#i landed on the superhero fic twice because there is a lot of it goodness gracious

[justcallmehitgirl]

Good Woman Part 1 (Peter Parker x Female Reader Smut)

Summary: Peter Parker can be a bit of a peeping Tom.

Warnings: voyeurism, exhibitionism, smut, suit!porn, and language

Word Count: 3200

A/N: I’ve been on a roll lately, and this just happened. Point of view switches between Peter to Y/N so hopefully it’s not too confusing. I don’t condone spying on people, but suspend some reality for this fic please. 

(5/7/20): I fixed some typos, grammar mistakes, character inconsistencies, etc. from my original posting. I also made some stylistic changes.

PART TWO / PART THREE / PART FOUR / PART FIVE / PART SIX / PART SEVEN / PART EIGHT / PART NINE / PART TEN / STORY PAGE 

He knows he shouldn’t. He feels downright sleazy. He’s the friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man. He’s someone that people admire and look up to. He’s an Avenger. But he’s also a seventeen-year-old hot-blooded male who can’t keep a boner down when a PG-13 sex scene pops up on screen.

It’s a dilemma Peter faces on a cool September night, the crisp air sending a shiver down his spine, as he peers inside your bedroom window. His eyes are fixed on you—lounging on your bed in nothing but an oversized shirt with your smooth legs stretched out in full display. The glow emanating from the TV screen illuminates your face, highlighting your features.

Peter is well-aware of your reputation at Midtown. You’re smart, pretty, and a tease—barely giving any attention to the boys at Midtown. You didn’t date (save for that one short-lived summer fling that became school-wide gossip), you rarely went to parties, and you never stayed out past curfew. You are, and have always been, way out of Peter’s league.

He’s known you since elementary school, silently observing you throughout the years even though you were in the grade above him. You've always been nice and polite to him, though. You always said “excuse me” when you brushed past him in the hallways, and you always gave him a small wave or smile whenever he accidentally made eye contact with you.

Peter has no idea if you even know his name, but he likes to think that you do.

He swears it’s a coincidence that he found your window. He had randomly swung by and landed on your fire escape to take a quick breather after stopping a petty theft down the street. He was about to leave when he spotted you from the corner of his eye, your presence taking him by surprise.

And as usual, Peter couldn’t stop himself from staring.

—

His heart beats rapidly as he stares at you sprawled across your bed—eyes glued to your TV, head propped up by a mountain of pillows. You let out a yawn, face contorting, with your arms stretched out above your head. Your shirt rides up, revealing a pair of black, polkadot panties.

Peter gulps, imagining his hands pushing your shirt up higher to expose more of you.

He swallows hard, knowing that this is an absolute abuse of power. He knows he should leave, but he stays rooted in his spot. 

He continues gazing at you until your eyelids begin to droop, body relaxing against your mattress. Your mouth parts slightly while your chest rises and falls evenly.

Peter thinks you look like a princess in a fairy-tale. 

He imagines running his fingers through your hair and tracing patterns over your soft, bare skin. He imagines the feel of your plush lips pressed against his while his hands roam over your body.

He frowns and glances away. He knows that it will never happen— girls like you didn’t give guys like him the time of day.

He hangs his head and exhales, quietly cursing himself under his breath. He starts to stand, but he senses movement from inside your bedroom. He crouches back down and cocks his head, eyes flickering with curiosity.

He takes in a sharp breath while his jaw practically drops to the ground. He gapes at you, pupils dilated, as your hand moves down your stomach and grazes the waistband of your underwear. He leans forward, feeling his cock instantly harden underneath his suit. He bites back a groan as he watches with building intensity as your hand disappears beneath the thin, cotton fabric. 

Your back arches off the bed—fingers frantically moving over your clit, knuckles straining your underwear. Your body writhes, and you let out a soft whimper. You roll your head to the side, facing him. 

He watches your face scrunch up in ecstasy. You bite your bottom lip, and your eyes flutter open. 

Peter’s breath catches in his throat; he knows he’s fucked.

—

You blink, eyes adjusting. You immediately pale, eyes widening at the shadowy figure pressed against your window. Your heart lurches in your chest. You quickly rip your hand from your underwear and scramble off the bed. You stand on wobbly legs, bottom lip trembling as fear grips throat.

You step backwards until your body hits the wall, eyes frozen on his form. You cower against the wall and try to will your body to make a run for it. You size him up, taking in every detail even though he was bathed in shadows. 

The figure holds his hands up and frantically shakes his head, his movements almost pleading.    

You blink once, then twice—just before your eyes go wide with recognition, and your breath catches in your throat.

It’s Spider-Man.

You want to feel relieved. You’re well-aware of his superhero reputation—saving the Academic Decathlon team in D.C. and taking down Liz’s dad. But despite his prior good deeds, you continue to eye him warily. You had no idea who was underneath that mask, and your mind races through the possibilities—from a 30-something-year-old pervert to a deranged psychopath preying on high school girls.

You start to move towards your door—back still pressed up against the wall for support. He presses a hand on the window, almost begging for you to open it. You tilt your head as you start to wonder how long he’s been out there—and how much he saw. You shiver at the thought of him watching you, skin tingling. 

You pause at your reaction, and your curiosity begins to gnaw at you.

You know you should run out of the room; maybe call the police or the national news while you’re at it—expose Spider-Man as being a total creep. 

But another thought pops into your mind—one that sends a tingle down your spine.

You nibble on your bottom lip. You're known as being such a good girl—always coloring within the lines and following the rules. Your life has been dictated by your professional aspirations. You’ve spent your life carving out a respectable reputation as the responsible daughter, dependable friend, and exemplary student. 

But at seventeen, you already felt weighted down by the pressure and expectations.

You seldom take any risks—always choosing the same ice-cream flavor, shopping at the same stores, and sticking to the same hairstyle. You even broke up with your first—and only boyfriend—because he tried to inch you too much out of your comfort-zone.

You suddenly feel a wave of exhaustion. You’re tired of feeling like you’ve been merely ambling through life and not actually living it; tired of being safe—of being just the good girl.

You slowly push yourself off the wall and step forward.

—

Peter knows he should leave, but he feels frozen in place. He watches you slowly pad across the carpet towards him, an unreadable expression on your face. You carefully push the window open, and he braces himself for your wrath—expecting you to yell at him or shoo him away.

But instead, you simply press a finger to your lips. He gawks at you, feeling dumbstruck. You wave your hand, motioning for him to come inside. He gulps and tentatively crawls through your window.

Once he enters, his senses are immediately assaulted by your scent. His eyes dart around the room, quickly taking in his surroundings—from the pink and purple hues covering the walls to your frilly bedsheets.

He looks over at you as you quietly shut the window close behind him. You turn to face him, eyes flickering with and nod towards your bed. He silently obeys, his body stiff as he takes a seat on the soft mattress. 

He eyes you warily, almost afraid of what you’ll do next. You sit beside him, your body facing his side with your legs folded underneath you. He turns his head, and watches you tuck a piece of hair behind your ear and lick your lips. You scoot closer until your knees are lightly brushing against him, causing him to blush.

You slowly reach over, your fingers lightly grazing his gloved hand before taking it into your own. You splay your hand over his, your eyes fixed on his hand engulfing yours. He merely stares at you as you quietly play with his fabric-covered fingers.

“This is a strange material,” you murmur, eyes cast downward at your entwined hands.

He hesitates before clearing his throat. “It’s durable. . . and tear-resistant. It’s waterproof too.”

You look up, eyes sparkling. “You sound younger than I imagined,” you muse.

“You aren’t scared of me?”

You give him a half-shrug. “No, not really. I just. . . didn’t really think this far ahead.”

“I’m sorry for being a creep,” he blurts.

You shake your head. “Only a little creepy. . . d—do you do this this with a lot of girls?”

He immediately straightens. “I don’t! I—I’ve never done this before.”

“You’ve never been a peeping Tom or you’ve never seen a girl touch herself?” you tease. 

He hesitantly mutters, “Both.”

You purse your lips and pause, cheeks turning pink. You tilt your head. “Are you a virgin?” 

Peter bites the inside of his cheek and looks away. He quickly ponders whether he should tell you the truth. As Spider-Man, he can say anything he wants—be whoever he wants.

He looks back up and opens his mouth, but your doe-eyed look gives him pause. He merely nods in response.

“Me too,” you breathe. “It’s not a religious thing or anything like that. I just haven’t found the right person to do it with.”

You look down and continue playing with his fingers, twisting and entwining them with yours. 

“I feel pretty silly right now,” you whisper. “You probably thought I was some experienced sex goddess or something when I invited you inside. Instead I’m just pathetic and lonely.”

He frowns. “Hey, don’t say that. You’re amazing.”

You look up, brows raised. “How would you know that? You don’t even know my name.”

Peter flinches, inwardly scolding himself. “I mean, you seem very. . . put together,” he mumbles.

Your mouth twitches before you let out a soft giggle. “Inviting a stranger into my bedroom is the exact opposite of being put together, don’t you think?”

“Fair enough,” he chuckles lightly.

Your eyes roam over his covered face, smile fading as your eyes burn with curiosity. “Do we know each other?”

Peter stiffens, jaw tight. You look at him inquisitively, waiting for an answer. He knows he should tell you the truth—ripe it off like a band-aid. But instead he just frowns and shakes his head.

Silence fills the room again.

“I wish I could kiss you,” you blurt.

He tenses. 

“Oh my god,” you groan. “I’m sorry. . . just forget I said that.”

Peter quickly breathes, “Okay.”

Your eyes widen. “R—really?”

He lets go of your hand and clutches the bottom of his mask. He hesitates slightly before lifting it up right underneath his nose, revealing his jaw and lips. 

You gulp. “You have very nice lips.”

He gives you a crooked smile. “No girl has ever said that to me before.”

“Well I guess tonight is a bunch of firsts for both of us.”

He nods in agreement.

“I—I’m going to kiss you now,” you announce. It sounds more for yourself than for him, he muses.

“Okay,” he murmurs.

Your hand cups his cheek, your breath softly caressing his exposed skin. You lean towards him and tilt your head. His heart pounds as your mouth hovers over his.

Peter feels a surge of confidence and closes the space between you, pressing his lips to yours. He closes his eyes, feeling electricity move through his veins as he kisses you. He’s never felt more alive. 

Your soft lips kiss him back, and you slide your hand to his neck to tug him closer. He pours everything he has been feeling for so many years into the kiss. He wishes he could tell you how long he’s been wanting to do this. 

He pulls back and smiles brightly. “Wow,” he breathes.

Your eyes flutter open, pupils flared. Without hesitation, you surge forward and kiss him with so much fervor and passion that that he thinks he’s going to pass out. Your tongue traces the seam of his mouth, and he parts his lips to welcome your probing tongue. 

Peter pulls back and trails wet kisses down your chin to your neck. You tip your head back and moan. He grips your waist and swiftly lifts you up onto his lap. You settle on him.

“Oh,” you cry.

Your face flushes, and you take your bottom lip between your teeth, his hard bulge pressing against you—separated by his suit and your panties. You grab his shoulders, anchoring yourself as you begin to move over him, movements slow and tentative. 

He splays a hand on your back while his other hand tentatively plays with the edge of your shirt. He pushes it up, and you gasp as his gloved hand touches your bare stomach. 

“Is this okay?” he breathes against your neck. “Should I stop?”

You place your hands on his chest, and he lifts his head up. You grab the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head in one fluid motion. He leans back, mouth falling open while his eyes hungrily drink in the sight of your bare chest.

“You’re so beautiful,” he blurts.

You bite at your bottom lip and blush. He reaches to brush a knuckle just under the swell of your breast. Your body trembles slightly as your lashes flutter. He licks his lips, sliding his hand over your skin and smoothing his thumb over your nipple. He cups your breast and squeezes softly while an airy gasp tumbles out of your mouth.

He leans forward and swipes his tongue over your other breast, lips closing around your nipple. You whimper as he sucks it softly into his mouth while he tweaks the other between his fingers. He licks at your skin, and you let out a breathy whine. 

“P-please touch me,” you beg, sliding his hand down towards your pussy.

He eagerly pushes your soaked underwear, dragging his fingers over your damp folds. He lets out a strangled groan, his mouth watering as your slick coats his fingers.

“I didn’t know it could be this wet,” he says in awe. 

He slides his fingers up and down your slit until his thumb finds your clit. He presses on it, and you let out a soft sigh.

“There?” he asks, and you fervently nod. 

He starts rubbing your clit in steady strokes, eyes glued on your face as he studies your reactions—making adjustments to the pressure and direction depending on your expression. Soft moans fill the air as you continue grinding on his covered cock, your movements increasing with need. You claw at his shoulders, your breathing growing more and more restless.

“I—I’m almost there,” you pant. 

He circles his thumb faster over your clit, and you start to tremble. You bury your face in the crook of his neck to muffle your cries as you tip over the edge. Your body spasms relentlessly, legs quaking.

You shudder in his arms and breathe heavily. He presses kisses on your naked shoulders and pulls his hand away from your clit. He holds you close as you come down, wilting in his arms. 

“Was that good?” he whispers.

You lift your head up and look at him, eyes half-lidded. “You did amazing.”

His mouth curves in a wide smile. He reaches gently caresses your cheek. “I can’t believe you’re even real.”

You rub his jaw affectionately. “I feel like I know you from somewhere,” you murmur.

Peter swallows, smile faltering for a moment. He quickly forces a small chuckle. “Of course you do. I’m your friendly, neighborhood Spider-Man.”

You roll your eyes and snort, “Right."

He presses his lips against yours, the kiss soft and slow. He pulls away and glances at the clock on your nightstand. “Shit,” he frowns. “I have to go.”

You draw your lower lip between your teeth and nod. You lift yourself up off his lap, taking a step back to bend down and grab your discarded shirt. You slip it over your head and toss your hair over the collar. He rises from the bed and tugs his mask down over the rest of his face. You fiddle with the hem of your shirt as you follow him to your window. 

“Will you come back?” you blurt, pursing your lips.

He faces you, cocking his head. “Y—you want me to?”

You bat your lashes and nod enthusiastically in response. 

“Then I will,” he says softly. He crawls out the window, feet landing on the fire escape. 

“Hey Spidey!” you call out, and he whirls around. “Knock next time, okay?” you wink, eyes sparkling.

He chuckles softly and nods before turning to disappear into the night. 

—

Back in his bedroom, Peter lies in his bed, his arm folded underneath his head as he stares up at the ceiling. He smiles to himself, body buzzing with excitement, thinking about the next time he’ll see you. He lifts his hand up and eyes it closely. He chews on his bottom lip, basking in the memory of all the things that his hands did with you—to you. 

He may be Spider-Man, but he knows tonight was all Peter Parker. He thinks that maybe, just maybe, he might not be totally out of your league after all.

[takeyourhearthawks]

Blue Hour (Hawks Fic) Chapter 2

Hi Friends! Here is the second chapter of Blue hour.

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2(You Are Here!)

CHAPTER 2

The door to the back slammed shut behind Jiko as she rushed through it.  She didn't know where she was going, all she knew was that she had to leave and leave without Keigo following her. He couldn’t see Youta. He just couldn’t.

Jiko gathered all of her belongs from the back room before she slipped out the back door of the bar. When Jiko wasn’t overwhelmed, she was good at controlling her quirk so she activated it so she could guesstimate where Keigo was out based on how loud his thoughts were. The only bad thing about this was now she could feel the hurt and confusion that Keigo was feel, it killed her inside.

Normally she would have gone the easy way home, taking the two trains to her stop. But this time, she decided to walk the long way around the block. Once she was far enough away from the bar, she deactivated her quirk so that she didn’t have to keep listening to random people's thoughts that she passed by. Her mind kept wondering back to Keigo and how he felt moments after she left.  

The hurt that he was feeling wasn't a comparable feeling. She thought that she might have even felt his heart breaking when the realization set in of who he was looking at. A frown felt like it was glued to her face as she made her way to the nearest train station. The way that she took home would cause her to take three trains home instead of just two.

Once her apartment complex was within sight, her shoulders slouched slightly. She finally felt like she could relax and not be on edge, waiting for Keigo to come around the corner. Walking up the stairs to her son felt like a lifetime. She knocked gently on her neighbor's door and was greeted by Mei.

“I’m sorry it's so late. We had a hero party at work tonight and I had no idea before I went in.” Jiko said and Mei waved her hand in a dismissing manner at her.

“Nonsense. It’s not a big deal. I love spending time with Youta.” Mei said as she moved aside so that Jiko could walk in. She entered the apartment and headed towards the living room where she found Youta asleep. He had a blanket thrown over him and his tiny wings just barely peaked over the edge of the blanket. Tears welled up in Jikos eyes as she crossed the room to her soon.

She crouched down so that she was at eye level with Youta, shaking him slightly. ”Hey buddy, mommas back.” She said quietly. Youta’s eyes didn't even open, his tiny arms just extended. Jiko scooped her son up in her arms, smiling and bidding Mei goodnight as she left.  

Once back at their own apartment, Jiko carried her son to her bedroom. Youta had been sleeping in his own room almost his entire life but she liked to have him sleep with her occasionally. Tonight was one of those nights where she just wanted to be close to her son.

She laid him down gently bed, pulling the blanket up over him. After she laid him down, she changed outfits and crawled into bed next to him. It took seconds of her being in bed for Youta to scoot closer to his mom and she instinctively wrapped her arm around him, her fingers going to his hair to play with it gently.

“I love you, momma.” He whispered. It barely sounded like those were the words that he had said but Jiko knew her son well enough to know that's what he was trying to say.

“I love you too, Youta. More than you will ever know.” She whispered, kissing his head. Youta fell back into a deep sleep within minutes but Jiko stayed awake for most of the night, unable to get the feeling of heartbreak Keigo felt out of her head.

Keigo, on the other hand, was still in complete shock. He had stood by the bar for a few minutes before Haruto told him that he had to leave. But Haruto’s voice was enough to snap Keigo out of the trance that he had been in.

“Excuse me?” Keigo said and Haruto turned to him.

“I just said you have to leave.” Haruto said, crossing his arms.

“No, I know. It’s just... the woman who was just working here. Her name was Jiko, right? H-how long has she worked here? H-how long have you kno-”  

“Listen, Hawks. I don’t know what happened between you two. But I am going to say that she obviously didn’t want to hear from you, or she wouldn’t have left like she did. My best advice? Leave what doesn’t want to be found alone. She has her own problems, and she does not need you coming in and messing up what she worked so hard for.” Haruto said before he walked into the back of the restaurant, leaving Keigo standing alone.  

A few minutes went by before Keigo left. He shrugged his jacket back on his shoulders as he walked out in the cool air of the night.  He walked in the opposite direction that he needed to go, heading in the direction that Jiko had headed. He only took a few steps before he launched himself towards the sky, his large red wings catching him and holding him steady above the town.  

He didn’t know how to feel. They lived so close. She had to live close to Musutafu and that wasn’t far from where the base location of his agency was. He was probably in Mustuafu once or twice a week at minimum. How had he never seen her before? Granted, she looked a lot different that Keigo remembered.  

He took off over the city. This was the first time in so long that the only thing that he could think about was Jiko. He had done so well in his mission to remove her from his mind that seeing her brought back all the memories that Keigo had tried so hard to forget. All the times that he held her, kissing her head, taking her for flights over the city. The memories came flooding back to him and suddenly he found himself thinking about the one thing he had to work the hardest to forget.

Their pregnancy.

It had torn Hawks up for almost a year after Jiko yet. He couldn’t see babies in public without feeling rage and sadness inside at what he lost. Seeing fathers playing with their children in parks, walking around with their children just made him so mad because that’s what he was supposed to have. He wanted to be the father that he never got to have.

Tears had started to form in his eyes as he flew, using the sleeve of his jacket to wipe them as he landed on top of a building. When he wasn’t trying to force himself to forget Jiko, he would spend that time imagining what it would have been like to have gotten to have a family with Jiko. What would their kid have been like? Would they have gotten Keigos mutation or would they have gotten Jikos ability to read and change thoughts?

These thoughts used to keep him up at night. The idea of what he lost. A few more tears fell from Keigos eyes as he stared at the city below him. She was somewhere in there; he just didn’t know where. He decided at that moment to pull a few of his feather and send them into town, hoping to pick up on a trace of where she was.

He just wanted to talk.

-

Jiko had stayed up till the sun was almost up. She spent much of the night staring at her sons' face, studying every feature. After seeing Keigo in person last night, she realized just how much she had just copy and pasted Keigo into Youta. The only notable difference was that Youta had dark eyes while Hawks had yellow, bird like eyes. Youtas eyes were still bird like, but they were at least toned down enough that they didn’t look bird like from a distance. She had fallen asleep for about an hour before the small boy woke up, shaking her gently.

“Momma.” He whispered, pressing his face against hers.

“Hm?” She hummed, wrapping her arms around him, fingers carefully running over his wings.

“I’m hungry.” He said and Jiko laughed before opening her eyes.

“Okay, let's get some food.” She got up in one swoop, still holding him tightly against her. Jiko didn’t like to show Youta when she wasn’t feeling well so she always put on a performance for him. Even now when she was dead tired.

Jiko plopped Youta down on the counter beside her. “Okay, what are you thinking?”

“Chicken nuggets!” Youta said and Jiko cringed slightly.

“For breakfast?” The small boy nodded his hair furiously. “Okay, I guess we can have chicken nuggets for breakfast this ONE time.”

“Yay!” Youta cheered, his wings flipping up and out in his excitement.  

“But bath time while they’re cooking, your feathers are dirty.” She said, getting closer to them. Youta pouted slightly but nodded his head in agreement. Jiko wasted no time putting the requested food into the oven before sweeping Youta up and carrying him to the bathroom. Something that Jiko had learned from her time being around Keigo was how much he had to wash and take care of his wings. They were such a large part of him that if he didn’t preen them often then they would start to look bad. Jiko had translated that time into knowledge that she needs to take good care of Youta’s wings, so she did. She made sure to wash through them gently and help him keep them orderly.  

The bath was quick though, mostly since Youta had kindergarten in about an hour and she wanted to make sure that he was ready on time. She got him dressed in a pair of jeans and a black shirt before she gently nudged him towards the table. The two of them ate their chicken nuggets, Youta going on and on about all the things that he got to do with Nana yesterday.

After they finished eating, Jiko finished collecting all Youtas stuff for school and the two of them were out the door. She would be lying if she said that one of the things, she feared the most was Youta going to school, but she also realized that she couldn’t not send him to school. He deserved an education and to be around teachers who were used to helping students figure out their quirks just as much as anyone else did.  

The pair walked to the train, Jiko with her head down and an arm around Youtas shoulders, holding him close against her legs. The best part about living in a superhero society was that people didn’t give the small winged boy and his wingless mother a second glance. But the one thing that Jiko didn’t pick up on was the fact that following a few feet behind them was a singular red feather.  

Keigo had released the feathers last night and it didn’t take long for this one to hunt her down. The moment that the feather found her though, Keigo could feel it. He could sense her presence near it, and he had never leapt from his bed so quickly. The only thing that struck him as weird was the presence of someone else accompanying her, he couldn’t pick out who it was.

Jiko and Youta boarded their train and the ride was smooth. They arrived at his school with plenty of time to spare and she watched as he ran in the building. She smiled, waving as she watched his red feathers disappear into the crowd of other students. Once she couldn't see him anymore, she dropped her hand and headed towards a coffee shop near the school. She normally spent his school time at this coffee shop because she didn’t see the point of taking a train all the way home and then all the way back.  

A small bell chirped as she opened the door to the coffee place. The barista behind the counter smiled and took her order. Jiko sat down at a table that was tucked away in the corner and pulled out her laptop. She figured she could look at different jobs and put in some applications at agencies for reception positions so that she could have a little more cash.

The barista brought over the coffee and Jiko smiled, thanking her as she went back to her search. She probably spent 30 minutes scrolling through positions before she heard the door of the coffee shop open. She glanced up and nearly choked on her coffee as she saw Keigo standing there. She thought she might have been imagining it, but her fears were confirmed when the barista called out at Keigo and he smiled and waved at her.

He glanced around the shop and their eyes met. Jiko felt her heart skip a beat as she locked eyes with Keigo for the first time in so many years. The two of them stood across from each other for a few more minutes, eyes locked before Keigo went and ordered himself a coffee. Once the eye contact was broken, Jiko felt her chest tight and her head start to pound as her breathing picked up. Her quirk hadn’t activated in hyperdrive yet, but she could feel it getting close.

“Jiko.” Keigo said, looking down at her. Her eyes were glued to her computer screen, not daring to look up at him. “Can I sit?” She didn’t respond. A few seconds passed before she nodded her head and Keigo sat across from her.

The two of them sat in a silence for a while longer, only periodically taking sips of their coffees. They didn’t know what say. Jiko had been actively preparing to never come face to face with him again and Keigo had worked every day so he didn’t think about her.

“Why?” Keigo asked, glancing up at her. Jiko didn’t respond as she stared at her keyboard. “Why did you leave me alone with no warning?” He whispered.

“I had to.” She said, the look on her face proving to Keigo that she was telling the truth. She never had been good at lying to him.

“Why?”  

“I..” She trailed off, tapping her fingers against the cup. “I can’t tell you.”

“Bullshit.” Keigo said, smacking his hand down against the table causing it to raddle and everyone in the shop to look in their direction. Jiko sunk further into her chair. Keigo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Maybe we should go somewhere more private to talk?” Keigo asked. Jiko sighed, glancing at the time. Youta didn’t get out of school for another couple of hours and as long as she was back before he got out, she would be fine.

“Fine,” Her voice was barely above a whisper, “I can’t go far.”

“Okay.” Keigo said, not questioning her. He stood up and extended his hand to her, but she brushed it off as she stood and gathered her things back into her bag. The two of them walked out of the shop together. “There’s a park nearby.”

They headed that way in silence. Neither of them really knew what to say which had never been a problem between the two of them when they were younger. Even if they didn’t talk to each other, the silence was never awkward like it was now.  

The park was ten-minute walk from the coffee shop, but it was in the same direction that Youta’s school was in, meaning that Jiko felt more relaxed knowing she would be able to get there easier. The pair found a small bench that was tucked far enough away from other people and sat together. Jiko fumbled her thumbs together, Keigo adjusted his wings.

“I missed you.” Keigo said, breaking the silence. Jiko stared ahead of her, eyes focused on the grass.

“I missed you too.” She said, her voice cracking. They sat in silence for a little while longer.

“Why?” Keigo said, shaking his head. “What happened?”

She wanted to tell him. Of course she did. That she had been told to go away and paid to stay away. That the commission made her lie to him and keep their son from him. But she was also afraid of him hating her and trying to take Youta from her.

“I wish I could tell you, Keigo. I really, really do.” Her voice barely above a whsiper.

“Then tell me. I just... I want to know why. It never made any sense and I have spent every day trying to forget you.”

“Then why did you come find me?”

“You think I would be able to see you in person after all of this time and not look for you again? I thought something terrible had happened to you and I couldn’t bear to investigate it, so I didn’t. And then last night, I see you and all of these feelings come flooding bac-” He was cut off by a phone ringing. Jiko jumped slightly as she reached in her pocket.  

“Hello?” She said, holding her phone against her ear. Keigo could barely hear what the person on the other end of the phone said but he did hear the faintest ‘Mother’ from the other end. “Yes, this is her.” Jiko said, adjusting her bag on her phone.

“There was a little accident today during playtime and Youta got one of his wings hurt. He says that it hurts to move it a whole bunch.” The teacher said and Jiko shot up.

“I’ll be right there.” She said, hanging up her phone. “I have to go.” She didn’t even give him time to respond before she started to walk off. Keigo jumped to his feet and started to follow her.

“Jiko! Wait! Where are you going? Hold up!” He said, nearly running to catch up with her. She didn’t stop though, her pace an almost sprint. “Jiko!” Hawks called out, finally catching up with her and throwing his hand on her shoulder, “What’s wron-”

“Let go of me Keigo.” Jiko said, ripping her shoulder away from him. She never stopped moving towards Youta’s school. “Theres an emergency and I have to go.”  

“Let me fly you there, it would be qui-”

“No.” She said, cutting him off again. The last thing that she wanted to do was have to explain to Keigo what happened when Youta was hurt. But Keigo didn’t seem to be taking ‘no’ for an answer here as he continued to trail behind her.

“Jiko, please. Let me help.” Keigo said, keeping pace beside her. Jiko was starting to get frustrated.

“Keigo, I said no.” Her voice was stern but it didn’t seem to stop Keigo. He was getting frustrated that it felt like Jiko was lying to him.

“You're just trying to make something up so you don’t hav-”

“My son is hurt, and I need to get to him! So please! Stop following me Keigo.” Jiko said, stopping in her tracks for only a second to scream this at him. Keigo stopped in his track, eyes locked on the short hair girl. She shook her head as she started walking again, faster.

“Son?” He whispered, watching her disappear into the distance. He stood there for a few more minutes before he continued in the direction Jiko was heading. As a hero, he knew where most of the schools in this area were. He only took a few more steps before he pushed himself off the ground and to the sky, flying slowly behind her.

He watched from above as she rushed into a school. He perched himself on top of the school and waited for her to leave. It took her maybe five minutes before she came out, cradling a small boy against her chest. A small boy with red wings and blonde hair. One of his wings was haphazardly wrapped together at the wrist. Keigo didn’t move yet, watching the girl he loved carry the small crying child to a car of someone that he didn’t know.

Jiko cradled Youta close to her chest, the small boy was still crying. The sound of Youta crying brought tears to Jikos eyes as she got into the car of one of the teachers. They were going to take him to the hospital to get his wing checked because he was having a hard time extending it. Jiko crawled into the back seat of the car with her son against her chest as the teacher drove.  

Hawks flew slightly behind them, trying his best to not be noticed. He didn’t know why he was following them but his gut told him that he had to.

[shakespeareanqueer]

Break Fast

Pairing: Pietro Maximoff x Nonbinary!Jewish!OC-Klara

Summary: Passover week has been particularly grueling, but maybe Klara will get more than just their wish for carbs when it’s over. 

Word count: 912 (p short) 🍞Contents: lots of mention of food, discussion of the Jewish holiday Passover and related traditions, mentions of weed

A/N: This was a weird one for me to write, because I wrote it on Google Docs on my mom’s iPad since my laptop broke. Anywho, it’s for Lancsnerd’s 1K Celebration, and my prompt was “Bring me the finest muffins and bagels in the land!” Which is bolded. Enjoy!

I saw advice not to put links in original fic posts for searchability, so I’ll reblog with my taglist, linking my masterlist, tagging Lancsnerd, and citing the header photo.

Growing up, Klara Reznik was not religious enough to cut out leavened bread products over the week of Passover. Their family would have a seder on the night of Pesach, sure, and it’s not like they would have pasta with the brisket or anything, but the next day they were right back to their usual diet, bread and all. And of course, in Hydra, there were no religious dietary accommodations. So post-capture, all bets were off.

But now that they had been rescued by the Avengers, they were free to make their own choices about the matter. And since their two closest friends, Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, were looking forward to a stricter adherence to their faith for the first time in several years, Klara had decided to join them.

That was seven days ago, and the fast had been an unmitigated disaster. Staying away from bread proved immensely difficult for Klara, especially when they were the only three in the tower doing it. On day 3, Steve had made a meatloaf that smelled heavenly, the aroma wafting through the entire tower had made Klara’s mouth water, it was Steve’s mother’s old recipe, and… it had breadcrumbs. So the twins and Klara had sat in Pietro’s rooms eating their gefilte fish and feeling sad.

It hadn’t been all bad. On day 4, the trio had gotten high (because weed is kosher for Passover if you don’t care about it being blessed by a Rabbi) and had matzo pizzas. While high, Klara found the number of and texted their crush from back in Russia, and the ensuing drama (and lingering effects of the marijuana) had caused them all to have a huge laugh the next morning. On day 6, they made matzo nachos and watched the best Passover film of all time, Prince of Egypt, twice in a row, first in English, then in Russian. And all together they ate nearly twelve boxes of those dinner mints over the course of a week.

But still when the final day was winding to a close, Klara was ecstatic. They could not wait to consume all of the forbidden, carb-loaded foods they had been denied all week. Pietro, Wanda and Klara had a big night planned too: dinner reservations at a fancy Italian restaurant, paid for with Tony’s credit card of course. They would consume cheesy garlic bread, and bowls and bowls of pasta, and finish off with some real chocolate cake made with flour and everything.

But the best laid plans of mice and superheroes… Of course life had to go and get in the way. The Avengers all had to race to Latveria in the Quinjet to tend to very important Avenging business, and none of the team got any dinner at all. The trio missed their reservations and by the end of the strenuous night, they all just tumbled into bed and zonked right out.

By the time morning rolled around, Klara’s stomach was rumbling as loud as one of Bucky’s machine guns, and they were really craving carbs.

“Good morning, zaychonuk,” Pietro greeted as she stumbled out into the living room. Their bedrooms branched off of an adjoining suite in the upstate Avengers compound. Klara couldn’t help but smile groggily at him when he greeted them like that. They loved when Pietro referred to them with the term of endearment meaning ‘little bunny.’ Truth be told, they had a little, teensy-weensy, colossal crush on the speedster, and the phrase set butterflies aflutter in their stomach. “What would you like for breakfast, pet?” he asked.

Klara plopped down into a dining chair and dramatically proclaimed, “Bring me the finest muffins and bagels in the land!”

Pietro chuckled and grabbed his coat. “Consider it done.”

About an hour later, Klara was fiddling around on their phone and Wanda was working on her knitting when Pietro came sweeping back in the door. The fit, super-powered speed-demon was actually out of breath as he placed several paper bags on the island counter.

“Woah, where did you go?” Klara asked.

“Yeah, and what took you so long?” Wanda added, somewhat indelicately, but she knew she could tease her twin brother like that and get away with it.

“Manhattan,” he said matter-of-factly.

Klara and Wanda stared at him, jaws agape.

“I’m sorry, you ran to Manhattan??” Klara asked, flabbergasted. “Why??!”

Pietro shrugged, a nervous blush bringing just the smallest amount of color to his cheeks. “You said you wanted the best bagels, and that’s where the best bagels in the world are,” he answered in a bit of a mumble. “At least that’s what Bucky and Steve swear.”

“Aww, that’s so romantic and sweet,” Wanda teased around a mouthful of muffin she had already inhaled. Then she murmured, “Mmm, sweet, sweet chametz,” to the muffin itself.

Pietro chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck. He couldn’t seem to make eye contact with Klara. “Here let me…” he offered, taking two of the bagels over to the counter and getting out a cutting board.

Wanda grabbed one of the bagels out of the bag and went to the door. “Well I’ll leave you two love-birds alone. Bye! Thanks for the bread!” Merrily, she skipped off to enjoy her bagel in Vision’s apartment.

Now alone, Klara and Pietro were both blushing furiously, set off by Wanda’s comments.

Wait. Did the other’s identical reaction mean they liked them back? Hm.

Perhaps this Passover wouldn’t be so awful after all.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Internal Disputes ch.6 (baon)

Summary: Something strange is afoot. Edge isn’t sure what, but he can guess he isn’t going to like it.

Notes: Here we go, last chapter. Who's up for a little easing of that ongoing angst, yeah? Add some more comfort to that hurt. 

Tags: Spicyhoney, Kustard, Established Relationships, Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

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Stretch didn’t know when Red left them. Truth was, he didn’t even remember falling asleep; one moment he was laying in Red’s lap and the next thing he knew he was waking up to a firm knock at the front door.

Snugged up almost on top of him, Jeff stirred, blinking sleepily as he sat up and there was no telling how long they’d slept curled up together on the sofa like a coupla lonely oversized hamsters, but it must’ve been a while because the light outside was coming in through the opposite windows.

That firm knock came again on the front door, shit, and Stretch untangled himself from Jeff and started shambling over.

“Wait, let me get it!” Jeff tried to scramble past him and for a second, Stretch didn’t get it. Until he did, and he could only shake his head in weary exasperation. This was what he got for letting Jeff go work at the Embassy with Red and Edge, he should’ve gotten him a job at the Bun Bakery where superhero tendencies didn’t go much further than rescuing cinnamon bunnies.

“don’t you start with the overprotective bullshit, andy,” Stretch caught the tail of his shirt and yanked him back, ignoring his yelp. “the door has a peephole and i’ll look, but my guess is ninja assassins don’t generally knock.”

Jeff nodded sheepishly, but he still crowded in close as Stretch checked out the front porch. It was a Monster that Stretch didn’t know, the curling tentacles that made up their ‘hair’ pulled back into a neat ponytail, but they were dressed in the same generic suit that all of Asgore’s personal bodyguards wore, so it wasn’t much of Jeopardy question to guess who sent ‘em. Last Gyftmas, he’d sent them all Ray-ban sunglasses, and gotten a politely worded ‘thank you’ letter back. He still wondered sometimes if they’d gotten the joke.

It couldn’t be bad or Asgore would have come himself. Even if Stretch had been a dick to him earlier, he would have—Stretch opened the door a little, poking his skull out, “yeah?”

“Good afternoon,” they began formally, in a calm, fluting voice, “apologies for disturbing you, I’m sure you’re busy--”

“can we cut to the part of the speech where you tell me what you want?” Stretch interrupted tiredly, “because if you’re selling vacuums, i’m not interested. i’ve been having a hell of a day, and i’m not up for giving a golf clap for the effort.”

The Monster only nodded, and that bland expression shifted to faint sympathy. “Yes, of course. I came to tell you that the Ambassadors’ plane will be landing in about an hour and if you’d like to accompany me to the airport, you can meet them there.”

“seriously?” They must’ve taken off the moment he and Tori got off the phone to get back home so fast and Stretch wasn’t sure how he felt about that. Tori said they were all okay, but wouldn’t the authorities want them to hang around for a while after an incident? That was the vibe he always got about police bullshit, unless…unless they needed to get back to Ebott because this was where they kept the Monster hospital. Or maybe it wasn’t safe to stay, that could be it, right? He didn’t know, could keep guessing all day but the Monster in front of him was waiting for his answer with a bland smile that didn’t reveal shit.

Anxiety was churning inside him, not much he could do about that, but maybe it was time to channel a little Edgy-calm. He’d been living with Edge for a while, and this wasn’t exactly the way he’d imagined trying out a little roleplaying, but fuck it, worth a try.

If it was Edge here, he wouldn’t go borrowing trouble; he’d head over to the airport and wait patiently to see what the fuck was going on.

Patience might be asking a bit much of his acting skills, heading over to the airport wasn’t. He’d never been to the airport himself, there wasn’t much point. All those movies that showed happy couples meeting at the gate with flowers and kisses were a load of bullshit as far as Stretch knew. All that shit was on the other side of the security checkpoints these days and Edge always told him he preferred to come home and get his kisses there rather than down at the basement levels, surrounded by grouchy travelers in the dirty baggage claim.

He thought Edge might be proud of the way he nodded and said evenly, “yeah, i’ll come.”

The Monster nodded placidly. “I can take you now, if you like. It’s already been cleared through Security.”

Which meant Red was doing the voodoo that he do so well and thought it was safe enough. Good to know. Stretch glanced down at himself and grimaced. His clothes were made up of about 75% wrinkles and 25% moldering grape juice, not exactly the best reunion outfit.

“let me change real quick?” Stretch asked. They nodded and made no move to come in, so he closed the door. Only to nearly walk right over Jeff, who’d been practically plastered to his back the whole time.

“I’m coming with you,” Jeff said stoutly. Even with everything running down the tubes around him, Stretch couldn’t help smiling a little. Jeff wasn’t a big guy and he looked about as fierce as one of those little weenie dogs, but Stretch would bet his favorite lighter that nothing was gonna pry him away, certainly not one of Asgore’s goons. Kid was loyal and that was a fact.

“i wouldn’t even try to leave you behind, handy andy,” Stretch told him sincerely. He waited until Jeff nodded and then shortcutted upstairs directly into the closet, not even bothering to try the stairs. The sleep helped but his soul still felt raw and bruised, aching faintly in his ribcage. That meant everything else ached too, and as comforting as sleeping next to Jeff was, the sofa wasn’t really great for extended cuddling.

Eh, but he might’ve been weird about it if Stretch suggested going upstairs to the bed. Humans were awkward about that shit, and Jeff might’ve agreed just to make Stretch happy. Better to stick with what he knew wouldn’t wig out his best bud.

As he pulled on a fresh sweatshirt, he wondered glumly if he’d be taking another trip to visit Alphys’s lab for a deeper peek at his soul. That his visits to the therapist would be going back to twice a week for a while wasn’t even a question, but he didn’t much want to think about it right now. Now, all he really wanted was to see Edge. Tori’s reassurances were nice and all, but he wasn’t going to believe it until he had that asshole in his arms.

When he came downstairs, Jeff was attempting to clean up the stains the grapes left on the carpet when Stretch dropped the bowl. He wasn’t making much progress, the faded purple splotches looked like a Rorschach test. Butterfly, Stretch decided, but Edge would probably only see a dirty mess.

“I put the grapes in the fridge, they seem okay, but I don’t think this is going to come out,” Jeff said apologetically.

Edge was gonna have a fit but that’s what happened when you ditched on your anniversary and almost got blown up for fuck knows why. Only the darkest humor lurking in Stretch thought that little joke was funny, but hey, he was a tough crowd for himself today.

“don’t worry about it,” Stretch told him, helping him to his feet. “edge probably has a secret formula to shout it out.” And if thinking about Edge grumbling while he scrubbed the stain made a flare of affection rise in his soul, welp, that was probably only a sign of what an idiot in love he was.

The car was sleek and black, one of those fancy ones with a glass partition in between the back and front seats. There was a mini-fridge and lots of buttons, and normally Stretch would have made it a mission to push every single one of them because one of them had to be an eject button, had to be.

Today he buckled up and let his head drop back against the rich Corinthian leather seats. He was still tired and the only food he’d had today was less than a handful of grapes. Edge would have a fit if he knew, he would be in the kitchen in a flash to stir something up, bitching at him the whole time that it wasn’t good to go without meals and could he go for five minutes not thinking about Edge, it wasn’t fucking helping and--

“andy?” Stretch said, low.

Jeff, who’d been exploring the buttons that Stretch ignored, jerked guiltily. “Yeah?”

That anxiety was rising, clenching in his chest and making it hard to breathe, “can you talk to me?”

“Um. Sure,” he bit his lip, considering, “About what?”

“anything,” Stretch swallowed down the pleading that tried to leak out, “make my mind shut up for a little while.”

A warm human hand settled over his own, squeezing gently. “I can do that. Okay, check this out, back when I worked at Classic Books, we had this guy who would come in every once in a while. He was a little odd, but a nice guy, and he’d usually hang for a while to chat. Anyway, this time he comes in and--”

Stretch closed his sockets and listened as Jeff rambled on about the grueling adventures of retail customer service, telling him about the guy who’d dreamed about a book and thought somehow Jeff should be able to find it.

Before he could find out how the quest for ‘the blue book with gold writing about Jesus riding dinosaurs’ ended, he felt the change of speed from the car leaving the expressway. The airport was right off the ramp, but they didn’t go through the main loop where Delta and American Airlines hunkered and instead, they were directed to a hanger off to the side.

He wasn’t really surprised. Money talked, sure, that was part of it, but for reasons of sheer practicality the Ambassadors always took a private jet. Not like many of them were going to fit in coach and even first class would be asking a bit much of Papyrus and Edge’s knees, along with Toriel’s girth.

The car pulled up in front of a single building off to the side that looked brand-spanking new. When Generic Driver and Bodyguard led them to the door where two of his huge brethren stood with unsmiling solemnness, it proved to be comfortably warm inside, with furniture that included a table set up with coffee machine and a plate of sandwiches in plastic wrap. One of the squashy chairs held Asgore, who was still dressed in his weekend casual. He was holding a coffee cup that looked comically small in his large hands. Red was sprawled out on a sofa and he gave the two of them a mocking little salute as they came in.

“c’mon in, join the party. get something to eat, honey bun,” Red called, “came right from the embassy cafeteria, it’s good stuff.”

“from the embassy cafeteria?” Stretch grimaced. He’d eaten there a couple of times and if he’d been allowed to review it on his twitter, it would have gotten a 5 on the barf scale. “you sure it isn’t poisoned?”

“The food quality has greatly increased since Edge hired Hussain to take over leadership,” Asgore said quietly. He didn’t look up from his coffee cup, probably afraid Stretch was gonna spit in his face, but his anger of this morning seemed distant as a fading dream.

“hussain? from the beanery?” Stretch poked one sandwich with a long finger even as Jeff inspected the supposedly-tasty largess hungrily. “edge didn’t tell me he did that.”

He’d noticed Hussain’s absence at the Beanery, but only in the periphery, vaguely assuming it was his day off or maybe he had class. No one else mentioned it to him, either, probably thought he already knew. Why hadn’t Edge told him—

Red only snorted, interrupting his unraveling thoughts, “he prolly forgot, he don’t have time to tell you all the shit he does. quit fussing and eat a sandwich, brat.”

Not the worst advice he’d had today. He grabbed a random one and took a seat on the empty sofa. It turned out to be some kind of curried salad. Pretty good, but his magic seemed reluctant to incorporate it, letting each chewed bite sit for too long until he was close to choking. He managed to gag down about half, ignoring Red’s beady look. Next to him, Jeff scarfed down his own and when Stretch handed over his leftovers, he took it without question. At least someone should get a decent meal.

Asgore didn’t look like he was going to take on that role. He only sat with his too-small coffee cup, staring into the depths of it without taking so much as a sip.

The room was so painfully quiet, Stretch wished there was a radio or a television or a fucking mariachi band. Anything so he didn’t have to sit here in this smothering silence. A quick check of his phone showed there wasn’t a single message or missed call, definitely not his normal. He suspected that a little gremlin somewhere was holding back his messages, but all Stretch could work up about that was reluctant gratitude. Let the frantic texts and well wishes come later when he could better deal with it.

He hesitated over the twitter app and decided not to open it yet, tucking his phone back away.

No one spoke, all of them surrounded in a choking hush only broken by a sofa creaking whenever someone moved or the occasional shuffle of a shoe. Waiting was not one of Stretch’s strengths, coupled with his lack of patience and his feeble endurance and half those noises were from him squirming around.

The furniture was probably perfectly comfortable in reality, but to Stretch it was about as cozy as sitting on freshly hardened cement. He shifted, crossing and uncrossing his legs, picking at his shoelaces and wishing he’d thought to grab the pack of smokes Andy gave him earlier. Smoking was the best timewaster he’d ever had to miss, and his magic was pleading for a nicotine fix.

That Asgore was sitting right there made it impossible not to look at him, not unless Stretch wanted to close his sockets like a toddler, tempting as that was. Every involuntary glance revealed tired unhappiness tempered with worry, and it wasn’t a king

(murderer)

sitting in this little waiting room, nothing of the cheery, dignified ruler. This was someone whose ex-wife and kid were nearly killed, someone worrying about friends and family, and Stretch was unfortunately very familiar with that.

The muted, aching hurt in his own soul wanted to reach out, to offer what comfort it could, and finally, Stretch gave in and did. Because he knew would make Edge happy.

“i talked to tori,” Stretch said, slowly. He didn’t have his lighter, nothing to fidget with and instead kept his eyes on his hands, picking at his knuckles. “she said everyone is okay.”

Out of the corner of his socket, he saw Asgore nodding slowly. “I haven’t spoken to her directly, but all the information we have thus far is clear that there were some injuries, but nothing critical.”

Critical was a horrible word and as soon as he could, Stretch was starting a twitter campaign to have it ripped out of the dictionary.

“do we...i mean…” His fingertip slipped and dug in too hard against his knuckle, sending a sprinkle of dust into his lap. Next to him, Jeff made a soft, stifled sound of dismay and reached over to take his hand, stilling him. Giving in to those overprotective instincts he was starting to take on, but Stretch let him, ignoring the tiny throb in his finger. “do you know what really happened yet?”

“not yet,” Red interrupted, all laconic ease as if the coiled tension in him wasn’t practically dripping from him like a leaky faucet. “got ‘em all on radio silence until they get back. right now, looks like just your basic monster hater attack that got lucky, but it ain’t nothing that’s been even a blip on our radar. i don’t like that shit, but the useful info is low to the ground yet.”

“yeah, sure,” Stretch muttered unhappily, “i get it, i don’t have clearance.”

A sharp kick against his shin made him yelp and Stretch jerked up to stare at Red in disbelief, who only glared back. “as soon as i know what happened, you’ll know,” Red said bluntly, “you deserve that. and if my bro doesn’t tell you, i’ll do it myself.”

“i…okay,” Stretch stuttered out. Asgore made no protest of that, only took a sip from his probably ice-cold coffee.

Red relaxed back against the sofa cushions. “for right now, we’re keeping communication on the down low until i can talk to everyone face to face. they’re out of range of monster cell towers and i ain’t taking any chance of anyone listening in.”

That made sense, it did, but some part of him still didn’t believe that Red of all people didn’t have an inkling of what happened. Or maybe it was too frightening to think it, Red knew everything, he was The Spy, and he only needed an eye patch over his cracked socket to cosplay as Nick Fury. That and a hovering base of operations, maybe Sans could get on that—

The muted roar of an engine interrupted that rambling thought and as one they turned towards it.

“They’re here,” Asgore shifted his weight, starting to stand, but Stretch was already on his feet, shortcutting outside to watch the plane taxiing towards them.

It seemed to take forever and if he’d ever taken a gander at the inside of that plane, Stretch would’ve shortcutted inside, fuck security protocol. He didn’t know how Red was resisting the urge. But he stood next to Stretch, impassive as ever as they waited while a crew of Humans wheeled a ramp up to the door and it finally opened.

The first one off the plane was Blue, and Stretch’s soul skipped a beat as his brother never hesitated, running down the ramp directly towards him as he cried, “Papy!”

Catching him as he flung himself at Stretch was automatic, the same as he’d done a hundred times before in Underswap and all the wrenching emotions Stretch had been bottling up since Red showed up in his living room that morning finally slipped its cork. Drowning in a crushing wave of guilt and relief, he hugged Blue desperately tight, burying his face into his shoulder and breathing him in.

“hey, bro,” Stretch whispered hoarsely. His arms ached from the force of his grip, holding Blue as he’d never been able to after the resets, never able to show him the depths of his grief. Blue didn’t so much as squirm in protest, clinging just as tightly. His suit was rumpled, his tie missing, and he smelled like smoke mingled with the burnt sickly-sweet remnants that came from straining magic to its limits. “don’t do that to me again, okay?”

“I never meant to do it the first time,” Blue choked out. He drew back, Stretch reluctantly letting him lean away, and his smile was tremulous. There were dark shadows beneath his sockets where none had ever been, like a week’s worth of lost sleep, but not quite. Bruises, Stretch realized with shivering horror, Blue had the skeletal equivalent of two black eyes, but the soft blue-yellow lights within were shining stars, “Come on, Edge should be next. I know you want to see him.”

Heavy guilt filled him, followed by a ghostly memory of his brother weeping that he missed him, was it possible that was only a couple days ago? But Blue only squirmed down from his arms and pulled him over to the ramp, his warm smile nothing but sincere.

A back appeared first, not Edge’s but a Monster that Stretch vaguely recognized as part of the entourage. He was guiding a gurney down the ramp and Stretch could only watch mutely as it was carefully brought down from the plane. There was an IV bag hanging from a short pole, glowing softly, and the occupant became clear as the battered curve of a skull came into view.

He barely noticed Asgore and his guards skirting around them to go up the ramp into the plane. All that freed emotion from seeing his brother coagulated in his chest in a dense, frozen ball.

Distantly, Stretch could only think that Edge looked so impossibly small. Edge was only a little shorter than him, but he always seemed like this larger than life presence, one that Stretch could tuck himself into and trust to keep him safe, not only from the world but from the demons in his own mind.

To see him like this, so very still and buried in blankets with wide straps over the gurney to keep him secure. His hands were on top of the covers, bare and battered, there was even a spot that looked a bit charred, but Tori was right about one thing, there were no new cracks. Only plenty of darkly mottled bruises and scrapes surrounding his closed sockets, awful and undeniable. A wild, impossible impulse rose up in Stretch, to grab hold of Edge and shortcut off with him, to take him far away from everything, to keep him safe. Stupid, useless urge, but for one brief moment it was overwhelming.

Fuck, if that was how Edge felt all the time, no wonder he could be an overprotective prick.

Blue took his hand and Stretch startled so badly he nearly jerked away. But his brother only held on, squeezing gently. “I know, he looks a little worse for the wear, but I promise you, it’s nothing serious. The ambulance should be here soon to take you both to the hospital and--”

“hospital?” Stretch repeated thinly. “but you said…”

“Yes, hospital,” Blue said firmly. “He’ll be fine, but he was injured. I did what I could and Toriel is a skilled healer in her own right. He still needs to be checked over and they should at least keep him overnight.”

Okay. Okay, yeah, that sounded right and Stretch nodded dumbly. Maybe the change in atmosphere was registering because Edge stirred, shifting against the straps. His sockets opened, his eye lights wide and diffused, filling his sockets with swirling crimson. For a moment all Edge did was blink, looking all around him before focusing on Stretch.

Stretch smiled and managed a weak, “hey, babe.”

As he watched, that bleary confusion abruptly turned into a happily beaming smile, which only ranked at about the third most disturbing thing that had happened that day.

“Hiiiii!!” Edge exclaimed with loud glee.

Uh. Maybe Blue was wrong about how serious his injuries were.

“Ah, yes, he was hurting quite a bit and being stubborn about it,” Blue said dryly. “We may have slightly overdone the pain relief. Enjoy it while you can, I’m going to check that the ambulance is on its way.”

“wait, what??”

But Blue was already trotting off, stopping to grab Jeff who was standing awkwardly back and dragging him along, his chatter fading away.

Edge was still grinning with unsettling cheer. On his usually stern face it was like the beginnings of a nightmare and Stretch almost expected maniacal clowns to start crawling out of manholes and portacabins around them. Fuck it, that might make it less weird, at least then all this would make sense.

“I know you!” Edge went on happily, one hand reaching out towards him. Then his brow furrowed in battered confusion, his hand falling to hang limply off the gurney’s side. “Do I know you? You’re pretty.”

Smooth fucker, wasn't he. Very carefully, Stretch took his hand, gentle with those scuffed, bruised fingers. “you know me okay. i’m your husband, yeah?”

He brightened like a light bulb, practically glowing from within with soul-deep delight. A well drugged light bulb and he latched on to Stretch eagerly, his grip bordering on feverish. “My husband? That means I get to keep you!”

If anyone was stupid enough to ask, Stretch wouldn’t even be able to begin describing how he felt about everything right about now. All his emotions were in wild conflict, battering against each other for dominance. But fuck if he could hold back from that. He grinned, helplessly, rubbing his thumb over Edge’s somewhat tarnished wedding band. "sure does."

“Sans!” Edge shouted suddenly, loud enough to make Stretch wince, but when he automatically tried to take a step back, Edge’s grip held like Velcro, weirdly loose and still implacable.

Red stepped up next to the gurney, hands tucked into his pockets. “right here, bro.”

Even with being strapped down, Edge still managed to lift his head enough to look down at his brother and say gleefully, “You see my husband?”

“seen him a time or two, yeah,” Red said. For the first time that day the clouded grimness that surrounded him seemed to lift a fraction and his permanent grin widened.

“I get to keep him!”

“sure do,” Red agreed, “no catch and release on husbands.”

Edge flumped back on the gurney hard enough to make Stretch wince even as he sang out enthusiastically, “He’s reeeeeeally pretty. Isn’t he pretty?”

“uh huh, he ain’t bad.” Red gave him a leering look and Stretch felt a hot flush crawl across his cheekbones, glaring back. Not that he’d ever doubted Edge thought that, but it was always nice to hear. Kinda.

Edge scowled at Red comically, holy fuck, that much expression on Edge’s face? He was going to give himself a new crack if this kept up.

“You’re just jealous,” he grumped, holding on tight to Stretch’s hand as if he thought Red might try to scoop him up and head for the hills to start up a new horrifying chapter in the mocking fairytale that was this day.

“must be,” Red agreed, an odd note to his voice, but Edge ignored that, cheering again quickly.

“Mine!” Edge said happily and before Stretch could puzzle through any of that exchange, he was busy squawking as he was abruptly yanked onto the gurney.

“woah, hang on, handsome!” Stretch tried to squirm away, but whoever’d had the foresight to buckle Edge down should’ve included his arms in the deal. Despite the good drugs and the visible bruises, he was pretty damn strong and clinging to Stretch like living duct tape.

“Mine, mine, mine,” Edge chanted like some kind of musical, maniacal supervillain and where the fuck had everyone else gone? They didn’t need a damn parade to get an ambulance. Red was only watching with great interest, picking idly at his gold tooth.

“a little help here?” Stretch yelped as Edge started nuzzling happily at his collarbone. Okay, it was a little tempting, but for crying out loud, Frisk and Toriel could be getting off the plane anytime now and who knew what high zoom lenses were out there getting a frontpage picture for the gossip rags. No assistance was coming from the outside avenues, so Stretch went for the ‘hail, mary’ pass and tried coaxing Edge, instead, “come on, babe, you gotta let go now.”

“No!” Edge sulked, and fuck if that petulant sullenness wasn’t incredibly damn adorable coming out in his deep, raspy voice, “You said I get to keep you.”

“you do, promise, i’m all yours. but—" Just then Edge found the bottom of his sweatshirt, warm, clumsy hands suddenly petting his ribcage and Stretch’s squeal took on a panicked note. “damn it, red!”

“me? i ain’t doing nothing.” His glee nearly matched Edge’s, that asshole.

“that’s part of the problem, you shit! he’s gonna hurt himself!”

“hurt himself?” Red scoffed. “you could take off one of his arms and use it as a tennis racket and he wouldn’t notice right now.”

“that isn’t helping!”

“never said it was, honey bun.”

Most of his face was buried into Edge’s chest but the little he could see through blankets and bone made Stretch snap out in disbelief, “are you recording this??”

“fuck, yeah, i am. this shit needs to be in high definition.”

“he’ll kill you!” Stretch tried to sound threatening, but it wasn’t exactly easy with Edge’s unusually graceless but eagerly insistent fingers trailing over his hipbones. The combination was unfortunately arousing and if he popped a boner while Red was recording, someone was gonna pay. Probably him, in horrifying shame. “i’ll kill you!”

Red did not sound properly threatened, considering that he only chuckled out, “gotta get loose first.”

It turned out to be a grateful moot point. Before he could figure out how to get loose from the wild groper his husband became under the influence, those hands slowed, going lax. By the time Stretch was able wriggle free little, Edge was out like a light, already snoring faintly.

But the moment he tried to climb off the gurney, that grip tightened again and Edge mumbling out a complaining grunt. Stretch gave up and sank down, hey, a wee little base humiliation wasn’t gonna dust him. Just so long as they kept away from dying shame, he’d manage.

But he did whip around to glare at Red’s grinning face, demanding, “delete it.”

Not like his threats would penetrate Red’s elephant hide, only rolled off like so much baby oil. “nah, don’t think so, this is for my private collection.” His glee turned pensive. “you know, i don’t have much from the old days but i do have a thing or two. maybe a few old pictures and shit.” He paused, adding with a certain slyness, “might have some pics of the boss here as a baby bones hidden away someplace.”

Yeah, Stretch knew when he was beat. “i will pay any price.”

“that’s what i like to hear.”

Just then, he heard the ambulance pulling up, fuck, finally! The back doors opened and Blue climbed out, the attendants at his heels, “All right, let’s get Edge loaded--Papy!” Blue scolded, “He’s injured, you shouldn’t be letting him exert himself!”

Stretch only grinned wryly. “sorry, bro. he, uh, didn’t give me much choice.”

Blue harrumphed, but he didn’t demand that Stretch get down, which probably cost his full allotment of sympathy points. Worth it. “You two are going ahead and we’ll be behind you in the second ambulance.”

“second?” That made him sit up despite Edge’s murmured complaint, “who else was hurt?”

Blue’s smile turned fixed even as the paramedics bustled around them. “I’m not supposed to say too much, yet, but.” His voice softened, hardly above a whisper, “I don’t know how Edge knew. We were hardly off the plane and they’d sent a car to pick us up. There must have been something he saw or felt, because he turned back to us and…and then…” He swallowed hard, the luminescent shine of tears limning his sockets. “He shielded Toriel and Frisk, and Papyrus shielded me and Sans. He did the best he could, but he…Papyrus was hurt, Papy.”

“fuck,” Stretch whispered, horrified, “papyrus, is he—"

“He’s fine,” Blue said firmly. “He was resting comfortably the whole flight. Sans is with him right now and we’ll get him to the hospital, too.”

It sounded like he was hurt worse than Edge, shit, shit, “he should’ve come out first!”

“Sans told us to take Edge,” Blue followed along as the gurney started moving, the attendants pushing it along. “Papyrus is asleep and perfectly stable. He was already with his brother and Sans said you’d need to see us.”

Fuck, but he owed Sans a very big favor.

It was only as they were loaded in that Stretch realized Red was gone. He wasn’t in the front seat and didn’t climb in before the doors closed. Then there wasn’t time to worry about that as the ambulance pulled away and Stretch only settled down next to Edge, holding on with as much gentleness as he could muster.

The ambulance attendants were both Monsters and quietly competent, neither suggesting that maybe Stretch could ride along on one of the cushioned seats. Good thing, because Stretch wasn’t going anyplace without extensive use of a crowbar.

He didn’t budge until they got to the hospital and only then did he reluctantly detangle himself from Edge. The docs took some time to look Edge over, peeling back the blankets and Stretch could only wince at the sight of a neat splint on one of Edge’s leg, at bruises scattered over his battered bones. But they only confirmed what Stretch already knew. Toriel and Blue had healed Edge as much as they could, probably too much for their own good considering Blue’s bruises and exhaustion.

Rest and time was what he needed now and that didn’t need a prescription.

Edge never really woke up again, drowsily groping for Stretch whenever he roused, but for once Stretch kept back, letting the doctors do their thing. They finished quick enough, writing on their clipboards and offering reassuring smiles as they left.

Exhausted as he was, Stretch resisted the urge to crawl right back in next to Edge. He felt like a sticky, filthy mess and a quick shower sounded like a lemon slice of heaven right now. At least the room had a very nicely appointed shower, though he didn’t linger, washing up quickly and snagging a set of the hospital issue jammies from the bathroom cubby.

He kicked his clothes under the sink, those could be a problem for Tomorrow Stretch. But he only opened the door a crack before freezing as he caught sight of someone else at the bedside.

Red was standing next to his brother, watching him sleep. His back was to the bathroom door so Stretch couldn’t see face, only the weary slump of his shoulders. As he watched, Red reached over and picked up one of Edge’s hands with tenderness Stretch never suspected Red possessed, inspected his slim, scarred fingers. Likely he didn’t see them often, even Stretch didn’t and they lived together.

He wasn’t supposed to be seeing this, couldn’t look away as Red only held Edge’s limp hand in both his own, pressed a kiss against those lax fingers before setting it back down with deliberate care.

“always come back to me, kid, you hear me?” Red murmured, a low, desperate rasp, He was gone in the next moment, vanishing into an eerily silent shortcut and that was Stretch’s cue.

Edge was sound asleep and there was a large, comfy chair pulled up next to the hospital bed that Stretch promptly ignored, gingerly curling up next to him, as close as he could get without disturbing him. For the first time since Edge sat him down to tell him about this trip, his soul settled, that achy, raw feeling easing.

Exhausted as he was, Stretch only lay there, looking into that battered, beloved face, tasting the sweet salt of his own melancholy tears as he whispered a plea of his own, “don’t ever leave me. please.”

He didn’t expect Edge to stir with a sleepy sigh, his sockets opening to show a sliver of crimson as he slurred out, “Won’t, love. M’ yours.”

“mine and yours, like his and his towels,” Stretch whispered back, stifling a teary giggle and when Edge sleepily held out an arm, he took the invitation. Snuggling in with his skull resting on Edge’s ribcage, an arm strung loosely around him as Stretch listened intently to the soft, steady thrum of his husband’s soul.

-finis-

[xxx-cat-xxx]

At least I didn’t puke on you

I kept my promise for a happy fic! This is for @toomuchtoread33 who sent me a prompt in which Peter accidently takes Steve’s emergency pills that are designed to make him sick in case he gets poisoned.

Cue Tony and Steve spending a night on the bathroom floor with a very pukey Peter Parker. This is fluff/humour with a lot of Irondad.

As always, a million thanks to my beta @whumphoarder.

“It won’t stop bleeding.” Tony crashes into the sofa, pressing a wad of tissues against his nose.

“That’s what happens when you retract your helmet in the middle of a battle to mock a Hydra agent,” Steve comments, setting down his plate after finishing the last piece of pizza.

“She had it coming. Did you see that suit? I made better designs when I was seven!” Tony protests nasally. “And what’s the fun of a battle if you can’t have a little chit-chat with your enemy?”

“Maybe it wasn’t the best move to call her Hello Kitty.”

“You did what?” Peter laughs so hard he nearly chokes on his slice of mushroom.

“Yeah, yeah, go on, make fun of me…” Tony removes the tissue from his bloody nose and sniffles experimentally. “At least I didn’t get knocked into a wall. Speaking of which, you’ve been quiet, kid. You sure you’re okay?” He eyes the boy critically.

“I’m good,” Peter assures, even as he visibly squints against the lights. “Just got a headache, no big deal.”

“Do you want another ice pack?” Steve asks, removing the one he’s been pressing against his sprained wrist and offering it to Peter.

“No, I’m okay.” Peter prods at the bump on his head and grimaces in pain. “It should be fine in a few hours. Before the bite, I would’ve just taken some painkillers, but now they don’t work on me anymore...”

“Maybe...” Steve exchanges a quick glance with Tony. “You know, Bruce and Tony developed those special painkillers to keep up with my metabolism? They don’t work a hundred percent, but they should definitely take the edge off.”

“Are you sure?” Peter looks at Tony. “It’s just a headache.”

As the current world champion in understating pain, Tony knows exactly what “just a headache” means when coming from a member of his superhero family. Peter already looks dead tired from the battle and there is no reason for him to be in unnecessary pain.

“That’s exactly what we made the pills for. Go ahead, kid. But only one, I don’t want to get in trouble with your aunt for drugging you up.”

“They’re in the medicine cabinet in the first floor bathroom,” Steve adds.

Peter disappears in search of the pills while Tony and Steve have their usual argument about which movie to watch. They settle on Aliens, partly because science fiction is the common denominator between the whole team, and partly because both of them know that it’s one of Peter’s favourites.

Tony waits until the kid has returned and curled up on the couch before he starts the movie. Since the mission has clearly taken its toll, he halfway expects all of them to fall asleep within half an hour. But the Nostromo crew has just landed on the alien planet when Peter suddenly sits up straight, his face screwed up in discomfort.

“Uh, Mr Stark?” he says, voice strained. “I’m not feeling so great.”

“Yeah, it takes some time for the painkillers to kick in.”

“No, I mean, I feel kinda queasy.” Peter swallows convulsively. “Like I’m gonna puke.”

Tony tenses, exchanging a worried look with Steve. “FRI, I thought you said it was only a mild concussion?” He glances at Peter, who is now hunching over, wrapping his arms around his stomach. Sweat is beading on his brow.

“Yes, boss, my scans indicate no severe damage,” the AI replies.

“Mr. Stark…” Peter gulps, all colour draining from his face.

“Shit. Come on.” Tony gets to his feet with a bit of difficulty and ushers Peter towards the bathroom.  

The boy drops to his knees in front of the toilet and leans over the bowl, spitting strings of saliva into the water. He burps wetly and gives an involuntary whimper. “I feel really sick.”

“I get it, kid. Just, do what you gotta do. You’ll feel better once it’s out.” Tony sincerely hopes that he’s right.

Peter doesn’t need to be told twice. He coughs drily, then gags. The first retch brings a bit of liquidy vomit, then he heaves hard, a gush of half-digested pizza pouring into the bowl. He coughs and chokes, barely able to draw a breath in before his whole body shudders and he vomits again.

“Easy, kid,” Tony soothes, awkwardly patting his back. He can feels the muscles under Peter’s shirt contracting when the boy brings up another wave.

“Oh - god,” Peter pants, his fingers clenching the bowl hard. “This is -” He’s cut off by another retch that brings tears to his eyes.

“Breathe, Pete, breathe,” Tony comforts, feeling his own stomach twist in sympathy.

Peter coughs and spits out bile, then shakily reaches up to flush. He folds his arms on the edge of the seat and lets his head fall onto them, trembling.

Tony wets a washcloth and nudges Peter to lift his face so that he can wipe the kid’s mouth. He fills a glass of water and offers it to him, but Peter shakes his head, lips pressed tightly together. He is still ghostly pale, sweat running down his temples.

“Okay, what the hell is happening? That looks like an awful lot like food poisoning, but we all ate the same dinner…” Tony tries for a light tone despite the worry gnawing in his gut.

“I think I have an idea.” Tony turns around to see Steve in the doorway, a weird expression on his face. Peter groans, visibly embarrassed by the fact that Captain America is watching him puke.

“What’s it?” Tony demands.

“Peter, are these the pills you took?” Steve holds up a bottle. ‘Super pills to save America’s ass’ is scribbled on them in Tony’s handwriting. Peter glances up from where his head is resting on his elbows and nods weakly.  

“Oh shit,” Tony breathes, understanding sinking in.

“What’s wrong with them?” Peter croaks.

“These aren’t the painkillers. These pills are designed to make you sick. They’re -” Steve starts, but is interrupted by Peter suddenly pushing himself upright and retching again. The soldier cringes at the sound of liquid hitting the bowl.

“Why would anyone invent pills that make you puke?” Peter whines as soon as he surfaces again.

“We developed them in case Cap ever gets poisoned,” Tony explains. “There aren’t many things that can kill a supersoldier, but he’s not immune to toxins so we figured it would be a viable possibility that someone would try to take him out that way. So Bruce had this brilliant idea for a formula that would induce vomiting, and… Let’s just say he test trials were a lot of fun.”

“Don’t remind me,” Steve grumbles.  

“I can’t believe this,” Peter groans, dropping his head back onto his arms.

“Hey, this is Cap’s fault,” Tony points out. “Rogers, you should have gone with him and showed him which pills to take.”

“You should have labeled the medicines correctly!” Steve retorts.

Peter interrupts their argument by belching up another mouthful of vomit.

“Geez, kid, I never would’ve thought this much food could fit in you,” Tony comments with a mixture of disgust and actual admiration.

“It’s not funny!” Peter complains. “I really don’t feel well.”

“I know, kid, I know,” Tony reassures, his expression softening. He picks up the washcloth and wipes it over Peter’s sweaty face. “I’m just glad that it’s nothing dangerous. The effects should wear off in a couple of hours. But till then I‘m afraid that you’re in for a rough time.”

*

“There’s not even anything left in me. Why am I still nauseous?” Peter whines, coughing weakly into the bowl.

It’s been two hours and countless rounds of puking, and Tony feels wiped. Guilt creeps up on him at that thought because he knows that Peter must be feeling far, far worse.

“I am so done,” the boy croaks hoarsely. He reaches for the handle to flush and misses. His hand slips off the tank and he lists dangerously to the side. Only Tony’s steadying hands keep him from hitting his head on the bathtub.

“Hey, Pete, careful,” Tony says, alarmed. “Are you feeling dizzy?”

“A little, maybe,” Peter admits. “Head’s kind of floating. ’m really tired...”

“You’re not going to like this, but you’ll have to try some water sooner or later. You’re getting dehydrated.” Tony lets go of Peter’s shoulders, and the boy sags tiredly against him.

“Hmm. In a bit,” he mumbles, his eyelids fluttering shut.

He dozes off like this, his head pressed against the older man’s chest. After a while, Tony’s back starts to hurt. He tries to adjust his awkward position without waking the kid, carefully guiding his head to rest on Tony’s thighs instead. Peter shivers in his sleep and curls into himself, looking far too pale and far too young.

Tony frowns as a sudden wave of protectiveness floods over him. He reaches up for a towel that he gently drapes over the kid, then leans his own head back against the bathtub, feeling like all energy has been sucked out of him.

Twenty minutes later, he’s startled awake by a knock on the door. Steve sticks his head inside. “Do you need anything?” he asks.

“No, Spangles, we’re perfectly happy.” Tony grimaces when he tries to sit up straighter and his back protests in pain.

“Shouldn’t we move him to bed?” Steve motions at Peter’s sleeping form in Tony’s lap. “This doesn’t look very comfortable for either of you.”

“Thanks, didn’t occur to me at all.”

Fact is, Tony is just happy that Peter is finally getting some rest and he feels a bit wary of what will happen if they wake him up. On the other hand, he knows that neither his nor the kid’s body will be happy if they spend the whole night on the bathroom floor. He really should’ve considered situations like this when designing the compound. His brain immediately comes up with the preliminary outline of an inflatable couch that could be hidden beneath the bathroom floor tiles which he stores in his memory for later use.

“Hey, kid.” He gently touches Peter’s shoulder. “Nighty-night time, come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

Peter rouses groggily, leaning heavily on Steve as he helps him stand up. Just as Tony feared, he looks about to hurl the moment he gets to his feet, so Tony makes a quick detour for a mixing bowl from the kitchen while Steve guides the kid to the elevator.

The motion of the lift definitely doesn’t help with the nausea. As soon as they sit him down on the edge of his bed, Peter is throwing up again, gagging miserably into the bowl that Tony holds under his chin. He only brings up strings of bile.

“Geez…” Tony rubs a hand through his hair. “That pill really works, doesn’t it?”

Peter is too out of it to reply with more than a weak glare. He falls onto the mattress like a doll that’s had its strings cut, not even reacting when Captain America himself tucks him in. Tony goes to rinse out the bowl, and when he returns, the Spider-kid is deeply asleep.

*

Peter wakes up a few hours later. There is a moment of confusion before he remembers what happened and how he got back to his own bedroom. His stomach muscles hurt, his mouth tastes like something died in it a long time ago, and he is still vaguely nauseous.

He turns around to see Tony sprawled out on the couch, snoring lightly. Steve is sitting in an armchair next to his bed, an actual book in his hands (Peter is momentarily surprised that anything non-digital actually even exists in Tony’s compound), smiling at him.

“How are you feeling, Peter?” Steve asks.

“Better, I think,” Peter mumbles hoarsely. “Lightheaded. And, um, still kinda sick.”

“Okay. That’s to be expected.”

“How’s you wrist?”

“Good as new.” Steve moves the hand up and down in front of Peter’s face. “And definitely looking better than Tony is right now.”

Peter props himself up on his elbows to get a better look at his mentor’s face. True to Steve’s word, it’s covered by an impressive array of rainbow-coloured bruises. Tony mumbles something in his sleep and turns his face away into the cushion, almost as if he’s aware he’s being talked about.

“You should drink something.” Steve brings his attention back to Peter. “You think you’re up for it?”

“Maybe...Can I brush my teeth first?” Peter is sure if he swallows whatever taste is in his mouth, he will definitely be sick again.

“Sure,” Steve agrees.

Peter sits up and swings his feet over the side of the bed, then waits for a bit until the grey fades from his vision before carefully making his way to the bathroom. He sits down on the edge of the bathtub while brushing, his legs feeling weak.

“I’m sorry that you have to go through this, Peter,” Steve says, stepping inside. The bathroom is huge, but the supersoldier takes up so much space that it actually looks normal.

Peter spits out his toothpaste. “It’s not your fault, Captain Rogers. I should have looked better before taking the medicine.” He hesitates for a second, but Steve seems ready for a chat. “Just one thing I was wondering - did you ever actually use this pill?”

“Oh god, don’t remind me.” Steve’s brow furrows. “I still feel sick if I think about that time.”

“Can you tell me about it?” Peter asks, always curious about old Avengers stories. He rinses his mouth and, god, the fresh taste is so good that he almost feels healthy again.

“If you drink some Gatorade, I will,” Steve baits, handing him a bottle.

“Hmm. Okay,” Peter agrees, sounding unmotivated.

He stares at the bottle for a moment, then opens it with a sigh. His stomach is still far from fine, and he feels like even a small sip of liquid might make it turn against him again.

“Just a little bit,” Steve encourages.

Peter takes a tiny sip and sits very, very still while he feels it moving down his throat and settling heavily into his stomach. He burps sickly, nervously eyeing the toilet. For a minute he is sure he’s going to be sick again, but then the nausea eases down a little.

“You’re holding up okay?” Steve asks.

“Hmm.” Peter nods, not keen on opening his mouth at the moment.

“Okay. Storytime.” Steve sits down on the closed toilet seat. “So, I wasn’t actually poisoned. But a couple of years ago, Bruce cut his thumb while cooking and a bit of his blood mixed with the curry he was preparing.You know that his blood is toxic, right?

Peter nods. He’s been told about this, but he’d never thought about the practical implications.

“So, he went off to bandage his finger,” Steve goes on, “just as I happened to walk into the kitchen after going for a run.” He looks a bit sheepish. “It smelled really good and, well, you know how it is with an enhanced metabolism…”

(Peter is starting to wonder if his Parker Luck™ has somehow infected Steve as well.)

“Honestly, it was lucky that it was me. Anyone else would have probably died on spot...but getting the toxin out of my system wasn’t pretty.”

“That’s...bad,” Peter says, failing to hide a grin. He can vividly imagine the scene playing out in his mind’s eye. His nausea has decreased enough that he feels safe to talk again and he takes another few sips of Gatorade. “Was that the only time you used the pills?”

“Yeah, that was the only time. But then there were also the test trials...I threw up all over Tony’s pants.”

“Well, I got my revenge.” Tony is standing in the doorframe, looking tired and beat up, his hair standing up in all directions. One of his eyes is swollen almost shut. “Nothing like a severe concussion to ruin America’s star-spangled uniform.” He yawns. “How are you feeling, kid? Stopped reenacting The Exorcist?”

“Ha ha. Very funny,” Peter says drily. “At least I didn’t puke on anyone.”

“He’s had a few sips of Gatorade and it looks like it’s staying down,” Steve informs the engineer.

“That’s good.” Tony rubs at his working eye with a groan, then looks at himself in the mirror and grimaces. “There goes Thursday’s Vanity Fair photoshoot…”

Steve takes a deep, measured breath while Peter tries to keep himself from bursting into laughter.

“Spiderling, you go back to sleep,” Tony orders, turning back to give Peter a once-over. “You look like you’re going to keel over any minute. Once you wake up, ask Dum-E for a proper breakfast.” He frowns. “Actually, scratch that. Ask Cap. Less chance he’ll set the kitchen on fire.”

“Please don’t talk about food..:” Peter’s stomach clenches at the thought. “Not before tomorrow morning.”

“Noted.” Tony grins. “Now out, all of you. I gotta pee.”

“It’s my bathroom!” Peter protests.

“Yeah, and it’s my house,” Tony retorts. He watches with a warm smile as Steve puts a hand on Peter’s shoulder and guides the boy out of the room. "Good night, sleep tight, and don’t puke on the bedbugs.”

If you’re interested in a hilarious story about Tony and Bruce cooking up painkillers for Steve, keep an eye out for @whumphoarder​‘s and @awesomesockes​‘ upcoming fic.

@badthingshappenbingo - This is my promptfill for the “Poison” square.

All my fics

[lapishasproblems]

“You two can’t be serious.” (Post-reveal love square fic.”

<Previous Part [PART EIGHT] Next Part>

[READ FROM THE BEGINNING]

(As always, check out the original idea here by @livanarose , I’m just here to stretch the story)

For @mysparkleaddiction @mothergeekness @rasberrytears @kae690 @realdumbasshours @xthreeravensx @flashflashitsash @tiffpotato @ale-san28 @datweirdname @absolutelycoathangered @idknowwhat @carzyanna @yasminahlam and everyone else who supported

Back again with me (after a week or so) and I’m actually in a pretty good mood today. I’m back for some more diabetes-worth fluffy love square stuff. The last part wasn’t really good, I was in a really bad mood when I wrote that. I mean I like the girls but I need more SPICE. So here we are.

Alright, here’s part eight.

~~~

“Plagg, come on.”

The black kwami looked over. “The interview is in an hour. Just let me finish my Camembert.”

The blonde groaned. “Let’s. Go.”

“Adri—“

“Now.”

The kwami rolled his eyes, but didn’t answer.

The weeks following Marinette and Chat Noir’s affair hadn’t been pretty for Adrien. As Adrien himself, he still recieved glares from people in class every so often. Alya was softening but still held a grudge, though more to Ladybug than him. Nino had finally forgiven him, seeing that both Marinette and Adrien are on good terms.

As Chat Noir, Adrien had no choice but to cut off all forms of flirting. No more teasing, no more long talks during patrol, no more puns, no more pickup lines, no more “My lady”, or “Bugaboo” or “Kitty”. It was just “Ladybug” and the usual “Chat Noir” during akuma attacks and the constant short conversation for their plans to defeat the akuma victim.

He hasn’t seen Marinette since they did the fourth phase. Even that was unintentional. He just missed her, but apparently phase four is in motion now.

The interview today with Ladybug and Chat Noir was never in the plan either. Since the beginning, both Marinette and Adrien agreed to leave people to connect the dots themselves. They’re not going to explicitly tell people that Chat Noir and Ladybug are dating, or that Ladybug had an affair with Adrien. Their job was to react to it the way any other oblivious person would.

Except for Adrien’s interviews, of course. Those are inevitable.

“Plagg—“

“Give me a minute—“

The model plopped down on his chair, head leaned back so all he could see was he ceiling.

“Adrien, even if we went earlier, you know Ladybug is going to arrive last minute, right?”

“Yeah. I know.”

“It’s just going to be like last time. Why even bother?”

“I—“

“Save it. You just want to see her.”

Adrien didn’t answer, smiling instead. At nothing, really. There was nothing up there but the ceiling and even Plagg knew the ceiling wasn’t going to smile back at him or give any repose whatsoever.

“Alright, let’s go.”

Even before the kwami finished the sentence, Adrien had already jumped to his feet. He smiled at the kwami who was still holding onto his uneaten piece of Camembert.

“Plagg, transform me!”

~~~

“Are you sure you’re going to be alright, sweetie?”

The girl threw her head behind her shoulder, flashing a reassuring smile at the woman. “I’ll be alright, Mom.”

“You better be careful, honey. I don’t want anything like that boy happening—“

Before her father could continue whatever he was about to say, Marinette had sprinted down the steps as quickly as her legs could go without tripping and pecked his cheek, flashing another reassuring smile. Tom immediately lost the sentence midway and looked at his daughter’s back as it disappeared trough the trapdoor.

The girl shut the trapdoor closed before collapsing on her chaise, a red kwami immediately appearing in front of her.

“Marinette, you have an interview to attend in thirty minutes.”

The girl sighed. “Thirty minutes is enough for a nap.”

Tikki frowned. “You were down there for a while. What did your parents say?”

Marinette covered her face with her arm, groaning. “Lots of things.”

“You know they only want you to keep you safe, right? Especially your dad.”

“I know,” the girl replied. “I’m starting to get sick of this plan after all. All the questions and the reassuring and people fighting. Plus all the akuma attacks.”

Tikki giggled, still hovering over her chosen. “You and Adrien can stop it anytime you want, you know.”

“I know that,” she sighed again. “But don’t you think that it’s kind of funny to mess with people?”

“Marinette, the last time you “said” you were messing with people, you thought Adrien was a statue and—“

“Ah yeah, don’t remind me of that situation.”

Tikki giggled again. “You can stop it anytime.”

The girl pulled her hand away from her face and sat up, smiling. “I’ll do it only if Adrien agrees.”

The kwami smiled back. “You can discuss about it later, at the interview.”

Marinette nodded, agreeing with her kwami again for the millionth time today. “I’ll surely talk about this with him before I make any decisions. Although, there is one person’s reaction I haven’t seen.”

“Really? I thought everyone in class shared a thought already.”

“Well she did, but I haven’t heard of her since she shared the video of me and Chat Noir to Alya the other day.”

The kwami frowned. “Who is it, Marinette?”

“Lila Rossi. And I’m going to find out just what she’s up to.”

Tikki nodded again. “But now you need to get ready. I see someone waiting for you.”

Marinette peeked out the window, a small smirk forming on her lips.

“Tikki, transform me!”

~~~

The black clad superhero had landed on a nearby roof, the same one she took Marinette to when Ladybug let him down just minutes before an akumatized Andre attacked the streets. Not too close for it to look suspicious, but not too far that the girl living above the bakery can’t see him.

He settled himself on the building’s railing, remembering the time he waited for Ladybug, until he gave up and spotted Marinette instead. He talked to her, because she was a really good friend from school, and seemed to always be able to solve anyone’s problem. That was ages ago. Back then, he didn’t know he had admitted that he was in love with Ladybug...to Ladybug herself.

The railing shook a little, but Chat Noir didn’t even flinch. Without looking over, he knew his partner had arrived on the railing to his left.

“Good afternoon, kitty.”

“Whoops there, Ladybug.”

The red clad heroine shrugged. “You’re the one in a relationship. I can call you any way I like.”

Chat Noir couldn’t help but smile. “I really want to tell you how weird that sentence sounds but I’d rather not have you scold me.”

“Good choice,” Ladybug replied, turning her head over and smiling at her partner. “Time?”

“Fifteen minutes go to.”

“Shall we, then?”

Chat Noir stood up next to her on the railing. “Cut the flirting, Ladybug. I’m taken now,” Chat Noir gave her a grin and she nearly failed hiding her laugh. “Race you there!”

“Hey, WAIT—“

But she was already too late. Chat Noir had leapt away using his baton, leaving Ladybug behind. She stood on the railing of the building as she stared at the black figure getting farther and farther away by the second, a smirk forming on her lips again, knowing one thing for a fact.

That cat can never beat her.

The red clad heroine took out her yo-yo and threw it at a nearby building, its string wrapping itself around a balcony’s railing, letting her use the momentum to swing away. The Parisian wind blew her hair, just like it always does when she’s swinging from building to building, something nostalgic. Something that makes her think about it whenever she’s not doing it.

Before long, Ladybug had caught up to the black cat, slowing down her pace so she can continue alongside him. She caught Chat Noir attempting to add his speed several times, but Ladybug could just easily add hers too and they’d be on the same pace again. The girl took a final swing before landing on the rooftop of the TV station, Chat Noir landing not far from her.

The girl turned and eyed her partner. “I guess we both know who won that one.”

Chat Noir shrugged. “Is arguing with you even possible anymore?”

Ladybug chuckled, but immediately returned her stern look, as if something is wrong. “Time?”

“About ten minutes.”

“Great, I need to talk to you about something.”

Without saying anything, Chat Noir leapt towards the edge of the rooftop, plopping down there, which the girl took as his way to say ‘sure, hit me with it’. Without thinking twice, the red clad superhero walked over and sat down next to him, no hesitations at all, despite the fact that they’re currently sitting at the top of the TV station.

“Listen, this plan is getting ridiculous.”

Chat Noir sighed. “Never thought you’d say that.”

“Well I—“

“But yeah, I think the plan is getting ridiculous. We can’t keep this up forever.”

Ladybug turned her head. “You—you really think so?”

Her partner sighed. “I really want to stick with a girl. I mean...well, you know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I get it,” Ladybug cut him off. “You don’t want to pretend anymore. Neither do I.”

A long silence settled over the two, all they could hear was the wind from something stories high, and he faint noise of cars from down there.

“So what? We call it off?”

Ladybug pursed her lips, exhaling through her nose. “I still really want to see someone’s reaction, though.”

“I know, Kagami? She’s unaffected. She’s—“

“What? No. Kagami and I are friends. We’re on good terms,” the girl cut him off quickly. “But I’m afraid I can’t say the same for Lila. I’d like to see how she reacts. She hasn’t done anything and I can’t help but think that she’s plotting something.

Chat Noir looked over. “That’s...that’s actually pretty interesting.”

“I know.”

“Now that we both know she’s a fraud, I wonder what other ways she’ll use to lure Adrien now that he’s single.”

“Did she do anything recently?”

“It was ages ago, though. Just after the news about the affair spread. She came up to me and said that she’s on my side, that I should get over ‘that loser’ soon,” Chat Noir said, making air quotes. “She said I should talk to her because she’s Ladybug’s best friend.”

The girl scoffed. “Blegh, using someone else to boost your popularity. And it’s not even true. I’m not her best friend.”

“You know what she’s like. We all know what she’s like—“

“No, we both know what she’s like, but not anyone else in the classroom.”

Chat Noir didn’t answer, staring at the buildings in the distance. The Eiffel Tower was on the other side of the building, making their view completely Eiffel Tower-free.

“So what do we do now? End it here?

His partner stood up. “No, not now. Let’s quicken up the pace.”

~~~

“So, Ladybug and Chat Noir, how have you been doing these past few days?”

Remembering their last agreement where Ladybug had decided to let her partner answer to the camera first, Chat Noir immediately answered the first question. “Great! We’re both doing great! And yourself?”

Nadia Chamack laughed. “Oh I’m great, thanks for asking,” the woman’s laugh subsided. “Now that the tense atmosphere is gone, I’d like to start with the interview.”

Chat Noir nodded, his partner replied, “Please.”

“Let’s start with the lighter questions. Which akumatized victim was hardest to defeat to you?”

Without thinking twice, Chat Noir answered. “Mr. Pigeon.”

Nadia looked taken aback. “Is that so?”

Chat Noir shrugged. “It’s not that he’s hard to defeat, it’s his dedication. I mean we don’t mind, saving Paris is our job. But being akumatized for twenty-four times? That’s a world record.”

Nadia laughed, turning to the girl in red. “How about you Ladybug?”

The girl had to think for a while. “A lot of people say it has to be Party Crasher, as he took six miraculous holders to defeat, but I’d say that it’s Weredad.” The girl replied. “It wasn’t easy defeating Tom Dupain. He’s a father, and I have a father too, of course. It feels wrong to be fighting against him.”

“I see. But speaking of miraculous holders, how many do we have now?” Nadia asked the two.

“There’s me and Ladybug, of course.” Chat Noir said. “And some other temporary holders. I can’t seem to keep track.”

Nadia nodded, before deciding to continue with the next question instead. “Ladybug, you said the hardest akuma victim to defeat was Tom Dupain, this next question will be related to his daughter,” Nadia started. “I’m sure you have heard of this a lot, but can you please tell us more about your relationships?”

Ladybug sighed. “Nothing is to explain. Chat and I stopped dating a while ago—“

“Yes, of course we know that. But we’d like to know about your relationships with two other Parisians, Marinette Dupain-Cheng and model Adrien Agreste?”

The girl cleared her throat. “Well, about Adrien Agreste, as he confirmed it on his previous interview, we both ended it. As for Marinette—“

“Yes, the designer. Chat Noir, do tell us about her. What is she like?”

Ladybug leaned back on the sofa, waiting for her partner to answer. Chat noir looked back at her, and she gave him a shrug. He turned back to face Nadia, but not before he flashed her a smirk.

“Oh, you’ll never believe it, Nadia. She’s the sweetest girl ever.”

Ladybug nearly choked.

“Well Marinette babysits my daughter every once in a while and I can see why you think so,” Nadia giggled. “But if you don’t mind, we’d like to—“

“I don’t even know where to start,” Chat Noir cut her off, more excited to answer than ever. “Marinette bakes croissants when I come over and make tea so we can talk for hours or play video games together.”

The girl flinched. None of those were lies, but Chat Noir was taking a risk and mixing around the things she did for both him and Adrien.

“Yes, we all know she’s a great baker. And a great designer too. She was approved by Adrien Agreste’s father too—“

“But that doesn’t end there,” Chat Noir cut her off again. “I really love her bluebell eyes. Sometimes when I stare at them for too long, I ended up getting lost and it’s going to take a while to bring me back to reality. She’s that powerful, Nadia.”

Chat Noir looked over at his partner who was sitting in an uncomfortable position, hints of red tinting her cheeks. Ladybug herself was again, thankful for the mask she’s wearing.

Nadia laughed again. “Yes, I have also seen the videos of you two on her balcony. You two can really talk for a while.”

Chat Noir smiled, but without realizing, Ladybug had too. A faint one, not one anyone would see as a smile but her.

“Alright, let’s move on to the next question.”

~~~

Part eight after an eternity

Looking at the time gap, most of you probably have forgotten how the previous parts go. I’m sorry it took a while. School started on Monday and I’ve been pretty busy. Where I live, when you start your first day at school, you need a week with no lessons so you can be introduced to the school environment and system and that’s exactly what I’ve been doing this week.

Again, I’m really really really sorry. Ideas have been stuck in my head. This also applies to wattpad because I’ve put my story on hiatus for a month now and I don’t know when I’m publishing again.

So thank you for waiting patiently. And thank you for the support.

Leave a “:))” to be notified for the next part

[agent-styles]

repeating days | prologue (pt 2)

summary: after stealing quite an important device from s.h.i.e.l.d., cap and his team track you down. however, this isn’t the first time you and cap have gone head to head on a rooftop.

prompt: “Baby, I’m a pro at letting go.”

warning(s): a v mild thriller with some fluff

word count: 1,859

a/n: this is both an entry for @cevansgirl​’s writing challenge and the second part of the prologue for my og fic “repeating days.” buuut, you can totally read this as a one shot. if you are interested in the multi-part fic, get ready! there’s lots more to come of this story over the next month <3

You heard your cell phone vibrating between the seat and the console, as it fell between the cracks again. You groaned as you dug your hand into the tight spot between the two objects, wiggling your fingers around until you felt the cold metal. “YES,” you cheered to yourself as you pinched your phone between your index and middle finger before pulling it up and into your lap.

With your eyes still on the road, you slide your thumb across the screen and placed the phone to your ear, “What? This couldn’t have waited until I got home?”

“No, y/n, it couldn’t have. They’re on your tail. You need to ditch the car,” you felt your heart rate spike as your best friend told you the worst possible news. “Y/n, NOW!”

You cut a corner into an alley that you’ve probably had a scuffle or two in and slammed on the breaks. You grabbed your bag out of the passenger seat and ran.

You heard the thundering footsteps of the team gaining speed on you, so you tapped the button on the side of the watch. Your suit burst out of the watch and you ran right into it. The suit clinged to your body like a lost lover.

You smirked to yourself and double tapped the piece in your right ear. “Hope, talk to me. Where should I go?”

You could hear her clanging on keys, trying to find you an out. “Up,” she blurted out.

You huffed as you jumped and grabbed a railing to the nearest staircase, “I can do that.”

“Y/n, you need to find a way to either hide the device or we’re screwed.”

You rolled your eyes at her comment. Hope always believed you were way out of time when you still had plenty of time to twiddle your thumbs. You did tighten your hand around the bag’s strap on your right shoulder though.

This device is one that S.H.I.E.L.D. took for granted. It had the ability to wipe the existence of any superhero activity from the minds’ of civilians without their consent. Surely this device started with good intentions in mind, but it got into the wrong hands once. You weren’t going to let that happen again.

“Hope, calm down,” you said as you watched the team scramble at your feet. “When are you sending the car?”

Hope sighed, “It’s on the way. About 5 minutes out.”

“I can hold my own until then,” you told her, both to reassure your friend but also for yourself.

“I know you can,” Hope said but you could still see her worrisome eyes in the back of your head. She continued, “but sometimes you let him get under your skin.”

You threw your long brown hair over your shoulder, in an attempt to brush off Hope’s comment. “Not tonight, Hope. Not with this.”

That’s when your heard footsteps on your level, coming closer to you. “Talk soon,” you whispered to your best friend before muting the comms.

You slid the backpack across the rooftop, so it is secure in the corner furthest from your most familiar contender. Then, you made eye contact with him.

“Long time, no see, Cap.”

The cowl hid his face in shadows as he moved closer to you. Your skin-tight black suit helped you cling to the other shadows on the top of that roof.

“Black Owl, hand over the device and it won’t have to come to this,” he said, gesturing between the two of you. The same old routine felt a bit comforting for you. No matter what, he’d always find you on some rooftop in this giant city and you’d have the same talk about how he thought you were making a grave mistake. Sometimes the civil conversation would turn into you throwing and landing a punch or two, because Cap always seemed to underestimate you. And that's why you’d always get away. You have always had the unique ability of residing in Captain America’s blindspot.

You placed your hands on your hips, brought a finger to your chin, and said, “Hm, see I would, Cap, but I can hear that your team is a block away.” You looked him up and down, “And you don’t see to be calling them back for reinforcements.”

Cap nodded and dropped his shield to the ground, “I don’t want to do this again, okay? I know there is a part of you that thinks you’re doing this for a noble reason, but S.H.I.E.L.D. is too. They’re the good guys.”

You scoffed, “Do you really expect me to believe that? After everything that’s happened, you really expect me to believe that organization isn’t run by complete morons?”

Cap took another step towards you, as he could tell your guard was coming down.

“I won’t let them have that device, Cap. No one should have it. That’s why I’m going to carefully destroy it.”

“I can’t let you do that,” Cap muttered under his breath just a few feet away from you.

You looked up at him through your mask, “And what are you going to do to stop me, soldier?” In a second, Cap had your left arm pinned behind you, but in that same time, you swung his left leg out from under him. You landed on top of him with his right arm twisted behind his back.

You leaned in close and whispered in his ear, “You may be older and stronger, but you’ll never beat me.”

You leaned back and looked over New York City. “These people need someone who doesn’t abandon them, and I refuse to be that person. You’ve already filled that role so well, Cap.”

You hopped up off of him when you heard Hope’s car turn a corner two blocks away. In no time, Captain America is back on his feet, fists raised. “Come on then,” Cap ordered. His voice was sure, the most sure it had been that entire night.

His body did seem tired as he staggered toward you earlier, but you didn’t think anything of it. A superhero like him was always running towards a fight. You just so happened to be the last one on a very long list that day, but that didn’t mean you were going to give up the fight easily.

That fight was nearly identical to all of your others with each other. There were never any salacious hits or anything  like that. It felt almost like a choreographed dance. You anticipated his next move, just as he did yours. However, that time something did change.

You didn’t even notice until you had secured the backpack on your shoulder once again. It wasn’t until you stood on the ledge waiting for the car that was a turn away that you noticed you had knocked the cowl off of his face.

It was no secret that Steve Rogers was Captain America. In all honesty, it was one of the most widely known facts. However, you always liked to distance the persona of Captain America from that of Steve Rogers, and now you couldn’t do that any longer.

You peeped over the edge of the building and watched as the sun roof of the black SUV opened, awaiting your arrival. Cap grabbed his cowl and started darting towards you from across the top of the building. “You can’t do this,” he roared.

You shrugged your shoulders and dropped the back over the ledge, “Baby, I’m a pro at letting go.” You heard the bag plop into the car and turned to follow it, “I’ll see you around, Rogers.”

You lept off the building, leaving the super soldier with a wink.

Once you landed in the SUV and made your way into the front seat, Hope had already driven five blocks away. The two of you had gotten quite good at these fast getaways.

She glanced over at you, but both of her hands stayed braced on the steering wheel. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, looking at the window. “We got the device; everything is good.”

She didn’t press you any further because she could tell that your mind was elsewhere. It was in the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters during your visit a few months ago. Your day job of a journalist gave you special entry into a meeting with Natasha Romanoff.

Through your years of reporting about the ups and downs of superheroes and their interaction with the world, you had struck quite a bond with Natasha. She was always honest with you and never gave you talking points. She knew the citizens of New York City deserve to know the whole truth from someone involved, and you were happy to help her tell that narrative.

This meeting was just another follow-up piece about the Avengers battle in New York. It gave the people hope to read about how heroes like Natasha were determined to not let anything like the Atari happen again.

You knocked twice on her door and heard her raspy voice on the other side, “Come on in, y/n.”

You pushed the door open to see the back of a very strong individual. He had to have been. His shoulders were as wide as the door frame, and his arms were as big as your head. He turned to acknowledge you as you got closer to Nat’s desk. That’s when it all clicked.

His blue eyes found yours, and a smile formed on his lips. You tighten your grip on your notebook, because the pressure reminded you that this superhuman man stood in front of you.

“You’re… you are Ca-” you stuttered.

The man stuck his hand out, and you placed your hand in his. Your tiny hand got lost in his and you didn’t even mind. “I’m Steve,” he said with a wider smile. “Call me Steve.”

Natasha introduces you, “This is y/n y/l/n.” A group of butterflies flitted around your stomach for the briefest of seconds when Steve smiled upon hearing your name.

You nodded, unable to form a coherent sentence that wouldn’t embarrass you, as he kept your hand in his a little longer than was necessary. The two of you only broke eye contact when Natasha cleared her throat.

“Are we going to get this piece going, y/n?”

She sat back in her seat with a crooked grin. Her eyes glinted as they darted between you and Steve.

“Sure, yeah!” You sat your notebook down before turning to Steve. You didn’t want to make him think he had to leave. Hell, your editor would have killed for a quote from Captain America.

But before you could make the suggestion, Steve raised his hands and bowed out, “That’s my cue. I’ll check in with you later, Nat.”

Natasha nodded while she put her feet on her desk, kicking her even further back in her chair. Steve turned and made his way to the exit. You didn’t let your gaze follow up, so you faced your friend.

Natasha looked up at your through her eyelashes and nodded in the hero’s direction. You turned to meet Steve’s gaze one last time.

“I’ll see you around, y/l/n.”

[cptn-stvngrntrgrs]

[fic] Let me go, it's okay. (no, it really is okay)

Relationship: Steve Rogers/Natasha Romanoff

Title: Let me go, it's okay. (no, it really is okay)

Summary:

Natasha came to the conclusion that maybe jumping off the cliff in Vormir wasn't such a bad thing after all.

Sequel to "I guess we got the better end of the bargain" but can also be read alone.

-- this was impulsively written bc of an anon curiouscat ask that i received: "what scenario can you make when James Rogers discovers his mother's sacrifice and how his father brought her back?"

hello!! thank you so much to everyone who read and enjoyed "I guess we got the better end of the bargain"!!! this is for those who asked for a sequel or more post-Endgame James Rogers!!

tw// mention of ptsd/panic attack.

Also on AO3!!!

“Come on James, let’s go!!!” Morgan Stark excitedly squealed as she ran out of the house and into the beach. Well, more like a private island. That Morgan technically owns. The moment Morgan was born, Tony has been buying properties here and there for her. Pepper simply can’t stop him - the little girl has her dad wrapped by her pinky before she was even born.

“I’m not spoiling her, Pep. I’m… securing her future.” Tony argued one time after Pepper found out Tony bought her a beach house. Again.

“Wait for me ‘Gan!” James called out, jumping off the last three steps of the stairs, which almost made Steve wince had he not landed gracefully on his feet. Well, he is his parents’ child and Steve is definitely feeling what Bucky felt when they were younger. His son got all his recklessness with his mother’s elegance, making him their own little daredevil.

“Don’t forget to put on sunblock!” Pepper reminded the kids, standing by the door and watching them run into the water.

“Already got it on, Aunt Peps!” James responded, a bright smile on his face as he turned around to give his aunt a thumbs up before running after Morgan once again. James adored his aunt.

Pepper has been there for Natasha ever since she found out she’s pregnant and has barely left her side since. Natasha’s pregnancy was surprisingly a very calm one, despite worries from her doctors as to what brought the possibility of pregnancy. Their theory of Vormir somehow “healing” her is their best bet for it — with Gamora saying that there’s a possibility, in theory, that a soul that was sacrificed there, if brought back, would be whole again. Since Natasha was the first one who, in a way, was brought back because of time travel, they didn’t really have anyone to compare it to.

The news of Natasha’s pregnancy spread like wildfire to the rest of the Avengers throughout, quite literally, the whole universe. Of course, the moment he caught wind of the news, Clint, Laura, and the kids were in the Compound right away. Laura and Natasha shared a tearful hug — Natasha once confided in Laura about her remorse at not being able to bear children. She couldn’t believe that she’s finally going to get the family she never thought she’d have.

When James was born, it seemed as though an imminent threat was upon Earth once again judging by the number of Avengers and superheroes present. Good thing Natasha and Steve decided to stay at the Compound for the delivery instead of a hospital like Pepper suggested, or else they would’ve sent the general public population into a panic as to why a massive crowd of superheroes is gathered once again.

Out of everyone in the room, the newborn James spent most of his time in the arms of his namesake, Bucky, who cried with Steve and Natasha when James was put in his arms for the first time. Aside from the adults, Morgan, who was 6 at that time, also racked up on snuggling hours with James. She just adored him from the start. She always hovered around, asking about the baby and just playing with him. At one point, she even asked for a baby sibling, which Tony supported until a sharp “No” from Pepper to her husband struck the idea down.

Now, almost 7 years later, Steve watched as James and Morgan ran around in the water, chasing Lila, Cooper, and Nathaniel. Sam was supervising them, holding his daughter’s - Natalie - hand as she tried to play with the kids who are a bit bigger than her. At 5 years old, she’s the youngest of the bunch. Maria Hill and Sam got married a couple of months after James was born, which is what Maria preferred because she wanted Natasha to be there and have fun with them. A little over a year after that, Natalie Wilson was born - named after Natasha. There were a lot of tears from both women that day.

“Dad! Dad!” James high-pitched squeals broke Steve out of his reverie to see his son running to him. He straightened up and kneeled down once James was in front of him.

“What is it? Are you okay?” This became his staple response with James as of lately; he’s becoming more and more accident prone with his recklessness and Steve’s sure it’s making him age twice as fast.

James just giggled at his father’s prodding. “Of course I am, dad. Can I go with Morgan and Coop and Uncle Sam? They’re going cliff-diving! Please please please, dad!” And with that came the puppy eyes.

Steve sighed. Truth be told, he’s too young for those kinds of activities at just 7 years old. But… he also has a mutated version of the serum running through him so he suppose…

“Whatcha boys doings here?” Natasha’s voice cut through Steve’s internal struggles and despite not even seeing her behind him yet, he could already feel the smile spreading across his face. Natasha does have that kind of effect on him.

Steve turned around and stood up to give Natasha a kiss as a greeting. “He wants to go cliff-diving with the kids.” He whispered. As his words sunk in, he noticed Natasha stiffen so he hugged her to his side, his arm firmly latched around her waist. Natasha hasn’t been dealing well with heights since Vormir and honestly, neither does Steve. They’ve mainly used helicarriers or private planes to fly and places like mountains or high elevation were mostly avoided.

“Mommy, please,” James tugged on the hem of Natasha’s sundress, peeking at her with his wide blue eyes, his strawberry-blond hair flopping from the wind.

Natasha offered her son a soft smile before turning to Steve, worry etching her forehead. “Is it safe?” She asked, her voice low.

Steve paused for a moment. “Yes. I know Sam and the others has been there. It’s only 12 feet at most, the water is clear of rocks or anything, and Sam will be watching the kids to catch them. Which means Bucky will be there too.” Natasha didn’t look convinced, her lips still pursed together tightly. “I can wait with them in the water to catch James, if you want.” She seemed to think that over and eventually nodded.

Mustering the courage to smile, Natasha faced James. “Okay, honey, you go with them. But daddy will be going with you, okay? He’s going to be in the water with Uncle Sam and Bucky.”

“What about you, mommy? Can you go with us too?” He asked, eyes glinting with hope.

“Mommy’s not really in the mood to swim today, bud.” Steve supplied for Natasha, seeing her torn look.

“Then mommy can watch me when I jump!” He suggested happily. Steve didn’t miss how Natasha winced at his words. “Please, mommy? Even just once?”

Cursing under her breath, Natasha inhaled deeply and forced a smile, scooping James into her arms. He’s getting taller and taller so she’s savoring every moment that she can still carry him. “Fine. But just once, okay?” James grinned widely and nodded. Steve squeezed Natasha’s shoulder as he signaled for Sam to lead the way.

The “cliff” isn’t really a cliff as much as it is an elevated part on the island. It was only a short eight minute walk from the beach, and there were steps leading up to it to prevent slipping on the ground. James squirmed from Natasha’s arms once they reached the steps and she set him down, letting him run towards the others. Natasha and Steve stood at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at the top of the “cliff”.

Natasha’s hand shot out to hold Steve’s, gripping it tightly as she took a deep breath while making her way up the stairs. They took slow and calculated steps, as if they were sneaking up behind an enemy. Halfway through, she could see edge, with the children excitedly looking down at the water and chattering amongst each other. Steve gave her hand a squeeze and didn’t move until she does first. They were on the last step of the stairs and the edge and water were completely visible when Natasha tensed up.

“I can’t do this,” she said, voice tight, as she started gasping for air. Steve stood in front of her, grabbing a hold of her; his hand still gripping hers tightly and the other cupping her cheek. “Please get me out of here,” she choked out, her free hand holding onto his shirt. Steve nodded rapidly and was slowly moving to carefully step down from the stairs when they heard their son.

“Mommy! Daddy!” James called out when he saw his parents, not knowing what’s happening. Sam glanced in their way and cursed, running to their direction. He knew the signs of a panic attack and this definitely was one.

“Steve, take her back right away! We’ll follow you guys!” Sam said, assessing Natasha’s look and breathing. This isn’t good; if she doesn’t get to leave on time then —

Before Sam’s worst-case scenario thought finished, it already happened in front of his eyes. Natasha fainted and was caught by Steve’s arms and chest, her head colliding with his shoulder.

—

“Daddy, is mommy going to be okay?” James tearfully asked Steve. They were both in the guest room’s couch across from the bed, where Natasha is still passed out on.

Steve looked at James and smiled sadly, wiping his son’s tears with his thumbs. “Of course she will be, baby. Mommy’s just… not feeling well.”

“Why did she suddenly get sick when we were at the cliff?” He asked, tilting his head. His brows are scrunched up tightly, a sign that he’s deeply contemplating what happened to his mom. The look almost made Steve chuckle, he couldn’t count how many times Natasha has told him he and James always make the same thoughtful look. Whenever Natasha notices Steve have that look, she always runs her thumb over between his brows to loosen them, and it always helps him calm down. So he did the same with James until he giggled.

Natasha stirred on the bed, rolling over her side, facing them. Steve and James froze, watching whether or not she’s fully awake. When she cracked an eye open, James ran to the bed and into Natasha’s arms before Steve could even stop him.

“Mommy, you’re awake!” James yelled with glee. Steve sat on the couch for a little bit until Natasha’s eyes caught his and he sat next to them on the bed.

“How are you?” Steve asked, stretching his legs in front of him and resting on the headboard. He looked down at her and smoothed the stray locks of her hair. Natasha smiled and pushed to a sitting position, propped by a pillow, next to Steve. She tucked herself under him and James sat between them, Natasha’s arm around him.

“I’m doing fine. Feeling a lot better,” Natasha said with a bitter laugh.

“Mommy what happened to you? I thought you were going to watch me jump! Then I saw you sleeping in daddy’s arms and he and Uncle Sam and Uncle Bucky looked really worried,” James jutted his lower lip out, recalling the events that happened earlier that day.

Natasha looked at Steve with an eyebrow raised. So far, all James knows about his parents and his aunts and uncles is that they’re superheroes and they’re called The Avengers. He’s seen their pictures and videos on TV and even plays with their action figures - leave it to Tony to give the children toys of their parents . What they haven’t told him yet, though, is what happened a decade and a half ago that changed the world - and how his parents played a huge role in it.

They really hoped to spare James the whole Thanos story until he’s a bit older - like how Tony told Morgan when she was 10 years old and started asking tons of questions as to why her dad is hailed a hero. At that age, she was mature enough to understand the dynamics of what happened, and hopefully, not get nightmares from it.

Well, it’s tricky in Steve and Natasha’s case. How do you explain to your child that his mom died and his dad went back in time to bring her back? Hell, even a grown adult might not even understand that story, let alone an seven year old.

Natasha cleared her throat. “Well, baby, Mommy had an accident way before you were born,” she started, watching her son’s reaction. When he seemed to understand that, she continued. “Mommy fell off a cliff.” Natasha flinched and Steve started smoothing his thumb over her arm to try to calm her down.

James gasped. “Oh no, mommy! What happened after that? Did it hurt?” came his rapid-fire questions in a worried voice, looking at Natasha with wide eyes.

Natasha paused and narrowed her eyes to think. “No, I don’t think it hurt. And you know why?” James shook his head. “Because daddy saved me.”

Now, James turned to his father with a look of amazement on his face. “Really, dad? You saved mommy?”

Steve glanced at Natasha, his hand traveling to hers and giving it a squeeze as he nodded. “I sure did! I love your mommy very much and I didn’t want her to be hurt so I rescued her.”

James was quiet for a moment, his mouth hanging open as he got a dreamy, far-away look in his eyes. “Wow…” he mumbled. Turning back to Natasha, he asked, “But mommy, why did you get sick earlier?”

Steve and Natasha contemplated the question, thinking of ways to explain panic attacks to young children. “Remember how mommy said she had an accident at a cliff?” Steve asked, to which James nodded. “Well, when mommy saw the cliff earlier, she remembered her accident. Then that made her really sick.” Steve explained, with Natasha humming and stroking James’s hair.

“Really, mommy?” James looked at Natasha, who mumbled a ‘yes’, making him burrow his head into her side. Natasha and Steve looked at each other, alarmed.

“James, baby, what’s wrong?” Natasha asked, her voice soft, after hearing sniffs from him.

James poked his head up a bit, his eyes red with tears. “I’m sorry, mommy!!” he wailed, throwing his arms around her and hiding his face on her side again.

Natasha frowned while Steve rubbed a hand on James’s back. “Baby, why are you sorry?” she tried to poke him so he could talk to them.

James looked up again, looking between Steve and Natasha. “Because I told you to come to the cliff with me,” he sniffed again but didn’t hide this time. His voice sounded so melancholy that it broke Natasha’s and Steve’s hearts.

“Oh, baby, that’s not your fault!” Natasha assured him, propping him up so she could properly hug him, his arms automatically going around her neck. She looked at Steve and raised her eyebrows, telling him to say something.

To be perfectly honest, he might be able to counsel adults after the snap, but once James start crying, Steve’s emotions gets the better of him. The image in front of him - Natasha holding a crying James - painfully reminded him of his childhood with his mother consoling him when he’s sick or beaten by his father. Really, his child is his biggest weakness.

“James, do you want to know a secret?” Steve asked, inching towards James, his voice low. James peered at him, nodding. “Mommy’s accident may have been a bad thing, but there were so many good things that came out of it.” James pulled away from Natasha, trying to think of what his dad was saying. How can good things come from painful accidents? Wasn’t his mommy hurt? Even Natasha looked taken aback with Steve’s statement.

When neither James or Natasha said anything, Steve continued. “Your mommy saved the world! And then after that, you became our baby! Aren’t those good things?” Steve smiled, seeing James’s eyes brighten at that.

“Mommy, you saved the world too? Like Uncle Tony?” James asked, a bit shocked. He knew his parents were heroes but he didn’t know his mom saved the world !

Natasha laughed, nodding along. All these years, the thought of what happened in Vormir still haunts her. She suppose she focused too much on the fact that she died on that cliff, and that yeah, sure, her sacrifice got them the soul stone. Well, she knows she died, but she doesn’t even remember dying. She just remembered falling, then the next thing she knows, she’s taking deep breaths while Steve almost actually crushed her with a hug.

But she had yet to really embrace the fact that honestly, in the end, throwing herself down that cliff isn’t at all that bad. Sure, according to the stories from everyone, she missed one hell of a battle. That fact aside, she still came out all of this as a winner. First of all, she did help save the universe, a big help, in fact. Most importantly, the soul stone gave her back what she lost. And now, as she watched Steve play with James, she realized that jumping off that cliff was worth it.

[coaxionunlimited]

RvB Fic Recs - AO3 Edition

This is going to be a highly eclectic and very personal list of fics that I liked during my recent RvB fic binge. Most of them are going to be a little obscure, but there’s no hard and fast theme.

AI: The logistics of sharing your head with an untested computer program that feels things have always fascinated me. These are fics about getting comfy-cozy with the stranger in your head. Spartan-B240 by eggstasy: Tuckington Halo 5 AU where Tucker is the voice in Wash’s head. I really love the build of Tucker and Wash’s relationship here, how they’re both trying hard to help each other, how Tucker makes Wash feel like a real person, how Wash is really and obviously gone on him. And also this approach to the logistical difficulties of falling in love with an AI program. The sequel is incomplete, but worth a read, especially for the Church+Caboose friendship in the first and last chapters.

Proper expression of emotion in bra-ket notation by thought: York and Delta are picking a lock, and hey, did anyone do research on how to stay within the safe limits of your AI’s capabilities? No? Oh well.

2-1 by QueSeraAwesome: In which Delta definitely does not have feelings OR insecurities about his relationships with York, and someone should probably be keeping an eye on Sigma.

Prepared by Blueberryshortcake: Delta invades York’s dreams. Short - but worth it for protective (and subtextually anxious) Delta.

South & Theta by madelinescribbles: Did someone say South redemption arc? Well, even if that someone wasn’t you, you have to admit you’re curious about what would happen if South and Theta talked to each other. Or dealt with their grief over North’s death together. Same difference. Incomplete, but that’s never stopped me.

Tuckington Borderlands AUs where Tucker is a Siren (don’t worry you don’t really have to know anything about Borderlands to enjoy these): … okay look, I realize that this is a very specific category name but in my defense [AIRPLANE TAKES OFF, OBSCURING THE REST OF THE SENTENCE]. Nothing Good by BoxOnTheNile: In which Tucker also has issues! There’s not enough fics about Tucker being just as banged up as Wash on the inside, and you know you’ve been looking for it. I really love Tucker’s other friendships in this fic, the sense that he’s really built a life for himself, and the slow give and take of trust between him and Wash really butters my biscuits. There’s another oneshot in this series, and the last chapter of BoxOnTheNile’s RVB Trans Week compilation (Be Someone (That Makes You Happy)) is also in this 'verse.

No Hero to Call Home by bismuthBallistics: In which Tucker is a mechanic and his favorite person in the world is the guy who comes in every three months to get a tune up on his prosthetic leg. Too bad Wash didn’t get that memo. Read this for some Really Excellent Tucker pining, and also for Tucker really caring about Wash and trying to take care of him, and also for Wash cooking for Tucker, and also the way they resolve Tucker getting frustrated with Wash’s general inability to friend really rings true, and also - look, I could keep going for a while here. Read this fic. 

Locus Angst and Rehabilitation: Think Wash angst, except clearly superior because there’s more Red Team.  I’ll Tell You My Sins and You Can Sharpen Your Knife by illumynare: Incomplete, but all three of four chapters are full of that Good Shit. Did you want Locus being unable to cope with basic kindness? Did you want pining for friendship? Did you want to be really, cripplingly sad about Locus? This is the fic for you.

Vanished Marvels by BoxOnTheNile: Oneshot, Simmons and Grif take care of an assassin. Some comfort for all the hurt you got from reading that last fic :D. Comes as part of a series, with an incomplete Locus/Grif/Simmons sequel and a Tuckington prequel, in case you needed some more ex-supersoldier h/c.

Green is Definitely a Shade of Red by Prim_The_Amazing: Does anyone else think it’s really unfair that Blue team gets all the ex-supersoldiers? If you do, this is your fic. In which Locus is totally, absolutely, and definitely not enjoying getting adopted by the Reds. Honestly. Contains 200% more shenanigans than your average Locus fic.

Series Recs: Because not every fic is standalone.  Blood Gulch Freelancers by eggstasty: What if the Blood Gulch Crew were a part of Project Freelancer? Read it for good mom Carolina, Caboose’s tragic backstory, and Allison being alive, which makes everything much less fucked up. … As long as you don’t look too hard, that is.

Five Reds and a Baby by a_taller_tale: Sarge ordered a baby from a catalogue, and it turns out to be a clone of Grif, and - look, it makes sense in context. 100% pure Grimmons, Red Team, and baby fluff. 

flying and burning by tumbleoutyourhair: Mostly tuckington oneshots, with a couple of grimmons ones. Contains a lot of That Good Wash Angst, especially thirteen and fourteen.

Zombie Immunity AU by HappyFunBallXD: Grif has an immunity to zombies and a plan - too bad life is getting in between him and Alaska. The main fic in the series is unfinished, but there’s plenty of Blood Gulch Crew zombie shenanigans and grimmons to go around.

Coffee Shop AU by mumblybee: Look, I got into the fandom in 2014, I have a horrible, horrible weakness for sad yorkalina. This is a modern au, featuring coffee and being a sad millennial.

Did someone say dorkalina? An OTP? In this economy? It’s more likely than you’d think. Satellite Mind by eponymous_rose: The Director didn’t consider the impact of AI on his Agent’s sex lives. At least, we hope he didn’t. York and Delta negotiate boundaries, Carolina helps. NSFW.

We Were Up All Night Talking Trash And Wasting Time by thought: Project Freelancer is falling apart, Carolina and York have sex about it. Delta helps. Sad and poetic, my favorite kind of fanfiction.

Opacity by bismuthBallistics, red_as_ever: Urban fantasy, plotty. York goes blind, Carolina helps. Delta is alternately a solution and an obstacle, and no one escapes a clash between the fae courts unscathed.

Carolina Genfics: Because Agent Carolina, man. Wash and Locus aren’t the only supersoldier assholes who need a redemption arc. Banana Bread Bonding by Aryashi: Agent Carolina tries to get Grif to teach her how to relax. Hilarity ensues. If that doesn’t make you want to read it, consider that it’s tagged “Co-Authored By Carolina's Ability to stalk people until she gets what she wants”.

Kiss My Bright Red Ass, Sir by Hinn_Raven: In which Carolina was Sarge’s daughter the entire time. Much more serious than it sounds and a fair bit sad - but if you’ve ever thought to yourself “man, I wish Carolina had a better family situation” this is the fic for you.

A Field Guide to Haircare in Wartime by saltsanford: In which the Reds get Carolina some self-care and forgiveness. If you liked Vanished Marvels from the Locus section, you’ll like this.

Regret the Poor Children (Raindrop Remix) by PlayerProphet: In which Carolina gets a jumpstart on her redemption arc, and Wash gets help a little earlier. If you wanted Freelancer to end a little better, read this fic. It’s not a happy fic, but you get the sense that things are going uphill from here.

This Man Looked Exactly Like Natalie Portman When He Was 13 by eggstasy: THE Carolina & Caboose fic. This one’s got it all, folks! Carolina trying to change for the better, Carolina & Epsilon bromance, backwardses and forwardses and all the complications that come with finding yourself in the middle of a redeption arc, and finally, a happy ending. 

Time Travel and De-Aging: I’ll admit, I haven’t read extensively in this genre in RvB, but here are some of my favorites. put your curse in reverse by Sroloc_Elbisivni: PFL-era Carolina gets de-aged. Hilarity(?) ensues. Read for Freelancer team as family, really awkward dramatic irony (toddler Carolina calls Tex momma, for a start), and all your Maine and Wash being good with children needs.

Asphodel Meadows by Hinn_Raven: Tex lives! She also travels forward in time to the Chorus era, and fixes things, because she’s a badass like that. Read this for massive Tex bromance feels, and because you wanted Tex to live.

Hit and Run by creatrixanimi, RiaTheDreamer: Not technically time travel or de-aging, but teenaged Grif siblings in Project Freelancer really feels like it fits here. Contains parental unit 479er, Freelancer babysitting shenanigans, and North stealing children. Because you know he would. Incomplete.

(Change the Past, Choose the Future by Zoomda and The Red and Blue Home for Lost Fat Kids by ShadyJane both fit in this category, the former being Wash and Carolina time-travel fix it and the latter being de-aged Captain Grif, but since I haven’t finished either (and neither are finished), I can’t exactly write up a rec. Still, here they are, for the adventurous or desperate among you.)

Misc: Fics that don’t fit into the other categories. Outpost #1 Apartments by nan00k: Not your momma’s superhero au! Church escapes his dad/the Director’s highly unethical superhero program, and moves into Blood Gulch apartment complex. Mostly gen, focuses on Church recovering from all the crap he endured. Read this one for the plot, for the gentle build of some serious tension, and for some good Church friendships. Part of an incomplete series, the Carolina entry is next and is both complete and definitely worth a look.

Simmons Slipped Up So Hard He Needs Life-Alert by Lieutenant_Kader: Grimmons fluff! Grif sets up a movie date for Simmons, and it’s real cute. Contains twice your recommended daily dose of Star Wars and Tucker being a good bro.

Don’t Cross the (Time) Streams by Hinn_Raven: The Freelancers crash land in Blood Gulch. Chaos and confusion ensues. Watching the professional supersoldiers be out of their depth around the worst soldiers in the galaxy is completely hilarious.

[missizzy]

Fic: Habeas for Superheroes, Part 7 (Daredevil/Avengers)

(Read entire work on AO3)

Foggy wasn’t sure how much later it was she took the hoods off, though she was pretty sure it had been at least a few hours. When she did so, they were strapped into seats on what appeared to be some kind of jet. She had put earplugs on Matt, speaking of making things fair when she’d done so. Watching Matt’s body relax as she took them out now, Foggy wondered if they’d been some sort of specially designed super-earplugs. Though where this woman would get such a thing she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. At least he didn’t look queasy at the moment; she’d been very worried about that.

The woman pressed a button, and their straps all undid themselves. “We will be landing in about five hours,” she said. “There are facilities behind the door at the end.” She pointed. “Otherwise you will not leave this deck. I will bring you something to eat in three hours.” She walked off to the other end then, towards and empty cockpit; the ship obviously had autopilot as well.

Their bags with their things were at their feet. Foggy took a quick look in both hers and Matt’s; everything appeared perfectly undisturbed. Jennifer pulled out one stack of papers. “Probably take me that long to read these anyway. You want to see this one, Marci? It touches on Lang’s association with Wilson.”

“Yes, thank you,” said Marci.

With them both occupied, Foggy readily followed Matt when he got up and walked to the other side of the ship. “Anything more you can tell about her?” she asked softly. “This ship looks kind of high tech, honestly.”

“Sounds it, too,” said Matt. “And those weren’t ordinary earplugs; I could barely hear anything. She absolutely reeks of vibranium, and she moves like someone in shape, someone used to fighting. My first thought would be that she’s a weapons smuggler, but most of them don’t have access to this kind of ship. I think she might be the bodyguard to some powerful person, probably in Africa-I think a lot of the black market for vibranium goes through there anyway, which makes me wonder what kind of company our friends are keeping. I want to trust them, but…”

“They’re in desperate straits, you know,” said Foggy. “All the superpowers in the world can only do so much for you if no country will take you in. Maybe Rogers just went with what seemed the best option.”

She stole a glance at their colleagues, wondering if they too were wondering where this woman and this ship came from. Or maybe not. Not knowing meant they weren’t aiding and abetting their clients in much, were in absolutely no danger of having to choose between their clients and the law. It was different for Foggy, of course, who chose her husband over the law every day.

They had things to study, too. Foggy had finally gotten the government to hand over their early intelligence documents related to Wanda and Pietro only the previous day. Though the speculation about whether or not they’d known the people they’d volunteered to work with had been Hydra was making her furious. That had been before anyone had known Hydra was still around, and anyway, she knew they never would’ve knowingly betrayed their ancestors like that.

The problem was, maybe, that Wanda was now the only person alive who knew all that much of what had gone on after that. When they found out, or why they did what they did even knowing. She was pretty sure the Avengers hadn’t asked. Foggy had never dared bring the subject up. But as she sat back down and started reading through the documents, she was aware she might now have to.

Matt was mostly listening through his documents, all the S.H.I.E.L.D. records about Barton that had leaked two years ago. He described them as painting him as a very decent man, who during his missions had often gone out of his way to help those in need when it had been outside or even in conflict with his mission’s parameters. Foggy had known already that Natasha Romananov hadn’t been the only wrongdoer to benefit from his mercy, because Wanda had of course been another one, even if he’d never had the direct objective of killing her. But now Matt spoke of lower-scale examples too.

It made Foggy pretty thankful he’d come out of retirement to join Captain America’s side. The way Marci had glossed over part of Sam Wilson’s history made her think he was their only completely clean client, easy to portray as good and noble and doing the right thing no matter what the law said.

She’d held out hope they’d be served some sort of ethnic food that would provide further hints about whose hands they were in. But their escort had probably thought of that, and she served them microwavables that had obviously come the frozen foods aisle; she’d probably bought them just before coming to the café. Foggy watched Matt place a forkful of what looked like lasagna in his mouth, and do his best not to make a face.

“Are you going to hood us for the landing?” Marci asked their host as she collected their empty plastic trays half an hour later.

“No need,” said their escort. “We will be landing in an uninhabited area. Your clients will meet with you there. If any of them wish to discuss anything in private, which I belief Mr. Barton especially may wish to do with Mr. Murdock, they will lead you a sufficient distance away. You will follow their lead, and remain in their company. We cannot guarantee your safety if you do not.” A modest smirk there. Personally, Foggy would always feel very safe in the company of an Avenger, but maybe that was just her.

Even when they’d been hooded, Matt had found and squeezed her hand hard during takeoff. Now, Foggy leaned in and whispered, “You think the landing might be harder for you? I’m getting the feeling we might be landing in a jungle. That’s probably going to be pretty rough on this thing.”

“I don’t know,” he whispered back, and then learned in further to whisper, “the only other flying thing I’ve ever been on may have been the Avengers jet, but honestly? This ship actually feels smoother. Maybe a little louder when taking off; I think she must have driven us out of the city when we were in that car. But I feel fewer tremors now than I felt on the jet, I think we’re less tilted in the air, and I think the mechanics that are keeping us in the air might even be less complex.”

“That sounds like super-advanced technology,” Foggy said, keeping her voice down only with difficulty. Either this was the most equipped and probably the most scary power lord in Africa that their rogue Avengers were keeping company with, or it was something else all together.

Matt was still leaned against her, and she whispered to him, “I’m starting to think the rumors are true about S.H.I.E.L.D. still existing in some form or other. That would make a lot more sense than Steve Rogers hanging out with some big vibranium trafficking king.”

“S.H.I.E.L.D. almost always used Stark Industries technology, same as the Avengers did. They did develop some things in-house, but they tended to be weapons or devices. And if they’re still around, and doing things that require planes? They’d have probably built or bought for stealth instead of smoothness.”

They couldn’t really keep on talking, especially because Marci and Jennifer didn’t have much left to read through, and the latter was giving them a couple of curious looks. Foggy supposed it was for the better if even she and Matt didn’t figure out anything further.

“Buckle up, we’re landing,” their escort said when they started their descent, but Foggy thought she detected just a touch of amusement in her voice, which made her seriously wonder if they truly needed to. And unlike Matt, she had been on a normal commercial plane before. Only twice, to D.C. and back on a case she had taken the previous winter. But he was right; this jet landed like a piece of paper settling gracefully onto the floor. Foggy found herself doubting they could truly be in the jungle; surely there wasn’t room in there for this plane to manage this, no matter how well it had been built.

But as soon as their escort lowered the ramp, Foggy was instantly hit by the level of humidity in the air. Matt wasn’t the only one who visibly reacted; Jennifer patted down her hair, while Marci wiped her brow.

Her husband’s hand was tight on Foggy’s arm the four of them followed their guide out. They’d neither of them been in any place more overgrown than the wooded areas of Central and Morningside Parks, and Foggy could only imagine what it was like for him, every completely new aspect of such a wildly different environment making itself known through his elevated senses, and after the strain even a less stressing plane ride had already put on him.

It was a jungle. Complete with tall trees, massive undergrowth on the ground, and mysterious animal noises coming from somewhere around them. On either side of the plane, the overhanging foliage was millimeters away from the hull, but it looked completely unscathed. It might have been a different story behind them, of course, but Foggy suspected it wasn’t, that this plane had been perfectly landed, and damaged nothing around it.

They had managed to find something of a clearing to land in, in which stood their four clients. At first glance, they all looked good and healthy, and Matt showed no sign of sensing otherwise either. The clothes they were dressed in were fairly nondescript, though Wanda’s dress was still beautiful in its way, covering her in simple dark cloth from shoulders to knees, contrasting well with both her pale hair and the impressive grey boots all four wore.

“Wanda wants to hug us,” Foggy said to Matt when she started running up the ramp, though of course he knew that already. She stepped forward to be hugged first, and she held her old friend tight for a long moment, taking what relief she could from the weight of her and the strength of her arms. They weren’t even true indications of her being fine, but they made her stomach untwist for the first time since they’d found Tony Stark in their apartment.

When Wanda pulled away, to their surprise, instead of going to hug Matt next right away, she reached into a pocket in her skirt-cleverly designed; it had been pretty much invisible before she put her hand in-and took out an envelope, on which she had written For Vision’s eyes only. “Could you get this to him?” she asked. “If it has to be given to Tony Stark…or maybe to Pepper Potts, if you can…”

“I can get it to her,” Foggy told her. “I’m not sure when, mind you…”

“No hurry,” Wanda assured her, which was actually a strange thing for her to say, given how quickly her situation could change. Then again, maybe she was really intending to just hide out here for the year or so it would take for the courts to do their thing.

She hugged Matt next, with a, “Is it true you were nearly killed?”

“I’m all right,” said Matt, but he still sounded haunted.

Clint Barton had also come up the ramp, and Marci and Jennifer had gone down, looking to get properly introduced to their own clients. Down on the ground, Sam Wilson beckoned to those on top of the ramp, and they came down to join their companions.

When they were all gathered together, Wilson said, “The four of us have been talking things over. I’m sorry, but I’m afraid we’ve brought you here to ask you to drop the lawsuit.”

“What?” Matt demanded, echoing all their dismay. “Why?”

“Clint and Scott both want to cut deals with the government. Scott has his daughter to worry about, and Clint’s got a very good reason for it, too. If you want to know it, Murdock, you’re going to have to go for a walk in the woods. And Wanda and I...listen, do all four of you really mean it when you say you can’t tell anyone what we tell you?”

“If you guys are going rogue,” said Marci, “well, if we actively aided and abetted you, there’d be a problem.” The stunned look on Sam’s face made it clear she’d guessed right. Not that it had been hard to do so. “But just telling us, without us even knowing exactly what you’re doing?” She looked over at Matt and Foggy as she said, “Well, you must know the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen’s favorite lawyers here are safe, and for my own part, and I assume Ms. Walters’ here...”

“We can always point out, if pushed to tell them your plans,” Jennifer added, “that doing so would probably get us disbarred. They try to arrest us, we’d be martyrs.” She looked uneasily at Marci as she said that last part. It was the first time any of them had said it out loud.

“Sounds like we’re putting you in a bad situation, then,” said Wanda anxiously. “I mean, we never meant for you to have choose between being arrested and being disbarred…”

“No,” said Foggy, who had endured enough of that kind of talk for one lifetime already. “We all four of us knew of the dangers when we took this case, and yes, as Marci just pointed out, Matt and I are even used to that already. And by the way, if you really want us to drop the case on behalf of all four of you just to keep us out of trouble, you don’t have to do that. In fact, I have to advise you against that. Right now you may be planning to simply never return to the U.S. again or just try to go undetected if you do, but you don’t really know what’s going to happen in the future. If we drop the lawsuit now, and you end up in the Raft later, it’ll be a lot harder to get you guys your due process then.”

“And it’s not just about you guys, either,” Matt said, and Foggy recognized that righteous tone. “You’ve noticed, no doubt, there are a lot of people with superpowers who’ve become known to the public, or at least their neighbors, since the Incident that started all this. Honestly, I’ve started to wonder if the Sokovia Accords were targeted at you as much as it was targeted at them. Especially now that the Inhumans have gotten themselves established as a distinct racial minority, and you know how people treat those.

And those people, you know, most of them can’t just go rogue and disappear. Many of them probably wouldn’t see a need to anyway, if they aren’t using their powers to do anything special. But do you really think those people are going to just going to be left alone, even if they aren’t? Honestly, I’m just waiting for the first reports of them being arrested for petty things, maybe things they didn’t necessarily even do, and then getting sent straight to the Raft…”

“Oh, come on!” Scott Lang scoffed. “You really think some Inhuman kid’s going to get sent to the Raft for loitering or something?”

“I don’t think it’s impossible,” said Matt, and his voice was turning cold. “And I certainly think it’s only a matter of time before they start putting other criminals there, at least for major offenses. And even if you were in it as a white male folk hero, I would expect you, at least, to know enough about how our justice system works to know it might be impossible for them to be treated the same by the jury as it is. If you people really want to fight the worst aspects of the Sokovia Accords? This is the way to do it.”

“And my daughter has to pay for that then?” Lang still demanded. “I’ve put her through enough, okay?”

“You don’t all have to continue on,” said Jennifer. “We just need to get the case into the court system and get them to establish the precedent. If you and Mr. Barton want to make deals, we can do it with just Mr. Wilson and Ms. Maximoff. Of course, if you bargain, you’ll likely have to waive all rights to appeal, so you might not be able to benefit from any later court decisions.”

Barton had obviously been listening to that speech himself, and now he said, “Okay, now Murdock and I definitely have to go for a walk, and it might be a pretty long one, and hell, maybe all four of us should have a private discussion with our own lawyers, get an idea of what we want to do.”

The other three all agreed, so a few minutes later, Foggy found herself walking in the middle of the jungle with Wanda, their arms linked like she normally did with Matt. “It’s all right,” Wanda said. “We’re deliberately in a part of the rainforest that doesn’t have anything too dangerous in it.”

“Should I really not ask what company you people are in with?” Foggy asked. “You’re…you’re not ashamed, are you?” She could let the rest of it go, but she at least wanted to know that.

“No,” said Wanda quickly. “The reasons we’re not telling you have absolutely nothing to do with us, and we’re not in company we need to be ashamed of.”

Foggy could believe her, and that was enough. “That’s good,” she said. “I would’ve hated to think that in your desperation you’d…well…” She drifted off hastily, worrying about offending her friend.

“I know,” said Wanda, soft and sad. “Don’t worry. I’m never going to make that mistake again.”

Then she said, “I don’t ever want to go back, you know. I never even forgave Stark entirely, and I never will now. Or your whole country, really.”

“Well,” said Foggy, “you’re hardly alone on either of those. But is that why you don’t want to go forward with this case? Because you really want nothing to do at all with the United States?”

“Maybe,” Wanda sighed, looking away.

Foggy shook her head, “That’s what the likes of Ross wants you to do, Wanda. Hell, I think it might even be what Stark would prefer at this point. I know maybe this shouldn’t be your fight, but, well, you’re a superhero. You’re used to taking fights because you’re the one who can, right?”

“Do you think we’ll win it?” she asked. “I am worried, you know. That people are now so afraid of me and so set against me, that the judges will rule against me when they might not against someone else without my history.”

Sadly, that was a legitimate concern. Foggy considered it briefly, then said, “We’re doing our best to spin your public images into good ones again. The way Marci’s doing it with Sam has a good chance of working; we’ll try to put our ears to the ground there when we get back, see if we're getting the public reaction we want. If only one of you goes on with the suit, it should probably be him. But I think if you do it with him, and Marci gets his image fixed, they won’t punish him for your supposed sins.”

They walked in silence for a little while, Wanda looking deep in thought. Then she said, “I don’t know if I even believe the U.S. courts will do the right thing, though I understand why you have to try. I suppose…I have to try too. I mean, it won’t even affect just the superpowered U.S. population, will it? How they treat us in one part of the world…”

“Exactly,” said Foggy. “And I’ll say this also: Ross is one of the driving forces behind the enforcement of the Accords, especially since apparently Wakanda’s new king has decided that country’s had enough to being involved with international affairs for now and gone home. He’s even made comments about other countries possibly sheltering superpowered criminals and maybe responding with sanctions. Not that there’s any signs any country’s actually going to do so; he’s talking out of his ass. But yeah, anything that cuts him down to size, especially in relations to superpowered people? Is doing the whole world a favor.”

“Well, I have taken to doing the world favors,” said Wanda, and there was only a trace of crossness in her smile. “All right. You can do this one in my name. And it’s like you said, we don’t really know what’s going to happen in the future, do we? We might even have to seek out Stark, if we need him to save the world, or something like that, though I hope not.”

“I’m holding out hope that if it’s a world-saving situation, people will be flexible until the world has been saved,” said Foggy. “But I suppose there’s the whole question of what happens then, so…”

They were the first lawyer and client to return to the clearing, though Jennifer and Scott Lang were only a few minutes behind them. “He’s still adamant about taking a deal,” said Jennifer, and Foggy smiled and nodded, because that was just fine.

Especially when Marci returned with Sam Wilson, with him saying to her, “Remember what I said.” To the four of them, he said, “So if I have to be the face of this, I want to be able to keep tabs on my mama. I may or may not end up needing your help for that.”

He said it to Foggy, more than to anyone else, to which she just nodded, and said, “We’ll make sure she knows where to find us.”

It took much longer for Matt and Clint Barton to return. Foggy even wondered if Natasha Romanov was hiding somewhere in the rainforest, and they’d stopped to confer with her. She was just starting to think she’d have to demand a search party if they took much longer when she heard her husband’s voice call out, “Foggy? Is everybody back yet?”

“With how long you two took of course we are,” laughed Wanda, but it was gentle, and she sounded like she’d expected them to take a while. The two men looked similarly amused.

“I’m still taking a deal,” Barton said. “And I don’t know if any of you will see much of me after that. Four of you now know why that is, and my lawyer here has absolutely agreed this is the best option for me.”

“I have,” said Matt, with that professional certainty that Foggy had never doubted, not even when she’d doubted everything else about him. He also looked surprisingly pleased.

Their escort had gone off after they'd broken off into pairs, and she wasn't coming back for another hour or so, apparently. Marci and her client decided to use the opportunity to talk more. But Matt and his had had the time to talk themselves out, and when he voiced a wish to go right back into the rainforest, Matt nodded as if he’d expected that. It increased Foggy’s suspicion that they’d had company back there. Except that Scott Lang also announced he’d go with them, apparently not interested in talking further with his lawyer either.

So Matt, Foggy, Jennifer, and Wanda all ended up finding a part of the forest floor they could sit on comfortably, and tried to catch up as best they could. Of course with Jennifer there they couldn’t talk about Matt’s other life, but he could tell Wanda about his big victory for Aaron James, which was the type of story she always loved to hear about. “That poor young man could do with some bionic legs,” she said. “Like the ones I’ve heard Rhodey is currently walking around on. But those would still cost his family even more than the settlement you got him, I suppose.”

“I don’t think they’ll be on the market for at least half a year more,” said Foggy. “Karen’s looked into it, and according to her, this is all very experimental, though a few less scrupulous people have been looking into bionic enhancements since Natasha leaked all the S.H.I.E.L.D. files. I’m pretty sure Danny wants Rand to look into it too…” She drifted off as a phone chimed, and then chimed again, and a couple more times after that.

It was Jennifer’s. “At least we can get a signal here,” she commented as she pulled it out and opened her messages. Then her eyes narrowed, only slightly, but that told her companions enough. “I finally have a message from Ms. van Dyne,” she announced, “which she has directed me to share with everyone.”

She flipped her phone around for the other two women to read. Foggy read it out loud for Matt: “My father and I have just learned we’re about to be charged for violation of the Sokovia Accords, due to Scott using our suit in Germany. Even though we didn’t know what he was going to do, and certainly would never have allowed the AVENGERS-that’s in all caps-to make use of our technologies. But we’re pretty sure if we tried to say that, Ross would call us liars and lock us up forever. So none of you will be hearing from us ever again. Tell everyone that, Scott especially.”

“So, yeah.” Jennifer stood up. “I’ve gotta go find Scott. This is probably going to be painful.”

Matt and Wanda also hastily got up. “I think you should find Sam and Ms. Stahl instead,” said Wanda. “Sam has his wings on him; he can get to them faster.” Now Foggy was dead certain Romanov was off in the woods. Maybe Jennifer suspected the same, because she didn’t protest.

As they headed off, Matt said, “What does it say about this situation, that none of us think she’s just being paranoid about Ross?”

“But can this just be Ross?” asked Wanda. “I mean, he is not a prosecutor, is he? Doesn’t someone else have to do the charging?”

"Yes, that’s true,” said Jennifer. “And even if they don’t want any help from any of us, the two of them will get lawyers who’ll take up this cause.”

“If they get captured,” Matt noted. “If they prove trickier to find than normal, which they probably will, what with all the size changing abilities, who’s going to provide the resources for it? Resources that would all find much better use going after people who actually pose a real threat to the average person-people who, we might add, have just had one very strong force working against them removed from the picture.”

“Because we all know that protecting the average person is what the powerful people care about,” said Wanda bitterly.

“Yeah,” Matt agreed. “I assume it won’t shock the company here if I saw I hope they don’t find them.” That made Wanda laugh a little, the way she often had back at Columbia.

Jennifer considered the two of them. “Was it a bad idea to let the two of them reunite, Foggy?”

“Probably,” said Foggy, because of course she couldn’t tell her Matt and Wanda had already reunited while fighting a bunch of undead ninjas.

When Sam received the news, he flew off and brought Scott back with him, with time enough to spare for him and Jennifer to go off and confer. Those wings really were very fast.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Countless Roads - Chapter 39

Fic: Countless Roads - Chapter 39 - Ao3

Fandom: Flash, Legends Pairing: Gen, Mick Rory/Leonard Snart, others

Summary: Due to a family curse (which some call a gift), Leonard Snart has more life than he knows what to do with – and that gives him the ability to see, speak to, and even share with the various ghosts that are always surrounding him.

Sure, said curse also means he’s going to die sooner rather than later, just like his mother, but in the meantime Len has no intention of letting superheroes, time travelers, a surprisingly charming pyromaniac, and a lot of ghosts get in the way of him having a nice, successful career as a professional thief.

———————————————————————————

"But you're not," the kid – his name was Jax, apparently – says for the fifth time, sounding increasingly frantic. "You're not a necromancer, boss. That was always important. Not a necromancer. Don’t you remember?"

"You seem to have trouble accepting reality," Len observes dispassionately. He's slouched back against one of the consoles, watching his ghosts explore the ship for details. They found an instruction manual a few minutes ago; Barry is speed-reading it now. Soon, Len won't have any need to keep the crew alive.

He wonders if they realize that.

His poltergeists are keeping them bound to their seats, arms tightly pressed to their sides, but Len has no particular problem letting them whisper conspiracies and plans on how to escape their situation to each other in the meantime. It won't help them, of course; nothing will help them, in the end. The ship will soon be Len’s, and he will be able to return home to the empire of dust and ruin he’s slowly building.

"My reality is fine; yours, on the other hand, I ain't too sure about," Jax shoots back. He hasn't been whispering; he persists in trying to talk to Len, instead. He's combative without being disrespectful.

And he already calls Len boss.

"I will have to keep you when you're gone," Len muses.

The grey-haired academic – Grey, Jax calls him, though the others call him Stein - bristles and tries to move forward protectively before Len’s ghosts pull him back. "Gone? What does that mean? Surely you don't intend to murder us wholesale, Mr. Snart."

"No," Len says, and sees all of them but the revenant relax until he adds, "Not till I confirm that I can run the ship without your living assistance, anyway."

"So - that means - you are intending on killing us," the tall man – Ray? – says, sounding a little blank. Maybe a little betrayed.

"Oh, yes," Len says. "More grist to my mill, most of you. Your lives will serve to empower my other ghosts, and you yourselves will join my legions as servitors. Except you, Jax. You can be a lieutenant."

"Oh goody," Jax says. "Just what I've always wanted to be - a dead lieutenant."

"I can't guarantee control of you otherwise," Len points out, almost amused. Almost. Close enough for him, nowadays; it’s as close as he comes to what he vaguely recalls as that emotion.

"You could just trust me," Jax says. He sounds hurt, the little puppy. “Ever think of that?"

"No,” Len says honestly. “The living are by nature liars."

"Mick isn't," the bird-woman, Kendra, says. She'd nearly escaped when she'd pulled out those wings; it had rather shocked the ghosts. But she was still no match for a speedster ghost, with all the power of Len's favorite poltergeist enforcers behind him. "Mick was always honest, and you trusted him. Don’t you remember?"

"I keep telling you, I don't know who this 'Mick' guy is," Len says.

"He's your partner," the revenant says. "And we made a terrible mistake, and changed the timeline, and took him from you."

Something is wrong.

Something is missing.

Len turns to her with a frown, as do some of her colleagues.

"What are you talking about?" Ray asks.

"I’ve figured out what happened," the revenant says grimly. "Jax, was Mick alive when we met him?"

"Nah," Jax replies. "He was a ghost.”

“He was?” Kendra asks.

“Yeah. That’s why he was always coming along on dangerous missions and stuff, since he knew he couldn’t die twice."

"He was originally from the 1930s, I believe he said once," Grey adds, nodding in agreement.

The revenant nods. "Yeah, well, the rest of us didn't know that, and that's how we made the mistake," she says, making a face. "Remember the last mission, guys? Chasing after the Pilgrim? We saved Mick Rory from dying in a fire with his family. A fire he probably didn't survive the first time around."

“Aw, shit,” Jax says, understanding. “No death, no ghost. No ghost, no Len meeting that ghost at juvie. No meeting, no partnership…”

"So, wait, you’re saying that having the younger Mick in our cargo bay..." Ray says, eyes going wide.

"...is why Snart is acting like this," the captain concludes, scowling. “It’s a massive time aberration, and we’re the ones that caused it.”

“Gideon told us she hadn’t been able to track the temporal anomaly involved in the Pilgrim’s actions,” Kendra says with a groan, knocking her head back against her chair. “Remember? That’s because there wasn’t any. If the Pilgrim had killed him, nothing would’ve changed.”

“But surely you should have noticed that you were in the wrong era!” Grey exclaims. “Perhaps you did not have the insight that Jefferson and I did as to Mr. Rory’s state of being, so to speak – and we were in the medical bay as a result of the Pilgrim’s ear;oer actions, of course – but surely being in the 1930s…”

“The clothing looked about the same,” the revenant says defensively. “It was a farm, okay? I don’t know anything about farms or farmers, we just landed in a field and saw a house on fire and the Pilgrim walking up there aiming a gun at some teenager who was asleep on the couch and we saved his life, okay? We're heroes, it's what we do. It was totally reasonable.”

“Shouldn’t Gideon have said something, though?”

“We didn’t wait for Gideon,” Ray says ruefully. “We just followed the Pilgrim’s ship, remember? We didn’t even have time enough to check what year we were going to!”

“Clearly, we should have,” the captain says. “Thought obviously it would have helped if we knew about Mr. Rory’s…ah…living status before this had all happened –”

“How did you not know about it?” Jax shoots back. “You’re the Time Master! Mr. From the Future guy! And hey, while we're at it, how is it that you don’t believe in ghosts, but you know about necromancers?”

“Necromancers and mediums are a specific type of magic user known to the Time Masters, albeit fairly rare ones, and ones I have never encountered before,” the captain says stiffly. “They utilize magical projections and summonings which they refer to as ‘ghosts’ –”

“And it never occurred to you those might, y’know, be real ghosts?”

“Most necromancers don’t exactly use them as sentient beings, Mr. Jackson –”

“We’re getting away from the point here,” the revenant interjects. “Namely the fact that we are being held down by ghosts commanded by a necromancer version of Leonard because we saved Mick’s life –”

Len watches them bicker, his eyes flickering between them as he follows along in the conversation. He probably ought to be concerned or something. They are talking about him, after all, and about someone who they believe meant something to him.

Someone who they apparently stole from him.

Someone who – if what they’re saying is true – is in the cargo bay right now.

Len’s –

Len’s not sure what to do about that.

It seems to require feeling something. He’s not too good at that these days.

Barry appears in front of Len, much to Len’s relief. "We need a palm-print to open the next room," he says without fanfare. He's learned that Len prefers directness.

"From?"

"Any of the crew,” Barry says, then adds, preempting Len’s next question, “Living; there are automatic protections against the dead. Or at least, there are against corpses, anyway; I guess the palm-print might theoretically still work if you empowered someone all the way back to full solidity."

Like Len would ever do that. Why waste the effort?

"There are protections against unwillingness, too," the captain says. Rip Hunter, he'd introduced himself as; he’s been chief of the whisperers and the least cooperative. It was his fault they were floating dead in the timeline; once he realized the scope of Len’s power, he tried to activate a shutdown of the whole ship through pre-planted keywords, forcing Barry to rip the interior computer controls out with his hands to make it stop. That, in turn, had messed up the process of getting control over the Gideon system. They'd been obligated to wait in the time stream until the time wraiths could bring over some of the more technically inclined of Len's victims.

Len does prefer to use his own victims, really, whenever possible. He hadn't learned much from his father, whose spirit Len had very much enjoyed pulling out of the man's corpse and having his other ghosts rip apart, slowly, over the course of a week, but he had learned this much: the personal touch is always better.

They fear you more, that way.

Cisco Ramon – the one referenced by Jax earlier – turned out to be another victim of Len's elimination of STAR Labs, one that Len hadn't paid much mind too before. Clearly a mistake: it turned out he was a very skilled mechanic and, according to Barry, would be of great value in repairing even a ship from the future.

And so Len called, and so Len waited. He’s here now, Ramon; he's elbow deep in the ship's guts, learning her. Deactivating any other trigger words.

Very useful. Len will have to promote him to the inner circle if he continues to be this useful.

Rip Hunter is still speaking.

" – as you see, you have no choice but to negotiate with us if you wish to regain control of the ship. Gideon's sensors, even – even brutalized, as you have done, will not permit you to use a hand of a person who doesn't want it used."

"So, according to you, wanting not to use it is important," Len says. "An unconscious person might do the trick."

Hunter's eyes flicker. He probably hadn't thought of that. "Feel free to try it," he says arrogantly. A bluff, if Len had to wager.

Luckily, he doesn't.

"Sara Lance," he says, based on the name that the others have been calling her. Names have power. "You will unlock it for me."

The revenant laughs a little, sounding incredulous. "Me? You think you can trick or force me into opening it for you? I hate to break it to you, but you've got the wrong girl."

"I don't think I do," Len says. "Release her."

The ghosts let her go.

She immediately leaps to her feet, adopting a fighting position, but before she can even finish the gesture, Len bends his will upon her and says, his voice echoing full with his power, "Stop."

She stops.

And then she looks surprised at herself, and tries to move, struggling with ever more horror at her body's failure to obey her.

"You may speak," Len says. He never liked gags. His dad –

He’s not thinking about that.

"How are you doing this?!" she spits immediately.

"Do you really not know?" Len asks. "Surely you must have felt drawn to me from the beginning."

"What's that got to do with anything?"

"You're a revenant. You were once dead, your spirit free, and then you were called back and bound within your body by a medium," Len tells her. His voice is as cold and smooth as ice, just as it always is; he can see that the unemotional recitation disturbs her and mildly regrets that it does, but he can't change it. There's no fire that heats his blood.

Not anymore.

"So what?" she says, but there is fear in her voice. She understands, even though she doesn’t want to.

"You are a ghost in a living body," Len says. "There are spaces between you and your body, spaces that come from death. Spaces that you can only fill by violence or shedding of blood, or sex, or food, or some other vice. Which is yours?"

She's gone still.

"Answer." He doesn’t put power behind it, but she answers anyway.

"The bloodlust," she whispers.

"Quite typical," Len says. "You need not be distressed. The vampire myth had to come from somewhere."

“Yeah, you've mentioned that before," she says with a sneer, trying to cover her distress with bravado and not entirely succeeding. "People like me being vampires and werewolves –”

“People like you inspired the vampire and werewolf myths," Len corrects her. "If it’s any consolation, the medium who brought you back did a better than average job; you’ve got a lot less spaces left in you than others I've seen. Tell me his name."

"What, so you can go kill him and force him to join your undead armies?"

"Firstly, my armies are dead, not undead. And secondly, no, probably not. His powers may require him to be alive," Len says regretfully. He learned that through his experiences with other mediums. "Blood is such a popular device for that sort of person."

He wrinkles his nose, disapproving.

"Whereas you just prefer outright murder."

"I don't prefer anything," Len says truthfully. "But death and control of ghosts is the most efficient approach. People don't object to orders that way."

“Sure, I bet that's what you tell yourself,” she sneers. She’s lashing out to cover her fear. It’s fine. Less streamlined than he might like, less efficient, but he doesn’t mind the delay too much. He’s in no rush: he’s got nothing to look forward to, after all. “The necromancer who walks, trailed by the ghosts of his victims – cold and heartless – that’s just what’s efficient.”

“It is,” Len says, and stands. “Come along; I apparently require your palm-print.”

Len wants to get away from the crew before they talk any more about this – Mick. The suggestion that he had a partner, that there was someone close to him, someone he misses; it disturbs him. Deeply.

He doesn’t like that thought.

Why would he ever make himself so vulnerable to another person? Does that mean that – what happened all those years ago - with Lisa –

No.

He’s not thinking about that.

He never thinks about that.

“You realize this means we have to put the young Mr. Rory back if we are to repair the timeline,” he hears the old one who is called Grey say to the others as he walks out of the room.

“We can’t!” Ray exclaims. “He’s a teenager! If we put him back, he’ll die!”

“We clearly have no choice,” Rip says.

“You’re hardly a good judge, you always default to child murder,” the bird-woman snaps. “Remember Kasnia?”

“Miss Saunders, my best intentions to save the world aside, I likely wouldn’t have been able to actually carry it out –”

Len is very grateful when the door slides shut behind him and cuts them off.

“Are they always so – well, like that?” he asks the revenant. No, Sara. He should be gracious and refer to her by name, if she is to work with him.

He always tries to know them by name.

Especially his victims.

Sara looks amused despite herself. “Yes, they are,” she says. “You were part of our crew, once, you know.”

“That seems unlikely.”

Though theoretically, if true, his own palm-print would work on the door. He wonders if she realizes that she’s rendered herself useless with her little revelation – assuming that he believes her.

Which he doesn’t.

He can’t believe her, because if that part’s correct, then perhaps the other part –

No.

“Do you know how time aberrations work?” she persists. “The timeline is unsettled, for now. If we put it right, you’ll be back the way you were. With a partner you trust. A partner you love. That must be appealing to you, right? Having someone you love and trust?”

Len feels his lips turn up in what is really not a smile. “You’re taking the wrong approach.”

“Why’s that?”

“Nothing appeals to me anymore. Certainly not emotions.”

She frowns. She doesn’t understand.

“I’m a necromancer,” Len tells her gently. “I command the unwilling dead. And more than that, I committed the greatest of all crimes: I took one of the dead from the black book of God and returned her to life. And though I do not regret doing it, I suffer for it.”

“I don’t understand,” Sara says. “What – what do you mean?”

Len shakes his head. There’s no point in explaining it.

In explaining any of it.

He doubts anyone could understand.

The wrenching pain that shattered his heart when his father, enraged beyond reason, brought the bottle down on Lisa’s head, again and again and again, until there was nothing but a smear of blood and blonde hair that never got the chance to fade to brown; pain which never fades.

His father’s bellowing rage going quiet in Len’s ears; sound which has never returned.

The feeling of joy, lost; the feeling of anything muted.

He only knows what he feels because he remembers the sensation from before. And even those sensations are limited: things amuse him, or annoy him, and sometimes even disturb him, but he hasn’t felt anything stronger since the day he took the easy route out of the pain that is his sole companion now.

He couldn’t even feel joy at the sight of Lisa, returned to him, rising up from the dead – not merely a ghost, no, but alive. Alive, yes, but repulsed by him, by his actions, by how he robbed her of her freedom to pass on, as all dead longed to do.

He has hope that she might forgive him for what he’s done one day, but he will never know. That which he takes from God is not his to keep.

He remembers the way everything he loved began to die at the moment that she began to live.

His friends, his livelihood, his city.

He remembers not being able to care enough to act, or to stop himself from lashing out in ruinous destruction, but still enough – just enough – to be able to suffer from it.

The worst thing you can do is also the easiest, his mother had told him. Let me tell you how to make the dead dance on this earth again. But, my son: this you must never do!

But he did.

And he pays and he pays and he pays, endless payment, payment in a heart made of ice and stone, payment in cruelty he cannot stop himself from meting out, payment in days that go on and on, filled with nothingness, without end – without even hope of end.

For him, after all, even death is no longer an avenue of escape.

Len cannot cut off his own life anymore, artificially prolonged by his curse so that he might truly learn the meaning of suffering; he must wait for someone else to do it. And so now he builds himself a monument of ruin, his armies of the dead a creeping sickness on the cities he once so loved, posing them as a challenge to the world: if you dare, come here and stop me.

Please.

Please, stop me.

“Here’s the door,” Cisco says, pointing.

Len nods at Sara, who scowls.

“Do it yourself, or I’ll order you to,” Len says mildly.

She puts her palm on the scanner.

Look at that, coercion still works just fine.

“You should tell Rip that his fantastic plans need a bit of trouble-shooting,” Len says dryly.

“It’s creepy how much you still sound like you,” Sara says. “Except you managed not to make a ‘get it? shooting? because he carries a six-shooter?’ joke at the end of it.”

“That’s funny,” Len observes. “I like that.”

“Great,” Sara mutters. “Maybe I’ll also get to be a lieutenant in your Army of the Dead. Yippee.”

“Not with an attitude like that you won’t,” Len lies. He kind of likes the attitude.

“Great, that’s one of the last few pieces we needed,” Cisco says. He’s very perky. Len slides him a bit more power as a reward, which makes him glow. Yes, very perky. Maybe he should assign him to Lisa’s defense squad; she might like him. That’s far more important than his mechanical skills could ever be. “We’ll be able to get the ship up and running momentarily.”

“Good,” Len says. “I don’t like the time stream.”

One of the time wraiths whines, a choking half-scream half-hiss that sounds like a machine. Of course it likes the time stream.

“It separates me from the dead,” Len tells it, feeling for some reason reminded of a puppy. He’s not sure why; he’s never had that thought before. “I need to be back on Earth, where my armies are.”

“Activating now,” Barry says.

The ship shudders back to life.

And an alarm promptly goes off.

Len sighs and lifts a hand to tell them to turn the ship back off. One of Rip Hunter’s tricks, no doubt – he’ll give it to the man, he’s certainly persistent –

“No, wait!” Sara exclaims, grabbing at Len’s arm. “That’s the time aberration alarm.”

“So?”

“So, someone might be in danger!”

“And I care because…?”

“It might be you,” she says. "Maybe it's your younger self, about to get killed."

Len frowns. He doesn’t really much care if anything happens to him, but the ghosts around him are looking worried.

He wishes he knew why.

“Fine,” he says shortly. There’s no harm in giving in on this matter, after all; she did provide the palm-print he requested. “Gideon, report on the time aberration.”

“The Pilgrim is targeting Leonard Snart at age 17,” Gideon’s mechanical voice, stripped of all emotion, says. “Central City. 1629 Handley Avenue.”

Len can feel his brow furrowing. Handley Avenue. That’s where he grew up.

His father’s old house.

Where Lisa lived.

“We go there now,” he says, and his voice is cold, cold, cold, so cold that even the ghosts flinch away, that Sara instinctively takes a step back, and Len turns on his heel and goes back to the bridge.

Sara and the ghosts follow behind him.

“Is he always like that?” he hears her ask.

“It’s always cold when he looks at you,” Barry tells her in return. “Always.”

“Always?”

“He’s a necromancer,” Cisco says. “He’ll die when someone kills him, and then his spirit will be ripped apart by his own ghosts, and only then will we be free. That’s kinda the way it works.”

“Holy crap,” Sara says. “That’s – awful.”

Len waits for the door to the bridge to slide open, then strides in.

“Tell me about this Pilgrim,” he says.

“She is the Time Masters’ most deadly assassin,” Rip replies promptly. Perhaps he hopes that Len will take pity on his mission. “Her specialization is what the Time Masters call the Omega Protocols – the destruction of an individual’s younger self in order to ensure that they do not live long enough to cause trouble. She’s smart, ruthless, powerful –”

“Enough adjectives. What are her weapons?”

“She’s got a temporal micro-manipulator,” Ray says. “It slows down time in her immediate area. She can use it to stop my lasers, or Firestorm’s flames, or even your cold gun.” He pauses. “Do you still have a cold gun?”

Len vaguely recalls Barry mentioning some temperature-themed weapons that had been stolen from STAR Labs before Len had taken it over. That would have worked quite well with a ‘cold’ persona, if he’d been interested in doing something like that.

“I don’t need a gun,” Len reminds Ray.

Might be cool, though.

Heh.

Cool.

Because it’s a cold gun.

Sometimes Len wishes he had someone to tell these stupid puns to.

Every time he tries to tell it to one of his ghosts, that part of him in his chest – the old him, the one from before, the one who can do nothing but suffer – screams in agony that he can almost hear; Len’s not sure whether it’s because it’s mean to impose puns on unwilling victims or if he’s remembering what it was like to have real friends, but he avoids it regardless.

He has to cut himself off from those feelings, or else he’d never get anything done.

“She’s trained with multiple forms of weaponry and close combat,” Sara volunteers. Helpful revenant; yes, Len will definitely have to keep her, too. “We’ve seen her use handguns, laser guns – she fought me with improvised weaponry, like chair legs and police batons.”

“How familiar is she with ghosts?” Len asks.

“Not at all,” Rip says. “Like most Time Masters, she likely doesn’t believe they exist.”

“Good,” Len says. He looks them over. “I’d like a few of you to come with me to make sure I identify the right person. Which of you would be able to identify her without stabbing me in the back?”

“If you’re gonna kill us to be sure about that, none of us,” Jax says.

Len rolls his eyes. “I’ve already made clear that I’m not killing you until I know I can run this ship without you. You’ll be under guard by ghosts, but you’ll be alive.”

“We all can identify her,” Ray says.

“Fine. You, Jax, and Sara will do,” Len says, nodding at the ghosts holding them down to release them. “Come along by your own free will. If you don’t want to, you’ll be dragged. It doesn’t matter to me which you select.”

They come with him, but the expressions on their faces are mulish.

Not good with authority. Len’s okay with that.

“Why us?” Ray asks.

“Because Rip and Kendra are more likely to stab me in the back on principle,” Len replies.

“You know I’m usually sent out with Grey when there’s a fight brewing, right?” Jax says. “We bond together to become Firestorm. It’s a whole thing. By myself I’m just a high school quarterback with a torn ACL.”

“And I don’t even have my suit,” Ray adds.

“Given that all I need from you is your eyes and your brain,” Len says, “I’m sure you’ll both do fine.”

They look surprised. “You don’t want us to fight?” Sara asks.

“Why would I?” Len says, waiting for the Waverider to land and the door to open, which it does with a hiss of pressure.

Handley Avenue awaits.

Len remembers this street. He’s pretty sure that in his time, it’s been completely demolished, except for the corner store with the ice cream that his grandfather used to deliver. After Len’s grandfather died, the owner would look the other way when Len was stealing food for Lisa.

Len had given the owner and his family a free escort out of Central City, with a warning that Len was only inclined to give get out of jail cards once.

He steps out into the warm summer air.

He breathes in the scents of his childhood: the smell of concrete and asphalt, grass and dirt smudged on lawns that barely deserved the name, the sticky smell of drying paint.

And as he exhales, his power goes out, too, and the ghosts come to his call.

Friendly, unfriendly, it doesn’t matter; he is powerful enough not to care.

He is empty enough not to care.

They come and they come and they come, until Len’s armies surround him, strong but unseen.

“Report,” he says.

“A woman is approaching the house from the back,” one ghost says. “And four men are leaving through the front – Family men, Don Tomio and his sons, and a local man, an enforcer.”

Len nods, recalling the instance. Don Tomio’s son had taken a swipe at him, and Len had recoiled, and he’d gotten a bottle bashed over his head in the meantime. He’d lain there for hours, bleeding on the flood, while his father took the Family representatives elsewhere – hours and hours, until Lisa came home and found him on the ground. She called the ambulance and saved his life.

The hospital got the glass out, but it had been too long to heal properly: the scars remained, and the flesh on his head pulled a little every time he smiled.

Luckily he doesn’t smile too much anymore.

He glances at the trio of the living.

“The woman,” Ray says. “That’s probably her.”

They avoid the men in the front and go to the back. The Pilgrim is dressed in skintight vinyl, with leather straps, looking like –

“Trinity from the Matrix?” Len asks. “Really?”

“So creepy how just like him you are,” Sara mutters. “So creepy.”

Len ignores her and walks forward, leaving the others behind.

She smirks when she sees him.

“Are you here to stop me from killing your younger self?” she asks. “By yourself? Really?”

Len looks at her. She looks cruel.

“Why do you want to kill me?” he asks.

“My orders –” she starts.

“You don’t need to follow them,” Len says. “‘I was just following orders’ is no excuse.”

Except for his servants, of course.

She scoffs and lifts a futuristic-looking gun, pointing it at him. “I’ll enjoy this,” she says conversationally. “I’ll kill you now, and then I’ll kill your younger self, too.”

“Even though I would be no further threat after the first murder?” Len inquires.

“Just for fun,” she confirms.

“Good to know,” Len says. “I always enjoy killing the cruel most.”

At least, he thinks he does.

She’s about to laugh at him, he thinks, when his ghosts descend upon her.

The battle is short and anti-climactic, at least to him, who knew the outcome from the first moment battle was joined.

The Pilgrim takes a little longer to catch on.

She fires wildly at them, which they solidify to catch in their bodies to avoid collateral damage from her bullets hitting anyone else; they are dead, after all, and it doesn’t hurt them as much as it would the living. She wield some sort of device to slow them down, but more approach from other directions.

She spins, slowly, on one foot, freezing them all –

And the ghostly hands of a poltergeist reach up from the earth to rip her apart at the knees.

A ghostly hand clamps over her mouth as she tries to scream, ghostly hands catch her as she falls, the ghosts move again as the temporal micro-manipulation device fails, yanked off of her, still clutched in her glove - with the hand inside of it still intact.

And then the ghosts are too many for Len to see what happens next.

No matter. He knows.

“Holy crap,” Sara says.

“Suddenly I get why he never uses ghosts for shit like that,” Jax says, sounding ill. “Or didn’t, anyway.”

There’s a noise from the house.

1629 Handley Avenue. His father’s house.

Len frowns and turns.

“Get out of here,” a ghost bellows, standing outside the back yard. One of Len’s, yes, by right all the dead are his, and yet also not one of his. This ghost, he’s strong. Amazingly strong, incredibly strong – he’s so strong, he’s practically shining to Len’s eyes. He’s rich with the warmth of life.

Len hasn’t been warm in so long.

“Get away, all of you!” the ghost continues, looking panicked. He keeps glancing behind him. “Lisa, dial the number already! We need to get the ambulance before any of these ghosts come any closer!”

This ghost knows Lisa.

This ghost –

“Is that Mick?” Ray asks.

“It’s gotta be,” Jax says. “The timeline’s twisted enough to change Len’s memories, but it hasn’t actually settled yet, so Mick hasn’t totally disappeared.”

“Yeah, he looks just like the one we pulled out of the burning house back in the ‘30s,” Sara says.

This ghost is at his house. He shines with Len’s life, life from long ago – life from before Len became what he is now, when his power was still warm, not cold.

This ghost talks to Lisa. He knows Lisa, and Lisa knows him.

Len feels it again, that pang, deep in his chest. That feeling of emptiness. That sense of wrongness.

Something is missing.

Could it be that the crew was telling the truth about their terrible mistake, about removing someone from the timeline and robbing Len of his presence?

Could this man, this ghost, really be Len’s partner?

No.

Surely –

It's impossible.

It has to be impossible.

If Len had a partner, someone he loved and trusted, he might have something to live for: something that would make him think twice about doing something terrible, something foolish, something permanent, and Len can’t risk that.

Len can’t risk not being there for Lisa when she needs him. Len can’t risk not having done what he needed to do. Len can’t have let this man, this ghost, substitute for what really matters. For Lisa, for Lisa's life. And more than that -

Len can’t risk starting to feel again.

He can’t.

Because if he did, he’d have to actually feel everything he’s done. Everything he’s lost. All that suffering, returned seven-fold, climbing into his brain, paralyzing him.

No!

But something is still missing.

Sara said, earlier, and Jax repeated it now, that the timeline hadn’t set yet. That there was still an opportunity to return the teenage boy back to his original death, to make sure that his ghost would be there, eventually, ready for Len to meet. Ready to change Len’s life.

Ready to make Len human again. To make him feel everything he's been insulated from feeling.

Len grits his teeth.

He can’t permit that to happen.

If the timeline will not do its duty and eliminate this ghost from Len’s timeline, then Len will do it himself.

He gathers his power, thick in his chest, and he reaches out –

[b-beeprichie]

eddie? is?? spiderman????

For the anon who requested 6 & 91 of the drabble challenge. I got a little carried away but I had a lot of fun, so here’s the Marvel AU Reddie fic that no one asked for. This is number 6. I will get around to the other promt when I have the time, just keep an eye out anon ;) annnd hopefully this doesn’t suck. Un-beta’ed and all that shit.

Eddie had just fallen asleep, aching bones stretched out over the bed as he indulged in some much needed sleep. It wasn’t easy fighting crime, even with the effects of the bite. His body could take more than the average human but he was no Captain America. If he had to listen to Bill go on one more time about how he needed to push his body to the limit, Eddie was going to web him in his perfect American face, or at least he would think about it, a lot.

Actually falling asleep had been a bitch in a half, the aching he could feel in his ribs combined with the purpling bruises that dotted his body, made even lying still hurt like no other. It took hours before he could finally drift off, the alarm clock on his nightstand just clicking past 1am.

Eddie’s deep asleep, fully enjoying every bit of his slumber when suddenly there’s a voice right in his ear, and someone’s fingers carding through his hair. “Soooo here’s the thing.” The voice started casually, so close Eddie can feel their mouth brushing against the shell of his ear. If it weren’t for his heightened senses, Eddie is positive he wouldn’t have even felt it. Which is rather impressive because he does have heightened sense and he barely registered anything happening until there was a goddamn hand in his hair, sudden yet familiar. It startled Eddie so bad he’s crouched against ceiling for dear life, very awake and very confused, trying to figure out just what the hell is going on. Who is in his apartment, and how the hell did they get into his bed?! “You look so cute when you’re sleeping Ed’s, did you know that? God damn adorable.” Of course, Eddie could recognize that annoying voice anywhere. He dropped not so gracefully from the ceiling, rubbing the sleep from his tired eyes. Was a good night’s sleep too much to ask for? “Deadpool.” Eddie yawned, it made his voice less intimidating. “How the hell did you get in my apartment, and what are you doing in my bed!? In your suit, you’re in your suit! Do you know how filthy that thing is, now I have to wash my sheets.” Eddie crossed his arms over his chest, feeling very naked in boxer briefs and an oversized t-shirt from high school. “I need a place to stay.” Deadpool shrugged, already shimmying his way out of the bright red and black suit. Eddie blinked, going as far as to pinch himself twice because this had to be a dream, no, a nightmare. In no way did Deadpool crawl into his bed in the middle of the night, nor was he stripping naked revealing more than Eddie would ever admit wanting to see. “RICHIE TOZIER!” Eddie screamed, voice cracking. He had just woken up, okay? Deadpool stopped and sighed, propping himself up, half out his suit, mask still on. “Did he just use my government name? The fuck?” The mercenary questioned before snapping back to attention. “Come on Eddie Spi-gettie, you won’t even notice I’m here. Oh! I could give you a handy, orgasms always put me right to sleep.” Richie waved his hand, tiny and translucent pink, fingers wiggling like little worms. Eddie gagged. “Or not, come on Eddie! My place is all booby trapped and stuff, it’s not safe for me there. As a superhero, aren’t you worried about my safety?” Richie, now fully dressed, zipped up tight and standing in front of Eddie, pouted. Even with that stupid mask on Eddie could tell he was pouting.

“How do you think I lost my hand?” Eddie had a number of comebacks for that but he was too tired to argue. His body hurt, his brain was still half asleep, dealing with Deadpool at 3am was not on his list of things to do today. Sighing, Eddie shoved past Richie and started pulling the sheets and comforter off the bed, throwing them in Deadpool’s direction. “You can sleep on the floor.” He grumbled. “Yes!” Richie pumped his fist, his hand now slightly larger yet still just a creepy. “Oh Spiderman, you’re my hero.” His hands made their way around Eddie’s middle, and he peppered the shorter man’s neck with kisses causing him to blush. “I change my mind.” Eddie said sarcastically, swatting Deadpool’s hands away. “You can sleep in your booby trapped apartment, I think dying might do you some good.” Once free from Richie’s annoyingly strong hold, Eddie stumbled his way into the hallway to grab fresh bed covers. He wasn’t joking about having to change the sheets, his skin itched just thinking about how gross Deadpool’s suit had to be. Ugh, he was definitely showering again in the morning. By the time Eddie walked back into his bedroom, Deadpool is in a change of clothes picked from Eddie’s dresser. He looks ridiculous, after the bite Eddie failed to grow any taller, and Deadpool easily stood over him, none of the shorter man’s clothes would fit.

Eddie’s eyes landed on the strip of skin leading into a pair of sweatpant that came well above the others ankles. In reality he should be deeply bothered by this, there’s a wanted criminal who kills people for money, wearing his clothes and standing in his bedroom. S.H.E.I.L.D would have a riot if they found out about any of this. He actively ignores the redflags. “I can take these off if you want.” Richie thrust his hips suggestively. Eddie rolled his eyes and continued making the bed.

Once they’re both tucked in, Eddie in his bed, and Richie on a pile of blankets, Eddie can finally start falling back asleep. He’s so close, so fucking close to being out of it when Richie’s voice drifts up from the floor, genuine and soft for once.

“Hey Spidey?”

“Yeah?” Eddie responded, not moving but listening. He doesn’t know why but his heart is tight in his chest.

“Do you shoot webs when you nut? Cause I was thinking if it comes out your wrist, it could totally come out your dick, you know?”

“Richie.” Eddie groaned, already pulling a pillow over his head. “I don’t nut web, and it doesn’t come out of my wrist! It’s mechanical, I make it in a lab. GO TO SLEEP!” He hissed, drifting off to Deadpool’s quiet grumbles of wrong universe and web facials.

Eddie is really regretting his decision.

[atruththatyoudeny]

Monthly Reads | September 2017

❤ THANK YOU TO ALL WRITERS FOR YOUR HARD WORK AND FOR SHARING YOUR STORIES! ❤ Top 5 + 19 more under the cut:

Don't Want Shelter

by FullOnLarrie | hate to love | enemies to lovers | friends with benefits | fake/pretend relationship | 76k Louis and Harry have known each other all their lives. Friends as children, they danced around each other as teenagers, and have spent the last twenty-five years either screaming at each other or not speaking at all. Except for that one time ten years ago… When Hurricane Nicole threatens the coast, they end up stuck together in their families' old vacation home that they begrudgingly co-own. During the storm, and in the months after, they’re both forced to reevaluate their history and what they mean to each other. 

Made in the A.M. Fic Fest

1. Hey Angel: A Few Very Good Mistakes by louisandthealien |  2. Drag Me Down: Outed by MileHighLarry |  3. Perfect by sweariwouldnt | 4. Infinity: The World Still Turns by hrrytomlinson | 5. End of the Day: Just you, Me, and the Moon by InkedwithLove | 6. If I Could Fly: For Your Eyes Only by BriaMaria | 7. Long Way Down: Finding Us in Our Atmosphere by asphodelknox | 8. Never Enough: I’ll Be Your Love Tonight by dinosaursmate |  9. Olivia by haloeverlasting | 10. What a Feeling: Baby I’m Right Here by FallingLikeThis | 11. Love You Goodbye: One Last Time  by dimpled_halo | 12. I Want to Write You a Song by phdmama | 13. History: Things Gone Cold by MediaWhore | 14. Temporary Fix: Let Me Touch You Where Your Heart Aches by rosegoldhl | 15. Walking in the Wind: Anytime You’re Needing Me by Larrymama15 | 16. Wolves: When the Wolves Come Out by Awriterwrites | 17. A.M.: (This Could Be Forever) Right Now by lululawrence I decided to put all of the stories in one post because all of them are so so wonderful and truly reflect a beautiful side of each song on MITAM. You really want to read them all!

Eyes Turned Skyward

by elizamackenzie for HL Summer Exchange 2017 | 17k “I’ve lived most of my life here,” Louis says after a moment, gazing out at the last spectacular rays of sunlight, “And yet still, when I see this,” he lets out a small breath, Harry turning to look at him as he shakes his head, “It all looks too perfect to be real.” Harry looks at the line of Louis’ jaw, seeing the way it tightens as Louis stares out over the landscape. And Harry suddenly wonders what this place might mean to him. How different the city must feel to him than it does to Harry. How this city, that has been alive for more than a thousand years, full of its enchantments and majesty, to Louis, is just home. Or the one where Louis is Harry's charming airbnb host and Italy is the best place for romance

(And Things Will Be) Hard At Times

by lululawrence for HL Mpreg Fic Exchange | mpreg | panick attacks | 34k Louis and Nathan had been talking about marriage and kids and a family for years now, but it had never felt right. If anything, the talking about it had petered out over the past while because they were busy living the lives they had settled into. It wasn’t that they didn’t think they’d ever have kids, just that they weren’t to a point where they were ready for it yet. Well. Ready or not, it was happening. Or the one where Louis and his boyfriend of five years unexpectedly find themselves pregnant and Harry is the paternity photographer that makes everyone think twice.

Turning Page

by purpledaisy for HL Summer Exchange 2017 | famous/non-famous | enemies to friends to lovers | 67k “What’s your name?” “Harry.” He draws the word out slowly, hesitantly - like he’s not sure about it. The guy knots his hands behind his back. “Harry Twist.” “Right,” Niall says, eyes lingering suspiciously on Harry before looking back to Louis. “You wanna buy Harry a drink?” Louis lets his eyes drip back to Harry, to his wide eyes and the way his shoulders curve down. He really is pretty – Louis will be the first one to admit it and the last one to ever say it out loud. Louis almost smirks and his lips twitch as he tilts his head, “Not particularly, no.” - AU: Harry Styles tries to get lost in a place he’s never been. Louis Tomlinson has been perfecting the art of being lost for years. What they don’t expect to find is each other.

I'm Having Your Baby

by MADZJACOBS for HL Mpreg Fic Exchange | mpreg | infidelity | eating disorders | 61k Five years after One Direction took a hiatus, Harry Styles' personal life is a mess. The multi-faceted entertainer's marriage has fallen apart and he can't put his heart on the line again knowing it will just get broken. So he puts his successful career on hold to become a father. He has always wanted children and maybe having a child of his own will take away some of the loneliness and heartbreak. He really believes that. That is until he walks into the clinic to meet the surrogate who is already eight weeks pregnant with his child. A surrogate with his own past to deal with; one they both need to finally face.

Ever Fixed

by delsicle for  HL Fic Fest (2017) | magical realism | divorce | angst | child death | 41k Three years ago, Harry was happily married, successfully heading the largest technology company in the world, and raising his young daughter. After he loses nearly everything in the aftermath of his daughter’s lost battle with a rare brain tumor, it may take three strange and yet very familiar visitors – and a man from the therapy group Harry keeps refusing to go to – to get him back on track.

The People's Playground

by musketrois | historical | gambling | 17k It is 1900 in New York City, and Harry Styles has recently immigrated to America from England. His sister encourages him to take a day off from his life as a factory worker and Harry decides to take a trip to the infamous Coney Island where he literally runs into Louis Tomlinson. It looks like Coney Island will be more than Harry bargained for.

There's something in the water

by curlyfries for HL Mpreg Fic Exchange| mpreg | strangers to lovers | 13k Harry and Louis met when Harry was in the middle of a rough patch after he injured himself during a tennis competition. After a night that Harry can't forget, he's met with a little surprise a couple of months later. It's a bit of a shock, especially considering how he got there, but he's determined to see it through. He's all prepared to do it all alone too, but running into Louis again might change the game. Cue dates, happiness and cuddles, but Harry can't get the fact that he needs to tell Louis out of his mind. He's got his fingers crossed that it all works out.

An Ever Fixed Mark (series)

by My_words_fly_up | 56k Harry Styles lives quite scandalously in the slums of London and never expected to cross paths with a kind, well-bred gentleman like Louis Tomlinson. But once they meet neither will be the same again.

Like A Saturated Sunrise

by onlyhuman for HL Summer Exchange 2015  | 12k Louis doesn't necessarily enjoy gardening. Which makes it all the more annoying that someone has been cutting off flowers as they see fit. Or, alternatively: the one where Louis has a love/hate relationship with his garden and Harry is the most innocent criminal to ever exist.

Can I be him?

by amory | soulmates | 29k Louis is twenty years old and has been waiting for his soulmate and true love to come along since the day he was born. Harry is an eighteen year old youtuber who is skeptical of soulmates and the pressure of being the person someone else has been dreaming of their entire lives. They meet at Playlist Live.

Something Just Like This

by kiwikero for HL Mpreg Fic Exchange| mpreg| superheroes | superpowers | 31k Newspaper intern Harry Styles can't believe his luck when he goes from fetching coffee for his boss to writing about London's own superheroes, One Direction. Even better, he gets to spend time with the unfairly handsome Freefall, also known as Louis Tomlinson. Louis, who is way out of Harry's league and far too busy for a proper relationship—so how on earth is Harry supposed to tell him they're expecting?

Where the lights are beautiful

by twoshipsdrifting for 1D Big Bang: Round Five | a/b/o | accidental bonding | 31k Harry wasn’t wrong about that, not in a general sense. Lots of omegas did seek out rich alphas and betas, hoping or planning to go into heat at the right time. Plenty of omegas saw this as their duty, especially if their families weren’t well off. Worse, Louis couldn’t honestly say he’d never thought about it. If that had been his life, his goal, Louis would feel pretty good about himself now. As it is…Louis feels like shit. .:. .:. .:. Or the accidental bonding a/b/o fic.

King and Lionheart

by stylinsoncity | a/b/o | mpreg | 46k Louis can't remember a time when he didn't hate being an omega. But maybe he just needed Harry to come along and make him his.

Somewhere In Between Who I Used To Be and Who I'll Be Tomorrow

by ShapeOfLou for HL Mpreg Fic Exchange | mpreg | strangers to lovers | infidelity | 27k After landing his dream job of being a TV host, Harry Styles thinks he has it all, a nice job, luxury cars, designer clothes, and a stable relationship with a man he loves. That is, until he makes the drunken mistake of going home with the cute bartender which results in an unexpected pregnancy. With a baby on the way, Harry has to balance his work life with deciding how he wants to spend the rest of his life: with the man he's been with for years or the father of his child.

Back To Seventeen

by crimsontheory for HL Fic Fest (2017) | 26k As a first grade teacher in a small town in Illinois, Harry’s life is pretty simple. He loves his job, is close with his family, and has a best friend he would go to the ends of the earth for. When a new soccer coach starts at the local high school, things start to get a bit more exciting for Harry. Because that coach just happens to be Louis Tomlinson; the guy Harry was unrequitedly in love with in high school. Or the one where Louis moves back to his hometown and Harry realizes he’s still not over his high school crush.

Leap Of Fate

by happilylouie for HL Mpreg Fic Exchange | mpreg | 12k After one too many failed dates, Harry decides he’s had enough. He is going to start a family on his own, everything falls into place as Harry finds the perfect donor. But when Harry realizes who the donor actually is it hits him like a curveball. He wants Louis Tomlinson to be involved in his baby's life, but first he has to figure out a way to date him. Or Radio Show Host Louis Tomlinson is going to be the father of Harry Styles’ baby, the only problem: He has no idea.

Second Time's the Charm

by Chelsea Frew for HL Mpreg Fic Exchange| mpreg | 21k The first time Louis sees the new barista at his favourite coffee shop, he falls head over heels. The first time he takes the barista, Harry, home, they end up making something a little bit more than conversation. Suddenly, it seems to Louis that Harry is keeping secrets. He is. Two life-changing secrets. When Harry lets Louis in on these secrets, Louis needs to decide whether to let them change his life--or not.

I can't use words they don't say enough

by Anonymous for HL Historical Fic Exchange | post-WWII | kid fic | minor character death | physical disability | PTSD | 27k Harry enlists at 16 to fight in World War II, leaving behind his family and the love of his life. When the war ends he finds himself back in the small town he called home. Five years has passed, and nothing is the same. His family has moved away and Louis has a daughter. Can they salvage their relationship, or will the effects of the war be too much? Louis couldn’t believe his eyes, and yet there on the other side of this hunk of wood was Harry Styles, the boy he’d written off as dead years ago.

Manifest Destiny

by Anonymous for HL Historical Fic Exchange | Pony Express | friends with benefits | minor character death | injury | 15k Harry and Louis had fallen into bed together again that night, mouths greedy and hands needy. And now every time Louis stops at Fort Kearney, even if it’s weeks in between, he and Harry spend the night together. The nights are always filled with heat and passion, and it gives Louis something to think on fondly as he rides across the western territories carrying sacks of mail. They’ve never talked about it, and they’ve never kissed. Louis doesn’t know if he wants either of those things to change, but he knows that his presence in Harry’s life is sporadic at best. Probably best to leave things be. Or, Louis is a Pony Express rider and Harry runs a station along the trail.

Keeping You Forever And For Always

by Rearviewdreamer | Kyle XY AU | superhuman | 52k Louis only went poking around in the woods one evening in the name of science and saving the polluted lake that everyone else had long since given up on. He ends up leaving with a lot more than a few toxic water samples when he stumbles upon a belly-buttonless man in the shadows who could possibly be a nudist but is most definitely more than ordinary.

Heart Without A Home

by Snowy38 | homelessness | betrayal | hurt/comfort | 20k Louis is staying at the shelter when a late entry pulls at his conscience and he decides to share his precious bed with the mysterious Harry. The pair somehow find an instant bond but Louis can't help but feel Harry is hiding something... Featuring Zayn as a chef, Perrie as the shelter manager and Liam as a helper- and Louis' best mate.

The love is ours to make (so we should make it)

by lingerielarries | Punk Louis | Flower child Harry | mutual pining | past suicide attempt/self harm | 19k “I’m.. Harry. I nanny? For Ernest and Doris?” Harry responded. “A nanny? How old even are you? You look twelve.” Louis remarked. Something caught Louis’ eye, and a closer look revealed that Harry had a coat of pink nail polish on his fingers. “Nineteen. I’m nineteen.” Harry replied. “Right. Nineteen, wears pink, flower crowns and paints his nails. Who the actual fuck did my mum hire?” or the one where louis takes some time off from life to return home, only to be met with a strange boy in pink and a flowercrown as the nanny of his siblings.

[theshadowedqueen82]

Fic Writer’s Week Day 7

Fic recs day! Here is my (long) list of Loki centric fics, grouped by movie.

Pre Thor/ Thor

The Sinking Feeling of Anticipation by JaggedCliffs

Pre-Thor, Gen. Just so you know, JaggedCliffs always writes the most heartbreaking fics and this one is no exception. Thor gets Mjolnir for his coming of age ceremony, and now Loki’s hoping for something just as grand for his ceremony.

Monsters by Coneycat

Housemates Crossover, Gen (but slash in later fics). First off, a disclaimer: watching the TV show Housemates is not necessary. You can read this fic without even having heard of the show. I highly recommend it, as it has a fantastic breakdown of the motivations of Loki’s entire family as well as giving Loki his own support system. This fic is the first in a series that centres around the idea of Loki falling and landing in Bristol, where he befriends a variety of supernatural creatures including a ghost, werewolf, and vampire.

Life In Reverse by Lise

Gen, WIP. This fic may possibly be my favourite fic on this entire list. Loki falls to Earth and ends up becoming a SHIELD agent, and then an Avenger. He’s weird friends with everybody (including Jane!!!!), and there is a lot of feels plus plot plus emotional growth and healing! I don’t think that it’s possible to recommend this fic enough. Seriously, read it.

Truthfully by Salazarfalcon

Gen. You’ve probably seen this fic on these lists before, but that’s because it’s really good. This was my first Loki fic and ended up dragging me into the fandom, with it’s A+ brodinson feels and therapy, which is a trope I will never tire of.

Icarus by trinity_destler

Loki/Jane, WIP. Loki falls to earth and since he’s got nothing else to do decides to find out how Jane could have such a profound effect on his brother in such a short time. No smut, mostly science and feels, and Jane is written like the amazing science nerd she is. I didn’t even like Lokane until I read this fic, and it delivers the most delicious of slow burns with a smattering of plot, science, and feels, all wrapped in beautiful prose that you need to read twice to savour properly.

Avengers

Ask Me No Questions by Alex51324

Gen. A “Loki ends up living with the Avengers” fic, and it’s awesome. Loki’s punishment was to be unable to speak unless if asked a direct question, and even then he can only answer with the truth. Lots of Avengers interactions, lots of “Loki’s not doing great but he’s doing better, sometimes”.

Unravelling by Lise

Gen. Loki doesn’t get back up from the Hulk beating, aka “what if physical trauma was an actual thing in superhero movies?”. This has actually turned into a series that’s basically just dealing with Loki’s complicated feelings re his family. I don’t usually like Odin but this fic does a fantastic job of writing him as a father, who’s made a lot of mistakes and is trying to fix them.

we’re not friends, we’re strangers with memories by Lise

Gen. Have you ever wondered what would happen if Clint and Loki were roommates? Well wonder no more, because this fic has a newly mortal Loki sleeping on Clint’s couch because he refuses to leave unless if Clint kills him. Starts off as crack and gradually descends into feels and deep emotional conversations (most of them drunk). Clint and Loki end up being weird almost-friends, which is fantastic. I didn’t know how much I needed that until this fic.

A Villain State of Mind by Mikkeneko

Gen. The Tesseract failed to teleport Loki back to Asgard, and now SHIELD is stuck with him while they wait for Thor to come back and pick him up. The solution? Consult a telepath who has a shining reputation for dealing with troubled non humans: Professor Xavier. A beautiful union of the MCU with the X-Men, with Loki actually getting help and improving, gradually. This is the first in a long series that does an amazing job of dealing with internalised racism, being an outcast, and the concept of family.

Steve Rogers’ Halfway House for Notorious Supervillains by Lise

Gen, WIP. Post Winter Soldier, Steve and Sam are still looking for Bucky and end up finding Loki, holed up in a former HYDRA lab and left for dead. There are many good things about this fic, such as Sam being amazing, Steve being guilty and angsty on everything, and Loki slowly starting down the long, long road to recovery. And Bucky shows up too at one point, and so does Sharon Carter (who actually has a personality in this fic!).

I have lived with shades, a shade by Lise

Gen. AU where Loki ends up being locked up in the Raft after the Avengers, and Steve breaks him out following CA:CW. It turns into “Wanda and Steve take a trip through Loki’s brain”. Lots of feels, hopeful ending, magnificent characters. This fic I have reread countless times and every single time I find something new to love about it.

Thor The Dark World

in her garden grew hyacinths by LadyCharity

Gen. The most heartbreaking fic I have ever read about Frigga’s death, perhaps the most heartbreaking fic I have read, period. Written from Thor’s POV, it’s basically a long story about Thor and Loki mourning with a lot of jealousy and insecurity from both brothers. 

Bargaining by proantagonist

Gen (hints of Loki/Sif and Loki/Natasha if you want to read it that way). Before Thor 3 came out, it was my belief that this fic was the only way by which to fully resolve all of Loki’s family problems (and in some ways, it still did a better job than the movie). Thor ends up being killed, and Loki makes a bargain to go back in time and prevent Thor’s death. He ends up changing a lot more than that, including himself.

Road to Nowhere by Lise

Gen. The fic where Loki convinces Thor to come with him on a road trip to get Frigga back from Valhalla. It’s an interstellar road trip. If that hasn’t already sold you, then there’s also a lot of beautifully written Brodinson interactions, with a lot of Loki trying to distance himself but Thor not wanting to lose his brother again.

those yesterdays bleeding through by wnnbdarklord

Gen. A time loop fic where Loki dies on Svaltaralfheim and wakes up back in his cell, just before the riot. He decides to use this to save Frigga, no matter how many times it takes. Many Frigga feels, fantastic job of Jane, and amazing use of the Aether.

Pleas to the Stars by JaggedCliffs

Gen. Nobody tells Loki about Frigga’s death, and Thor doesn’t ask him for help. Loki stays in his cell, slowly wasting away and wondering why his mother won’t come back. This fic has me in tears by the end of it no matter how many times I’ve read it. So many feels, so much angst. It’s probably the most heartbreaking thing on this list.

In The Bud by KaylaNorail

Gen. Ragnarok speculation, where Thor is disappointed but unsurprised when Loki ditches him and Dr. Strange during their search for Odin, choosing instead to spend his time using the time gem for his own plan. This fic is hands down one of the best things I have ever read. The characters are beautifully written, the feels perfectly executed, and it somehow manages to pull you out of the pit of pain that it threw you into and leaves you with a feeling of hopefulness at the ending. A fic that I will forever hold up as “better than canon”.

Thor Ragnarok

so much left to learn (and no one left to fight) by TheOtherOdinson

Gen. Drunk conversations is a trope I enjoy very much, and this fic is no exception. Thor and Loki realise just how much they lost, and try to think of a way to move forward.

atonement by foolonahill17

Gen, WIP. Every time this fic updates I drop whatever I’m doing to read the new chapter. It’s really good. Post Ragnarok speculation, where Loki sacrifices himself to give Asgard and Thor a chance to escape to Earth.

Un/Hurt by PoorYorick

Gen. A 5+1 where Loki gets hurt and hides it from a variety of people for a variety of reasons. Mainly whump with really good character interactions, and Sif exists in this one, so yay!

bold by finalizer

Loki/Valkyrie. The Valki I have been waiting for. Two walking disasters try to figure out if they mean anything to each other, and decide that it’s a better idea to have this conversation drunk. Only to find that they remember everything in the morning, resulting in awesomely awkward pillow talk. It’s not quite porn, but is rated mature for a reason. Read at your own risk (of falling for this ship hard enough to bruise, that’s the main risk of reading this fic).

And your father’s death came by the hand of Laufey’s son by Ohdotar

Gen. What happened to Volstagg’s children in the aftermath of Ragnarok? Loki is on the ship when he hears them, and realises that their father is nowhere in sight. In which Loki awkwardly tries to become a father figure, or at least an uncle of some sort. Loki interacting with small children, what else could you ask for?

[lapishasproblems]

“You two can’t be serious.” (Post-reveal love square fic)

<Previous Part [PART FOUR] Next Part>

[READ FROM THE BEGINNING]

(Original idea by @livanarose which you can find right here)

For @mysparkleaddiction and everyone else

I’ll start by saying a big thank you for every support all of you have given. It might not seem like much to you, but I appreciate everything. Every single damn thing.

Not many people liked the angsty ending back there in part three but don’t worry, this fic is still infused with so much fluff it might cause you diabetes. (Psst, I only needed Adrien to get his cataclysm our first so that he can detransform before Mari does) I like angst, but that’s just not the case with this fic. It’s supposed to be sweet and silly, just like what one of you said in the previous part.

Alright, enjoy this next part, loves!

~~~

Her reflexes told her to start moving, which was the first thing she did.

The red clad superhero threw her yo-yo at the akuma victim, aiming it at her staff. The yo-yo string wrapped itself around the Paparazzi’s weapon. Ladybug had the upper hand, but immediately lost it when the platinum-haired villain snapped her head to look in her direction.

Ladybug immediately let go of the staff to avoid further attacks and looked at a different direction.

Come on, Chat. I thought cats were supposed to always land on their feet?

She was practically panicking now, but not for long.

“Lucky charm!”

The girl inspected the item that landed on her hand, not looking at the direction of the akumatized victim all the while.

“A compact powder?”

“Ha! What are you going to do, Ladybug? Invite me for a make-over? HAHAHAHAHA!”

Ladybug was racking her brain for answers. A part of her mind was trying to find anything that could help her defeat the akumatized victim, and another part of her mind wants to jump down the rooftop to find Chat Noir. Everything was breaking to pieces, she couldn’t focus.

Calm down, you need to calm down. Get yourself as far away from this villain as possible, think about your strategy. You can deal with the damage later, she told herself.

Ladybug turned to one of the buildings to her right, extending her yo-yo to find the momentum before swinging away from her opponent. She didn’t look back and didn’t stop until the heroine was sure that she was far enough and that the Paparazzi wasn’t following her. Ladybug then landed on a rooftop where she could still see the black-suited villain hypnotizing more and more people from the roofs.

Beep beep.

She looked at the polka-dotted compact powder still resting in her hand, wondering what to do with it. So far, she couldn’t think of any plan and her transformation was going to wear off soon. There was one thing nagging at the back of her mind, though.

I need to find Chat.

Ladybug was ready to go back to the building she saw Chat Noir fall from, extending her yo-yo for a tight grip on one of the nearby buildings.

“I’m all good, My Lady. If that’s what you’re wondering.”

The red-suited hero jumped, yet turned to find her partner smirking, as if nothing had happened. Her heart skipped a beat. Her expression changed into a few different ones really quickly. Ladybug herself didn’t know what to think. She either wanted to hug him, or scold him, or kiss him, but just couldn’t decide on one.

Finally, the heroine stepped forward and punched her partner’s arm.

“Ow!”

“Stop doing that!”

“Stop doing what?”

“Making yourself a target!” The blue-haired hit him again, receiving a flinch. “You’re my partner, Chat! Not some shiny thing I throw to cause a distraction!”

Chat’s expression softened as the blue-haired’s fist rested on his arm, his green eyes trying to study his partner who was refusing to look at him.

Beep beep.

“I have two minutes left, Bugaboo. We better not waste our time.”

Ladybug lifted her head, her expression firmed.

Chat Noir looked at his ring. “Plan?”

Ladybug thought for a while, opening the compact powder in her hand. Just as she spotted the mirror reflecting her distraught face, she found the answer.

“We charge.”

“Uh, not that I doubt you, My Lady, but didn’t we try that?”

“But we couldn’t see her before,” she smiled, walking over to the edge of the rooftop they were standing on. “It doesn’t work if we see her through the mirror, it’d be like fighting Medusa. It would still be hard, though.”

Chat Noir didn’t answer, lost in his own thought. The pair stared down at the citizens of Paris that had been turned to black-suited ninjas, running around the Parisian streets, looking for something—or rather someone—they will never find.

“I got it.”

Ladybug turned to Chat Noir, about to question him, but before she could even part her lips, the black-suited superhero who also happens to be her partner swiftly pecked her cheek and smiled.

The girl frowned. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“Purr-omises aren’t really my thing, Bugaboo,” he replied, already walking away. “You charge the lady over there with your mirror, Perseus style. I’ll see you in a minute.”

The heroine was about to stop him, but Chat had already leapt to another rooftop, stopping her instead. Ladybug sighed before turning, ready to face her opponent once again.

~~~

This is an awfully small mirror, Ladybug thought to herself, deflecting every hit the black-suited girl gave with her yo-yo, compact powder still in hand.

“Where’s your partner, Ladybug? Did he leave you? What a flaker—“

“HEY! OVER HERE!”

Both Ladubug and the Paparazzi had turned, not sure which of them the voice was referring to, stopping the fight momentarily. The red clad superhero was trying to get closer and reach for her opponent’s staff. If it wasn’t the sunglasses, it had to be the staff. Ladybug was sure of it. But when a third person came, she couldn’t help but look.

Both of the girls’ eyes widened, catching the sight of Adrien Agreste, standing there in the middle of the street, his eyes closed, but hands extended as if he was ready to either be hugged or be taken away by this platinum blonde-haired villain in a black bodysuit. It was as if this person was willingly handing himself over to the akuma victim.

“Adrien Agreste! I HAVE FOUND YOU!”

The Paparazzi’s attention was fully directed to the model standing in the middle of the street down there now, giving Ladybug a chance to strike. Before she could even take a step towards the platinum-haired girl, the akuma victim had already jumped down from the rooftop she was on, immediately targeting the blonde boy down there.

The red clad superhero groaned before hopping down after the Paparazzi, making sure she’s just a few steps behind her. Not far enough that the girl in the black bodysuit can strike the blonde model acting as a distraction, but not close enough that she can turn around and attack the heroine in one go.

The platinum-haired straightened. “I have been looking for you, Adrien Agreste.”

“Yeah?”

Perfect. Keep talking.

“Yes! But luckily, I have found you. Or in this case, you’ve found me.”

Adrien wasn’t looking in the direction of the Paparazzi. “Lucky me, then.”

“Come, Adrien. Be my muse. Paris will be our wonderland.”

The model smirked. “Our wonderland?” He chuckled darkly. “Well, you’d have to actually obtain Paris to call it your neverland, don’t you?”

The Paparazzi scrunched her eyebrows in confusion.

“NOW, LADYBUG!”

Before the akuma victim realized anything, the heroine had extended her yo-yo, wrapping it around her opponent’s staff. The platinum-haired turned, but Ladybug was ready this time. With the compact powder mirror, she was able to see the Paparazzi without being turned to on of her minions. Before long, she discovered another use of the polka-dotted item in her hand.

Shutting her eyes beforehand, Ladybug turned and blew on the powder, letting a cloud of smoke puff right on her opponent’s face. The Paparazzi shut her eyes, giving the heroine a chance to open her eyes and see, pulling her yo-yo backwards, sending the black staff into her hands.

Without thinking twice, she broke the staff in half, finding an akuma flying away.

~~~

“Are you alright?”

The question wasn’t obligatory. It was rather empathic as the blue-haired could never leave from an attack without checking on the victim.

The girl held her head. “I think so, yeah,” she stared at the ground. “Um, I was akumatized wasn’t I?”

Ladybug nodded. “It’s alright now.”

“God, I’m so stupid,” she groaned. “I can’t believe I got akumatized because...um.”

“That’s alright,” the heroine smiled, taking out a roll of newspaper, already knowing the reason the girl was akumatized in the first place. “Is this yours? I found it nearby earlier.”

The girl nodded, taking it from Ladybug’s hand. “Thank you, Ladybug.”

“No problem.”

The red clad superhero had turned to tend to the blonde model not far from where the victim was when the she stopped her.

“Ladybug, do you mind doing me a favor?”

The blue-haired turned, smiling. “Of course. What is it?”

“Um...” the girl started. “Do you mind sending my apology to Adien Agreste and his girlfriend? I messed up—“

“I’m sure they’ll forgive you. Jealousy is a part of being human, after all,” Ladybug walked closer and placed her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “But I’ll tell them, for good measure.”

The girl looked at the superhero greatfully. “Thank you.”

Without having to question the victim, Ladybug could tell that the young girl was akumatized because of jealousy when she saw or read the news. Adrien Agreste enthusiasts we’re scattered all over Paris, maybe even the entirety of France itself. The news about the identity of his girlfriend must’ve shocked a lot of people, and this girl was one of them.

Ladybug merely smiled before turning, ready to tend to the other victim with only two minutes left before her transformation drops completely.

“Thank you for saving me, My—I mean Ladybug.”

The heroine chuckled, sighing in the process. She placed her hands on her hips and looked over her shoulder to see if the akumatized victim had left. To her relief, she saw nobody in sight except for the blonde standing in front of her.

“That was stupid,” she blurted. “And I specifically told you not to do anything stupid.”

“It was necessary—“

“It wasn’t!” She replied, a little bit too loud than what she intended. “I mean—really, Adrien, I appreciate your efforts and all but, you should stop being a human shield! Timebreaker was bad enough, but you didn’t stop there. Dark Cupid, Zombizou, Gamer 2.0, and now her. I’m—I—“

Beep beep.

The masked heroine groaned.

“We can continue this conversation over video games later, Bugaboo. I’ll even let you scold me as much as you want,” the blonde said, taking his time walking towards Ladybug. “For now, I’m just really glad you’re alright.”

“Shouldn’t I be the one to say that?”

“It works both ways, I guess.”

Ladybug sighed, before placing her hand on Adrien’s shoulder, hesitating. The blue-haired lifted her head and her eyes locked with the blonde’s green ones. For a second there she realized that this wasn’t Marinette falling in love with Adrien. This was Ladybug. Marinette wouldn’t scold Adrien. Marinette wouldn’t cut off Adrien mid-concersation.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng definitely would not be able to stare at Adrien Agreste properly in the eyes.

The heroine was about to pull away and quickly find a safe place to drop her transformation before her time was up when Adrien pulled her in for a kiss, breaking apart quickly.

He smiled, a hint of pink on his cheeks. “You can also continue that later, My Lady. Whatever your choice will be.”

Ladybug pulled away, and rolled her eyes before extending her yo-yo, feeling her cheeks burn.

~~~

WHOOP! PART FOUR!

Ew I can’t believe I wrote that. Well anyway, we can all agree that Ladynoir and Adrienette are the two superior fluff ships. I mean we can make Ladynoir and Marichat fluffy but that wouldn’t be fun, wouldn’t it? We need to balance the fluff with the angst and the sins.

*clears throat* I’ll let other writers do it. Writing fluff is a challenge already. I can’t even imagine me writing sins.

If anyone’s gonna discuss, I finished the Promised Neverland and all I can say is that Norman and Phil are my sons, nobody debate with me.

Alright, hope you enjoyed this part, because man, I had to actually THINK to finish this one. Also, I might have let out my little pjo fangirl soul a little bit. Do leave feedbacks and advices for the next chapter(s I mean we’re far from finishing this). Thank you :))

(Leave a “:))” if you’d like to be mentioned for the next part)

[mistrstank]

Buttercup’s Bad Day

[[ For those who have been following me for a while, you may remember Buttercup, the Murder Queen! I decided long ago I wanted to write a story featuring her various adventures. Today I decided to write one based on a line from the first story, in which Buttercup defends Tony from a kidnapping attempt. This is mostly lighthearted silliness, so I hope you enjoy! Link to the original fic ]]

“You know, I’ve been thinking.” Clint declares early one morning, watching with barely concealed amusement as Buttercup quite obviously herds a barely awake Tony around hazardous furniture. “I thought I smelled burning,” Natasha offers with a smirk and Clint flips her off. “No, seriously. I think Buttercup thinks Tony is her kitten.” Natasha’s eyes narrow consideringly, and then twitch as she fights off a smile. Tony is oblivious to their discussion, staring hopefully at the coffee machine while Buttercup sits patiently on his socked feet. Marigold struts into the room a moment later and leaps gracefully into Clint’s lap where she begins to loudly meow for her breakfast. Clint fends the persistent cat away from his toast with one hand, scowling at Natasha who makes no secret of her laughter. “Cut it out, beast!” He squawks, and then gives up entirely when Marigold succeeds in getting her sharp little teeth around the edge of his toast. With her prize claimed, Marigold promptly abandons Clint’s lap and disappears underneath the table, leaving her human to sulk.

[[ beware the cut, mobile users! ]]

“Toast probably isn’t good for cats,” Tony offers, apparently having come alive some time during the epic toast battle. He’s got a bowl in hand, half filled with biscuits that he’s carefully layering shredded tuna over. “I didn’t exactly get a choice.” Clint grouses, and Tony simply grins, popping the bowl down for Buttercup. “Guess it’s hard, when your cat’s trained badly.” He responds, all false sympathy. “My cat? Technically, it’s your boyfriend’s cat! And besides, everyone knows you can’t actually train cats!” “No, definitely your cat. You adopted her, you hide in the vents with her, and you once dropped her on Tony’s head as a prank.” Bucky cuffs the back of Clint’s head as he passes, carefully skirts the edges of Buttercup’s ‘Tolerance Zone’, and plasters himself to Tony’s back. “Ew, you’re sweaty.” Tony complains half heartedly, but allows himself to be squished into a hug, Bucky nosing gently at his temple and pressing a gentle kiss there. “You love it.” He whispers, smiling at Tony’s wrinkle nosed displeasure. “Well yes, under certain circumstances, but-” “Nope!” Clint interrupts, flailing his hands, and when Tony’s eyes start to twinkle and he starts to smirk, Clint does the only thing available to him. He steals Natasha’s spoon from her cereal bowl and chucks it at the couple. It rebounds off of Tony’s shoulder, because Clint never misses, to his surprised ‘ow!’. There’s a brief silence in the kitchen, and the hairs begin to stand up on Clint’s arms; Natasha looks amused, not like she’s about to kill him, but also a little nervous, which makes Clint nervous. At first he thinks Bucky’s going to murder him, but the former Winter Soldier is happily nuzzling at Tony’s abused shoulder, and he looks unbearably smug. “Mrooooooow.” Comes from the floor, directly at his feet, and Clint slowly looks down. Buttercup yowls again when their eyes meet, and Clint swallows noisily. Then he does the wise thing, and runs.

“That cat is terrifying.” Bucky observes into the silent kitchen a moment later, absently carding his fingers through Tony’s hair. “I like her,” Natasha says serenely, accepting the replacement spoon Tony hands her with a smile. “Well, obviously a murder cat would meet with your approval. Since, you know, you’re all murdery and stuff.” Tony waves his hands vaguely in Natasha’s direction, who merely shrugs, and then winces at the distant sound of things breaking. “That sounded expensive.” He mourns quietly, and Bucky snorts quietly. “Don’t you have a meetin’ this mornin’, doll?” He drawls, and Tony’s face immediately screws up into an adorable pout. “Don’t even try lyin’, Pepper already called me.” “Cheaters and liars, all of you!” Tony declares, only slightly mollified by the kiss Bucky swiftly presses to his forehead. “I’ll remember this betrayal, Barnes. There will be repercussions!” He continues, unperturbed, flicking forked fingers at his boyfriend in the universal sign of ‘I’m watching you’ and walking backwards out of the kitchen.

Fifteen minutes later finds Tony suited up in his least favourite set of armour, the doors of Avengers Tower swishing quietly closed behind him. His car is waiting at the curb, expressionless driver standing patiently by the open door. He’s reminded again of how much he misses Happy, Tony muses as he slides into the back of the car. He settles the briefcase armour at his feet and slides his sunglasses onto his nose. The driver is just about to close the door when a familiar furry shape comes streaking across the pavement, yowling indignantly. The driver merely waits, expression so bland Coulson himself would be impressed, as Buttercup leaps gracefully into the car, and then shuts the door. “What?” Tony demands as Buttercup fixes him with a disapproving stare, flounces across the seat and sprawls across his lap. He stares down at her, eyebrows twitching into a frown. “This suit is very expensive.” Tony points out unnecessarily, not really expecting much of a response from his evil cat. Buttercup looks up at him with slitted eyes for a moment, and then yawns wide, wiggling a little and sure, maybe it’s to get more comfortable but Tony is convinced she’s trying to rub her fur further into his pants. Tony gives up on trying to keep his pants cat free, settles back against the plush leather seat and scratches gently at Buttercup’s ears. If he’s lucky, she’ll forgive him by the time they get home for trying to leave her behind.

Tony likes to think he’s always had pretty good instincts; a nose for danger, mostly because he tends to go diving head first into it. Years of living and fighting with a superhero team have done a lot to hone those instincts, and taught him some new skills besides. So when the same nondescript black SUV has been behind them for a good half of the drive, Tony notices. “J,” He murmurs, glad for the ever present earpiece that keeps him connected to his AI. “We picked up a tail.” “Running the numberplate, sir. Shall I alert the team?” The AI responds, cool and professional. Tony hums thoughtfully, smoothing his hands through Buttercup’s fur. “Not yet, let’s try and lose them first.” He decides, taking his phone out with his other hand as JARVIS feeds him the traffic camera feeds. “That’s...discouraging.” Tony mutters, leaning forward to rap at the privacy screen. It slides down a couple of inches, just enough for the driver to give Tony a meaningful look in the rear vision mirror. The car starts to pick up speed, weaving randomly between cars. Tony makes a note to eventually learn the man’s name. “The license plate appears to belong to a Mary Dodson, 62 years of age, reported stolen three weeks ago.” JARVIS intones quietly, and Tony curses. “Okay, so no chance that it’s paparazzi or something equally benign.” Tony decides, gently shifting Buttercup to cradle her in one arm and reaching down to flip the briefcase open with the other. He can’t suit up in the confines of the car, there’s not enough room for that, but better prepared than dead. He keeps an eye on the tailing car through the traffic cams, dismayed to note it’s grimly hanging in there. “Sir, might I recommend at the very least contacting Sergeant Barnes?” JARVIS sounds anxious, and Tony chews his lip. Everything in him rebels against worrying Bucky for what could still be nothing, but Tony’s instincts scream it is something. Sensing her human’s tension, perhaps, Buttercup had gone still and tense in his arms. “Yeah, alright, put the call through.” Tony decides finally. It rang barely twice before Bucky’s warm voice flooded the interior of the car. “Missed me already? You’ve only been gone half an hour.” “Sorry, sweetcheeks, this is strictly business.” Tony responds with false cheer, keeping a narrow eyed watch on the camera feeds. “Picked up a pretty persistent tail not long after I left. We haven’t managed to shake them yet.” Bucky swore colourfully, his voice immediately dropping into the cool, hard tones of the Winter Soldier. “Where are you, exactly?” He demands and he sounds like he’s moving, doors slamming in the background. “JARVIS can feed you the exact coordinates, if you take Steve’s bike you should be here in -”

Three things happen at once, then. There’s a sharp crack, and through the narrow gap in the privacy screen Tony sees the windshield splinter, and the driver jerk. “Sir!” JARVIS says, sharply. “Shit!” Tony yelps, as the car swerves violently to the side. His phone goes flying from his hand, and Tony sprawls helplessly across the seat. Buttercup’s claws dig into his flesh, the cat yowling as they’re tossed about with the momentum. It seems a mere split second later that the car comes to a fiery stop, diving nose first into the side of a building. The sudden stop sends Tony flying across the car, losing his grip on the cat and cracking his head painfully against the edge of the opposite seat. His vision whites out with pain, and he’s distantly aware of Bucky’s voice, tinny and faint from wherever his phone has landed. Blood spreads in a warm, wet trail down the side of his face and Tony’s stomach rolls ominously. The world spins in a lazy, nauseating swirl of colours around him. He reaches blindly and grabs at the suitcase armour, “B’tt’rcup?” He slurs out, and at this point he’s definitely not questioning the fact he’s thoroughly concussed himself. There’s a shuffle somewhere to his left, and then a quivering, furry body presses against his side. “G’d girl.” Tony mutters, and then turns his attention to the task of rolling over. He needs to get out of the car, get into the armour, and hold out until Bucky can get to him. It sounds easy, in theory, but he feels like he’s on the carousel from hell (ha, that rhymes) and moving is hard. He manages to turn over, and only feels a little like throwing up. Some uncoordinated flailing eventually gets the door open and Tony spills out into the street, the suitcase hitting the pavement next to him with a heavy thump. His vision is doubling and tripling on him, and Tony squints ineffectually against the blur. There are men (a man? Shit, he doesn’t know) approaching, armed to the teeth. Tony slaps at the briefcase, trying to coordinate himself, wanting to curse at how helpless he feels, and also wanting to throw up everything he’s eaten, ever, and sleep for like ten years. “Idiots, they wanted him in one piece.” A voice snarls somewhere above him, and Tony restrains the totally inappropriate urge to giggle. “He’s fine, his eggs just got a little scrambled.” Another voice says, and they’re getting closer and there’s no time. They’re just about on top of him, victory so clear on their faces, when Buttercup launches herself out of the car. The added height, and her not inconsiderable mass, means she hits the first man like the proverbial tonne of bricks. His companions stumble back in shock as the man screams like the holy devil, trying to pry the vicious cat away from his face. Buttercup hangs on, a low, constant snarl vibrating in her chest. 

Tony takes advantage of the distraction, stumbling to his feet, and finally, finally the armour starts to unfold around his limbs. The moment he’s suited, Buttercup shoves away from her victim, claws tearing free from flesh with a violent sound that can be heard even over the man’s screams. His face is a mass of blood, and there’s so much that it’s difficult to tell how much damage has been done. His partners are caught, staring in horrified fascination, and Tony takes one out with a poorly aimed repulsor blast. He’s aiming for the chest, since it’s the biggest part and his vision is wavering worse than when he’s drunk; he misses, and clips the man’s shoulder, sending him spinning sideways. He turns to deal with the third, and Buttercup is already there, climbing the man’s leg while he tries to bat at the demented cat, the gun in his hand forgotten entirely. Tony sways drunkenly, stumbles down to one knee, and can only watch with vague disgust as his cat makes a serious attempt at dismembering a human. The second man has righted himself in the meantime, and looks to be considering how to shoot at Buttercup without hurting his friend. Tony takes the choice out of his hands with a repulsor blast that puts him down properly. Then he drops down to sit against the side of his car, not sure if he’s going to throw up or pass out. Her victim now a whimpering mess, clutching at his face and screaming about his eye, Buttercup trots over to climb into Tony’s armoured lap, whereupon she begins to delicately lick her fur clean. “Terrifyin’.” Tony mumbles, but nonetheless pets carefully at her head with his armoured hand. “But badass. S’good cat.”

Bucky arrives in time to deal with the first three’s backup, trying to sneak up on a barely conscious Tony. He’s well pleased to have faces to punch, particularly after being on the damn phone when Tony’s car crashed. The rest of the team arrives for cleanup, and Clint stares as the two cat-mauled victims are loaded into ambulances with police escort. “I told you,” He declares, sounding immensely satisfied. “Tony’s her kitten.” Bucky snorts at him, but doesn’t disagree. Tony is already loaded onto a gurney, and Bucky has the dubious honour of carrying Buttercup, since the paramedics wouldn’t let her sit on Tony. It seems the cat is willing to call a temporary truce between them, apparently sensing she needs Bucky on side to get her to the hospital with Tony. “She’s out for your title, Nat.” He calls over his shoulder, climbing carefully into the ambulance and settling the cat in his lap. Natasha turns from where she’s surveying the damage to Tony’s car, eyebrow raised. “Murder Queen.” Bucky grins, and has the pleasure of seeing Natasha chuckle softly right before the doors close.