips from your words. A tear rolls down your cheek, but you are unsure whether it falls because you have kissed her or because you want to kiss her again. “I shouldn’t have done that.” 

You must have argued with Alexia. Leah’s realisation weighs heavy on her heart. Something has to have happened for you to have made your move, because Leah had been starting to accept the idea that you were still in love with your ex and she was nothing more than a friend. She had been looking forward to your concert tonight, in all honesty, and was excited to see you again, glad to have you in her life in any way, shape, or form.

“Because,” she starts hesitantly, “because you didn’t like it? Or…” 

“Leah.” 

“If you wanted to kiss me again, I wouldn’t mind.” 

“Leah,” you repeat, the vowels almost failing to drop from the tip of your tongue. This is a dangerous game, but the look in Leah’s blue eyes tells you that she is happy to play it. “Leah, I… I shouldn’t have kissed you?” 

“Is that a question?” 

You blink. “I’m not sure.” 

“If it’s a question, I’d say that the answer is the opposite. And that we should go inside.” She slides her hand over the metal handle of your suitcase, warm skin covering your fingers where your grip is still curled around it. “But only if you want to.” 

Do you want to? 

You value your friendship, you really do; Leah has been there for you many times since you met her, never asking too many questions. She means something more than what you crave from her, and doesn’t deserve to be the woman you use to detach yourself from reality. 

But Leah is looking at you with desire that has been missed, relentlessness promised by her toned muscles. Leah is looking at you as though you are the only star in the galaxy or the sun on a rainy day. Leah is looking at you like she wants to devour you, and you, with no soul left to give, resign to letting her have your body.

“This won’t change anything, right?”

It’s a mean question. You know that. 

“Course not,” Leah lies. 

You let it convince the both of you. 

Pink glitter covers the dining table at one end, and shiny green stars are scattered on top of the brown grain of the wood on the other.

“She might be at soundchek,” Alexia explains to Nico, who is finished with his Mother’s Day creation and is now intent on FaceTiming you to show you the card he has made. “And cards are supposed to be a surprise. That’s why we made envelopes!” 

“But you said my card should be put in a museum,” he replies with a frown, his nose crinkling in confusion just as yours does. “So we show her now.” 

“Mi amor, that’s not how it works,” laughs Alexia, reaching out to ruffle his hair. With Elena settled comfortably on her healthy knee, gleefully pushing piles of glitter around so that it mixes with the glue smeared on her card, it is safe to say that this year’s cards are going to be successes. “Mama has promised to call when she gets home, and you can tell her that you have a surprise for her. That will build up the excitement, and make it even better when she gets to open it.” 

Your son has become a cynic. “And when will that be?” 

“Mother’s Day is on the 19th, so we have three days to wait.” You have purposely chosen a chartered route to Tokyo that flies via Barcelona so that you get to spend the day with your children before your fortnight in Asia to end the first half of the tour. “Do you want to write the words out for Lela once the glue has dried?” 

“I don’t know what Lela wants me to say,” he explains with great concern, turning to his sister with a very serious expression. He speaks to her in English, because he knows that this card is for you. He understands that there are two Mother’s Days, though he thinks it’s because he has two mothers, and that Alexia’s day is in May. When Alexia opens her mouth to speak, Nico is quick to shut her down. “Calla, Mami, no sabes nada de inglés.”

Your legs slam together but find no available route with Leah’s body in between them. 

It feels… good. 

Liberating.

You haven’t brought her into your bed, which she notices but doesn’t comment on. It’s excusable to be on the sofa, to have stayed downstairs for the hours she has spent trying to make you feel better, because the clock has only just ticked its way to lunchtime. You laugh to yourself at the thought of that, amused by the notion that you have already eaten.

Leah is curious when it comes to you. That much you had expected, having been aware of her lingering gazes long before the sores on your heart had calloused into tougher muscle. She has been waiting for this resiliently, and you present yourself to her as though you are a new toy she finally gets to play with. She kisses you slowly at times, to memorise the warmth of your tongue or the jut of your chin, but she often grows impatient, wanting nothing more than to end her torture and find out what it is like. 

What is it like to have a woman like you? To wake up next to you, kiss you, touch you? 

How does your mind work? What do you smell like just after getting out of the shower? Does your accent ever slip, or is it really that posh? 

The air in the living room is hazy now, and your eyes close in bliss as you let your sweat seep into the grainy fabric of your white sofa. Leah doesn’t crawl into your open arms as you assume she will. 

She wipes her mouth. 

Although Leah has enjoyed this very much, she knows that this instance has not been you allowing her to start to love you. It has been for her to help you forget how much pain you are in. Somewhere deep down, she cares, but she doesn’t try to search for the emotion.

“So,” she says with a giggle, as if you are two teenage girls, best friends who have decided to kiss so that they can practise for the real thing, “do I need to send an apology present to your makeup artist?” Sitting back on her knees, she swipes one hand down to pluck her t-shirt from the floor, pulling it on top of her naked body before sending you an exaggerated smirk and prodding the developing bruise on your neck.

“Fuck,” you groan, batting her hand away. “I completely forgot I had that thing tonight.” You also need to call your children before Alexia bans your name from her household (if that hasn’t happened already). 

“That ‘thing’ being your concert at Wembley?” 

“I’d have thought selling out Wembley is the norm for you now, Captain,” you tease, clearing your throat. “England have done it, Champions of Europe for the very first time.” 

“You’re freakishly good at a commentator’s voice.” 

“Gotten used to being my own commentator. Only Spanish streams in my house – even United matches!” You smile at your own frustration but it quickly sours as awkwardness drops on top of you. You bring your arms up to cover your bare chest, but Leah clears her throat with softened eyes and you no longer feel so exposed. 

You feel safe.

“What happened in Barcelona?” You shake your head at her question. “That bad, huh?” she presses. 

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” you tell her, grey clouds hanging over you as your voice darkens and lowers. “Like, at all.” 

“I think you should. It’s better it comes out now than later when you’ve had lots to drink and no idea who you’re ranting about it to, isn’t it? And it’s just me; I’m not going to judge you.” 

“But you know her. You know her friends.” Your hands move to cover your face. Leah can have your body, but you don’t want her to have your tears. “Thank you for caring, babe, but I think I’m going to handle this one on my own.” 

“Well, you know that–” 

“You’re always a phone call away.” You smile, tears sucked back inside you, bottled away in glassware you store in crates labelled ‘VERY FRAGILE’. Desperate to change the subject, you adjust your position on the sofa, sitting up. Leah tries very hard not to stare at the curves of your chest. “You know, Lee, I never thought you’d be that good in bed.” 

…

Alexia is in desperate need of advice. 

Her muscles contract and relax, the tissues pulling on her bone, which, in turn, pulls her. She is strung along, driven perhaps by her leap in recovery and impending comeback. She almost breaks out into a jog, but the church she has dragged herself to comes into view before she can gain speed. 

She had not expected this from herself. 

It’s nothing special to her, though she will admit that the architecture of the building does hold some sense of divinity, but the heavy wooden door is propped open and she is drawn inside. 

The Sacrament of Reconciliation, Fridays, 17.00-17.30. 

Alexia checks her watch, the golden links gleaming on her wrist, catching the sunlight that filters in through the glass windows. 

She catches a glimpse of white behind the doors of the Confession booth, becoming acutely aware of how empty the church is. The curtain has been pulled back, bunched to the left-hand side carefully, as though the previous handler had moved with peace. 

It can’t be that bad, can it? 

It’s just like therapy. 

Her feet carry her forwards once more, leading her into the wooden booth. It smells old. The cushion she kneels on is blue, she thinks, but she cannot tell because it goes dark once she pulls the curtain shut. 

Alexia is not a religious person. Sure, she signs the cross before stepping onto the pitch, and, like most people she knows, she is baptised, but her faith is limited to that. When she tore her ACL, she spent evenings trying to pray, trying to force her to believe in Him. It would have been comforting to know that someone had a plan for her, was watching over her carefully with the knowledge of how it was going to play out. It was to no avail. 

But somehow she knows what to say, and so she does. 

“In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” She recites the words like lines from a play, head bowed in shame as she writes her next sentences in her mind. “This is my first and, probably, my last confession.” 

Silence. 

She rests her hands in her lap, shuffling around to ensure she is not pressing down on her knee in any way that is harmful. It would kill her to have to push back her return to the pitch because of some stupid thing she has spontaneously chucked herself into. 

“I messed up.” She laughs. “No, that is actually an understatement. I know this is a church and I really shouldn’t swear, but I fucked up. Father, I had Heaven in my hands and I threw it away as though it were meaningless. Was it greed? Was it greed that led me to do it?” 

“Do what, my daughter?” 

The priest sounds younger than she’d thought he would be. 

“I had an affair with a woman whom I am certain I do love a little bit, but, by doing that, I destroyed a life that was perfect. Was it greed?” 

“I think you know the answer to that.” 

“Was it temptation?” Alexia tries again, desperately. Part of her yearns for the priest to tell her it was the Devil so that she can shed the responsibility. “I love my wife. More than anything, I love her. I do not think my own life is worth living if it is not in service to her, to our children, to the smile she reserves for her favourite people. I… I didn’t attempt it, but I thought about killing myself.” She swallows the lump in her throat. “Only once, but I thought it all the same. My sister called me selfish.

“It’s just – forgive me – fucked, isn’t it? I got carried away. I got lonely, I was alone. I craved something to make me forget, to pinch the gaping hole in my life shut. I relied on it to make me feel better, and it did for a time. But now it has made me feel much, much worse.

“And I am sorry! I am so, so sorry. I have grown sick of the word; I’ve used it so much that it holds no meaning anymore. It doesn’t do my regret justice, nor my quest for forgiveness, and I’m really on that quest, Father, I want to stress that to you. I lost my temper and said things I should not have said – things I don’t even believe – but I did not mean them then, and I do not mean them now.” 

“You are not religious,” accuses the priest, very gently. His voice washes over Alexia’s ears like a wave of warm saltwater from the Mediterranean, and she feels comfortable enough to swim into the expanse in front of her. “Our God is forgiving, but it is not His forgiveness that you seek. I cannot give you a prayer that will make her absolve your sins, because our holy words are not spells.” 

“Father,” croaks Alexia. As her lips part, she tastes the saltwater of the sea, dripping down her cheeks as though the tide has come in and there is no other option than for her to be flooded. “Please help me. I don’t know what to do.” 

The priest speaks, but she assigns the voice to someone else. 

The first thing you forget about a person is what their voice sounds like. It lingers like a feeling you can’t quite name; distant, distorted, enhanced by fantasy.

Alexia does not remember her father’s voice. 

The realisation is crushing. 

She knows his words – they are her prayers – but, like Catholics do not know the voice of their God, she can no longer hear the voice of hers. 

What would her father say if he saw her like this? On her knees in a Confession booth, backed against the wall with nowhere to hide?

This is not the girl he was proud of. Alexia, of course, is not that eighteen-year-old anymore; she hasn’t been for a decade. But, recently, the legacy of that unknown Levante player has disappeared. 

Alexia is so very lost. 

She does not know where she is in her own city. In her home. 

She does not know her place in her life, much less her place in yours – if you will still grant her one. 

She has not felt the thrill of football for months, has driven herself to Hell and back, and considered giving up enough to be on the brink of actually doing it. 

She has seen countless meals hit the water of her toilet, never digested, never deserving of the very thing that keeps her alive. 

She has counted your sacrifices, memorising the digits of an ongoing figure so that she can punish herself with the knowledge. 

She has tried to forget English, tried to improve her English, and taken vows of silence. 

She has cried and cried and cried until the only thing left for her to excrete is her hot, red blood. 

She has searched for a way out of the maze. She has failed every time. 

Alexia is lost without you, and she knows it. Everyone knows it, perhaps even you yourself. Do you revel in that fact? Do you enjoy it? 

You have a right to watch her suffer. You do, you do, you do. 

Alexia runs a hand through her damp hair, sweating as she sobs in the booth next to some stranger who she will never meet again. Her mouth is dry but her cries are wet and raw, and they scrape her throat as she chokes them out, losing her breath and falling silent only to catch it and begin again. The cushion burns her knees as though she is trapped in an inferno, the darkness blazing against her skin. 

The priest talks to her for a long time, not letting her leave until she has calmed down. She sniffles, wiping her nose with the back of her palm before softly pressing her thumbs to her blotchy cheeks to clear the final tears from them. 

When he is finished, he instructs her to take a few deep breaths, which she does. “You are not entitled to her forgiveness,” he reminds her. He begins the Prayer of Absolution – he insists for the sake of closure – and Alexia walks away from the church no more than five minutes later. 

She is still stuck in the maze, but she has restored that voice in her head that she knows will help her find her way out.

…

“So you went to church?” Olga asks with an amused smile, taking the first sip of her latte, relishing in the gentle burn of the liquid. She needs this coffee; she stayed up late last night because she knew Alexia has been struggling. There is nothing worse than being asleep when Alexia calls her for help. 

“I have no idea how I ended up there,” Alexia explains, somewhat defensive about yesterday’s catharsis. “Confession is way better than therapy. There is too much accountability in therapy.” 

“You have a lot to account for.” 

She huffs out a breath, taking a sip of her own drink. “I know, Olga, but I cannot change the past, so what would you like me to do?” Olga doesn’t reply. The brunette parts her lips, but promptly closes her mouth when she sees Alexia’s slight discomfort. “Mama wants you to come to dinner tonight. I… I do too.” 

Olga’s smile is big and genuine. “I’d love that,” she answers. “Eli is the best cook out of our friends’ parents. Everyone knows that.” 

You’re in London, childless, and are watching the grand old Arsenal play (reluctantly, forced to by Leah if anything). Alexia has seen the pictures of you at the match on Instagram; she has already felt the frustration that you are most-likely never going to watch Barcelona play again unless it is to support the other team. Like clockwork, Alexia seeks to fill the gaping hole you have left in her life. Somewhere, somehow, the lines of friendship between her and Olga have blurred. 

…

It takes just over a month for Leah to crack. 

You appear in London every two weeks, attending meetings and events, but she has decided, once and for all, to see through your excuses. You come to London for her. She knows that, and so do you. Leah’s ego has not reached a size where she believes she is enough for you, but the facts (and Lia Wälti) tell her she is wrong. 

Except, what Leah tends to leave out is that no matter how many times you let her sleep with you, she still is unable to access a certain part of your mind. 

She has never been upstairs in your house because you always prefer to go to her place in St. Albans. She has never slept in your bed, nor woken up next to you. 

You talk to her like she is still the same old Leah, the captain you befriended during the tournament of her lifetime, your entrance in her life intertwined with the ecstasy of winning the Euros. She closes her eyes and thinks of how you looked that summer; white England shirt, sunglasses pulled down over your eyes. Smiling, cheering. For her, she greedily claims to herself.

Sometimes, in her mind, you lift your sunglasses – you always seem to be crying when she pictures this – but Leah is only vaguely familiar with the timeline of your divorce. This is the issue.

There is a door that you have locked and refuse to let Leah find the key. It leads to heartbreak, to Nico and Elena, to a family you once had. 

“I wish you would let me in,” Leah says one day. (The day she cracks.) She tears her ACL two days prior, something that makes you feel guiltily nauseous, and you have come to visit her. She knows that you had flown over the minute you had swapped custody with Alexia. 

Your legs curl into your chest as you try to reduce the amount of space you are taking up on Leah’s sofa, cautious of her injured knee. Leah misses the warmth of your thighs, and wants to revoke her conversation starter instantly, pained that she has to even ignite the fire of this forbidden topic. “What do you mean?” comes your quiet reply, unwilling to disturb the peace of her living room. The peace of existing side-by-side. 

“Exactly what I said.” Leah nods to emphasise her agreement with herself. “I wish you would let me in, because how do you expect me to love you if I don’t know you?” 

She sees the bullet fly through the air; she sees the moment it hits you, the way you go rigid. Dead. Dying? 

“It’s crazy because it usually takes years for me to feel about someone the way I feel about you, and I just… I just wanted to tell you that it’s okay to let me in. I want to hear everything, to know everything.” 

“Oh.” What had you expected when you kissed her? “Oh, Leah.” 

“You don’t have to apologise.” She assigns your guilt, the tears in your eyes, to your distance. Perhaps you hadn’t realised, perhaps it is a coincidence Leah has never slept in the bed you used to share with Alexia. Maybe you are unaware that Leah has never heard you speak Spanish, and doesn’t know a single thing about your life in Barcelona. 

You’re a busy person, after all. 

“No, no,” you dismiss quickly, shaking your head. Leah can’t help but wonder if the paranoid voice in her head is right; has she been reading too much into this? “Fuck, I am such a twat.” 

But you don’t elaborate further, asking how she’s feeling, distracting her from your realisation about her realisation. Before Leah knows it, you are making her laugh harder than she has in a month, and soon, like most good things, your visit comes to an end. 

Returning to Barcelona is a little weird. 

You feel as though you have done nothing but check over your shoulder the entire journey, staring the past straight in the eye and wishing you could change it. 

You hadn’t meant to make her fall in love with you. (But she has. Oh, she has.) 

This week’s swap is no different; the same park as usual, the same pleasant weather to undergo an unpleasant task. 

On the bench usually occupied by Olga, a different, blonder head comes into view. 

“Irene?” you ask in surprise, wondering if she has been sent in Olga’s stead or just so happens to have brought Mateo, her son, to the very same park. You sit down beside her, somewhat pleased to not see Alexia’s henchwoman today. “Where’s the free childcare?” 

The defender’s eyes narrow, as though she is debating whether or not she should tell you. 

Irene has known Alexia for a long time, and, by extension, has known you for a long time too. She is calm, level-headed, and mature, much like Alexia. Except Irene hasn’t ever thought to cheat on her wife. 

You are clearly in a lot of pain, and you have a right to be; Irene does not rise to your comment. “Olga has gone on holiday,” she states with practised neutrality. 

“Ah, they’ve broken up.” 

Eyebrows raised, she turns to you, breaking her line of sight that encompasses Nico, Mateo, and Elena. The playground is small enough, and very safe. “They were never together.” You wait patiently for her analysis of whatever the fuck was going on between them. “Olga said she wasn’t what Alexia needed. She’s on holiday with Carla, and I guess she is quite upset.” 

“And Alexia?” You know Irene does not like to gossip, nor stir the pot. So you can be nosy about how she is doing. 

“I think her ego was bruised, but she sees Olga’s point. She has been… better recently. She’s focused on getting back onto the pitch, and Jona is only saying good things about it.” Irene’s eyes brighten at the thought of her captain’s recovery, and her tone soars through the air. The entire team has worried for Alexia, spending their own nights tossing and turning, wondering if the old version of her will ever return. “I know you two don’t speak, but if you did, you’d get a glimpse of what it was like before.”

You can’t help your smile, and Irene does not make you feel pathetic for wearing it. “Good.” 

“I heard you were in London?” 

“Visiting a… friend.” Irene is not a gossip, you remind yourself. “I think I might have to stay in this country for a bit and let things cool down over there.” 

She chuckles. “Whose heart have you broken?” She won’t tell Alexia, when Alexia inevitably asks about you, that you are seeing someone. Not that you have confirmed that to her. 

“I’m yet to break it,” you tell her, sighing, “but I know I will, and that is much, much worse.”

“Hey, at least you have two weeks of being endlessly busy to keep your mind off it.”

Children change a lot in two weeks, so Irene then launches into an update on school, clubs, and everything else. She gets the information from Alexia, of course, who writes out a list every time you switch over. No one has ever handed you the piece of paper before, worried that her handwriting will be an unnecessary reminder of the pain she has caused you, but, for some reason, Irene does today.

You are not put off by the swirling Spanish in front of you, instead choosing to study it. You have spent hours in Alexia’s lap as she scrawls out football notes upon football notes, scribbling prompted by footage or, freakishly, her own memory. From the lightness of the indentations of the pen, you figure that Alexia is exhausted. From the half-finished sentences, you decide that she was rushing when she wrote this. 

But, as much as you delight in your brief analysis of the evidence in your palms like Sherlock Holmes solving a mystery, you can’t ignore just how greatly you have missed the letters that swim between the lines (and the hand from which they were written). 

Irene spares you your dignity by standing from the bench and checking on the children just as your tears begin to fall. 

…

You take one last look in the mirror embedded in the sun visor, ensuring your hair is perfectly in place and your earrings match your cream, sleeveless turtleneck to poise you just between casual and smartly-dressed. A quiet grumble from the backseat draws your attention away from your reflection, though your last glimpse at your concealed eyebags and red-rimmed irises leaves you feeling a little dejected and mourning the days you’d actually get some sleep. (Or wouldn’t, smoking cigarettes on the balcony while talking Alexia’s ear off.) 

“Mama, we go,” decides Elena with a huff, tugging on the buckle of her car seat. 

It’s Nico’s first-ever recital tonight. 

He started playing the piano in September, when his teacher at school had mentioned how he boasted to the children in his class that he was a musician: ‘if I am Catalan because my mami is Catalan, then I am musician because my mami is musician’. You felt guilty. His teacher says he is naturally talented, voice lacking surprise but praiseful nonetheless, and is proud to name Nico his youngest student at tonight’s show. 

The bouquet of daisies you ask Elena to hold makes her look like a miniature carnival float, and she toddles into the venue by your side while you do mental gymnastics between the knowledge that Alexia will be here tonight and the nerves for your son’s performance. It’s nothing complicated, but you worry he will hate it. This is the only thing he does that is a nod towards you; his one deviation from his worship of Alexia. 

“Mami!” squeals the walking flowers as soon as you make it to the half-full hall. You direct your gaze to the three rows your daughter refers to, every seat lined with either professional footballers or family. With a sudden rush of blood to your head, you feel out of your depth.

You’re not sure whether the hazel eyes that find yours help or worsen that. 

“Keep it moving,” you mutter firmly, holding her hand so she does not make a break for it and tumble right over to the cohort of FC Barcelona and Seguras. Not wanting to get too close to them, you take your seat in the penultimate row, knowing Nico will not be able to see you over the grand piano set up on the stage wherever you sit. “You can talk to her later, sweetheart.” 

She is in an obedient mood, most-likely intimidated by the tension in the air. You tell yourself it’s the stress radiating from the line of performers sitting on the front row. Nico stands on his chair, waving first to Alexia and then to you (it’s your turn with them so you are a lot less exciting right now), before he is lightly scolded by his teacher and the first child walks up the steps and onto the stage. 

Five uninspiring children later, Nico is finally led up onto the stage. His teacher sits down on the piano stool and nudges him forwards. He smiles brightly at the room. You reciprocate, encouraging Elena to do the same to keep her engaged with an admittedly boring event. 

“Bona nit a tothom! Jo sóc en Nicolau i tinc quatre anys i ara aniré a tocar ‘Brillia Brillia Estel Petit’.” The audience melts before him. “Mama, that means ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’,” he whispers loudly. 

You send him a thumbs up. He sends you a grin back, before giggling as he climbs onto the piano stool beside his teacher. 

Situated comfortably, feet dangling adorably far away from the pedals, his chubby, little fingers hit the ivory keys once, then twice. 

You pray this goes well. 

It does. 

He plays with two hands, something you hadn’t expected, and Elena holds in her noisy yawn until after he is finished so she must have been invested in the performance. Your own hands sting after you clap with such prideful force that you are the loudest in the room, and the hoots and hollers from Alexia’s territory only make Nico even happier as he bounces down the steps and back to his seat to wait for the others to do their pieces. 

After the recital has finished, you walk down the aisle separating the seats in half to get to Nico, daughter-less courtesy of a squadron of football-playing kidnappers. 

“How was that?” you ask him smugly, his arms wrapping around you in a tight hug. “I knew you would be brilliant, even when you were scared you weren’t going to be. Do you know how proud I am of you?” 

“This much?” He holds his hand about thirty centimetres apart. “Mami says this much.” 

When he widens his hands, you gesture something even bigger. 

“‘Immensely’ is the word I would use.” 

“Im-men-lee?” 

“Es que nuestro orgullo llena una casa sin techo. Hasta el cielo.” 

“Up to the sun,” you amend, ignoring the way the voice has made you stiffen. You don’t read too much into her misuse of the collective pronoun. There is no ‘our’ in ‘affair’.

Alexia’s hand hovers by your waist for a moment, muscle memory getting the better of her before she draws it back into her body. Nico gives her a matching hug, telling her how much he has missed her. 

You try not to blame yourself for his derailed childhood. 

“You were amazing, petit,” Alexia says, picking him up with one strong arm and settling him on her hip. You grip the wrapper of the bouquet you are holding. “Did Mama get you a gift?” 

He peers at the daisies in your hand with curiosity. Shaking his head, his confusion deepens as he studies the bouquet you are extending towards him. “They are for Mami? Flowers are for love.” 

“I love you,” you tell him, not trying to make a point but instinctively prickling in the presence of Alexia.

The silence is awkward. 

A few metres away, whilst entertaining the sleepy toddler on her lap, Mapi is excitedly talking to Alba. “Y/n hasn’t killed her yet,” says the defender with glee, one of your admirers. The team respected you before, never questioning their captain’s judgement nor family, but when word got out about the affair amongst the older girls, most of them began to see you as more than Alexia’s wife. A new layer to your character was revealed; you are a strong, independent, and successful woman. Football nerds sometimes forget success comes in more forms than blaugrana kits. “They made such a beautiful couple.” 

“They did.” Alba watches as you talk to your son, your eyes actively avoiding the woman in front of you. “Our mother has sent Alexia over there to invite her to dinner. It killed me to see her sit alone.” 

You are too used to the feeling of eyes on you that you no longer notice the weight of people’s stares, but, if this were not the case, you would know that most of the heads attached to the bodies sitting in Alexia’s rows had been swivelled towards you for majority of the recital. Pity is never a desired emotion to have offered to you, but the Barça girls can’t help but feel that way whenever they see your forehead crinkle in an attempt to understand Catalan, presuming you only speak Spanish as you have more than enough on your plate. (And, as most of the players will admit, your children speak better English than them, so one can only assume that it is your main method of communication.)

“She’s a very good mother,” Mapi comments with a small nod, sucking a sharp breath in as she begins to sympathise with you even more. Not a day goes by where she witnesses the suffering Alexia’s idiocracy has caused – as Ingrid, her girlfriend, knows very well – and does not fail to scream in frustration about her best friend’s stupid mistakes.

“She’s a very good person.” 

They fall silent as they see your head tilt up, jaw clenching as Alexia begins to speak to you. 

“Can you hear what she’s saying?” whispers Eli to her daughter, equally invested in the conversation. “I knew I should have sent you; Alex is too socially awkward.” 

“Mami, she is talking to her wife,” replies Alba, though she remembers what happened the last time Alexia and you had spoken and the outcome of that. Maybe that commences her increasing agreement with her mother… “I guess you– Are they coming over here?!” 

Even you seem surprised by how your legs carry you towards the Barcelona clan, a step behind Alexia and Nico. Hesitant would be an understatement, but most of them are too preoccupied with congratulating the four-year-old they have come to watch to notice your tight-lipped smile and trembling hands. 

“Hola,” you say shyly. 

Eli pulls you into her strong embrace without missing a beat. “Te he echado de menos, hija.” 

You try very hard not to burst into tears. 

They take you to dinner; a plan you had known about but not envisioned yourself included in. Although it’s your fortnight, Alexia (through the conduit of Alba) had previously arranged to drop Nico and Elena over to yours before midnight. 

You blow off your FaceTime call with Leah.

The restaurant is on the lower level of fine-dining. It’s chic, but it does not make your children feel unwelcome. The table is set for five places, though Alba informs you that the reason for this is because the reservation was made before she broke up with her girlfriend. 

“Mama, what are you going to eat?” asks Nico, slipping back into his old life seamlessly, mixing his English with the Spanish he knows everyone can understand, his legs swinging underneath the table with an enthusiastic energy. He is still too young to pick up on how far apart his parents are sitting, or how you refuse to let your eyes linger on Alexia’s tanned skin, far too much of it shown off by the tank top she sports in the humidity of the busy restaurant. 

You glance around the room, searching for those who have recognised you. Under the weight of at least four curious stares, you motivate yourself to enjoy your meal. 

“Not sure yet, babe,” you answer. “Alba, do you fancy sharing something?”

“Yeah, of course.” The younger Putellas smiles. Alexia knows who has lost the war.

Dinner passes with light conversation centred on very neutral topics. No man’s land is clearly the children, and you had never expected to be so desperate to continue a conversation about school lunches until the other options are how Alexia had an affair with her teammate or that your song with her favourite singer is topping the charts and explicitly about being cheated on. 

Although you and Alexia both watch how many times your wine glasses are refilled, Alba lets loose, as does Eli (probably to ease the stress on her heart that her girls force upon her). Their cheeks redden and Nico begins to yawn, Elena already curled into your side halfway between dreams and reality. 

“Should we head out?” you ask it to the table, but the only functioning person is Alexia, really, and so you close your eyes to avoid having to make eye contact. 

“I should probably get Mama and Alba into a taxi.” 

“If you call one for them, I will call one for us?” Your suggestion is instinctive; an old habit reminiscent of many similar nights, back when there was love and happiness and a relationship that didn’t feel like walking on a floor made of broken glass. “Or did you drive here?” 

“No, but you drove,” comes Alexia’s reminder. Internally, you face-palm. Parking the car before dinner seems like years ago; something feels different now. “But if you don’t feel up to it, I could drive you home. I haven’t had much to drink and I have nothing else planned for tonight. Elena is practically in a coma anyway.” 

You laugh – a softened version of it so as to not rouse the dead weight of your daughter. 

“Are you sure?” 

It’s late.

“Yes, I’m sure.” 

I don’t care. 

“Mama,” Alba slurs, pulling her mother in close. “The saint has given her sinner a second chance.” 

It may not be as quiet as she thinks it is. Alexia, occupied, is deaf to the comment. You are not.

This is not a second chance. 

This is a lift home. 

The last time all four of you sat in a car together was the day you found out about Alexia’s affair. 

You had suffered then – are still suffering now – but your anger was hot and sharp and new. Fresh wounds. 

Now, though more scabbed-over than healed, those wounds no longer seem to gush blood; you entertain Alexia’s stiff small-talk. 

She asks about the tour, never veering too far off the road of practicality and shared custody. When does it resume? Which has been your favourite show? 

“Wembley is like playing El Clásico in Camp Nou,” she determines, not needing to ask about that because she knows you too well. 

Your memories of the London shows involve a naked Leah Williamson. (If only she knew that!) 

“Yeah, London was great.”

Awkwardness is part of Alexia’s personality; something you are fairly certain you still love. She is shy, though it perhaps comes off as stoicity, and she has never been good at making conversation. You know she hates it, and you know that her eyes, Alexia’s eyes, are gazing at you every time she thinks you are not looking. 

She is weary about the desire darkening her pupils, but she does not do well to hide her hunger nonetheless. 

“Go into the carpark,” you instruct as you approach your building.

Wordlessly, she presses the correct pin into the pin-pad, never having forgotten it. 

She parks the car beside a new-looking Mercedes. It’s not a car for children, and she imagines it reeks of cigarettes – there is no way you have stopped smoking. 

It belongs in the carpark; in your little world of celebrities and male footballers; of money and fame and fortune. (One could argue you lack the latter, what with your current situation.) Alexia’s life has never moulded with yours. 

Perhaps it never will. 

Perhaps she slept with Jenni because they are equals, you think. Because Jenni understands Alexia in a way you cannot. 

“Mami,” cries a quiet voice from the backseat. You stop staring at the grey, concrete walls, snapping back to reality as Alexia shifts to turn her attention to the source of the whimpering. “No quiero que te vayas.” 

“Lela, me tengo que ir.” 

“Pero–” 

“You could always come up to say goodnight to them?” 

It starts off innocently. 

Of course it does. Of course you are nowhere near forgiveness, more likely to forget about the crushing affair before you excuse any of her actions. Sometimes, you wish for amnesia. Sometimes, you refer to the tab open in Safari – ‘is there a drug that makes you forget?’. 

Alexia is granted a tuck-in and a story for each child, glad that their rooms are separate so that her time in her home is prolonged. The walls are familiar, the floor is the same. There are new pictures in new frames, but the old ones have not been removed. If you had ever wished to take photographs of your relationship down, you have never acted on it. 

She realises you must not spend a lot of time here alone. Maybe you cannot bear it. Maybe your life in London is more important to you than she had thought. 

Anyway, for as much as she subtly noses around and draws out the night, she has no intention of overstaying her welcome, sure that she probably did that the minute she stepped inside. 

In fact, she is on her way out, under the assumption that you will not want to speak to her.

“So you’re back to playing?” 

“Sí.” 

A doorway conversation. 

You’re English. You’re very polite. Alexia knows this, tries to not get her hopes up. 

“Does that mean you don’t want a taste of this ‘97?” You hold the bottle up to her, the cork lying on the granite worktop with the incriminating suggestion that you have already had a glass. 

“We play the day after tomorrow.” 

“Oh, Ale, this is a good one.” 

How many times have you said that to her before? The same tone, the same look in your eye; red tinting your lips, one hand on a lighter because you smoke when you’re drunk, even if you refuse to touch the cancer-sticks when you are sober. 

“Was this a gift?” she asks, drawn into your magnetic field like a flimsy paper clip; thin, worn metal trying to piece the pages of her life back together. “Or have you been making ridiculous purchases again?” 

“I can assure you that it is not ‘ridiculous’.” You moan in delight as you take a sip from a glass you subsequently hand over to her. “Gosh, that is divine, and you are simply going to dissolve when you taste it.” 

Dissolve she does, but one can attribute that to the company. 

The contents of the bottle dwindles quickly, paired with a vulnerable retelling of her ACL recovery (sans suicidal thoughts and huge, huge regret about the affair – she doesn’t want to bring that up, seeing as you are clearly trying to forget about it), and the warm breeze of the Barcelona nighttime. The salty air from the mediterranean mingles with cigarette smoke, though Alexia softly says that you really should stop. 

You hesitate on your next puff, but you inhale it all the same. “I like my wine smokey.” 

She opens the next bottle for you. 

The wine glasses are soon discarded, pouring becoming shaky and difficult. 

“They sleep all the way through the night here,” observes Alexia, surprised that no little hands have knocked on the glass door leading to the balcony. The last time you had reached for the wine, you’d moved closer to her. You have not yet returned to your original seat on the other side of the rattan sofa. 

You raise your eyebrows, under the impression that they were both sleep trained. “They don’t at yours?” 

“Elena keeps trying to sleep in bed with me.” 

“Maybe she likes you more,” you suggest with a light, alcohol-infused laugh. “She must have been upset to find her place filled by your friend.” 

“No,” murmurs Alexia, “it has never been filled. Though I don’t think you can say the same.” 

You swallow the stickiness of the wine running down your throat.

“Not in our bed. My bed.” You fight yourself. “Our bed.” 

“In Highgate?” 

“Anywhere,” you breathe. 

“It’s been months,” croaks Alexia, your hand pressed against her stomach as you slowly lean into the feeling only she can give you. “Months.” 

You kiss her. Time folds in on itself, and you are transported back to when every touch was electric; when nothing was tainted. The pain of the past months, the heartbreak, momentarily fades into insignificance as you lose yourself in Alexia’s warmth.

Her fingers tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, afraid that this moment might slip away too soon. The taste of wine lingers on your lips, and she craves the softness of them – she has been craving them since July.

“Well, now it has only been seconds,” you whisper as you pull away. 

With a sense of urgency, she chases your mouth once more, strong arms pulling you on top of her, manipulating your body against her with no hint of uncertainty. 

Alexia knows you well.

Her touch lacks curiosity and exploration. Her hands are experienced and confident in their movements, and she has hoisted you up and brought you to your bedroom without needing to have been told that this is what you want. 

“Is this what you want?” she asks anyway. 

“Please.” 

And she really doesn’t make you beg. 

Your hands roam her body with a primal hunger, instinctive touches to the most sensitive parts of her, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. Her back is tense, muscles flexing as she pushes your clothes off your skin, her own following their path soon after. 

Parted legs and soft moans. 

She slots herself between your thighs. 

Her tongue is determined, fierce. Sloppier because she is drunk, but, then again, so are you. 

Your fingers repay the favour. 

“More,” you request just as she pulls away. 

“Is it in the same place?” 

You nod, panting.

There is a playful glint in Alexia’s eyes as she finds the strap just where she left it. As she secures it in place, you wipe the sweat from your brow, forcing your mind into the dirtiest of thoughts to ward off the building regret.

The room is dimly lit, and the air heavy with desire. Your heartbeat pulses in the silence, the thrum of the organ drums that guide Alexia’s slow, deliberate steps back towards the bed, kneeling atop the scrunched sheets. 

She positions herself between your legs once more, and you can feel the heat of her body radiating against your skin. She leans in closer, her breath hot against your neck, sending shivers of anticipation shuddering down your spine. 

With trembling hands, you reach out, nails digging into tanned, taut skin. You pull her closer to you, urging her to take whatever she wants. 

You want her to have you. You want her to make it hurt less. 

As Alexia presses inside, a jolt of pleasure courses through your body. You cry out, the sound igniting a blazing inferno within her that grows hotter the moment you ask her to move. Feverishly, her hands move over your chest, finding purchase on your breasts with a dormant possessiveness as her hips begin to drive the strap in deeper. 

Your breath hitches in your throat as you surrender to the overwhelming sensation, encompassed by someone so divine that you begin to separate yourself from all things wrong with this situation. The headboard thuds against the bedroom wall as she pounds her thrusts into a rhythm, and you shut your eyes as you quietly ask her to kiss you.

Tears cascade down your cheeks, but you do not know to whom they belong. Her tongue smothers your moans, and her hips begin to snap into yours more urgently, with more desperation. The pressure builds inside of you, and you feel as though you might explode. 

You feel as though this is the end, and you are glad that here is where your misery terminates. 

You’re glad, you’re really glad. 

Your back arches, your chests pressing together, large hands holding you close to her. 

And then it all comes crashing down. 

Everything. 

You wipe your eyes once the orgasmic bliss subsides, seizing your wine haze as the tide goes out and destroying the blindfold that had deprived you of seeing things straight. Right now, with the pleasant ache between your legs, you can’t quite bring yourself to regret it, but you know you will. You haven’t forgiven her; you’re not sure that it is possible. 

“You can shower, but you can’t stay here.” 

…

Nico knows that he is special. He is lucky, and he is loved, and he gets to go to a very nice school that Mateo (his ‘cousin’) claims is fancy. 

He likes his teacher. She reminds him of someone he once knew – you have suggested the nursery helpers back when he lived in London. He is not sure if you are right, but he doesn’t remember what London was like so he tries not to think too hard about it. 

Nico’s friends, like Pau who is sitting beside him, all think it is really cool that he can speak English. Pau says she hears his mother on the radio sometimes, but Nico hasn’t yet grasped the concept of fame past the annoying camera flashes and big, sold-out stadiums. He dislikes fame as he knows it, anyway, because the cameras hurt his eyes and the stadiums are so loud that he has to wear ear-defenders that squeeze his skull a bit too much. 

“My mum is from Bilbao. My dad is from Barcelona,” states Paula as she swipes a crayon over the sheet of paper her drawing is on. Green wax slowly stains the white to form ‘grass’. Everyone is drawing their family today, although Nico hasn’t yet started, waiting for his teacher to circle their table so that he can ask for another piece of paper. “And this,” Paula carries on, squiggling brown hair onto a smaller version of the stick-figure father, “is Ander, my big brother.” 

“Who is that?” Nico asks, pointing at the fifth figure on the page, guessing that the fourth and Pau-sized person is, in fact, Pau. 

“My sister! She’s called Nerea, and she plays basketball.” Pau promptly makes an orange circle the size of Nerea’s head, which floats in the air between her and her sister. “My mum says Nere is going to be a lesbian, but I don’t know what that means.” 

“My mums are lesbian!” he blurts out, excited enough to garner the attention of his teacher. When she appears, he grins at her sweetly; the kind of smile that has melted many hearts, though Nico is unaware of how many people know he exists. “More paper, please.” 

“Nico, you haven’t even tried with your first one.”

She isn’t harsh at all, but he has slowly learnt to stop asking follow-up questions. Six months of exasperated ‘I don’t know, Nicolau’s has taught him that. 

He shrugs. “Okay.”

He learnt what a shrug was the other day, when Mapi told him off for doing it to her. (“Don’t shrug your shoulders at me, Nicolau Putellas!” she had chided playfully. “All I asked was which of your mamas’ houses we need to go to.”)

“Nico, what’s ‘lesbian’?” 

“Mama says football is lesbian. Basketball might be lesbian! That’s why your sister is lesbian.” 

“My mum says that lesbians kiss girls.” 

“Mama kisses girls! And Mami. And they used to kiss each other but now they don’t speak and me and my sister swap houses.” Nico begins drawing it out for Paula when she peers at him, befuddled. “Here is Mama’s.” A big square, a glamorous-looking woman inside of the blue shape; a stick with a circle on the end of it; the notes he sees in his piano music floating in the air. “And…” he says, tongue sticking out as he concentrates on the opposite half of the page, “here is Mami’s.” 

He draws a football. He picks up the red crayon too, and uses both the blau and the grana simultaneously. “Mami plays football for Barça.” He draws two lines on Alexia’s t-shirt. 11. “Mami made me get 11 at football.” Nico had originally worn the 10, but then the affair had come to light and Alexia was suddenly deep in conversation with his coach and apologising to the boy Nico then had to swap shirts with. 

Then, he drops the crayons in his hand and searches for the stack near Paula. He selects the purple one, gripping it tightly, his friend still listening to him with intrigue. 

“This is me and Lela.” Two stick figures are drawn in the middle of the page; the middle ground between each of the squares. 

Nico sometimes feels stuck between it all. 

When Mami got very sad, he and Elena went to stay with Mapi and Ingrid for a few nights. He held his little sister’s hand as much as he could. He always tries to remind her that he is right there with her. 

Mami once told him that it was his turn to protect Elena. Nico hasn’t forgotten that. 

“I keep Lela safe.” He has encouraged her, slightly selfishly, to call him ‘skipper’, which he has picked up from the Lionesses. Luckily, Alexia has not told him off for it because she doesn’t know what it means. “Lela is my little sister. She is a baby. She doesn’t remember what it was like when Mama and Mami loved each other, but I do.” 

The purple crayon scrapes on the page as he presses it into the white, colour rubbing out in the shape of a heart. “Lela and I are together tot el temps. Mami tries to take me from her sometimes, but I don’t let her.” 

His story – and ability to make Paula pay attention for longer than ten seconds – has already attracted the quiet attention of his teacher, but she moves closer as Nico continues. The four-year-old leaves out how Alexia is usually inviting him to training with her. Since Elena has yet to show any interest in football, it remains her and Nico’s special thing, and, of course, his mother misses him when it is not her turn. 

You benevolently give your permission if you have no prior plans. It is upsetting that the only hindrance to extra time spent together is the little boy who once worshipped Alexia Putellas like a god. 

“Nico, why did you want two pages?” asks Paula curiously, assuming he is finished now that his whole family is displayed on the piece of paper. 

He frowns. “Because now I have to do this.” And with that, he tears the sheet in half. 

Paula’s mouth drops open in surprise, as does his teacher’s. 

“What’s wrong?” comes a mature voice, a hand placed on his shoulder just like it is when the other children in his class cry. Nico doesn’t cry. He is strong and brave, like a little soldier. “Did you not like your drawing?” 

“No,” he replies neutrally, “half can live with Mama, and half can live with Mami.” 

“But now you are ripped down the middle.” 

He traces the jagged edges of the halves of his life. One of his legs is on your side, the other on Alexia’s. 

“I know, but it’s okay. I don’t cry.” 

Alexia does, though, when his teacher talks to her that afternoon. 

…

“I slept with Alexia,” you confess quietly, comforted by the sound-proofing of Anya’s home-studio. She asked for help with her album; your success might be contagious, she insists. “Last week, when Nico had that recital.” You clutch your mug protectively, as if she will strip you of the right to drink your tea to punish you for your crime. 

Anya is unsure what you would like her to say. You search her face for anger, but do not find it. 

“If Gio were here, she’d probably slap you.” 

You snort, almost spilling hot liquid all over yourself. “You two are like my mothers, and you’re the nicer one by far.” 

“God, you are such an idiot.” 

“And a slag.” She waits for your next admission with excitement. “I also slept with Leah Williamson.” 

“Do you think you and Alexia are just destined for polyamory?” Her amusement is quite pleasant, but one thing wasn’t dulled by the wine that night and you have been dying to tell someone about it.

Your knee bounces up and down as you gear up for it, having thought it through 

“I think we are destined for each other.” 

Song-writing be damned, Anya fully removes her headphones, placing the equipment beside her keyboard before letting out a small, exasperated laugh. “You are in love with Alexia again,” comes her accusation, with no real malice behind it. 

“I never stopped being in love with Alexia. She just made it a lot harder to love her.” 

Is that an understatement? 

“Hey,” you say with sudden energy, sitting upright and grasping at your phone, tea wobbling over the lip of the mug and running down your wrist. “Should we go to Bali in August?” 

…

You avoid both of your footballers right until the World Cup camps roll around. 

Leah doesn’t get to go, subjected to the ACL curse. Alexia’s call-up is not necessarily unexpected, but you do find yourself wondering how many more betrayals her friendship with Mapi León can handle. (Mapi is on her last straw, but she knows her friend really needed the win after her hellish year. The Champion’s League was never going to sate Alexia’s hunger to be the best at football – possibly an overcompensation for her terrible relationship skills.)

Your children, this time, are delivered to the park by their very own mother. Alexia beats Leah in this sense, because she has a valid excuse to see you without confessing feelings you do not want to hear. 

“I have something for you,” she says just after she has finished her goodbyes, pressing a small box into your hands. Her voice is filled with nerves and you are intrigued, hating yourself for being so. “Don’t open it until you get back home.” Her eyes meet yours for a moment. I’m sorry, they seem to say. “Alright, have fun in Bali, and don’t forget that I legally have custody but I am not going to go to court to battle you for it as long as you put them in Spain kits for Spain matches.” 

She could, if she wanted to be difficult, have you send Nico and Elena to New Zealand during her weeks. It would be very unreasonable, but the contract your lawyers drew up still stands. 

“They were delivered yesterday. I think it’s going to be a struggle to convince them to put on the worst kit ever.” You still don’t forgive Alexia for cheating on you, but there has come a point where acceptance replaces the animosity. Nico’s teacher has been the catalyst in this step forward. The developmental pamphlets she had thrust in your faces were enough for the two of you to come to a mutual agreement of increased civility (that maybe, maybe was only made possible by the fact that you have very recent memories of each other’s orgasms). “But, yes, I agree to your terms. Don’t forget that his favourite player is Alessia Russo, however.” 

“He is in a phase where I am ‘uncool’! It’ll pass.” 

“If you say so, Alexia.” 

“Anyway,” she carries on, rolling her eyes. “Open it when you get home.” She… presses a kiss to your cheek? “I’m so sorry, mi amor.” 

You blink back your surprise, but she is gone before you can reply. 

The small, neatly-wrapped box sits in the palm of your hand, the corners edging off your skin and sticking out as you stare at it. Nico and Elena continue their (unsupervised) playing, but you manage to call out a warning for ‘five more minutes and then we’ve got to pack’ while you examine Alexia’s gift.

Is this how Pandora felt? 

If you open it, what will be unleashed?

Alexia, before now, hasn’t actively pursued your forgiveness. She has given you the time and the space you had broken-heartedly requested, nodding as you communicated your wishes to her through someone else, never before able to confront the face that tore up your life before your eyes. 

There was a time when all you ever wanted to do was talk to her, but she tried to forget about that when she realised the extent at which you went to avoid an interaction. When she had understood your desperation to be left alone fully, she began to breathe. The step backwards gave her room to examine just how royally she had fucked it all. 

She now feels a bit more capable of tackling the clean-up, working with a much clearer mind. Everyone is relieved that she hasn’t killed herself, or, at least, that she is keeping those thoughts at bay. 

You realise that she has bought you a ring, and regardless of whether you wear it or not, she wants to tell you that she is sorry.

...

IT'S NOT OVER YET! THIS WILL TAKE YOU TO THE SECOND HALF

#woso x reader #alexia putellas x reader #woso #woso fanfics #randombush3 #leah williamson x reader #woso imagines #barca femeni #alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagine

[stranger-fanfiction-n-things]

CHAPTER 2: THE WEIRDO ON MAPLE STREET

This is an Original Character fanfiction. All Stranger Things characters and content are owned by Netflix and The Duffer Brothers.

a/n: Nancy needs to admit how much she likes Steve and be comfortable with her feelings for him.

Warnings: Mentions of sex.

Word Count: 1115

Masterlist

PART I || PART II || PART III || PART IV

CORNWALLIS AND KERLEY 

The drive to Steve’s house is quiet except for Pat Benatar’s “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” playing on the radio. Even this song isn’t enough to dull the tension in the car. Nancy was right, telling my mom about the assembly for Will Byers was the perfect decoy. Yet, I still feel terrible for using Will’s disappearance as an excuse to go to a party.

I stare outside the window watching the trees blur past in the darkness. The thought of Will biking all the way down here from where we live unsettles me. It’s a half hour drive from us, it must be double that time on a bike. Hawkins is surrounded by dense forests, anyone could be hiding in plain sight, especially at night. I shiver, bouncing my legs and look down at my outfit. Making a face, I shake my head. I can’t believe I’m still in my school clothes because Nancy insisted, we didn’t have enough time to stop by my house so I can change. 

We drive over the train tracks and the bumpiness sends a jolt of anxiety to my gut. We’re about five minutes away from Steve’s house and part of me wants to tell Barb to let me out the car. I can walk to Benny’s Burgers and call my parents to pick me up. Consequences be damned. I nearly tell Barb but stop myself when we pass Benny’s. The front yard is surrounded by police officers and my heart plummets to the pits of my stomach. There goes my last chance of freedom. I wonder what happened but I am distracted by the large and lavish houses in the neighbourhood. Rumours say Steve lives in a mansion with a long drive way and double door garage. 

“Barbara, pull over.” Nancy says. 

“What?” 

“Pull over!” 

Barb comes to a stop, putting the car in park. The urgency in Nancy’s voice makes my body grow tense and alert. I lean forward in my seat looking at Nancy. 

“What are we doing here?” Barb asks. “His house is three blocks away.” 

“We can’t park in the driveway.”

“Are you serious?” Barb asks, taking the words from my mouth. 

“Yeah, the neighbours might see.” 

I open and close my mouth, unable to find the words. I still don’t understand why Nancy hides her feelings for Steve. What does it matter if the neighbours see us? I roll my eyes and take off my seat belt, pushing myself to the middle of the driver and passenger seats. Nancy opens her bag, pulling out a shirt and lipstick? My eyes bulge out of my head in disbelief. Lipstick? For Steve Harrington? 

“When did you buy lipstick?” I blurt out. 

Nancy doesn’t answer, dropping it in her bag. I gawk at Barb who shakes her head.  

“This is so stupid. I’m just gonna drop you off.” Barb says reaching to put the car back in drive.  

“Good. I would love to go home now.” I add. 

Nancy grabs Barbs arm, stopping her. “Would you two just calm down?” she exclaims, looking at both of us. “You promised you’d come. You’re coming. We’re gonna have a great time.” 

“He just wants to get in your pants.” Barb says. 

Nancy laughs, shaking her head. “No, he doesn’t.” 

I give her a pointed look. It is obvious Steve wants to have sex with Nancy and it’s starting to become obvious to me that Nancy wants to have sex with Steve and that is okay. I just don’t understand why Barb and I have to be privy to that. 

“Nance…seriously. He invited you to his house. His parents aren’t home.” Nancy raises her brows. “Come on, you are not this stupid.” 

“Tommy H and Carol are gonna be there.” 

Barb snorts. “Tommy and Carol have been having sex since, like, seventh grade. It’ll probably be, like, a big orgy.”  

“Barbara!” I gasp, horrified.  

Barb cackles. I grimace, twisting my mouth. I don’t even want to think about Steve Harrington naked or Carol and especially not Tommy H. If they’re into that then I won’t judge, but I will not be participating. A shiver runs down my spine and I visibly shake which only makes Barb laugh harder. I lean on the console, nudging her arm, laughing when Barb nudges me back. 

“I’m serious!” she says in between giggles. 

“All right, well, you guys can be like, my guardian.” Nancy says, taking off her top. “Make sure I don’t get drunk and do anything stupid.” 

Barb and I both stop laughing and stare at Nancy. I squint eying the straps on her shoulders. “Is that a new bra?” 

“No.” Nancy says quickly, hiding her chest. 

“Nancy.” I sigh. “You are allowed to want to have sex with Steve. Barb and I won’t look at you any different if you do. But why are we involved in this?” 

“I am not going to have sex with Steve Harrington.” Nancy says, putting her top over her head. She looks at me, pulling it over her torso. “I want you and Barb here because you guys are my best friends and we nailed Kaminsky’s chemistry test today. Don’t we deserve to have fun?”

I bite my lower lip. She has a point. We did nail Kaminsky’s test and we did deserve to have some fun. But did we have to involve…them? Sensing Nancy wasn’t going to take no for an answer, my sigh turns into a loud groan. 

“Yes!” Nancy cheers, squeezing my arm. “We are going to have so much fun.” 

It takes us fifteen minutes to get to Steve Harrington’s house. So far, the rumours are true about the long driveway. Not so much about the two-door garage. I clutch my jacket close to me as we approach the front steps. Loud music rattles the large door and it makes my palms sweat. I can’t believe I am about to go inside Steve Harrington’s house. Just last week, I was in Madame Petrovna’s class learning the last five-eight counts of Marzipan, now I was going to a house party with Tommy H and Carol. From the corner of my eye, Barb is fidgeting. I turn to her and smile. Barb smiles back although it doesn’t meet her eyes. 

I turn my attention to the door just as it opens. The heavy base of the rock song makes my heart pound in my chest and I brace myself, stepping closer to Barb. Steve’s gaze shifts from Nancy, to me, Barb and then Nancy. The corners of his lips curve up to his signature smile and I hate the way my stomach twists in awe. 

“Hello, ladies.” 

NEXT -> PART IV

#stranger things rewrite #black fem reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #dianasinclair #eddie munson x black!reader #steve harrington x black!reader #sinclair!reader #eddie munson x female reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #eddie munson x sinclair!reader #steve harrington x sinclair!reader

[qs63]

I'm actually curious about more than one of them, so I'll ask and you can choose one, or share a snippet or each, your choicr

1. Barril's because I've read the ch1 and I'm intrigued

2. Roy de-aged

3. Rebecca's fic

4. Marianne's gift

Thank you for asking! I'm more than happy to provide an answer for each of them. x)

Barril's

So yes, this is now called "Voices of the court" (named after a Hiroyuki Sawano song "Voices of the chord") and the first chapter was posted earlier this week. This is the same continuity as "The King's Counselor" and it's set almost a year after that fic. I don't want to give out too many plot details yet, but it is a bumpy ride for Roy and Riza. Here's a little excerpt from chapter 2:

Riza rolled the sleeves of her jacket and walked into the small kitchen. She occupied herself washing the dishes and throwing away some of Roy's spoiled food while she waited for him to finish showering. She was just putting some glasses inside the cabinets when Roy's larger hands pressed against hers, effectively stopping her from moving.

"You don't have to do that."

"You told me to make myself at home."

She couldn't see his face from that angle, but she could practically feel him glaring at the back of her head. He'd never liked when she cleaned after him. Not when he'd been her father's apprentice, and not now that they were sleeping together. He allowed it more at work, and even then that had taken her years of reminding him that taking care of him was part of her job.

She expected him to shush her away and take over the cleaning like he usually did. Instead, she was surprised by the weight of his chest against her back, and by the feel of his lips against the scar on her neck.

Roy de-aged

This is a very silly fic that started because of THIS tomochingus art and a conversation with Scienceoftheidiot. It's about Fuhrer Roy getting de-aged into academy Roy, and discovering all the wonderful and horrible things his future has for him.

The door suddenly opened, and a beautiful blonde lady entered the room. She looked at him and frowned. "What's the meaning of this, Havoc? Where is my hu–"

Roy squinted hard at her. There was something utterly familiar about her appearance. She looked just like… "Riza?"

Her breath hitched. She blinked and turned back to him with an increasingly fearful expression. "Roy?"

Wow.

What the hell.

Was that really little Riza Hawkeye?

Rebecca's fic

This one —also referred as the Hayate fic — is about Rebecca finding out Riza is sleeping with Roy thanks to Hayate. It's fun but also very angsty. This is almost complete and probably what I'm posting next.

"You're telling me that, all these years, you have been pinning after this dumbass and you hadn't jumped him?"

"It's complicated."

"Oh, I'm sure it is. Starting with the fact that you could get Court Martialed for it. But seriously, how stubborn can you be?" Rebecca sighed. "At least tell me you're getting a transfer request."

"No," Riza said immediately. For some reason she looked scared. "I can't. I– My duty comes first."

"Then what? You'll be the Mustang's dirty little secret until one of you retires? You can't seriously be okay with that, Riza. You deserve better than that."

Marianne's gift

I have posted about this one before. The code name is snow. This is about one of the East-Briggs training exercises going wrong and Riza getting injured. Roy is out of his mind with worry, and Lieutenant Ross is done with it all.

"I see an arm!" Sergeant Grey yelled. Roy was immediately running after him.

Please, let it be her.

He prayed with no small amount of guilt. He should be equally worried about all his men, but he'd never quite mastered how not to separate her from the rest. He needed her to be alright. He wasn't sure what he would do if she wasn't. She was his tether to sanity. The only thing keeping him from wandering off the right path.

Roy took a deep breath, and put his fear back inside the box at the bottom of his soul. He had no time for it right now. He had a role to play.

current list of wips for ask

#ask games #magipies #royai #my work #writing

[edutainer2022]

Part 3 of Sweet Chariot has been sitting in my drafts for a while. Since it’s Scott’s week, I’m trying to motivate myself to write it out. 

Jeff and Colonel Casey are having a little chat (because they probably need to). It’s about life, loss, IR... and Scott (of course). 

DREAMS - Bit 1

‘Please, don’t tell me there’s a baby monitor involved?’

Several GDF officers, Colonel Casey including, were forever branded with an image of a much, much younger Jeff Tracy, wild-eyed and wild-haired, showing up in a video-conference call with a then-ill baby Scott hoisted to his shoulder, claiming he couldn’t hear the baby breathe on the monitor. He also didn’t figure out the baby sling in time for the call. Val never let him live that down. The video recording was stashed away for blackmail purposes ever since. Over the past eight years, after a really grim day, Val Casey would whip it out sometimes, just to make the darkness retreat a bit.

‘The next best thing’ - he chuckled in amusement at the memory, but it came out thin.

John set him up (set all of them up) with a vitals feed to his wrist-comm and Jeff had the door to Scott’s bedroom slightly ajar. He would hear his son breathe. He was camping out in Scott’s office-cum-living room, tuning in on a GDF brass meeting Scott was supposed to attend. Scott was in and out of it since the day before, most of his energy directed at holding down whatever little food and fluids they could coax into him and sleeping. Which was just as well. The fever, though not critical, would ebb and flow, but not recede.

‘How’s he doing?’

‘He’s dizzy, disoriented, barely there. – (delirious and thinking secretly he was not good enough to have survived his father, but Jeff was not ready to go there just yet). - But the fever’s not viral, nor an infection. We figured out that much. No other symptoms, so must be stress’.

Casey scoffed.

‘The way Scott has been pushing himself and tackling… everything? No wonder he’s stressed to the bone. The boy just doesn’t stop. Well, he’s a Tracy…’

He warm levity in her words crashed at the stone wall in Jeff’s tone.

‘How did he manage? Then? After…’

‘Oh… After Zero-X?’

(After my death). But Jeff just gave a nod.

‘It was tough, Jeff. And bumpy. I’m not gonna lie to you. It was hard. Especially after I called off the search for you… - Colonel Casey needed a moment to catch her voice again. That was a darkest day for all of them. - But your Scott… You know how the Old Boys at GDF are, Jeff, and those big cheeses at World Council. And he was a pup. And he was grieving. Worse off, he was YOUR pup, but not you. They were ready to eat him alive…’

Yeah, there’s a happy thought. Val failed to mention the stuffy suits on the board of his company. Out for a nice meal too on the young cub, no doubt.

‘But he held his own’

Jeff’s gaze soared up and his old friend, Colonel of the GDF, held it firmly.

‘He held his own. He held his ground. And he’s grown so much. Jeff, he’s been on our case, like a dog with a bone, about field security policies for on duty and non-enlisted personnel, about corps-wide safety training programs, military-civilian rescue services interface protocols. Four star generals cower, when he glares, I swear to god, Jeff. The training wheels are off! I actually had feelers reaching out from up top to sniff, if Scott would be available for more policy projects, now that you’re back to run the rescue ops. He did you proud.’

‘I never doubted he would.’

Jeff’s voice was soft and thick with emotion. But his expression dropped with the weight of a heavy sigh.

‘Does he know that?’

Val Casey knew her friend well and she had known him for a long time. She had known his eldest son since his birth. When Jeff didn’t lift his eyes she knew to prod further.

‘Jeff? What’s wrong?’

He was fidgeting with a stylus on the desk and sinking deeper into a brooding silence, clearly negotiating if he could stubborn his way out of answering. He looked so much like Scott in the moment it was uncanny.

‘Scott thinks it would have been better for everyone, if he beat me to Zero-X and vanished with it, and I would have remained back with the family and IR. He was delirious… it came up…’

‘You don’t believe that!’

‘Do you?’

‘Jeff… you can’t make me answer that. You were… are my friend! I’ve known you forever and the world just wasn’t the same place without you. It wasn’t a better place either... I thank the stars every day that you’ve been back. I’m sure your boys do too. And your mother. And half the planet. And I thank Scott... – Jeff’s eyes shot back at her, the darker shade of steel with intensity. - But I do believe he’s your son. Of course he would think that. There’s never half a chance to sacrifice oneself that doesn’t have his name on it. He gets it from you.’

She weighed the words carefully in her mind, before going on.

‘I also think there wouldn’t be much of Jeff Tracy left in you to run IR, to save the world and to take care of your boys, if that came to pass… if you were not first to Zero-X that day… if Scott were lost…’

‘I wish he knew that.’ (I wish he never had reasons to doubt that).

The comm on his wrist lit up red, cutting the call, as the med monitor sent a distress signal, corroborated by the sounds of whimpers and gasps clearly audible from the bedroom. Scott gets nightmares when he has a fever – Virgil’s words surfaced helpfully from memory, as Jeff shot out of the chair and to his son’s side.

TBC

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #jeff tracy #Scott Tracy #scott tracy needs a hug #scott tracy needs his dad #colonel casey #Jeff and Val are besties #methinks i have astronomy #my fic

[laureliciousdefinition]

The Arrangement | Part 1

Din Djarin x female reader

Ratings/warnings: mentions/implications of adult activity, minors still need to skedaddle tho this will get spicy eventually

Tags: This is a very self indulgent royaltycore + friends to lovers + slow burn situation. It’s an au (obvi) where Din and the reader are both from royal families on Mandalore, and as such have been set up in an arranged marriage to each other, but it’s fine because they only see each other platonically….right? Hehehehe>:)

A/N: this is my first time writing din, so please be nice because I am very sensitive and trying my best OKAY also don’t come at me for the mix of Star Wars culture and royal jargon. It’s my au and I’ll mix if I want to!

Chapter 1: Sundari Afternoons

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

“I don’t ever want to be married.”

The older boy looked up from the book he’d been engrossed in. “Why do you say that?”

You let go of the branch you’d previously been grasping, unceremoniously dropping to your feet with a thud. “It’s simply gross,” you replied shortly. “All the kissing and dancing and holding hands.

With a sigh, you settled in next to him against the rough, bumpy trunk of the Veshok tree where it lined the edges of the palace. A squint crossed your face as the sun hit your eyes, previously shaded during your attempted ascension.

“I would rather go off on my own adventures, be all by myself. I don’t need a husband to do that, he’d get in my way.”

Din set the book to his side, a small smile pulling at his lips. “Can I come on the adventures too? You might get lonely.”

You paused for a moment, considering the request.

“Only if you don’t make me kiss you.”

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

“My lady?” A voice pulled you from your thoughts. “Did you hear me? I said you’re all done, you’re free to go,”

Miri, one of the palace tailors, smiled meekly up at you where you stood on a small riser.

Though the dark haired girl was several years your junior, her expertise was beyond her years due to her training from her mother, Madera. Many hours had been spent with the kind older woman and her daughter in this room over the years, an array of fabrics and textures and pins strewn about as they fussed with whatever garment they’d chosen to focus on in the moment. Madera had become a member of the family in her own right, creating some of the best fashion moments for you and your sister, but more importantly had offered more maternal advice than you could ever wish for. All this to say watching her health gradually decline over the last several years until she was unable to work and seeing Miri step into her shoes was a difficult and tall order.

Still, Miri had taken on her mother’s duties gracefully, and stood in her place now as she helped you unzip from the dress she’d been hemming.

“Miri, there truly isn’t any need for the title, I’m only six years older than you.” You told her, carefully stepping out of the gown before moving to return to the clothes you’d been wearing prior to the fitting.

She bent to gather up the dress and place it back on its hanger. “Forgive me, just a force of habit I think. You know how my mother is about manners.”

A smile rose to your face. “That’s very true,” you said with a breathy laugh as you fastened a periwinkle skirt adorned with eyelet detailing at the bottom, along with a white linen shirt that you’d pulled on that morning. Both items were courtesy of Miri- though her duties were technically only palace-event related, she enjoyed trying out different designs and techniques for creating outfits, and you enjoyed her company (as well as wasting time), so you’d recently been receiving several outfits from the younger girl as warmer weather approached.

You turned back to face her. “The dress looks sublime. You have outdone yourself.”

“It’s the first royal wedding I’ve been a part of, I want it to be perfect,” she stepped back to admire her work, the look of pride that she tried to stifle not going unnoticed by you.

Pushing down the wave of jumbled thoughts that threatened to take over your brain at the mention of the wedding, you placed a hand on her shoulder. “It is perfect. Thank you, Miri.”

You turned to leave the small room but stopped briefly in the doorway, taking a last look at the long white gown before it was zipped back into its protective bag.

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

The Sundari Palace halls seemed particularly busy today, much to Din Djarin’s chagrin. He wanted nothing more than to get out to the edge of the property near the forest line-also known as his unofficial shooting range-and do some basic blaster work, yet it seemed the world was against him in this endeavor.

In what should’ve been a five minute walk from his chambers to his destination, the man had been stopped once by an overzealous guard- a new hire, he guessed- who was insistent on congratulating him on his recently graduation from the Mandalore Militia Academy, a second time by someone he presumed to be involved with the upcoming festivities, whom he had no interest in assisting, and a third when he’d bumped into one of the bath house staff that wouldn’t let him apologize for doing so.

All this in addition to several detours in order to avoid the eyes of giggling chambermaids and kitchen workers roaming about. No less than ten minutes passed and a considerably longer than necessary path taken, he finally found himself approaching the tree line- only to see a figure laying on a blanket exactly where he was headed.

As he approached, he quickly recognized said figure and lowered his hackles a bit.

“My lady, you could not have picked a more inconvenient spot to sun yourself.”

You removed the arm that had been draped over your eyes to take in the sudden disturbance to your rest. “Don’t you know it is my goal in life to cause you problems?” You replied shortly.

Din watched as you laid your arms back across your eyes. A sigh left his mouth before he sat down next to you, his chest plate catching the sun a bit. “A bit testy today, I see. Care to share what’s on your mind?”

Once again you removed the arm covering your face and sat up on your elbows. “Do you really want to know, or do you just want me to talk about it so I’ll get up and let you have your target practice?”

“Both.”

Now it was your turn to sigh. “Just..wedding stuff, I suppose. It’s all coming up a bit too fast for me to handle.”

That, Din could relate to. It was all anyone seemed to care about in the palace, and despite the ceremony taking place in more than five months, preparations had long been under way. It was not something he particularly cared about- in fact, he found himself actively avoiding anything to do with it.

He hummed in response. “It has caused quite a stir around the palace. I can’t say I understand why.”

“Well, it is the first wedding in Sundari in about twenty standard years,” you rolled over onto your side. “I just wish it wasn’t mine- or really, ours, I should say. I feel like I finished school yesterday and got no time to care about anything else before jumping into all this,”

Din looked down at you as you spoke. “You and I both.”

A comfortable silence fell over the two of you and you laid back down. This had been commonplace since you were children; you usually had a lot to say, while Din preferred staying quiet, and though that could be perceived to an untrained eye as his disinterest, you knew he was simply listening and observing. As you’d grown up, you’d been trained into a more reserved disposition, a more lady-like one. With those closer ones such as your sister, and now Din as you rekindled your friendship, that less restrained side of yourself was allowed to show. Din hadn’t changed much on his front, though you didn’t mind. It was a nice change of pace from the constant barrage of meetings, trainings, and various other duties where you were constantly talked at rather than to.

After a few moments had passed, you opened your eyes again and turned your head to the man. “So, what could be on your agenda for the afternoon? Anything of interest?” You asked, picking at the soft grass in front of you.

Din shook his head. “Just wanted to practice my shooting.”

Though his tone was blunt, you could detect that whisper of a joking in there.

You let out a short laugh. “Alright, alright. I hear you. I’ll leave you be.” You stood and gathered the small blanket you’d been laying on. “Aren’t you going to ask me about my plans before I leave?”

Looking up at you with squinted eyes and a slight scrunch in his nose, a short sigh left his mouth once again. “I wasn’t going to, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me regardless.”

“Well since you’re clearly begging to know,” you dusted off the back of your skirt. “I am meeting Kelsin for a picnic.” You told in a light tone.

Din nodded. “Ah, Kelsin. I didn’t know you were still hanging around him.”

You frowned slightly. “I am not ‘hanging around’ him, we are meeting for a picnic! He’s sweet, and he makes me laugh. He’s enjoyable company.”

“Yes, it’s his company that you enjoy.”

Din was not necessarily incorrect in this loaded statement, as flustered as it made you. Kelsin Ardan was a nice, simple man of a notably lower royal stature that you’d met in your time at the Mandalore Academic Excellency Institute. This is to say, he is very much not supposed to be on your radar.

In your late-night, trying-to-fall-asleep-musings, you supposed you’d marry the tawny haired boy in another life. He wasn’t what one would call… a great thinker, per say, but he was nice to be around, easy enough to look at, and would likely be a good father to your fake children from the scenarios in which you envisioned the two of you. That was not how the fates would have it for you, however; your hand in marriage was not your own. To compensate for this, you stole moments with him when you could, not dissimilar to the one you were planning for the afternoon. Not dissimilar to any of the ones you’d stolen in the past either, both with Kelsin and a variety of other classmates who now felt like a lifetime ago. Perhaps your intentions for today were not the most pure hearted, but it was only because you were a headstrong woman taking control of your own life in the few ways you could.

He was also just a very, very good kisser.

“It’s nice to see that you have matured while I was away at school.” You retorted with a huff. You knew the man was only teasing, but that did nothing to stop the blush spreading across your cheeks. “You are quite presumptuous, my lord. Is it that unfathomable that two friends should meet for an afternoon lunch, nothing more?”

You didn’t notice the small smile he bit back. “If it is simply a friendly picnic, may I ask where it is taking place?” His brows raised a bit.

You fumbled for a moment, eyes darting away. “Um… the- the stables?” You knew you were going to be the loser of this conversation, despite it being a competition you started.

“Right, the stables, which sit conveniently far away from the main palace, and offer ample opportunity to be out of sight?” He laughed, clearly enjoying watching you get flustered.

“Respectfully, it is none of your business what I do with my time.” You told him, refusing to acknowledge to yourself that you asked him to ask about your plans.

Din rolled his eyes, but you could recognize the playful nature of the act. “Just don’t get caught, my lady,” he replied, watching you begin to walk away. “It would be quite the scandal for the future queen of Mandalore to be seen… canoodling, so to speak.”

“Canoodling? Is that even a word?”

This time he smiled at you. “I overheard some ladies-in-waiting say it the other day, I thought I would try it out on you. Feels incorrect now that I’ve said it aloud,”

A full laugh left your mouth, the previous redness finally leaving your cheeks. “I’m not so sure about it. Perhaps leave it to the ladies.”

“I mean it, though. Do be careful.”

His tone turned to a serious one. You knew how much trouble you would cause were you to be caught messing around with a man you were not betrothed to. Not just for you, but for Din as well; the arrangement of your marriage was for the benefit of both of your families. Your families offered each other wealth, station, and alliance, were something to ever go awry in the system. You were well on your way to coronation- two weeks after the wedding, to be exact- within your own family rank, and Din was technically already past the age in which he was supposed to take over the duties of his father, only delayed by his choice to attend the militia academy, so the set up simply made sense for all parties involved.

It wasn’t the worst arrangement you’d ever seen; you and Din had grown up together, only truly drifting apart when you left for school at thirteen. At the time you were harboring a burning, schoolgirl crush on the boy- the kind where you would peek at him over the edge of your book as he messed around with some of the palace children by the courtyard fountains, and steal glances at him from across rooms during meetings the two of you had been forced to attend. The feelings died out when you left, but you still held a great fondness for him, so you supposed being married to him wouldn’t be all that bad. You both had your own goings on, yours being Kelsin and his being… well, several girls from town that you had seen leaving his bedchamber in the early hours of many mornings. It all worked out.

Still facing him as you backed away, you smiled. “I am a betrothed, well-behaved lady. I would never act so unbecoming and foolishly.”

He smiled back at you and rolled his eyes once more (it seemed to be a habit of his, one you were sure he picked up during his training under the large helmet placed currently by his side). “Whatever helps you to sleep at night.”

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

#din djarin x reader #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #eventual smut #just stay tuned ok #din djarin au #mandalorian au #please no one bully me for all the tags I’m trying to reach my target audience

[zanrelley]

Adrift 14

ROTTMNT Fanfic

Summary:

 Leonardo isn’t rescued from the Krang Prison Dimension by his brothers, forced to flee from his cellmate in the void. The greatest ninja warrior of all time has to learn how to adapt to his new home, traversing low gravity, discovering the usefulness of spaceship corpses from worlds far beyond his own, and finding ways to survive such a harsh abandoned world.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13

AO3 Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen: There's Purple Everywhere

Word Count: 4.3k

 When he woke up that morning, Casey wasn’t entirely surprised to find himself alone in Splinter’s bedroom. Raph and Mikey had left at some point and the aforementioned fatherly rat was nowhere to be seen either. He allowed himself a yawn and a stretch as he sat up, regretting not accepting Mikey on his offer of borrowing his or Leo’s spare PJs for the night before they went to bed.

 He felt a bit stiff, but it wasn’t anything he wasn’t already used to back home, pausing as that thought crossed his mind. It was just a little ironic to think of a place like that as home compared to where he was now, even if it had many similarities with the present company. He sighed as he hopped off of the weird bumpy mattress Splinter called his bed as he dismissed the idea entirely, thinking about anything related to his original dimension just exhausted him, he would rather avoid it altogether for right now.

 Casey purposefully waltzed out of Splinter’s bedroom without putting on his extra gear, having left it on the floor from last night. There wasn’t any reason for him to wear it in the lair, he would only need it if they left for another mission.

 Speaking of doing things outside of the lair, Casey needed to find the others to see what the plan was for today, they had mostly been hanging around the lair as of late, other than the trip he had taken with Donnie yesterday. Raphael had mentioned Donnie probably needing them to go for a scrap run at some point to get him some more supplies for whatever he might be making to rescue Leo. Now that he thought about it, Raph had been muttering about Donnie all night, maybe he and Mikey went to go check on him this morning.

 Casey walked out into the common space of the lair, passing through the projector room and down the steps to where the train cars started. He assumed Donnie would be in his lab, that was one thing that didn’t change with time, and he was proved correct as he jogged the rest of the way when he heard voices echoing off the walls as he got closer.

 “I don’t have time, I put it to the side to work on later. This takes priority. I’m only one turtle Raph, I’d clone myself but that would take time away from this too.” He heard Donnie’s voice first, pushing the ajar door open wider so he could step fully inside. All three of the turtles were there, Donnie was crouched on Raph’s shoulders as the snapper was leaning against a weird giant metal pod thing and Mikey was handing tools to the four mechanical arms coming out of Dee’s battle shell. Raph offered him a wave when he noticed him, which he tentatively returned as he walked further inside the room.

 “But Dee, you said you might be able to strengthen the radio from our end, if you can do that, wouldn’t we be able to hear Leo?” Raphael asked, grunting as Donnie shifted to put a foot on his head to reach around to a new angle on the pod’s roof.

 “I did not guarantee that, but, Leo cannot respond to us through the radio and I am also developing a theory he can’t hear us as well as we thought. I was asking him questions last night, and the data I gathered proved my theory correct. I noticed an inconsistency and started asking him random questions.” He turned and lifted his goggles to look at his older brother.

 “Did you know Leo is no longer a turtle and never has been? I asked him and he said no.” He informed them with a straight face before putting his goggles back on and turning back to his work. Mikey giggled while Raph made a face. Casey went to sit next to Michelangelo as he listened to the conversation, the box turtle gave him an affectionate shoulder bump before returning to attending to Donnie’s robot arms.

 “I mean, isn’t there a chance he is telling the truth?” Raph tried to poke around with Don’s logic, a dangerous game for anyone.

 “Indignant scoff. I highly doubt it, dear brother. From what my comatose lab partner has told me, the Krang looked like that before during and after entering the prison dimension, I doubt Leo was affected by it or anything else there.” He started to weld again, startling Raph as the sparks spewed everywhere around him from above.

 “Donnie!” Raph tried to protest, doing his best not to move to offset his younger brother’s balance. Donnie noticed his protest but continued to weld anyway. Casey and Mikey shared a short giggle.

 “But, wouldn’t it be easier to make sure Leo is okay if he could answer back? Maybe he could help us get him home from his side.” Casey prompted the purple turtle. Donnie glanced his way as he let his head quirk to the side at the question. He hadn’t thought about it from that angle before, it wasn’t like Leo didn’t have access to materials to build something similar to Donnie, tools were limited, but if they truly had open communication he could simply tell Leo what to do to solve that problem. There was the entire half of the Technodrome obliterated on his side of the dimension, that was a decent amount of materials to workshop into… something.

 He doubted he would run into the attention span problem with Leonardo in this predicament, he had no choice but to listen to his twin for once when he info dumped. But, there was still his concern about time. Maybe he could afford to fix their communicative link for the time being, if he had Leo working on something from the other side, things might go faster and turn this puzzle into an easier one to solve.

 Before he could even begin to concede and pause working on the Leo-Pod, his lab door was thrown open with enough force to create a crater in the concrete wall. Donnie was startled, comically falling off of his brother only to be grabbed and held by an equally caught-off-guard Raph. Everyone looked to the door in surprise, but it faded when they saw their older sister.

 April was proudly standing in the doorway, a cunning smirk on her face as her eyes zeroed in on Casey. The apocalyptic teen had a small sliver of fear run up his spine about what that look meant.

 “I am here to kidnap our newest bro! He is coming with me and Cass to volunteer with city cleanup whether he likes it or not!” April strutted further into the laboratory, playfully ignoring the turtles as she stopped to dramatically raise a neatly folded pile of clothes she had in her hand out towards Casey. The apocalyptic teen raised a brow as he stood and made his way down from the platform he and Mikey had been sitting on to accept her offering of new clothes. It was simple, just an old white tank top and some dark grey sweatpants.

 He gave it a skeptical look, it wasn’t like he had never seen normal clothes before, but he certainly wasn’t used to the idea of walking around on the surface without his typical attire. He especially didn’t want to let go of anything he had left of his Donatello either, he treasured all the Genius Built™ clothes Don had given him over the years.

 But, maybe he should learn to loosen his grip on everything from the… Past? He looked up at April’s eager smile, it was a look that was meant to encourage him, he was sure. She was just trying to help him out, probably planning to show him the world without the Krang’s rule, maybe help him meet some people.

 He returned her smile as he considered what to do with his stuff in the meantime. He turned to look at the others.

 “Can I leave my gear in the lab for… safekeeping?” Casey asked hesitantly to Donnie who was still seated in Raph’s arms. That seemed to shake everyone from their initial shock, Donnie clamoring to get out of his big bro’s hold and righting himself as he nodded, his eyes going wide as excitement filled them.

 “Of course! I could even make some improvements while you’re away if you’d like! I could clean them up, throw in some scented detergent, free of charge.” He seemed a little too eager to be granted access to Casey’s gear as he practically skipped over, but he supposed it was really for the chance to see if his apocalyptic timeline self had done anything he hadn’t thought of or made yet. Either way, whatever he could gain from caring for Casey’s worn armor would probably go over his head, and he was only a little eager to downsize capacity.

 “It's settled then! I’ll be waiting for you in the kitchen. Mikey, I want a few snacks for the road, if you don’t mind!” April teased the youngest in the room as she moonwalked back out into the lair, the orange ninja’s eyes practically sparkled as he bounced out after her.

 “I am going to blow Casey’s mind with my sandwich skills!” He cheered as he disappeared after her. Casey chuckled as he went in the opposite direction to follow after Donnie who guided him to a room to change.

-----------

 It had been a few hours since Casey and April had rendezvoused with Cassandra outside of the sewers and made their way to one of the relief camps the New York citizens had set up along the streets. It was a massive effort, it surprised Casey how fast everyday people who hadn’t seen the worst of the Krang invasion were capable of setting up tents and stalls to freely hand out food and clothing provisions. It was only a little concerning to him when they saw men with guns every few blocks, but April had assured him they must’ve just been police or military guys who were sent to help maintain peace, like keep people from stealing and fighting over supplies and such.

 It wasn’t an entirely unfamiliar thing for Casey to see, but it didn’t feel right not to be able to recognize the “peacekeepers” like he normally did back in his timeline. It just made him glad that he won the argument about whether or not he should bring his hockey stick along, but after a few solid points from his end, everyone caved and let him take it with him to the surface. Casey might’ve been ready to downsize his gear, but he wasn’t ready to stop carrying his weapon around, you never knew where the Krang or the infected could still be lurking.

 Cassandra had been actively volunteering that day, they had visited her at a stand where they were giving shoes away to those who needed them, but April had explained she mostly wanted to get Casey some clothes while there was a chance without spending a whole lot of cash. It was also a tactic to get him to see more of the modern and less apocalyptically rocked New York.

 Casey appreciated the gesture, it was something he had been curious and overwhelmed with since he first got to this timeline, but he couldn’t help but be a bit disinterested. It was hard to think about meeting people when he wanted to be back at the lair and helping the brothers get Leonardo back. But, he supposed when the time came for him to help or fill in a role, they would ask for him to come back.

 It was hard to leave the lair in all honesty, he was used to the whole “no man left behind” in most circumstances from the resistance, walking out of the lair felt like he was giving up on saving Leo. He fought those thoughts back though as he forced an awkward smile as April presented a black T-shirt with a band logo on it, she was gushing about things he didn’t understand but accepted the shirt anyway.

 “I’ll have to play some of their songs for you when we get back, Donnie has some nice speakers that we can drag out to use. I’m sure he won’t notice them missing while working in his lab.” She giggled with a little too much evil glee before turning back around to find more shirts for Casey. He glanced away from her as she dutifully dug through the massive pile of donated clothes to take another look around. So far, other than the Hamato family and April and his own mother, Casey hasn’t seen anyone else he recognized from his version of this world.

 It made his heart sink as his eyes mindlessly scanned the crowd. He watched mothers and their children digging through clothes, groups of young boys carrying jugs of water in each hand as they left the market, and even some people with bandages on their heads and arms. That was one of the few things that did look familiar.

 Until he saw a head of lavender hair shimmying through the crowd. If he didn’t recognize the hair, he did recognize the jacket. Casey’s eyes went wide as he nearly dropped all of the clothes April had piled into his hands. It was Kendra!

 Casey remembered Kendra, and the stories about her brother and friend who ran a group named “The Purple Dragons”  before the apocalypse, before Kendra (from his timeline) had taken the title herself. The version of her that he knew was THE Purple Dragon. She was a high-time rival of Donnie and a passive-aggressive fighter in the resistance.

 It was easy to say that one got along with her, but she did her part and earned respect as she worked alongside Donatello regarding his tech and the advancements needed for their survival. She voiced her opinion loudly about it being a bias that Donatello was in charge of all their tech, that everything went by his design, his blueprints, but no one had the energy to care about her protest. Casey’s Donnie had done his best to keep the ships, bases, and other tech-cored utilities minimalistic to create as much as possible, no one wanted to shift the balance of resources just because someone else wanted to be in charge.

 And Master Leonardo’s word was as close as they got to law, no one wanted to create a mini democracy in the apocalypse, they wanted their orders because they wanted to survive, and they had too much faith in Leonardo to consider changing every method that came under scrutiny.

 They weren’t perfect, but neither was their world, and the world was all that mattered.

 Regardless, Casey went through a revelation as his memories of his timeline’s Kendra ran through his mind, a light bulb going off in his head. Maybe a collaboration between the purple turtle and the purple dragon was necessary once again.

 “Command- I mean- April, I’ll be back in a second.” Casey only gave her a second to react before handing back the pile of clothes she had given him, jogging over to the long-time rival of Donatello. She seemed to be on her phone, but he noticed her eyeballing anyone who came near her as she stood by a stall. What was she doing here? He didn’t see her carrying any clothes or food.

 “Kendra!” Casey called out without thinking, making the girl’s eyes go wide as her sharp gaze snapped right onto him. He saw the familiar hostility there, and for some reason it almost made him relax before he realized his mistake. Kendra doesn’t know who he is.

 He got closer and her sharp gaze turned to a disgusted glare.

 “Do I know you? Are you a fanboy?” She used a tone that made it sound like she was accusing him as she looked him up and down, but Casey wasn’t bothered by it. When you’ve known someone as stand-offish as her for a few years, you tend to learn how to disregard the bite in their words.

 “Sorry, we haven’t met, but I know you. I wanted to ask for-” He was interrupted as he felt a hand grab him on the shoulder and violently pull him back a few steps. He looked over his shoulder to see a very sour-faced April.

 “What are you doing?!” She whisper-screamed from behind him. Kendra raised a brow as she took another glance at her phone, but it seemed to falter at whatever she was reading. Casey noticed.

 “This is Kendra, THE Purple Dragon. She could help Donnie with the pod.” Casey explained in a whisper for Kendra not to overhear with a way too cheerful smile on his face for April’s liking. April mimicked Kendra’s brow raise from a few moments ago, full of skepticism and some disbelief. She glanced at Kendra and then back to Casey.

 “Oh, yeah? Kendra? The girl I have known since elementary school, the one who would trick an old lady into letting her help her cross the road and rob her blind before she got to the other end of the crosswalk? Yeah, let's ask her for help and bring her into the lair and Dee’s lab where she will totally swear not to break or steal any of his stuff.” April deadpanned at Casey as he nodded. Kendra cleared her throat, rolling her eyes as they both looked at her.

 “Look, do you need something fanboy or can I go back to ignoring you?” Kendra asked with clear annoyance in her voice, not even looking at them anymore as her eyes were trained on the glowing screen of her phone, typing away to whoever she was texting. Casey had an idea of who she was talking to, and who she was talking about. He wanted to gain her trust to get her to help the turtles get Leo back, it would also take a lot of strain off of Donnie if he had another computer wiz helping him.

 He had to convince her to help without sabotaging them, he already knew everyone’s extensive history with the turtles, Leo liked to hold grudges even if he didn’t let it affect his role as the leader of the resistance, but no reformed villain went without their history logged in case of betrayal. This was a massive opportunity, Casey was used to the idea of building allies, even if the histories were stark, they needed Kendra to get Leo back. But how would he convince someone as skeptical and selfish as her to be willing to help without any strings attached?

 Casey decided he would have to tell her the truth, it was probably more complicated than any lie he could fabricate, but if he used his knowledge of what happened to the other dragons, maybe it would be enough to convince her, at least this once. April was going to hang him out to dry though if this didn’t work.

 “So, uh, this is going to be hard to believe, but I am from the fu-” April slapped a hand on his mouth as he started to pour it all out into the open, her eyes going wide and crazy as she stared at him.

 “Are you insane?” Was what her expression told him clear as day. Casey gave her a pleading look and she gave up, letting go of his face.

 “I have to convince her to help, I have to tell her the truth,” Casey explained, “It’s the only way to get her on our side, at least for a couple of days.” He tried to convince April, who was still giving him a wide-eyed I-Can’t-Believe-You’re-Doing-This look.

Kendra wasn’t paying attention, still typing away on her phone as Casey went to try again, but he noticed how worried her expression became with her eyebrows coming together as she frowned, biting her lip.

 “It’s your brother, isn’t it?” Casey asked, once again, without thinking. Kendra’s eyes went wide before they grew fierce again.

 “Wow. A real fanboy. You know he isn’t my real brother, right?” Kendra snapped a little too harshly, Casey recognized the hurt in her voice. It was rare for her to ever bring up the other members of the purple dragons in his timeline, they hadn’t made it long during the Krang invasion. Casey remembered the few times she talked about them, alongside those who talked about the ones they lost and missed, he remembered how lonely she had been without them.

 She might’ve been course and rude and kept everyone at arm-length, but she had a family in that group, and they were gone after the invasion. Casey felt a little bad about it, but he had to take advantage of knowing what happened to them.

 “It doesn’t matter. You’re worried about him, right? Is he okay? Did he get hurt?” Casey asked as gently as he could, Kendra was a ticking time bomb of anger most of the time, but he hoped she was less volatile at a younger age. She eyed him with suspicion, lowering her phone just a fraction as she finally gave him her attention.

 “Do you know something I don’t, fanboy?” Kendra asked him with that same accusing tone, hiding her phone in her jacket pocket as if he had learned it from there.

 “I know that you’re worried about your brother and your friend.” Casey ignored the implication of him not being her blood brother, but he had to find a way to connect her and Donnie’s struggles, if he could get her to empathize (which might be impossible) he could convince her to put down her guard and help Donatello with his project to save Leo. Kendra wasn’t leaning into it yet though, crossing her arms and popping out her hip.

 “Do you know me or something? What do you want?” He might as well get to the point.

 “Do you know Don-” April once again scrambled her way into the conversation to interrupt Casey.

 “Othello! You remember my good pal, Von Ryan, right?” April was sweating as she blurted Donnie’s moniker out, not quite sure why covering up his real name really mattered in the long run, but she didn’t want Casey spilling Dee’s real name without his permission, especially to Kendra of all people. Casey was downright confused by that, he had never heard that name before, but he decided to roll with it.

 Kendra’s aura completely shifted to irritation as he could’ve sworn her eye twitched.

 “Of course, how could I forget?” She said it with enough venom in her voice to take down an elephant. Casey felt more nervous from that and the wickedly innocent grin on her face, but he had to keep pushing.

 “Yeah- uh- Othello is a close friend of mine and he needs your help.” Casey started to explain. Kendra laughed, grabbing her stomach as she stagged back from them.

 “Oh-OH! No! No way he has you guys coming to beg me for help! Oh, I need to record that, can you get him to say that himself? That he needs my help?” She laughed again, causing a few passersby to glance at them curiously. Casey had an awkward smile as he waited for her to stop, but she didn’t.

 “You-HA! Do you really think I would help Othello Von Ryan? That loser!” She giggled maniacally at the thought. April rolled her eyes as she took charge.

 “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Kendra. Look, this is serious. You know how your brother is messed up or whatever, Othello is going through the same thing.” April explained in a deadpan voice, and Casey was eternally grateful for it. If anyone was able to coax something out of Kendra, future or present, it was Commander O’Neil.

 Kendra seemed to sober up after that, her laughter dying quickly as surprise crossed her expression for a few seconds before reverting back to her stand-offish glare.

 “Oh. And why would he need me?” Kendra asked, seemingly without her own permission for the words to come out as she looked sheepish about asking, her curiosity about her biggest tech-making rival supposedly needing her help taking over. April sighed dramatically.

 “Look, it's a lot to explain, the Krang came and basically took his brother- my brother too, by the way- and we can’t… Find him. Othello could use more help making his… device to find him.” April admitted, trying not to get too specific, the time would come to tell her the truth about the scale on which they can’t “find” Leo, but that wouldn’t happen if they don’t convince her first. Kendra seemed to consider it for a moment, eyeing April before looking at Casey.

 “And what do I gain from this?” Kendra asked, which April saw coming.

 “How about Othello helps you with something in return?” April offered, which she knew would definitely cause a fight between her and Donnie, but if Casey’s idea worked and everything went smoothly, this was worth the headache of anything Kendra could do. Kendra seemed interested, but still somewhat unconvinced. Casey sighed.

 “Kendra, look, we lost someone in our family. We want to get him back. We’re worried about him, we don’t know where he is or if he is safe. We just want him back home with us.” Casey was practically pleading now, and it seemed his puppy-dog demeanor was working on her, just a little. Kendra’s eyes softened a bit as she looked away, frowning. He felt like she wanted to say something, but she held back.

 “Fine. But I’m not working for free. Von Ryan better compensate me for my time like you said he would.” Kendra’s harsh glare returned as she set her terms. Casey and April both nodded.

 “I’ll text you when we’ll meet up for it.” April decided to end the interaction there, dragging Casey by his arm before he could get them into more trouble with Donatello.

#rottmnt #rottmnt adrift #adrift #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt donatello #rottmnt april #rottmnt casey #rottmnt casey jones #rottmnt fanfic #rottmnt fanfiction

[kaotical]

guys ,,, I did ..,,. voice acting ..,..,.;.;.

#k rambles #GRGREAAHAHHHH #I WENT SO FOKKIN FERAL and it felt so good !!! #I was home alone one day for a LONG TIME and saw the opportunity to YELL into my mic without worries! #I mean it took a while to get used to as when I begin I always feel like there’s someone in the house even tho i quadruple checked #and i occasionally go to check and make sure that no one has walked through the door between breaks #even tho I know damn well there wasn’t a chance haha #I always start sweating ?? (but again it was hot asf and I couldn’t have my AC blowing during a VA sesh) but i swear it always happens #BUT I DID SOME CHARACTER IMPRESSIONS and a friend of mine said that I should try voicing this one character that went BATSHIT CRAZY #and I was like BET #my sister had come home by then but I did let her know I would be screaming upstairs #it’s progress !! i’m gaining more confidence in my voice and i’m so happy 💖✨ #I still think my general voice reel I made that day is a lil cringe tho but that’s cause i’m still an amateur #I need to train myself to not have such a bumpy voice #like .. when you make your voice go really low and it’s not one solid sound.. y’know what i mean ?? #I need to make my voice smoother because it’s like that .. all the time #almost all the time 🤔 MOSTLY when i’m paying rlly close attention to it I WILL take note of it #but anyways would u guys be interested to see ?? (I may just post it anyway - not rn tho)

[ptergwen]

If you do smut can you do like stark!reader x peter parker (spiderman) are dating 3-4 month and y/n and peter had their very fluff first time then next morning y/n has hickies all over her neck and her thights stomach... and tony/ her dad sees it and is confronting them with it😂 i love your stories 🤤

just saying hi

w/c: 2.5k

warnings: veryyyy suggestive, swearing, some pretty embarrassing moments

a/n: thank you babe! i didn’t write the actual smut but y’all can guess what happened 😭 also this is super long i couldn’t help myself

-

it was everything. it was everything you ever wanted your first time to be and more.

you’d brought up to peter during a make out session one night that you were ready to go farther than you two already have. there was one base you didn’t hit yet. the fourth, the final. you were thinking about it for a while before that, and peter would be lying if he said he didn’t.

your love has always been physical, whether it’s you kissing peter’s cuts after a mission or him tracing hearts on you with his fingers. there’s also the more sexual side of things. that part, you both enjoy just as much, maybe even a little more because you know exactly how to make each other feel good after all the trial and error.

what better way to combine the two than, well, making love?

last night was your sign from the universe, your go ahead to do it. you had the compound to yourselves because your dad had taken all the “big kids” out for the night. you’re both well into college, but he refuses to see you as adults. that meant no peter and no you. you two were a little offended until you realized you could make use of your alone time.

you started off searching for a movie. that turned into you wrestling peter for the remote because you didn’t feel like watching back to the furure yet again. wrestling turned into you on top of him, which turned into you kissing him, which turned into peter throwing the remote somewhere and carrying you up to your room with his lips still on yours.

neither of you had to say it. you were on the same page, same wavelength, two brains in one as peter layed you down and trailed his kisses lower and lower.

peter was so gentle with you, except for when you told him not to be. those were the times he didn’t hold back. he was attentive and sweet and showed you quite a few times how much he loves you. you showed him just the same. yeah, it was really everything.

“morning, baby. you awake yet?” peter hums against the shell of your ear, arms wound comfortably around you. “kinda,” you mumble back with a goofy smile. he presses his lips to your ear and nuzzles his face in the side of your neck. “kinda... how’d you sleep?” you can hear the grin in his voice. his nose nudges your bare skin where a fresh hickey lies and makes you scrunch your own up.

“good, really good. always love sleeping with you.” you’re both aware of the alternate meaning that has now. “funny,” peter lets out a breathy laugh against you and brushes his thumb over your stomach where your shirt got ridden up. you sigh, enjoying his soft touch and reaching behind you to play with his curls. they’re a lot messier than usual from you tugging on them all last night.

peter removes his face from your neck and carefully turns you onto your other side. you’re facing him now, eyes trained on his concerned expression. “hey, just wanna check. how are you feeling? still sore?” a tiny smile stretches your face. he really does care about you and how you feel after everything. you know for a fact most other guys wouldn’t.

“i mean, yeah. you were... it was a lot, but i’ll be fine in a few days i think.” the mention of peter being a lot makes color rush to his face. you laugh quietly at that, cupping one of his cheeks that’s turning pink. “oh. i, um, i didn’t know that. sorry.” he smiles shyly as you smooth your thumb over his warm skin. “don’t be. it wasn’t as bad after i... adjusted a little,” you reassure him, making him lean into your palm.

“i really am sorry, y/n/n. can i make it up to you?” peter checks with you, eyes going up from yours to down your body. he hooks a finger in the waistband of your pajama shorts. “make you feel better?” the way he finishes his question with a bite of his lip is definitely tempting. so is your stomach yelling at you to put some food in it. you’ll have to wait.

“later. right now, you can make me breakfast,” you beam at him and take his hand. peter pushes his palm against yours, letting you lace your fingers together as he puffs some air out of his cheeks. “yeah, that’s gonna go well.” “i’m supervising. it will.” you capture his lips in a kiss, one he instantly reciprocates, free hand resting on your hip. just as it’s heating up, you break it.

“i’m hungry for actual food,” you giggle and roll out of his embrace. “ok, ok, ok. let’s go see what we have,” peter gives in with a chuckle, grabbing the same hand he was just holding and following you down to the kitchen.

he ends up popping some frozen waffles into the toaster, you sitting up on the counter with your phone out while he struggles through the different settings. “should i put it on bake? no, that doesn’t sound right,” he talks to himself with eyes squinted in concentration. “your dad made this thing so... detailed.” it’s an old stark industries toaster, one with options you probably don’t even need.

“yeah because he loves his toast, so maybe don’t break it. he’ll kill you or something,” you half playfully half seriously suggest. peter is one clumsy guy. he tsks at you and crouches down to read the words on the dial. there’s conveniently a setting for waffles, so he hits that one. he’s not sure how he hadn’t noticed it before.

since he’s down there, he takes one of your ankles in both hands and starts to kiss up your leg. it tickles when he gets to your knee, drawing a giggle out of you, but your phone still blocks his face. you’re doing it on purpose. “baby,” peter tries to get your attention in a soft voice. he presses a couple more kisses to your knee. you have to hold your breath so you don’t laugh again.

“baby girllll,” peter drags out, lips moving up your thigh. he nudges your phone with his nose much like a puppy would. “aye, i’m talkin’ to you here,” he says in a fake new york accent. you finally put it down next to you. “i’m listening.” you’re giving him a satisfied smile as he goes back to kissing you.

“just saying hi,” he looks up at you and moves your shorts aside while he kisses further and further to where you want. you scoot closer to him on the counter.

that’s when he stops. not only stops, gasps in horror. “what?” you ask quickly, his eyes fixed on your inner thighs. “i kind of, uh, marked you up. like, a lot.” he runs a finger gently over the bruised skin. you’re suddenly very aware of it now. it doesn’t exactly hurt, just feels bumpy and weird. you peer down at yourself to see the damage, eyes going wide.

“shit... they’re on my neck, too,” you remember, murmuring to him. you’ll have to cover these up before everyone gets home. worry flashes across peter’s face. “oh my god, i didn’t even realize. it- it was dark and you told me-“ “pete, it’s okay. it’s pretty hot,” you stop his rambling, reaching down and putting a hand on his shoulder. he frowns up at you.

“really? are you sure i didn’t go too far? because you can tell me.” you’ve always appreciated how much peter genuienly values your thoughts on things, in the bedroom and in other parts of your relationship. it does lead to a lot of second guessing, though. you squeeze his shoulder and let out a breath. “i’m sure, okay? it’s really not that serious. i’ll just change so no one can see.”

peter winds an arm around one of your legs, body relaxing ever so slightly under your touch. “okay.” he gives your thigh one final kiss, then rests his chin on it. “what about your neck?” “uh...” you hadn’t considered that yet. “makeup? a scarf?” you’ve seen enough tv to know neither of those work, but they’re your only options.

“yup. mr. stark is really gonna kill me now,” peter says under his breath, tensing up all over again. you furrow your eyebrows at him. “what? we’re literally grown adults, we can do whatever we want-“

tony claps loudly as he steps into the kitchen, announcing his return home. peter jumps up from between your legs faster than fast. he moves so he’s next to you, and you hop down from the counter.

“hello, daughter of mine. spider of man,” your dad greets you two, you pulling down your shorts with a plastered on smile. “or would it be man of spider?” he plucks an apple from the bowl on the table as he ponders his question. steve and wanda file into the room next. “second one,” peter replies, grinning a little too much to be normal. tony takes note of that.

wanda comes over to the fridge for a snack, which is close to where you and peter are. “how was last night?” you ask her to take the attention off you two. wanda settles on a yogurt and turns to you. “it was good. we shared a few hotel rooms, had our own party.” she glances over at peter, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. “seems like you two had a fun night of your own.”

peter’s mouth drops open. “how did you-“ he forgot she could read his mind and now knows everything that happened. you slap a hand over your forehead. “you couldn’t think about anything else? for, like, a minute?” you whisper yell at him. he uses his eyes to plead with you. “i’m sorry! i was looking at the hickeys-“ he realizes what he’s saying. “crap.”

shooting you a wink, wanda shuts the fridge and goes to join the rest of the team in the living room. lucky for you and peter, steve started lecturing tony about washing his fruit before he eats it. he didn’t hear any of that. there’s still the problem of your visible hickeys that you have zero seconds to hide.

“how the fuck am i supposed to cover these? they’re right in the center, peter!” you panic, your heart starting to race as peter fumbles for a dish towel. that’s the best he could come up with? “no!” you toss it back at him. he throws it on the counter with a pained look. tony and steve make their way over to you.

“oh, hush. a couple of deadly pesticides won’t shake me, stevey boy,” tony insists and takes another big bite of his apple. steve huffs in disapproval and crosses his arms. “you’re a big baby, tony. if you’re not gonna do the right thing, at least buy organic-“ with the world’s longest sigh, tony chucks his apple into the open garbage can.

“there. no more apple discourse.” steve shakes his head at your dad’s behavior. “that was a waste. you could’ve finished it.” “not with your nagging into my literal ear.” steve raises his hands in surrender before making his way out of the kitchen. tony side steps past him and over to you. “enough of that now. let’s have a welcome home hug from my girl.”

you share a look with peter, a look of pure fear that’s in both of your eyes. he’ll definitely notice the hickeys if he gets that close to you. he holds out his arms expectantly while peter scratches the back of his own neck. “sure, dad. welcome home.” an awkward smile on your lips, you bury your face in your dad’s chest and wrap your arms around him in one motion. this way, he didn’t have time to see you from too close up.

peter exhales in relief at the narrowly avoided disaster. that’s until tony makes a request. “missed me that much, kiddo, huh? come out of there.” “but, i’m so comfortable. i wanna stay like this,” you insist, a niceness to your voice tony immediately sees through. he drops his arms from around you, eyeing peter suspiciously, who averts his gaze to the floor.

“nuh uh, you did something. both of you,” your dad states, taking a step to stand between you and peter. peter gulps down a breath before speaking. “mr. stark, it was-“ tony holds up a hand. “don’t worry, kid. i’ll figure it out.”

he gives peter a proper stare, searching him for clues of some sort. it’s a good thing he isn’t wanda because the details of your night would have been exposed. he couldn’t find anything, so now it’s your turn. he’s a little disappointed you’re the one hiding something.

“oh, y/n. not you,” tony sighs as he gives you a looking over. he starts with your face, your eyes following down as his do. it’s when he gets just past your chin that he sees them. the little hickeys littering your skin, some already deep shades of purple. he rips off his glasses in disbelief.

“absolutely not.” he closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose with the same hand his glasses are in. “i’m not seeing this. i’m not seeing this if i don’t look.” you scoff at his reaction. “dad, you know we’re together. you can’t expect us to not...” “don’t say it,” tony begs, getting the urge to hurl his half eaten apple. he turns and faces peter.

“parker, you really did all of that?” peter only blinks, nervously meeting the eyes of his mentor. “to my daughter?” tony adds on to scare him even more. “i- i-“ a burst of frustration comes out of peter. “you left two teenagers alone the whole night. what’d you think was gonna happen?” he’s shocked at his own words, his face showing it. tony raises his eyebrows. both your hands cover your mouth.

not wanting to deal with peter, tony addresses you instead. “i don’t care how you do it, cover those up. don’t let me see them ever again. understood?” you nod a good amount of times and reach for peter’s hand. he’s about to give it, then tony glares down at what’s happening. peter pulls back immediatelty. “understood. we’ll, um, do better next time,” you agree, tony winching at the idea of a next time.

“you, parker... treat a lady with a little more respect, eh?” tony clicks his tongue at him. he’s referring to all the hickeys. peter’s lips form a line, a sarcastic one that says oh well. “i tried, mr. stark, but y/n wanted me to-“ “christ, that’s enough.” tony furiously shakes his head and starts to walk away from you two. “never again!”

you’re thanking god when he sets off for the living room, you hiding your face in peter’s chest, his face in your hair. “that was terrible. that was the worst thing ever,” you say into him. “i’m sorry, baby. we gotta be more careful.”

it’s not over yet because then, the toaster dings. you’d completely forgotten about the waffles. you and peter both separate with your millionth shared look of terror. tony comes rushing back into the room, very familiar with that noise.

“first you destroy my daughter, now my toaster? pete... you’re in for it, kid.”

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x you #tom holland x y/n #peter parker #marvel #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #peter parker x stark!reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker x you #peter parker x reader #tony stark

[heyiwrotesomethings]

Hi Maddy! I hope your days going well. I know your doing the Shinomitsu week currently (And I'm highkey excited about it..ngl...) But I wanted to get this request in before I forget. Could you write something for the 'Singing in the car' prompt by Mix? It just seems domestic and I honestly like your more domestic peices more than the others :)

Road Trip

Shinobu Kochou x She/ Her Reader

A/N: I enjoy the domesticity as well! Writing this made me wish it was summer already 😩 Anyway, @mxxstiq prompt here! Word Count: 577

“Aux, aux, aux—!“ (Y/n) chanted as soon as they were settled in the the packed car. Shinobu hadn’t even turned the car on yet.

“Yeah, yeah, keep your pants on. You know where it is.” Shinobu spoke with mild exasperation as she buckled herself in.

They were supposed to have started their road trip half an hour ago and now they were behind schedule all because (Y/n) couldn’t remember if she packed her charger and then they had to go through every bag until they found it sitting on the kitchen counter.

(Y/n) plugged her phone in and scrolled to the playlist that she had spent a month making just for this road trip. They were going to spend the whole summer visiting as many of Japan’s national parks as they could. The anticipation for this trip was the only thing that had kept them sane through winter and when spring rolled around it was all they could talk about.

“Aw yeah. Now we’re cooking!” (Y/n) grinned, buzzing with excitement. She tapped her pen over the cover of her puzzle book, matching the pace the music set.

“You are lucky you’re cute.” Shinobu scoffed, smiling all the same as she pulled the car out onto the street and began their journey. “First stop is in three hours.”

“Three?!” (Y/n) gasped.

“Yes, three. We’re already behind schedule.”

“But what if I need to go to the bathroom before then?”

“Hold it.”

(Y/n) slid dramatically in her seat and Shinobu gave her a sideways glance, an evil little smirk on her face as she focused her full attention on the road again.

For the next two hours and forty-five minutes, (Y/n) revolved between sleeping, playing the alphabet game with Shinobu, looking out the window, and filling out her puzzle book.

“Ugh, flower power puzzles suck. My eyes hurt.” (Y/n) groaned, closing the puzzle book.

“Save it for me. I like those.” Shinobu said, checking the gps before taking a turn.

“You would, sadist.”

“Wouldn’t that make me a masochist in this case?”

“No, because you like taking away the satisfaction I would get from doing it myself.”

“Fair point.” Shinobu shrugged.

(Y/n) turned her attention to the scenery outside instead. Without realizing it, she began humming along, nodding her head and tapping her pen against the dashboard as they watched the scenery go by. Then the humming turned into softly singing along.

Shinobu tilted her head, looking in (Y/n)’s direction for a moment, smiling warmly as her girlfriend sang. Then she trained her eyes back on the road, her fingers lightly tapping against the steering wheel along with the beat. She turned the car and rolled into their destination, the sudden bumpiness of the road disturbed (Y/n) from her zone out and she stopped singing.

“Are we here?” She asked, looking over at Shinobu excitedly.

“Mhmm.” Shinobu hummed, pulling into a parking spot.

“What are we waiting for! Let’s get out and stretch, my legs are killing me.” (Y/n) unbuckled her seatbelt and tumbled out of the car.

Shinobu leaned over the top of the car and watched (Y/n) stretch with amusement before coming around and wrapping her in her arms, kissing her all up.

“Shinobu!” (Y/n) giggled, pushing her away.

“You have a very pretty voice.” Shinobu said, showering (Y/n) in more kisses.

Eventually (Y/n) managed to escape and they chased each other around the rest stop until they were breathless and dying for lunch.

#demon slayer oneshots #kny oneshots #demon slayer x reader #kny x reader #shinobu kocho x reader #shinobu kochou x reader #shinobu kocho #shinobu kochou #anonymous #requests

[helloalycia]

my patient’s neighbour [three] // wanda maximoff

summary: your relationship with Wanda gets a little bumpy when her work life crosses over with your personal life.

warning/s: implied kidnapping, mentions of anxiety

author's note: so the ‘i love you’ confession was actually inspired by an incorrect quote on @aquamarinescarlet’s page! i thought it would be cute aha

part one | part two | part four | part five | part six | part seven | masterlist | wattpad

It was two months into our relationship when I knew I'd fallen in love with Wanda. I can't remember the exact moment when it hit me – I guess it had happened gradually over time – but I remember the embarrassing moment when I told her.

She'd brought me as her date to an Avengers party thrown by Tony Stark. I'd been to one of them before, about a month into dating her, as she'd wanted me to meet her friends from work AKA the freakin' Avengers. They were actually really great and (somewhat) humble people. I didn't expect to become 'friends' with any of them, more just be friendly whenever I saw them through Wanda. To my surprise, I became quite good friends with Natasha Romanoff.

We had the same dark sense of humour, both had an unexplainable obsession with horror films and she was genuinely just really easy to talk to. I wasn't expecting it, but it was nice to gain a new friend in addition to a new girlfriend.

So, I was at my second Avengers party with Wanda by my side, but the party had ended about half an hour ago and I may or may not have been drunk.

We were sat on the couch, conversing with the other Avengers, and I was sat between Wanda and Natasha. The others were involved in their own conversations and I was too dazed to realise what I was doing until it happened.

"Wanda has no idea I'm in love with her," I said (not-so) quietly, leaning over to my left, into Wanda's ear unknowingly.

Wanda, who was playing with my fingers in her hand, paused and glanced to me with bright eyes, a surprised expression on her face.

"You're in love with me?" she asked, lips twitching into a smile.

I blinked, her words settling in, before I licked my lips. "Oh, sorry." Turning to my right, I moved to Natasha's ear, whispering loudly, "Wanda has no idea I'm in love with her."

Natasha glanced to me with a quirked brow, amused smile on her lips. "She doesn't? You sure about that?"

"You're in love with me?" Wanda repeated, sitting forward and earning my attention.

I gasped, wondering how she knew, before slapping Natasha's arm and looking to her with a frown. "You told her?! I trusted you!"

Natasha ignored me, instead looking to Wanda with an encouraging look. "I'll leave this one to you. Good luck."

She stood up, heading over to Thor and Bruce Banner on the other couch, and I booed her as she left.

"Yeah, run away, you secret-give-away'er!" I called after her with a pout, before crossing my arms.

"I think it's time I take you home," Wanda said decidedly, trying not to laugh as she pulled me up off the couch.

"I don't like Natasha anymore," I mumbled, allowing Wanda to take me away.

She bid her goodbyes to her teammates before leading me to the lift. I don't really remember what else happened until we were suddenly at my house – well, my parents house, but they had given it to me as they travelled the world with their retirement money. She was leading me inside and to my bedroom, getting me dressed like the sweet girlfriend she was, before tucking me into bed.

Of course, being the clingy drunk I was, I pulled her on top of me and didn't let go as I wrapped my arms around her.

"Stay," I mumbled into her shoulder, closing my eyes.

She chuckled, trying to pull away. "Y/N, you need to sleep, c'mon."

"I will," I whined, not letting her leave. "If you stay with me."

She paused, before giving in with a sigh. "Fine."

Tiredly, I smiled. "Yesssss." I patted the spot next to me. "Right here, please."

In the light of my bedside lamp, I saw her roll her eyes playfully, before turning off the lamp and jumping under the covers with me. I sighed with relief, cuddling into her side without hesitating.

"I love you," I mumbled, barely thinking about it.

She tightened her embrace and I felt her kiss the top of my head. "You're probably gonna forget you said that in the morning. But I'll remind you. And if you still think it, then I'll reply."

Her words went into one ear and out the other. I hummed in response, not knowing what I was answering to, and let myself get lost in her scent as I drifted into a peaceful slumber.

When I woke up the next morning, I quite liked the idea of sharing bed with Wanda and waking up to her dishevelled hair and our intertwined legs, even though I didn't remember inviting her to stay. Of course, I also had a banging headache and felt like someone had hit me with a train, so I didn't get chance to appreciate it much.

"Fuck," I mumbled, pulling the duvet over my head to block out the sun streaming through the slit in my curtain.

Wanda, who was shuffling beside me, yawned and stretched her arms. Suddenly, I heard quiet laughter, before she spooned me, wrapping her arms around my stomach and pulling me closer. Her leg raised and clung to my waist, and as much as I appreciated the way she fit perfectly against me, I was still in pain.

"Why did you let me drink that much?" I groaned, squeezing my eyes shut.

"I believe that was your own conscience decision, dorogoy (darling)," she said in that know-it-all voice of hers, and it was hard for me to be annoyed at her because she had a raspy, morning voice and her accent was especially thick with fatigue and damn, Wanda Maximoff was pretty sexy in the morning.

"Whatever," was all I said, but I placed my hand on hers and joint our fingers together.

"You know," she started, tucking her head comfortably into my neck, "I quite like waking up to you like this. You're very cute, even if you're cranky."

Despite aforementioned crankiness, I cracked a smile. "I like this, too."

It was very domestic, something I didn't get the privilege of experiencing with Wanda because she worked a lot, and it felt good.

After hanging around in bed for a little while longer, I got up and showered whilst Wanda offered to make me some breakfast – "Pancakes are a hangover's cure! Or at least according to Tony". After getting ready, I came downstairs to find a stack of pancakes and maple syrup waiting for me.

"You are a Godsend," I told her, pressing a haste kiss to her lips before sitting at the table with the pancakes. "Thank you."

She chuckled, grabbing her own pancakes and sitting opposite me. "Anything for you."

After I dug in, complimenting her on how delicious they tasted, a comfortable silence fell between us. Well, until Wanda spoke up cautiously.

"So, does anything from last night ring a bell?" she asked, making me look up to see her staring eagerly.

My content expression fell. "Shoot, did I do something embarrassing?" I facepalmed. "God, what was it? Did I fall asleep on somebody?"

She smiled with adoration, eyes twinkling in the morning sun. "No, nothing like that."

I could tell there was something though, judging from her hesitant expression. I scrunched my face with regret.

"What did I do?" I asked, unprepared to hear it. "Did I say something to you?"

She played with her fork, twisting it around in her plate nervously, which was very unlike her. "Yeah, actually, you did."

I waited, feeling like the silence was deafening the longer she stayed quiet.

"You said you were in love with me," she said, voice so soft and quiet that I barely heard it.

I felt my heart drop to my stomach. "I what?"

"I mean, technically you said I had no idea you were in love with me, but I think you were supposed to tell Nat that," she continued, eyes avoiding mine. "Then you told Nat and you got mad at her because you thought she told me."

I facepalmed for the second time that morning. "Oh, God..."

"Then you invited me to stay the night and told me you loved me before you fell asleep," she finished rambling. "I just, er, wanted to check if you meant that..."

I raised my eyebrows with disbelief. "Are you kidding?" I reached over the table to grab her hand. "Wanda, of course I meant that! But I hoped to tell you at a better time than by accident whilst I was drunk."

Blue eyes flickered to mine, excitement creeping onto her face. "You meant it."

I breathed out, realising what exactly I'd just said. "I– yeah. I meant it. I'm in love with you, Wanda."

Her smile widened. "I'm in love with you, too."

My heart fluttered in my chest as I relaxed my shoulders. "You love me."

She giggled, squeezing my hand. "We just did this."

"Right! We did," I said, shaking my head, grin forming on my lips. "Sorry. I'm just so happy right now."

"Me, too," she said in agreement, thumb stroking the top of my hand.

I didn't think things could go wrong from here. I was on top of the world! But of course, the world had a funny way of ruining things.

—

Dating a superhero had its pros and cons, I suppose, but neither really showed themselves to me often as it was as if Wanda's superhero life was separate to the one we shared. When she and I were together, it was just us. And she would leave for work and I wouldn't think about it. Then she would return and it would be us again.

If I took a moment out of my day to stop and really think about where she was, what she could be doing, the danger she could be in... I just couldn't do it. Even when she would show up to our next date with a fresh bruise from training, or a broken bone from a mission gone too far, I'd worry about it for the time being then try to let it go. Those weren't superhero perks, those were reasons to be concerned. And I couldn't handle imagining the time when she'd come back to me in a worse state, or to not even come back at all.

So, her superhero life rarely overlapped with our shared one. And I was happier that way. Until it did.

I was running errands one day, little things that required me to run around the city – dry cleaning, grocery shopping, picking up some DIY stuff for my house. It was a pretty relaxing, fun day. I'd treated myself to lunch, was soaking in the sunshine and planning to unwind with some Netflix on the couch.

"Hold on, I need to unlock the front door," I mumbled into the phone. I was talking to Wanda, catching her up with my day as I returned home.

"Try not to drop your phone this time," she teased from the other end, and I could just imagine the smirk on her face.

"So funny," I said with an eye roll. "Real comedian."

She laughed as I placed my phone in my pocket, not quite hanging up. Pulling my keys from my shopping bag, I fiddled with them, attempting to find the key for my front door.

Suddenly, something metal and cold pressed to my back and I jumped, dropping my keys with surprise.

"Don't draw attention," the person said, and I went rigid, looking up to see a reflection of someone unrecognisable in the glass of my front door. "You're going to leave your things here and come with me."

"Who are you?" I asked, trying to turn around, but the object pressed harder into my back, making me wince.

"Leave your fucking things here and give me your hand," the man ordered, ignoring my question. "Phone included. And don't even think about making a call."

I swallowed hard, panic settling in as I listened to the threatening stranger. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I realised that the stranger had no idea I was already on a call. With an Avenger nonetheless.

"I'll put it down," I narrated my actions, soon coming to realise that the object behind my back was in fact the barrel of a gun.

Hoping Wanda was still listening in and could hear the exchange, I put my phone on the ground and placed my shaking hand in the man's outstretched one. He tucked his gun back into the waistband of his jeans before tugging me down the steps and to a black van parked opposite my house.

Too paralysed with fear at the sight of two more strange men getting out the van, I felt my throat go dry and words get stuck at the bottom. Looking around, I hoped to find a neighbour's eyes or dog-walker's lost gaze, but nobody was here. Whoever these men were had timed their entrance perfectly.

When we reached the van, the back doors were opened and the man spun me around roughly before placing a bag on my head and shoving me inside. Hot tears ran down my face as I squeezed my eyes shut, wondering what the hell was happening and who these people were. But mostly, I hoped Wanda was already on her way.

—

The whole incident was over soon. That's what we were calling it now. The 'incident'. Of course, it could have been called other things... the kidnapping, the abduction, the capture. But we settled with the 'incident'. It was less explicit, as if minimising how utterly terrifying the whole experience was.

I never did find out who those men were. Wanda offered to tell me, feeling a need to explain herself and blame herself and drag herself down in the dirt to make me feel better, to bring me out of my silence and give me something to feel good about. I recalled her mentioning they were after her, getting to her through me – her girlfriend.

She rescued me quite quickly. Being tied up and locked away and left to cry like a child, wondering if I was going to die any minute at the hands of captors whom I had never met nor done anything to in my life, wasn't fun. People always wonder what they would do in those situations; maybe they would square up and put up a fight; maybe they would scream and shout and get everyone's attention; maybe they'd even retort with sarky remarks and go out with a blaze of glory.

I never imagined what that would be like, but I discovered I could do neither of those things. I just let them take me, let them threaten me and point their guns at me and tie me up and lock me away and–

I let myself cry and feel terrified and shake and lose my words and imagine the worst. Some would call that giving in, but this wasn't something you could prepare for. Surely my response was justified? I wasn't sure. I just knew that when Wanda burst onto the scene, taking out the men with ease and taking me out of there, taking me home, I was momentarily safe.

But then as she began to ramble off her explanations and apologies and regrets, I found myself turning in on myself, unable to hear her out. I didn't blame her one bit, but I also couldn't listen to one more second. So, I tuned her out.

I sat on the couch, staring at the way the thread was coming loose on one of my cushions. I thought about how quickly the whole 'incident' had happened. How one minute I was sat in a cell and now I was sat on my couch. How I was then shaking with fear and now I felt nothing.

"...you listening? Hey, are you okay?"

I only tuned back in when she sat on the cushion I was looking at. Her fingers rested on my cheek, guiding my head upwards so I was looking her in the eyes, glassy and red and swollen from crying. I probably looked the same, though I was all out of tears.

"I promise you nobody will be back here," she said with certainty, thumb stroking my cheek. "There's S.H.I.E.L.D. agents posted all along the street. And I'm happy to stay here if you need me to. You're safe now."

I knew I was. And despite my calm exterior, my heart was still racing in my chest, adrenaline still pumping through my body as if expecting to make a sudden break for it.

"What are you thinking?" she muttered, eyes flicking between mine curiously. "Talk to me. Please."

I shook my head, looking away. "I'm okay."

"It's okay not to be," she said quietly, squeezing my hand.

"I know."

So, we kept that bit up for a few more days, maybe a week. Me pretending I was okay, though still distant from Wanda as if she'd caught the plague, and her pretending she knew I was telling the truth.

But I knew she sensed the nightmares I had, waking me up in cold sweats. I knew she saw the way I tensed when a shadow cast along the wall from a moving object. Or the way I never faced the front door when unlocking it to get inside.

I guess she couldn't take it anymore at some point, possibly a week or two later, as when I was mixing my soup in a bowl after heating it up in the microwave, she sighed loudly.

"You okay?" I asked, glancing up at her. She was stood by the counter, seeming tired.

She'd been staying with me since the incident happened, obviously, and it was nice having her around so much, despite the circumstances. But I knew she was worried and had been keeping it in. I just didn't have the energy to acknowledge it.

"I'm fine," she said quickly, though her fingers still drummed on the countertop.

I let it go, shrugging, before paying attention to my soup. Her impatience was obnoxiously loud, filling the house with a discomfort she was dying to express. Eventually, she did.

"I'm not fine," she decided, and I stopped stirring my soup as I looked to her tugging on her sleeves distractedly. "I'm not fine because you're not fine."

"I've told you I am," I said monotonously, eyes boring into hers.

"I know you're not," she said, crossing her arms and hugging herself. "I've noticed you and..."

I quirked a brow. "And?"

She frowned, eyes softening with empathy. "Don't make me say it, Y/N."

I pressed my tongue to the back of my teeth as I looked down to my steaming soup.

"Talk to me," she pleaded, rounding the counter and leaning beside me, searching for my eyes. "I just want to help."

I swallowed hard. "I have nothing to say, Wanda."

"A really scary thing happened," she began hesitantly. "The fact that you don't have anything to say– that you've not said anything, isn't right."

"Well, I guess there's something wrong with me," I said dismissively, before grabbing the pepper grinder before me and using it.

"No, there's not," she reassured, not giving up. "You just need to talk.”

I set the grinder down, turning to face her abruptly. She straightened up with surprise, taking a small step back.

"What do you want me to say?" I asked, voice calm but full of unintentional malice. "Huh? What do you want me to tell you? That I'm terrified somebody is watching my house, waiting for a quiet moment to break in? That I have to follow you into every room you go in because I don't want to be left alone? That I can't fucking sleep because I'm scared that when I close my eyes, I'll be locked in a nightmare I can't escape? Is that what you want me to tell you? Does that make you feel better, Wanda? Because it doesn't make me feel any better. It just reminds me how fucking terrified I am."

I pocketed my shaking hands, blinked away the tears that threatened to fall, swallowed down the lump rising in my throat. She watched me, unsure what to say at first and I didn't blame her. It was an outburst waiting to happen.

"I'm–"

"Don't say you're sorry," I snapped, before flinching at my tone. "I know you're sorry. And I don't blame you for what happened. I just– I don't know what to do anymore."

Her eyes were studying me like green lasers burning holes into my skin and I hated that I couldn't meet them. I hated even more that I couldn't leave the kitchen out of anger or frustration because I was too scared to be left alone without her by my side.

So, I leaned against the counter, turning away from her, and let out a shaky breath, eyes burning and heart thumping in my ears. Her arms suddenly wrapped around me without question, and I let her take me into her chest, squeezing me so tight so I knew she was there.

Closing my eyes, I felt tears rolling down my cheeks, but no sound came out. I struggled to breathe, unable to take in air through my nose as I stuffed my head so hard into her shirt that I couldn't see a thing except darkness. I knew I'd eventually be okay, that I'd eventually get back to some sense of normalcy. But for now, having her here with me was okay. And I found it much better to just be with her then have to go over and talk it out.

She was warm and strong and smelt like home and God, I loved her. I was lucky to have her.

—

It took about a month and a half to get over the incident. And after that, we never brought it up again. It was just easier that way. We continued on like usual, falling back into our old routine of having a separate us and her separate superhero life.

At some point, I thought it would be nice for her to meet my parents. They were back in town for the week, wanting to check in and see how I was. It was nice having them around and I was excited for them to meet Wanda, who I'd mentioned in some of our Skype calls.

"We don't have to make it a thing," I said as I proposed the idea. We were cleaning around Anna's apartment as she napped in her bedroom. "It's not like an 'oh, meet the parents' thing. They just happen to be in town and we're having a dinner, so I thought you might want to come. If you don't, it's not a big deal. I haven't told them to expect you. Not unless you say yes. Which you don't have to."

She chuckled, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Dorogoy (darling), calm down. Breathe."

I neatened the cushions on the couch with a bit too much force. "Am I not breathing? I'm pretty sure I'm breathing."

Her hands slipped into mine as she spun me around to face her. An amused smile on her lips, she said, "You need to relax. If you're like this now, then who knows what you'll be like on the night of the dinner?"

It took me a second to realise what she'd said and when I did, my eyes widened. "Wait, the night of the– does that mean you're going?"

She laughed, tugging me closer to her. "Yes, I'm going. I'd love to meet your parents!"

My shoulders relaxed as her fingers played with mine mindlessly. A smile appeared on my lips as I said, "Thank you. I– it'll be fun. No pressure. Just a dinner."

"Just a dinner," she confirmed, before kissing my forehead gently. "Can't wait."

And so on the day before my parents left for Scotland, yet another trip on their never ending retirement travels, I waited for Wanda to pick me up so we could go to a restaurant to meet my parents, who were already there after spending the day shopping in town.

She arrived at the door with a beautiful smile and bright eyes, looking me up and down.

"Just on time," I teased, tilting my head to the side, before being serious. "You look amazing tonight, Wanda."

"As do you, moya lyubov' (my love)," she said sweetly, leaning forward to kiss my cheek, before stepping inside. "Also, these are for you."

She removed her hand from behind her back as I closed the door, revealing a gorgeous, colourful bouquet of flowers.

"I saw them and thought of you," she began to explain without even realising how cute she was; a smile crept on my lips as she continued, "but then I realised I've never gotten you flowers before which is very dumb of me because a pretty girl deserves pretty flowers, right?"

There was no doubt that my face was heating up from the attention, flustered yet honoured at her words.

"Wanda, I love them," I said, accepting the flowers and meeting her gaze. "And to be fair, nobody has ever gotten me flowers before."

"You're kidding," she said with disbelief, stepping forward and wrapping her arms loosely around my waist. Reading my serious expression, she added, "Not even for your birthday? Or a celebration?"

I shook my head. "Nope."

She gave me a knowing look. "Well, that's very unfortunate. But I'm glad I could be the first."

I held her gaze, amusement dancing in her smile. Mirroring her expression, I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her nose, making her scrunch it up delightfully.

"Me, too," I said, and I meant it.

"Come on, we should get going," she said, squeezing my waist before letting go. "Don't want to be late, do we?"

"We do not," I agreed, before putting the flowers in a vase of water and leaving them by the door.

"You ready?" she asked, holding open the front door.

I intertwined our hands and met her smile with my own. "I'm ready."

Taking the girlfriend to meet the parents. What could go wrong?

#wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #scarlet witch #elizabeth olsen imagine #elizabeth olsen #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #marvel #mcu

[imjusttpeachy]

bumpy roads & broken promises. (c.h.)

EDIT: Lmaoooo I did not expect this to actually get notes, thanks guys! I already made it onto someone’s fic recs-- I feel special. Actually might end up writing more if this gets more attention. :^)

I wrote this as a vent/comfort fic for myself but figured others might like it. Corpse has been my new safety youtuber ever since the old nosleep reader--deep voice/no face gamer went to shit so... yeah. 

Heavily inspired by @mmonamona ‘s fic “Petty Fights and Lonely Nights” just more angst. 

playlist

feng suave - sink into the floor

current joys - a different age

feng suave - venus flytrap

rei ami - do it right

summary: Corpse gets frustrated with work and snaps at the reader when she tries to ask what’s wrong, triggering a bad memory from a past relationship. 

word count: 2, 932

WARNINGS: she/her pronouns used, coarse language, shouting, panic attacks, reference to past relationship trauma (no retelling, nothing detailed)

(angst, hurt/comfort, crying! lots of it)

>>>

“God would you just fuck off already?!”

Frozen. Your body tensed up as the deep growl echoed through the cramped dark room.

You had been staying at your boyfriend’s apartment for about a week while you were on break from college. Flying out from the UK to California so you could spend as much time as you could with him before ultimately having to return to 5am facetimes while drowning in papers and essays.

Even before you’d booked the tickets, Corpse was already apologizing for everything under the sun. The size of his apartment and its cleanliness, the fact that he couldn’t do much more than order take out for you, his irregular sleeping patterns.. the list could go on and on. And while you assured him every time that you didn’t care, that you were coming to see him— not his apartment, not home cooked meals, and definitely not to scrutinize him for things he couldn’t control due to his mental health. But he wouldn’t buy it.

Not one bit.

He’d offer you a weary half-smile, pulling you into his chest or ruffling your hair before placing a soft kiss on your temple and changing the subject. You didn’t press any further knowing how often he was at war with his own mind and couldn’t help but think the worse of every situation.

As the days carried on, you’d spent most of your time tangled up in each other. Whether it be a movie, or playing some co-op games, or even just laying in his bed with him, you could barely stand to spend any time apart. But, of course, you were adults with responsibilities that would tear you from one another eventually. While you did miss his presence every second he wasn’t around, you couldn’t help but try to make his life even better for when he got back and for when you’d eventually have to leave him once again. Now, a week into your stay, his apartment was a good amount tidier than how it’d been when you arrived. The cupboards and fridge were stocked with groceries that would hopefully last for some time after you left, on top of the home made meals you’d make together or for him everyday. New picture frames were hung up on the wall of the two of you that you’d gifted to him when you arrived; it actually started to feel like home. Well, as much as it could without those familiar strong arms wrapped around you every second of the day.

Unfortunately, this evening was one of those times. Corpse had already been locked up in his office for a few hours now, the sounds of button mashing and frustrated exclamations making its way through the thin walls every so often bringing an amused smile to your face. He’d woken up a bit anxious already knowing he’d have to both leave you alone and put up a brave front for the stream that was planned that evening. You didn’t push him or try to talk about it, knowing that it would just make it worse; so you two had spent the day as it normally would (though he always looked and felt on edge) until he was forced to retreat back into that dreaded workspace.

You occupied yourself on your phone and laptop for a while, checking up on friends, reviewing anything you’d need for the upcoming semester, just scrolling through your socials— y’know, the works. But by the time you’d gotten bored with your scrolling, you’d notice it was a perfect time to start dinner that you’d hopefully be able to eat together with Corpse. You’d gotten to work right away, doing your best to be as quiet as you could to not disturb his work as the different aromas began to spread through the small kitchen in his apartment. Finishing up the dishes after the meal was all cooked, you dished up two servings and set them on the coffee table in front of the couch before you went to retrieve your other half.

Turning the knob of his office door slowly, you peered into the dark room; only the silhouette of the floppy mop of hair you adored so much was able to be seen in the dim light of his computer monitors. Taking a hard look at his right-most monitor you notice an editing software pulled up instead of the usual live chat he had on while streaming, so without any worry of interrupting you opened the door and stepped into the room. It was a cozy room for sure, and it always seemed to smell just like him— which of course is a given but with how much time he spent in this room, it was even more so present. Walking up slowly to his right side so you wouldn’t startle him with just your voice you watched his gaze flick to your form before steadying itself back in the monitor. Furrowing your brows at his strange behaviour but not letting it get to you, you opened your mouth to speak.

“I made dinner!” You smiled down at him, taking a few steps back toward the door so he would be able to get out of his gaming chair without you in his space. However, the hunched form of your focused boyfriend didn’t move an inch. Your heart sunk a little at his attitude but decided to just try again.

“Corpse, baby, dinners ready.”

“I’m not hungry.” The short statement left his mouth in a low grumble, if you hadn’t spent all this time with him studying his voice and begging him to speak more to you, you probably wouldn’t have been able make it out at all. You huffed out a sigh, this was new for him, you really hadn’t seen him as anything other than the cuddly baby you’d grown to know and love. But, you thought to yourself, love would come with days like this and it was bound to happen eventually. Trying your best to not get frustrated or angry with his snappy attitude, you kept your voice light and cheery as you tried again to coax him out to eat.

“Corpse you’ve barely eaten today I-“

“I said I’m not hungry.” Startling at the angry tone you’d never heard from him before, you could feel yourself start to get choked up. Pulling your hands up to hug your arms, trying to sooth yourself, you could feel yourself starting to slowly freeze up. Goosebumps ran over your skin, a chill snaking  it’s way up your spine as you gulped, trying your best to muster up the bravery to speak again. You didn’t know what had gotten into him, he knew how the tone affected you— he was usually even the one to comfort you after an episode triggering something like this. As your mouth began to run dry, you took a deep breath deciding that he would definitely come to his senses in the next moments, you opened your mouth to speak again.

“Is everything alri-“

“I’m FINE! I’m not a FUCKING CHILD I don’t need you constantly checking up on me! God would you just fuck off already!”

You didn’t even notice the tears dripping off your cheeks until they splashed against the bare skin of your hand. Slipping into the defense mode you knew so well, your body switched onto autopilot as you began to backpedal out of the room, almost tripping a few times as you sputtered out a choked “okay, I’m sorry,” before closing his door once again and stumbling messily down the hallway to his room. Your mind was moving a thousand miles a minute yet was completely blank at the same time, and before you knew it you were tucked away inside the dark closet in his room.

This was the routine, this is where you’d be safe.

Trying to slow your erratic breathing you hugged your knees even closer to your chest, praying that in some way it would ease your shaking body. But inevitably, you felt the sobs that you’d kept trapped in your throat since you’d left break through. Your chest heaved with the breaths you took to keep your sobs as silent as possible. You thought you had trained yourself well enough for this, you’d done this a million times before— but in the back of your mind you knew that this time it was different. Shrinking into the corner of the closet, the only thing on your mind was all the broken promises he’d sworn to keep.

>>>

Corpse sighed, his body weighing him down in his chair heavily, head aching with all the work he’d been doing that evening. Pulling his attention back, he stretched his arms as his sore eyes glanced over at the clock in the corner of his screen. 11:34pm. Fuck. That much time had passed already? Raking a hand through his hair he yawned sleepily, he knew he should probably spend more time working before calling it a night but all he wanted to do was curl up in bed with you-

Shit.

Finally snapping out of the heavy trance he’d set himself in every time he sat down to edit, he thought back to the last time he had seen you— calling him for dinner where he snapped at you to leave him alone… almost 3 hours ago. The memories of the past moment flooded into his head and seconds later he was scrambling out of his chair and out into the hallway. It was dead silent, Corpse felt like his heart was practically breaking his ribs with how hard it was pounding in his chest. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Gripping at the right side of his shirt he rushed into the living room, rubbing frantically at his eyes as they darted around the room quickly looking for any sign of you.

“(Y/N), baby?” He rasped out, voice caught in his throat, walking through the living room and spotting the now cold meals she’d prepared waiting uneaten on the coffee table. His heart sunk as he hurried to the kitchen only to see the rest of the meal out on the counter, not doing anything to ease his mind. He called your name again and again; rushing back into the living room his eyes darted to the front door, a tiny bit of relief pricking his system as he saw the door was still locked and latched, as well as seeing your shoes and jacket by the door. Rushing back into the hallway he peeked into the bathroom, flicking on the light switch and with no sign of you, continued down the hallway to his room.

“(Y/N), please baby.” Flicking on the light his eyes scanned the room not catching a single sight of you-- when he heard it. Slowing his breathing down as much as he could in his panicked state he focused in his hearing on the small heaves of air coming from the closet. Stomach dropping, Corpse collapsed onto his knees, legs giving way from underneath him when he realized where you were and what was happening. Crawling his way toward the closet door he stopped right outside of it, he heard your breath hitch and knew you were holding it out of practiced instinct which made him want to vomit. But it wasn’t about him right now, so with a deep breath he finally managed to whisper out.

>>>

“Princess, I’m gonna open the door okay?”

Finally releasing the breath you had been holding, your lungs heaved for air as light flooded into the dark closet. Peeking an eye out from where it was buried in your knees, you blearily made out your boyfriend’s blurry figure kneeling outside the closet. With your body feeling like it was completely out of your control, sobs once again began to rack your huddled form as you shrunk away from him as far as you could into the corner of the closet.

“I’m gonna come in and sit with you okay, I won’t touch you unless you say I can alright?” You could hear some shuffling before hearing the door creak shut again engulfing the both of you in almost complete darkness, save for the few streams of yellow light coming from the cracks of the door. Corpse stared forward in complete silence, long legs bent uncomfortably and body hunched over in the cramped space of the closet trying to give you as much space as possible but knowing that the first step was sitting with you. The man beside you sighed softly, feeling his heart splinter with every heaving sob that raked over you; he could feel his own tears prick at his eyes and a sob starting to well up in his throat but he held them back. Mustering up the courage and will he finally opened his mouth to speak.

“(Y/N) I am so, so fucking sorry,” his voice pitched just above a whisper because he knew if his voice got any deeper that it would startle you and scare you even more than how you were already feeling right now. ‘I don’t know what I was thinking. It never should’ve hap-“

“Y- You br- broke your promise.” Your reply came in watery, stuttered breaths; the knot in Corpse’s throat came right back up, tears filling his waterline as much as he tried to keep his composure for your sake.

“I know. I know I did.” The man beside you managed to choke out thinking back to the day where he first lost his temper around you. You’d told him everything about your experience with your past relationships and how you were treated, what you used to cope and what he could do to avoid that in any way possible. He promised that day that he would never again raise his voice, or move too fast even when he was angry or frustrated, and made sure to note down anything that would possibly trigger you to completely avoid altogether. And he kept those promises… until today. Tilting his head to glance over at you, his eyes adjusting to the darkness of the closet to see you staring straight ahead, tears pouring endlessly down your damp face as your body still shook with soft cries.

“I can’t lose you (Y/N)” Corpse’s voice shook as he tried to figure out the right things to say that would keep you from walking right out that door.

“I’ll do anything. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, I don’t know what I’d do without you. I’ll be better, I swear on my life I’ll be better. Anything you need— it’s yours. I just.. I can’t lose you. Not like this.” He hated how much he sounded like he was pleading when he’s the one who fucked up. The last thing he wanted to do was manipulate you into staying with him which was exactly what your ex did when they made the same mistake time and time again; something he swore he’d never even think of doing. But here he was, and here you were glancing up at him with bloodshot eyes, hair sticking to your tear slicked face and body shaking so much you’d think it was below freezing in there.

Tearing your gaze away from his, you heaved a watery, shaky sigh trying your best to get your thoughts in order. While you had your issues, you knew he had his as well; and with as much patience and understanding he gives you with your snappy, frustrated, sad days, you needed to give back that same patience and understanding with his own. You needed to be brave here.

“Baby-“

“C-Can you just hold me? Please?” You sputtered out just above a whisper, and before you could even unwrap your arms from around yourself Corpse was pulling you into his lap; strong arms encasing you as he pushed his face into your hair. That’s when you found out he was shaking just as much as you were, chest rising and falling erratically with contained sobs as he tried to keep his brave demeanour up for you. Tucking your head under his chin he leaned back against the wall as he crushed you to his chest, the droplets hitting the top of your head giving way to the fact that he was crying too. Pulling your arms up from your side, you slowly wrapped them around his shoulder as he pushed his face against the crook of your neck, sobs finally giving way as he cried helplessly into your shoulder; further dampening the already tear-soaked cloth of the hoodie you were wearing.

“I’m sorry,” Corpse sputtered, hooking his chin over your shoulder so he could keep up with the heaving of his chest, pulling an arm up from around your waist to rest on the back of your head. As much as he wanted to run his hands all over your body and bury his fingers in your hair to feel and memorize every inch of you, he kept them still not wanting to overwhelm you more than this kind of touch already did.

“I love you, I love you so much, I love you..“ he whispered over and over into the darkness of the closet as you both began to breath slower as one. Shushing him softly, you repeated the soft words back to him before wrapping your arms tighter around his shoulders, ensuring him that you were going to be alright.

There would be bumps in the road but Corpse was worth it.

__________________________________

#corpse husband #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse imagine

[sumsebien]

by design pt.2 // Prince Friedrich

series masterlist

summary: one room and two very confused individuals.

word count: 3.6k

warnings: none

a/n: don’t ask me how. i don’t know either :) (edited: i added another scene yall)

Friedrich stood awkwardly next to the coffee table, looking out the window while you sat on the couch all the way across the room from him. A queen-sized bed splitting the space into his side and yours that none of you were willing to cross.

“The weather-“ Friedrich began, taking a quick peek outside, “-is lovely, don’t you think?”

“It really is.” You were just going to say that.

It had been 15 minutes and that was the first thing you had said to each other after the doors were closed. Both of you were longing for lunch time to arrive for an escape, any escape from this tragic situation you felt developing.

“I-“

“I-“

“Oh, you were saying?” he asked.

“No, nothing. You?”

“I was just-I think I’ll head out for a minute. Check on where the rest of the luggage is.”

It was confirmed. He absolutely despised your guts. That was not his job. A Prince never had to check on anything. If he wanted to stay, there was nothing that could stop him. Not even some stupid luggage. He must be leaving because he didn’t want to stay in your company any longer.

“Oh, of course.”

Friedrich gave you a small smile, walking towards the door with the least amount of elegance anyone had ever seen. His legs didn’t even feel like they were even his. There went all of his posture and diplomatic training.

As the Prince, he was forced to sit in numerous lessons on the art of making conversation and had to put it into practice almost immediately at dinner with his father. At Cambridge, he spent three years studying international relations, different societies and their interactions.

But somehow, the weather was the first thing he talked about. It was such a poor attempt that he was absolutely certain you found him dull. Even he thought it was dull.

And the walk? He could not explain where that came from. He was a giraffe who suffered an identity crisis and had no awareness of its legs.

There was no way in hell he was going to make you suffer through this the entire day. He thought as he asked his guards to find Heinrich. He was going to fix this.

Lunch had passed and soon came time for dinner.

You sat and watched the plate of beans, stale bread and soup go cold. It wasn’t because you were a picky eater by any means or that you held some sort of contempt for people less fortunate than yourself. It was none of that. It was the voice inside your head, feeding you paranoia every second that passed.

He would probably walk than sit on the same train as you. Remember his face? And the small talk that he kept having to make? Probably did not think you were worth any real conversation.

You stood up abruptly and then sat down again, the skirt of your dress rustling with your movement. You huffed, staring out the window with no intention of admiring the landscape. You just needed something else to think about. But there was simply nothing other than this.

Just as you were about to call your maids in to clear away the food, you heard a knock on the door. Careful this time, you stood up and told whoever on the other side to come in.

It was Friedrich. You scanned his expression with caution, hesitantly. He wore a gleeful grin on his face, his eyes gleaming. The happiest you had seen him. But it was fleeting, quickly wiped off when he saw your face. Were you that terrible?

He took a glance at the neglected tray and then back up at you. “Was the food not good?”

“Oh, I just wasn’t hungry.”

“Your lady’s maids are just outside. Would you like anything? Fruits?”

You shook your head. Through the gap he left, you could see Lea and Ilse’s figures. You walked past him to the doors, calling them in.

Once they saw your face, they immediately rushed into the room, curtsied to the both of you and took the tray away. You just stood next to the door and gazed aimlessly at the floors. Friedrich who was impressed turned to you with a remark that completely missed you.

“Yes?” you asked again.

“Nevermind that,” he smiled, “I have found a solution!”

“What?”

“A solution to our problem,” he gestured between the two of you. A glimmer of hope flashed in front of your eyes, so close that if you had reached out your hand you would have caught it. Your heartbeat hastened, your fingers clenching around themselves.

“I have rented out a compartment for myself. It should work perfectly well! You can have this room!”

Whatever else he said blew away. You heard none of it.

You could still see perfectly clearly though. A smile plastered on his face, his lips moving so fast you could not make out what he was saying even if you tried. He seemed so cheerful, so satisfied with himself that he had dealt with this, with you.

You blinked at him, your arms going limp at your side. Were you so despisable? That he had to leave the entire day just to figure out how to get away from you?

But where is the surprise? Even your own parents struggled to love you. All your life you had to live everyday knowing you were undeserving. Undeserving of your father’s pride from the moment you came into the world a girl. Undeserving of your mother’s affection for not being foolish enough. And undeserving of your betrothal’s tolerance. Not likable enough. Not pretty enough. Not Daphne or even Cressida.

“Y/N?”

His voice brought you back. You quickly ducked your head, rubbing away the tears that were gathering at the rim of your eyes. “Yes. Thank you.”

He paused, tilting his head to try and match your faze. “Is something wrong? Did I offend you?”

You waved him off, turning the corners of your lips upward in a show of pretend. “Not at all.”

“You’re crying.”

You sniffed. “Allergies. I apologize.”

You opened the door, “I believe your compartment awaits you. I will be completely fine, I promise.”

He walked over to the door, prompting you to take a step back and clicked it shut before you. “No,” he said, “there is something wrong. It’s my fault, isn’t it? You can tell me. I won’t be offended.”

You walked away from him, your back to him. “There is nothing wrong. There is nothing else I can say.”

“Y/N. I know you don’t trust me. But we are to be husband and wife-“

You spun around, all of your control gone. “Then why won’t you treat me so?”

Friedrich stared at you, unblinking.

“I know I am not who you expected. I am not who anyone expected,” you laughed bitterly, flicking your eyes up towards the ceiling to blink back the tears. “That much I know very well.”

“Y/N-“

You stopped him with the shake of your head. “But you must know that it is not my choice either. You don’t want to be in the same room as me yet you won’t let me leave.” Your fingers had been gripping on the fabric of your skirt. So tightly that it hurt when you yanked them away, throwing them in the air. “What must I do then? Disappear?”

“Y/N. Why do you think I did that?”

You sighed in exasperation. “You despise me!”

When your lungs were gasping for breath was when you knew you were done. Your breaths became deeper, easing the burning in your lungs but not the burning you felt in your heart. You took your time to watch him, really observe. His lips were pressed into a line as he watched you with pained eyes. Your words had slashed him but you did not know that. You did not think he would care.

Finally, he spoke, his voice barely louder than a summer breeze and calmer than a pond on a windless day. “I don’t despise you.”

“Y-you don’t...?”

He shook his head. “I got us separate rooms and I am giving you your space and your freedom because you clearly did not have in England.”

“I-“

“I didn’t have any freedom growing up either. People have a lot of input in my life. I know what it feels like to be an outsider in my own body, to want to run away and be myself. I may not have had it as bad as you but I still understand. And I am trying to give you your freedom.”

You stumbled onto the chair behind you and sat down. Friedrich sat across from you. The rounded coffee table was the only thing between you. He leaned against the arm, looking at you like he always did. But only now that you realized what exactly it was that he held in his gaze.

Sympathy.

“I am sorry if I made you feel like I despised you. Because that is not what I am trying to do.”

“No. I am sorry. I shouldn’t have lost control of myself like that. I obviously don’t know you enough to assume.”

An idea flashed in his eyes, he sat up, that excitement filling his blue eyes again. “How about we change that? I want to get to know you. And I will tell you whatever you want to know about me. Does that sound fair?”

“Fair.”

...

You were both painfully aware that there was only one bed. The both of you eyed it, wondering what you were supposed to do. It wasn’t as if any of you had any intention of doing anything other than talk. Right?

Well, you’d be lying if you said your mind wasn’t going somewhere else.

You didn’t know about him but you had been preparing yourself mentally for your wedding night ever since your mother gave you the talk. You just never thought that the first time you would share a bed with a man, your husband for that matter was to talk.

It was not that you were disappointed. You just did not know what to do. Somehow, this was more awkward than the ballet performance your father made you perform for his siblings and their children at Christmas. If there was ever a competition amongst the most humiliating instances in your life, that one would win, well, would have won.

“I will sit in the chair, you take the bed,” Friedrich decided.

It didn’t take a genius to see that the little wooden armchair was not going to be comfortable for him. Hell, you yourself had difficulty relaxing against the bumpy wooden backrest. He was essentially twice its height and had much more muscles than you. He simply would not fit.

“No, if anything, I’ll sit. It’ll be more comfortable for me.”

He quickly shut that idea down with the shake of the head. “No, I simply cannot allow that.”

“Why not?”

“Well for a start, I started this mess. You shouldn’t have to suffer the consequences-“

“I started it too!”

“You weren’t the one who placed a bet with my father, were you?”

“Bet?” What bet? He never told you about any bet?

Friedrich could see panic slowly rising in your eyes. He hadn’t meant to say it like that. It sounded as though this was all a game to him. You were probably thinking it was at that very moment.

“I,” he began, searching for the right words for a moment before he continued, “my father always wanted me to marry someone of his choice. It wasn’t ideal for me, I had had my freedom. I wasn’t going to give it all up. So I made a deal with him. If I ended up married at the end of the season, he would not be able to intervene.”

“But you weren’t married.”

He nodded.

Quietly gazing at the ground, you said nothing else and just sat down on the edge of the bed. Friedrich couldn’t see your eyes but he began to worry he had offended you.

Of course, he did. What was he thinking? He basically said marrying you was akin to being in a cell. He might as well have said that. What was the difference really?

Then, out of the blue, you apologized. An apology which felt wholly unnecessary. It sent him into a daze. “W-whatever are you apologizing for?” It was you who deserved an apology.

“I’m sorry,” you repeated, looking up, “about Daphne and about your father. I’m not sure I could have pulled myself together as well as you did at our wedding if I were you.”

Wordlessly, he sat down next to you, the both of you staring straight ahead. He didn’t think he handled it well at all. He just showed up. But then he decided against saying anything lest he ruined the conversation again.

After a little while, you turned to him with a question. “You loved her, did you?”

If you had asked him that question a couple of days ago, before he met you, he would have said yes immediately. He was very certain that he loved Daphne Bridgerton. But now that you were in the mix, he had other feelings to compare whatever he felt with Daphne to.

With Daphne, there was attraction. A lot of it. Perhaps so much that it had temporarily blinded him. There was also the pressure of the bet. Once he found someone he felt like he could love, he made the leap.

But something was amiss. There was always a concern that they wouldn’t quite connect on a deeper level. He knew that if he were to be having this conversation with Daphne instead of you, he wouldn’t have shared so much about his relationship with his father.

Yet, with you, he just knew you would understand.

“Did you love Simon?”

You shook your head, your eyes on your hands. “No, I didn’t. Not in the way I wanted to. I barely knew him. My parents did though. They were pushing me towards him when you and Daphne began to court.”

“And if they had asked you to marry him, would you have?”

The corners of your lips curled up ever so slightly. “I don’t have any other choice.”

Ever since that day at the abbey, he had suspected that this arrangement was forced upon you as well. Having it confirmed by you, however, saddened him. For you, it was never a question of this or that. It was either you did as you were told or you suffered. At least, he had a shot. You never did.

“I have no say in anything. Not even with my own performance at family gatherings,” you added, swinging your legs back and forth gently. The small smile on your lips lightened the mood. It made him smile as well.

“Me neither. It was quite the embarrassment.”

“I once fell flat on my face at Christmas trying to perform a ballet.”

“You did?”

You nodded. “And then I laid there. Like a log of wood.”

“That is still not as embarrassing as the time I got an awful grade in arithmetic. And came lunch time, it was splattered all over the papers: ‘Prince Friedrich does not know how to count.’“

You tried to hold back a laugh. But you couldn’t, your entire body was shaking with laughter. As a last attempt to save some grace, your hand flew to cover your mouth. A habit you had formed over the years living with a strict mother. Well, you weren’t sure if there was any grace left but it certainly sounded less like a hyena and more like a hyena with a rope around its mouth.

Friedrich couldn’t care less though. Very quickly, he joined you, leaning forward with a chuckle.

You found yourself looking at him and thinking how nice his laugh sounded. It wasn’t obnoxiously loud like the ones that echoed all across the estate during one of your father’s dinner parties. It wasn’t too perfectly staged either. It was simply a delightful sound. A laugh anyone would be jealous of.

When the room returned to its familiar silence, his arms accidentally brushed yours. The unexpected graze was so brief that you didn’t think he even noticed. You, on the other hand, were very aware.

To mask your increasingly reddening cheeks and clammy hands, you opted to carry on with the conversation. “I guess gossip papers truly are everywhere.”

“For an appetite so voracious, it is only fair. At Buckingham, everyone reads Lady Whistledown.”

You paused, shaking your head to yourself. “You read Lady Whistledown?”

“I must admit it is quite entertaining when it is not your name on the front page. You read it too, right?”

“Of course!” you grinned,” I am not allowed to but I find my ways. Who could dare dream of missing out on London’s latest?”

“So what are you allowed to read?”

“Nothing. Which is why I read everything I can get my hands on.”

You then continued to recount your late night adventures sneaking into the library. You seemed so proud that he couldn’t help but smile and nod along.

There was also that sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as he learned more and more about your upbringing. You seemed to know that the nonsensical rules your parents imposed on you were unusual too. But somehow, you had learned to accept it as nothing more than a fact of life. You never spoke of them or referred to them with spite. Certainly not had the same sour taste that Friedrich had on his tongue everytime he spoke about his father.

The Duke and Duchess of Clarence were damn lucky to have you as their daughter. They certainly did not deserve it though. He thought bitterly.

...

You and Friedrich ended up in bed, talking all night.

By the time dawn was on the horizon, you had both finished recounting your childhood tales, leaving nothing behind. In the end, the two of you found in this complicated arrangement so much more than either of you could bargain for. A confidant.

“Who is to say the betrothed can't be good friends?” Friedrich said, leaning against the headboard as he looked up at the ceiling.

You laughed. “Not us apparently.”

“Would you be able to promise me something?” He turned his head to look at you.

If there was one thing Friedrich learned after hours of conversation, it was that you were the best friend he had never had. And he was not going to let that go. Not even for his own feelings.

“Yes?”

“That we will remain friends even if we can’t love each other like we should.”

You grinned, sticking out your pinky. “Promise.”

...

Dear sister,

Everything is in order. All that is left to be done is for my ‘Diamond of the season’ to produce a male heir....

Bernadine closed the letter and stuffed it in her trunk of clothes at the faintest sounds of footsteps echoing in the hallway outside. Putting on the sweetest smile, Bernadine made sure she was the first thing he saw coming into the room.

“Good evening, your Majesty. How was hunting?”

The King entered the room swiftly, slamming the doors behind it. She did not jump, immediately following him and helping him with his cloak.

“Didn’t catch anything,” he said, shaking off his muddy boots onto the floors. “The weather. Too gloomy and rainy. Scared off the deers.”

Bernadine hung the fur cloak up. While the King disappeared into the bathroom, she quickly closed the blinds, of course not missing the bright blue sky and the royal garden bathing in sunlight.

“Yes, the weather has been absolutely terrible these past few days.”

When he came out of the bathroom, she made sure to cling onto his side, steering him towards the desk. “Are you feeling better, my love?”

“Much. Made sure the train stayed right here before I left. Good luck travelling with the lower-class, son.”

The King began to cackle uncontrollably at that, even had to sit down at one point. And Bernadine made sure that he sat right before the stack of paperwork sent for him this morning.

“That is a genius idea!”

“I know it was. What is this?”

“This is everything that needed to be signed while you were gone.”

The King cleared his voice, taking his quill and began to scribble his name on every page. Even the one that had nothing to do there along with the more important national matters.

A contract.

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[brittsacademia]

Gemini | Various!BNHA X Reader

Chapter 2: Dealings

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Present day

This place was so damn filthy. Your neighbourhood was a disaster of trash piling up and practically obscuring the pavement that it may as well be vacated and turned into an actual junkyard.

The roads were cracked and bumpy, making it a nuisance to keep steady on your skateboard, so much so that, with a huff of displeasure, you skidded to a stop and stomped the tail of your board to catch it in your hand. It'd be more comfortable if you were to walk the rest of the way — not like your apartment block was that much further. Perhaps you should invest in some better wheels that could withstand rough terrains.

Pieces of glass — probably from beer bottles — shattered underneath your weight, and you were thankful for your footwear. Not everybody in your neighbourhood was fortunate enough to even have shoes.

Sketchy, low-class crooks could be spotted here and there. Some hung out on their porch, smoking shitty and brandless cigarettes, while others leaned against the dirty brick walls, probably waiting for their dealer to swing by.

Passing by an alleyway, you could hear some yells — the typical commotion with which you didn't bother getting meddled.

You passed by a few dumpster divers that dragged their precious findings around in flimsy trash bags, and you also spotted a few groups of drunkards... in the middle of the day. You couldn't really blame them; there wasn't much to do here.

And if all that wasn't enough to indicate a bad neighbourhood, perhaps that empty ballpoint pen — most likely having served as a makeshift crack pipe — that you had accidentally kicked would be the final nail in the coffin.

Not a hero in sight on patrol, the crooks here just weren't noisy enough to garner enough attention from the pros.

Just let them destroy each other or something of the likes. It'll go unnoticed — perhaps that was the train of thoughts most harboured when it came to this area.

Being abruptly snapped out of your thought, you grunted in surprise when you felt your ankle being gripped, and looking down, you saw some grimy homeless man, looking up at you with a dreadful grin as he tightly held on to you with both hands.

"C'mon... spare a penny, lil' lady," he said in a gruff voice.

"Fuck off," you snarled.

You nearly lost your balance from the tug-of-war, though it didn't take very long for you to lose your patience and deliver a swift yet sharp blow to the man's head with your board, knocking him out cold. With his grip on your ankle loosened, you pushed him back onto his flimsy piece of cardboard. You hadn't even thought of using your quirk against him, immediately resorting to a blunt 'weapon'. You didn't feel like wasting your energy on someone you deemed so much more lowly than you.

Though before you resumed your way, you eyed the man's tin can, and you had no remorse or care when you rummaged through it, pulling out a 500 yen coin and pocketing it before leaving.

Survival of the fittest — that's how you rolled.

"'Sides, I don't have much to spare myself," you muttered to the unconscious man.

Maybe you would have considered helping him in different circumstances, but putting his filthy hands on you definitely didn't put you in a mood to do so.

Ahh... it certainly was a homely neighbourhood, filled with a wide variety of bums — so diverse.

You could see your building coming into view, and you'd be relieved to catch a break if you weren't suddenly reminded of all the work you had to do before having the right to obtain that break.

You needed to fill out U.A's application form and send it in. Then, you'd need to make that important call to Kairo.

Maybe you were being dramatic; it wasn't that much work when you truly thought about it, but it felt as such when you've been tugged into business meeting after business meeting with the League and Astarot regarding the preparations for the upcoming mission.

You suddenly felt sour when you realized that the entrance exam was still so far away. You just wanted to get on with it because you had to admit, you were so excited about the outcome. Astarot really had hyped you up for this, hadn't he?

The dawn of a new society... what a fucking dream.

You entered your building, heading down the very short flight of stairs to reach your door that was located on the ground floor. Reaching into your pockets, you grabbed your keys and inserted them into the lock, and your eyebrows furrowed upon realizing that your door was already unlocked. It greatly confused you; you were certain that you had locked it before you left.

Now, you just wanted to throw hands with whoever decided to pick your lock, not that it was an uncommon occurrence around here.

And you might have had a suspicion as to who it was.

Entering your very basic-looking home, you made sure to lock your door behind you, taking your shoes off and leaning your skateboard against the wall. You contemplated further pushing back your responsibilities as the League's newest spy, but you figured that the sooner you got your shit done, the sooner you could actually lay down and do nothing.

You entered your kitchen to throw your empty smoothie cup — which you had surprisingly held on to the entire time — into the trash, though before you could exit, something atop your counter caught your eye.

It was money set atop a letter. You counted 2,000 yen, and suddenly, your suspicions as to who had broken into your apartment became that much more confirmed. Still, you read the note.

Heyyy (YN)! Here's the money I owed you. Thanks again, you're the best of the best, and you should really date me pretty please! (灬♡ω♡灬). Oh, and I borrowed two eggs and a yogurt from your fridge. Thanks!

~ E.

And there went your will to live. Right out the window.

That was most definitely from the guy who lived in the apartment right above yours. There weren't many people or things that chilled you to the bone, but that one guy did. Why was he so fucking weird? He needed a hobby.

You shook your head, not wanting to dwell on it for too long — you'd deal with Eichi another day. You had other things to tend to.

With a sigh, you forced yourself to your living room. You crouched in front of your TV stand, reaching into one of the shelving units where you grabbed a folded up piece of paper — U.A's application form for the heroics department that you were required to fill out.

You dropped onto your couch, lifting your feet atop the coffee table as you made yourself comfortable. You unfolded the paper, and you furrowed your brows as you skimmed the questions. There were so many lies you'd need to jot down, though, in all honesty, your entire application was fiction. After all, you weren't there to play hero.

You sighed dejectedly, setting down the application as you realized that you had to call Kairo before you even began filling it out, let alone sent it out.

It was all rattling your brain, how you needed to forge a fake life for yourself to be able to avoid any suspicions. After all, you were a twenty-year-old woman that was to pose as a first-year high-school student. That was where Kairo — a genius, mastermind and powerful hacker — came into play. He'd be able to help you.

Picking up your cellphone, you dialled Kairo's number, which you've memorized by heart over time — you've had many jobs that involved Kairo's expertise, and vice-versa. You benefited from one another quite a bit. If you needed some fancy tech works to ensure a successful mission, Kairo had your back, and if he needed your combat expertise, you were hired.

Your foot rapidly tapped the ground in impatience as you listened to the other end's ringing. He better pick up, you thought as you wanted to get all preparations done and over with, but unfortunately, you found yourself clenching your eyes shut and grinding your teeth when you heard a faint beep, signalling that you were now on voicemail.

"Kairo, it's (Y/N). Listen, that favour you owe me? I need it now. Me, Astarot and some other people are cooking up something huge and— never mind that; I'll give the details later, but call or text me as soon as you can, got it?" You said as you hung up.

He'd get back to you. He always did.

You were going to need to make modifications to your legal documents: change your birthday and age so that you could pose as a high-schooler — that was the priority. Should you change your surname? You didn't want anybody to be able to trace you back to your actual family, that would just garner some extra, unwanted attention to you. But then, if you messed around with your family roots, would you need to do the same to your parents' legal documents? Or were you being paranoid and thinking about things much too deeply?

What a headache.

And when you thought of your physical appearance, five years didn't seem like such a big gap, but it was one that was large enough for you to safely say that you looked much older than a first-year. If you were to look at someone and tell them you were fifteen, you'd be caught dead in your bullshit with no questions asked.

You smirked, knowing that you already had a solution to that little inconvenience.

You flexed your fingers, channelling the energy of a specific being that was under your control. Your palm eventually lit up in a charcoal-coloured mist, and from that action, a similar dark mist began manifesting in the middle of your living room. From the fog, an apparition of a wraith-like creature materialized.

The creature lacked a visible bottom half of its body, having no legs. It wore a raggedy black robe that seemed to flow despite the lack of air drafts in your home, and it wore a hood, similar to how most would depict a grim reaper. You couldn't make out any facial features behind the hood, only finding an empty void. It had navy blue, skeletal arms and bony hands peering from the robe, and to top it off, a strange tar-like substance dripped from it, though you weren't worried about the stain it left behind as you knew it would disappear the moment you deactivated your quirk.

This creature was... well, you had decided to refer to it as a spirit the moment it manifested when you were a child, but the truth was that you weren't quite sure if that was an accurate name for it. Regardless, this spirit was part of your quirk.

"How can we be of service?" They spoke politely with a heavily distorted voice, bowing to you.

The distortion in their voice was caused by the overlapping of the voices of the many souls inhabiting them. It was eerie, and it rarely failed to send shivers down the spine of whoever was in their presence, or maybe that was due to the way their presence turned the air so frigid you could see your own breath as if winter had befallen your apartment.

You had taken to calling them Abyss as they didn't have a name of their own. You thought it was fitting; they were, in a way, a bottomless abyss of countless departed souls. They had never protested to the name you had imposed, and you weren't sure if it was because they didn't care, or because they had no say in the matter as you were seen as their owner and master.

Though as much of an asshole you were, you had never regarded Abyss as lesser than you; they had grown on you, admittedly.

"Abyss, I'm going to need to have the Cell Manipulation quirk on hand at all times for a long period of time. I technically don't need it right away, but I need to practice keeping it active for long periods of time for my upcoming mission," you explained. "Think you can lend it to me?"

"But of course, Lady (Y/N)," Abyss said. "However, you must be aware that — omitting your natural ability — your body is currently carrying two quirks. You are at your current limit."

You nodded at their warning, already aware. "I know. That's why I'll make a trade, for now."

They nodded. "Very well. Which quirk will you be trading for Cell Manipulation? Shall it be Volcanic or Dreamless?"

You sighed. "It'll be Dreamless."

They seemingly cocked their head to the side, questioning your decision. "Are you quite sure? That quirk is the one that protects you from some of the drawbacks your natural ability brings you. You would experience much discomfort without it."

You waved them off. "I'll manage. Besides, I want to keep at least one offence-based quirk on me at all times."

"Very well. In that case, shall we?" They asked, levitating closer to you and reaching out, prompting you for a handshake.

You nodded, interlocking your hand with Abyss'. Mist swirled around the both of you as you channelled the energy of the quirk you'd be ridding yourself of. You felt lightheaded as you felt the quirk leave your body, and had you not been used to the sensation, you might have passed out from how dizzying it was. However, the sickening feeling soon faded as you felt a new quirk enter your body, signalling that the exchange had been a success.

(Y/N) (L/N). Her quirk: Dead Man's Dealings.

She can summon an entity that collects the souls of the deceased. Through that entity, she can borrow and make use of the quirks that once belonged to the living.

Letting go of Abyss' hand, you shook your head as you rubbed your temples. Abyss watched you intently, assuring your wellbeing, as they knew of the stress your body could endure with these kinds of deals.

"Are you well?" They asked.

"I'm fine, thanks," you said. "You're dismissed."

They bowed. "Very well. Call upon us should you need our assistance again."

With that, you deactivated your quirk, the room's temperature going back to normal as Abyss disappeared into a smokescreen that vanished into thin air. The tar that had been staining your floor was gone, seemingly never having existed in the first place.

The quirk Cell Manipulation, as you had learned, was very versatile. When you thought about it, you hadn't even scratched the surface when it came to what you could do with that quirk. The ability to manipulate a living being's cells... the possibilities were endless.

And with a bit of practice, you were certain that you could manipulate your own cells to make you appear a little younger — a bit of shapeshifting, to say the least. That was something you would strive to work on until the entrance exams.

Practice — a lot of practice — would be needed. As nice as your own ability was, allowing you to essentially make use of a plethora of various quirks, you had to make them your own as you didn't borrow the expertise that the person once had with that quirk. In other words, once you borrowed a quirk, you started from zero, as if you were a four-year-old child discovering what power they possessed for the first time.

And sometimes, your body didn't react well to certain quirks — you just weren't compatible with them.

Sure, you had a rare and powerful ability, that much you could say, but the power came with many complexities. Not only did you have to endure the drawbacks of Dead Man's Dealings, but you also had to learn, memorize and deal with the limitations and drawbacks that came with the borrowed quirks.

And now that you had given up one of your greatest sources of protection against Dead Man's Dealings, you were going to be in for some difficult nights.

Maybe you'd eventually find a way to make some room for your body to accommodate one more quirk, letting you wield four at the same time, though you weren't quite sure it was an experiment you'd be willing to carry out — three was already difficult on you.

You leaned back, thinking back to your childhood, about the utter confusion on your parents' faces when your power had first manifested. You didn't blame them, as your quirk was a mutation, meaning that you hadn't developed your father's powerful radioactivity or your mother's telekinesis; it had come out of nowhere.

You also thought back to the look of horror on your mother's face when she realized the horrifying reality of the trigger your quirk had needed to manifest, but you also thought back to your father's twisted expression of intrigue, one that had spiralled your life into what it was at the moment.

Shaking your head, you willed the image of your father away, tucking it into the darkest corners of your mind. Your old man was no longer a concern to you, so you didn't feel like dwelling on him for too long.

Sighing, you took another peek at the application form, deciding that, while you were so deep in thought about your quirk, you may as well do the bare minimum and insert the information about your quirk in the application.

Grabbing the form and a pen, you wrote down the name of your quirk as well as a very basic description: you wrote about what it did, how you were limited in the number of quirks you could carry at the same time and how you had a finite limit of how many times in a day you would be able to switch the quirks around using Abyss.

Of course, there was another catch to your quirk. It was one that U.A didn't need to know about. If they did, it would be game over for you — pieces would be put together, and it'd be off to Tartarus for you, you just knew it.

The thing was, Abyss couldn't simply grab whatever souls they came across for your convenience. In fact, they couldn't see most wandering souls. Likewise, you couldn't simply point to a soul and tell Abyss to fetch.

No, that wasn't how that worked. 

The truth was that Abyss could only collect the souls of the people whose deaths you were responsible for.

Heroic quirks, villainous quirks — people were quick to categorize them. You weren't really of that mindset; the world was so much more complicated than this black and white bullshit.

However, in your case, you could say that only a villain could truly make use and take advantage of a quirk like yours. No true hero would be able to live with themselves, knowing that they would need to take lives in order to make use of their power.

U.A was definitely going to be rattled with your presence. How fun.

~~~~~~

Chapter Word Count: 3,180

Original Publish Date: 2022-01-09

~~~~~~

I really wanted to drop the bomb on what the reader's quirk is, as there have been some curious people wondering how the narrative would work. If you've done the math within the last chapter, you would have noticed that she's twenty, which is too old for high-school, and some were also curious as to how she obtained a quirk. Dead Man's Dealings is how, my friends.

Now, it is a strong quirk, I know that. However, there are a lot of drawbacks and limitations that are passive and will be heavily affecting the reader as means to balance it out.

Also, there's quite a bit of foreshadowing for backstory that I can't wait to explore! ~ Eichi's name is dropped in this chapter, though he won't be making an appearance right away — it's more of a cameo to show that this OC does know the reader personally, and they live in the same building. I also don't want you guys to be too overwhelmed, so I'm introducing the original characters gradually.

Fun fact: Abyss was inspired by Ermac from Mortal Kombat. Also, their name went through a few changes during development. At first, it was All In One, but I found that not only was it a mouthful, but it was also too close to AFO and OFA. Then, it was Void, but I ended with Abyss as I thought it suited them better.

Now, a quick question, would you guys rather me to write out the full quirk profile for DMD? Or would you rather me write it out naturally as the story progresses? Personally, I'd rather the second option, but I know some would rather have the full quirk profile written out for them to read and fully understand the power.

Hope you enjoyed this, and I'll see you next chapter, where Kairo makes his first appearance!

~ Britt

#mha #mha x reader #my hero academia x reader #bnha #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #fanfiction #yn #oc x reader #dabi x reader #shigaraki x reader #league of villains #kurogiri #spinner #mr compress #twice #class 1a

[falling-pages]

Oh no I'm late to the Bakugou party! (if you want to) I'll send a request of Bakugou using his quirk to light your cigarette. Perhaps you two are sitting outside a coffee shop, talking or rather bantering back and forth, and you pull out a cigarette to which he leans forward and sets the tip ablaze, all while keeping eye contact -

Sis 🥵 Thank you for this!! I deviated it a little bit to make it a hurt/comfort fic, so I hope that’s okay. It took me a minute to figure out, but in the end I’m happy with the result! I had fun with the banter and making their history. I also threw in a little bit of mutual pining to tug at the heartstrings.

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Description: When Bakugou’s childhood best friend is injured in battle, he goes against all hero training to get them to a safe place and comfort them against the pain, realizing new feelings in the process.

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Pro-Hero Katsuki Bakugou x Pro-Hero Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst with Fluff, Childhood Friends-to-Lovers

Warnings: Smoking, blood.

-

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“Just give it to me!” you snarled, lashing your fingers at Bakugou as he dragged you along the sidewalk. Even as the rough concrete dragged against your back, grating against the sensitive skin exposed by the rips in your hero costume, all you could focus on was the aching need lodged in the back of your spine.

Bakugou listened to you whine, only rolling his eyes as he continued to haul you along the street. He wished he could carry you--it would be a lot faster, and it would put you in less pain--but with his left arm wounded by the same villain that took a bite out of your side, you’d have to be content with the bumpy ride.

It was the opposite of everything he’d ever learned in his hero training, but this was you, his best friend, and he couldn’t leave you vulnerable and hurt on the ground for the villains.

“No, dumbass,” he grunted. His right arm muscles strained from carrying you. “You need medics, not a cigarette.”

“Give me both then!” you demanded. “Baky, come on, you know I need one right now!”

“If you need a smoke that badly, I’ll explode in your face. Inhale that.”

“Not the same.” 

Bakugou ignored your rant, only focused on finding a safe place. When he was a student he would have thought this cowardly, running away from a battle, but as soon as he saw you fall a few minutes ago all he could focus on was getting you away from the fight and hidden from villains. Despite the public oath he took upon graduation to protect the city and its citizens above all else, you were his best friend, and you came first.

His eyes searched the streets for any refuge. Despite the nice weather, no one was outside, a welcome relief. For once they actually listened to orders and stayed inside. He didn’t have to worry about you and some clueless civilian getting mixed up in a villain’s way.

But, if someone were here, maybe they could have helped.

Soon your complaints turned to pained whimpers, and Bakugou’s heart raced as he realized he had little time left. You needed a hiding spot and a doctor, and fast.

“Hang on, dumbass,” he said, tightening his hold on you. “You’re not dying on me. That’s extra behavior.”

“I’m not an extra,” you grumble.

“Hell no you’re not. So just stay with me.”

Despite the raging pain flowing through your body, you cracked a smile. He couldn’t see it, but it warmed your heart to know he cared. Even if he was awful about admitting it.

As he got more fatigued, your body got heavier. For both of your sakes, he needed to find a hiding spot fast.

Finally, he found a closed coffee shop with a broken lock and dragged you inside. He hid the two of you behind the counter, amid bags of coffee beans and pristine equipment. Though the lights were off, the windows were big enough to let him see just how badly you were injured.

Slightly delirious, you rested your head against a sack of flour to stop the world from spinning. Your injury was bad enough, but him dragging you across the city exacerbated the blood loss. The edges of your vision were fogging up.

You felt his hands on your stomach, hooking under the torn strips of cloth and ripping to expose your lower abdomen where the bite was. Too hurt to even be embarrassed, you let him examine you. The rush of air was cold against your burning skin.

Bakugou sucked in his breath. You had been attacked by some sort of poison villain, a new one. They had sunk their fangs into you and pumped toxins, causing the veins stretching across your stomach to turn a sickly neon blue as the poison spread. When they detached their fangs, they took a chunk with them, leaving an exposed wound down the side of your body.

If the poison were as dangerous as it looked, you would have died already. What he needed to focus on now was your blood pooling on the floor.

He crouched above you, instinctually shielding you in your weakened state. The villain had attacked him too, but he managed to rip them off before the toxins could paralyze him, only leaving a bloody wound in his bicep. In the heat of battle, he had to cauterize the wound to stop the bleeding…

“Hey, idiot,” he said, snapping his fingers. You slowly opened your eyes, watching him in paralytical annoyance. “I’m going to use my quirk to stop the bleeding, okay? Bite this.” He found a spare dish towel and strapped it in your mouth, both to protect your tongue and keep your screams quiet from anyone who may have followed the blood trail outside.

You accepted it, but your eyes betrayed the fear ricocheting through your body. Just as he lowered his good arm to your wound, a tear slid down your face, catching his attention. With the most comforting expression he could muster, he lifted his numb hand and wiped the tear away, letting it rest against your cheek for a few subtle moments.

“Hey,” he whispered, gruff voice lowered into a calming tone. “I know this is going to hurt. I’m sorry. But this is the only way to stop this type of bleeding, so you need to be brave for me, alright?”

A couple more tears escaped as you nodded. He dutifully wiped them off. He pushed your hair back from your eyes and made you look at him, showing you his blown-out pupils and just how scared he was, too. 

“You are the bravest person I know, and that’s saying something, especially considering myself.” You smiled at his attempt at a compliment. “So I just need you to keep being brave.” In lost judgement, he leaned forward and kissed your forehead, feeling how hot your face was even beneath his lips. You shed another tear, not from pain, but from gratitude for not being alone. 

As he kissed you, he activated his quirk, letting the heat consume your side. Fire licked at your skin as you mustered a scream, biting down on the dish towel in an attempt to lash out. Bakugou pressed his forehead against yours, pinning down your legs with his own to keep you still as you thrashed, muffled curse words mixing with your cries. 

“Just a few more seconds,” he whispered, feeling your skin close beneath his hand. “Hang on.”

You grabbed his other hand and squeezed, needing something to anchor your consciousness. He let you, returning the affection even with the little feeling he had in the wound. Each scream pierced his heart.

Finally, he felt the wound close completely and released your side, waving away the smoke that scorched your skin. You panted and spit out the towel, eyes rolling back from the shockwaves of pain. It wasn’t a permanent solution, but it would have to do for now. At least the bleeding stopped; an antidote could come later.

“Baky…” you whined.

He knew what you needed, silently getting up and finding a mug to fill with water. You struggled to sit up, pain blinding every move, until you felt hands shift beneath your armpits and pull you into a sitting position. He moved your head to rest against the counter and brought the cup up to your lips.

“Drink.”

You did as you were told, gulping the liquid as quickly as you could. Bakugou yanked the cup away mid-sip, making you choke. Water dripped down your chin as you shot him a dirty look.

“Small sips.”

You grabbed the mug to hold it for yourself, though his hands still hovered lightly against you. His bright red eyes stayed trained on yours as you followed his instructions, draining the cup bit by bit, until it was empty and you were satisfied. 

You held his gaze for a little while longer, daring him to do something, anything.

“Thank you,” you finally whispered, feeling the pressure of his strong hands overcome you, making you put the mug down on the floor. His hands covered yours, worn scars upon worn scars, warmth upon warmth.

He rocked on his heels and smirked. “You’re not dying on me, extra. You’re damn wrong if you think you can get out of opening an agency with me.”

“I’m not an extra,” you spat again, but he heard the mirth in your voice. The promise you made together in high school makes you feel warm, flooding your insides with nostalgia, filling your mouth with honey. Open your own agency together, be Heroes together or not at all. 

Today, it was almost not at all.

“I want--”

“Yeah, yeah.” Bakugou read your mind. He reached into the hidden compartment of his gauntlet and presented your favorite pack of cigarettes, pulling out a long, slender stick and perching it on your lips. His hand lingered a second too long, brushing against your chin, but his eyes widened as they met yours. 

A fleeting desire crossed your mind, like a comet streaking against the sky, but then the ache in your side sent you back to earth.

“Thanks.” You said, lifting your hand to push the cigarette further into your mouth. 

“Tch. Those things will kill you,” Bakugou grumbled, but he leaned forward, not breaking eye contact, until he was close enough to almost taste the other end. His gaze dropped down to your mouth, back to your eyes, and then down again as he raised his hand.

With a tiny pop, his palm connected to the cigarette butt and produced an explosion just big enough to light up the end. The buzz filled your mouth and crawled down the back of your throat, scratching that sweet itch. As you inhaled, Bakugou shook his hand out to clear the smoke.

“Can’t be much worse than this poison villain.” You took a breath. “I’m bouncing back fine.”

Bakugou huffed, setting his sight on the blue veins on your abdomen. “You weren’t the one carrying a basically unconscious body.”

“First of all, I was conscious, and second of all, you were dragging me. There was no ‘carrying’ in this scenario.” You watched the guilt manifest in his eyes, that rare sight of remorse. “So if I get skidmarks on my back, that’s on you.”

“Would be a cool scar. You could match Dunceface’s lightning strikes.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, watching as he inhaled the smoke. His eyes sparkled like rubies in the night sky. “Maybe. But at least I know you’ll save me again.”

“Tch. I have since we were kids, haven’t I? I will, forever.”

He wasn’t looking at you. Guilt settled in his stomach as he stared at the charred skin stretching between your ribs and hip, thinking about how much pain he must have caused you. You winced as you leaned forward to touch his shoulder, leveling eye to eye and just a few inches apart. The movement seemed to send an electric shock through him as he forced himself to meet your gaze. 

He had been your partner, your protector, for as long as he could remember. And today, he let his guard down, and you got hurt. You almost died. And in saving your life, he had caused you more pain.

Your aching scream would fill his nightmares for the rest of his life.

“You didn’t do this to me, Katsuki.” His teeth rippled along his lower lip as you said his first name. The familiarity of your voice, your scent, your touch washed his heart in peace. You were here. You were with him. You were safe.

“I did. I exploded your side.” He wanted to shake you off, pay penance for his guilt with a broken heart, but your grip was like steel. “Some hero I am, doing this to--”

“You saved my life!” you screeched. “Katsuki, look--look at me!”

He turned his eyes to you, but he wasn’t looking at you, he was busy searching for any other explanation for how close you were now.

“If you hadn’t been watching me when that villain attacked me, I would be dead. If you hadn’t dropped everything and dragged me to safety, I would be dead. If you hadn’t used your quirk on me, I would be bleeding out in front of you.” You pant and grab his face, forcing him to look into your soul, into your heart, into the very depths of feelings you had for him. “You saved my life. You are a hero.”

He was puzzled. You were a pro-hero. He didn’t need to protect you anymore. So why was he insistent on watching?

Because he could never take his eyes off you.

He whispered your name as if it were a prayer, thanking everyone who cared to listen, as he leaned in and kissed you.

Your heart shattered, but in the best way, as if it had been puzzle assembled incorrectly and each piece was falling back into its perfect place.

As if he could control it, the pain lessened the longer Bakugou kissed you, gently grabbing your waist opposite your wound. The kiss was salty, and warm, and long, the product of years of pining and pent-up feelings. Every time you tried to pull away, he would bring you back in, as if he couldn’t believe this was actually happening and needed more proof. You, too, couldn’t believe how gently your angry blond friend held you. It was the opposite of everything you had ever known about him, but maybe you had a good influence on him.

Maybe, this was the start of something new.

-

-

-

#bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #my hero academia #midoriya izuku #mha bakugou #bnha bakugou #bnha #mha #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #bakugou fanfiction #bakugo mha #bakugo katsuki #bakugo x reader #blood tw #smoking tw

[spideytingle616]

Five Months [5]

Part 4 / Masterlist

*based on the five stages of grief*

Pairing: Peter Parker x Female Reader

Warnings: angst, death, mentions of anxiety/panic, possible implications of sexual activity, blood/injury, swearing

Summary: The first time you touch your soulmate, you’re able to see a glimpse into your future. What happens if your future is also your end?

Word Count: 12.7k wow wow (bold and italics are thoughts, scenes following a +++ are a flashback)

A/N: Thank you all who have read this story! I have had this planed for almost a year, and I’m so happy it actually became a thing, though I apologize for taking so damn long with this part. I hope you enjoy. This chapter features a lot of flashbacks, so buckle up.

Chapter Description: Maybe the universe isn’t so bad…

Month Five, Acceptance: Love, and Never Forget

A new day. A new month. A new semester.

The subway ride feels extra bumpy today, most likely due to the large pit in your stomach. Going to school is never something you looked forward to, but when you got there, someone was usually waiting for you.

Someone that made the grueling day a little easier.

You sigh and slump into your seat. How does a train full of people make you feel so alone?

A completely different person could be seen in your window reflection. Or maybe you were just so numb at this point, your body was nothing but luggage you were simply dragging along.

Fuck, you were exhausted. Beyond the undereye bags and the dry hair, your frame looked like it was ready to buckle down and rest. It was already curling in, prepared to do so when given the chance. Your eyes shut tight as you clenched your fists, trying your best to quiet the anxiety that flowed through your body.

When you open your eyes, you look at your reflection one more time, ignoring the cold stare that met your own. The world keeps going, and so should you.

Everything was more or less the same at Midtown. People were alert after their long break, but they still dreaded the upcoming classes. Friends were reuniting with one another and chatting, and everything seemed normal.

But it wasn’t, at least not for you.

You close your locker, and as you turned away from the wall you were met with familiar faces coming your way. The two friends kept looking at one another as they walked toward you, and it was clear that they felt unsure about approaching.

It wasn’t like you were purposely avoiding them, so to speak. But their worried texts were plentiful, and with everything that has happened, you pushed away from their coddling. Your responses were short, usually, something along the lines of “I’m fine” and “doing good”. Whether or not they trusted that you weren’t sure, but it kept them off your tail long enough for the time being.

Fake it till you make it, right?

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” you joke, opening your arms wide. “Come here.”

MJ and Ned smile at the gesture, quickly accepting the hug. It was definitely something all of you needed. You buried your face into their shoulders, happy to be with them again. Guilt pooled in your chest.

“I missed you guys… and I’m sorry for how I’ve been acting” you sigh.

MJ tightens her grip on you, snuggling her face closer to yours. “It’s okay. We get it. We were just worried is all.”

“Still, it was selfish of me to do.” You pull away, looking between the two. “This whole thing is not just about me. I should have been there for you guys too instead of pushing myself away.”

“Well, we’re here now. Whenever you’re ready, to talk or hang out, we’ll be there.” Ned offers, and a smile reaches your face.

God, your friends were amazing. You couldn’t bear to hurt them even more with your doom and gloom. They deserved someone that would be there for them and listen to their concerns, instead of hiding in their own pool of guilt.

You quickly shake your head before speaking. “Thanks, I think I’m gonna be okay, though. If you guys need more time that’s totally fine, but I’m good. Nothing has to be weird between all of us, we can just hang out like old times, you know?”

Your friends glance at one another, their eyebrows pulled slightly tighter.

“Well, if that’s how you feel, then I’m glad,” Ned says, looking back at MJ for reassurance. “But you know, it’s totally cool if you still need time. After all, it’s been a rough month.”

You bite your tongue back from replying, your jaw suddenly tense.

Yeah, no shit…

+++

He’s gone.

Oh my god he’s gone.

He’s actually dead.

If someone came and ripped your heart out of your chest, it would be painless compared to how you felt now. You continued to stare at Peter even after his eyes closed. If you continued to look at him, maybe you could still pretend that he was alive.

When the police showed, everything was a daze. The flashes of red and blue sirens drew a queasiness deep in your stomach. As the officers forced you to let go of the boy, their voices muddled into the air. You felt completely disassociated from the scene in front of you, and all you wanted to be held in Peter’s arms. There, you could pretend that everything was okay.

“They’re still breathing!”

The shout draws you back into current time, their words shooting a current throughout your body. It couldn’t be…

“Airways are clear, but his respiratory rate is dropping. Get him on the stretcher now. Don’t let him go into shock.”

Were you hearing all this right? Too many things were happening right now, and no one bothered to tell you anything. The police were pushing you away from the scene as if you were a random pedestrian, and you were ready to grab them by the throat and scream at them. When you see Peter getting lifted into the ambulance, his suit now more red than blue, that was the last straw.

You push your way through toward the paramedics. If they were taking him, you were going too. You were right behind the red and white doors before a hard shove comes to your chest, stopping you from coming any closer.

“Excuse me miss, this is private business,” what looked like an EMT said. “Stark Industries does not want anyone seeing this. I’m going to have to ask you to go back with the crowd.”

You stare dumbfounded; at least Ned was able to get a hold of him, but the fact that they were acting as if you weren’t a witness and Peter’s friend angered you even more. “No, you don’t get it, that’s my friend in there. I- I need to be with him if he’s still alive. Please I-“

“Look, as much as I’d like to believe that we were not told anything about other parties being involved. So, to keep this under wraps, we cannot let you ride with us. If you actually do know the patient, you can follow us and figure out your clearance there,” they finalize before walking away and jumping into the vehicle. You don’t even get a chance to breathe before they’re gone, and the only remnant of Peter was the stain on the street.

The EMT did have a point. If you wanted to keep Spider-Man’s identity a secret, you couldn’t draw attention to yourself. Slipping under the newly posted yellow tape, you’re swallowed into the shadows before the police even notice.

Now here you were, in a dirty subway car at ten in the evening. Being a teenage girl, this situation would normally terrify you (Seriously guys, no means no. Why are you even near us to begin with?), but luckily the murder scene on your dress and the hollow glare in your eyes drove most passengers away from you.

Staring into space, your brain tries to process everything that just happened in the past hour. You sprinted across the city to find your dying soulmate, only to find out he isn’t dead? Or at least, not yet. Based on his current state, it could still go either way.

Shouldn’t you be feeling hopeful? Or at least some sort of relief knowing that Peter has a chance? Your body internally cringes at the idea. Getting your hopes up wasn’t great; part of you always hoped for a happy ending with Peter and look where that got you.

All you could feel was dread, and it wasn’t much better than the heartbreak prior.

The car slows down as the rest of the passengers stand and walk toward the doors, but not without giving you a worrisome stare. You ignore their eyes as they pass by; you couldn’t care less about what they thought.

You look down at your hands and focus on blood caked under your nails, trying to rub the residue away. Some looked like it came off, but the red-brown still pigmented your skin. Chest tightening, you lean back in your seat and let your head knock back.

Peter’s blood was on your hands, both figuratively and literally.

---

A chill travels through your spine, bile working its way upward.

Was that really only a month ago?

The bell sounds, its ringing bringing you more despair than usual. Your conversation was brought to an end, MJ and Ned giving you a nod to signal their departure. They forced a smile your way, and you keep your calm composure even after they turn away.

Pulling the straps of your backpack closer, you take a deep breath before walking to class.

---

“First order of business: team captain. Miss Allan’s parting was unfortunate, but both she and I believe this team will do amazing at the international competition this summer. We just need a new captain.”

“Mr. Harrington, I’m honored-“

“Not you, Flash.”

You and Ned snicker under your breaths, earning your partner an elbow from Betty. MJ rolls her eyes at the two of you, but her smile gave away her amusement.

Decathlon was supposed to be done for the school year, but your team’s win at D.C. earned Midtown a spot at its international competition in Paris. You didn’t expect the school board to approve the trip, especially with the large expenses it ensued. But apparently, they found an anonymous donor.  

Though no one could figure out who would willingly spend tens of thousands of dollars for a kids’ trip to Europe, no one was complaining either, especially when they were paying to include an actual vacation with it. As ecstatic as everyone was about the opportunity, it also meant that you would soon be back to frequent practices. And as much as you enjoy this club, more work is never fun.

“After careful consideration of each of your prior performances, I’m happy to announce that our new captain will be none other than Michelle Jones.”

Harrington continued his announcements, but you already stopped paying attention. You nudge MJ after the scattered applause, mouth still agape.

“You didn’t tell me you were gonna be captain. Congrats!” you whispered.

“Well, to be honest, I didn’t know until just now. But I would have been pissed if I wasn’t.”

“And I would’ve had to listen to you complain about it, so it’s a win-win… can your first order be to rearrange the seating? I love Cindy, but sometimes she smells after gym.”

MJ scoffs. “Done, but it’s your fault if this all goes to my head.”

“Oh, I think it already has,”

“Yeah yeah, whatever. Just be quiet so I can listen.”

You roll your eyes as you let her turn away from you, grabbing your phone in the process.

You: Guess who the new captain is…

Liz: It better be MJ, I put in a good word for her and everything

You: It is lol. Good choice by the way, she’ll probably be a better captain than you

Liz: whatever 🙄

In the past month since she moved, the two of you found comfort in one another. Both of you fell in the direct line of fire, and as brutal as that was, it also meant that you weren’t alone.

+++

Lately, it seemed that your timing was nothing if not impeccable.

You speed walk to the cafeteria, breath getting heavier with each step. You’re usually one of the first in there, trying your best to beat the rush of students, but you just had to go to the bathroom beforehand. Amateur move, honestly…

Once you turn the corner, you stop in your tracks. Just ahead was Liz and her mom, both with boxes in hand. Her mom takes a right, most likely heading toward the office. All that was left was you and her, and the ten feet of tile in between.

“Hey,” you call out, gaining her attention. A tint of regret coats the air around you as you walk closer.

Where do you start, after everything that has happened?

“Liz, hey. What’s up?”

“Oh, hey. Nothing much, I’m just packing things from my locker and whatnot. My mom’s grabbing my file from the office, and after that we should be good, or whatever.” She sighs, looking down at her things.

“Wait, packing? Are you… are you going somewhere?”

“Yeah, my dad doesn’t want us to see him in trial. We’re moving all the way to Oregon tomorrow. My mom has family there… nice area apparently, or whatever,” She purses her lips. “New York allows prisoners to call as often as they want, so no worries there, plus I’m all set for college so I can more or less breeze through senior year.”

You nod. Though you suppose the situation could have been worse, it was evident that Liz was hiding all the struggles she just got handed. Maybe if you were closer, you’d be able to comfort her, or tell her what she needed to hear.

“Liz, you’ve probably gotten this a lot, but I’m really sorry about what went down. I can’t even imagine what that’s like.”

There’s a pause before she finds your face again. “I think you do though. Maybe not exactly the same as me, but you were part of this too.”

You tilt your head, confused at her words. Setting her things down, she slings her backpack around to her front, unzipping it to find what she was looking for. “Peter left this in my dad’s car, but something tells me it was meant for someone else. It’s a little wilted now, but I still think it looks nice.”

In her hand was the rose that Peter had the night of the homecoming dance. You were so annoyed when you saw it. However, this time was different. You were not sure what you felt, but you were grateful nonetheless.

You take the flower from her, admiring the purple-red petals. Underneath, a card was tied around:

A rose for a rose.

You might not be my date, but can I SWING BY for a dance?

You let out a quiet scoff. If the pun didn’t give it away, the web doodles might have.

“You think I would’ve figured it out sooner,” Liz shrugged.

“If it’s any consolation, I didn’t realize until it was right in front of my face," you joked back, earning a smile.

“I won’t tell anyone, by the way. He was just trying to do the right thing, and it’s not my secret to tell anyways.”

You nod at the gesture, relieved that things were not getting any messier. Not as much as they could, at least.

“I’m sorry too by the way…” she starts. “if I got in the way of you and Peter.”

You shake your head. “No no, it’s fine. Really. That was Peter’s choice to do that. I even told you we weren’t soulmates, so…“

“Yeah, well, I could tell that wasn’t the whole truth. Or at least, I couldn’t believe that it was the truth.” When you don’t reply, she continues on. “Obviously, I don’t know the whole story, or maybe even half of it, but almost everyone thought you two were soulmates before you even said anything. That’s gotta mean something, right?”

You pause for a moment. For someone who was only two years older, she was a lot wiser than you imagined. “Yeah, maybe it does… I don’t know, it’s just so complicated, you know?”

“I can only imagine.” She offers a smile. “But assuming he’s okay, wherever he is, I think it’d be a lot less complicated if you were in it together.”

With that, the conversation seemed to be over. You both knew that you weren’t really friends, but there was still a connection there. What happened homecoming night created a bond between you, a burning ember in a pile of ash. Everything died down, but there are still remnants that continued to burn.

If you guys chose to, you could let that memory die with the rest of the fire. But you could also choose to keep it alive and learn something from it.

Liz clears her throat, breaking the silence. “Looks like my mom’s ready, so I should go catch up. Thanks for saying goodbye.”

“Well, thanks for the mini therapy session. Hopefully, Oregon treats you better. If you wanna, you can text me once you’re all settled. We can talk, or whatever you want, really. Doesn’t even have to be about this.”

Her eyes light up at the offer, surprised at the generosity. “Yeah. I’d really like that. Thanks.”

You watch as she grabs her stuff from the floor and walk down the hall. The two of you send each other one last wave before parting ways, but you don’t move from your spot. Not until she was fully out of sight.

When she’s completely gone, you think about her words again. Maybe it would be easier.

Or maybe it’s just a faster route to trouble.

---

“You, me, Catacombs of Paris. It’s been on my list for years, and we are not missing out on that.” MJ declares, interrupting your daze. You didn’t even realize the meeting was over, most of the group already filing out of the library. “Jeez, how deep was your conversation with your pen pal? You look like you just woke up.”

You huff as you stood up from your seat. “How do you even know it’s her? Could’ve been my mom checking up on me.”

“Well, whenever you and Liz text, which is pretty regularly now, you get that weird crease between your eyebrows, and something tells me you’re not thinking that hard when you’re answering, ‘how are you’ from your parents.”

“You know, I think someone’s a little jealous that I have other girl friends to talk to.” You joke, checking her shoulder. “Any other creepy spots you’re forcing me to go to?”

Your friend’s face lights up, relishing at the opportunity to talk about her interests. You knew she had hours' worth of knowledge on the subject, and it gave you the chance to avoid talking about yourself. It wasn’t easy to distract MJ, but you had your ways.

It was easy to distract yourself from your current situation with Liz. After all, she was more or less doing the same thing. Your relationship was symbiotic; One of you would talk about your problems so the other could take their focus away from theirs, and vice versa. Mutual therapy, as you both called it.

The bonding made you feel safe. You made a friend and found someone that would need time to heal too.

At least, that’s what you thought.

For the last few conversations or so, the tone has taken a rather lighthearted turn. Liz started her new semester at Oregon a week earlier than Midtown, and she was already coming for the title of Ms. Popular. Though, with her being a hot, new senior, you shouldn’t have been surprised.

She was using her mom’s name for more privacy and was basically starting fresh. Liz even said she could still go to NYU if things died down after the trial. You were ecstatic for her, of course. She was incredibly strong for taking her life into her own hands and making the best of what happened, yet deep down you still couldn’t help but feel frustrated. In the end, even the people that have it worse still find ways to turn it around.

Your stomach turns. Maybe it wasn’t time that was the issue.

Maybe it was you.

---

Life’s kind of funny. Less than a year ago, you thought meeting the Avengers would be impossible. The only time you ever saw them was on the news or some badly edited PSA. For you, they seemed more fictional rather than real.

Now here you were, in the same car that Tony freaking Stark uses, being driven to the one and only Avengers Facility.

Despite the news about the Sokovia Accords, and the infamous “Civil War”, as they coined it, the building continued to stand tall and proud. The squeaky-clean windows and trimmed hedges were simply another reminder of how this lifestyle was beyond you.

Peter has been staying here for the past few weeks so the doctors could track his progress in private. With his mutated DNA and dangerous alien technology, they wanted to make sure there was not any permanent damage to his systems. Though this caused him to miss the rest of the semester, he knew it was for the best.

Despite taking a nasty hit, his super healing got him back on his feet, more or less. Just a few hours of physical therapy and some tests were enough to get Peter back to full mobility. However, he was still advised by the doctors to take things slow. Just because he could move doesn’t mean he should so soon.

This was the fourth or so trip here, yet every visit still felt like the first. All of this was so overwhelming, but you try not to let it show as you walk through the glass door. When you couldn’t find Peter in his room, your panic started to become visible.

Finding one guy in a 300,000 square foot building? How hard could it be?

Answer: not impossible, but still rather embarrassing.

After a few wrong turns here and there, you eventually made it to what seemed to be your destination. You wound up in a gym twice the size of your school’s. It had every piece of equipment one could need to train for a life-or-death mission, and you were struck with awe once again.

Your attention quickly focuses on the sounds of leather on leather. Across the gym was a boxing ring, holding none other than Tony Stark and your best friend.

The two didn’t notice you yet, so you took your time heading closer. Peter was in deep focus, his grey shirt tightening around him every time he threw a punch. Sweat covered the top half of the fabric as his curls brushed his forehead, and you could feel your throat drying up at his appearance.

You would have shown up earlier all those other times if you meant you got to see this…

“Y/N! Hey!” Peter greets when he finally sees you. “Sorry, I should’ve texted you that I was still in here. Guess I lost track of time.”

You wave it off. “Don’t worry about it. Looked like you were doing some good work.”

“Yeah, I sure hope so. Did you know the only fighting knowledge he had before this was from movies?” Tony interrupted, pointing a glove at the guilty party.

“Hey c’mon, Rocky is a solid resource,” He defended. “You ever seen it?”

The billionaire paused, mentally going through the five stages of grief. “Yeah kid, I think we’re done here. He’s all yours.”

“Sounds good,” You respond, turning back to Peter. “Something tells me you might need to freshen up before we start studying, so I’ll just meet you in your room. If I can find it, that is…”

The boy nods, feeling extra gross and sticky now that you brought it up. You send the two a small wave before walking out of the gym, trying your best to retrace your steps. Peter watches you until you vanish, to which Tony raises an eyebrow.

Maybe it was just him, but the spiderling was rather obvious with his emotions.

“Normally I’d say, ‘don’t do anything I wouldn’t do’, but clearly you don’t listen to that,” He says, snapping Peter back into reality. “Just keep it in your room, alright? Last thing I need is to spray this whole place with disinfectant.”

Peter’s mouth parts, slightly uncomfortable at his mentor’s words. “What? No, it’s not like that at all. She’s just helping me with all the schoolwork I’ve missed.”

Tony immediately stops, punching pads half on. “That- that’s it? You get a second chance at life, and all you’re doing is studying?”

He shrugs. “Well, you know, I haven’t taken my finals yet-“

“Finals that you can pass if you just study the night before like a normal kid.” He walks closer to Peter. “You escape the jaws of death and the one thing you want to do is study? What happened to you teenagers and wanting to ‘live a little’?” He mumbles the last part, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t use this experience as an excuse to shy away. I’m not saying go off and be reckless, but at least have a little fun, yeah? Do what you want.”

From one man who had a near-death experience (or several) to another, maybe he had a point. But then again, if you try to sacrifice yourself multiple times, you must be more than okay with the thought of leaving this world and the people you care about.

Tony finally finishes packing up, while Peter was still in the ring, contemplating.

“She’s a good one,” he shouts to the boy, getting his attention. “Might even like her more than you.” He pauses, realizing how that sounded. “No offense, of course.”

The boy’s face sours as Tony keeps walking. “Some taken… oh and hey! I know it was you that paid for the Europe trip!”

“Nope! Wrong billionaire!” He swings the door open, turning around to look at Peter. “But uh, I think there’s a light festival the same weekend you’re in Prague. You should check it out.”

“Uh-huh…” he grins, playing along.

+++

Thanks to his powers, Peter’s hands always got extra sticky when he was nervous. So, when Mr. Stark called him to come to his office a week or so after the incident, he tried his best to keep his hands to himself.

“Hey, Mr. Stark. You wanted to see me or something?” he asked, awkwardly shuffling through the door.

Tony looks up from his phone and nods at Peter. “Kid, hey. How you feelin’?”

“Oh, well I’m actually doing pretty goo-“

“That’s great,” Tony interrupts. “Anyways, here you go.”

He slides a paper bag toward the boy, to which Peter responds by checking his surroundings. Was this a test? Because there are some major drug deal vibes happening right now.

“What the heck are you doing, kid? Just take the damn bag.”

Peter snaps back to the man and quickly snatches it off the desk. He peeks inside and is shocked when he sees the bright red and blue suit. He clutches the bag closer, afraid it would be stripped away from him a second time.

“You- you’re giving it back to me?” Peter grins.

“Well, it didn’t really teach you anything when I took it away, so I might as well just give it back. Plus, your other one looks ridiculous compared to this.”

His smile falls a little, and Tony quickly backtracks for clarification.

“What I mean is that you did good work. I didn’t believe in you after the ferry incident, but you were determined. You followed your heart and ended up catching the guy. However, you also ended up getting shish kabobbed and almost died, which isn’t as good.” Stark mumbles the last part, getting a little off track. “I told you before that if something happened to you, that it would be on me. But if you won’t listen to me then… I guess I have to mentor you, and make sure you know what you’re doing.”

Peter’s eyes widen. “As in…”

“Training every morning. We can practice using all your suit’s abilities along with combat in case you’re stuck without it. We’ll track your health and progress to make sure you’re not pushing it. Last thing we need is you showing off and hurting yourself.”

“Yeah, got it.” He replies, mouth agape. “I- thank you, Mr. Stark.”

He couldn’t believe it. This was all happening so fast. A few days ago, he thought he was supposed to be dead on the sidewalk. Now, everything seemed to be going well. Maybe too well? How was Mr. Stark so calm about it?

“Well, to be honest, you shouldn’t be thanking me. It was your girlfriend that pretty much convinced me to do this. Y/N or something?”

He cocks his head. “Wait, Y/N? What do you mean?”

“We met at the hospital when you were under surgery.” He shrugs. “Kept telling me how you were a good kid who was going to help the city at all costs, that you were soulmates and this was doomed to happen, you should get another chance, etcetera etcetera,” He dismisses with his hands. “It was pretty moving, really. She really believes in you, so I thought I should do the same.”

Peter tries to keep a neutral face, but this information made his mind go even faster than before. You never mentioned that you met Mr. Stark, much less had an actual conversation with him. With all the crap he’s pulled on you, you still said all that. And to an Avenger, no less.

He doesn’t comment about Mr. Stark’s confession, only giving him another thanks followed with a goodbye. From the looks of it, Tony was rather done with the conversation anyways. He leaves as awkwardly as he came in.

As Peter walks back to his room, he notices the air around him feels lighter. Fresher, even. He smiles at the thought.

For the first time, in a very long time, Peter was optimistic for the future.

---

Never mind, maybe he should have died that night.

Studying was a far worse punishment.

Peter groans and buries his face deeper into his pillow, a string of obscenities following shortly after. You turn and frown at the sight. Sure, you weren’t any better during finals week, but this was just sad.

“C’mon dude,” you said as you shook his shoulder. “Get up. We’re almost done with this.”

He groans louder at your comment. “Too much work. Math isn’t even real.”

You shake your head in amusement. “Yeah okay. Tell that to Gonzales, I’m sure you’ll keep your number two spot after that.” You snort, not registering Peter’s shock as he propped himself up.

“Two? Don’t you mean one?”

Shit. “I mean, not exactly. Finals week happened a little bit ago. Grades change, you know?”

“Okay…” He gives you a look. “Well, then who scored high enough to beat me?”

Your lips tighten, but your silence, in turn, answers his question.

“No…” Peter realizes. “You- no….”

“Pete-“

“You’re first now? You took my freaking spot?”

Your mouth hangs open trying to think of a proper response and your friend scoffs. “Wow,” he says, shaking his head. “After all this time, I didn’t realize my best friend would become my enemy. Now I actually have to try.”

“Ouch. A nice congrats or something would have been nice, you know,” you reply, rolling your eyes. “Whatever, at least I’m being nice and trying to help.”

“Help? Or sabotage?” Peter smirks, sitting up. Stiff from his previous meltdown position, he clasps his hands together and stretches his arms upward. He doesn’t get very far before he flinches back down, hands now gripping his side as he quietly whimpers.

You immediately assume the worst as you turn closer to Peter, but he shakes his head, a sign telling you it’s nothing serious. He takes a few more deep breaths before looking at you, now sheepish.

“Sorry bout that. I think I overdid today,” he explained, gently rubbing his abdomen.

“Peter…” you pout. “Thought the whole point of you being here was so that you wouldn’t overdo it.”

“Yeah yeah, I know. I didn’t think a late-night workout would cause too much trouble,” he says, and your eyebrows furrow, disappointment evident. Peter slumps further down, throwing his hands up. “I won’t do it again, okay? It’s my last weekend here, anyways. I’ll take it easy for the next few days. Promise.” He then offers his pinkie to you, and you accept it with a sigh.

Your eyes wander down his chest, stopping at the top of his waist. You’ve never actually seen it, the wound and the scar that it left. At least, not since the incident. Your chest tightens at the thought. It was so bloody, and dirty, and just plain gross.

It was supposed to be the end of him, the end of everything you had. And now here he was, studying for a calculus test.

How was all that a month ago?

“Does it always hurt?” you ask before you could stop yourself. Peter follows your stare before looking at you again.

“Nah, just sometimes,” he starts with a small shrug. “It’s usually a dull ache every now and then, but it hurts more right now, cause, you know…” He looks away in shame. “Speaking of, I need to put this cream stuff on before I forget, supposed to keep it clean and help with the healing. I forgot to put it on after training.” He leans forward to grab the tube off his desk, and you could tell the easy motion was rather painful.

“I could do it if you want,” you offer, eyes widening immediately afterward. The two of you have been keeping physical distance between one another, and now here you were, basically asking to caress him. “I mean- if you think it would be easier.”

He takes a moment to think before giving a small nod, not saying anything as he hands you the cream. You both seem unsure of this, but you slowly grab the tube anyways. You take your time unscrewing the cap, giving Peter a chance to change his mind. When you look back up, he’s already staring at you, waiting for your next move.

You scooch closer toward Peter, and the air starts to get thicker. Tense. One wrong move could ruin this whole thing. You cringe at the thought. It’s not that deep, you tried to rationalize.

But this was Peter. Every small action meant something more.

Fisting the bottom of his t-shirt, you bring it to his chest to reveal the scar. You let out a shaky breath, looking at the newly exposed skin. It was the same as the last time you saw it: You could still see the tinges of pink under the lights, and his chest was still firm. But now all that was blemished with a horrid red line on his right.

That fucking scar. If looks could kill, your stare could probably reopen the wound that was once there. It makes you so frustrated to know the memory still stains his body. Peter once mentioned that his powers speed up his healing process, but marks like these last a lifetime for normal people, so you imagined that if it were to go away, it wouldn’t be for years.

You shake the thoughts from your head as you squeeze the cream onto your fingers, using your thumb to warm it up. Shifting your weight forward, you lean in even closer to him and gently touch Peter’s skin. The contact causes him to tense at first, but he eventually softens under your touch as you massage in the substance.

Peter doesn’t take his eyes off you. He watches how softly your fingers graze his scar, and how his skin was burning at the contact. It reminds him of that weekend: The hungry kisses, the skin on skin after you took your shirts off. Even when you were pulling him for more, you were never rough. You let him dip his toes first, making sure he was doing what he wanted.

Mr. Stark’s words come back to him. Live a little… have some fun… do what you want…

And right now, Peter thinks he wants more.

He sits up straighter (or at least as much as he could) and brings his hand up toward you, tracing your jaw with his fingertips. His thumb rubs the center of your cheek, bringing your focus away from his scar. You don’t realize how close the two of you are until you face him again. Peter’s stare flickers between your eyes and mouth, and you swallow hard. Though his touch was warm, your mind was frozen.

Were you supposed to do something? What did Peter want? Your questions were soon answered as he started to close the distance between you, ever so slowly. And though a part of you wanted to meet him halfway, memories cloud your head.

Blood.

Rubble.

Tears.

Peter holding on for dear life.

Fear shooting through your veins.

With a sharp inhale, you put your weight on your palms and back away. Peter stays where he is, his body a few seconds behind. After a few seconds, he lowers his hand down as concern floods his eyes.

“I- I should go,” you announce. Pushing yourself off the bed, you quickly pack your stuff away, not bothering to check if you got everything.

“I thought we were going to study more-“

“Just look up some practice problems online and you should be good. The curve helps a lot too.” You zip your backpack. “You’ll be fine without me.”

Peter fumbles for an excuse. “Well, it’s getting late, though. Wouldn’t you rather spend the night like last weekend?”

“No, it’s cool. Happy said they always have a driver on call just in case. Might as well put use them,” you shrug. “Anyways, bye!”

You quickly slam the door behind you, and Peter cringes at the sound. What the hell just happened? He brings his palms to his eyes with a heavy sigh. The last thing he wanted was for things to be awkward, yet he still managed to drive you out of his room and onto a two-hour car ride instead. Did he misread the situation that bad?

Meanwhile, you were still on the other side of the door, eyes wide. Did you really just do that? You were always so upset when Peter didn’t communicate with you, but now you were no better. You turn back to face the door, hand on the doorknob, yet the turn never came. Eventually, you let go and back away, and pull out your phone before turning the corner and out of the hallway.

At that same moment, Peter decided to stand up and follow you. Even if you wanted to leave, he didn’t want all his feelings to go unsaid. He pushes through the soreness and reaches the door, yanking it open.

He sticks his head out into the hall, but he doesn’t see you. Peter’s frame shrinks. A big part of him wanted to chase you, to see if he could catch up before you had the chance to go, but if you were already so far gone, it must be for a reason. With a frown, he slowly shuts his door, hoping that maybe you’ll come back before the click.

You never do.

Sleep never comes to you that night, thoughts about a brown-haired superhero circling your head. You knew that leaving was not the best idea. And not turning back when you had the chance was also not the greatest call. But at that moment, the idea of confronting your fears and worries seemed so much worse.

Grabbing your pillow, you smother yourself as you let out a quiet scream. By the time you uncover your face, you can already see the sun.

---

Neither of you mentions that night. Not that you were purposely avoiding the topic. In fact, you wanted to apologize for your abrupt exit, and maybe talk about what was going on between you two, but there was never a good time to do so.

Peter’s reappearance was not going as smooth as you thought it would. No offense to the boy, but you didn’t think many people would notice he was gone. But with the lack of Spider-Man sightings, and all the chaos surrounding homecoming weekend, people were chatty.

The first day he came back to school, Flash kept asking what happened to the friendly neighborhood hero. Poor Peter tried his best to blubber an excuse about him having a mission out of the country, but that just confused his classmates even more.

Others were asking why he missed all those weeks of school, which caused him to create an elaborate lie about having an extended family in Europe. It took everything for MJ not to outright laugh at the scene, which you later scolded her about.

Combine that and all the work he needs to catch up on, you thought it would be best to wait a little longer.

Eventually, Friday rolls around and all of you have survived another week. You, Peter, Ned, and MJ were talking around your locker before school when Ned claps his hands together, a lightbulb turning on in his head.

“Oh, dude! Now that we’re all here, we should all play some D&D!” He grins, getting giddier by the second. “We finally have a good amount of people, plus it’ll be a good way to have Betty get to know you all better as a group. I got this new book for Christmas and I’ve been planning a campaign for weeks. Spoiler alert: it’s awesome!” He quickly spits out, looking toward the group for a response.

Turns out Betty and Ned were soulmates, though no one knew until recently. Except for MJ, of course. When she gossiped about it homecoming night, Ned spilled all the beans.

They found out a few weeks after D.C., but though the two of them were pleased with the pairing, Betty didn’t feel ready to go into a relationship. Ned was accepting of this, being the sweetie he is, and the two of them are slowly building a friendship, though they are quite affectionate with one another. It was adorable, and slightly jealousy-inducing all at once.

MJ crinkles her nose. “I suppose I could try it. No promises that I’ll enjoy it, though.”

Ned, Peter, and you all stare at one another before bursting into laughter. Your amusement confuses MJ, but she doesn’t interrupt the moment.

“Oh Michelle,” you begin, grabbing her by the shoulder. “You are in for a world of fun.”

“Does that mean you’re in?” Ned points to you.

“Of course, dude! You’re the best Dungeon Master around. That, and your mom always has tons of snacks for us whenever we play.”

“I’ll take what I can get, I guess,” he scoffs. “Should we plan for tomorrow or something? I need to add a few more details and Betty should be free then too.”

“I’m good.”

“Same here.”

“Actually, I can’t. I’m busy.”

The three of you turn to Peter, who shrinks down in size and offers a shy smile.

“C’mon Pete. I get you have a lot of catching up to do but I’m sure a small game break wouldn’t kill you,” you said.

“No no, I get that.” He shakes his head. “It’s just that I was gonna start patrolling this weekend… “ he explains, and your blood runs cold. “But you guys go on and play without me, I promise to join next time.”

Ned nods, the three of them continuing to talk like normal, but you stay silent, keeping your eyes in Peter’s direction. Patrolling? How come he never told you about this?

It’s five minutes before class when MJ and Ned decide to leave, heading to their first period history together. Peter decides to go to class too, but you grab his arm before he gets the chance to turn away.

“Are you seriously going out? What happened to taking it easy?” you hissed. Though your tone was rather snippy, deep down you were terrified for Peter. Sure, he was fine now, maybe even better with all his training, but was he ready to go back out?

Were you ready for him to go back out?

“I’ve been taking it easy for a week, and people are starting to get suspicious. I don’t know if I can make it through another one of Flash’s confrontations without getting caught,” he sighs. “Look, can we just talk about this later? Class is about to start.”

You scoff. “You’re just trying to avoid the subject.”

“No, I’m not. I just don’t want to hear you lecture me when I’m already heading to one. And besides, I already know what you’re gonna say so what does it matter?”

“You literally just described ‘avoiding the subject’,” you bite back, concern turning into frustration. “Nothing good happens when we don’t talk, Pete.”

“Oh really? Are you sure about that?”

“Yeah dude, I’m pretty sure. That’s kinda how a friendship works.”

“Right. Friendship…” A pause. Peter’s face hardens as he looks at you. “Fine, let’s talk: why didn’t you kiss me?” he asks, jaw clenched.

Your hand lets go of his arm and falls slack. When you said you wanted to bring up the almost-kiss, you didn’t mean now. Why was he turning this on you?

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Well, if I can’t avoid the subject, then you can’t either.”

You shake your head. This was not the time to talk about this. He takes your silence as an answer and moves a step back.

“I’m going out. Tonight,” he announces. “I’m not waiting around.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to reply before he turns around and walks away. The action surprises you; Peter was never the one to walk away. If he was, it was because there was a danger that he needed to tend to.

This time, he willingly chose to.

You mull over what he said before he left. I’m not waiting around. He said it with such conviction. It almost sounded like he wasn’t talking about Spider-Man.

He was talking about you.

+++

You didn’t realize the Avengers had their own private hospital section, but considering their job description, you shouldn’t be surprised.

The stale, air-conditioned air of the hospital welcomed you the minute you entered. Goosebumps prickled your exposed arms as the atmosphere around you shifted.

Yeah, you really didn’t like hospitals. Especially now.

The nurses didn’t know anything of you or your involvement either, so they couldn’t let you go past the designated waiting room, leaving you all alone in a stuffy room. You’ve been staring at the fish tank for the last five minutes, waiting for someone to at least come in and talk to you.

Ugh, fuck this.

You texted MJ and Ned the news about Peter, which was a rather chaotic conversation. You promised you would let them know the whole story soon, but now didn’t feel like the time. Not when your other half may or may not be alive.

When you left the school, Ned spammed Stark Industries with emergency messages, which finally got Tony Stark’s attention. You overheard some nurses at the desk talking, and apparently, he was somewhere in the building, talking down a woman. You had no doubt that it was May.

God, if you thought you’ve been through it, you couldn’t imagine how she felt. To find out your nephew, who was basically your son, is a crime-fighting superhero is one thing. To find out he was almost killed and is currently fighting for his life all in one night is another. You were surprised her head didn’t explode right then and there.

Another ten minutes pass by before May comes out from the patient area, eyes red and completely distraught. Tony Stark was close behind her, holding the door open as May’s crouched figure passes through.

You stare at the two of them and accidentally make eye contact with the billionaire. He sends you a nod before heading back to the hospital rooms, like it was the only safe thing to do. The anger from before quickly disappeared; at least you weren’t the only one in shock.

“Oh, Y/N,” May says when she spots you. “I didn’t know you’d be here. It’s super late, I think it’s safer if you went back home. I don’t want your parents to worry. Do you need me to call and talk to them? I can take you home if you need me to.”

“May, you don’t-“

“I mean it’s probably best if I go do something. I don’t think I can sit here for very long without pulling my hair out.”

“May-“

“This is all just hitting me so hard. I mean, how did I not even realize this? I feel so stupid. God, the nerve of Tony to pull this. I should have never trusted him-“

“It’s my fault, May.” You snap, ceasing her rambles. “I did this… I fucking caused all of this. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know what to do and one thing led to another and… I killed him. I killed Peter. I am so sorry, May. I never meant for any of this to happen.”

May doesn’t respond right away, still processing everything you said. Her shoulders slump down slightly as she cocks her head. Out of all the news she got tonight, this one confused her the most. But as she focused on you and your shivering body, she realized she wasn’t the only one that had a rough night.

She takes your hands. “Let’s talk, alright?”

The next fifteen minutes were spent by you blubbering about everything. The soulmate memory, his Spider-Man secret, how you tried to keep apart, and how you found him downtown. You skip over the rather intimate parts, knowing it was probably not going to help May. Your face is red and splotchy by the end of it, and a handful of tissues covered the small table next to you.

May doesn’t say a word until you’re done. Though a nice gesture, her silence was more due to her complete shock.

“I am so fucking sorry, May,” you whisper at the end. “I should have told you, or someone, at least. It’s just that, it was Peter’s life on the line. I didn’t want to do anything and hurt him. I thought it was best if he made the call, but look where that got us.” You wipe your eyes and look away. The guilt was unbearable. May was nothing but caring to you, and you repay her by killing her nephew.

“God... I knew Peter was having a rough time, I always heard him at weird hours of the night, but I thought it was just school or something. I’ve always checked on him, but he would always say he’s busy.” She shakes her head. “I don’t blame you, though. I mean, I’m not exactly happy this all went down the way it did, but I can’t be mad at you for at least trying to save him, even when it hurt to.”

You sniffle at her words, trying to suppress any more tears. “He still got hurt, though. Peter being my soulmate cost him his life…” you whisper the last word.

May offers a sympathetic smile as she smooths your hair. “You know, people say the reason for soulmates is to be with someone you love forever, but it never takes into account some people’s forever is shorter than others,” she explains. “When Ben died… I was so angry at the world. Why give me this amazing person if I only got them for a short time? Sure, the world can give me another soulmate or something, but it almost defeats the purpose… makes it seem that I had to have this one soulmate before I had to a ‘real’ soulmate. Even after all this time, part of me will always want him…

“But even if Ben isn’t with me forever, I was with him for his forever, and I found a way to be okay with that. I gave him all the love I possibly could have, and I have no doubt in my head that it was worth it.”

You smile and nod at her words, but she could tell you weren’t completely getting the point. “You and Peter are great together, friendship or more. There’s no way he regrets spending his time with you, and I don’t think you do either. The two of you always had something special. Don’t push away from that, even if it might seem easier.”

You find May’s hands and give a firm squeeze, a silent way of saying thanks. For months, you have been trying to go for easy: less drama, fewer risks… but it was still a whole lot of pain. And for what? Never getting to be with your best friend in the way you truly wanted? May made it seem like the choice was obvious, and you wondered if it actually was.

A few quiet minutes pass until Tony Stark steps into the waiting room and approaches the two of you. You and May quickly stand up, waiting for the worst. You already experienced Peter’s “death”, you didn’t need to go through it again, especially if it’s real this time.

“Is he going to be okay?” May quickly asks, hands close to her chest, protecting herself from any hidden blows.

Tony’s mouth tightens before answering. “More or less…” he starts, looking down before continuing. “The wound was deep, and if he couldn’t heal as fast as he could, this would be a different story. However, it was still caused by dangerous, alien hybrid technology and he was already in a rough state prior to the… stab.” He cringes at the word. “Scrapes and bruises, a broken rib, some significant brain injury… Dr. Cho is doing the best she can, but as of right now, he’s in a comatose state.”

You gulp at the news. “So, what does that mean? When will he wake up?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know.”

“But- but he will wake up, right?” you clarify.

A pause. Tony’s jaw ticks. His eyes quickly leave you before blinking and meeting yours again, but you notice it. The doubt behind them.

“I don’t know…”

---

It’s almost midnight, which means you’ve spent the whole night worrying.

You were out on the fire escape freezing your ass off. It would only take ten steps maximum to grab something warm, but the bite of the wind kept you alert.

You weren’t going to leave until you knew Peter was safe.

He barely talked to you since this morning. He sat near Ned at lunch instead of you and took different routes to class. You texted him a few times throughout the day, but he never replied.

So, when you sent a message checking in on him with no response back, you weren’t sure if it was him ignoring you or that he was in danger. You let out a sigh of worry as your breath dissolved into the night.

You never realized how nice your view was. The most use your window got was when Peter came in, but that hasn’t happened for months. It’s crazy that you consider that a simpler time in your relationship.

Your ears focus on the sounds of the city. The bustling noises often brought you comfort, knowing that there were thousands of people going through the motions of life. Tonight, however, it sent a feeling of loneliness to your veins. New York kept going on while you were wallowing and worrying. It didn’t need you, even though you needed them.

A sudden urge to cry makes your throat tightens. You really hope that Peter was alright.

When you check the time again, you saw that a new day began. You decide to shove your phone back in your pocket. Watching the clock every ten seconds wasn’t going to help.

You sigh, maybe you’ll feel different today. Maybe you’ll feel warmer because holy shit is it cold outside. At what temperature does hypothermia kick in? That seems like a question to Google, not experiment.

You’re about to turn back when you hear a soft thwip, and a Peter hanging outside down on the stairs. You weren’t too sure how he was feeling at the moment, his covered eyes not giving any hints, but you send a soft smile nonetheless.

“I’m not a damsel in distress if that’s what you’re thinking,” you break the ice.

Peter turns himself right side up, taking a seat on the railing next to you. He pulls his mask off and drops it in his lap, and you can see his face isn’t as icy as this morning. But his mouth was pulled tight, unsure how to go about this.

“I’d consider frostbite to be a crime,” he shrugs. Luckily, you had your window open this whole time. With a quick webshot, Peter sticks and catches the sweater hanging on your chair before offering it to you. “Especially if Spider-Man can stop it.”

You bite your cheek. Part of you didn’t want to give in, but there was no way you could last another minute out here. Slowly, you grabbed your sweater, your fingers grazing the fabric of his suit. A way of saying thank you.

“Slow day?” you ask, pulling the sweater over your head. The extra layer was already warming you up, and your body relaxes a little.

“Well, considering the biggest thing I did today was helping tourists find their way to the subway, I’ll let you figure that out,” he laughs. “Though I suppose some good work is better than no work at all. At least the city knows I’m back.”

Peter realizes that the last sentence wasn’t a good idea, your face slightly dropping at his words. He tries to keep talking in hopes of distracting you. “So uh, any reason why you’re out here tonight?”

“I was waiting for you. Couldn’t sleep until I knew you were safe, I guess.” you sigh, looking back at the skyline. “I also wanted to apologize, for how I reacted. Even if I didn’t agree with you, I could have at least listened to you.”

Peter awkwardly nods, guilt surfacing at your confession. “I mean, I could have done the same thing too. I was so focused on the dumb rumors I let Flash get into my head. That was my first mistake,” he jokes, causing you to snort. “I’m not trying to get into myself into any death matches anytime soon, but I still want to help out, you know?”

“Always the hero… I learned that back in D.C.,” you sigh. “I guess I’m still trying to figure things out. Everything just feels weird right now, and I don’t think I’m making it any easier.”

He doesn’t say anything and faces back toward the city. He takes a breath of the city, smelling the mix of laundry detergent from your apartment basement and the exhaust from the streets.

For all his life, Peter was dedicated to New York. He loved going to the museums with May and Ben; he always tried to pay street performers with whatever spare change he had in his pocket; he rolled his eyes every time someone brought up New Jersey; most importantly, he wouldn’t take off the suit until he knew his home was safe, even if it was almost morning.

He’s done everything he could to protect his neighborhood and the people who need it most, yet he feels… almost distant from it all. As if Peter was trying to find something more to it. A faint memory passes through his head- what did Ben use to say all those years ago? Something like, “home isn’t a place, it’s a feeling”?

Peter’s brain sticks to the thought.

Suddenly, the last month hits him.

“I thought of you,” he starts, still looking out into the night. “When it happened, all I could think about was you.”

Your face softens as the beating of your heart becomes audible.

“I was so… angry about it all. I was so pissed off at myself. Even if I knew that was gonna happen, even if I knew or thought I guess, that that was the end, I was an idiot for not spending my time with you. I should’ve used whatever time I had trying to be something more to you, instead of pushing away what we already had. At least if I did die, I would be at peace with everything,” he chokes up a little at the end. “You’re my best friend, and one that somehow gets me. This place is my home and I’d do anything for it.” He turns his head closer. “But it’s nothing without you. Life feels complicated, it’s always been complicated… but I think it’d be easier if we were in it together.”

You bite your lip and pick at the skin. They’ve been chapped since you came out, but it didn’t stop you from using it to cope with your nerves. Peter was laying it all out on the table, and you were the one left silent.

“You don’t have to tell me why we didn’t kiss, it’s completely understandable if you rather just let it go. I’ve pushed you away too many times, it’s only fair you get to do the same at least once. But I want you to know this.” His eyes were bright under the moonlight.

The last hurrah.

“I would keep you in any possible way I could. I told myself that I need to be able to do what I want, and I want you, for however long I can get you,” he sighs. “If you’re not ready for that, okay. If you never want that- fuck – that’s okay too. I love you. I will always love you,” he says, passion dripping from his words and into your heart. “If you could wait for me, I can wait for you too. Whenever you’re ready, just say when. I don’t care what I’m doing, or where I am, I’m always going to be here with you. Even if you don’t want me, I’ll be here.”

I’ll be here…

+++

It took five days for Peter to wake up.

Five days of nonstop worrying and utter stress. Five days of you traveling to the hospital first thing after school until your parents texted you to come home. Five days of you not sleeping because you were waiting for the call, and you had no idea what to expect when it did.

The first day was somewhat bearable. May and you slept in the waiting room that night, and when you woke up, which was about four hours later, she took you home. Sitting in a sticky, vinyl chair was not helping you, and if May had to wait there for another minute, she was afraid she’d have another meltdown.

You were still a little numb from it all by the time you got back. It wasn’t until almost midnight that you started to realize, oh shit, you don’t know when Peter will wake up. If… he’ll ever wake up.

That first night you cried in your bed until the morning. Your face was swollen for the rest of the day, and when your parents came back on the second day, they were panicking that you had an allergic reaction.

You told May not to tell them. They didn’t need to know, and they didn’t need to coddle and worry about you. May, who didn’t exactly think it was a good idea, reluctantly agreed anyways. So, when your parents were fussing about your appearance, you laughed it off and told them you watched The Notebook the night before with some friends.

It was just easier that way.

The second day was spent with you wallowing in your room, waiting by your phone for something. May told you she would keep you updated and that you shouldn’t worry, which both of you knew was just empty advice. Hearing nothing was just as bad as hearing something.

Later that day, MJ sent a few news articles about the Vulture and his arrest. Apparently, his suit gave out not too long after he left the scene, causing him to suffer some internal injuries and harsh burns. He got caught by Stark Industries and was arrested quickly after, and is currently awaiting trial. It was likely that Adrian Toomes would be under bars for a while, and that brought you both relief and guilt as you tried to sleep.

The third day sent you to school, and at least gave you something to focus on. The tension between you and your friends was palpable, but no one bothered to address it, not sure where to even go. The only mention of that night was with Liz in the hallway before she left, and that was enough for you.

You went back to the hospital on the third day (after telling your parents you were staying at school for newspaper), and though there was nothing new about Peter’s condition, you still wanted to be there just in case. May was too busy with work to come in unless there was an emergency, and you hope that brought her more relief than stress.

You spent your visiting hours watching Peter sleep, or whatever people did when they were in a coma. You at least liked to pretend he was just sleeping, it made you feel better about his chances of waking up.

His face was so pale and frail under the fluorescents, and you wished he could wake up just long enough to get some actual food in him. You hoped he was at least somewhat at peace right now and resting away all of the stress he’s put himself under. The stress that you were also a cause of.

“I’m sorry, Peter. For everything,” you whisper. Even if he could hear you right now, you’re not sure you want him to. You slowly stand up from your chair and step closer to the boy, brushing his curls back. Gently, you lean forward and press a kiss to the top of his head, brushing the area with your thumb afterward. “I hope you’re doing okay…”

The fourth day is mostly the same. After school, you lied to your parents and went straight to the hospital. You quietly worked on homework while sitting next to Peter, glancing at him from time to time and sending his hand a reassuring squeeze every now and then. He looks the same as yesterday, and you’re not too sure if that’s good or not.

“You know he’s not going anywhere,” you hear from the doorway. Their voice was instantly recognizable. “Dr. Cho says he’s doing alright, though. Still don’t know when he’ll wake up, but he’s alright for now.” Tony Stark says.

You scoff. “No offense, but that ‘for now’ part doesn’t seem so reassuring.”

“Fair enough,” he shrugs, taking a seat next to you. “But considering this is probably my fault, I’ll take that over nothing.”

You shake your head. “It’s not your fault. It was bound to happen either way, no matter what you did, it wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“Yeah, that’s what everyone says, isn’t it?” he mumbles.

“Trust me, I actually mean it. If we’re going to put blame on anyone it should be on me… or the universe or whatever.”

Tony tilts his head. “Universe as in…”

“-soulmates, yeah,” you answer. “In our future, we saw each other after the incident, and I thought he died… now here we are.”

“Right, here we are…” he repeats. “They told me someone else was there at the scene when I got to the hospital, but I wasn’t sure who they were referring to until I saw you afterward. Nice to meet officially meet you…”

“Y/N,” you introduce yourself.

Tony nods. “I’m sorry about how all that went down though. I knew the kid wants his identity to be a secret so I tried to keep everything under wraps as much I could.”

“No hard feelings,” you smile. “I was definitely upset at the time, but I could tell you were just as worried as I was. You wanted to protect him… I do too.” You turn and look at Peter, watching his chest go up and down with his breath. “I’d do anything for him.”

You don’t notice Tony’s faint smile as he watches you and Peter. Young love was beyond him, and watching it happen right in front of his eyes was both sweet and nauseating.

“I should be heading back, I only came here for a quick check-in. Still have some loose ends to tie up regarding press, but nothing to worry about.” He stands up, straightening his jacket. “Glad we got a chance to chat.”

“Me too.” You watch as he walks away, words still at the tip of your tongue. “For what it’s worth Mr. Stark,” you begin, gaining his attention again. “Peter is the type of person who would do anything to save people. He looks out for his family, his friends, me… I can’t imagine someone who’s more of a hero than him, and that includes the Avengers. No offense,” you half-joke. “Whatever you decide to do with him, I hope you give him another chance. He’s really amazing- powers or not.”

He nods, impressed at your words. Tony doesn’t say anything, choosing to offer you a smile before turning away, leaving you and Peter alone. You don’t stay much longer after he leaves, and you follow yesterday’s routine of kissing Peter’s head before heading out.

The fifth day is rainy, perfect to match your somber mood. School decided that today would be a great day to kick your ass and give you tons of homework, even though finals week was already fast approaching. You also forgot an umbrella this morning, and your clothes were still damp from your walk from the subway station. For the cherry on top, no one has had any updates on Peter since he went under, and your hope was starting to falter.

Without thinking, you took Peter’s hands in yours and started to fidget around with his fingers. The cuts on his knuckles were turning pink and gradually healing, while the calluses on his palms were still evident. Much of the skin around his joints were rough, but it meshed so well with the smoothness around it. You were never touchy with other people, but you desperately wanted Peter to squeeze your hands back. At least show some indication that everything was going to be okay.

When you actually felt a squeeze, you almost couldn’t believe it.

You straighten in your chair and turn your head up. A slow flutter of the eyes and a twitch of the lips make your body tense in anticipation. Is he…?

“Peter?” you whisper.

A quiet groan escapes his mouth as Peter’s eyes gently open, taking in the bright lights. You sigh in relief and blink away at the tears trying to come. This better not be a dream.

“Y/N?” he asks, voice dry and scratchy.

“Oh jeez, maybe don’t talk yet. I’ll go grab you some water and tell the nurses you’re up, okay?” you loosen your grip on Peter’s hands, but he squeezes again.

His head does the tiniest shake as he stares down, watching where your fingers touch his. “Stay. They’ll figure it out.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Fine,” you give in. You’ll be out of here soon enough when they find out, and you wanted to spend time with the boy who came back from the dead. “If I get in trouble though, you cannot play the ‘sick patient’ card.”

Peter lets out a gravelly laugh, his body still trying to figure out how to be awake. “I’ll try my best…” he mumbles.

“You’ll try your best? Seriously?” you scoff. “You finally wake up and your first words are some half-ass promise?”

He takes a deep inhale, both humored and annoyed at your teasing. “Fine. I promise I won’t… as long as you promise to be here.”

You smile at his quiet words, taking his knuckle and forcing his pinkie finger up. You gently wrap yours around it, looking him dead in his tired eyes. “I promise I’ll be here,” you whisper.

”I’ll always be here…”

---

A month ago, you promised Peter that exact same thing, and it feels like you already broke that promise. The world has offered you a second chance, and you were doing the same thing Peter did the first time: pushing away out of fear. Could you really waste another five months doing that again?

Could your heart handle that?

“Sorry if I made you uncomfortable or something,” Peter stammers. “If you need some time alone, that’s cool,” he offers, fumbling to put his mask back on.

“-Peter, wait.”

He immediately freezes, looking at you with wide eyes. The wind was starting to pick up, and his curls gently blew in the breeze. The dry air irritates his lips as he picks at it, waiting for your next response.

You move closer to him, inch by inch on the railing; your hands are almost touching, your pinkie desperately wanting to link with his gloved one. You take a deep breath and let it trap in your chest as you stare at the boy in front of you.

Peter Parker.

Spider-Man.

Your soulmate.

But most importantly, your best friend.

The wind moves through your hair and chills your body, yet it jumpstarts every nerve in your system. Peter was alive; you were alive; and fuck, was it a good feeling.

You wanted more, so you leaned in. Your nose touched Peter’s and your mouths closed the gap. A small, innocent kiss to tell him you want more, and that it was his call to keep going. When you stop, and Peter realizes that yes, you did just kiss him, he comes back for more. And he’s not looking to stop anytime soon.

His hand lets go of the railing and wraps around the small of your back, keeping you close and balanced. He keeps the other one gripped tight to the metal; he doesn’t trust himself to not get dizzy from you.

You cradle Peter’s face and deepen yourself into his presence. Your heart is hammering against your chest and you love it. It makes your body heat up and radiates the air around you. You hum against his mouth as you suck on his bottom lip, making Peter whine at the feeling. Your sweater rides up as you press yourself closer, and his thumb draws circles on the exposed skin. The small action makes you smile; you were only half-sure you weren’t crying at the amount of love that was running through your veins.

It seems like forever until you two are pulling away, absolutely blissed out and breathless. Neither of you go that far, faces still just a space or two away.

You look into Peter’s glassy eyes. If something were to happen to him, if you had to say goodbye to him in the worst way possible, if you had to grieve for a lifetime in order to move on, if you had to spend every day thinking of him and crying until your face was red and dry…

It was worth it. You were grateful to be loved by Peter Parker.

You catch your breath and take a slow inhale. It smells like cedarwood. Home.

You lean forward again and Peter meets you halfway. Your lips are just touching when you whisper into his mouth his new favorite word.

“When.”

Part 4 / Masterlist

Taglist: @eridanuswave @spideylovin @mktravelbuggie​  @bintfalastin8​ @runway-to-my-aid​ @selfcarecap @peterbenjiparker​

#tom holland #peter parker #peter parker x reader #Peter Parker fluff #peter parker fanfiction #Peter Parker angst #peter parker imagine #peter parker x reader smut #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #Peter Parker fanfiction #five months #Peter Parker imagine #spider man fanfic #marvel imagine #marvel #Tom holland x reader #Peter Parker series

[tangerineliqu0r]

Kindle

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Hero!Reader

Summary: They haven't seen each other in 6 months, and after meeting on the metro, have a cute dinner.

Warnings: fluff, mutual pining, married couple stuff, cursing, reminiscing

Word Count: 1373

a/n: I've been dying to actually start writing and I love Sam so much and don't see enough love for him so here it is <3

The bumpiness of the metro had never been nice to you. Whether it was smacking your head into the window or throwing you off balance, it had never been something you liked. Unfortunately, it was much faster than driving when you had to be downtown. Not to mention you weren’t much of a driver anyways.

That’s how you got stuck dosing off on the cracked seats on your way back from work. You’d think that working for the government would have its perks, but here you were working until late and riding the damn metro back home. You were exhausted, so much so that your eyelids were half closed where pictures of a warm bed and Chinese takeout danced behind your eyes. To anyone else on the train, you probably looked completely asleep or at least in your own little world. You were almost knocked out until the train pulled up to a stop and a voice yanked you out of your dreams.

“Hey, is that really you? What’re you doing in DC?”

The striking figure of Sam Wilson entered your half-lidded vision. He was getting on the train and grabbing a standing spot directly in front of you. Despite the initial shock of seeing him you were still able to get a stiff answer to come out of your mouth as you tried to wake yourself up.

“Oh, you know, working myself to death, you know the feds don’t want any of us roaming the streets.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. Retiring was never an option for you, it seemed you’d always be paying them back for your ‘enemy of the state’ pardon.

“Yeah, I felt that. Always the next job, right?”

“Exactly. They’ve got me cooped up in an office with a bunch of techs now. Said something about me being unsafe and unpredictable in the field, before assigning me some shitty therapist and slapping me behind a computer.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the thought.

“Shit, I’d kill for a desk job right now. Seems like I fly from mission to mission and get patched up on the plane in between.Dealing with the world post blip isn’t as easy as it seems.”

“I know Sam, the world’s so different and I’m so busy I swear I don’t think I’ve sat down at my kitchen table to eat in 4 months.”

I shifted over so I was fully in my seat and motioned for him to take the seat next to me. I could see the exhaustion on his face as he plopped into the seat. He leaned fully back and stretched out his long jean clad legs.

He blows air out of his mouth and laughs at me, “God damn, I felt that, takeout’s good, but nothing beats a good steak and sprouts.”

Obviously, it hadn’t taken long to fall back into their old ways: complaining about work and talking about food. All we needed to turn back time now would be a quick kiss. You couldn’t help but to reminisce. The two of you used to be like two peas in a pod, where he was you were. Seeing him after all this time made you realize just how much you missed him. You missed being around him all the time. You missed the way he’d laugh at your stupid jokes. You missed cooking for him and staying in to watch some cult classic. You missed going out to Tony’s fancy parties and then driving around for hours with Sam after. You missed the taste of his lips and the feel of his skin against yours. You missed him more than you realized, and the feeling gave you the confidence to speak up.

“Come over to mine then, I still go grocery shopping and I’m sure I can whip up an actual meal for you.”

His brown eyes light up, and you know you’ve got him with the promise of good cooking. “God, it’s been forever since I’ve ate your food, you know I can’t turn that down.”

“Good, I got you just in time then, because my stop is coming up.” You smiled at him.

Suddenly the day had gotten better, even with the torture of work and the monotony of life, Sam Wilson had managed to brighten up your world with just a glance.

Despite your stops coming up in any minute, you felt that they were taking an indefinite amount of time. The excitement to be with Sam for the evening overrode any patience you had managed to develop over your lifetime.

When the stop finally came, the two of you made the quick walk back to your apartment in no time.

“Government assigned?” Sam quirks his eyebrow at you as you pull the front door open.

“Of course, I’m sure they’ve got a million agents in this damn building watching my every move. I swear, you can get pardoned, but they don’t every really pardon you.” You smirk as the two of you enter the elevator.

“Ha!” He barks out a sharp laugh, “You think they’ve got a Sharon Carter in the unit across from you?”

“Oh I’m sure of it, the guy in the unit across from me is definitely an agent,” you snark at him. “He’s doing a real good job at pulling off the frail look thought, especially with the hourly cig breaks and the toothpick arms, I’m sure they think I’d never suspect.” You laugh.

“But really, Sam, most of the people in the building are suits, along with a few agents that I know of.”

“Yeah, I’m sure they keep a close eye on you, being all unpredictable and unsafe like you are.” He jabs you in the side and laughs.

“I’m telling you they’ve got it all wrong!” you laugh. “Alright this is me,” you wiggle your key into the knob and open the door.

“Kick off your shoes and relax wherever, I’m going to see what I’ve got in the kitchen.” You wandered into the kitchen to find something to whip up.

It didn’t take Sam long at all to get comfortable. He quickly cozied into the second-hand brown leather couch situated in the living room parallel to your kitchen. The man was barely awake when you got to him with a plate of food.

The two of you sit next to each other and eat on the old couch. It doesn’t take long until someone suggests that they find something to watch on television, and not long after you all are watching reruns of the Office.

Both of you laugh wholeheartedly through the episodes and somewhere in between the 4th and 5th episode you begin to notice the glances Sam is giving you. They’re somewhere between sad and longing, and you’re beginning to think he’s going to leave until Sam wraps his hand over your shoulders and pulls you in tight against him. Suddenly it’s like the blip never happened, the snap never happened, and it’s just the two of you, doing what you always do.

You were content with that, being close to him, being immersed in him. Hell, you hoped that the familiar warm musky smell of his cologne would stay on the shirt you were wearing. The two of you had nearly watched a half a season when you really began to get tired. Gently, you tapped his arm, so he’d lift it off your shoulders and asked if he minded if laid down over his lap.

Of course, he obliged and there the two you were just like old times, you half-asleep with your head in his lap and him stroking his fingers through your hair and scratching gently against you scalp.

The sad look he had been giving you earlier had transformed. It was a gentle, mellow, content look now. You could guess he was reminiscing too, just by the look on his face. And you knew for sure he had been reminiscing when leaned down and attached his lips to yours.

There it was, that spark in your chest, that you hadn’t felt in a hell of a long time. Sam Wilson had sparked a little flame your heart again, and you just hoped he’d kindle it.

#sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x oc #tfatws #sam wilson supremacy #the falcon x reader #god i love sam so much #the falcon fanfiction #fanfiction