#old mj junks

[ghostowlattic]

Abandoned Stained Glass Train Interiors

off world rural decay

ghost owl attic

[thecrystalquill]

Lux - Part Four

Peter Parker x Santana!Reader - Diablo’s Daughter

Marvel/DC Crossover

A/N: A longer chapter this time! Hope you like it!! Lots of action here.

TW: Mugging, threats, gun mention, self defence, accidental manslaughter. Sounds worse than it is, more like canon typical violence I guess??

Masterlist          Series Masterlist

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Chapter Four ~ Stay Calm

•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•*•

         All students of any kind of school know that Saturday is (usually) the best day of the week. Wake up when you want, sleep when you want, eat when you want. It’s the freest day you’ll get for a long time, especially if you live in a city.

        This Saturday was less of an excitement.

        It was ten in the morning when (Y/N) finally decided to get up and showered. Another slow day, but the sadness would linger anyway. She dressed plainly – black jacket, black sweatpants, black band shirt. Another colourless morning.

        The kitchen was empty when (Y/N) finally got there, ready to face the day. She figured as much, letting her dad sleep in again, his muscles would hurt like hell anyway. She didn’t know what she’d do for the day, but she knew he wanted to be alone for a while.

        Grabbing some sticky notes and a pen from the junk draw, she scribbled out a quick note for when he woke up, reminding him to eat and call if he needed anything. Apple in one hand, and phone and keys in the other, she closed the door quietly on her way out.

         The air was cool and the sun was warm as (Y/N) stepped out of the deli, finishing up the last of her sandwich. “Adios, Señor Delmar,” she waved, pulling her hood up to shield her from the cold.

        It was 2pm and so far she’d only received a brief text from her dad, reminding her to stay safe, as always. And one from MJ, surprisingly – she might put on a bit of an intimidating act, but Michelle was a big softy at heart – asking how she was doing.

        Queens was an interesting place to live, always something going on. Call her nosy, but she liked to watch what was going on. The people leaving the bank, the old couple walking hand in hand, the group of men doing some road works.

         “I told you, baby, I’m sorry!” She heard from a street on the right, seeing a middle aged man holding a bouquet of flowers shouting up to a window two floors up. “Can you please just let me in?”

        “You’re not sorry!” A woman yelled back. “You’re only sorry you got caught! I don’t ever want to see you again!” She disappeared for a moment, then came back to throw a bag and a load of laundry into the street. “Get your crap and go, you no-good, cheatin’ son of a bitch!” They continued to argue as she threw item after item out of the window, throwing insults back and forth.

        Never a dull moment.

        It was a good enough distraction for now, watching life go on as normal around her. For another hour or so, everything was okay. But unfortunately, all good things come to an end.

        (Y/N) pulled the hood closer around her face as she passed a corner store, shoving her hands in her pockets as the doors opened, sending a huff of artificially cold air over her. This side of the street was shadowed, the sun passing slowly behind; the digital clock in the window display read 15.11. For a moment, everything was fine. Until she was knocked off her feet.                                                                                                                      

        Tumbling into the tight street between buildings, (Y/N) managed to free one of her hands from her pocket in time to steady herself against a large dumpster by the store’s back door. Turning quickly to face her attacker, (Y/N) tried her best to steady her breathing and stay calm. A man, maybe in his thirties, approached with a menacing look. “This ain't gotta be hard, kid.” He said, closing their distance to barely a couple of metres and squaring up to look bigger. “Just gimme your money an’ your phone.”

        She froze. So far, in her ten years of living in New York, (Y/N) had been lucky enough to never run into this sort of trouble. But luck always runs out soon enough. Stay calm, she reminded herself, stay in control. Taking a step back away from the dumpster, (Y/N) tried to put some distance between them, but there was nowhere to run but a locked gate. Typical.

        “I’m talkin’ to you,” he said, walking closer. “Hand ‘em over. Now.”

        She ignored him, focusing on her nerves – for her own sake and his.

        “I’m not playin’ around, kid. Move it!” He raised his voice, producing a gun from his jacket, sneering down at her.

        She didn’t know how to respond. But she had to say something. “C’mon, man…” she said weakly, not daring to move back and trap herself against the fence, “I don’t have any money on me… just some loose change.”

        The mugger didn’t seem to believe her, moving closer. “Bullshit. You got somethin’.”

        It all happened so fast. Her heart was pounding in her chest, blood pumping hot through her veins as her body finally decided between fight or flight.

        The man took another large step to her, pointing the gun right at her face, and instinct took over. She hit it away from her, taking him off guard for a second, and kicked him away a few feet. Pausing, (Y/N) watched as all self-control left him, and he came bounding forward like a wild animal. He raised his weapon again only for her to hit it out of his hands, which only made him angrier. He swung a fist towards her cheek, but even though it was a powerful punch, his aim was non-existent. She dodged each fist in her panic, landing a good punch to his gut. But the more aggressive he got, the more her body took over, the fear taking all control. The second he regained his balance, he came running at her; she would have blocked it easily if she hadn’t tripped on a loose plastic bag on the floor. He slammed her into the wire of the gate, hands strong around her neck. Too close for her to kick and too frantic to hit. One second she was gasping for breath, the next her hands were glowing red hot like pokers pulled from the grill. She threw him away from her, unaware of her power. It was like a grenade went off at her touch, scorching his chest and abdomen raw in a second and burning the rest of his body red. He screamed in agony before he hit his head on the dumpster.

        Fire spreads quickly, as is common knowledge – but this fire was far faster than she expected. The whole alley was like an oven, heat rising in the smoke. The floor was on fire, the trash was on fire, the man was on fire, and thoroughly dead without a doubt. All because she couldn’t keep it under control.

        Backing away as the fire tried to follow her, (Y/N) realised the lock on the gate had broken. Without a second thought, she checked her hood was secure, and she ran.

Please never actually try to fight someone who’s armed kids

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[jeeperso]

D&D Quotes Without Context

Revenge of CHAOTICA! edition, Episode 1

After years of tinkering, Mary Jane Peaceblossom has finally finished reconstructing a Spelljamming helm! Now, Captain William Thunderchild and Amber take their teenage dragon ward Melfina on a maiden flight! Joined by the newly awakened Moonpaw, sent to monitor the flight for problems, because Dingo said they could go fork themselves.

"Alright so we all know the plan right?" "YES! Absolutely! Completely-understand-the-plan-and-ready-to-follow-through. Fiver?" "That was a test. There is no plan. You failed."

Fiver begins scanning the yard for the biggest guy. GM: There is a frost giant. OOC: Okay next biggest? GM: Hill giant. They are playing cards. Kind of hard to kick them in the junk when we can't actually reach said junk. Robbins: "His-junk-is-bigger-than-me."

OOC: I was gonna grab and throw him at the frost giant's junk.

Robbins: "Better-than-prison-rations...Still-needs-mustard." Fiver: "Not the first time I've been given that critique. Apparently I taste 'gamey.' Don't ask how I know this."

"Lemme-go! I-know-my-rights! I-demand-trial-by-puppet!"

Thunderchild's original suggestion of "William Thunderchild's Mutha-Fucking-Pimp-Hand" was veto'd.

Moonpaw, all you know is a half elf reeking of weed bought you from a pet shop yesterday and as of two hours ago you have higher brain functions.

"I am so going to use my new brainpower to plot your demise."

Thunderchild: "Fair enough, we can't all be the Sisko." MJ: "Praise be his name."

Suddenly, the whole ship lurches, as if going to full speed and even beyond. Melfina cries out “WHATS GOING ON?” Thunderchild: "I'll let you know as soon as I figure that out."

"We-need-your-ship. And-your-clothes." "Jokes on you: I don't wear any."

Thunderchild: "First rule of spelljammer crashes, be sure to establish that it's the other guys fault."

Fiver: "Don't mind her she has a thing about Paladins." Katt: "APAB." Moonpaw: "I don't speak whatever that is."

"Does your ship even still work?" "It didn't before."

"Although something that wont explode would be preferable." The viewing crystal explodes.

Thunderchild: "OOH I HAVEN'T HELPED WITH A PRISON BREAK IN AGES!"

Fiver: "I want to know how much they need to be filled in." Moonpaw: "All of it. Me, especially."

"Oh it's Helmut. This may be trouble. I hope he's still not sore about the Jock strap incident."

“Hands where we can see them!” "What do I do if I don't have hands?"

"KATT DON'T BE STUPID. IF YOU DIE HOW YOU GONNA EXPLAIN IT TO YOUR GODDESS GIRLFRIEND YOU GOT KILLED BY TWO MOOKS IN A JAIL?" “Hey! We’re not mooks! We’re at least elite henchpersons!” "And it's adorable you think that makes a difference." “We get health insurance and Chaotica doesn’t kill us if we displease her!”

"Cells-cells-cells-toilet-cells-game-room-cells-Oh Bridge."

"You can outrun anyone. If my life has a meaning, that is the meaning."

You follow her voice to a room bare save a table laden with charts and a green glowing dodecahedron surrounded by black metal chains. Thunderchild: "Well that is something." Fiver: "That looks nice and ominous."

"And a soul cage, who the hell uses such a twisted thing?" "The Empress CHAOTICA. Mongospace sucks."

“It feels like the same magic Auntie MJ cast before.” thunder rumbles horses whinny tortle noises "Whered-the-tortle-come-from?" "No, not you, not again!" "Why is there a gnome with a sheet of tin?"

You look out the port. Good news, you’ve moved. Bad news. There’s a plain of ice outside. "ICEBERG-AHEAD!" Worse news: you’re already on the ground. "ICEBERG-BENEATH!"

"He's-here." “Oh, yeeeeeeessss, I am!”

"Alright-we're-exiting. Just. Wait. How-cold-is-it-out-there?" "Mongo, so YES."

"I'd like to run instead of dying while only five hours old."

"Block Beta for life. All 10 seconds left of it."

The rhythmic thudding stops. From right outside the helm door you hear, in a monotone voice. “Open the door and come peacefully. Please resist. So we may BURN YOUR HEARTS IN A FIRE!” "Not by the hairs on our chinny-chin-chins!" "What she said." "I'm kind of partial to living."

"Also I would like to lodge a formal complaint with your staff violating the rules of the Genosa convention by attacking a medic. I am a cleric of El Araihah and am afforded special protections. Also they singed my good suit. And my good toupee." "Now-its-only-a-half-pee."

"Oh wait till we get to the TORCHAAA you'll hate that. They stick very tiny lobsters in your ears and they snip off pieces of your brain. It's actually worse than it sounds if you can imagine."

Janus: *deep sigh* "MJ, Mary. I asked you to do one thing, and that was 'Make sure Thunderchild doesn't get everyone killed with that crate.' What did you do? And what are our options for a rescue mission?" Heidi: "I can strap some explosives to an Apparatus of Kwalish." Janus: "Will that get us to the Astral Sea?" Heidi: "One way or the other probably."

[soundwave1982-blog]

Real Amazing Spider-Man #3

Stark villa 

A green portal opens, and a five-year-old Valeria Richards exits the portal dragging two suitcases to find Peter Parker and Mary Jane Parker cuddled together, watching a Netflix original film while Annie continues playing her Nintendo Switch. 

“Special delivery for My Best Science-buddy friend forever and her excellent mom, your luggage direct from Germany,” said Valeria 

“Thanks, Val,” said Annie as she ran over to Valeria, hugged her, collected her suitcase, and headed to her temporary bedroom. 

“Thanks, Val. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble,” asked Mary Jane Parker, 

“Not at all, Mrs Parker; it’s a pleasure for all the time you babysat me and  my dumb brother Franklin and lets us double mint chocolate chip ice cream,” said Mary Jane collecting her suitcase 

“So where is my suitcase,” asked Peter 

“Sorry, I only have two arms, Mister Parker. But, I have to keep my BSFF happy so we can get another A+ on our science projects, and MJ always lets me have an extra helping of double mints ice cream and is wicked when it comes to Pictionary game night,” said Valeria.

“No, seriously, where is my bag,” asked Peter as MJ took her suitcase to their temporary bedroom 

“I’ll go and get it for you, but the teleport device needs six to eight hours to recharge before I can sneak into the unclaimed baggage area,” said Valeria.

“six to eight hours you just wanted to hang out with your friend in Hawaii,” asked Peter 

“I have left a message for Uncle Johnny to tell him where I am; Mum said I could stay over at a friend’s house if I wanted as long as I told a responsible adult, seeing they left Uncle Johnny in charge, which I did I left him a note,” said Valeria.

“I think your mum meant to stay in New York with us, not while we are house-sitting in Hawaii,” said Peter.

“Technically, I am sure you could call Mum and Dad to come and get me, mister Parker, but they are doing something in the Negative Zone, so where is your phone,” asked Valeria.

“You knew my cellphone was in my bag, didn’t you? So you left it on purpose so you could work on a science project with Annie,” asked Peter 

“That’s the problem, mister Parker you can’t prove its word against mine; if you let me stay, I will upgrade your web shooters free of charge,” said Valeria 

“You are an evil mastermind who taught blackmail,” said Peter laughing

Annie then comes out of her bedroom carrying her teddy bear, Wolverine. 

“I thought I was never going mister whiskers again; I owe you one, Val,” said Annie. 

“Happy to help, my BSFF. Are you ready to work on our science project? I’m sure some tech we can borrow from Tony’s workshop,” asked Valeria. 

“Of course, I was already planning to sneak into Tony Stark workshop,” said Annie 

“What? You already cracked his workshop password; not fair. I’m the code breaker in this team,” said Valeria,

“Please, there’s no real challenge in hacking into Stark system; a one-year-old could do it,” said Annie

“So it’s IamIronman39 isn’t it,” said Valeria.

“No, it’s IamIronman08 this time. I tried a few other passcodes to access the workshop. I need some to upgrade my switch battery life from three to six with some junk from the workshop,” said Annie.

“We really need to talk about hacking into other people’s systems,” said Peter.

“Says the guy who went into the lab before me to borrow parts to create some web-shooters,” said Annie

I thought you had organic web shooters, Mister Parker,” asked Valeria. 

“I do these web-shooters to help focus my shots and to use impact webbing and some kinky stuff you do not need to know till you are in high school,” said Peter 

“Oh, he’s talking about Sex; I already had read six biology books before I was four, Uncle Peter. I know about the birds and bees and all the LGBT stuff that they are only two genders, XX and XY, no matter how deluded the biology teacher is with her saying they are 32 different genders crap,” said Valeria.

“Yeah, I gathered that, Val. I think dad trying to avoid have tell me where babies come from; he’s trying to convince me the stork brought me,” said Annie 

“Don’t you have a science project to work on,” asked Peter.

Annie and Valeria walk off towards Tony’s workshop. After they entered the workshop, they started work on their science project.

“So what are we doing for our science this time? Because I don’t know how we top the teleportation device we created last year,” asked Annie.

“I know those ungrateful science fair judges gave us a damn C I still can’t believe we lost to a baking soda volcano,” said Valeria 

“We are competing with other four-year-olds, but that was completely ridiculous. Mind you, we created a working teleporter out of a couple of radio and retro games consoles at four-year-old without adult help,” said Annie.

“Let’s just build a Lemon power clock or go with the classic Baking soda volcano, but we both know those are below our intelligence and a waste of time and effort. I got a wicked idea; not sure you would be a willing test subject,” said Valeria 

“Tell me your idea, first science buddy,” asked Annie   

“What about creating a device that allows a wearer to mimic the superpower of anyone who wears a similar pairing device,” replied Valeria 

“You just want to try web swing for yourself, don’t you,” asked Annie.

“What’s so wrong about a swing through the city without a care in the world,” said Valeria 

“Trust Val, it’s not all fun trying to wash your secret costume without mum or dad, who both have similar powers to finding out your powers are already activated and that you are sneaking out to fight criminals with a super genius tech support girl in the chair,” said Annie.

“Yeah, I know the feeling, Annie. When Mom, Dad, Uncle Johnny and Uncle Ben go on great adventures together and leave Dufus and me behind with Aunt Alice to babysit us. I’m sure she’s not blind. Sometimes she always catches trying to sneak out,” said Valeria 

“She must be a mutant with heightened senses,” said Annie.

“It’s not that; she’s just super wise to all tricks; so shall do that create a power friendship synch bracelets,” asked Valeria

“Okay, let’s do that, partner,” said Annie.

"right behind you BSFF," said Valeria

[joyaliciouss]

wherever you go i won't be far to follow

Tony woke up and there was something missing, like his arm or his ribcage. He woke up and there was a hole in his chest that he couldn't quite explain. He rose early as always, with Morgan drooling on his shoulder and Pepper at the edges of his fingertips. They were his whole world, his universe, as they should be—

—but. 

He shook the fog of sleep from his head and stretched his old bones, moving past the kitchen and straight to his office, where an extension of FRIDAY operated the lab upstate. Dum-E greeted him with an enthusiastic cup of something that was definitely motor oil and not a cup of coffee, but Tony took it anyway.

“Good job, bud,” he said, setting it on the corner of his table. Dum-E chirped and went back to assembling and disassembling Morgan’s pile of toys. Tony shuffled the papers stacked on his desk - Morgan’s drawings, Stark Industries projects, Spiderman suit blueprints, Web Fluid variations, Spiderman news clippings, Spiderman - He paused.

A beat passed.

He stepped back from his desk and scowled. A table sat in the corner of his office, cluttered with junk and gizmos that he did not make. Spiderman and Iron Man lego paraphernalia littered the sides of it and he felt a twinge of irritation just looking at the collection. His feet felt the ghost of its pointed edges and he knew that he often stepped on it—

—but.

Morgan was too small to reach the table and Pepper was not a fan of legos and junk. 

“Tony?” Pepper called softly by the doorway, snapping him out of his reverie.

“Yeah?”

She frowned, eyes roaming over his face then to his table where the cup of motor oil was. “Did you drink motor oil again?”

“What? No?” He said, but it only made Pepper frown even more.

“Well, you looked like you did.” She moved closer - cautiously - as if he was on the verge of a panic attack. “Are you alright?”

Tony swallowed and smiled. “Of course. Yeah - yeah, I’m fine.”

o o o

Peter swallowed the words in his mouth and said, “Can I get a cup of coffee?”

"Okay, Peter Parker." MJ smiled politely, her usual poker face visibly confused. Peter didn’t register what happened after. Only that he got home and that his legs collapsed under the weight of his grief the moment he closed the crappy door of his crappy apartment. He didn’t cry - couldn’t cry at the happy, contented faces of his friends. 

No.

His tears already ran out as he watched them lower Aunt May’s casket under the ground. People who once loved and supported them cried, and he couldn’t even take a step further from the tree line to comfort them because Peter Parker did not exist. May Parker was not a loving aunt to her nephew, but a single woman who devoted her time to helping the needy. 

And everyone he once knew was better off living without him - anonymous and infinitely safer. 

So his heart shouldn’t shatter when Ned walked past him without their custom handshake, his eyes shouldn’t burn when MJ looked at him without love in her eyes, and his throat shouldn’t hold an agonizing scream when he swings past Stark Industries because there’s no Tony, no Pepper, no Morgan, no Happy--

Because Peter Parker did not exist.

And all of this was okay rather than the universe breaking because of his selfishness. It was time to choose and he made his choice.

So Peter held the tremble in his bones and stood, putting on his new suit and sliding the mask over his face. 

o o o

Tony stared at the cobwebs up on the ceiling. Last week, it was spotless but he and Pepper couldn’t reach that height nor did they have the energy and time to do so. He had this itch in his brain he couldn’t get rid of and a tick of looking at his watch every four in the afternoon. 

“What is it?” Pepper asked over her cup of tea. “You have that look on your face again.”

“Nothing,” he said, looking away from the ceiling. 

“Tony,” she said, warm and worried, and something in it cracked away at him. 

“I just -” He pursed his lips. “I don’t get it.”

“Well, that’s new.” She looked down at her tea, smiling. Tony huffed, amused. “But seriously, what is it you don’t get?”

“Ever since last week, I’ve been feeling… off.” He started, unsure. “Like, something’s--”

“--missing,” Pepper finished, looking into his eyes. Tony licked his suddenly dry lips, the answer at the back of his mind, the tip of his tongue - somewhere close, but so out of his reach and it drove him mad with confusion every time he tried to catch it. 

“Right?” He said, eyes wide and frenzied. “Like, something - or someone is supposed to be here but they’re not.”

“Yeah, I get that feeling, too,” Pepper agreed, morose. 

“I think - I think it has something to do with Spiderman,” Tony said, voice low, as he pulled a Spiderman lego piece out of his pocket.

“That vigilante?” She asked. Tony nodded in response.

“I have the blueprints of his suit, his web formula, and news clippings of him but he hasn’t been here since last week.”

“Well, maybe he’s busy?”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Or maybe he can’t get here.”

Tony gazed at Pepper’s eyes with an intensity she only saw once - when the world was falling apart and Tony walked towards his death to save the whole world. 

“I have to find him.”

o o o

Peter swung down from his window and ripped off his mask, breathing heavily. Today went pretty well and was piled with minor crimes in Queens, but patrol took a lot out of him. He turned to his workstation, full of junk and readied himself to work when--

“Hi,” a voice he hadn’t heard of in a long time said. Peter gasped, turning on his heel and clutching his chest.

Tony was here. Tony came here. In his apartment. Was it possible? Did he--

“Woah, woah, woah, kid,” Tony said, raising the palm of his hands towards him. “I know I’m Tony Stark, but c’mon.”

Peter swallowed the bile threatening to burst from his mouth, but the burn of it didn’t manage to overpower the disappointment that bloomed in his stomach. Tony didn’t know him. That’s right. Tony wouldn’t know him because Peter Parker did not exist. 

“Mr. Stark,” Peter rasped out. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Mr. Stark, what are you doing here—”

“Up-up, Me first.” Tony sat on his bed like he owned it and the familiarity of it struck something painful in Peter. “Quick question of the rhetorical variety -” He held up his phone and a video of him swinging through New York flashed through the musty air of his apartment. “-That’s you, right?”

“No,” he scoffed, and the old Tony would have been proud of his lying face if not for the fact that Tony probably saw him swing through the window and that he’s wearing the goddamn costume. “This - this - I’m cosplaying. As. Yes. There’s a con - somewhere.”

Damn it, Peter.

“So, you’re Spiderman.” Tony barreled through like he always does and Peter doesn’t have it in him to fight anymore.

“Is there anything you need, Mr. Stark? For a mission? Please don’t tell me we have to fight something again because I am not in the mood to fight another—”

“I know you,” Tony said, and Peter froze. He didn’t want to be here. He was exhausted, and in minor pain, and Tony still doesn’t remember him, but now he’s telling Peter he knows him. “Yet weirdly not at the same time, you get me?”

“You know me as Spiderman, sir. That’s all.” Peter shrugged. 

Tony’s eyes roamed his face as if searching for something, “No. I have your suit blueprints, your web fluid formula, news clippings of you saving a cat of all things from a tree, and a certificate of  Tony Stark’s best intern that I definitely did not remember hiring.” He picked up the frame of the document.

Peter shot from his position to grab the certificate and held it close to his chest preciously. “That’s edited. I edited it because - because I’m a fan.”

“You have a desk at my home like a junkyard and I think you clean my ceiling regularly.”

“Hey, they’re not junk! They’re retro…” Peter mumbled, then bit his tongue. “What I mean is, I’ve never been to your office, Mr. Stark.”

“You mean ‘house’.” Tony offered, eyebrows rising to his graying hair. 

“Yeah, I totally meant house.” 

Tony rolled his eyes. “Knock it off kid, you’re not fooling me here. Fess up.”

"This could be considered trespassing. I can call the police."

Tony snorted though not unkind. "Like you would.”

"And how would you know? You don't know me." Nasty, unpleasant hope crept up the cracks of his heart, hot, and searing, and burning so brightly it left him breathless. Please, his heart begged. You can’t, his mind whispered brokenly. 

“But I think I do,” Tony said firmly, eyes locked onto him as he stood. Peter’s breath hitched and his hands clenched, nails digging into his skin.

(“Spiderman’s trying to kill me - 

- and his name,

His name is Peter Benjamin Parker!”

“Right now, we are outside of Stark Industries where the illustrious Tony Stark is said to be involved with producing the weapons that Spiderman, or Peter Benjamin Parker, used to murder Mysterio.”

“Here we are at the Trial Court where Tony Stark is facing charges -”)

“It’s better if you didn’t, actually.” 

(“Peter,” Tony said, voice cracking, “Peter, I’m on my way. I’m on my way, kiddo. We can fix this.”

“I’m making my choice, Tony.”

“Peter! Please, Peter, just wait for me. We can still fix it. I can still fix it!”

Peter eyed the distant suit growing near. He sobbed.

“Thank you - for everything.” Peter looked at Strange and nodded. The suit landed on the statue roughly, opening to reveal Tony - salt and pepper hair, suit wrinkled, eyes wide and desperate - reaching for him.

“Strange, don’t you fucking dare -”

The spell was cast. The world exploded into a myriad of colors. 

Tony woke up and there was something missing.)

“Peter - Pete -” Tony said, an arm lifting to touch him.

“Don’t,” Peter said. He took his phone from the table and pressed the dial button. Please, please, please, please remember me, even just one, please - “Leave or I will call the police.”

Tony’s face fell, then hardened. “Don’t think this is over, kid.”

Peter collapsed on his bed after Tony closed the door, more exhausted than ever. He put a pillow over his face. He screamed.

[godzillachloe]

So eleizabeth banks was in the original Spiderman trilogy

She originally audition for the role of MJ but didn't get it because she was too old

However the upside down spiderman kiss inspired her to make perhaps the most iconic Bechloe scene( beside the shower scene 😉)

Also their adopted daughter Emily junk (Haliee Stienfeld) plays Spider Gwen).

[avintagekiss24]

WE LOVED WITH A LOVE THAT WAS MORE THAN LOVE || STEVE ROGERS

pairing: Steve Rogers x black!reader ; minor pairings: peter parker x michelle “mj” jones, andy barber x black!reader, sam wilson x black!reader, ransom drysdale x black!reader, bucky barnes x black!reader || word count: 19,080 || warnings: smut, sex, gang bang/multiple sex partners m/m/m/m/m/f, vaginal fingering, oral sex (male and female receiving), biting, marking, anal sex, hand job, nipple play, cult-like gathering, mentions of voodoo, voodoo lore, cult rituals

authors note: it’s here! took me forever. i wanted to post this much earlier, but the election week threw me off my schedule so this got pushed because i had another deadline to meet for another challenge. this is for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor​​ once upon a midnight dreary challenge! i chose “believe nothing you hear, and only one half that you see”, an invitation to a stranger’s party, and a cultish gathering for my prompts. again, i got a little help from my girl @tropicalcap​​ in helping me piece together a few plot points.

just a quick note :: steve never goes into the ice and the government doesn’t give him the serum... his transformation is achieved in a different manner. therefore, bucky’s transformation is also a little different than canon.

manip of peter & mj by sidewalk manips (i think they’re on instagram... not sure, i found it on google) // divider by @whimsicalrogers​

MONDAY

The ornate envelope in your hand is heavy. It’s decorated with thin, gold leaf, hand drawn designs, almost resembling the intricate henna leaves. Your name is scrolled across the front in big, black Old English calligraphy— hand written as well; you can just tell. You flip it over in your hand, the weight of it making a soft thud when it rests against the heel of your palm. A red wax seal is pressed against the flap and the back of the envelope, two initials carved deep— S.G.R.

Flipping the envelope back over in your hand, you press your lips together in a hard line. Junk mail is getting really fancy now-a-days. You blink at the front, reading and then rereading your name. A tinge of something— you’re not sure what, pulls at your stomach, making it constrict as your breath deepens harder than before. You even stop walking. You just stare at the envelope, drawing your bottom lip in between your teeth as you blink down at it.

It’s just unsettling. The weight of it, the attention to the little details of the writing and the designs. It’s anything but junk mail, but the tiny shards of anxiety that are prickling up against your skin don’t want you to think too much into it.

You shove it to the back of the pile of mail in your hand and continue flipping through it as you walk down the hallway towards your apartment, your purse bouncing against your hip as you move. Once inside, you throw the mail down first, then your keys, before you turn on your heel and move towards your bedroom, already tugging out of your blouse.

-

The TV is nothing more than background noise at this point. You’re curled up on your couch, a bowl of popcorn in your lap and a glass of red wine in your left hand as your eyes flit across the screen of your iPad. You scroll slowly with your right index finger, gobbling up a Stucky fic on ao3. Your eyes widen at the written words before you, your mouth dropping open as your heart starts to beat just a little harder— you’d die if anyone at work ever found out that you spend your free time reading about Bucky Barnes getting his back blown out by Captain America— but nobody told them to be so attractive. It’s their fault, really.

There’s a heavy knock at the door, but you don’t budge. You just push back against the pillows and keep your eyes on the illuminated screen as the door opens, “Take your shoes off.” A heavy sigh greets your ears seconds later, drawing a smile onto your lips as you throw your eyes quickly towards your little sister, “House rule.”

She rolls her eyes hard and toes at her sneakers— making sure to kick them up against the wall so the thuds rumble through the apartment— you know, for added drama. She pulls her bag over her head and drops it to the floor before padding across the carpet and plopping down next to you.

“You readin’ the one I sent you?” she asks, grabbing the popcorn out of your lap, “Can we order a pizza?”

“Yes and yes.” You answer absentmindedly as your eyes nearly pop out of your skull at the smut on your screen, “MJ!”

She laughs, scrunching up her nose as she pops some popcorn into her mouth and nods slowly as she focuses on the tv, “I told you it was nasty.”

“You didn’t say it was this nasty, good God.”

The younger woman scoffs as she throws her loose, wavy hair over her shoulder, “But you steady readin’ it though.”

You cut your eyes towards her, “I didn’t say that I don’t like nasty, just that it’s nasty. I think I have a coupon up on the counter for Tony’s if you wanna order now.” MJ is up on her feet as soon as the words leave your mouth, “Get some bread sticks too.”

The rummaging MJ does in the kitchen blurs with the screams from the television as you start to read again, losing yourself quickly back in the BDSM world the author has so vividly painted. You leave a kudos and a quick comment before tossing your iPad to the side and lift your eyes to your sister again, blinking as you find her leaning up against the counter, the weird envelope in her hand.

“The fuck is this?” she asks, her lip snarled, eyes squinted as she turns it over in her hand, “Why’s it so heavy?”

“I don’t know,” you laugh a little, “I got it in the mail today. It gives me the creeps.”

MJ moves around the coffee table and falls next to you again, tossing the coupon at you before sliding her finger underneath the flap. You grab her wrist before she goes to open it, tutting softly, “Don’t. Just leave it.”

“Why?”

“Because! I’m gonna throw it out.”

“Are you kidding me? I’m opening it.”

“Come on MJ—”

She slides her finger underneath the flap before you can stop her again, breaking the wax seal in two. You huff as she pulls out the 5x7 piece of heavy cardstock, then tips the envelope to lodge whatever was weighing it down free. A brooch falls into her palm, both of you leaning up to inspect the intricate piece of jewelry. It’s floral in design— pearls, or what look like pearls, placed strategically between the little, diamond encrusted, platinum leaves. Three pearls are bunched in the middle—  the center of the flower, with three larger diamonds outlining them.

“Holy shit, is this real?” MJ asks, lifting it up and turning it over, “Holy fuckin’ shit.”

You shake your head, “It can’t be. There’s no way.”

“It looks real.”

“No,” you scoff, waving her off, “It’s costume.”

She shoves it into your palm, “Feel that thing! It’s heavy as fuck, that ain’t costume jewelry.”

You furrow your brow as you let it sit in your palm, feeling it. It looks old— really old, like something that would have been worn back in the 1800s. You flip it over, bringing it up to your face as you spot another set of the S.G.R. initials engraved in the back of one of the small leaves.

“Fuck.”

The word slips out of your mouth effortlessly as you eye the jewelry and lick your bottom lip. You glance over at MJ who stares back at you with wide, hazel eyes, her lips parted, “See? That shit is real.”

You point at the card in her hand, swallowing quickly before you clear your throat, “What does that say?”

She takes a breath as you push your side into hers, your eyes scanning the writing, “We request the honor of your presence this Friday, October 31st, 2020 at 1543 Asher Ln. 8pm. No extra guests. S.G.R.” she slides her eyes towards you, “You know somebody with those initials?”

You blink, racking your brain, “No. I don’t— I don’t think so, at least.”

“Well, he or she obviously knows you.”

You grab the invitation from her, reading it again before you turn it over, hoping to find something else scribbled on the back. You drop your hand to your lap when you don’t and zero your gaze in on the television as it starts to tunnel.

“Bro,” MJ laughs quickly, “This is some freaky deaky shit.”

You eye the white invitation once more, reading it over again and again— as if you’re missing something, “What, um,” you start absentmindedly, “What do you mean?”

“This is some Eyes Wide Shut shit, sis!”

You scoff again, rolling your eyes as your shoulders slump, “Stop it MJ.”

“Girl,” she laughs harder, clapping her hands and letting her head fall back against the couch, “You gonna go?”

“No!” you squeal at her audacity, tossing the invitation and brooch on the coffee table, “It’s obviously some kind of joke or something.”

“That is no joke! The brooch has got to be at least ten g’s, easy.”

“It’s not real. That shit’s not worth ten dollars.”

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, prude.”

You feel anger flushing through your veins, your face heating up as you stand quickly and walk into the kitchen, “I’m not a prude, Mary Jane.”

“Oooh, my full name,” she mocks, “What are you gettin’ mad for?”

“I’m not mad, I told you that thing gave me the creeps. Everything is a joke to you.”

“I’m not jokin’! Somebody obviously went through a lot of trouble to send you that, I’m just callin’ it as I see it.”

You down the rest of the wine in your glass and quickly pour another, bringing it to your lips as you rub the back of your neck with your free hand, “It’s some kind of prank.” you exhale, taking another sip, “I’m throwing it away.”

MJ rolls her eyes again, grabbing your iPad before she props her feet up on the small, square table in front of her, “Sure, sure. Yeah, somebody sends a diamond encrusted brooch and a handwritten invitation just for funsies. Got’cha.”

You close your eyes and take another gulp of wine, using it to stop yourself from saying something that will more than likely dissolve your evening into a fight. You swallow slowly, pushing the smooth alcohol down your throat and letting it settle and warm in your belly.

“1543 Asher Ln. is a real house, just so you know. Pops right up on Zillow.”

You sigh loudly.

“And,” she starts, dragging out the end of the word, “It’s only fifteen minutes from here.”

“Are you gonna order the pizza or what?”

“You should go, I’m just sayin’.”

“I’m not gonna,” you stop yourself as you glare over at her, her eyes and posture taking that MJ tone as your voice gets sharp, “I’m not going to a strangers house. Okay? Drop it.”

“There’s no reason not to go.” You stare at her for a few seconds. You squint your eyes and let your mouth fall open as you scrunch your face, honestly in disbelief, “What?” she shrugs, “I literally met Peter last year at a party of someone who, to this day, I still don’t know. I can’t even remember how I ended up there.”

“MJ—”

“Don’t MJ me. It could be fun!” She smiles big as you sit next to her again, “You need to live a little. Get some dick, man.” You cut your eyes back over at her and lift your middle finger, “I mean it!” she laughs again, “There is nothing more fun than a Halloween party.”

You lean forward, reaching for the brooch. You roll it around in your palm, keeping your eyes on it as MJ babbles on. You eye the invitation as it lays on the table. The anxiety is back— constricting your stomach, making you itchy and jumbling your thoughts. It’s like it’s screaming at you— like something or someone is trying to get your attention.

You reach forward and slide the invitation to the edge of the table with your fingertips. You grab it swiftly and stand again, feeling MJ’s eyes on your back as you move into the kitchen. Shoving the invitation, the envelope, and the brooch in a drawer, you push the notion right out of your mind.

You’ve never entertained MJ’s crap before and you aren’t going to start now. Out of sight, out of mind.

TUESDAY

There’s a flower arrangement sitting on your desk the next morning. It’s lively— all of the flowers a different shade of pink. The stocks are a blush-pink, the roses spanning the pink spectrum. The spray roses are more purple than anything, but they bring the whole thing together.

There’s a small card leaning up against the glass vase, your name scribbled across the front. You pluck it up quickly and flip it over.

Hope to see you Friday— J.B.B.

Your purse falls off your shoulder and down your arm as your eyes go wide. You turn quickly, scanning the bullpen as people move about but you’re not exactly sure what or who you’re looking for. You drop your purse into the chair front of your desk and walk out to your assistant.

“Did you sign for these?” you ask, your voice slightly raised and agitated.

Nakia glances up at you slowly over the rims of her glasses, clearly picking up on your demeanor, “Uh, yeah? ‘Bout half an hour ago… everything okay?”

“What flower shop are they from?”

She shrugs, widening her eyes, “I don’t know, it came by delivery service.”

You tug at your suit jacket around your hip and let out a huff, “Don’t accept anymore, okay?”

You turn on your heel before she can answer and stomp back into your office, closing the door behind you. Heat ripples through you as you grab the handset of your phone and bring it to your ear, angrily dialing your sister’s number. You lean against your desk, arms crossed over your chest as it rings, eyes shifting around the room.

“Yo.”

“There are flowers sitting on my desk.”

You’re met with silence for a few seconds, “... okay?”

“There from someone else that I don’t know,” you huff, “The initials are J.B.B. this time.”

“Oh shit, I forgot about that. Okay, so two dudes wanna rail you at this party. That’s my kind of Friday night, sis.”

“Will you cut it out!” you hiss angrily, turning to face the windows behind you, “This is freaking me out!”

“Oh my god,” you hear her moving around, like sheets and pillows being rumpled until a muffled, groggy moan sounds, “Peter… wake up… wake the fuck up… what did you say about that weird party thing?”

You roll your eyes and tap your foot nervously as the two go back and forth. There’s shuffling again on her end, and then a heavy sigh, “I think it’s a masquerade party.”  Peter Parker finally says, his words slurred with sleep, “That’s where—”

“I know what a masquerade party is Peter, thank you.”

“Oh yeah, okay, sorry, so,” he starts, shuffling around again, “I heard for the past couple of years that somebody has been throwing a secret masquerade party at different places around town.”

“How did you hear that?”

“So, there’s this girl I had a class with last year, her name was uh, Liz. She said her older sister was invited to it. And then, there was this other girl, Shuri, she also said that her sister got invited one year too. I didn’t get the full scoop from Shuri though cuz she ended up transferring to Columbia, which, okay, yeah it’s a great school and all, but—”

“Peter,” you say, closing your eyes, “Focus please.”

“Right, sorry. So, yeah, it could be that party. Liz said her sister got the same brooch.”

The hair on the back of your neck stands up. You clear your throat as you shift, cutting your eyes back to the vase of roses sitting in the corner of your glass desk, “Did she go?” you ask trepidatiously, rubbing the back of your neck with your hand.

“Uh, yeah. She said it was pretty chill.”

“Pretty chill? The fuck does that mean?”

“Sorry, um, she said her sister said it was fun. Plenty of alcohol, plenty of food. But, because of the whole masquerade thing, she never found out who invited her.”

Put it on speaker, your sister's voice rings, then a sharp, sudden sound of skin on skin followed by a squeal from Peter, “Ow! Okay!”

“So,” you start, your fingers picking at the spiral telephone cord, “They didn’t say anything weird happened or anything? They’re both okay?”

“Liz said that her sister said she talked to some blonde guy for a while. He was asking her a bunch of like, weird, artsy questions but she thought it was all a part of the allure of the party so she just went with it. Other than that,” Peter trails off, and you can practically see him shrugging as if he’s right in front of you, “She said it was fun.”

“See? Everything is on the up and up.” MJ adds, “You should go.”

You don’t answer right away. You slide the small card towards the edge of your desk, picking it up again.

Hope to see you Friday— J.B.B.

“Peter, thank you, sorry for waking you up.” You say a few moments later, clearing your throat, “I’ll call you later MJ, okay?”

“Okie,” she purrs into the phone, “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Your answer is distracted— quiet and airy as you set the handset back into the base. You stare back at the flowers, chewing on the inside of your cheek as something starts to gnaw at you. Something deep. You set the small card back up against the vase and shake your mouse to wake up your computer, forcing yourself into your emails, the small sentiment running circles in your mind.

Hope to see you Friday— J.B.B.

WEDNESDAY

You’re barely home from work when there’s a knock at your door— in fact, you only have one shoe off when the thud sounds through your apartment. You sigh, slipping your pump back onto your foot before you stand from the bed and move to the door. Peering out of the peephole, you spot a FedEx driver, his hands full of packages.

“Hi,” you greet as you open the door, “Goodness, these are all for me?”

“As soon as you sign for them they are.” He laughs, handing you the small pen and handheld scanner.

You sign quickly as he places the boxes just inside your door, and wiggle your fingers as he makes his leave, hustling back down to his truck. You keep your eyes on the boxes as you close and lock the door— you didn’t order anything. You haven’t ordered anything in at least a week and when you do, it’s always from Amazon. All of these boxes are unmarked, except for the shipping label, that has no return address.

An envelope is taped to the side of the largest box and based on how your week has been going, you already half know what to expect. You rip it away from the box and slide your finger underneath the flap, pulling out another handwritten, five-by-seven card.

Hope it fits… A.S.B.

You shove the card back into the envelope and toss it aside before grabbing the large box, sitting it on the bar. With the help of your house key, you rip into the box, popping open the flaps once the tape is broken down the middle. You gasp as you pull out a black and gold ball gown, your mouth dropping open as your eyes go wide.

The corset top is strapless and intricately hand woven with small, black beads in a leafy design. A layer of gold tulle spills down an even longer layer of black tulle, all the way to the floor. The dress is thick— heavy, as you hold it up in your hands. You search for a tag, sewn in initials, something to try and place where this could have possibly come from, but find nothing, as if it’s one of a kind. You splay it out over the couch and move to the second box— your interest now suddenly piqued.

You pop open the second box to find a slightly smaller box inside. Tucking your fingers underneath the rim, you pull the top away and gasp again— this time bigger— and take a physical step back. You blink stupidly and you fumble around in your pants pocket, trying to find your phone. You slam your finger down on MJ’s name and bring it to your ear, lifting a gold Giuseppe heel up in the air.

“You need to get your ass over here, now.”

-

There’s total silence in the apartment as you, MJ, and Peter stare at the Giuseppe heels and a handful of jewelry. The most jaw-dropping being a thin rose gold chain adorned with ninety one (Peter counted), different shaped diamonds arranged to resemble the leaves of a vine. At the center, they all meet at a large— museum caliber— yellow diamond.

“So let me get this straight,” MJ starts, placing her hands on her hips, “Those are Giuseppe heels, and not just any Giuseppe heel, the Cruel Crystal Giuseppe heel, that they don’t even make anymore,” she emphasizes with her hands, “A necklace with a diamond that bigger than my goddamn fist, and a, hang on a second,” she closes her eyes, holding up her hands to add to the drama of it all, “A hand stitched ball gown?”

“Don’t forget the mask,” Peter breathes heavily, “That’s, I’m pretty sure that’s made outta pure crystal, so,”

You play with your bottom lip nervously, your left arm thrown over your stomach as you slowly turn your head towards your sister and her boyfriend, “Did your friend's sister get all of this shit too?”

The young, brown haired man scratches his head as he shifts his weight from one foot to the other before shrugging and expelling a breath out of his mouth, “I mean, I…” he shrugs again, completely at a loss, “I don’t know.”

“Maybe we can google the initials or something. Where’s your iPad?” MJ asks, turning on her heel and rushing into your bedroom.

“I tried that already,” you call, grabbing the shoes from the counter and slipping your feet into it, “Oh my god, they fit.” You whisper more to yourself than to anyone else in the room.

MJ rolls her eyes, “Well, what came up?”

“Steven Grant Rogers and James Buchanan Barnes,” you answer as you twirl around in a circle, completely enamored with your shoes, “So, nothing.”

Peter gasps and places his hands on his chest as his face fills with a quick fear, “Fuuuckkk, what if it’s them?”

You and MJ both scoff, “Don’t be stupid, Parker.” MJ says.

“It could be! You don’t know!”

“Ok, yes, Captain America and the Winter Soldier are behind this. Sure,” she cuts her eyes towards you, “He has such a crush on them. Did you try the third set of initials?”

You nod as you stare down at your feet, turning your right foot slightly, watching as the gold glints underneath the light, “Yeah, no luck there either. Just random ass dudes— look at how good these look on my feet, sissy.”

She waves you off as she sits on the coffee table, her face being lit up by the light of your iPad, “Okay, A.S.B., Andrew Stephen Barber, assistant district attorney— could be him… he’s cute at least.” she shrugs.

“I doubt it,” you let out a breath, “I should try on the dress, huh? I mean, you know, just to see.” MJ throws you a look while Peter glances between the two of you nervously, “What? I’m still not going, I just want to see how it looks.”

“Uh huh,” MJ squints her eyes, following you as you walk back into your bedroom, already pulling down the zipper on the back of your shirt, “Sure.”

THURSDAY

MJ💕 12:37pm

Lunch? I’m right around the corner from your building

You hear your phone chime, but you don’t tear your eyes away from your screen immediately. Voices come from the speaker on your phone as you type fervorously. You’re only really half listening— this meeting has nothing to do with you, but, you’re the account manager, so you have to at least try and seem interested while you work on another contract with a much more lucrative, expensive company.

The iPhone rattles again against your glass desk and you snap it up this time, your eyes scanning the message. Right on cue, your stomach rumbles.

You 12:40pm

Sure, sure. Chinese?

MJ💕 12:41pm

Yum.

A small smile tugs at the corners of your mouth as you open your SPARK messenger and tap on Nakia’s name. She knows you and MJ’s order like that back of her hand, and messages you back minutes later to confirm the food will be on it’s way within the hour. You return your attention to the large computer screen before you, pushing your glasses up your nose as you shift your vision to the second monitor slightly to your left.

There’s a small tap a few minutes later, followed by Nakia’s beautiful face peeking in as she mouth’s MJ before opening the door wider to let your lanky sister breeze into the room. You hold your fingers up to your lips as the chorus of voices still speak from your speaker, but keep your eyes on her as she pulls her bag over her shoulder and head and plops down in one of the plush seats in front of your desk.

She makes herself busy on her phone, no doubt texting Peter as you return to your emails and contract, losing twenty or thirty more minutes.

“Okay guys, I’ll talk to you next week right?” You ask, your fingers hovering over the speaker button, “Okay… alrightly, buh-bye.” you slam your finger down on the small, round button and widen your eyes as you let out an audible breath, “Sorry, sissy.”

MJ holds up her hand, her face still buried in her phone, “You’re an important lady, I get it.”

“I thought you had class today?”

“That’s the good thing about having a pregnant Professor,” she smiles, wiggling her eyebrows, “Morning sickness apparently lasts throughout the day.”

Another tap comes at the door before Nakia emerges again, this time her hands full of food, “Here we are ladies,” she smiles as she sits the bags on your desk, “This also just arrived for you too.”

Your face twists in confusion as she hands you something wrapped in plain brown paper. There’s a black ribbing wrapped around it, tied in a neat little bow in the center of the package. It’s light whatever it is. Your eyes drift slowly over to MJ, who sits up in her seat, peering at the package in your hands before she blinks up at you— a knowing look on her face.

“Thanks Nakia,” you smile, trying not to draw her attention to all of the air being sucked out of the room.

MJ’s phone rings just as Nakia exits the room. You hear her mumble a greeting, but your attention is quickly sucked back to your hands. Curiosity gets the best of you. You pull at the ribbon and toss it aside before curling your fingers around the edges to find where it’s taped together.

Just as your fingers find where the edges meet, Peter Parker’s voice fills the room, “Am I on speaker?”

“Yes!” MJ hisses, “Talk.”

“Ok, so, I was talking to Liz about the weirdo party her sister went to last year. She got the same packages throughout the week! Monday, she got the invite, Tuesday she got flowers, Wednesday she got a dress, shoes, and a masquerade mask, and Thursday she got—“

“A book of poems,” you breathe, the sound low and airy, “By Edgar Allan Poe.”

“Exa-Exactly.” Peter stutters.

It’s delicate, this book— the pages. You thumb through them gently, smelling the authenticity of it— the rarity. It’s been kept in pristine condition but it still looks old, the pages a dull brown; crisp and brittle to the touch. Your heart thumps against your chest as the hair on the back of your neck stands on end. Your throat constricts as you swallow hard, nerves filling your body.

“Which one is it?” Peter asks softly, the weight of this affecting him through the phone.

“Tamerlane and other poems.” You recite as you close the small book and run your fingers over the front cover.

MJ scrambles to her feet and scurries around you, her eyes plastered on your computer monitor as she starts to type.

Peter clears his throat, “Liz’s sister got a copy of Al Aaraaf. It was like, a first edition or something.”

“Fuck,” the obscenity falls from MJ’s lips with ease, but with a gentle discomfort, “This says there’s less than twelve copies of this in existence— twelve. I mean, how do you even get your hands on something like this?”

You can’t even speak. You just sit there, feeling the small book in your hands, staring blankly at the cover. Peter and MJ start to bicker back and forth as they try to make heads and tails of all of this. You aren’t taken by the book exactly, yeah, you're holding one of maybe twelve copies left in the entire world, but there’s something else gnawing at you in the pit of your stomach— something that’s been just at the tip of your subconscious all week long.

It’s like—

“Was Liz’s sister into Edgar Allan Poe?” You ask suddenly.

“Not at all,” Peter answers quickly, “She thought it was weird.”

“And the dress and the shoes? Did they um,” you blink up at MJ but avert your eyes just as quickly, “They didn’t fit, did they?”

There’s silence from Peter. You can almost see him, standing there in the middle of the college campus with a dumbfounded look on his face— his fingers threading through his hair, his mouth hanging open, eyes wide, “No,” he answers after a slow minute or two, “They were too small.” He goes quiet again before he says, “How did you know that?”

The feeling that’s been gnawing at you all week. You’ve felt like someone’s been looking for you. There’s been this… pull— somewhere deep inside of you— like someone is calling for you.

What scares you is that you want to answer.

“Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting,” MJ recites slowly.

“Dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before,” you finish for her, “I used to read that to you when you were a kid.”

“He’s your favorite.”

“My absolute favorite,” you laugh nervously, “I wrote my thesis on Al Aaraaf when I was in school.” You fall back into your chair, “That dress fit me like a glove, MJ—  the shoes too.”

She shakes her head quickly, her eyes closed as she slowly comes to the realization that you are. She runs her thin fingers through her wavy hair before she rests her hands on her shoulders, squeezing to comfort herself, “Do you think it’s—”

You shrug, “It could be.”

MJ drops her eyes from yours.

“What’s happening?” Peter’s voice sounds again, “What— what do you mean? Who do you think it is?”

“I’m adopted,” you say slowly, a soft smile on your face as you keep your eyes on MJ, “I was two, maybe three when they took me from my mom. I was placed with our parents, MJ’s biological parents, really quickly— I don’t remember a whole lot, but I remember someone reading Edgar Allan Poe to me, specifically Tamerlane.”

“Fuck,” Peter breathes, “You think it’s her? Your mom?”

You glance towards the floor, a small card catching your eye. You pick it up gingerly and turn it over, your eyes scanning over the handwritten note.

For passionate love is still divine

I lov’d her as an angel might

With ray of the all living light

Which blazes upon Edis’ shrine

See you tomorrow, love — H.R.D.

You drag your eyes back up to MJ’s as you pull your bottom lip between your teeth, “It’s definitely someone that knows her.”

FRIDAY

You don’t go into work.

Peter and MJ have been at your apartment all day, helping you piece this crazy story all together. Liz’s sister, Shuri’s sister— they were all you. Same age, all of you born within days of each other. All born at the same hospital. All adopted around the same age.

Someone is looking for you; and has been for years.

You and MJ are now on opposite sides about this party than you were at the beginning of the week. You want to go. You need to; especially if it’ll lead you to your mother. MJ voiced her newfound concerns, to the point where she shed a few tears— but, being the big sister you are, you brushed them away and explained it as best you could. You just need to know if she’s out there—  what these people, S.R.G., J.B.B., A.S.B., H.R.D. know about her.

So, she helps you get ready. She curls your hair and pins it up. She paints your nails and helps you into the dress before she leans against the door jam of the bathroom, watching you do your makeup— just like she used to when you were a teenager. Peter knocks on the bedroom door before he barely opens it and shoves his arm inside, an envelope hanging off his finger tips.

“Hey guys,” he says softly, “This just came.”

“You want me to read it?” MJ asks, tapping it against her fingers. When you nod, she tears the flap and slides out the card, “A chariot will await you at 7:30 sharp… but please take your time. S.T.W.”

“What time is it?”

She glances at her phone, “7:25.”

You let out a shaky breath. You lean into the mirror and dab at your lips, removing any excess lipstick before you push back again and drag your eyes down your reflection.

“You know,” you start, keeping your eyes on your painted nails, “I don’t remember my mom at all. Not her face, not her voice, but I remember a man— my dad, I guess.” You blink back towards your reflection, squinting your eyes as the gears turn in your head, “I just remember blonde hair and a deep voice reading those poems to me. I remember feeling safe when he held me.”

MJ drops her eyes and nods slowly as she rakes her fingernails up and down her forearm, “I get why you wanna go. I do.”

“I just need to make these fragments make sense, you know? I remember these other guys too— which,” you shrug, “Would make sense since mom said that my real mom lived in a commune, but,” your words drift off.

“Remember when you thought Steve Rogers was your dad?”

You laugh wholeheartedly, “I do! I just always felt like I knew him, I don’t know why.”

You still do— feel like you know him.

“So, yeah. I get it, I really do. It’s gotta be hard not knowing where you come from— thinking that every stranger you meet, or every person you see could possibly be someone you used to know.” MJ sighs as she meets your gaze through the mirror, “You look great. You always look great.”

“Thanks, sissy.” You bunch your dress in your hand and lift it gently as you step towards her, “I’ll be fine.”

She nods quickly, pursing her lips as she cuts her eyes away from yours, “I know that.”

You smile and tilt your head towards her gaze to grab her attention again, “I’m your big sister, you know. I can handle myself.”

“I know you can, I just—” she shrugs, “I don’t want you to forget me.”

“MJ,” you start, grabbing her elbow when her chin quivers, “This has nothing to do with you or mom or dad. I love you guys, you’re my family, that will never change. I promise you, okay?” you pull her into a tight hug, rubbing her back, “You will always be my sister— no one will ever take that away from us.”

“Guys,” Peter calls, “A red Audi just pulled up out front, like, an expensive one.”

“Your chariot awaits.” MJ laughs as she pulls away from you, wiping the wetness on her cheeks away.

You thread your fingers with hers and walk out into the living room where Peter smiles softly. You hug him too— he’s the best thing that could have ever happened to your sister.

“You guys are staying here for the night, right?” you ask, grabbing your clutch.

“We’re not leaving until you come back.” MJ answers.

“Okay. I’ll um, I’ll stay in touch throughout the night, okay?”

MJ nods, “We’ll stay by our phones.”

You head for the front door, opening it quickly before you step out into the hallway, “Don’t have sex in my bed,” you say suddenly, whipping back around to face the couple, “Please.”

“Oh my god,” Peter scoffs, rolling his eyes as a red tint flushes through his face, “We won’t.”

“Yeah, we’ll have sex on the couch.” Your shoulders slump as you squint at MJ, her laughter rolling off her tongue, “Just joking. Have fun, please text us.”

“I will. I love you.”

“I love you too. Be careful.”

You have to turn away from them abruptly or you’d never leave. Grasping your phone and the small clutch you borrowed from MJ, and your crystal mask in your hands, you head for the elevator. It’s a slow ride down to the main floor— silent too. Nothing but the sound of your racing thoughts bouncing back and forth in your mind. The metal box slows to a stop, a soft ding fills the air, and then the world slides back into view— a sleek, red Audi visible through the glass front doors.

A man steps out of the driver seat as you walk towards the door and push through, tightening your grip on your dress. He moves around the car, stopping just at the back door. You notice his eyes dip to your chest and you can’t help but follow his gaze. The flower shaped brooch catches the artificial light of the street lights and each little diamond starts to glint and gleam, even the pearls taking on a new shine.

The driver smiles softly, “The invitation you received was handwritten in an Old English font. The initials at the bottom?”

A test.

“Oh, um, S.G.R.”

“Those flowers you received on Tuesday were beautiful—  white carnations, right?”

You shake your head, “Pink roses.”

“I read a poem the other day, I can’t remember what it was called though. It went something like ‘know thou the secret of a spirit bow’d from its wild pride into shame’…”

“O! Yearning heart! I did inherit thy withering portion with the fame, the searing glory which hath shone amid the Jewels of my throne, Halo of Hell! And with a pain not hell shall make me fear again— o craving heart, for the lost flowers and sunshine of my summer hours,” you smile gently, “Tamerlane— the name of the poem.”

He opens the door and holds out his white, gloved hand to you.

-

1543 Asher Lane is lit up like Rockefeller Center during Christmas. Your mouth drops open as you pull up out front, every window glowing with a warm light. The front doors are thrown open with seemingly hundreds of people moving about inside. The driver opens your door and holds out his hand for you, prompting you to slide your palm into his. He keeps a firm grip on your fingers as you step out, and then helps you up the long front steps.

He only releases your hand when you reach the front door, bowing gently before he skips back down the stairs and towards the car. Your heart drums in your ears as you place your crystal, half face mask on your face and adjust it gently before you drop your hand to the necklace nestled in your cleavage. You play with the large yellow diamond as you step inside, your eyes going wide as the lively noise of a full blown party suddenly fills your ears.

An orchestra plays in the middle of the large, open foyer, the sounds bouncing off the walls and rising up into the tall ceiling. Twenty or thirty couples dance to the upbeat tune and you’d swear you’d just stepped into the 1800s. All the men that move about are dressed in black tuxedos, the only distinction between them all being their different masks. The women twirl in their Venetian ball gowns, their jewelry and intricate, flamboyant masks glinting underneath the light.

There’s double staircases winding up walls, leading up to the second floor, more people laughing and talking intimately on them. Waiters in white suits, black ties and white gloves move seamlessly about, slipping in between the bodies with plates of champagne and finger foods— each one bending forward politely and placing their free hand behind their back as party goers pluck the goodies off their silver serving plates.  

The floors are made of marble. A large, ornate chandelier hangs from the high ceiling, spilling a warm, almost golden light over everything and everyone.

“Champagne, ma’am?”

You snap your head towards the voice as it breaks you from your trance, “Thank you,” you smile as you take the thin champagne flute from his tray.

Just as quickly as he arrived, the waiter is gone again, leaving you to admire the scene before you. You take a sip of the bubbly liquid and pull out your phone, taking a quick picture and sending it to MJ with a short message. You’ve barely tucked it away when another voice sounds at your side.

“Would you care to dance?”

You turn towards the calm, deep voice, your lips parting as your eyes bounce between two crystal blue eyes. Blonde hair is swept back neatly, a strong, smooth chin and jawline visible underneath his silver, laser cut Venetian mask. He’s tall— towering almost, his chest and shoulders wide and broad. You’re taken by him almost immediately. You nod quickly, blinking a few times as he takes your champagne flute from you and hands it to a nearby server before he takes your hand and leads you into the middle of the floor.

You gasp as he sweeps you up in his arms, resting his large hand on the small of your back and pulls you into his hard body. You can’t help but stare up at him as he starts to twirl you around the floor, taking complete control of your steps. A laugh bubbles up from your chest as he spins you away from him, extending his long arm until just your fingertips are touching, and then pulls you back into his chest.

He’s a confident man— you can tell by the way he spins you around the dance floor. Even as the tempo of the music changes, from upbeat and fun, to slow and somewhat sad, he stays right in rhythm. You’ve always been a sucker for a man that can dance.

A slow smile creeps onto your face as your eyes bounce back and forth between his while the orchestra plays, “What is this song?” you ask suddenly, breaking the ice between the two of you.

“Sicilienne in E flat major, do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful.” You laugh a little, turning your head to watch the young cellist, “He’s so young, is he local?”

“He isn’t, no. That’s Sheku Kanneh-Mason of Britain, you may—”

You snap your head back towards him, “He played at the Royal Wedding! Oh my god!”

He chuckles as he gently tightens his hold around your waist, “The very one.”

You turn your head to watch the young man as he plays, completely in awe of his raw talent and bask in it, knowing you’ll never be in such company again, “My God, this is incredible. I have no idea what I’m doing here.” You laugh.

“Well, you were invited, yes?”

“Yeah but I—” you stop yourself, shaking your head gently before you smile again, “I had a crazy thought about this party. I thought someone from my past was trying to reach out to me.” He tilts his head a little, his eyes scanning your face. You laugh again, “Don’t mind me, I’m just imagining things apparently.”

“Someone from your past?” He nudges gently.

You’re not sure if it's the champagne you’ve been sipping all evening, or just because for some reason you feel like you’ve known this man your whole life, but you start to spill your guts, “I thought, God, this is going to sound stupid. I thought my mom, or someone who knew my mom was trying to reach out to me through this party, which sounds insane now that I think about it. I was adopted, so,” you shrug, “I dunno, I was kinda hoping that she’d be here or that someone could get me in touch with her. Sounds crazy, right?”

He spins you again, this time slow, his eyes dragging down your body. He pulls you back into him and you rest your hand on his chest as you watch the orchestra, a soft smile on your face, “You are young yet, my friend, but the time will arrive when you will learn to judge for yourself of what is going on in the world, without trusting to the gossip of others,” you recite, “Believe nothing you hear and only one half that you see.”

His steps hitch ever so lightly.

You turn back to face him, blinking up at him as another smile spreads on your lips, “I didn’t catch your name?”

He blinks at you, something new in his eyes— something like relief? You can’t tell. His lips part and he takes a breath, trying but failing to get his mouth to move, “I’m sorry,” he finally says, laughing gently as he shakes his head, “Um, I’m Steven— Steve. Um, Edgar Allan Poe?”

“Yeah, sorry,” you laugh, “He’s one of my favorite poets. That last line just kind of describes my thoughts over the past few days is all.”

“It’s strange for a young girl like yourself to be an Edgar Allan Poe aficionado.”

You shrug again, nodding, “I know. I just, I’ve always had an affinity for him, it’s one of the few memories of my father that I have. He used to read Poe’s poems to me as a child.”

He stops dancing abruptly, “May you excuse me? I’m sorry, I have to um, I have to go see someone very quickly. I’ll be right back.”

Before you can even answer, he brushes past you, dipping in and out of the people still filling the dance floor. You blink in confusion, watching as he jogs up the stairs and stops at the very top step, leaning into a dark haired man. They both turn in your direction after a few minutes, catching your eye before they turn back to one another, the dark haired man grabbing Steven’s arm in… surprise, maybe?

They break apart seconds later, Steven jogging back down the stairs, the dark haired man walking briskly along the long catwalk, stopping only to tap three other men on the back before they too follow quickly behind him and disappear. You grab another champagne glass from a waiter and take a gulp as heat flushes through you— nerves suddenly racking your body.

You keep your eyes on Steve as he pushes through the people again, making a line straight towards you. Tilting your head back, you finish off the rest of your glass as he approaches you again, “I’m sorry,” he smiles, “That was rude of me.”

“Oh, it’s, it’s no problem,” you laugh nervously, clearing your throat as you glance around the crowded room.

He holds out his hand to you, “Would you come with me? Please?”

You shake your head as fear strikes you, “Oh, you know, I actually have to get going, I—”

“I know your mother,” your eyes widen at his words, stopping you dead in your tracks, “And your father. Please, come with me.”

You aren’t crazy.

Someone is really trying to contact you.

You grab his hand and let him pull you through the crowd and towards the stairs. He steps aside and lets you lead, placing his hands on your waist as the two of you move up the long staircase. Once you reach the top, he grabs your hand again and pulls you along the catwalk until you disappear down the hallway. You pass by a series of doors before you stop at the last one, Steve stopping to knock.

The door pops open seconds later and Steve steps aside again, dropping your hand to hold his out towards the door. You remove your mask and sweep your hair out of your face as your mouth falls open, your eyes wide as you stare at Steve.

“It’s okay,” he reassures, his voice soft and calm.

You take a step, and then another, your heart beating hard and fast, goosebumps popping up on your skin. You step into the room but stop dead in your tracks as the air is sucked right out of your body. Four men sit at a long, antique, baroque style table. Their hands are placed flat on the dark marble top, heads bowed. The room is dark except for the flickering candles that sit in their ornate holders in the middle of the table, the light accentuating the mens’ black and gold scaramouche masks.

Fear rolls through you in waves, your breaths shaky and heavy as it falls from your lips. The door clicks behind you and you feel a hand on the small of your back again, another one on your elbow, “It’s alright darling,” he whispers in your ear, “I’ll help you to your seat, okay?”

“Steve,” your voice trembling, “I don’t, I don’t understand, I—”

“It’s alright, I promise you. We are not going to hurt you. That goes against everything we stand for. Come.”

You blink wildly at the men at the table as Steve pushes you past them slowly. They don’t flinch— no one makes a move to glance up at you or even breathe harder than what they already are. You were so busy staring at the men occupying four of the five chairs at the table, that you didn’t even notice the hand carved chair sitting against the wall at the back of the room.

The frame is golden, the upholstery teal in color and covered with floral embroidery, the back designed with a diamond tuft. It sits up a little higher than the table— propped up on a small, hand built stage with three steps leading up to it. Steve helps you up the small steps, keeping your hand in his until you’re seated.

As soon as you're settled, the four seated men pull a candle from the center of the table and place it right in front of them. The golden flames dance at the tips of the long, white candles, casting shadows over the dark walls.

“You may begin.”

You snap your head towards Steve as he speaks, your mouth hanging open, your eyes wide, breath shaky. The dark haired man that Steve first spoke to stands, his chair scuffing against the floor as he pushes away from the table. He grasps the candle holder in both hands as he approaches you slowly, his eyes cast down towards the floor.

Your breath quickens as he nears you. You squeeze Steve’s hand as you push back into the chair, starting to draw your feet up as he kneels before you, “Wait, wait, wait, wait! What are you—”

“It’s okay, darling.” Steve purrs, his thumb sweeping over the back of your hands, “It’s okay. He’s not going to hurt you. Just relax.”

A hot tear streaks down your cheek as your whimper, your chin trembling as you push a hard, focused breath out of your mouth. The man in front of you mumbles something— in French you think, but you aren’t sure— before he reaches into his pocket. Your breath hitches in your throat as he starts to sprinkle rose petals at your feet, chanting as he does.

You feel his fingers brush over your exposed toes before he lifts your right foot and slips off your gold shoe— tracing a cross with the tip of his finger on the top of your foot. He repeats his actions to the left and stands, keeping his head down as he makes a cross over his face and chest and then turns and returns to his seat.

The next man stands, a thick beard covering his chin, his candle in hand as he approaches you, never making eye contact. Instead of rose petals, he lays money at your feet— a single dollar bill— before he traces the cross into your skin while he speaks in French.

The third man is clean shaven, like Steve, but his hair dark— some falling over his mask and onto his forehead. He leaves a handful of herbs and one white egg at your feet before sweeping his fingertips over your toes and branding each foot with an imaginary cross.

The fourth man that kneels before you repeats everything to a T. He’s tall, his skin a deep, smooth walnut brown. He leaves behind a handful of wheat grain and what looks like raw sugarcane before he blesses your feet and rises again. He taps his forehead and chest before each shoulder and moves away, retaking his seat at the table.

Tears still trickle down your cheeks as you blink furiously— your stomach churning, your palms clammy. You snap your eyes towards Steve as he finally releases your hand and grabs a bowl from the small table tucked into the corner of the room. He steps in front of you and kneels, setting the hand painted bowl at your feet. He lifts your feet gently, placing them in the bowl with care, massaging your ankles and lower calves to calm you.

It works— your voice trembles as you push out a gentle hum, focusing on his hands on your skin. He starts to speak in French, his voice low and calm, much like most of the evening. He pulls a small flask out of his jacket pocket and pops the lid before he pours the unusually cool liquid over your feet. You flinch instinctively but focus again on his soft hands, kneading your feet as he washes them.

Steve pulls the white silk pocket square from his suit jacket and dabs at your feet, wiping away the moisture. He traces a cross on the tops of your feet before standing again and cups your face with his hands. You’re drawn into him— resting your forehead to his as he continues to chant, his lips so close they brush against yours as he speaks.

“Bless this missing child,” he whispers, the only part of his chant in english, “She is home at last.”

As soon as the words leave his lips, every burning candle is suddenly extinguished by some force now filling the room. You blink in the darkness, your breath quickening as you grab Steve’s forearms.

“Shhh, shhh, shhhh,” he coos, stroking your bottom lip with his thumbs, “It’s alright. I’ve got you.”

The room is full— so full of energy; power. It whips around you, electrifying your skin and blood, rattling your bones. It’s foreign— anomalous— but yet feels so comforting and warm. Like love. Like you're surrounded by family. You loosen your grip on Steve’s forearms as the fear drains from your body, a voice— a soft whisper in your ears. A voice you’ve never heard before but have somehow heard your whole life. It’s a language you don’t understand, but yet you know exactly what it’s saying.

Your eyes pop open suddenly and the room is washed in a warm light as the candles are suddenly lit again. Steve smiles at you softly as your eyes, now full of wonder and a new sacred knowledge, bounce back and forth between his deep blues. There’s a new electricity between the two of you, something unspoken, but written in the stars all the same.

The blood in your veins rushes hard, the sound of your thumping heart beating in your ears as goosebumps pop up over your skin again. Your stomach tightens as the molten of your ardor starts to pool and spread through your body, blazing a quick path. Steve’s thumbs still sweep over your lips, underneath your eyes, over your nose as you hold loosely onto his wrists. You grab your bottom lip between your teeth and let your eyes fall to his mouth before you inhale sharply— soft and pink, his lips.

His large palms spread warmth through your face, his thumbs still circling— still pushing along your smooth skin. Blue eyes dart around your face, continually meeting your deep brown eyes before dipping to your expectant lips. He pushes closer— so close that his pillowy lips rest against yours, but he doesn’t rush it— doesn’t press any harder.

He leaves it all up to you.

The energy is back in the room, swirling, filling you up with the power and presence with each breath you take. You press your lips to his as the sweet sirens start to whisper to you again. A moan slips from your mouth and into Steve’s, where he gobbles it up, exchanging a deep, pleased groan of his own.  

His lips start to travel, moving down to your chin and jaw. He nuzzles into the soft, warm crook of your neck where he sucks lightly— his velvet tongue sneaking out and slipping along your skin. You push your chest into his as your back straightens, a gasp filling your lungs with the sweet air that surrounds you.

The emotion takes over in the heat of the moment— the fire of his lips and hands setting you a flame. Your leg hooks around his waist as you curl your fingers over his broad shoulders, digging your black painted nails into his shoulder blades. His teeth nip at your taut flesh and you lurch forward, your head tilting towards the ceiling as a choked moan strains in your throat.

You feel his deft fingertips on your naked calf, slipping along the length— over and around your knee, up your thigh— where he kneads and gropes, pulling heavier, louder sounds from you as his lips caress your flesh. A shiver rolls down your spine when his thick digits brush over your sticky panties. He doesn’t shy away, he sweeps the pads of his fingers over you again and again, finding a sweet little rhythm as he applies a gentle pressure.

Hips roll. Chests swell. Grips tighten as your head rolls back. Your mouth falls open as you drag in a breath, pushing it out with a husky groan. Your teeth grab your bottom lip again as you slide your hand around his wide back, hooking your arm around his neck. Humming, you open your eyes, blinking slowly back at four sets of hungry eyes trained on you and Steve. You inhale again, letting your lips part as you link eyes with each man at the table.

The men sit stark still— not moving a muscle as the flame from the candles light your bodies. Shadows dance across their masked faces as they watch in silence, but you can feel each and every one of them. Each energy is slightly different but acutely masculine, acutely tuned into you.

You don’t mind them watching. The scene salacious— vulgar.

Wrapped up in two large, muscly arms, you’re hoisted from the chair as Steve grabs your lips again with his own. He walks you to the table and sits you on the edge, right between two of the four men occupying it. The marble top is cool to the touch as he helps you up onto your feet, holding the tips of your fingers with his hand. He leads you into the center of the table, five heads all tilted up towards you as you stand there, the bottom of your dress dragging behind you as you move.

You feel like a princess with all of their eyes on you, hanging on to your every move, drinking in every inch of you. You twirl— a giggle falling from your lips before you sink down to your knees, peeking over your shoulder at the only brown eyed man in the room. You place your thin fingers over your lips, playing with them gently as you bat your eyes at him and sweep your hair over your shoulder— exposing the zipper of your dress.

He obliges without hesitation. Standing to his feet, he reaches for you— a warm hand on your bare shoulder, another grasping the zipper. You nuzzle your chin and cheek against his long fingers before brushing your lips over them quickly. His warm brown skin melts into yours as he pulls on your zipper, exposing more and more of your naked back as he goes.

The soft smile on your face grows wider as he centers his large palm in the middle of your back. Warm skin to warm skin. His eyes are ablaze— dark, blown pupils against a lighter brown iris— set dead on you as his lips part, showing off a distinctive gap in his teeth as his fingers whisk across your back and shoulder.

You turn to face him, still kneeling in the center of the table, and reach for his mask— pulling gently on the black tie until the bow falls away. He lets you remove it from him, a soft smile playing on his lips as you reveal the handsome face underneath.

“Samuel Thomas Wilson,” Steve offers softly.

Samuel tips his head towards you as you run the tips of your fingers along his softly bearded jaw, “S.T.W.” you say easy, recalling the last of your calling cards, “Hi Sam.”

You lean forward and place your lips on his— one gentle, chaste kiss before you break away from him with a soft smack.

You follow Steve with your eyes as he moves to the man seated next to Sam. Steve places his hand on his shoulder, “Andrew Stephen Barber.”

You bat your eyes at Andrew as he stands and takes your hand, bringing the backs of your fingers to his lips, “Andy.” He supplies as he removes his mask and sits it gently on the table.

“A.S.B., thank you for the dress.”

His presence is calm— gentle, matching the softness of his beard and dark hair. You press your free hand into the halter top of your dress to keep it from falling, but all the modesty you once had is evaporating quickly. You feel like you’ve known them all forever.

The next pair of blue eyes bring a forceful energy, one of entitlement and defiance. Before Steve can get his name out, he’s standing, his mask in his hand revealing his boyish, clean face, “Hugh Ransom Drysdale.” He winks at you suggestively, “Ransom.”

He wraps his long arm around your waist and pulls you close, crashing his lips to yours in a fury. You giggle against him before accepting his velvety tongue into your mouth, letting it sweep along your bottom lip and then slide along yours. Steve taps his shoulder and after a beat… or two, Ransom releases you from his grip, a smirk on his face, a twinkle in his eye.

You turn to the fourth man— the dark haired man that Steve initially spoke to on the stairs. He’s standing, with Steve behind him, the tips of his fingers resting on the edge of the long table. He’s the only one wearing gloves. His breathing is controlled, his eyes set on you as you inch towards him, sitting up on your knees in front of him.

You walk your fingers up his chest seductively, your teeth digging into your bottom lip as you smile at him, “You must be J.B.B.”

He tilts his head, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, “I could be S.G.R.”

“While the guy named Steven stands behind you?” you squint playfully, reaching for his mask.

He grabs your wrist with his left hand, making you gasp. It’s a firm grip, but it excites something deep in you. You drop your hands into your lap, flattening them on your thighs as you take a deep breath and push it out of your nose. He glances over his shoulder at Steve, who nods just once before he turns back to face you and starts to pull at the fingers of his gloves. He removes the right hand first, tucking the black glove into his pocket before he starts on the left, pulling slowly— finger by finger.

Your mouth drops open as he pulls the nylon material away, your eyes going wide as he stretches out his digits, the candle light glinting off of the dark metal. The breath in your throat hitches as you watch him reach for his mask and untie it, pulling it away from his face to reveal a familiar one.

J.B.B.

James Buchanan Barnes.

So that means—

You blink towards Steve, whose mask is now off and sitting on the table. He rests his hand on Bucky’s shoulder as he exhales deeply, “James Buchanan Barnes,” he then points at himself, “Steven Grant Rogers.”

You blink rapidly— completely dumbfounded as the two super soldiers stand before you. Bucky takes your hand, brushing his lips over your fingers before he pops them into his mouth, sucking gently on your digits as he flicks his eyes back up to yours. Your stomach tightens. A hum accompanies the breath that vibrates through your chest as he drags his left hand up and down your arm.

Steve cups your cheek and turns your head towards him before he traces your jaw and chin with his index finger, “We’re gonna take care of you baby girl,” he whispers as he places his fingertips on your forehead and brushes them down your face, “We’ve searched for you for so long.”

You believe him— you don’t know what he’s talking about, but you believe every word.

You push in and kiss Bucky, wrapping your hand around the back of his neck and squeeze gently before you turn towards Steve, pulling him into another deep kiss, “Get this dress off of me.” You whisper.

Hands— so many hands, each pair distinctively different, are on your body within seconds, tugging and pulling at the heavy dress until you’re free of it. The only piece of clothing left on you is your thin thong as you lay back on the table, your hands over your bare breasts, covering them. You gaze up at the five men peering at you, their eyes wide and hungry.

Steve slips his hand down your sternum, the pads of his fingers sliding down your stomach to your hips, where he traces the thin band of your underwear— his touch making you raise your hips from the table. Sam drags his thumb along your chin and bottom lip before he pushes the tip just inside your all too eager mouth. You suck gently, running your tongue the length of his digit as Ransom pries your hands away from your breasts.

You moan softly, arching your back into Ransom’s hands as he starts to tweak your taut nipples, rolling them both between his fingers before he leans down and sucks your right breast into his mouth. Hands grab your thighs, kneading your flesh and pull them apart as Andy licks into your mouth, his tongue massaging the roof as he holds your chin.

The energy is back in the room— the power swirling as the men start to devour you. There’s tongues over your toes, hands on your tight nipples and abundant breasts, lips on your shoulders and neck. Fingernails scrape against your skin as they slink underneath the band of your panties, pulling them down your thighs and calves before they slide over your ankle and are discarded to the floor.

You feel the warm metal and flesh hand of Bucky around your ankles, drawing your legs up so they’re bent at the knee. He crawls onto the table, his heavy blue eyes drinking you in as he lets his metal fingers dance up and down the inside of your thigh. You start to shiver at his touch— your back arching away from the table as you gasp and hiss from the hands and mouths and tongues all over you.

Bucky sinks down— low, onto his belly— his eyes still trained on yours as he wraps his arms around your thighs. He starts to blow warm air against your sticky, hot sex, his eyes finally dipping away from yours and to your lower half as your hips jerk and whine. His metal fingers push through your folds gently, rubbing the sensitive nub at the center of you, then teasing your slit and opening.

Steve presses his balmy lips right in the valley of your breasts and peppers kisses along your jiggling flesh. The tip of his tongue circles your nipples before his teeth nip and bite. You gasp loud as a metal finger, and then a second push into your cunt— a thumb pressing against your clit. Your hips jut upward as you mewl, the sound quickly being covered up by Sam’s mouth as he kisses you hard.

Bucky blinks up at you as he withdrawals his fingers and waits— waits for you to make eye contact with him before he sucks them into his mouth, wiping them clean of your slick. He moans— heavy and hard as he closes his eyes, savoring your taste.

Your hips start to roll into his hand as he dips his fingers back into you, his breath washing over your quivering thighs. Ransom tickles your right knee, then skips his hand down the inside of your thigh, where he cups your sex around Bucky’s pushing fingers. Ransom starts to rub your clit, pressing firm circles into your wet flesh as Bucky curls his fingers to massage your muscles.

Andy sinks his teeth into your side before his tongue glances out over your stomach, circling your belly button before he sucks on your skin. He presses his hand into your lower stomach to add some pressure— Sam and Steve each taking a breast into their wet mouths, their tongues swishing and swirling.

You dig a hand into Steve’s hair and cup Sam’s head as they tease your nipples, a sharp yelp bursting through your lips as Sam bites down gently. Ransom spreads your folds with his index and middle fingers and suddenly, there’s a tongue— a warm, velvety tongue flattening against your clit. You push your head up to watch as Bucky sucks on your nub, his eyes searing into yours as he releases you with a smack, and then dives back in, the tip of his tongue flirting with your opening, his fingers still pumping.

Your head and hips roll as unrestrained groans rumble through your chest and fill the room, mingling with the deep moans and growls of the five men pleasing you. The sound of a zipper bounces off the walls— your hand then grabbed and pulled to your left. You gasp at the heavy warmth that fills your palm as your fingers wrap around Sam’s length. You roll your head towards him, biting your bottom lip as you watch your hand slide up and down his impressive girth.

You grab Steve’s hip with your free hand, digging your fingers into him as you lean up, beckoning him to come closer. You kiss him hard once he’s within distance, smacking your lips against his before you sound into his mouth as Ransom slaps your pussy, the gold band around his ring finger adding a heaviness to the strikes.

Bucky kisses up your thigh, sinking his teeth into your flesh every now and again until he reaches your ankle and foot. He thumbs at your black painted nails before he pulls your toes into his mouth as he massages your calf, “These are cute, these toes.” He murmurs, a light chuckle vibrating through him.

A chorus of zips start to sound, one right after the other. Their jackets soon hit the floor, the crisp, white sleeves of their button downs are rolled up their forearms before they all descend on you again. You’re lifted from the table into Andy’s arms as Sam slides into the space you once occupied on the table, his pants riding low on his hips. Andy kisses you deeply before placing you back on your feet on the top of the table, keeping a hold of your hand as you traipse along Sam’s side.

You throw your leg over Sam’s body and sit slowly, wiggling your hips as you position yourself on his lower stomach. You reach back, dragging your fingers through the curly patch of hair covering his lower half, tickling his skin. You slip your fingers into his unzipped pants and pull him free, stroking and squeezing him slowly before you swipe your fingers over his wet tip.

Two strong hands grip your waist— Ransom— as you slip your hand down to Sam’s base and lift upward, guiding him towards your entrance. Ransom holds you steady as you sit down on Sam, your cunt swallowing every delicious inch of Sam’s cock until he’s completely disappeared. You lean forward, splaying your fingers out on his wide, thick chest as he grabs hold of your thighs. You pull up, hissing as his cock slides out of the tight grasp of your pussy and then sit back down, moaning as he fills you again.

Ransom slips his hand up your spine and wraps his fingers over your shoulder as you start a slow rhythm, up and down, up and down, up and down. Your hips roll as Sam starts to buck his hips up into you, each stroke a little harder, a little sharper than the one before it. There’s a chest to your back and then teeth nibbling at your earlobe as you lean back into the body and rest your head on a shoulder. Ransom’s mouth then covers yours as he wraps his arm around your waist, holding you tight as you ride Sam, your nails digging into his rich brown skin.

You gasp as a tongue teases your thick nipple, and then a hand closes over your left breast, squeezing and kneading gently. You slide your hand into Ransom’s hair as you watch Steve flick the tip of his tongue against your nipple before he sucks your breast into his mouth, moaning as his tongue swirls.

Andy slips his hand down your stomach and starts to work your clit, grabbing your chin with his free hand and tilting your head towards his. His head is tilted upwards, his eyes hooded as he peers down at you through his long, thick eye lashes. You whine as Sam’s pace quickens, fucking up into you hard as he grips your hips so tight you’re sure he’ll leave marks behind. Andy snarls his lip as he watches you struggle to keep your eyes open, as your hips falter, as you get louder and less restrained. He licks into your mouth before he lays a filthy kiss on you— demanding and sloppy.

Ransom squeezes your shoulder before he pushes you forward with his other hand, nearly crushing you against Sam’s chest. You shiver when you feel his cock slide through your ass cheeks, leaving a wetness behind. He pulls back and the backs of his fingers glance over your ass, deep hisses and a grunt coming from him as he strokes his cock— a drop of his cum dribbling onto your skin.

He suddenly pushes his fingers into your mouth— index, middle, and ring— wetting them with your saliva before he drags them back through your ass, the tips circling your hole. There’s a tangy taste left in your mouth, some of you, some of him, as he slaps his dick against your ass and then spreads you apart. Sam slows beneath you and then stops as he drags his large hands up and down your forearms, grabbing your hand and sucking your fingers into his warm mouth.

You slam your eyes closed, tensing as Ransom starts to push the head of his cock against your asshole. He places his hand against the center of your back, Bucky cups your face in his palms, sweeping his thumbs over your cheeks as he pecks your lips with his, singing gentle praise to help relax you.

“You can do it baby,” Bucky whispers, rubbing his nose against yours, smiling softly, “You can take him baby, I know you can. Can’t she Steve?”

Steve sinks his teeth into your shoulder, humming as he drags his red, swollen lips down your arm, “This pretty girl sure can,” he reassures, his voice smooth and low, “And it’s gonna feel so good, baby. You’re gonna feel so full, so stretched.”

You whimper loudly. You grab Bucky’s shoulder as Ransom’s dick finally breaks through your threshold. Ransom lets out a breath, the warm splashing over your back as he stills, a shuddering groan vibrating through his chest. Ransom squeezes your shoulder again, leaning forward to place sloppy kisses on your back, “More?”

Steve kisses your temple before he nuzzles into the side of your face, “You can do it sweet girl. You can take him all.”

Bucky kisses your lips again. Sam nibbles on the tips of your fingers as he nudges his hips into yours, burying deeper into you. You nod quickly— you do want more. More, more, more.

Ransom starts to push again, spreading your tight muscles as he forges, filling you right up. He doesn’t stop until he bottoms out— his stomach now pressing into your ass as he wraps his hand around the back of your neck.

“Such a good girl,” Bucky purrs as he reaches between you and Sam’s bodies, starting to play with your nub, “Such a sweet, pretty girl.”

Sam is the first to move, pressing up into you before he withdrawals slowly. Ransom counters his actions, pulling out when Sam pushes in, delving in when Sam drags out. It’s hypnotizing— the rhythm, the push and pull. Your mouth goes slack as Steve rolls your nipples in his hands, his tongue and teeth nipping and licking at your damp skin. You roll your hips, pushing back into Ransom as Sam fucks up into you as electricity flows through your veins.

“That’s it baby girl,” Bucky praises through impassioned kisses, his tongue slipping along your lips and the roof of your mouth, “Stuffed full, aren’t you sweetie?”

Your stomach tightens at the words, your heart beat pounding against your chest and in your ears as a tingle rushing up your spine. There’s a pull deep in your belly, a molten heat and the raw emotions spreading through you as your body tightens hard.  Your hips jerk as a sudden current strikes you— your cunt closing around Sam. He shudders and you feel it, feel it rumble through his chest as his own hips get desperate.

Ransom fucks your ass with fluid motions, his enormous hands and long fingers digging into the supple flesh of your waist. He grunts, hard and grainy as the warmth of your insides caress his cock. Ransom gets loud, Sam gets loud, you get whimpery— needy, almost to the point of tears as the waves roll harder and faster through you. Each stroke, each thrust, each plow of their hips driving you closer and closer to your demise.

A moan chokes in your throat as your orgasm blooms across your skin, but soon the sounds are pouring out of you. Loud, desperate, relieved as the waves finally crash. Bucky bites his bottom lip hard as his fingers slap against your jumping clit. Steve pinches your nipples as he rests his forehead against the side of your face, his hot breath sticking to your skin.

Sam drives his hips into yours once more and digs his thumbs into the creases of your thighs as his cock starts to spit, over and over again, spilling into you. Ransom fucks through it all, keeping a firm grip on your shoulder until he too comes undone in your ass. He pushes deep, deep, deep inside as he spurts, watching as your hole spasms around him.

Ransom pulls out of you as soon as he’s milked and you feel his cum bubble out of you, slipping down the inside of your thigh. You’re lifted off of Sam— brought to the edge of the table, on your hands and knees, your feet hanging over the end. A massive hand presses between your shoulder blades, forcing your chest and head down onto the cool surface as you try and catch your breath. You jump when a pair of warm lips connect where your ass ends and your thigh begins, a soft beard brushing against your skin.

Andy drags his finger up the inside of your thigh, collecting the cum that’s spilled from you and pushes two fingers into your hot cunt— your muscles still quaking, still constricting. He fingers you slowly, skimming his fingertips up and down your thigh as he pushes his digits, cramming Sam and Ransom’s cum deep.

You hum with each stroke, lunging forward softly, your nipples grazing over the marble table top as you move. You blink slowly as you lift your head, watching as Bucky climbs onto the table, spreading his legs as they slide around you. He slides his flesh hand into his pants and starts to stroke his cock— long, languid pulls as his metal fingers pull on his tight balls. You wrap your hands around his thighs, the excitement bubbling up in your chest once more as you watch him.

Andy replaces his fingers with his dick in one fell swoop. You mewl, your tits bouncing as he starts a brisk pace. The sound of his skin slapping against yours bouncing off the walls as Ransom, Sam, and Steve watch on, chests rising and falling hard as they tug their hands up and down their cocks at the sight.

You rock forward, your face inches from Bucky’s cock as he jerks himself, peering down his long body at you. Keeping your eyes on his, you push your tongue out from behind your teeth and lick at his shaft quickly before puckering your lips to kiss the thick vein running the length of him. You push your hands over his hips and up over his abs as your mouth slides over his wet, red mushroom tip.

Bucky moans deep, his back arching from the table as he pushes his hips up into your mouth, sending his cock right to the back of your throat. You pull upward as his hips sink back to the table, releasing him with a pop and smiling as his cock sways back and forth. You wrap your fingers around the base of his dick, wiggling him a little before you lower your mouth over his tip, sucking lightly as you swirl your tongue over his slit.

Your plump lips go slack around Bucky as Andy presses into a spot— sending a jolt right to your heart. Andy lets his hands roam along your back and sides as he fucks you, gripping and squeezing, groping and kneading your thick, soft flesh. He’ll push deep, and then just stay there for a few seconds, savoring the warmth, the tightness of your slick muscles before he wiggles his hips and withdrawals from you, just to plunge back in.

You release Bucky quickly to swallow the piquant spunk left on your tongue before you cram him back into your mouth. You suck on his cock head as you pump him up and down, twisting and turning your hand as you go. A muffled moan seeps from your mouth, vibrating around Bucky’s cock as you slam your eyes closed, feeling Andy’s strokes in your stomach.

The tingles are back— the pull in your belly. Your pussy tightens as the electricity within you starts to bounce around, synapses firing. Andy feels it, Bucky too, their hips pushing harder and faster. Your nails scratch at Bucky’s skin, squeezing uncontrollably as your heart beats in your ears, heat flushing your face.

Andy fucks into you good, hard and deep, sending you right over the edge once more. Your release spreads through you, warming every inch of flesh, every pore, every follicle. Andy thumbs your clit as he continues to pump his hips, fucking your right through your orgasm until your contracting muscles and slick coax his climax. Bucky erupts at nearly the same time— long, hot ribbons of his cum shooting from him, splattering on his stomach and dribbling down his cock.

There’s movement out of the corner of your eye, Steve standing from one of the chairs to grab your chin, pushing your head and face up towards him. He kisses you hard— sloppy, sucking on your bottom lip before he tongues the roof of your mouth. He pulls away, cupping your face in his hands gently as he rubs his thumbs along your cheeks, a soft smile on his lips, eyes full of affection.

“Such a good girl.” he whispers.

He pulls you into another kiss, but this time it’s softer— sweeter. Slower.

Andy pulls out of you, his hands still sweeping over your back and ass and thighs. He presses another kiss right into the creases of each cheek before he falls into a chair next to Sam. Bucky slides off of the table and sits next to Ransom, resting his head on the back of the chair and lets his mouth go slack as he lets out a breath.

Steve crawls onto the table as the four other men drag their chairs to the edges of the table, sitting up straighter once they get situated. Steve grabs your lips with his, a soft hum wavering in his throat. He separates from you but doesn’t go far— resting his forehead on yours as he nuzzles into you, rubbing the tip of his nose along the bridge of yours. He starts to guide you back, his hand behind your head, as he lays you down flat on the table, your knees drawn up, your feet flat against the cool surface.

You sweep your hands up and down your thighs in anticipation as you watch him unbutton his shirt slowly, his blue eyes wandering the length of your body as his fingers move. You push up onto your elbows, tilting your head as you blink at him when he pulls the material away from his buff torso.

Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you dip your eyes to his broad chest, his skin tanned and tight. There are faint scars littered along his skin— a few tiger stripes on his biceps and sides. His stomach is firm and flat, six perfect abs carved out, and the cutest belly button you think you’ve ever had the pleasure of seeing. You sit up, placing your hand in the middle of his chest, right in the middle of those hard pecs and watch your hand move with each breath he takes. Your fingers fall, down his sternum, over those abs, and slightly into the dark blonde patch of hair that peeks out of his open pants.

You draw your bottom lip into your mouth and send your eyes up to his as your hand digs deeper— your dainty fingers wrapping around his hard, hot cock. His chest tightens at your touch. You inch your body closer to his, throwing your legs open and around either side of his body as you start to pump him slowly. You draw your hand up his shaft, sweeping your palm over his sensitive, weeping tip before you push back down, squeezing him gently— feeling him.

His breathing gets deeper, his chest and stomach constricting, his lips parting and quivering ever so lightly as you massage him. All five pairs of eyes are on you— unwavering, barely blinking as they consume you and only you. The power swells in your chest. You feel like a goddamn queen. Captivating. Strong.

You pull him free of his dark slacks and have to take a breath at the sight of him. He’s gorgeous. Thick and long, his tip shiny and wet and red— eager— his dick jumping every now and again as cum dribbles out of his slit. You sweep the pads of your fingers over the tip again, collecting the warm, cloudy spunk and push it down his shaft, along the thick vein that runs down him, wetting every inch of him.

He pulls you into his lap in one swift move, like you’re absolutely weightless. His cock settles against your pussy and clit, resting against your stomach as he wraps his arm around your back and waist. You instantly start to roll your hips, sliding your skin along his dick— coping a feel— letting it radiate through you.

The current in the room picks up. The flames of the candles start to flicker as if there’s a strong breeze that threatens to extinguish them. You push up with the help of Steve’s strength, your mouth hanging open as you guide him towards your entrance. You push his flesh through your folds, teasing yourself a little before you align him with you, starting to sink your hips down.

You dig your fingertips into his shoulders, let your head fall back as he opens you up inch by inch. A growl scratches at the back of your throat when you feel his hot lips on your neck, peppering kisses, tongue lapping, teeth nipping as you take him. The candles flicker hard as Steve bottoms out in you— hip to hip; flesh to flesh.

Throwing an arm around his neck, you really start to move, pulling up on that towering dick before sinking back down on it. Your tits bounce as your hips roll, a delicious burn starting to spread through your thighs. Steve’s hips fuck into yours, meeting you halfway as you crash down. There’s hands on you again— on your shoulders and arms, on your thighs, wrapping around your ankles— Andy, Ransom, Sam, and Bucky— grabbing, kneading, gripping, groping.

The electricity in the room bounces off the walls, energizing you, drawing you into Steve more and more with each passing second. The wind even kicks up outside, slamming against the sprawling house, shaking the lush trees. The warm moonlight cascades into the room and over your bodies as you fuck Steve unmercifully on top of the old table. You gasp and moan and pant— the sounds bitten off, choked, and heavy as your pussy constricts around him.

He appeases each whim of your hips, driving into you deep and hard, taking control when your hips jerk and shudder. He encourages you— they all do— sweet, tiny whispers, filthy, low declamations. Their voices rattle your brain and your bones as the candle light trembles again.

You’re slamming into each other, Steve bottoming out with each thrust. Your stomach is tight, your body warm and prickly, your clit stinging as another orgasm looms in the distance. Steve’s hips are rolling and pushing, his fingernails scratching your skin as he rakes them down your naked back. There’s teeth on your shoulders and neck, lips over your nipples, fingers prodding against your clit until you come undone, shouting and pleading to every God you know.

A sudden burst of warmth explodes inside of you— Steve’s strangled groans growing loud as he comes. Your face breaks with passion, tears threatening to spill as ungodly, high-pitched sounds spill from your lips. You’re all shrouded in darkness. The candle light whipped away, suddenly extinguished by the invisible forces in the room.

The candles relight again out of nowhere as you collapse against Steve as your body finally gives out after the thorough fuck session. You’re heavy and limp, air rushing out of your mouth, sticking to his damp, humid skin. You can’t even keep your eyes open. You hum intermittently as their hands brush over your skin before they pull you away from him, laying you back down on the table.

Their voices ring out, all in sink, chanting again in French. Sam sprinkles your body with the flask, from your head to your toes— Steve traces a cross on your chest. They all flatten your hands on you as their chorus finishes, and you hear the soft voices again. They’re warm and happy, the feminine voices, as the love— the familial undercurrent— fills the room again.

You’re lifted into arms, pressed against a chest before one of their discarded jackets is thrown over your shoulders. Your head is foggy, thoughts slow as someone carries you out of the room. You feel their protection, the fierce safeguard of you as suddenly you’re the center of attention. It feels as if hundreds of eyes are on you— because there are as they walk you right through the center of the party.

“Our missing child is home.” Steve announces, smiling softly down on you, sweeping his large hand over your forehead, “The family is complete once more.”

An exuberant applause erupts.

You’re moving again, slowly the eyes on you disappearing as the fivesome moves you through the house. A door clicks, the sound of the bottom of it sweeping across the carpet filling your ears. A warmth surrounds you as you’re laid down onto a bed, a large, full comforter covering your naked body. You squirm, your head rolling against the pillow as you murmur and whimper.

“Shh shh shh, little one,” Sam purrs, stroking your face with his thick fingers, “You’re safe.”

“We’re all here sweet girl. Just rest.” Andy says calmly, brushing his lips over the backs of your fingers.

Naked bodies surround you— cram you right in the middle of them. Arms and legs are thrown over you, fingers thread with yours, lips and beards glance over your skin as they whisper and blether. You roll into a body, you’re not even sure who’s, and you hold onto them tight, letting the sleep seep in, letting it pull you away into the deep.

SATURDAY

There’s an intrusive light burning into your face. You shift, rolling your head away from it before rolling your entire body over onto your side. You stretch your arms out and sigh slowly, wanting nothing more than to melt back into the soft, deep slumber that had been disturbed— but your brain has other plans. It slowly starts to awaken, the fog lifting, memories and visions of the night before playing before your eyes. Hands on your skin, lips locked on yours, eyes following your every move.

You spring upwards.

Your eyes pop open as you inhale sharply. You snap your head to the right and then the left before you scan the room, finding it completely empty. You turn back towards the windows, squinting and blinking as the sun belts into the room, the light spilling over the floor and bed. Voices float towards you— warm, male laughter— before it dies away again and all you hear are the random chirps of birds and the soft swish of the breeze against the trees and house.

That’s when the soreness seeps in. You roll your shoulders as you recognize the subtle pain, roll your neck before stretching your arms above your head. There’s laughter again, the clatter of pans and dishes and you blink at the closed bedroom door. Questions start to populate and swarm, pushing away the rest of the sleepy fog in your mind.

You throw your legs over the side of the bed and stand, but throw your hands back on the mattress as you stumble, having to steady yourself. Your legs are jelly. A hum vibrates in your chest and throat as you take a step after a few sobering seconds. The muscles of your sex scream at you— achy and tight— used. It’s sharp but also dull, nagging and deep— the soreness. It feels good. Feels right.

Spotting an egg shaped floor length mirror leaning up against the far wall, you pad towards it, squinting and hissing as pangs of the delicious pain prickle along your skin and muscles. You peer at your body, twisting and turning. You’re marked beyond belief— suck marks on your neck and shoulders, red raised welts on your sides and thighs, deep bruises and teeth marks scattered along your body like a map.

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth.

You spot a small bench in front of the bed, a pink satin tank top and matching shorts tossed over it. You slip the tank top over your arms to cover your bare torso and pull the shorts up your legs, your ample behind poking out of the bottom of them. You start for the door and move into a long hallway, following the laughter and voices emanating from deep in the house.

This is a really big house. It takes a while, well, you’re nosey so you peek into each room you pass and stop to eye the paintings on the wall, but you finally find the source of all the noise. You turn into the vast kitchen, finding five men placed throughout it. Sam is over the stove, cracking eggs and flipping potatoes and fresh vegetables. Andy sits at the bar, his nose buried in the Saturday paper as he sips on a black coffee. Bucky and Steve sit at the table, talking hushly over some old papers, and Ransom leans against the fridge, thumbing through his phone.

Bucky’s the first to notice you. He greets you with a wide, bright smile, his eyes crinkling at the sides, his nose scrunching, “Good morning beautiful.”

The rest of the men all blink at you and a warmth flushes through your face as you play with your fingers. Before you can respond, Ransom sweeps you off your feet and into his arms, kissing you hard and deep before he sits you back down and swats your behind, “Mornin’ doll.”

“Don’t be so rough with her,” Andy chides the slightly younger man. He grabs your wrist, bringing the back of your hand to his lips, “Sleep well, baby?”

“I did, thank you.” You smile, nervous but flattered by the attention.

“Hope you’re hungry sweetie,” Sam says, leaning into you to peck your lips as you move towards him.

“I’m starving.”

“I bet. You slept hard last night.” He winks, nudging you with his shoulder, “Ransom, plates.”

“I’m not the help, Wilson.”

“Well you are to-fuckin-day. Get the plates, trust fund baby.”

You laugh as you move towards the table, getting swept up into another breathless kiss by Bucky before Steve pulls you into his lap, brushing his nose over the back of your shoulder. Ransom and Sam hand out the plates one by one, taking drink orders and handing them out before they take their seats at the long table. You stay in Steve’s lap as you eat, listening as they all chat and cut up a little, teasing the youngest of them, Ransom, and listening intently as Andy talks about his latest case.

“I bet baby girl over here has some questions, hmm?” Bucky says after a while, cutting into his sausage and popping a small piece into his mouth.

You nod as you chew and swallow, before your eyes go wide, “Oh shit! My sister MJ! I bet she’s—”

Ransom slides your phone towards you, “I texted her for you last night and again this morning. Convinced her not to call the cops— she’s a feisty one.”

“Oh God, thank you.” You sigh, glancing over the texts.

“You can call her if you’d like. We can step out.” Steve offers, peering at you over your shoulder.

“No, no. She seems to be pacified for the moment. I’ll call her in a little while. So,” you lead in, “How, um, what is all of this? How do you guys know me, or my mom, to be more specific?”

Steve wraps his arm around your waist, holding you to him before he takes a breath, “This is going to sound really strange and it’s a really long story.”

“I got time,” you laugh, “It’s the only reason I came last night. Didn’t expect to get fucked by five dudes, but, you know,” you giggle, “Shit happens.”

“Steve and I,” Bucky starts, “We knew your great-grandmother, Marie-Angelie Paris Laveau of New Orleans. Steve was… sickly.” You nod quickly, having read everything there is to know about the great Steve Rogers, “I had heard that there was this new religion, down south. A woman that claimed to be a healer and Steve was my best friend, so, we decided to check it out in the early forties— wanted to see if she could help him.”

“When we finally got to Louisiana and tracked Marie-Angelie down, it was nothing that Bucky and I had ever seen before.” Steve chuckles, “Your great-grandmother was a beautiful woman, had thousands of followers, just like her mother, and her mother before her.”

“Followers?” You ask, furrowing your brow.

Bucky shifts his eyes to Steve before they land back on you, “You’re a direct descendant of Marie Laveau, the voodoo queen of the French quarter.”

Your eyes widen at the words.

“The elder Marie was a very powerful woman, passed down her knowledge and her gift to her daughters who kept her spirit and her craft alive. Marie-Angelie took one look at Steve and knew she could help. So,” Bucky takes a breath, holding it in his chest for a second before he pushes it out, “We made our offerings, appeased the spirits and we had Steve stay with her for the night.”

“She prayed over me all night. Chanted, offered the spirits many gifts, had me drink this potion that she’d made,” Steve says slowly, “I’m not too sure what happened. I just remember waking up and looking like this. It came with conditions of course, one of which she told us about, the other she didn’t.”

“What were they?” you breathe, engrossed in the story.

“The condition we knew about was that Bucky and I had to join the society.” You raise your eyebrows, prompting Steve to smile, “The elder Marie, your great-great-great-great grandmother entered into a pact with Sam’s great-great-great-great grandfather.”

“He was a farmer,” Sam says after he takes a sip of his coffee, taking over the story, “My great-great-great-great granddaddy went to Marie for a little advice and to have her pray for his crops. He was flat broke, about to lose the farm, Louisiana was going through a terrible drought— he offered Marie the last dollar he had in his pocket. His crop came in more bountiful than ever, in fact, it was the only farm that yielded that season. Made him a millionaire overnight. So, in exchange for her prayers, he offered her and her offspring protection. As long as there's a Laveau bloodline, the Wilson’s will watch over them.”

Silence falls over the room as you blink back at Sam, unable to speak. Bucky leans forward, placing his flesh hand over yours and rubs gently as concern fills his blue eyes, “You okay, honey?”

You nod, closing your eyes as you swallow, “Yeah, I, um, so… okay, so Sam, Steve and you are bound to protect me? Because of this society that was formed?”

“Us too,” Andy adds, “My great-great-great-great grandfather, Reginald Barber was a politician, went to Marie for some help around the same time as Sam’s granddad did, and when she fulfilled his request, he also joined.”

“My grandad is a writer, he too ended up joining the society in the early sixties with your grandmother when his first novel blew up.” Ransom says, “Harland Thrombey.”

“Harland Thrombey, the mystery writer, right? I thought he had a daughter?”

“That’s my mom. When I was born, I took her place in the order.”

You lift your eyebrows, nodding your head, “Wow.” you laugh a little, “So, what exactly do you guys do for me?”

“We just keep you safe. Watch over you, try to fulfill all of your… needs.” Sam answers with a smirk on his face and a glint in his eye, “Keep the bloodline going, if need be.”

You squint suddenly as the wheels and gears in your brain turn, “Wait so, this is passed down? From generation to generation?”

“Yes.” Andy answers simply.

“So, that means that all of your fathers, had sex with my mother? Am I.. oh my god,” your hands fly to your face, “Am I related to you one you?”

“No, oh my god!” Ransom recoils, his face screwed up in disgust, “The fuck do you think we are, weirdos? No.”

Steve laughs, rubbing your stomach with his large hand, “Your father is James Rhodes. He’s part of the congregation, the followers of your grandmothers. He was chosen for your mother, just like your partner will be chosen for you.”

You blink, your mind empty, “Chosen?”

“It will be someone either in the society— one of us— or someone in the congregation.” Steve nods, “Either way, your partner will be someone who will understand our debt to you and your family. If your partner is indeed someone in the society, that person is then removed, so there’s no impropriety, and someone in the congregation will take his place to keep the society full. Once you’re paired with whoever, we all then have a duty to reproduce so our children can take care of yours— again, with women in the congregation who understand our duty, and so on and so forth.”

You fall back against Steve’s chest, slumping a little at all of the information, “It’s a lot,” Sam reassures, “I know, I’m sorry.”

Insane is what it is, you think, rubbing your forehead with your manicured fingers. Somehow though, it all just kind of makes sense, “You said there was another condition? After you and Bucky went to Louisiana? What was it?”

“Me.” Bucky smiles, leaning back into his seat as his eyes fall into his lap.

You glance back at Steve, “I don’t understand.”

“In order for me to achieve this,” Steve motions towards his body, “Something had to be sacrificed, “The spirits chose Bucky. Some years later, after we joined the army—”

You gasp, covering your mouth again, “When he fell from the train.” You finish for him.

Steve just nods, “I put two and two together after a while. I went back to Marie and told her I was done— I wanted out and I didn’t care what happened to me for it. So I ended up just kind of floating through life. Threw myself into my work and saving the world. I didn’t know at the time that some of my blood had gotten into the hands of the Germans during the war. They studied it— noticed that my enzymes were nearly indestructible. They created the super soldier serum to replicate my strength and healing abilities.”

“Hydra, is what they were called. They found me and started experimenting.” A sad smile covers Bucky’s face. You lean forward, cupping his cheek in your hand and rub your thumb just under his eye. His smile turns upward as he nuzzles into your warm palm, “I’m alright.”

“I got wind of Bucky in the eighties, he had assassinated this researcher, they actually got a picture of him. I had to bring him home,” Steve shrugs, “But he was tricky— elusive. I tracked him for a few years but I couldn’t ever get close, and I knew I only had one option at that point.” Steve rests his lips against your shoulder, brushing them back and forth slowly against your warm skin, “I tracked down your grandmother and your mom for help.”

You feel him smile against you and you turn, throwing your arms around his neck as he continues his story, “You were barely walking when I met you the first time. You were so cute, so little. Even though I was still pissed, you stole my heart as soon as I saw you. You were the only innocence in this craziness.”

A tear slips down your cheek. He wipes it away with his fingers, smiling softly at you as you’re overcome with emotion, “Did you used to read to me?” you ask with a shaky voice, the early, fragmented memories you have of a blonde, blue eyed man suddenly making sense.

“Tamerlane by Edgar Allan Poe was your favorite.” he smiles, “That’s how I knew it was you last night. Poe was your favorite, even back then.”

You hug him tightly and feel hands on your back and shoulders, a pair of lips on the top of your head and the side of your face as Andy, Bucky, Ransom, and Sam crowd around you, “We brought you home now.” Sam voices gently, “We’ll take care of you baby. From now until the end of days.”

You let them soothe you. Let them stroke your hair and whisper their sweet nothings. Let them kiss your skin and wipe away the tears as the sun cutting into the room through the windows washes you in warmth. You lean back after what seems like forever, sniffling gently as Steve brushes those fingers underneath your eyes, “I want to meet my mom.”

“Of course. We’ll take you to her whenever you’re ready. She was supposed to be here but, she couldn’t deal with the heartbreak again if it wasn’t you. She’s been looking for you for so long— they both have.”

You exhale deeply, closing your eyes as you rest your head against Steve’s chest, nuzzling into him, “Why was I taken?”

“Somebody sent a tip to the police that your mother was living in a commune—” you feel him tense, his tone going harsh, “Just a nosey ass woman who didn’t have anything better to do with her time. Made up some shit about drug trafficking coming out of the house. It was raided while I was in Europe— they took you, put you up for adoption. I should have been there. I should have protected you.”

“You're protecting me now. That’s all that matters.” You whisper, “But,” your voice drops away as you open your eyes, blinking slowly.

Ransom’s massive hand runs up and down your back, “What is it, honey?”

“My sister. My mom and my dad— the people that raised me. I love them.”

“We are not going to take you away from them,” Bucky answers quickly, “They’re a part of you. We understand that.”

“Can’t wait to meet that sister of yours,” Ransom adds, “She seems fun.”

You laugh through the fresh wave of tears that have wetted your face, “She is fun. She has a boyfriend named Peter, he loves you two,” you smile, gesturing towards Steve and Bucky, “He’s gonna shit his pants.”

You close your eyes again, your head starting to pound from all of the information that’s been placed at your feet. Your stomach churns and you shiver, causing Steve to tighten his grip, “Let’s lay you down, huh? That was a lot to take in.”

They all follow you and Steve back into the bedroom where you first woke up that morning. You’re stripped naked again, crowded in the middle of their hulky bodies. They let you cry. They let you talk aimlessly. They let you get angry, and then sad, and then content as you work through your sordid history. One by one, their lips are on yours again. Hands dig into your sides and grip your thighs. Languid thrusts, hot breaths, short whimpers, and long cries fill the room as they make love to you over and over.

Your bones are liquid. Your body, your cunt stretched and used— so sore you’re not even sure your limbs are connected anymore. You come, time and time again, from their mouths, their fingers, their wet, hard cocks. You take it all— two of them stuffing you full while a third occupies your mouth, the other two not-so-patiently waiting for their turn at you.

Sleep tugs at you from every angle after a while and you fade in and out as the day drags on. Women come to you in your dreams— the women of your family. They whisper to you, the great secrets of your long lineage. They smile and lay their hands on you, filling you with their spirits, their love.

You’re suddenly at a large body of water—  Bayou St. John. A woman perches by the bank, her hand swishing back and forth in the cool water. You traipse towards her through the tall grass, your feet sinking into the wet ground. You kneel next to her as she sings a native song. She’s wrapped in a red, white, and blue shawl, her eyes sparkling as she turns towards you. She cups your face, running her hand down your cheek and jaw before she reaches into the water and pulls out a large, multicolored fish.

You spring forward, gasping hard and deep as you wake from the vivid dream. You cover your face with your hands as a chill runs down your spine, your forehead covered in a cold sweat. Without thinking, you splay your hand over your stomach as your heart stills. There’s movement behind you— Steve slinks his hand around your middle, settling his hand over your much smaller one.

You peek over your shoulder and he’s staring at you, his lips parted slightly, his blue eyes wide and full of knowing. His words from earlier coming back to you. Your partner will be chosen for you. It will be someone either in the society— one of us— or someone in the congregation. You lay back down, curling into him, tracing his nose and jaw, his chin and eyes with your fingers as he blinks back at you.

“Did you see her too?” You breathe. Great-great-great-great grandmother Marie Laveau.

He nods, “I’ll take care of you,” he whispers as Sam, Andy, Ransom, and Bucky all sprawl out around the two of you, “I promise.”

You nod, smiling slowly, “I know.”

You mean it. You know he will— that they all will.

[weezlywrites]

we could call it even

“And that’s how it was throughout college. When they were both in New York, they would fall into bed, and soon they weren’t just hooking up, they would talk and hang out and it would be like it used to be, but then she would get on a plane and he went back to being the ex she slept with sometimes. When she was at school they barely spoke. They slept with other people. (They didn’t talk about it, but they both knew. Assumed.) They compartmentalized. Peter could only be hers in Queens; over time, as she visited less often, he became less hers. She decided that it was better that way.”

a Peter/MJ fic, feat. the extended friend universe, ignoring most of MCU canon. 1/?

I haven't written for this fandom before, and I haven't posted fic in like 5 years. So be gentle? Treat this first chapter like the pilot - there's potential, but it's gonna get better as the writer's room finds its footing.

I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about these characters.

Heavily inspired by Taylor Swift's 'tis the damn season. among other songs. I have a playlist, so a new other songs might make their influence known eventually.

Enjoy.

--- 

one.

 there’s an ache in you

put there by the ache in me

---

               She can feel the cold seeping through the window as soon as the pilot comes on to announce their final descent. She knows it’s probably bullshit, just a figment of her imagination. These plane windows are heavy duty. The draft she’s feeling as she peers out the window and at the setting sun over the city she once called home – it’s probably got little to do with the temperature outside.

             But it’s her first time back in the city since – well. Since the funeral. She hadn’t really had a reason to come back before. Or at least, she had better reasons to avoid it. Plus, living in California had its perks. Friends were more than happy to come to her. And since –

             So this is her first time back since the funeral, and sure, she’ll be right back home, staying in her old room in her dad’s old apartment that her sister and nephew now call home, but it’s different, and she’s different.

             She is.

             She braces herself as the plane lands, jerky and loud and unsettling in a way she’ll never fully get over. (There’s a flash of a memory, of a boy with callused hands over hers and a bumpy landing on a different runway in what feels like a different life.) She keeps her headphones in as the flight attendant welcomes them to New York, thanks them for flying Delta, asks them to remain seated if they don’t have a connecting flight to get to. Let those in a rush exit first. Most of her neighbors ignore this, but Michelle stays seated. Switches her phone off airplane mode, watches as the time clicks over and the notifications begin streaming in.

             Her sister. Work. Junk email. CNN and the LA Times. Candy Crush.

             Miles.

             (hey, hope you have a good flight. I’ll have my stuff out by the time you’re back. Happy holidays.)  

             She leaves him on read and puts her phone in her pocket, the plane almost empty by now, and gingerly stands up, grabs her bag from the overhead and the coat she’d shoved under the seat in front of her. She smiles and thanks the flight crew as she finally deplanes.

             As she steps off and onto the gangway, she feels the chill for real. The crisp smell of the cold and the sharp smell of the city. She takes a deep breath.

             She’s home.

-

             Her sister had text that they were going out to dinner with her nephew’s hockey team, so Michelle takes the subway from the airport to the apartment and drops her bags. Ned had text her, too, telling her that the old gang was meeting up at a local bar, and she should come if she wasn’t too jetlagged. They want to see her.

             She wants to see them, too, and it’s too quiet and empty and cold at her parents – sister’s – place, so she pulls on a thicker sweater and a hat and scarf from her bag and heads off, trying not to think too hard about what she’s doing and where she’s going (and who she might see). Texts her sister she’ll be back later, or she might crash at Betty’s or someone’s for the night.

             (Someone.)

             The bar is full when she arrives, full and dim and warm, and Ned spots her almost as soon as she walks in. He’s got a pint in one hand and waves vigorously at her with the other, motioning her to the booth full of the others, friends from high school and college, all of them smiling and laughing and standing up to greet her as she approaches.

             “Ned!” she exclaims, as he pulls her into a bear hug.

             “You’re actually here!” he says, eyes glassy and bright, clearly a few drinks in already. She’s eying the beer in his hand as he gesticulates wildly, filling her in on the evening so far, not looking to get drenched tonight, when another hand reaches out and easily takes it from Ned.

             “Easy there,” Peter says, setting the drink down and smirking at Ned before turning his gaze to her.

             It shouldn’t feel like a gut punch, not after all these years, but it still is, it always is. Sometimes just thinking about him brings on the feeling, like she’s out of breath and about to fall all at once. She thinks it’s bad just having his eyes on her, but then he smiles, soft and a little sad and a little more reserved than she’s used to, and it feels like someone’s squeezed her heart like a lemon.

             “Hey, MJ,” he says, voice quiet.

             “Michelle,” she corrects automatically. “I go by Michelle now.”

             Someone who doesn’t know him as well would probably miss the flash of hurt, the slightest cringe, but she knows him. She misses nothing.

             “Michelle,” he says. It sounds wrong on his tongue. She wonders if he feels it, too. “Long time no see, huh?”

             She nods, not trusting her voice.

             Whatever moment they were having is interrupted as the others (Flash and Betty and Harry and Felicia and Liz) all greet her, pulling her into hugs. Harry and Flash disappear to the bar for more drinks and Betty makes space next to her and asks about the flight and –

             And out of the corner of her eye she watches Peter settle back into his seat, one hand on the table and the other on his beer, cheeks flushed from the warmth inside the bar or maybe the close quarters, and he’s clenching his fist and Felicia reaches out a hand and covers it, ever so slightly. And it’s so domestic, so – something – that Michelle almost gasps. But just as soon as her hand touched his Peter pulls away, downs the rest of his beer and stands.

             “Where you going Parker?” Liz asks. Peter raises his empty pint glass.

             “Another round.”

             “Flash and Harry – ”

             But he’s already gone, disappeared into the throng.

             Michelle watches Felicia watch him go out of the corner of her eye, but when her gaze turns to Michelle she looks away quickly, focusing in on Betty.

             Well fuck this, she thinks.

 - --

               By the time Peter comes back, Michelle’s two shots in (fuck you very much, Flash Thompson) and nursing a beer, laughing at one of Ned’s stories. Peter seems tense, and whether he notices it or not, Flash pounces.

             “Come on Parker, shots!”

             “Beer before liquor,” Peter says with an easy smile.

             “Fucking lightweight,” Flash groans. Harry’s eyes light up.

             “Since when do you give a shit about that, Parker?” he asks. Flash and Harry are both drunk, looking for a target to tease and cajole and drag down with them. Peter, always the best at holding his liquor, was typically the mark.

             Peter shrugs.

             “Got work early tomorrow,” he says, pushing his sleeves up. Michelle tries very hard not to let her eyes linger on his forearms. How is he not boiling? Peter always ran warm, and between the alcohol and the body heat and the Henley he’s got on under his flannel –

             Internally she shakes her head. Whatever. Peter isn’t her problem.

             Harry and Flash are still goading Peter, and soon they’re dragging him off to play darts. She focuses on Betty and Liz, catching up, and soon Ned and Felicia have wandered off to the dart game, which is getting increasingly loud. At one point she glances over and sees Harry and Flash won him over: the three of them are getting ready for a tequila shot. Peter’s lost his flannel, and his hair is mussed, and his sleeves are pushed up to his elbows, and fuck that easy smile and the laugh she can hear from where she’s seated. She’s already drunk, too drunk for this. She should’ve eaten before she came out.

             She realizes too late that Betty and Liz have stopped talking and are watching her.

             “What?” she says when she notices, more defensively than she’d meant.

             “So that’s still going on, huh?” Liz says.

             “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

             There’s a cheer from the dart game and she glances over and sees Peter and Ned, gleeful and mid embrace. She catches Felicia’s eye and looks away quickly.

             “They’re not together,” Betty says. Liz snorts. “They’re not!”

             “She just wishes,” Liz tells her. Michelle rolls her eyes. Felicia had come to the group by way of Peter and Harry. The three of them had gone to college together in the city, and she thinks Felicia and Harry may have dated briefly, but they had been a unit since sophomore year. Felicia was nice enough, but given that Peter was their link, and the only times she saw Peter in college, they had been – well. So Michelle and Felicia had never really bonded. (Michelle and Harry only became friends outside of Peter because of Flash. Somehow, of the old high school crowd, Flash had emerged as one of her best friends.) Felicia had always stuck more with the boys, as opposed to trying to get to know Betty or Liz better.

             (Flash and Harry – who hadn’t been dating at the time, but fooling around when the feeling struck – came to visit her in California once, and they all got shitfaced, and Harry told them that Felicia dumped him for a shot with Peter, and he’d fucking hated Peter for that, except Peter was so far from interested in anyone that she’d been stuck pining just like he was and what the fuck did you do to Peter, Michelle? And she’d told him to fuck off, none of his business, and that’s bullshit, we’ve been over for years. And Flash had told her she was full of shit, because Peter Parker has no poker face and he looks at you like you’re the fucking sun.)

             (The point is, she’s known Felicia has maybe had a thing for Peter for a while, and Michelle has no claim to him, they’re not together, so it’s fine. Peter can do what he wants. It’s fine.)

             “They’ve hooked up a few times, though,” Betty adds. She’s feigning casualness, but Michelle knows her better than that. Betty’s looking for a reaction. She hardly ever drinks when they all go out, ever the mom friend, eager to make sure the others can have a good time, happy to laugh and bring up all he dumb shit they get up to because she, of course, remembers. Betty’s been nursing the same beer since Michelle arrived, and she’s watching her now, something like concern and something like anticipation. Like this is one of her soaps. “I don’t think it means much to him, but you know her.”

             She doesn’t, actually. But putting her hand on his? Following him to play darts? The way she always happens to catch Michelle’s eye when Michelle looks at him? Michelle’s not stupid.

             “I don’t give a shit,” she says forcefully. Like maybe if she says it like she means it, it’ll be true. “We’re adults, and we’re not – that’s been over for a long time.”

             Liz raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.

             “I need another beer,” Michelle says, sliding out of the booth for the bar. Betty tries to call her back, but Michelle keeps going.

             Fucking Peter fucking Parker.

             She’s waiting for her drink and stewing and trying to plan an exit or – something – when Harry sidles up to her, smiling easily and sipping from a bottle.

             “Uh huh.”

             “Lost, huh?” she says with a smirk and motioning toward the dart board. He waves her off.

             “Psh. I let Parker win. Stop his mopey ass.”

             “But I’m not here to talk about Parker. How are you, Michelle?” he asks. Harry gets intense and silly when he’s drunk, a fun combination typically, but not tonight. Now he’s just staring at her all serious, like he’s waiting for her to pour out her heart to him right here on this barstool.

             “I’m fine,” she says. “You?”

             “You know, I bet Leeds $10 you wouldn’t show. I figured we’d see you maybe once this whole trip. But here you are.”

             “Here I am.”

             The bartender puts a fresh pint in front of her and she nods thanks.

             “We’ve missed you,” Harry tells her. “You haven’t been back in fucking years and it’s not the same without – ”

             “I’m busy,” she defends. Harry waves his hand again.  

             “Nah, this is about Peter.”

             “No it’s not.”

             She could scream. Not everything is about Peter, and she’s already talked about him more than she has in years and it’s been a fucking hour.

             Harry looks her straight in the eye, and for as drunk as he is, he’s remarkably sober as he looks at her.

             “Don’t let him scare you away,” he says finally.

             “That’s not – ”

             “I don’t know what the fuck is going on there, but I love you, we love you, and it’s fucking great all being back again, huh? We haven’t been like this, everyone, since – ”

             “Hey, buddy, I think maybe it’s time you stopped, huh?” And suddenly Peter is right there, flannel over his shoulder, a few empty glasses in his hands. He sets them on the bar and then claps Harry on the back. “You keep badgering her – ”

             “He’s fine,” Michelle says.

             “He’s drunk,” Peter says dryly. Harry scoffs.

             “How aren’t you?”

             “It’s a secret,” Peter whispers, winking at Michelle, cheeks flushed and hair mussed and Henley unbuttoned the top two and pushed up his arms, and for a second, she’s years ago, a lifetime ago. He must be a little drunk, too, flirting like this. It would be so easy to –

             The moment is broken when Harry, attempting to move away, stumbles. Peter puts an arm around him to steady him.

             “Should we get him a cab?” Michelle asks. Peter glances back at the group and then at Harry.

             “Yeah, maybe. We were here a while before – ”

             “I can take care of him if you wanna stay,” she says, a sudden exhaustion overtaking her. Peter frowns.

             “I’m not sure you’re much better than he is.”

             “How fucking dare you,” she says, deadpan, and he barks out a laugh. It fills something in her, the sound.

             “Okay, fine. Still. I’d feel better if I didn’t leave, you know, the blind to help the blind over here. If you wanna go, too – ”

             “Oh fuck’s sake,” Harry mumbles. “I’m fine. I’ll call Alfred.”

             Michelle mouths Alfred? And Peter mouths back his driver.

             Harry pulls out his phone and starts typing, and as he does Peter leads him back to the group. Michelle follows, figuring she’ll make an excuse to go when Harry does.

             Peter gets Harry into a seat and Flash starts giving Harry shit for being so drunk, but he and Ned are both pretty gone, too, and Michelle sits and basks in this, this moment and these people and the missingness of it. She’s so caught up in it that she doesn’t even realize that somehow, Peter has ended up right next to her, and fuck, she can smell his soap and feel his leg jiggling under the table against hers. Without thinking she puts her hand on his knee to steady him.

             He freezes at her touch, and she does, too. And refuses to look at him. His hand covers hers for a second and then she’s the one pulling away.

             “Well this has been fun,” she says loudly, downing the last of her beer. “But I’m beat, so – ”

             “MJ!” Ned whines.

             “Fucking lightweight,” Flash teases.

             “Fucking jetlagged,” she retorts. “I’ll see you losers later, yeah?”

             “You gonna be okay – ” Liz starts, but Peter’s already in motion beside her.

             “I’ll walk her back, it’s on my way,” he says. She can see Betty and Liz smirking and she hates them.

             “You don’t – ”

             “It’s on my way, and I’ve got work early,” he insists, and she knows she’s not talking him out of this, so she sighs and shrugs her coat on. He’s pulling his flannel back on, grabbing a coat, and she sees him start to put his hand toward her, like he’s going to guide her out, like –

             So she says her goodbyes and ignores the knowing looks from Betty and Liz and fucking Flash and starts for the door without waiting for him.

             Fuck.

---

               “Am I really on your way, or – ”

             “In a sense,” he says after they’ve gotten away from the noise of the bar. There’s snow – slush, really – on the sidewalks, mixed in with the trash, and the air is crisp and she feels so warm still, and she can’t tell if it’s the alcohol or him.

             “What’s that mean?” she presses.

             “My apartment is on the way to your sister’s.”

             “Surprised you still remember,” she says.

             “You’d be amazed how much I remember.”

             It feels like a challenge. She ignores it.

             Silence.

             “So you and Felicia – ”

             “For fuck’s sake,” he breathes, and she doesn’t know why but she laughs. He gives her a look. “What?”

             “Just – what a reaction. Match made in heaven,” she teases, like maybe that’ll make her heart go back to beating properly, this faux normalcy, like they’re just friends and she’s just giving him shit over just some girl.

             (But he’s not just her friend.)

             “We hooked up once. Twice. How did you even – ”

             “I’m observant. And Betty mentioned it.”

             “Betty’s a gossip,” he murmurs darkly, like the two of them aren’t thick as thieves.

             “It’s harmless.”

             “Is it?”

             He actually stops walking to look at her, and the expression on his face –

             He holds her gaze and God, she hasn’t been this close to him in so long, hasn’t looked at him up close like this since –

             “Why wouldn’t it be?” she asks. He doesn’t answer right away.

             “We’re not together, I’m not – I’m not seeing anyone,” he tells her.

             “That makes two of us,” she offers, something inside her relaxing at his reassurance, at the fact that he wanted her to know it wasn’t –

             “Yeah, I heard.”

             “Betty?”

             He nods. He’s so close now.

Her heart is in her throat and she wants so badly to reach for him, to feel his skin against hers, even just his hand. For just a second her eyes dart down to his lips and when she meets his eyes again they’re darker, full of –

             “Peter,” she breathes, like maybe he can understand what she’s saying. Like she’s apologizing.

             “How much did you have to drink?” he asks quietly, looking at her lips this time.

             “I’m not drunk,” she says, because she’s not, not anymore. The cold and the walk and him –

             It shouldn’t surprise her when he kisses her.

             Like everything with her and Peter Parker, though, she feels both completely caught off guard and completely ready for it. The feeling of falling and the feeling of being secure in someone’s arms.

             Four years later, and Peter still makes her feel like she’s loved. Despite everything.

---

               It shouldn’t have surprised her when he kissed her; what should have surprised her was ending up back at his apartment, hands and tongues and something so achingly familiar she might cry.

             She’s never known him in this space, she thinks as they make their way clumsily up the stairs and through the door; he lived somewhere else the last time –

             But now here she is, in Peter Parker’s apartment – in this grown up apartment, her with her baggage and her guilt and her feelings, and him with his trauma and his past and their past – here they are, making out on his bed. Wandering hands and plants in the window and her name on his breath and the same alarm clock he had in high school –

             “Fuck, Em,” he says as her hand slips beneath the waistband of his jeans. God she missed this. Him.

             She must be a little drunk, because she tells him as much. He stills and smiles and brushes her hair out of her eyes, and takes her hand from his pants and kisses it, eyes drifting closed.

             “I miss you too,” he whispers.

             When the tears start he kisses them away, asking her if she’s okay, if she’s sure, and she nods and runs her hands under his shirt and he kisses her, sweet and slow and fuck.

             She still loves him.

             (She hates that it’s not the revelation it should be.)

 ---

               (It started in high school, end of sophomore year, early junior year. Stupid smiles and jokes and tentative hands and plans nearly foiled by their friends, until finally, finally she kissed him – a peck really, barely a kiss – mid ramble and he blinked at her like an owl and kissed her back, and looked at her with those eyes and –

             “I really like you.”

             And that was it. After that, they were them. Holding hands and study dates and making out on the couch and her dad’s exclamations of door open! And it was teenage love, and it was perfect. He listened to her and he held her and made her feel safe, and she made him feel safe, too, held him, too. They were partners. She loved him. He was her first everything, almost.

             When it came time for college, though, it just –

             He couldn’t leave New York, he said. Even though they’d both applied to Stanford, even though they’d talked about California and new adventures, suddenly he was backing out. He couldn’t leave.

             And she was dumb and he was dumb and she felt betrayed but they spent the summer in denial, fooling around and riding the subway and sitting on the roof of Midtown and talking and laughing and she thought maybe it was okay, maybe it could be okay.

They had sex that summer, and it wasn’t some big grand thing, wasn’t some attempt on her part to get him to stay with her, like if she had sex with him he’d suddenly have a change of heart and come to California. They had sex because she loved him, and he loved her, and things had been hot and heavy for a while, and one afternoon they finally had the opportunity and he had a condom and she’d never been the kind of person to put much value in virginity, or the idea that losing it is special, or first times have to be spectacular, or whatever, they were just making out in his room because Aunt May was gone, and then text that she got stuck at work, Peter was on his own for dinner, so suddenly they had the whole night, and it wasn’t a decision so much as a natural progression. They had sex and it was fine, it was good, she didn’t come from it but he did, but he made sure she got off, too, and they laid together in his bed and she could feel the clock ticking on them in her heart, and she knew he could too by the way he held her. He held onto her until May got home, and that night she cried in the shower because she loved him so much and she didn’t know what was going to happen with them but she was glad that, as dumb as the construct of virginity and the societal expectations of first times were, her first time was with someone who loved her. Because she lost her virginity to her best friend, and she knew that whatever happened, she would never regret sharing that with him.

And then a week before her flight, he broke up with her. Told her he loved her but they needed to move on. That he couldn’t be what she needed, that he was staying in New York, and she couldn’t convince him to go, and he wouldn’t ask her to stay, and she shouldn’t wait for him. He was no good for her.  

             The week before college, 16 days after they had sex for the first time, he broke her fucking heart, both of them crying, and she didn’t understand at all, but she did a little, too. He wasn’t completely wrong. She just couldn’t understand why he was so – why he was so adamant about staying stuck in Queens.

             “Maybe I don’t feel stuck!” he’d exclaimed.

             “Well you will! I know you will, Peter, I know you!”

             “You don’t know everything about me!” he’d shot back, and they were both crying and red in the face and she broke then, and for the first time, he didn’t rush to her, to fix it.

             “I’m always gonna love you, MJ,” he’d said. “But this is the best thing for you.”

             “Motherfucker,” she’d spat. “Don’t make my decisions for me.”

             “Then it’s the best thing for me,” he’d breathed, and she left.

             They didn’t see each other for three months after that.

             When she was home for the winter break, though, she saw him – of course she did, they shared the same friends, and they’d kept the details and the pain of their breakup to themselves – and within a week they had started hooking up again. (She referred to it as “hooking up,” always, like it was just the sex, just the hormones and tension and comfort of a warm body, and no emotions.)

And that’s how it was throughout college. When they were both in New York, they would fall into bed, and soon they weren’t just hooking up, they would talk and hang out and it would be like it used to be, but then she would get on a plane and he went back to being the ex she slept with sometimes. When she was at school they barely spoke. They slept with other people. (They didn’t talk about it, but they both knew. Assumed.) They compartmentalized. Peter could only be hers in Queens; over time, as she visited less often, he became less hers. She decided that it was better that way.

             A few months before her graduation – curled up on his bed in his shitty apartment that he shared with three roommates – he asked her if she was coming back.

             “I think so,” she’d said, because she did, because she wasn’t sure, because she wanted him, because she had loans and no job but a dad and a sister in the city (and him), and he’d smiled and said he’d like that. And they weren’t back together, but there was something like hope between them. (Sometimes, she’d wanted to ask him what changed. Why hadn’t he been what she needed four years ago; why was he now?)

             Then she got a job. An offer too good to pass up. In LA.

             When she told him, it was like breaking up all over again.

             “So that’s it then.”

             “I mean, I guess so.”

             There were no tears this time, no shouting, no anguished embrace or final kisses. It just was. She stayed in California. He stayed in Queens. They didn’t text, didn’t call. It was over, finally, for the first time. College hadn’t counted, she decided. They had been in an unhealthy, dysfunctional relationship – but it was still a relationship. But this – this was the real break up.

             Then her dad died. Suddenly, unexpectedly. She flew home, a mess, grieving and in shock and so broken. All her friends came to the funeral. Of course Peter was there, too. And his Aunt May. He didn’t sit next to her, but he was right behind her, always within her sight. She wondered what that was like for him, to be the ex-boyfriend of the deceased’s daughter. He knew her family, the few of them there were. He’d come to the hospital with her when her nephew was born. Of all her friends, Peter was the one people knew. It was easier to think about how awkward it must be for him than to think about all the feelings trapped inside her chest. It was easier to focus on him than herself.

             And she’d started talking to someone, back in California. A nice guy, a smart guy. Who didn’t push her away and then pull her closer. Miles was an open book, and he liked her. And they hadn’t done anything but flirt, but he felt like possibility, like a fresh start. She wanted that, needed that.  

             But being back home? Back in Queens, in her childhood bedroom, mourning her father –

             She ended up at Peter’s after the funeral, because she always ended up at Peter’s.

             And of course he welcomed her into his apartment, into his bed. Kissed away the tears and let her cry. Tried to stop her when she reached for his waistband, made sure she was sure.

             But he always made her feel better.

             And after, laying together in his twin bed on sheets he’d had since middle school, he’d asked why she came to him. He knew, roughly, about Miles. Miles hadn’t come for the funeral, but Peter and Michelle shared friends, and the potential relationship hadn’t been a secret. She knew what Peter was asking.

             “I just. I needed to be with someone who loves me,” she’d said softly. And he’d pulled her closer, and kissed her forehead, and told her he loved her. No matter what had happened between them – this was her constant, her north star. Peter loved her.

             She woke up the next morning with panic clawing its way up her throat.

             She left without waking him, and ignored his calls for the next three days. She got back to California and made things official with Miles, and she didn’t talk to Peter, and she didn’t go back home until –

             Until now.

[joyful-soul-collector]

❄️Week 1: December 9-15❄️

stars in the city ch. 10 by @parkrstark (Pt. 3 of constant as the stars above)

Summary: Peter and Steve are finally settling into their new life with Tony. Recovery isn't always a straight line, especially with a four-year-old, but they're trying their best. Their newfound fame has Steve juggling between his private life and the one plastered on the front page of every tabloid. He shouldn't have been surprised that the public didn't believe in his rags to riches love story. Tony usually makes it easier for him to handle it all. Until he starts to distance himself from Steve, as if now he's the one hiding something. And Steve is left wondering if he's about to lose Tony for good this time.

Relationships/Tropes: Stony, Irondad, Papa Steve, Homeless Peter Parker, Homeless Steve Rogers, No Powers AU, (Coffee Shop AU??? Sorta)

Review: This fic just always makes my heart ache in the best way. So much fluff, so much angst, it's a perfect balance that I'm just absolutely in love with!

❄️

Devils Roll The Dice ch. 9 by @ephemeralstark

Summary: “I miss you Mr. Stark,” Peter admitted as he stared up through the leaves overhead at the stars that twinkled promisingly at him, “I wish you were back here. I would give anything to fix things, I would give anything for you to be alive today.” What Peter didn't know, as he made that wish and closed his eyes, letting the tears fall shamefully, was that the Universe was always listening, and it was dangerous to make a wish and offer up anything. - Tony Stark wakes up in his bed one morning, not realising that months have passed since his death - that's going to be awkward to explain to the world. Peter Parker has been living on the streets, trying to hide his identity as the entire world wants Spider-Man dead, and dealing with the trauma that Beck left him. To make things worse - it's now his fault that yet another bad guy thinks they're entitled to owning Earth.

Relationships/Tropes: Irondad, Spideychelle, Pepperony, Happy Hogan/May Parker, Homeless Peter Parker, Post-FFH, Post-Identity Reveal, Tony Stark Comes Back To Life

Review: Oh man this fic is so sad and so sweet, I love it so much! I love how it combines Peter's trauma after Mysterio with his reaction to finding out that Tony is alive again, it's just so creative!

❄️

His Heart Bloomed Sunflowers (and he wore them on his skin) by @littlemissagrafina (Pt. 24 of Comfortember 2020)

Summary: Peter honestly didn't know how no one had discovered his tattoos yet. He wasn't broadcasting them but he wasn't exactly being the most subtle either. Although he was partly grateful for it since he was dreading what would happen when May on Tony saw them. But he was pleasantly surprised at the reactions that he got when he was found out. Peter had expected anger, disappointment, maybe annoyance at the very least. What he got was far from that. (A sequel to Comfortember Day 4. Anxiety) Comfortember Day 29. Make/Build/Create Something Beautiful

Relationships/Tropes: Minor Spideychelle, Tattoos, Comfortember

Review: I love this fic so much! I loved the description of how the flowers wilted when the ones he'd drawn had faded, and how the ones he got tattooed never wilted again :']

❄️

I’ll drive all night (to keep them warm) by @littlemissagrafina (Pt. 23 of Comfortember 2020) 

Summary: For the next hour they tried to calm Morgan again but, just like the rest of the day with Tony and Pepper, nothing was working. No teething rings, gel, nothing. The little girl was just well and truly grumpy, tired, and sore.

Suddenly an idea came to Peter and he turned to Tony and Pepper. 

"Can I try something?"

They both nodded at him, prompting him to continue with his idea.

"Can I take her for a drive?" He asked. "I'm not sure if it'll work but Ben used to do it for me when I was younger and it always calmed me down."

Comfortember day 28. Car Ride

Relationships/Tropes: Irondad, Peter & Morgan, Pepperony, Baby Morgan, Car Rides, Comfortember

Review: This one was so cute! I love Peter being a good big brother to baby Morgan, and I relate to finding trips in the car relaxing and nice :D

❄️

It’s What Brothers Do by @littlemissagrafina (Pt. 22 of Comfortember 2020)

Summary: Morgan was somehow full of even more energy than usual that day and wanted to see if she could do the monkey bars that were attached to the jungle gym herself. Before Peter could stop her, she had already grabbed hold of the first one and let herself swing towards the next one.

But the little girl had misjudged just how heavy swinging your own body weight was and almost immediately started falling. Peter shot forward from his place on the ground, jumping and diving, just managing to catch her before they both hit the grass of the park grounds. Comfortember Day 27. Park

Relationships/Tropes: Minor Pepperony, Peter & Morgan, Irondad, Peter Protects Morgan, Comfortember

Review: Another cute Big Brother Peter fic! I love that Peter was really protecting Morgan in this one, he loves her enough to put himself in harm's way to protect her

❄️

The Burger Debate by @littlemissagrafina (Pt. 21 of Comfortember 2020) 

Summary: Tony and Peter shared a lot of similarities, there was no doubt about it. A lot of their mannerisms were the same, personality quirks (especially in the lab), occasional recklessness, selfless hero personas, etc etc. However, one thing they didn't share was their taste in burgers. Whenever the topic came up there was a friendly, yet heated, 'disagreement' as Tony called it. No matter what anyone ever told him, Tony thought that a cheeseburger was the holy grail of burgers. And Peter, well… he happened to think the same only for chicken burgers.

Comfortember Day 26. Junk Food

Relationships/Tropes: Irondad, Peter & Morgan, Pepperony, Infinity War Compliant, Not Endgame Compliant

Review: This was so sweet and so sad, especially the part where Tony couldn't eat burgers while Peter was snapped because it hurt him too much. It showed his grief really well

❄️

Career Day Drabble by @jen27ny 

Summary: uncle happy and uncle rhodey come to peter’s career day

Relationships/Tropes: Happy & Peter, Rhodey & Peter, Happy & Rhodey, Minor Irondad, Career Day

Review:  I loved this story so much! I really appreciate seeing some nice Uncle Rhodey and Uncle Happy content!!

❄️

Gifts by @wayward-fairchild (Pt. 5 of Holiday Collection 2020) 

Summary: Rhodey and Tony have been together to the point Rhodey sees the kids as his own. Maybe that is why the kids agree to help with Rhodey's biggest gift to Tony yet.

Relationships/Tropes: Rhodey & Tony, Irondad, Rhodey & Peter, Christmas, Kid Peter

Review: This was just absolutely adorable! I love some Irondads content and this was very sweet

❄️

evermore by @lyssismagical

Summary: Just a Solid Vent Fic. I wanna do 30 days of Taylor Swift-inspired fics (folklore and evermore) lmao but idk yet we’ll see lemme know tho

Relationships/Tropes: Spideychelle, Irondad, Peter Overworks Himself

Review: I loved this one a lot! I definitely relate to Peter with tending to overwork myself during school and letting other things fall away, and then feeling quite exhausted after it's all over haha. I'm glad MJ and Tony were able to help him <3

❄️

Two Hours Spent Cuddling by @skeeter-110 (Pt. 2 of Twelve Days of Christmas)

Summary: A giant snowstorm takes out the power in the tower. While waiting for the backup generator to come up, the Stark-Rhodes family finds a way to stay warm.

Relationships/Tropes: Ironhusbands, Irondad, Papa Rhodey, Kid Peter, Christmas

Review: I. Love this story. So much. I haven't seen very many stories that center around Rhodey being a father-figure to Peter, and this one definitely filled all my desires for such a story! It's so fluffy and sweet, and I loved every word :D

❄️

Three Stark-Rhodes’ Decorating by @skeeter-110 (Pt. 3 of Twelve Days of Christmas)

Summary: Tony, Rhodey, and Peter Stark-Rhodes begin decorating for the holiday season.

Relationships/Tropes:  Ironhusbands, Irondad, Papa Rhodey, Kid Peter, Christmas

Review: This story was absolutely adorable! It was another featuring Papa Rhodey and Dad Tony with Little Peter, and it was so well done! I love that Tony's robots and JARVIS each get a stocking hung over the fire too, and the way Peter pronounce ornaments as "orminents" was so cute!!!

❄️

Four Poorly Wrapped Presents by @skeeter-110 (Pt. 3 of Twelve Days of Christmas)

Summary: Peter has two presents each for his Daddy and his Papa. The only problem was, he had no idea how to wrap them. He figures the Avengers could help.

Relationships/Tropes: Ironhusbands, Irondad, Papa Rhodey, Avengers Family, Kid Peter, Christmas

Review: This was so sweet! Clint, Nat, and Steve treat Peter with such sweetness, and it made my heart all fuzzy and warm <3

❄️

If you look at any these stories, be sure to show the author your appreciation with a comment/kudos/reblog where applicable!

Click here for more fanfic rec lists!

[cosmicpines]

(spiderman spoilers)

.

.

.

.

im so fucking disappointed when they get into MIT they don't have tubes like LITERALLY the ONE ICONIC tradition MIT has with admissions is that they send you a silver tube full of cheap fun junk like balloons and confetti and they didn't do it and like if you're gonna use my school as a plot point at least fucking use our tradition jeez

also mj is incorrect when she says "the engineers? the mascot" bc our mascot is tim the beaver and we love him. the engineers is the name of the sports teams. to be FAIR tho "the engineers" is like a thing associated with the general student body in a few places (most notably the drinking song -- you know, we are we are we are we are the engineers / we can we can we can we can demolish forty beers etc etc ) but like nobody on campus actually refers to us as "the engineers" bc its too confusing since. most people who graduate then get a job as engineers lmao. but also to be fair this is totally something prefrosh would do so that is accurate

i was also disappointed when they talked about living together that they didnt name drop a dorm bc i wanted to judge them lol

i also personally doubt mit wouldnt admit them bc of the controversy bc bezo's son goes to (went to? i dont remember how old he is) mit but shrug

[random-fandom1]

Pepper thought it was good idea to go away for a few days. A few days away to herself, she deserved it right? Not much could go wrong, could it?

Well, let's just say you can't underestimate the avengers...

- ⴵ -

Day 1 of Peppers absence

Most of the over 30 year olds (minus Clint and Scott) were doing their own thing. Tony and Bruce were inside their labs doing their thing, Natasha, Steve, Sam and Bucky were sparring in the training rooms, and the rest of them were doing their own adulty things. They were sticking to their own routines, because why would they have to change them? Its not like Peppers absence was to make them less 'mature'

That left a majority the under 30s (with the addition of Clint and Scott and minus Bucky, Loki and Valkyrie) to run wild. The loss of the mature adults meant they could go free. Peter, Yelena, Shuri and Wanda had a spa day. They all took turns painting eachothers nails, doing the others hair and just full out pampering eachother. Scott, Clint, Pietro and Carol looked on in disgust because that's so girly, right? Well that's what they thought until they were dragged into the action as well. Scott and Pietro were enjoying themselves as well after 20 minutes but Clint and Carol despised it. For this reason, they came out looking like Barbie dolls. All pink makeup, bows, frills. Blackmail pictures were taken.

They all got together at 5, Bucky and Loki cooked dinner for them all (The famous Gigi Hadid vodka Pasta) and they all watched Star Wars before going to bed.

- ⍟ -

Day 2 of Peppers absence

Peace didn't stay for long. It lasted a day.

It all started at 6am the next morning when Peter and Bucky were awoken from their sleep, entangled in one another, soaken wet. Clint quickly retreated back into his vent, not fast enough for the two enhanced not to spot him. That was how the prank war began.

Next Vision gave Wanda one of her favourite flowers, which then proceeded to spray her in the face

Shuri and Val replaced Steve's shampoo with lime green hair dye (Tony said he was his big leprechaun)

Yelena turned the water to freezing cold when Natasha was having a shower

Teams were made by 10am. It was almost the same divide as yesterday. Peter, Bucky, Shuri, Val, Carole, Scott, Yelena, Wanda, Loki, Pietro and Sam made one team. They called themselves the Young Avengers. The other team consisted of Steve, Natasha, Clint, Tony, Vision, a reluctant Bruce, Thor, Dr Strange and Nebula.

To say it was a mess was an understatement. By the end of the day the training centres were covered in water from a water balloon fight that went on around 12, Stonys bedroom had been filled with balloons, Yelena had managed to vandalise Clints secret tunnels, Natasha had in turn played an audio recording of Yelena having a pretend interview with herself in the shower around the compound. Bucky, Sam and Peter had covered Thor in honey and then put feathers on him. Loki then enchanted him to run round like a chicken for 2 hours. Tony had locked Pietro in heavy shoes, stopping him from running away and dyed his hair neon pink. Peter had posted embarrassing videos of the other team That wasn't even half of what happened.

They called a truce around 11pm, not before Nebula had managed to fill Scott's room with Baskin Robins uniforms

- ᗢ -

Day 3 of Peppers absence

Day 3 was just, surprisingly, wholesome. Everyone was recovering from last days war and decided to just order a shit ton of food and relax. Tony didn't even go to the lab! They all cuddled up on the couch and watched movies all day.

Tony and Steve were on one couch, Bruce and Thor were on another, and Wanda and Vision were on another showing little PDA. But on the other side of the room, Peter and Bucky as well as MJ and Shuri were sprawled across two differnet couches, showing off quite alot of PDA. Close to an unbearable amount of it. Peter was sat on Buckys lap, mouthing at his neck like a baby and Bucky was running his hands all over his body in a slow, gentle manner. It wasnt a sexual thing (Peter would be mortified to do that with his parents and family sitting right there), ot was more of a cmofort thing. MJ and Shuri had no shame. None. They were full on making out. It made nearly everyone around them uncomfortable.

Nether the less, the day was spent eating junk food, having a Harry Potter marathon (Peter tried to suggest Star Wars but was quickly shut down by nearly everyone else). Of course by the end of the day, the place was a tip. Pizza boxes scattered around the room, popcorn all over the couches from Sam and Buckys popcorn fight, pillows turned upside down and a huge pillow fort made by Yelena, Shuri and Peter around the middle of Goblet of Fire. Missing the only mature mature adults, they left it as it was and retired atthe end of DHPt2.

- ⎈ -

Day 4 of Peppers absence

The day before Pepper was to return was havoc.

To start it off, they had no food. None. Pepper normally ordered all the food on the large whiteboard in the kitchen every 2 weeks, and now with her gone, no one actually placed it. Steve and Natasha had to run to the grocery store in the morning, leaving hungry hero's with high metabolisms to get cranky. They ended up getting only 2 boxes of cereal and a loaf of bread. For 20+ people. For a whole day.

Second of all, no one actually stuck to their bed time for the past few nights. It started off with Shuri snapping at Peter, Peter snapping at Bucky, Bucky snapping at both Sam and Steve, so on and so fourth. Eventually everyone ended up as cranky as the last person. Silence surrounded the compound as everyone migrated to their own spot to calm down. It was so quite that you could hear Clints terrified screams from the kitchen as he tried to disturb a sleeping Peter, who was in his own made cobweb in the corner.

Third, when a majority of people calmed down, the power went out. Not even the back up worked. Turns out no one checked the battery so it blew. Tony and Bruce were there for 3 hours trying to fix it while the rest of the avengers played board games in the main room.

Things were falling apart

- ⎊ -

Day 5 of Peppers absence

Today's the day Peppers meant to be coming back, but her flight got delayed due to weather and she wouldn't be back until late that night. This left another day for the avengers to slowly lose their minds.

It started off like Day 1, until it hit 12pm. Thats when Natasha called them all to living room and demanded a games night. A party nighy where they all get drunk and party like teenagers

It started off with never have i ever, and oh did some things come out, especially about the baby spider of the group. When Tony asked if anyone had ever done the dirty in front of their family/friends, a very embarrassed Peter and a wolfishly grinning Bucky took a shot

Next day played truth or dare. This led to a hot makeout session between Scott and Sam, a half naked Steve and a head standing Vision.

Then it just went downhill at around 6pm. A drunken group of earth's mightiest hero's was just getting started, and by 9pm, they were fucking hammered.

That's how Pepper found them.

Vision was still spinning on his head to the beat of the music in the corner; Loki, Natasha, Tony and Clint were taken shots at the bar; Yelena and Peter were twerking on the coffee table with Bucky, Sam and Shuri cheering from under them, Bucky laying the occasionally slap to Peters arse; Bruce was writing furiously in a notebook; Steve was having a heart to heart with Wanda, both of them crying about how much they lived their families; Thor was of course munching on his emergency poptarts as they still hadn't gotten their food delivery; Pietro was running around Valkyrie so fast that it hurt to look at; and Dr Strange and Nebula were no where to be found

Pepper just slowly backed out of the room, wondering if the plane had gone back to the airport yet

[ghostowlattic]

The Empty World 

old mj stuffs by darius greene / ghost owl attic  

[starrykitty013]

Sneak Peak!! This will be a Cake Walk (oneshot)

Here’s the full fic...finally: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33658105

This takes place in my JGLEH universe (https://archiveofourown.org/series/1415002) but this oneshot could be read as a standalone :)

Enjoy!

August 7th, 2019.

That was the date that this year’s birthday fell on. Technically it was the first wednesday of August, since this month started on a Thursday, but it was basically the second week of August, so they’d let it slide. Besides the 14th of August seemed like a good date, but Ned and MJ were just so anxious to finally be spending a birthday with their best friend, because it had been 2 years since they last had - well more Ned than MJ, MJ was cool with anything.

So here they were, lounging around Peter’s - and his parent’s - little apartment/penthouse/whatever-this-place-they-were-living-was-classfied-as in Stark tower, eating junk food and marathoning Voltron - every variation of it, eating a slightly melted ice cream cake MJ bough - they bought an entire sheet cake this time, instead of a small one because Ned and MJ got paychecks now and Peter has the metabolism not to waste it.

Different location, same traditions. Sure the atmosphere of the tower was not as cozy as Ned’s cramped living room or MJ’s box apartment, but they made do. They dulled the settings on the floor to ceiling window that took up an entire wall and viewed over the city. They cuddled in blankets and made an entire pillow fort, and they made it surround them so they were forced to be closer together.

They would’ve invited everyone else in the tower, but his official birthday wasn’t until the 12th and Peter’s sure they had something planned. He kind of just wanted to keep this serenity of the three of them, even if he felt a little guilty about being exclusive. It was worth it.

It felt right.

Keeping his old traditions while preparing for the new ones that he was bound to make this year.

He hadn’t celebrated his birthday with the Avengers last year, because it was the date of the trial and he hadn’t been living with them at the time, even if like a week later he was. Everything had been so hectic and moving too fast that his birthday had barley been on any of their minds. He had spent the night with Wade and Matt goofing off in and out of their costumes though - the aults getting thoroughly plastered and Peter thinks it was only 60% for his amusement.

It was an enjoyable night. Or at least it it was shaping up to be. He liked the chill vibes that they had managed to create. It was almost like they were hanging out just like any other day, and not celebrating Peter being one year away from being a legal adult - in America at least.

His parents had walked in around 11:30ish, and they just were about to pass without looking twice at the kids lounged around and the mess of stolen blankets and pillows they probably didn’t know they owned - and they didn’t own most of them, again they were temporarily stolen, he’d give them to their respective owners again...eventually...maybe.

Ned had greeted them absently, because he was polit like that, and Nat smirked fondly at them, watching them out of the corner of her eye, while Bucky turned and nodded in acknowledgment, lips quirking up for a second at the scene. MJ gave a salute as she had a chip half in her mouth.

“Russian → ”(Hey, guys.) Peter said absently, not really looking at them as he leaned forward to grab another slice of melted cake. And that’s when Natasha paused for a second, looking frozen. Bucky had just barley managed to ram into her. It was a slight action but it made Peter pause and look up in confusion and slight alarm. His spidey sense wasn’t going off, but Nat had that look on her face where she kept it carefully neutral to not give anything away. Peter turned his head to them and sat up a bit, Ned and MJ seemed to pick up on his vibes because a moment later MJ had shifted into a slightly more alert slouch and that was followed by Ned swiveling his head to look confusedly between everyone while trying - and failing, but it’s okay Ned you are still a precious bean child that will be protected by everyone here - to be subtle about it, his anxiety kicking in a bit. “What’s up?” he said trying to maintain a casual tone. If it was an emergency, he’d know, they would’ve been more on edge. It was more likely that they had gotten taken off guard by something - which was only barley more comforting, since they usually were never taken off guard by much.

Bucky had trained his eyes on Nat, so Peter did the same. She darted her eyes quickly to something next to him and then back to Peter, Bucky followed her gaze and kept it locked on the thing she was looking at. Peter slowly moved his head to where Bucky’s eyes were trained and looked down to see the mostly melted cake, with the watery, sloppy lettering that was supposed to spell out “Congrats on not dying spider dweeb” and then a messily drawn spiderman logo, but they had eaten the cake in a way that it said “C---ats o- ying- ider dw-b” and part of the logo was cut outso it was only the lens’ of the mask showing. Peter then moved his eyes back up to Natasha, still confused over why she was so still about it.

“I thought you're birthday was the... 12th.” Her tone was still carefully neutral, but Peter could detect some tension that his friends probably didn’t pick up on. Bucky definitely did though. It almost seemed like it was hard for her to get that out, for some reason.

Peter cocked his head. “Well yeah officially.” he said. Something seemed to click for Bucky and he looked to Peter and his friends again.

“It’s the 7th.” Bucky said, in a much more genuine neutral tone.

“Yeah, it is.” MJ said sarcastically, but she seemed to tone her usual snark down a bit. Peter was inexplicably grateful for that, for some reason.

“We celebrate it on the second Wednesday of August though.” Ned explained. He had told them the story of how he officially got his birthday with Wade and the army camps earlier that day, because Ned had asked if there was a story he was previously unable to tell them. He had told them the whole truth and they accepted it without any preamble. At this point they had heard so many messed up stories about his childhood that the initial shock and horror reaction had dialed down. At first - when he first started telling them about his past that he had to keep a secret, even without all the spidey stuff like the White room and Special Forces - Ned had been in tears nearly every time and MJ would close off almost to the point of dissociation. But after nearly a year the most reaction he’d get was MJ’s concerned eyeroll and Ned’s shift so they bumped shoulders or they were closer. Still, the birthday story did get a hug out of Ned and MJ to shift a tad closer.

Bucky’s eyes flicked to Natasha and his shoulders slumped like he was holding in a sigh “Why?” Bucky asked after a beat of silence, maintaining the same casual light tone.

“Some stupid thing Wade made up.” Peter shrugged and fought the urge to look away. Why did he feel so weird about this? “Something about sticking it to the man, or society or the government or whatever.” he said looking down at his cake and putting a small bite in his mouth that he could talk around. “We did it every year and then we did it with Ned and MJ and it just stuck. It’s not a big deal, we just chill.” he mumbled more than said. There was a long pull of silence between them, with only the sounds of Allura explaining some complicated space matter to the team of palidins on the screen.

When Peter finally had the urge to look up he found himself looking at the tail end of his mother going into her bedroom and quietly shutting the door. He looked at the door for a moment then at Bucky who was doing the same, but he sighed and shot him and his friends one last supposedly reassuring smile, as if to say ‘as you were’ - it did not have it’s desired effect- and then follow after his partner, opening and shutting the door softly.

That was weird.

Peter just looked at the door for a few moments, not really sure how to feel about that. He felt his friends’ gazes on his back, and it almost felt like they had no clue what to do with that strange interaction either. It hadn’t left bad vibes, but it hadn’t really left any good ones either.

He turned back to the movie, MJ and Ned seemingly following his lead and going back to marathoning. But instead of listening to Keith and Lance’s 143th argument of the show, he was listening to the quiet murmurs coming from the room. Loud enough that Peter could pick up on the sound with his enhanced hearing but too soft to actually make any words out.

Eventually, after about 10 minutes of not knowing what was up and the feeling something was off still lingering in his mind, he stood up and made his way to the door. HIs confused friends’ gazes followed him up and to where he was walking.

“Be right back.” he said absently before entering the room and closing the door just a quietly as his parents’.

[actuallybarb]

The Aftermath ~ Part 2

Summary: y/n gets knocked around by a water monster, has secret-sharing time with peter, and decides mj is more important than her pride. sleep deprivation and caffeine consumption are definitely involved. 

Pairing: peter parker x reader

Warnings: swearing, angst, fluff, mysterio being a dick, trauma, it’s marvel what did you expect

Word Count: 3978 give or take

A/N: endgame is canon, *vomits*, but we’ve all got a thing for broken peter parker, even if all i want is his never ending happiness

                                                         ///////////

“I can’t believe you punched Flash.” Brad, of course, decided to sit next to me on the gondola ride to the hotel. Figures.

“You better believe it, ‘cuz it actually happened.” I tried to pay as little attention to him as possible and just take pictures on my phone, but he kept talking.

“Why don’t you like me?”

I groaned. “Because, Brad, you ask stupid questions like that.”

We pulled up to the hotel and were all sufficiently underwhelmed.

“It’s flooded!”

“The hotel is sinking?”

I considered helping the hotel out, at least while we stayed at it, but there wasn’t much hope left for it. I took my room key and thanked my lucky stars I didn’t have a room on the ground level. In fact, I was sharing with MJ. I waited patiently behind her as she jiggled the door open.

“Is it safe to assume the building will crumble any second now?”

MJ burst out laughing. “I think that’s an understatement.”

“If I get TB, I’m suing.”

“The hotel?”

“Harrington.”

She smiled. “C’mon, let’s get outside before we drown.”

We walked along the water and let the sun happily reflect on our exhausted faces. Everyone was enjoying themselves, but I was starting to feel queasy. It was almost imperceptible, but I could feel the city moving with the water, and it was making me sick. I started lagging back and tried to find my “sea legs,” but Peter noticed and stuck back too. “You alright?”

I plastered on a weak smile. “That long flight is catching up with me. I’m just going to grab an espresso, I’ll meet up with you guys soon.” He looked at me one more time before nodding and meeting the rest of the group.

I didn’t completely lie — I was getting an espresso. But I wasn’t going to catch up with them, at least, not for a while. I needed to get away from the water, even just for a little bit.

I can’t fly, per se. I can control the air currents around me and change them how I want them too, like I did on the airplane with the turbulence. I can do that with most elements, (except wood, I hate wood) and that gives me a heightened awareness of them. I’m basically the Avatar and the characters from Percy Jackson. All I have to do is shave my head and tattoo blue arrows on my body. (And, yes, I did watch all seven seasons of the two series and read all ten Percy Jackson books to actually figure out what the hell it was that I could do. It helped. Clearly.)

I just lifted myself to the top of the coffee shop. I’m a sucker for espresso, I like to be close to it. The distance helped. I felt grounded enough to walk on the normal streets of Venice again, but when I touched down, I suddenly lurched to the right.

“What the hell,” I muttered. I got my answer soon enough. A huge river monster was crashing its giant water arms on anything it could see. And I was directly in its path. “Oh, shit.”

I shouldn’t have been as terrified as I was. I mean, come on, I can control water. Dissipate the water man, Y/N, I can almost hear you yelling at me. Shut up, I was scared. This thing was twice as tall as any of the buildings, and it had a direct path to anywhere in the city. Me, a seventeen year old girl, against that? Not a good idea.

So, like any logical human being, I ran. And I still got clobbered with water and ended up actually falling into the water. Let me just tell you, Italy needs to get a Brita, ‘cause their river is nasty.

But, once I was actually in the water, the river monster looked a lot less intimidating. Sure, the water was churning around and sucking everything into its path, but I was in my element — literally. I got close to it, like, really close. I pushed against the flow of the water and tried to stop the monster from forming, and it worked, for a little bit. It slowed down, and I got some newfound momentum, when all of the sudden, it all stopped, and tons of water crashed to the surface. That was my cue to leave, but then something caught my eye. A flash of metal was in the water. Luck would have it, though, that I could bend water and metal (shout out to Toph Beifong). I latched onto the metal and pulled it close to me, but I couldn’t make out what it was. Didn’t mean I would trash it though, this water was disgusting enough. I tucked it in my pocket and started swimming to the surface.

I got out of the water actually pretty close to the rest of the class, but I was the only one completely drenched.

“Oh, Y/N, good! We’re all here,” Mr. Harrington celebrated. “Let’s get back to the hotel, your families will want to know you’re all fine.”

“You’re soaked.”

I shivered, even though it wasn’t cold. The temperature difference between the water and the air was enough to make me shake. “Astute observation, Brad.”

“Here, you can have my jacket.”

“Thanks, but I don’t want it.” I kept walking and managed to bump into Peter. “You got wet too?”

“Just splashed. Did you get thrown in?”

“Yeah, the bastard caught me by surprise. I’m okay, just cold.”

“Here.” Peter slung his backpack around and took out a mostly dry sweatshirt. He gestured it my way, but I didn’t take it. “It’s just a jacket, Y/N. You’ll get a cold with your hair dripping all around you.”

I knew that wasn’t how colds worked, but I took it anyway and let it soak in the water from my hair. It helped, surprisingly, at least making me not shiver. We made it back to the hotel with no other complications, aside from Flash tripping over his own shoelace because he was too busy recording for his Instagram followers to pay attention to where he was going. I quickly went upstairs and changed out of my clothes, putting on a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt that used to belong to Jessica. The room had a tiny balcony, and I took advantage of it and laid out all of my clothes and Peter’s sweatshirt. The last thing MJ or I needed was a puddle of water to slip in.

I went back downstairs and sat close to the top of the stairs, not wanting to get anywhere near the water at the bottom. MJ was a few steps below me, and Peter was leaning against the stairs, talking to someone on the phone. He hung up, and I slipped past MJ and wrapped around to the phone. I was about to dial, when I remembered something. “Hey, Peter.”

“What’s up?”

I pulled him away from the stairs and whispered, “Is the plan still working?”

“The—oh, that plan. Uh, yeah, I think so. I got her this necklace of a black dahlia from a glass shop, and I want to give it to her at the top of the Eiffel Tower.”

I smiled. “That’s adorable. I’m going to use the phone, do you mind?”

“Oh, sorry, I’ll get out of your way.” We smiled at each other, then I grabbed the receiver and dialed.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Mom, it’s Y/N.”

“Oh my—John, it’s her. Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine. Harrington wanted all of us to call our parents, so this is me, doing my due diligence. We’re still set for Paris tomorrow, so I’ll call you then, okay? Love you.” I didn’t even really wait for them to respond before I hung up. Truth was, I didn’t want to talk to them. I didn’t really want to talk to anyone, but I had to make one more phone call.

“Hello?”

“Hi, Jess, it’s Y/N. You watch the news nonstop, so I figured I’d call, let you know I’m okay.”

“Thank god, I was so worried about you. What happened?”

“This water monster literally came out of nowhere and knocked me straight into the murky junk, it was disgusting.”

“Were you able to help at all?” Jess was one of two other people in the world who knew about what I could do. She was the one who bought me the tv shows and books, of course she knew.

“I slowed it down at some point, but then all of a sudden it just dissipated, it was weird. I did find this weird metal thing in the water, I picked it up. I’ll send you a picture of it when I get the chance.”

“Okay. Call me soon, got it?”

“Count on it. Love you.”

“Love you too.”

I wasn’t in the mood to talk anymore, so I walked up the stairs, ready to succumb to the moldy mattress in my room. Unfortunately, I had to collect my clothes.

Everything was nearly dry, and Peter’s sweatshirt was definitely dry, so I brought them inside. I almost didn’t want to give Peter his sweatshirt back, just because it was so soft, but knowing him, it was probably the only one he brought, so I walked the ten feet to his front door and knocked. I wasn’t told not to enter, so I turned the knob and walked in. “Hey, Pete, I—“ I stopped with my hand by my face, terrified. A small dart was less than an inch away from my palm. I turned to the man in the corner who was holding the gun. “Did you just try to shoot me?”

“You’re the one who came barging in.” The scary looking guy with the eyepatch leaned forward. “What’s your name?”

I laughed heartlessly. “Ha, yeah, like I’m going to tell the man who just pulled a gun on me.” I looked at Peter and threw his jacket at him. “I brought this back.” Then I turned to the man in the chair. I crunched the dart, letting it fold on top of itself before his eyes, then I let it fall to the floor. “You can keep that.” I looked at Peter one more time, then slammed the door on my way out.

MJ was laying on her bed when I walked back in, but she could tell something was up. She had impeccable observational skills. “You good?”

I was pacing, a bad habit I picked up after The Snap first happened. “I just need to look something up.”

“Well, the hotel might be sinking, but they’ve at least got good wifi.”

I finally sat and opened my laptop, then turned on my VPN and put the whole device on ‘incognito mode.’ I had some serious investigations to conduct, I didn’t need the government to see what I was doing. Okay, I only had one serious investigation, but that could possibly have lead to more, so I kept my guard up.

First search: scary-looking black man with an eyepatch. The guy’s face was the first image that popped up. Nick Fury. Ex-director of SHIELD before all of that went to shit. Now he’s running some ‘underground’ SHIELD, I guess. Now I know the guy’s name.

But why was he talking to Peter? And why did he shoot me?

I was up all night doing research. Not just on Nick Fury, but on the metal piece I had found in the water, the Avengers, and as much as I could find on Peter Parker himself. Sooner than I thought, the sun peeked between the curtains at the window and MJ’s alarm came blaring through the speakers on her phone.

“Morning,” I mumbled, rubbing my eyes and finally taking a break from my computer screen.

“Did you sleep at all?”

“Are you going to yell at me if I say no?” MJ just pursed her lips. I knew she wouldn’t.

It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve pulled an all nighter. At least this one was productive.

“What’s on your bed?” She picked up a small spring and looked it over before putting it back beside the rest of the pieces of the metal thing. “Did you take apart your toothbrush?”

I chuckled. “No, I found this thing in the river when I got knocked in. I didn’t know what it was, so I took it apart.”

“Have you figured it out?”

“Not yet.” I rubbed my eyes again and groaned. “We’re going to Paris today, right?”

“Yeah.” MJ stood and stretched and I caught the smallest smile on her face when she replied. I smiled too and packed up my project. Something for another late night.

We were escorted outside with our luggage in tow, but Mr. Harrington happily informed us we would be taking a bus to Prague instead of a train to Paris. You’ve got to be kidding.

Peter was walking to the bus in front of me, but I grabbed his arm and dragged him away. “What the hell, Peter?”

“You can control metal?” He was in awe. His admiration would’ve been flattering if I wasn’t so pissed.

“You had Nick Fury in your room last night. I almost got shot last night. What the hell is going on?”

“It was only a tranquilizer, you would’ve been fine—“

“That’s not the point, Parker!” I basically hissed at him. He looked a little surprised that I was so upset. I took a deep breath and tried to calm down enough to not start shouting. “We were attacked by a water monster, I almost got shot, I didn’t sleep, and now four people in the world know what I can do, so give me some damn answers, because I sure as hell deserve them.”

Peter looked around, like he was looking for an escape, but I was ready. I might not have slept in almost 48 hours, but I wasn’t going to let him get away so easily.

Then Harrington was calling us over to the bus. Perfect timing.

“Can we talk on the bus?”

I nodded and let him lead the way to the back. Surprisingly we were the only ones that occupied those seats and the ones surrounding, but that’s what happens when you get a bunch of nerds in the same vehicle—they all sit in the front. He sat low in his seat, and I did the same, and I let him start the conversation. Prying it out of him wouldn’t be too successful, I figured, not with something like this.

We got fifteen minutes out of the city before he started talking. “Fury wanted me to go with him to meet this guy who defeated the Elemental yesterday.”

“Why you? And what’s an Elemental?”

“The water monster, it’s called an Elemental. And he asked me because I’m—I’m,” his voice dropped to an even lower whisper, “I’m Spider-Man.”

I almost didn’t believe him.

I almost burst out laughing at the hilarity of it all. Peter Parker, Spider-Man? Ridiculous.

But, remember, I learned from Toph Beifong. I can tell when people are lying.

And Peter?

Peter wasn’t lying.

Well, shit.

How do I even respond to something like that?

“Okay.” Good one. “Who was the other guy you met with?”

“You—you’re not surprised?”

Oh, young Parker, I was dumbfounded. But I had learned two years earlier how to control my heart rate, so he would never know how freaked out I actually was.

“You saw me stop a dart mid-air, Peter, you being Spider-Man is hardly out of the ordinary.”

He looked relieved, but he still hadn’t answered my question.

“Who was the other guy?”

“Oh. His name is Quentin Beck. He’s—“ another low whisper, “he’s from an alternate universe. He fought the Elementals before, and he and them got sucked into our universe when Tha—Hulk brought everyone back.” He didn’t look me in the eye when he talked about the snaps. I wouldn’t either, but I felt the little blip his heart made at the mention of Thanos’s name, so I didn’t push. Even though Quentin Beck and his story sounded like bullshit.

“Do you have a picture of him?” Peter looked at me skeptically, but hooked up his mask to his phone. A somewhat blurry picture of Quentin Beck popped up, and he sent it to me, but he didn’t seem happy about it. “I just want to know who to look out for. If I start chucking rocks at people, I don’t want to hit the wrong one.” The lie seemed to relax him a little bit. It wasn’t a complete lie, I did want to know who to look out for, but I also wanted to find this guy in our universe. “What’s the plan now?”

“They think another one will pop up in Prague—“

“Peter, we’re driving toward Prague. Shouldn’t we be going away from it?”

“I have to help fight this thing—“

“Let the Beck guy do it!” My voice had risen above a whisper and Peter quickly shushed me. “He’s done it before, he can do it again.”

“They need my help, I can—“

“Peter.” He kept muttering, convincing himself he needed to help, but I wasn’t having it. “You don’t have to save the world, Peter.”

That got him to shut up.

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t. You don’t owe the world a goddamn thing.”

“Help me.” That got me to shut up. “Help me fight the Elemental.”

“Why the hell would I do that?”

“Because you’re one of the only people who can! The next one that’s coming, they’re pretty sure it’s the fire elemental, and any time it absorbs metal it can get stronger. You can help us beat it by keeping the metal away from it!”

Oh. He didn’t know I could do more than that.

“Peter, I — ”

“Please.” Peter Parker had the best puppy-dog eyes I had ever seen in my life. But I wasn’t convinced.

“I’m here for a school trip, Pete, not to save the world.”

It’s like I sucker punched him. He deflated immediately and looked away, and I got up and moved a few rows ahead.

I wasn’t opposed to helping, but I didn’t want to get near Quentin Beck until I had a full story on him. And that would take a lot of research and caffeine.

“Hey, Eugene.” We had stopped for a bathroom break and he was still using his phone to update his Instagram followers on all of the happenings on our way to Prague.

“Are you here to break my jaw again, Y/L/N?”

I looked at his face and didn’t see any swelling, barely any discoloration. “Nope, you’re healing nicely, I’m impressed. Do you have a hotspot?”

“Why do you think I have a hotspot?”

“Because you’ve been on your phone the entire trip.”

“What will you do for me if I let you on it?”

I rolled my eyes and groaned. Of course he would ask for a favor. “Anything. Within reason.”

“Can I cash in on the favor later?”

Goddamnit. “Sure, whatever.”

He laughed maniacally. “Okay, Flash Hotspot is the user, and spidermanrocks is the password, no spaces, no caps.”

“Really, Eugene, you went with that password?” I almost had to laugh. He would have an aneurysm if he knew who was really Spider-Man.

“What?”

“It’s a bit obvious, don’t you think?”

He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. What were you doing with Parker?”

“Plotting the downfall of the European Union.” I let out a laugh. “We were talking about the water monster, and how there’s a light festival in Prague that’d be cool to go to.”

“Gonna go on a date with Penis Parker?”

“I was actually thinking about asking Brad.” That made Flash laugh, and I smiled myself. “But seriously, stop calling him that.”

“Whatever.”

Peter looked flustered as he got back on the bus, but I didn’t pry. But Brad looked awfully smug as he sat beside MJ. Focus, Y/N, you have to find Quentin Beck. I hunkered down in my seat and slipped my headphones over my ears, then logged onto Flash’s hotspot and got to work.

The number of illegal websites I went on was not something I’m willing to admit out loud, but I couldn’t find anything. Not a single facial-recognition scan showed any results for Quentin Beck, and I tried as many as I could get my hands on. But the more I looked at his face, the more I felt like I’d seen him before. And honestly, it was pissing me off.

I stared at the image on my phone, and I had a gut feeling it had to do with Tony Stark. This Beck guy was somehow connected to Stark. It’s like the answer was on the tip of my tongue. I rubbed my temples in frustration, wishing I could just reach into my memory and pull out the information when it hit me. “Memory, you’re so stupid, Y/N.”

Binarily Augmented Retro-Framing, affectionately called B.A.R.F. was presented by Tony Stark at a lecture he did at MIT almost seven years ago. But this guy had released a paper about it six months before—a guy named Quentin Beck. I remembered reading about it for a school project, and the picture of the guy was the same person Peter met.

“There’s no way.”

I looked up the article, and sure enough, I was right. Quentin Beck was the scientist behind the technology, and he was an employee for Stark Industries when the article was published.

Great, now I had to break into Stark Industries and access their archives while on a hotspot provided by Eugene Thompson. Lucky for me, we pulled into the parking lot for our much improved hotel, which meant free wifi. Unlucky for me, Mr. Harrington now felt he needed to start bossing us around, considering he was the teacher. Which meant I had to put my investigations to the side. For now.

“Okay, kids, grab your room keys, same roommates as before. Meet back in the lobby at five o’clock for the light festival!”

MJ and I dragged our cases up to the third floor. We each chose a bed, but she was moody, more than her usual angst. But I didn’t have time to play therapist. “Did we get a wifi password?”

“Uh, yeah.” She passed over the card after logging in herself and sat on her bed, glancing back at me every ten seconds.

I was typing away madly, but her stares were making me uncomfortable. “Why are you staring?”

She looked away quickly. “I’m not staring.”

“You were totally staring.” I kept clicking and typing. “What?”

“What are you looking for? I know you stayed up all last night on your computer.”

To tell or not to tell, that is the question. Not a very hard one, but it’s still the question. This secret isn’t mine to make public, though. “I’m trying to prove someone wrong.”

“Who?”

I hesitated. “Peter.”

“Why do you need to prove him wrong?”

“Because he’s gotten his idyllic little hopes up and I want to squash them like a bug.” I glanced at her and smirked. “I’m kidding. I just don’t think he’s right about something, and I’m proving it.”

She nodded, not entirely convinced. “You’re coming to the light festival, right?”

I looked at her. Really looked at her. She was pulling her long sleeves over her wrists and switching her weight from foot to foot—uncomfortable as hell. I gave her a genuine smile and closed my computer. “Wouldn’t miss it. Wanna help me figure out what to wear?”

Friends come before saving the world any day.

tags: @eridanuswave @vampirestrawberries​

[soundwave1982-blog]

Real Amazing Spider-Man #3

Stark villa 

A green portal opens, and a five-year-old Valeria Richards exits the portal dragging two suitcases to find Peter Parker and Mary Jane Parker cuddled together, watching a Netflix original film while Annie continues playing her Nintendo Switch. 

“Special delivery for My Best Science-buddy friend forever and her excellent mom, your luggage direct from Germany,” said Valeria 

“Thanks, Val,” said Annie as she ran over to Valeria, hugged her, collected her suitcase, and headed to her temporary bedroom. 

“Thanks, Val. I hope it wasn’t too much trouble,” asked Mary Jane Parker, 

“Not at all, Mrs Parker; it’s a pleasure for all the time you babysat me and  my dumb brother Franklin and lets us double mint chocolate chip ice cream,” said Mary Jane collecting her suitcase 

“So where is my suitcase,” asked Peter 

“Sorry, I only have two arms, Mister Parker. But, I have to keep my BSFF happy so we can get another A+ on our science projects, and MJ always lets me have an extra helping of double mints ice cream and is wicked when it comes to Pictionary game night,” said Valeria.

“No, seriously, where is my bag,” asked Peter as MJ took her suitcase to their temporary bedroom 

“I’ll go and get it for you, but the teleport device needs six to eight hours to recharge before I can sneak into the unclaimed baggage area,” said Valeria.

“six to eight hours you just wanted to hang out with your friend in Hawaii,” asked Peter 

“I have left a message for Uncle Johnny to tell him where I am; Mum said I could stay over at a friend’s house if I wanted as long as I told a responsible adult, seeing they left Uncle Johnny in charge, which I did I left him a note,” said Valeria.

“I think your mum meant to stay in New York with us, not while we are house-sitting in Hawaii,” said Peter.

“Technically, I am sure you could call Mum and Dad to come and get me, mister Parker, but they are doing something in the Negative Zone, so where is your phone,” asked Valeria.

“You knew my cellphone was in my bag, didn’t you? So you left it on purpose so you could work on a science project with Annie,” asked Peter 

“That’s the problem, mister Parker you can’t prove its word against mine; if you let me stay, I will upgrade your web shooters free of charge,” said Valeria 

“You are an evil mastermind who taught blackmail,” said Peter laughing

Annie then comes out of her bedroom carrying her teddy bear, Wolverine. 

“I thought I was never going mister whiskers again; I owe you one, Val,” said Annie. 

“Happy to help, my BSFF. Are you ready to work on our science project? I’m sure some tech we can borrow from Tony’s workshop,” asked Valeria. 

“Of course, I was already planning to sneak into Tony Stark workshop,” said Annie 

“What? You already cracked his workshop password; not fair. I’m the code breaker in this team,” said Valeria,

“Please, there’s no real challenge in hacking into Stark system; a one-year-old could do it,” said Annie

“So it’s IamIronman39 isn’t it,” said Valeria.

“No, it’s IamIronman08 this time. I tried a few other passcodes to access the workshop. I need some to upgrade my switch battery life from three to six with some junk from the workshop,” said Annie.

“We really need to talk about hacking into other people’s systems,” said Peter.

“Says the guy who went into the lab before me to borrow parts to create some web-shooters,” said Annie

I thought you had organic web shooters, Mister Parker,” asked Valeria. 

“I do these web-shooters to help focus my shots and to use impact webbing and some kinky stuff you do not need to know till you are in high school,” said Peter 

“Oh, he’s talking about Sex; I already had read six biology books before I was four, Uncle Peter. I know about the birds and bees and all the LGBT stuff that they are only two genders, XX and XY, no matter how deluded the biology teacher is with her saying they are 32 different genders crap,” said Valeria.

“Yeah, I gathered that, Val. I think dad trying to avoid have tell me where babies come from; he’s trying to convince me the stork brought me,” said Annie 

“Don’t you have a science project to work on,” asked Peter.

Annie and Valeria walk off towards Tony’s workshop. After they entered the workshop, they started work on their science project.

“So what are we doing for our science this time? Because I don’t know how we top the teleportation device we created last year,” asked Annie.

“I know those ungrateful science fair judges gave us a damn C I still can’t believe we lost to a baking soda volcano,” said Valeria 

“We are competing with other four-year-olds, but that was completely ridiculous. Mind you, we created a working teleporter out of a couple of radio and retro games consoles at four-year-old without adult help,” said Annie.

“Let’s just build a Lemon power clock or go with the classic Baking soda volcano, but we both know those are below our intelligence and a waste of time and effort. I got a wicked idea; not sure you would be a willing test subject,” said Valeria 

“Tell me your idea, first science buddy,” asked Annie   

“What about creating a device that allows a wearer to mimic the superpower of anyone who wears a similar pairing device,” replied Valeria 

“You just want to try web swing for yourself, don’t you,” asked Annie.

“What’s so wrong about a swing through the city without a care in the world,” said Valeria 

“Trust Val, it’s not all fun trying to wash your secret costume without mum or dad, who both have similar powers to finding out your powers are already activated and that you are sneaking out to fight criminals with a super genius tech support girl in the chair,” said Annie.

“Yeah, I know the feeling, Annie. When Mom, Dad, Uncle Johnny and Uncle Ben go on great adventures together and leave Dufus and me behind with Aunt Alice to babysit us. I’m sure she’s not blind. Sometimes she always catches trying to sneak out,” said Valeria 

“She must be a mutant with heightened senses,” said Annie.

“It’s not that; she’s just super wise to all tricks; so shall do that create a power friendship synch bracelets,” asked Valeria

“Okay, let’s do that, partner,” said Annie.

[sarah-sandwich]

Photo Credit:

https://unsplash.com/@markusspiske

https://unsplash.com/@a_d_s_w

https://unsplash.com/@gabrielj_photography

WIP Preview: Lemon Boy

This is not being posted yet! You may look at the word count of this post and think “WOW! She’s got a lot of this written!” but I in fact Do Not! That said, this is the next project I really want to dive into so maybe spring of 2021? idk

Summary:

Just kidding I don’t have an official summary yet haha But the premise is that it’s Endgame compliant (yes i know i’m sorrrryyyy i don’t control my plot bunnies) and Harley centric (although we do get some Peter POV). The snap happens. The five years happens. Endgame happens. Harley gets snapped. His mom and Abbie don’t. When he comes back after the snap, he finds his bedroom has been turned into a craft room and Abbie is no longer his annoying 16 year old sister. She’s 21, old enough to drink, and three years into a degree at Cornell while he’s still the same 18 year old he was the day he vanished in the middle of supper in a puff of ash.

Oh yeah, and his mentor (along with all of his plans for the future) is dead. Yippee.

This story begins two years later when his estranged uncle on his dad’s side passes away and he gets left his crummy old house in Queens (Abbie gets his retirement fund which she immediately dumps into her student loans and goes right back to being a broke college student but without the crippling debt. Woo!) He’s told the house is in bad shape but even without seeing it first, he has no reason not to go. He’s spent the past two years in Rose Hill fixing up the same 20 cars and coming home to the same rinky-dink apartment over the hardware store and eating the same frozen meals. He’s done. He’s ready. It’s time for a change.

He’s not ready for New York. The people. The culture. The living expenses. It’s all too much but he’s too stubborn to quit. The house needs some serious TLC and he’s got all the right skills to give it; he only needs a little extra income so he can afford all of the tools and materials. He puts out an ad for a roommate. There are three bedrooms and plenty of space even if the third bedroom is filled to the ceiling with his uncle’s junk and the upstairs bathroom is off limits until he can work up the nerve to go in there again. He thought the downstairs bathroom was grody but the upstairs looks like a portal to an alien planet. He needs a hazmat suit just to stand outside the closed door.

A ton of weirdos respond to his ad.

Bird girl. Satan worshiper. Face tattoos. Generic Douchebag™. Literal 13-year-old (literally!) Junkie x7. Weird guy who totally lied about why he was late to the interview but whatever. He’ll take the possible pathological liar with a time management problem if it means he doesn’t have to do anymore of these interviews.

Enter Peter (oh my god they were roommates)

Peter who has been going through the motions. He goes to ESU like he’s supposed to. He hangs out with Ned and MJ like he’s supposed to. He has brunch with Aunt May every Wednesday and volunteers half his Saturday at F.E.A.S.T. like he’s supposed to. He even spends a weekend with Pepper and Morgan at the lake house once a month. Like he’s supposed to.

Spider-Man is the only outlet for his grief and his rage. It bleeds from between fisted fingers every time he throws a punch. It follows after him like dark cloud to the point that even Daredevil has asked if he’s doing okay.

But Spider-Man doesn’t mix well with dorm life. After he almost gets caught by his roommate one too many times, he ditches the dorm and spends the tail end of fall semester couch surfing and staying in shelters. When he spots the ad for the ridiculously cheap rent where he’d get his own bedroom presumably with a door he can close, he jumps on it. Does it really matter if the person who put up the ad is sketchy? He’s Spider-Man. He can handle himself.

Then he meets Harley and Harley isn’t sketchy--he’s naive and way out of his depth here in the city. Somehow he walks the line between too kind and unpleasantly abrasive and Peter still finds himself liking him.

Oh my god why did I write so much

ANYWAY! So they learn to live together while Harley fixes the house and the house is a symbol of his mental health or whatever and as the house heals he heals and Peter heals and eeevveeeennntuaaalllllyyyy they maybe fall in love but it’s a slow burn bc they both have a lot of damage to fix first.

PHEW! Okay below the cut is a “snippet” (i can’t not over-write it’s a problem) from later in the fic after Harley discovers Peter is Spider-Man and they become something resembling almost friends. For reference, our lovely fic begins in March and this takes place somewhere around September. :) yay slow burns

Snippet:

“Will you come with me?”

“No,” Harley says, looking at him like he’s lost his mind. “Why would I do that?”

“I… Morgan misses me and she can be… a lot. It’d be nice to have a second person, I guess.”

Pepper is no longer willing to tolerate him avoiding the lake house. If he puts her off any longer he’s afraid she’s going to show up on their front stoop with Morgan in tow and force a visit. But being at the house where they held the funeral with Morgan who is so much like Tony… It hurts. And at six she has so much energy. It’s overwhelming to be the sole focus of it, especially when he’s struggling with keeping his emotions in check.

“So you only want me there so I can take the heat off you?” Harley crosses his arms and leans back against the counter, his sharp blue-eyed stare never leaving his face.

“No! Well, I mean… That’s not the only reason. I mean, I like you.” His heart skips a beat. Too truthful! Backtrack! “I like spending time with you.” That’s better.

Harley snorts. “Try again.”

“It’s true!” he insists. He never believes him. He could confess his big dumb crush right now and Harley would probably laugh in his face and tell him to quit messing around. He sighs. Time for the last resort. “They’ve also got a lab. Like a real one. The suit needs some TLC and it’d be good to have an extra set of hands.”

“There it is.” Harley stands straight, rolling his eyes, and ducks into the fridge. Peter rolls his eyes behind his back. “Coulda just led with that instead of beating around the bush.” He pulls out mayo, lunch meat, and cheese slices and lets the door fall shut behind him as he takes his sandwich fixings to the table. “If Pepper says it’s okay, yeah I’ll come. Want a sandwich?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Someday, he’s going to figure out how to get it through Harley’s thick skull that he really does like him. Hopefully without revealing his ever expanding crush.

~Harley~

The lake house looks just like how he remembers it. Picturesque. Like, something you’d find on some cottagecore Instagram--not real-life. It’s gorgeous, but he can’t imagine ever living in a place like this. He feels just as out of place as he did two years ago even though the grounds aren’t crawling with superheros this time.

“Thanks for driving,” Peter says for the third time since they left the house.

He doesn’t turn away from his careful consideration of the woods and doesn’t respond. He did that the first two times. Peter should know by now that he’d rather drive than be driven by Pepper’s chauffeur or security guard or whatever Happy Hogan is to her now that Tony’s gone.

Dirt crunches as Peter shifts his feet. He can see him fidget in his mind’s eye. He knows how his fingers knit and unknit when he’s nervous, how his weight shifts from the ball of one foot to the other when he’s uncertain, how he chews his lower lip when he doesn’t know whether to speak or stay silent.

He gives it another handful of seconds before he pulls in a deep breath of cool damp air and turns to face him.

“Ready?” he asks.

Peter unknits his fingers and tucks them into his front pockets. He nods, releasing his lower lip, and settles his weight on his left leg. “You?”

He shrugs then heads for the trunk to get their bags.

He never expected to feel ready. This is Tony’s house, Tony’s family. Two things he once thought he’d be allowed to experience with the man himself. Instead, he’s here is at Peter’s request. He wonders if Pepper will recognize him this time. He wonders if he’ll be that weird southern kid from the funeral or if she looked him up afterward. The worst option, and the most probable one, will be that he’s nothing more than Peter’s roommate. No connection to Tony whatsoever. Here only for Peter’s support at Peter’s request to be Peter’s guest.

It’s not that he doesn’t like Peter. He can admit that to himself if no one else—despite his better judgment, he’s gotten attached. But this, being here, is all tied in with those unrealized dreams. The ones that were crushed into a fine powder by Tony’s death and then ground into the soft fertile earth by Pepper Potts-Stark’s stiletto and her blank uncomprehending stare when he tried to explain why he was on her property on the day of her husband’s funeral.

He shuts the trunk and ducks under the strap of his duffel bag. When Peter tries to grab his backpack from his hand, he slings it onto his shoulder and out of reach.

“I can carry my own stuff,” Peter says petulantly.

“Yep. You leadin’ the way or am I supposed to figure it out on my own?”

Peter shoots him a sour look then stalks towards the house without a backwards glance.

He follows at a more sedate pace and tries to use the extra time to convince himself that whatever happens this weekend changes nothing. It means nothing. Even if Pepper hates his guts, he’s still in the same boat as he was last week. Even if she invites him back, he’s still some nobody from Tennessee. It doesn’t matter so he doesn’t need to worry about it.

He steps onto the porch behind Peter just as the front door opens.

He tenses up as Pepper beams at Peter, casts a throw away smile his way, and then wraps Peter in a warm hug.

“I’ve missed you,” Pepper tells him before releasing him onto put her hands on his shoulders and say, “You don’t get to go that long between visits anymore. Morgan’s been driving me up the wall.”

“Sorry,” Peter says and Harley can imagine his sheepish face and the real guilt hidden there.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Pepper says and then releases Peter fully and steps towards Harley.

Suddenly fearful of receiving the same hug treatment, he sticks out his hand and says, “Harley Keener, nice to meet you.”

Pepper regards him with a bemused smile, but shakes his hand anyway. “We’ve already met, haven’t we? At the—,”

“I wasn’t uh—,” wasn’t sure you’d remember, “—wasn’t sure if that counted,” he says.

“Of course it does.” She eyes the bags on his shoulders and directs a raised eyebrow over her shoulder at Peter. “You have your guest carrying your things?”

“You try arguing with him,” Peter says, crossing his arms over his chest and shooting Harley a dirty look. “His southern hospitality kicks in at the most annoying times.”

“Not my fault I was raised right,” Harley fires back.

Pepper laughs, light as air, and leads the way into the house as she says over her shoulder, “Well in that case, Peter will you show him where he can put them? Morgan’s taking a nap so be quiet on the stairs.”

“I wondered why I didn’t get tackled the second I stepped out of the car,” Peter says, keeping his voice down despite them being nowhere near the sleeping child.

Pepper grins. “She was not happy about going down so soon before you were supposed to get here. I had to promise her you’d play princess rescue with her so, sorry about that.”

Peter groans. “She always makes me be the princess though.”

“Maybe Harley can be the princess this time,” Pepper says and winks at him.

He blinks in surprise, not expecting to be brought into the banter. He shrugs. “I’ve been worse.” Peter and Pepper both watch him expectantly so he expounds. “My sister Abbie liked to play ninja attack and she was the only one allowed to be the ninja.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” Peter, the fool, says.

Harley shoots him a flat look. “I had to pretend not to hear her coming and then get tackled and beat up by an enthusiastic eight-year-old with bony fists. Sitting around in a tower waiting for Prince Charming sounds like a walk in the park.”

“Spider-Man,” Pepper says with a smirk and a sideways glance at Peter who blushes.

“What?” Harley asks.

“Spider-Man rescues the princess,” Pepper tells him, grinning fully.

Harley glances at Peter and his lips twitch. “She makes you be the princess so she can be Spider-Man?”

“Uh, yeah,” Peter says, rubbing the back of his neck.

Harley grins, he can’t help it. “She knows, right?”

“Definitely,” Peter says, a reluctant smile curling his own lips as he looks at Harley.

“Wow. What a power play. I have so much respect for her.”

“Ugh, shut up. I’m going to regret letting you two meet, aren’t I?”

Letting. Like Peter has a claim on Tony’s family and is graciously allowing him to interact with them. His smiles fades.

“Umm, let’s get those bags put away,” Peter says after an awkward beat when Harley fails to respond with the clearly expected banter. “We’ll be right back,” he says to Pepper.

“Take your time and get settled in,” she tells him. “I’m still cleaning up lunch.”

He follows Peter up the stairs, careful to keep his steps light.

The first door they pass is open, revealing a clean and spacious master bedroom, shiny dark wood floors offset by the furry white rug under the bed and the soft lavender comforter. The next door leads to a bathroom big enough to fit both a shower stall and a jacuzzi with plenty of space to do jumping jacks in-between if the mood struck. They reach the end of the hall and closed doors on either side of the hall.

Peter opens the door on the left, leaving him to assume the door on the right is Morgan’s.

He steps into the room and Peter shuts the door behind him, probably to keep them from accidentally waking Morgan and then flops on the bed on his back like a starfish.

It’s a nice room. Not as big as the master bedroom, but bigger than either of their bedrooms back home. It’s tastefully decorated in that impersonal way guest rooms have, but he can’t help but notice little pops of personality, almost as though to signify who the room is intended for. There’s a Spider-Man plushie on the bed, an Iron Patriot action figure on the desk, and the eye mask on the nightstand has Grumpy from Snow White on it.

He doesn’t see himself here, but then he didn’t expect to.

“You can put those wherever. I usually just live out of my bag for the weekend. No point putting two shirts in the dresser, you know?”

Wait. What?

Is this meant to be where Peter’s staying or where he’s staying? The way Peter immediately made himself at home on the bed makes him think it’s where Peter’s staying, but Peter shut the door and hasn’t mentioned where he’s supposed to go. He doesn’t remember seeing another guest room and Peter would have mentioned it sooner if he’s supposed to be sleeping on the couch, right?

Peter sits up to look at him when he makes no move to set down the bags.

“What’s wrong?” he asks. “D’you… I mean, I figured you’d be okay sharing a room since we do at home all the time anyway, but I can sleep on the couch if you want.”

What? They’re sharing? Harley looks down at the hard wooden floor under his feet. It’s going to be a bitch to get comfortable on. Sleeping on the floor is never truly comfortable, but at least back home they’ve got carpet with padding under it. Peter follows his gaze.

“I umm, the bed’s big so I thought it’d be okay if… I mean, if you’re not comfortable with it I’ll absolutely stay on the couch.”

He swallows thickly. It is a big bed. King sized, if he’s guessing correctly. Far larger than Peter’s tiny twin back home. It makes sense to share. Then neither of them will have to sleep on the hard floor or disrupt Pepper and Morgan by sleeping in the public living room. They could do it without touching. He might not even notice the body on the other side of the bed.

So why does the idea make him so tense? He’s already realized he’s okay sharing space with Peter. Small touches from him don’t set him on edge like May’s hug did. So what’s making him so uncomfortable?

“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Peter says, getting to his feet. “I’m sorry. I should have talked to you about it. It’s totally understandable that you—,”

“It’s fine,” he forces himself to say. He’s not going to make this trip awkward by being the reason someone needs to sleep in the living room. If this is the arrangement Peter and Pepper decided would work best for everyone then he’ll make it work.

Mechanically, he walks to the far side of the room and sets his duffel and Peter’s backpack next to the dresser.

Now what?

They stand awkwardly—facing each other, but not making eye contact. What are they supposed to do? What does “settle in” mean if they aren’t unpacking? Pepper seemed like she didn’t want them back downstairs until she’d finished cleaning. How’s he supposed to keep busy in this house that isn’t his and is complete. Nothing needs done. What is he supposed to do?

“Sorry,” Peter says again, but he ignores him.

Sometimes he thinks Peter apologizes just to fill the silence. There’s no way someone can be sorry as much as he says he is.

The TV remote is on top of the dresser. Lacking any better options, they can at least drown out the quiet. He picks it up and aims it at the wall-mounted TV and freezes.

There, on a shelf next to the door, is a potato gun. Not just any potato gun. It’s his. He hadn’t noticed it was missing from the garage but there’s no mistaking it’s the very same homemade potato gun he once threatened Tony with a decade ago.

“Is that yours?” Peter asks, noticing Harley’s shift in attention. “I always wondered. Seemed like a weird decor choice, you know?”

I always wondered.

He sets down the remote and takes a step towards the gun, a lump in his throat and a stinging behind his eyes. He did care, didn’t he? He didn’t forget him. He… he…

“I’m going for a walk,” he says. His voice comes out too quiet, too strained.

“Umm okay? D’you want company?”

He shakes his head, not trusting his voice, and walks out the door, shutting it softly behind him. Thankfully, he doesn’t run into Pepper on his way out the front door. He thinks he maybe hears her call out, but by then the front door is closed behind him and he’s taking long quick strides, aiming for the narrow walking trail leading into the trees.

A Spider-Man plushie on the bed.

He needs to get into the tree cover. He needs to not be seen. He needs to be alone. Whether to think or not think… he’s not sure yet.

An Iron Patriot action figure on the desk.

He crosses the tree line. He doesn’t know where the trail leads or where he’s going as wood chips crunch under his boots but he doesn’t slow his pace.

The eye mask on the nightstand.

He can smell the lake from here. Marshy and pungent. Or maybe that’s just his imagination—a memory lurking beneath the surface of his thoughts. He rounds a bend and there’s a bench off to the side of the path. He collapses on it and puts his face in his hands.

A potato gun.

He sucks in a deep breath through his nose and releases it through his mouth. He remembered. He cared enough to go all the way to Rose Hill and get his potato gun. Did he steal it? He thinks Mama or Abbie would’ve mentioned by now if Tony Stark had paid them a visit while he was dust. He stole his potato gun and put it up on display in his guest room along-side mementos of Peter, Rhodey, and Happy. That’s where he ranked.

His breath hitches.

It’s not fair. It’s not fair that’s he’s only finding this out now. It’s not fair that Tony’s dead and none of it actually matters.

It’s not fair.