#punk the wisp | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

xzaddyzanakinx · 10 months

Text

I Crybaby I part two

Mean Punk/Grunge Anakin × Naive Femme Reader

18+ MDNI

Warnings: demeaning comments, crude behavior, aggression toward reader, hurt/comfort, reader is taken advantage of, Anakin is briefly a creep

Info: Anakin is an ass, like no joke he's really mean. Pierced and tatted Ani, he plays the drums, annoying rude neighbor, modern AU (90's), he might be mean now but I promise he will get better (probably)

NOT PROOFREAD

As the day went on you got yourself ready. A friend from one of your college classes was due to pick you up anytime now. The guy was nice enough to invite you out to go bowling with a group of his friends, knowing you were new and that you didn’t have a solid friend group yet. You were appreciative of the gesture, despite your bubbly personality you found it difficult to keep a steady friendship, it seemed that people took advantage of your naivety, your kindness.

Jacob had promised that his friends were just as great as he was, it was the week after classes had ended for the summer and they had collectively decided it was an atrocity that a girl like you had went the school year without a proper night out with friends.

Wearing a tight red crop top and a cherry patterned short skirt and a pair of white sandals you stepped out side, checking on your hair and makeup one more time in the porch window before sitting on the swing to wait for him to pull up.

Anakin had been watching you from behind his bedroom curtains as you primped and prepared to go out. A mix of annoyance and fascination flickered within him as he observed your movements. He couldn't help but notice the tight red crop top that accentuated your figure and the short cherry-patterned skirt that revealed your toned legs.

Feeling a sudden pang of jealousy, Anakin scoffed to himself as he grabbed his pack of Marlboros and his lighter from the nightstand. He stepped out onto his porch, determined to distract you from whatever event you planned on attending.

Anakin couldn't help but admire how good you looked, despite his attempts to downplay it.

"You're really going all out, aren't you?" he called out, purposely using a sarcastic tone as he walked over, the sound of his combat boots hitting the concrete echoing through the air.

He lit up a cigarette, taking a deliberate drag and letting the smoke linger in the air between you. Smirking at the disgust on your face when the smoke curled around your head, he snickered as he watched you fan it away with your delicate little hands.

Despite his snarky facade, he couldn't help but feel a streak of possessiveness at the thought of you going out with someone other than him.

"What do you mean?" You asked, standing as you saw Jacob's station wagon rounding the corner.

Anakin smirked, taking another drag from his cigarette as he leaned against the porch railing, the smoke escaping his lips in a lazy wisp. The sight of Jacob's car approaching only fueled his determination to stir up some trouble.

"Don't get your panties in a twist, princess," he replied, his voice laced with a blend of amusement and annoyance. "Just think you're putting in a lot of effort for some random."

As Jacob's car pulled up, Anakin pushed himself off the railing, making his way over to your driveway with an intentional swagger. He looked Jacob up and down with a scrutinizing gaze, silently sizing him up as if daring him to make a move.

"So, this is the lucky guy, huh?" he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Better keep a close eye on him, he looks like one of those sleazy types."

Anakin's words were meant to ruffle Jacob's feathers, and to his disappointment, the other boy seemed to be unaffected. He simply stepped aside and leaned against his car, a grin spreading as he watched you leap down the steps.

"Jay-Jay!" You shouted excitedly as he opened the passenger door for you.

Anakin laughed loudly, doubling over before leaning back on his heels, the toes of his shoes leaving the ground. “Jay-Jay?” He mocked.

"Who's this?" Jacob gestured to Anakin, very obviously judging his appearance and behavior.

"He's my neighbor, lives right there." You pointed.

Anakin raised a pierced eyebrow at Jacob's judgmental gaze, his playful smirk never leaving his face. He leaned against the car, deliberately invading Jacob's personal space as he spoke with a self-assured tone.

“Just thought I’d make sure she’s in good hands you know? Gotta watch out for my baby girl.” Anakin replied, leaning into the still open car door to give you a condescending pat on the cheek.

His use of the pet name was deliberate, a subtle reminder that he had taken a liking to you, even if he wasn't ready to admit it. Anakin shot you a mischievous grin as you settled into the car, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he turned back to Jacob.

You watched the exchange between the two boys. Jacob instantly bristled at the use of Anakin's pet name. He stood up a bit straighter to attempt to tower over Anakin with no luck, since Anakin was obviously much taller, even without the clunky boots he wore. You could tell Anakin liked getting a rise out Jacob, seeing as how his cheeks got red and his fists clenched.

"Take care of her, champ," he said, his tone containing a mix of jealousy and true concern for your safety.

“Can’t believe he said that while I’m standing right there!” Jacob fumed under his breath as he walked around the car to the drivers door. “Little shithead.”

Anakin couldn't help but overhear Jacob's remark as he made his exit. He chuckled to himself, basking in the knowledge that he had effectively managed to get under his skin.

He muttered, his tone tinged with amusement. "Guess I struck a nerve."

With one final wink in your direction, Anakin pushed away from the car and retreated back to his own porch. Leaning back on the porch swing, Anakin took another drag of his cigarette, the smoke curling around him like a protective shield. But deep down, he couldn't ignore the flicker of concern that wormed its way into his thoughts.

He watched as Jacob's car disappeared from view, the distant engine noise fading into the quiet evening. The reality of his own possessiveness began to sink in, causing a mix of conflicting emotions to surge within him. Anakin found himself questioning his motives, the strange connection he felt with you.

With a sigh, he stubbed out his cigarette and stood up from the porch swing.

You were worried that Anakin's behavior would dampen the mood, but it didn't, Jacob quickly recovered to his usual chipper self.

Walking alongside you happily as you entered the bowling alley to meet his friends. Thankfully there were other girls there that immediately took a liking to you, they made you feel like part of the group right away.

As the night went on you formed the opinion that yes, Jacob had some cool friends, and you wouldn’t mind getting to spend more time with them. The girls and you had ordered a few drinks at the bar next door between games and by the time Jacob was ushering you into the car to take you home with a gentle hand on your back, you were more than a bit tipsy.

Soon enough he pulled into the driveway, jogging around the front end of the vehicle to help you out. He chuckled when he saw you had taken off your shoes and were holding them awkwardly in your hands. Your bare feet smacked the pavement and you couldn’t help but giggle.

"Thanks, Jay," you slurred, flashing him a crooked grin. His hand on your waist steadied your loose movements.

"C'mon let's get you inside." He laughed.

As you fumbled with your keys at the front door, Jacob leaned in close, his voice laced with mild concern.

"Careful now, don't want you busting up that pretty face," he teased, gently guiding the key into the lock for you.

The door of Anakin’s home swung open, time for his late night smoke and not at all meant to be a front for spying on you and the stupid guy with an arm around your waist.

"Buh-bye Jay," you slurred, hugging Jacob sleepily.

The boy towered over you, dwarfing you with his larger size. You seemed to small and fragile next to him and it worried Anakin. He leaned in with the intent to kiss you, and of course you remained blissfully unaware of the escalating tension hanging in the air.

Anakin couldn't stand by and watch as another man tried to claim what he saw as his. With a flick of his cigarette, he crushed the butt beneath his boot and rose to his feet. A mix of anger and protectiveness coursed through him as he approached the porch, his eyes never leaving the scene unfolding in front of him.

"Alright, that's enough," Anakin growled, stepping between the two of you. His voice dripped with a toxic combination of aggression and protection.

Jacob stepped back, his expression caught between surprise and annoyance.

“What's your problem, man?" he snapped, clearly taken aback by Anakin's sudden appearance.

Anakin leaned in closer, his voice dripping with contempt. "You think you can just swoop in and take advantage of a clearly intoxicated girl, huh? You're delusional if you think I’m letting you walk in there with her."

His words hung heavy in the air, a tense silence engulfing the three of you. Anakin's gaze remained fixed on Jacob, his icy stare daring him to make a move.

Jacob, realizing the situation was escalating, backed off slowly, his hands raised in a gesture of surrender.

"Look, man, I didn't mean any harm. I just…. I thought she was into it. My bad." He stuttered.

Anakin's lips twisted into a smile, though it was laced with bitterness.

"Your bad, huh?" he sneered. "Stay the hell away from her. She's off-limits."

Without another word, Jacob turned on his heel, swiftly retreating to his car. The confrontation left a sour taste in the air that dissipated swiftly after Jacob’s car squealed out of your driveway.

Anakin's gaze softened, though his anger still smoldered beneath the surface. He turned his attention to you, remaining silent for a beat before stepping closer, his touch gentle on your exposed shoulder.

"You alright, princess?" he asked softly, his voice a stark contrast to the venom he had displayed moments ago. His hand reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from your face.

The warmth of his touch sent shivers down your spine, and you found yourself searching his face to confirm he was being genuine.

At the realization that he was indeed being serious tears filled your eyes and You pushed the heels of your palms into them to attempt to fight them off, but it was no use. Your mascara was running, no doubt your lipgloss was smeared across your cheek, you were in a disheveled state and couldn’t help but steel yourself for the possibility he would make some terrible jab at you and your situation. You let yourself crumple into yourself as you sunk to the ground, taking a seat on the threshold of your still open front door.

"'S-sorry. I don't mean to be a crybaby." You shot a rude glare at him. Still upset that he had called you that so long ago.

“I feel so stupid!” You cried, your fists against your forehead. “I thought he wanted to be my friend.” Your voice trailed off, broken and quiet.

For a moment, Anakin was at a loss for words, his mind swirling as he scraped the nearly empty barrel of empathy stored in the back room of his brain.

"Hey, hey, it’s okay." he murmured, his voices held a rare tenderness as he knelt down in front of you.

“Want me to beat his ass? I’ll do it.” He tried joking with you, sighing in defeat when it just made you cry harder.

He reached out, his thumb gently tracing along your cheekbone, wiping away each tear that escaped your eyes. Anakin's touch was surprisingly tender, a stark contrast to his usual behavior.

"You're just here to make fun of me."

"Hey, don't talk like that," he said softly, "I'm not here to make fun of you babe." he said, his voice carrying an undertone of genuine affection.

"I can be an asshole sometimes, but that doesn't mean I don't care.” He smirked, “I do have a shriveled up heart in here somewhere.”

Anakin's confession hung in the air, his words carrying a weight that revealed a deeper layer to his guarded personality.

You were so shell-shocked by his words that your sniffling halted completely, the guy had never said a more than a few grumpy words to you before. Now he was here in front of you, offering Comfort? What bizarre alternate reality had you stumbled into?

“You gonna say something or just stare at me?” He laughed.

“I- sorry.” You cleared your throat and scrubbed at your eyes, managing a half hearted smile, “thank you.”

"Yeah, yeah." He said sarcastically. Offering you his hand, "c'mon. Don't want the whole neighborhood seeing you like this."

You took his hand and let him pull you inside, he closed the front door and looked around, trying to decide what door led to your bedroom. Eventually he chose the correct one and guided you to your pink blanketed bed.

"Where's your stuff at? Like your pjs and shit?" he fumbled through the dresser, shoving the underwear drawer closed immediately, so embarrassed that he saw it he smushed his finger in the process.

"God damnit." he mumbled, shaking his hand. You giggled and pointed to the next drawer down.

He pulled out a set of cotton shorts and a matching shirt, adorned with a cute little Hello Kitty and strawberry print. Anakin held up the clothing, a mix of amusement and surprise playing on his face.

"Really?" he remarked, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

He handed you the pajamas, his fingersbrushing gently against yours.

"Take your time changing," he said, his voice softening with a newfound tenderness. "I'Il wait here."

Anakin settled himself on your bed, leaning against the headboard, his piercing blue eyes never leaving your figure as you walked into your bathroom. He wanted to give you the space and time you needed to collect yourself, to let the tears subside, but it was awfully hard when you left the door cracked open. Flashes of your legs could be seen as you kicked off your clothes and Anakin was valiantly fighting the urge to drool.

As you changed into your pajamas, his gaze trailed over your legs, appreciating the way the fabric was dragged up and over your curves. Anakin's thoughts wandered to something significantly less than holy, if he was a religious man he would’ve smote down by lightning just for forming those thoughts.

But he shook himself out of the trance, reminding himself to respect your privacy. Once you stumbled out from the bathroom, dressed in your ridiculous, albeit cute, pajamas, Anakin's eyes met yours, a faint smile gracing his lips.

"You did good, princess," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

He patted the space next to him, silently inviting you to join him on the bed. It was a small gesture, but a meaningful one, he wanted to create a safe space for you. Anakin genuinely cared about your well-being, at least right now in your drunken state.

He lifted up the blanket for you to crawl under, and patted your head awkwardly as he stood up. Stepping into the bathroom and searching through the cabinet, finding a wash cloth he wet it and then glanced around for soap. Shrugging his shoulders and deciding the hand soap was good enough. Trotting back over to you, dripping soapy water on the hardwood floor of your bedroom.

"Close your eyes." he commanded softly.

Gently wiping off the black streaks on your face. The gesture made me sleepy, and soon enough you were half asleep. You heard him chuckled to himself and the wet smack of the washcloth landing in the sink.

"Night." he whispered thinking you were asleep, trailing a finger over your cheek. Soon after you heard the front door open andclose, knowing he'd went back to his house.

You thought maybe after that night Anakin would be a bit more friendly with you, but he'd ignored you even more than before. You were quickly getting exhausted of it. Everyday you’d see him leave his house, you’d wave and he'd ignore it.

Everyday you would see him come back home, You would wave and ask him how his day was and he wouldn't answer. He'd just go straight into his garage to take off his mechanic's jumpsuit. He even came to the diner were you worked at and you had to watch him request a different waitress just so he wouldn't have to speak to you in front of his band mates.

The next few days were more of the same, and you expected it to be no different when clocked in at the diner that afternoon. After sliding your punch card back into its slot you sauntered through the kitchen and greeted your coworkers on your way to the front.

After arriving at the counter you noticed a new flyer pinned to the cork board behind the register. In big bold sharpied letters the word 'Vermin' was followed by a date and time. The description was 'headbang at the hideaway with us.' The location was a well known party spot, an abandoned warehouse.

"Hey, what's this?" You pointed to it, one of the waiters coming over to explain that it was a local band.

"You know the drummer don't you? Blue hair? Tall?” He laughed at your shocked expression, and you explained that you never realized his band was popular enough to get a gig this large.

"Are you going?" You asked excitedly.

"No but I think Kristen and her boyfriend are." He pointed to the other waitress on shift.

You made a mental note to ask her more about it. You decided you were going, and you were going to look good doing it.

After work you went straight to the mall. There was only a day before the event and you knew you didn't have the right clothes.

"Sorry to bother you," Feeling extra brave you walked up to a girl standing outside smoking, she had on a t- shirt similar to one you had seen Anakin wear before. "do you mind if I ask where you got your shirt?"

You smiled, trying to be as polite as possible and not make a fool of yourself. A soft chuckle escaped her, but there wasn't a hint of malice behind it. For some reason you felt that she could be trusted, she had a calming vibe about her.

"Uh yeah, the only alternative store we in town is in there." She laughed, looking you up and down.

"I-| know I don't look the type." You put your head down in embarrassment. "there's this thing I want to go too and I don't want to look out of place."

“Oh don’t tell me it’s for some boy.” She gagged, smiling nonetheless.

“Yeah actually it is.” You blushed, picking at your nails, “Um thanks, I’ll just-“ she interrupted you.

"I'Il help you pick something out m'kay?" She pushed off the wall with her shoulder, her clunky boots smacking the pavement as she threaded her arm through yours and led you into the mall.

It was a small gesture, but it meant the world to you, knowing that you wouldn't be left alone and confused in a dimly lit store you’d never stepped foot in. The air was thick with the sound of music and the scent of incense, the cashier cover in various body piercings and tattoos.

The girl took the lead, guiding you towards racks of clothes that resembled something similar to things you’d seen Anakin where before. Together, you flipped through hangers, choosing pieces that were definitely out of your comfort zone, but that you felt like you could easily pull them off.

Feeling like you were in a cheesy movie’s dressing room montage you experimented with band shirts, ripped jeans, and accessories that looked like they could be considered as weapons. Her presence provided a sense of comfort, assuring you that you were on the right track, it helped that she was perfectly comfortable being there herself.

The nerves that had once plagued you were replaced by a growing sense of confidence. The mirror reflected a version of you that felt stronger, more self assured. You were starting to understand the appeal of this type of dress and the scene it went with. The music flowing through the speakers started sounding less like pots, pans and rabid raccoons and more like drums, guitars and harsh vocals.

Finally, you settled on an outfit that made you feel empowered. You looked to your new friend, who had previously insisted despite her birth name being Deborah she was not a total loser and would rather you call her by her middle name, Marie.

"God. You look hot." She nodding her head in approval. “I’d fuck you.”

"Just chop this part off when you get home and you'll be irresistible." She made a scissor motion at the hem and sleeves of the shirt

"Chop it off?" You gasped. "why?"

She laughed, "Just gives it character, it'll make it look like you've worn it before and not like you just got it."

"Here." She dropped a chunky silver chain in your hands with a clip on each end. "that will go on your jeans okay? Then we'll rip some holes in here at your knees. And the shoes you have already are fine, converse go with everything. Let's go."

She pushed you toward the register, then out the doors and guided you towards the back entrance to the mall, stopping just outside the doors. She grinned, yanking the jeans from your bag.

“Don’t flip out.” She warned, grabbing the jeans by the waist and the end of the pant leg.

She pushed the toe of her boot to the fabric where the back of your knee would be and pressed it to the brick wall. She began rapidly sawing the jeans back and forth creating a distressed look. She tipped her head to you and offer the pants to you so you could do the other leg.

The act felt liberating, you’d never purposely destroyed brand new clothes before. Your movements were tentative at first, quickly escalating to something just shy of the force Marie had used. You let out a puff of air that blew your hair out of your face as you turned around to show her the pants.

She gave you an approving smile and tossed your bag over her shoulder, “Follow me, I’ve got some magazines and shit in my car you can have.”

“Magazines?” You questioned, bunching up the jeans in the crook of your arm to jog after her.

“Yeah, like for hair and makeup?” She laughed, headed toward a busted up black hatchback.

“Oh cool okay! Yeah I’d love that!” You giggled and clapped excitedly as she threw open the back seat’s door and ruffled through the mountain of discarded pop bottles, receipts and fast food bags.

“Ignore that.” she huffed when a grocery bag tied up with trash stuffed inside rolled out and onto the pavement.

She shoved the crinkled magazines into your shopping bag of clothes and picked up the trash bag and threw it behind her in her backseat, bumping the door shut with her hip.

“Thank you!” You threw your arms around her shoulders in a crushing hug that she wasn’t expecting, but quickly reciprocated.

“You got a pen in that purse?” She asked when you broke the embrace.

“Uh huh!” You nodded, easily finding it among the highly organized pockets and handed it to her.

She grabbed your wrist and wrote down her phone number, and pointing out the magazine was a subscription and had her address on it.

“I know you’ve got a little planner or address book or some shit like that.” She laughed.

“Yeah I do.” You blushed, smiling because she’d guessed correctly.

“Don’t forget to pencil me in okay babes?” She leaned in and gave you a cheek to cheek kiss like you’d seen people do in foreign films.

Tag-List:

@wickedtactics @tsugumiholic @kingdomhate

@burnthecheshirewitch @cherrylooney @star611

@tahliac11 @exquisit3corpse

@jeldog @arzua10 @bby-imasociopath

@depressed-kay @aliciaasky @naty-1001

@mrsmikaelsxn @lilliethefairy @slut-4-ani

@offthethirlwall @slutforhayden @ingrid6gers

@ausskywalker @angelsadmired

@slut4starwarssmut @chocolatepalacecloudhoagie

@starkiller419 @hearts4mitski4 @no1klet @lethargic

@allhailbuckybarnes

Click here to add yourself to the tag list! (Comment an emoji!)

208 notes · View notes

002yb · 24 days

Note

I was reading your jaybin time travel posts, got to thinking about how you usually write Damian as having his own feelings for jason, and now jaybin/Damian is trying to take over my brain

To love Jason is a universal constant, an anchor point. It is an unyielding truth persisting through time and circumstance. In every lifetime, for every iteration of them, Damian knows that it will always be this—them. The capacity doesn't matter, though there are times where his greed gets the best of him and he wants; when his feelings betray him and he hopes.

There is nothing dignified in his pining, but he accepts it for what it is. A star crossed love reduced to youthful folly. A fleeting infatuation that is the truest and most persisting thing Damian has ever known.

There is no one after Jason.

There is no one but Jason.

Too often his steadfast devotion is spurned. His fidelity discounted because Damian is a boy not yet a man. Too wrought with trauma to understand that the love he perceives is nothing more than 'an instinctual response to find safety when his circumstances were otherwise unstable,' 'a persisting coping mechanism because life, still, feels unsafe.'

It's nothing so complicated. Simply put: Jason is challenging. Jason is difficult. He is fight and fire, with split knuckles and blood in bared teeth. All biting wit and sharp tongue; an ornery menace. Capable, competent. More than that - Jason is kind. He is rough edges, jagged in a way that cuts, but he is sensitive and vulnerable in spite of it and the strength in his compassion is breathtaking.

A fierce protector. A gentle caretaker. A brilliant mind with a beautiful heart. With perseverance and fortitude. With tentative benevolence and foolhardy hope.

It doesn't matter that not many others understand nor care to. The mechanization of the universe is too fickle for the comprehension of fools. The universe gives him Jason because there would be nothing without him - not after Damian tears apart worlds and timelines to have him back.

Damian will always fall first; he'll always fall harder.

Unbecoming though it may be to be so hopelessly lovelorn, he pines with grace. It's an unspoken compromise that he will not have more than this. In that same vein, he will not have less. It's something that Damian makes his peace with.

Maybe that's why he feels at such a loss when, due to more Gotham tomfoolery, his Jason is spirited away and replaced by another. It happens abruptly, in a flash bang of light and smoke after Jason pushes Damian out of the way of an oncoming blow. His voice still echoes through the alleys around them, vicious to disguise his panic. And when Damian snatches his hand out to grasp at Jason, he does not find gnarled scars - only brittle bones.

It's a cruel cosmic joke, he thinks to himself. As if this small wisp of a boy who took his beloved's place could ever compare!

========

'In any capacity,' Damian told himself, led astray by romantic whimsy and youthful folly. Tender sentiments make fools of all men. Damian is no exception.

Although Damian fully believes that any version of him loves Jason, he's stubborn in thinking that his love extends specifically to his universe's Jason and no other

Because the Jason of this time and place is his; everything he needed and that helped forge him into this person he's becoming

Jason is it for him. This pint-sized punk (Jaybin)? Damian is not enthused by him if only because Jaybin took away what was Damian's.

Hence Damian's first instinct being an irrational rage and a cold fear that lances through his heart.

For as familiar as Jaybin's eyes are, it misses something that's inherently Jason for him. It's his smile, so reminiscent of what Damian remembers from the league, that leaves Damian feeling like he's on unsteady ground though. Like he can't find his footing.

Even still, Damian being ornery because this Jason is not his Jason and being determined to feel nothing for him.

Joke is on Damian though because of course Damian falls in love with this boy, too.

He's doomed to this person; there's no escape. Damian will always fall for him because Jason's kindness is such an inherent thing to his person and Damian is so damn weak to it.

Just various scenes where Jaybin endears himself to Damian and Damian going from vicious beast to sourpuss to something reluctantly enamored.

Things like Jaybin being a friend to Damian when Damian is otherwise utterly alone and isolated. Jaybin having a strength of character that isn't spooked by the dark and ugly sides of Damian that turns others off to him. Jaybin seeing beneath all that and Damian being all prickly because he doesn't like being seen through so easily. But also, feeling relieved.

More things with Damian bristling over sharing the Robin mantle. Being content for all of a short while because Bruce isn't keen on letting Jaybin out and about, but Jaybin is so clearly lost at that lost connection with Bruce that Damian caves like a fucking softy (he blames Grayson) and takes Jaybin out, himself.

And Jaybin is so thrilled that there are more Robins. Damian talking all sorts of shit about the Robin!Tim because Tim isn't around at the time to defend himself ahahaha

Oh! Damian being at that point where he likes Jaybin, but stalwartly denies it. Him complaining to Dick about how Jaybin seems drawn to him and Dick laughing because he's been there. At which point Damian sputters with jealousy/possessiveness because what. )<

But yeah, Damian looking out for his predecessor. Jaybin also looking after Damian just as much. And he's just as brutal and vicious and fierce as Jason and it's -- wow. Damian has to tug at his collar because it's hot. The weather, of course. Just the weather.

More stuff maybe with all the Robins? Where Jaybin gets into some trouble and Damian is about to well and truly lose it given the crime. Tim having to hold him back before Damian does something he can't take back. And in coming Dick who fucks shit up for Damian as his proxy.

Omg, Jaybin admitting to his crush on Dick to Damian and Damian being so flummoxed because what the hell - he's been friendzoned? For Dick?? And Jaybin being oblivious. And a little tongue-tied because like. When Dick came in to save him it was whoah. Protective violence and cruel passion. Just nonstop blathering because Dick stepped in to do what Damian couldn't (because Damian has Bruce to contend with). It should be Damian fuuuuuuuuuuuu--

Damian gets due credit though. Maybe a little hooked pinky action that gets Damian all flustered. Because it's such a soft point of contact followed up by Jaybin smiling and thanking Damian, too. For coming after him. ;U;

Other thoughts: Jaybin seemingly friendzoning Damian and Damian comparing that to how his Jason rebuffs him.

Jason being easily flustered, but with steadfast morals. It's always 'not interested,' and 'no i'm not gonna wait,' and 'you shouldn't wait either omg--'

It's a persisting argument with them. It always ends on Damian complaining about how Jason forgets himself, a point he reminds Jason of often. It gets him nagged in turn, but it's a pleasant back and forth that settles them both, Damian thinks.

Even still, Damian longs for him.

He longs for Jaybin, too.

And of course Jaybin has a crush on Damian, too. Their relationship is all innocent companionship and playful flirting and tentative affections. Just touch starved, hurt boys finding comfort in each other and feeling seen for the first time. Because they're both a little broken, a little fucked up; more dark and violent and volatile, but also sensitive and guarded and lost. But with each other it's not so scary. ;U;

Anyway, mutual feelings. But of course Damian has a compromise with the universe, so in that moment where Damian can have him, Jaybin is taken away from him. Because Damian won't be without Jason, but he can't have Jason, either.

And Damian knows this, but it fucking hurts. He bears it well, but Jason would see the devastation Damian tries to hide and ugh, Jason would be so guilty. He'd wrap himself around Damian and just. There's no point in apologizing, so he'd thank Damian instead.

For being there for him. For loving him. ;A;

Damian holding fast to this Jason so that he doesn't lose him, too.

#damijay #unfinished #starts with words ends with rambles

50 notes · View notes

pandora-writes-one-piece · 19 days

Note

AYYYYY CONGRATS ABOUT 100 FOLLOWERS!! You totally deserve them all and even more!! I mean, your story with Kid and reader about scottish mafia was 11/1 score! Truly mesmerising!!!

And I wondered if you wouldn’t have anything against writing Killer x male!reader, nothing nsfw, maybe a little smooch and cuddle session in the end, that would be awesome!

And this is one of the ideas I had roaming in my head; original OP au would fit the best)

Killer went to investigate area, got bitten by a wild wolf-alike thing, got back to the crew, he acted normal after going to infirmary, but every hour it got darker outside he was ‘not like himself’, while Victoria Punk is still docked at an island — he transforms and freaks out completely, then he runs away and reader is beyond than worried, crew was alarmed and they all went to search for him, he’s a grown ass man — we all know — but the unpredictable happened and it’s all going to the point of reader finding him inside a forest, then… you decide what happens. Comfort? Tragedy? Attack? Peace?

I understand that it may not be your cup of tea and I totally understand, anyways, thanks for reading this! (It may be Kid x male!reader also huehue)

Hello anon!!

First of all, thank you soooo much for your kind words! They truly warm my heart! Second, I'm so sorry for the delay on this request, but with vacation, wanting to finish the Highlander Kid story, and... well, life (!) this took a while. Also, I meant this to be short and sweet, but it turned out long and a bit angsty! I guess my need for angst keeps showing... 😫 I do hope you still like it! I had fun with this story because it explored so many new things I'd never written about! Without further ado, and seriously hoping you'll like it, read on!

Source for Pic

Word Count: 5112

Tags: Male!Reader x Killer; Supernatural AU; Mentions of blood; Cursing; Fluff and angst; Angst with hopefull ending (if you squint hard enough); Feelings;

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: Killer gets bitten on a routine scouting mission and dismisses it as a minor wound. Turns out it was anything but a minor wound. As he starts to transform into something else, you try with all your might to bring him back home. Back to you.

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn @jintaka-hane @sprinkklz

MASTERLIST

It was routine.

Scouting a new island was routine work. Boring, repetitive, mind-numbing routine work. And Killer wasn't even the one who usually did it. But this island was special. This island was fabled to have a single tree, hidden somewhere in the midst of a thick forest, that was said to produce the most fragrant, delicious, mouth-watering fruits known in the New World.

And Killer just had to get his hands on it. Period.

Perhaps if he wasn’t so worried about finding this fruit, he would’ve noticed the unnatural fog that permeated the forest. How its thick tendrils wisped their way around him, grasping, enveloping, and suffocating.

Perhaps if he wasn’t so keen on tasting that new flavour, he would’ve seen a pair of glowing, bright yellow eyes, following him from the shadows, moving as swiftly as the fog.

Perhaps if he wasn’t already inventing recipes in his head, trying to figure out if the fruit paired better with meat, fish, or dessert, he would’ve heard the faint rustle of the leaves, the low snarl of the wolf-like creature, the soft crunch of twigs beneath its paws as it jumped to strike.

Perhaps if he had turned a second earlier, or ducked, or rolled over… perhaps, only perhaps, he wouldn’t have been bitten. Instead, he felt a sharp, intense pain right on the shoulder blade, sending throbbing jolts of discomfort through his neck and down his arm.

A heavy grunt left his painted lips, muffled by his mask, as he turned, releasing his punisher and fending off the creature that fled with a loud yelp. It was bigger than a wolf, larger than a wolf, heavier than a wolf.

And it disappeared just as fast as it appeared.

-*-

Killer passed by you on the deck of the Victoria. His mask had a streak of red across it and he was clutching his right arm against his bare chest, his shirt pressed hard against his shoulder blade. Under normal circumstances, the sight of the Massacre Soldier half-naked, usually brought a grunt and pulled a smile from your - often - pursed lips: he was a sight!

Today was different though.

He seemed to be in pain, from the slight strain with which he carried his arm, his steps heavy while grunts and puffs left his veiled lips.

“Kill, you alright?” You asked, worry lacing your voice, his hisses of pain shadowing any previous lewd thoughts that crossed your mind.

“Yes, yes. I'll manage. It’s a minor wound, I just need to get it stitched. Go back to your duties.” His barks were laced with a commanding tone and a very out of character irritable timbre. You and Killer were very good friends - in fact, he was much more than that to you. He was an unattainable crush, the recurring wet dream, the never-possible love story you wished to fulfil.

Yet, you knew better than to disobey an order from the first mate. So you stayed on deck and finished your duties, a slight hurry to your step and gestures, a frown of worry distorting your face.

-*-

“What the fuck is that?” Kid barked as he got his face close to Killer’s wound, nose scrunched in disgust and lips pulled upwards, showing his sharp teeth.

“Fuck off, Kid. I got bit by a fucking wolf. Where’s Doc?” Killer grabbed a whole bottle of rum and poured it on his shoulder, hissing and grunting as the golden-brown liquid poured down his back and front, dripping onto the floor.

“Hey! That’s a waste of good rum!” Kid growled as Killer lifted a bit of his mask and took a swig of the liquid before pouring the rest over the wound.

“Fuck, it hurts!” The first mate threw the bottle on the floor and punched the wooden table, gritting his teeth under his mask.

“Doc went to buy supplies. I can stitch that up.” Kid offered. Killer’s snickers were muffled by the mask, but still heard.

“No, it’s better if you don't. I’ll wait. It’s just a minor injury.” Killer grabbed a bunch of bandages from a nearby cabinet and sat down, a disgruntled groan leaving his lips. “Just help me bandage it up.”

-*-

Your duties took way longer than expected and by the time you finished, the orange in the sky was turning into a purplish blue, nighttime approaching fast. That meant Killer would be by the galley. It was Thursday, and Killer usually indulged the crew with some pasta on Thursdays.

After washing up, you decided to help him - it was not an excuse to check how he was! - since from the looks of it, his arm might’ve been too wounded to cook properly.

Yet, as soon as you got to the galley, the kitchen was eerily empty. There were pots with simmering water that still hadn’t reached the boiling point, and half-peeled tomatoes on the counter.

But no Killer in sight.

“Kill?” You tried to sound cheerful, but worry laced your voice turning it raspy and hoarse. “I came to see if you needed help.”

Listening carefully, you tilted your head to the side as you slowly went around the counter. “Kill?” You heard a soft sound - a muffled whine - coming from the pantry. The door was closed so you approached carefully. Each step you took seemed to be met with another whine. Was it Killer?

Your heart beat rapidly against your chest, your breath came in shallow, fast waves and you felt a drip of sweat run down your back. Inhaling, and unconsciously holding your breath, you pushed the door open.

“Kill?” You almost didn’t recognize your own voice. It came out in an altered timbre, much higher than usual. And much more frightened. Because the man cowering in the corner of the pantry, curling his body against the lower shelf, was Killer.

Yet… not quite.

“Are you alright?” You started, taking a very small step inside. He had removed his shirt - or never put it back on - and had ripped the bloody bandages he must have used to wrap his wound, as they were scattered on the floor, all around him.

But what startled you the most, was the fact that he had removed his mask. You had never seen him without his mask on. Though his face was still obscured by his long, blonde bangs, you could make out the smeared purple lipstick on his lips and - gods, this made your heart jump into your throat - his tear-stained cheeks.

That set your fears to the back of your mind and your determination took the spotlight as you took two big strides towards him, hands outstretched and eyes wide open. “I’m here, Kill. Whatever you need, I’ll help. Need me to go get Doc? Kid? What do you need? Speak to me.”

You urged as you knelt in front of him.

A ragged cry left his lips as he wrapped his arms around his torso. He seemed to be in pain, yet you were confused, wasn’t it his shoulder that got hurt? Why was he clutching his body?

“My wound!” His desperation cut like knives through your heart. “It’s almost healed!” He moved his shoulder towards you and you gasped. You weren’t quite sure what he meant by ‘almost healed’, because the whole thing seemed pretty inflamed to you.

He had an assortment of red gashes, the middle ones more pronounced than the others, and the flesh seemed torn. As if something had bitten and just ripped it apart, leaving tendons and muscles exposed. It was a wound that required stitches! Yet, upon closer inspection, you realised he was right. The smaller gashes seemed to have scabbed over, and the bruises around them were already turning a greenish-yellow, instead of being at their most inflamed.

From a wound made a few hours ago, that seemed impossible! In addition to that, the veins in his arm seemed to be protruding and were dark and purple, almost visibly pulsating .

“Okay, okay, I can see that. Let’s get you to the infirmary and see what the Doc can do to help you, alright?” You said calmly, your hands reaching towards him, but he whined again as he shrank deeper beneath the shelf.

“No, no, no. I don’t feel like myself! I don’t want to hurt you!” He grunted as his hands clawed against his chest, leaving angry red marks across it and you managed to glimpse his fingernails. They looked sharp - almost claw like - and blackened. “It hurts! On the inside! It’s like I’m being ripped apart! Fuuuuck!” His animalistic, primal roar made you take a step back.

Whatever the fuck had bitten Killer was not a normal beast.

“You won’t hurt me, trust me.” Extending your hand to him, you prayed that Doc knew some mythical way to heal him, because from what you were seeing, you had already come to a conclusion about what was happening.

And you didn’t want to be right about it.

Though you were rarely wrong.

“Get the fuck away! I can't hurt you! Not you! I-...” Except he didn’t finish his thought because in the next moment, Killer let out an ear-piercing, mind-shattering scream that bristled all the hairs on your body, trapping your next breath in your throat.

A quiet, eerie silence surrounded you as Killer crouched, his breath coming out in ragged pants as he got on all fours. You could barely describe what you were seeing to anyone who dared ask. His back was twitching, expanding, growing bigger and bulgier. His blonde mane fused to his back creating what seemed like a coat of fur that spread to his body. His arms and legs twisted and turned into unnatural shapes as bones cracked and elongated.

You could scarcely believe your eyes as you realised that, where once there were hands and feet, now stood paw-like extremities, complete with sharpened nails - resembling lethal claws - perfect instruments to hunt prey and run through thick forests.

Your initial thought was right.

He was transforming into some kind of creature, a werewolf would be your first guess.

Killer’s scream died out in a decrescendo as his ragged pants dissolved into a heavy, guttural breathing. As he crawled out from under the shelf, his hands - paws? - clicked against the wooden floor in slow, deliberate motions, you glimpsed his eyes peering at you from behind his fur-like bangs.

The blue had turned into a sickly yellow, his pupils enlarged and black as the darkest night. His face seemed to have elongated somewhat, though he still had some humanity left in him. However, what terrified you the most was his smile. A feral-like grin that showcased large, sharp canines.

He didn’t seem like the Killer you knew at all.

“Kill?” You tried hesitantly. You didn’t know much about werewolves, as you thought them to be mere lore and myth. Yet, here you were. Face to face with one. The man you loved, to be more precise. “Are you still there?”

A deep growl was your answer.

If he wasn’t completely gone, he was teetering on the edge. “Stay with me, Kill. We’ll find you a cure.” As with any animal, you were sure that if you showed fear, he would attack you. So you needed to remain in control. Cool and collected.

Which was easier said than done.

“Come on, Kill. I’ll help. Come out of it.” A sure step forward elicited a small, gentle yelp from him as he shook his furry head. Though, just as his eyes turned more blue than yellow, and his body lost tension, the door to the galley burst open and boisterous crew members came inside laughing and jeering, asking for pasta, startling Killer into a frenzy.

He growled and snarled as he lowered his head in position to strike. “No, Kill. It’s okay, it’s just our crewmembers, it’s alright.” You tried to remain calm, but the way his paws retracted, his claws leaving deep scratch marks against the wood, was making you tremble.

It took just one surprised scream.

And Killer leaped over you. His hind legs hitting your head with such brutal force that they knocked the breath right out of your lungs. And just like that he was gone.

-*-

“What the fuck do ya mean Killer’s gone?” Kid’s snarl was visceral.

You gulped as you pressed the ice pack against your temple, which was still throbbing. The crew members who had seen Killer rush out of the galley were gathered around Kid, relaying all the information they could to your flabbergasted captain.

You were being seen by Doc a few paces away.

“He turned into a werewolf, Captain.” You groaned, nausea hitting you as you bent, placing your head between your knees to stop the world from spinning and keep bile from rising up from your stomach again.

“Lad, ya’ve said that three times. I can’t hear it one more time. The fuck do ya mean by that? Doc, are werewolves real?”

“Yes!” You hissed as you swallowed hard, a bitter taste in your mouth from the earlier vomiting you’d done.

“There’s some records, Cap,” Doc began. “But not specific, concrete evidence of it.”

“What fucking concrete evidence? We’ve all seen it!” You stated, getting upright with a swift motion and grasping the table until your knuckles turned white as your vision blurred. “He turned right in front of me! He jumped over me! They all saw it!”

Kid looked at you in disbelief. Your tale was so wild he had no idea what to believe.

“Even so, what are we all waiting for? He ran onto an unknown island and he’s all alone! Let’s go after him before he hurts himself or anyone else!” Anger kept rising within you every minute Kill was away from you. But the fear… the fear was overwhelming. It clutched your chest in its grasp, snaking cold tendrils to your stomach and bowels, twisting and turning, making you feel helpless and agonised.

“He's a grown ass-man.” Kid said gruffly, though the strain in his voice betrayed the worry he was feeling.

Silence surrounded the crew as Kid's scowl became more pronounced. After a moment he got up, determination setting his pace. “Fine. Four search parties, no fewer than three men on each. Careful if he's really turned into… something else. Avoid hurting him.” The Kid pirates exclaimed ‘Aye Captain!’ in unison as they started to disband.

You got up on wobbly legs, discarding the pack of ice and taking a deep steadying breath. “Where the fuck ya think ya going? Ya stay behind.” Kid snarled at you.

“I'm the best hunter on this fucking ship. I can track a snow leopard in the middle of a fucking snowstorm. That's how good I am.” Rage seethed through your pores, urgency filled your veins, and desperation gripped your heart.

“Yer compromised, lad.” Kid stated gravely.

“You mean my wound? I won't let it slow me down. I can-...”

“Ain’t yer wound. Everyone with two eyes and ears can see ya care about Killer. Care, care.” He grunted with a smirk and you were left speechless. But Kid continued. “What if the unthinkable needs to be done? Can ya do it?”

The unthinkable? Was he talking about… hurting him, or killing him? Would it come to that? Would Killer want that? There had to be a cure somewhere. Lycanthropy had to have been around for ages. Someone must've found something out, at least how to snuff out the symptoms. Still… Kid’s question was a pertinent one. Could you do it?

“Can you?” Defiance laced your voice and Kid’s snarky laugh reached your ears.

“Valid point, lad. Yer still staying. Captain's orders.”

Fuck.

-*-

The search parties kept returning, each more dismayed than the last. And your heart kept wanting to flee from your chest. What had happened? Was he safe? Kid still hadn't returned so there was still some semblance of hope. Kid would never give up on his first mate - his friend - like that.

But you could no longer sit still.

You had been restless and preoccupied. Fortunately the worst of the nausea had gone away and your strength had returned, though your head was still throbbing like a son of a bitch.

So you decided to mutiny. And you knew you would be punished - severely, even - yet you could not help it, for how could you stay still when part of your heart was out there? Alone, scared, maybe even hurt?

Gathering your weapons, you stealthily left the ship, eluding some stationed crewmates guarding the deck, and immediately started to look for tracks. You tried to identify some wolf markings, yet, with all the search parties that had left the ship earlier, the tracks were all muddled together.

Clicking your tongue, you cursed your hot-headed captain. If you had gone out earlier, you would have tracked him faster.

Instead, it took the better part of an hour just to - finally - be on the right track. The full moon was shining brightly in the sky, casting its glowing light against the tops of the dense trees. The hoots of the owls lent a semblance of sobriety to your hunt and the approaching howls of wolves told you that you were near.

The only other thing you could hear was the disjointed beat of your heart thrumming in your eardrums.

After a few moments you tensed. The thick mist had come out of nowhere and surrounded you completely, the forest had suddenly turned eerily still and you could vaguely make out distant shapes of yellowish orbs staring right at you.

You counted eight different pairs of eyes.

You were surrounded. And, most likely, very dead in the next few seconds. Gripping the handles of your weapons and gritting your teeth, you vowed not to go down without a fight.

At least there would be no punishment awaiting you back on the Victoria.

However, before the wolves launched an attack, you heard pained and muffled grunts in the short distance. Your heart jumped to your mouth as your eyes widened. You could identify your counterpart in the middle of a crowd, blindfolded and with your ears covered.

Killer.

You made a move to rush forward but all the wolves growled at you, turning your legs to jelly and halting your movements. After a few moments, Killer - your Killer, not the thing he transformed into - came into view. He looked dishevelled, tired and still in pain.

Grunting your name, he fell to his knees, clutching his head between his hands. “Kill!” You urged, surging forward and kneeling near him. “You're fine! You're all right!” Were you assuring him, or yourself?

A groan escaped his lips as his face contorted. It almost seemed as if he was using all his strength to stop from turning. “I'm not fine!” He hissed between his teeth, every word coming out of his mouth strained and hoarse. “And you shouldn't be here.”

“I came to get you, Kill. The Doc knows what's up. They're working on a cure now. You need to come back with me, come home.”

His blond locks shook at the same time as his head. He had twigs, leaves and dirt on his once pristine golden mane and you longed to help him clean it. “They're calling me.” He uttered as he retreated from you.

“Who's calling you?” You didn't push into his space, but you didn't fall back either. Your arm reached for him, just to assure him you were still there, as he had his eyes shut with tension and hurt.

“Them!”

The wolves surrounding you started to howl at the moon. Killer repeated the word ‘them’ incessantly, as if it were a litany, a sort of prayer to a God you were not privy to. Then, he started to howl at the moon with them and the sound that escaped his lips was feral and primal and terrifying.

“They need me. They need a leader of the pack, an Alpha. They want me to be their Alpha. Without one, they’re mere prey for other packs.”

A surge of questions begging to be answered swallowed your brain, yet, what frightened you the most, was the very real possibility of him staying behind.

“What do you mean, Kill?” Your voice was a mere whisper. You crawled forward, tentatively approaching his crouching form. He whimpered and groaned and your heart clenched some more. This was not your Killer. The Killer you knew and loved was strong and self-assured. You’d never seen him like this.

It was very disarming.

“I have to stay!” Your name came out of his lips in a low snarl. “They need me!” He repeated, and this time he looked up at you. One yellow eye seemed determined and set with fiery will; the other one carried a very soft blue and with it a frightened, disconsolate look.

“You can't stay, Kill… What about your dream?”

His dismissive scoff was very uncharacteristic and it sent a cold shiver down your spine. “I don’t have any dreams…”

Lies. He had dreams. He had to have them, right?

“Even if I did, they don’t matter. They’re nowhere near as important as Kid’s.” He shook his head fiercely, grunting and snarling at the same time.

“Fine, then. What about Kid’s dream?” Once he was safe back on the Victoria, once he was resting in your embrace, or at least within your sight, you could speak calmly about his own dreams. What mattered now was bringing him back.

He stuttered, his mismatched eyes staring back at you, both very uncertain and wounded. “Like this I can only slow him down.” He sounded resigned. “At least they can use me like this. They need me!” He returned to the same line of thought.

“Kill…” You approached again and he didn’t pull away, so you leaned your face closer to him, focusing on the blue eye, the one that held the soul of the man you loved deep within. “I need you. So, so much.”

As your words reached him, the yellow eye trembled and Killer shut both eyes, cursing and clenching his jaw. Was it working? You just wanted to bring him home. You could all think about the consequences and cures later. He was all that mattered - his safety.

“I go to bed thinking about you;” You placed a rough calloused hand against his tangled hair. “I dream about you;” Another one of your hands cupped his cheek, your thumb tracing his soft lips. God, he was beautiful. “I wake up thinking about you.” With a deep breath you pressed your forehead against his. He shivered, whined and stilled against your touch.

“I love you Kill. I need you. With me, near me! You can’t stay here. The… pack is not your family. The Kid Pirates are.” Could you reach him? Far away in the confines of his mind where he was running to?

When he opened his eyes, there was blue staring back at you. In both of them. There was a tenderness in his gaze, a softness that you didn’t know if it was always there or not, because you had never gazed at his eyes.

At his beautiful eyes.

Whispering your name softly, Kill leaned his head slightly, his breath tickling your lips, his warmth warming your heart.

“I also-...” A deep growl interrupted his sentence. The wolves restarted their howling at the moon and Killer stepped back from you, his hands clutching his head again.

“No, no! Kill, come back! This is not you, we can do this together! Killer!” You pleaded, getting up and trying to reach him once more, but then you noticed - with horror and surprise - that he was, once again, transforming into the beast from before.

Faster this time, and more complete. He resembled a fully grown wolf. But so much bigger and much more frightening.

And the way he stared at you stole all the bravado you had left. This was definitely not your Killer.

When he lunged and struck, you immediately lost consciousness.

-*-

By the time you woke up, you were aboard the Victoria. The ship swayed gently, lulled by the soft waves. Your bed was familiar to you, the briny air of the seawater and the roughness of the sheets waking you up to a throbbing headache.

You opened your eyes slowly, feeling bandages wrapping around your head, with moisture in some places indicating that whatever wound you had was still recent and slightly bleeding.

You winced and closed your eyes again, trying to regain your bearings.

Until the events of the past night came rushing in, all of a sudden and all at once. Unrelenting, savage, and unbridled images and memories.

And your extremely painful loss.

“Killer!” You grunted as you got up. Everything was still spinning and you didn’t get too far, but someone must’ve been near you to relay the news of your state of consciousness, because after a few moments your captain was by your side.

Kid donned a more pronounced scowl on his lips, the lines near his eyes deep and worried. He was angry.

Gulping, you realised you had disobeyed his order, last night.

“Lad.” He barked as he took a seat and you leaned against the bunk bed. “Ya didn’t do as I told ya.”

“I’m sorry, I-...”

“Shut the fuck up, ya speak when I tell ya to.”

Lowering your head, you nodded while clenching your teeth. “Yes, sir.”

“Ya didn’t do as I told ya, and ya could’ve died. Killer brought ya to Victoria.” You raised your head, already opening your mouth to ask about Killer, but Kid’s look told you that he would not be lenient if you interrupted him again, so you stood still, hanging on every word your captain uttered. “We’re sailing now. He stayed behind. Something about the pack needing him. Ya were right. He turned into a wolf-... werewolf-thing. But he managed to turn back after he hurt ya and came to find us.”

You slumped down on the ground, your knees hitting the hardwood floor as you felt air leaving your lungs in heavy, ragged breaths.

“He hurt ya. Ya were bleeding so much he thought he killed ya, he was inconsolable. But it turned out ya were only out cold.” Kid sighed as he pressed his flesh index finger and thumb against his nose. “We are finding him a cure. I can guarantee ya that. Even if I have to visit every goddamned island in the world.” Kid clenched his metal fist and you could feel the slight tremble of all the metallic objects around you. “Until then, and until we come back, Killer said to tell ya that he also needs ya and that he’s always thinking about ya too.” When your lower lip trembled, Kid scoffed. “Sappy motherfuckers.”

The air was too thick to inhale. Your breaths were too shallow and the pain in your chest kept building up and up in unrelenting waves. He left you. He stayed behind.

Yet you mattered to him. He cared about you.

But he was gone. And he was not himself.

“Lad, calm down. I’m upset about this situation too. I hated having to leave him behind.” Kid cursed as he slammed his hand on a desk near him, splinters of wood flying everywhere. “But this was his choice. He didn’t want to endanger anyone on the crew, nor did he want to leave those wolves behind.”

“He’s too good for a fucking pirate…” You muttered against your will, the scowl on your lips deepening as you felt the pricking of tears behind your eyes.

Kid’s laugh was like a balm to your ears. Kid understood. And he was hurting just as much as you were. “He fucking is, that wanker.” Your captain sighed as he got up. “Once ya’ve rested from that nasty wound, ya have a month of bathroom cleaning duties to attend to, starting today. I’ll figure out the rest of yer punishment as I go.”

You nodded. It was less than you deserved, really.

But the ache in your chest was terrible and you just wanted to let your sorrow out. Killer was gone from the Victoria and you could barely conceive of a normal life without him by your side. How could you wake up to a cold Killer-less galley? How could you go to sleep without telling him goodnight?

How were you supposed to live? Period.

“He’s strong. He’ll be fine. And we’ll fix him.” Kid assured you as he got up and placed a hand on your shoulder. However, before he left, you stopped him with your words.

“He told me he didn’t have dreams, that your dream was the only one that mattered, and that he’d only slow you down like this.” You sighed, biting back a sob. “If he realises you’re giving up your dream to find him a cure, he’ll never forgive himself.” You were as sure of this as the sun rising every day.

Kid stood in silence for a moment, his jaw moving as he clenched and unclenched it, tension filling the room. “That fucking arse.” Another scoff. “When we find him a cure and he comes back, I’ll let him know that my dream ain’t worth shit without him by my side. And ya, lad, can show him he’s yer dream. Maybe that’ll keep him focused on himself more.”

Kid was not a man of tender, gentle words. So this soft speech about the man you loved left you speechless. Without another word he left the quarters, leaving you to your misery, probably chasing his own at the bottom of a rum bottle.

He was right, though. Killer was tough. As tough as they come. And this had been his choice, though it stung a little to know he had chosen to stand by a pack he wasn’t familiar with instead of being with you.

Even if he thought that he was doing it to protect all of you.

Lying back down on the bed you let the beginning of your tears mar your dirt and blood-stricken face. Kid was also right about something else. Killer was your dream. A dream you didn’t think you could fulfil, until he told you otherwise.

So you would be relentless. You would cross every single island off the map, visit every goddamned civilization there ever was (in the mountains, in the woods, underwater or in the sky) and you would buy, steal, beg and kill, if you had to.

Just to find him a cure.

Just to get your dream back.

That was a vow you didn’t intend to break.

#one piece #one piece x reader #x reader #op #supernatural au #killer x you #you x killer #killer x reader #massacre soldier killer #werewolf #werewolves

47 notes · View notes

baronessvonglitter · 3 months

Text

if love be rough with you, be rough with love | chapter 5 | "good girl"

Dave York x f!Reader

Word count: 1,467

Summary: coming home late from another mission, Dave runs into you and gets some TLC

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Mature and Explicit, vague description of violence (i.e. murder), mild blood, groping, kissing, fingering, trying to be quiet while the rest of the family is asleep, mostly through Dave's POV, reader's wearing coquette pj's, no use of y/n

Series Masterlist

Dave has to work that weekend, and so the very last pleasant thought before going into the separate life he leads is of you, legs open on the counter as you receive his seemingly chaste kiss on your forehead. He holds onto that memory as he does the dirty work he's paid to do, and he smiles to himself when your face comes to mind as he prepares to pull the trigger on a target he knows nothing about nor cares about. And when he's finished he thinks of your enticing smile.

That's why it's not much of a surprise when he comes home in the dead of night that Monday, and runs into you on the stairs again.

"Shouldn't you be asleep?" he asks.

"Oh my god, Dave, what happened?" You take his face into your hands, a gesture of care and concern.

"Oh that," he smirks, running his tongue along his lower lip where there's a cut, no longer bleeding, but still fresh from an altercation with his target, just before delivering the fatal blow. And here you are, in pink pajama shorts and matching tank top, your exposed flesh so soft-looking and smooth. Your presence is more powerful than anything he's gone through the past few days. “That’s nothing,” he says with a warm smile.

He's a little surprised when you take his hand and lead him down to the kitchen, turning on the lights and sitting him down in a chair at the table. He watches with mild amusement as you scurry to look for the First Aid kit. He says your name softly, an almost bemused expression on his face. "That's not necessary."

Dave smirks at the little look you give him in response, and that smirk grows as you grab a chair and sit in front of him, tending to his superficial wound with a damp cloth. You're gentle, just as he expects.

"You never told me what happened," you tell him, and he sees the worry in your eyes, feels your breath upon his face.

"Just a run-in with some punk kid," he says indifferently. "You know how it is."

"Is this one of those 'you-should-see-the-other-guy kind of situations?" The corners of your mouth curl up in a smirk and Dave notices. It shouldn't excite him. Something so prosaic and informal shouldn't put thoughts of a lewd nature in his head.

”You could say that,” he smirks again. He can't get over just how gentle you're being with him, especially after what he'd admitted to you just a couple of nights ago. He sees now that you’re more tenacious than he initially thought.

"I hope it doesn't hurt too much." Your voice is soft and sweet, delicate like a wisp of smoke. “Let me make it better..” When you lean in towards him he's ready. What he doesn't expect is your tongue to trace the small cut on his lip, the gentle pressure you exert with just the tip of it. He sighs and in turn it makes you shiver. Your eyes are open and he sees something change, grow darker. It’s not just your pupils dilating. In that split second he sees you become wild.

He kisses you roughly, pulling you up out of your seat so that he can press his body to yours as he presses you to the kitchen counter. His hands cup your face, then roam downward, grabbing, cupping the supple skin of your breast and then kneading your perfectly-shaped ass. When your arms wrap around his neck to pull him closer, and a muffled moan escapes your lips, he knows you want him just as badly.

His kiss is brutal, unyielding, but he can tell how much it excites you. Under your tank top his fingers find your nipples, tweaking them, testing your limits, hoping you'll tell him to back off, push yourself away and hit him, because there's just no way this can really be happening. You squirm under his touch, whimpering, trying hard to be quiet in the dim lighting of the kitchen and you rub against him, shameless in your need for fulfillment, stopping only when you hear a sound, a car zooming past the neighborhood, speakers blaring, then it’s quiet again.

When you pull away he sees your lips are swollen and pink from the kiss, your eyes dark with lust. “Dave,” you put your hands on his chest as if you want to put some distance between you, but you don’t do that. "What are we doing?"

"Do you want to stop?" His hands rest on your hips, ready to keep going, and ready to quit if that's what you need.

"No," you answer, and he's on you again, needing completion of his own, but even for a man who takes risks he won't risk too much with you tonight. Still, he wants a taste.

His fingers slide beneath the hem of your shorts, finding the lace of your panties (somehow he just knew it would be lace) and running his finger along the edge. "Is this all right?" he whispers. You nod. "I need words," he says just sternly enough to wake you up from your dreamy bewilderment.

"Yes," you answer, then a little more sure of yourself, "yes."

A wolfish smile grows on his face as, being given the green light by you, he slowly, teasingly reaches into your panties and finds your slick heat. He gently traces your folds, as if wanting to memorize your shape by touch alone. He touches everywhere except where you need him, enjoying watching you anxiously squirm, seeing how cute you are with your face scrunched up in anticipation. You're already wet when he pumps in not one, but two fingers inside you, loving your gasp as you strive to relax around his touch. He's stretching you out already, and just as you've been wanting, he flicks his thumb over your clit, grinning as you give a sharp inhalation, shushing you while he only adds pressure, pushing his fingers in deeper as you grow accustomed to his touch, moving rhythmically within you.

He watches in a kind of wonder, studying your every expression as you blissfully accept every movement of his hand, each stroke of his fingers. When you get to be loud he leans in and kisses you, muffling your sounds, tongue filling your mouth. Watching you is his preferred sin, at least tonight, speeding up then slowing, teasing you. He's stealthy, quiet, ignoring every urge to take it further, denying his own pleasure. That's what Carol upstairs is for.

You're drawing his fingers further with each thrust, where you're deeper and tighter. He's close to losing control, almost giving up a moan, a curse on the tip of his tongue. He can feel you're close too, the way your body tenses, how your little whimpers become short, staccato sighs as you lean your head back, bracing onto his shoulders. He knows what you need and he gives it. "Like this, huh? You like this?" he rasps in your ear, gently taking your lobe between his teeth.

"Yes," you manage to whisper, because he's already told you that words are best. "I need a little more, oh god, please," you moan as quietly as humanly possible.

He acquiesces to what you want, and as he hastens his movements he curls his fingers within you, as in a beckoning motion, gently sliding along your G-spot. This, this is what takes you over the edge, and Dave smiles victoriously as you come hard around his invading fingers, coating him with your juices. "That's it, that's it baby, keep quiet now, just whimper for me, baby.." he whispers, aiding you along. The look of ecstasy on your face is so beautiful he forgets to breathe for a moment. Only once your body has calmed down does he remove his soaked fingers, and brings them to your mouth. "Be a good girl and clean them off."

He gives a small sound of encouragement as, without hesitation, you do as he asks, opening your mouth and sucking off your juices, swirling your tongue around his fingers and making him harder than ever. "You're a good girl. My good girl." He gives you another kiss, softer, sweeter this time around. "I want to play a game with you tomorrow," he tells you, looking you straight in the eye, with the same emotion as if he's carrying out a business deal. "When I get home from work, we'll play. Would you like that?"

Once again he's amused by your expression, wonders what thoughts must be going on in that brain of yours. "Yes," you tell him, though there's a question in that Yes. One thing is fore sure: Dave York isn't asking to play Monopoly with you.

<- prev chapter

next chapter ->

divider by @saradika 👑

#dave york #dave york fanfiction #dave york fic #dave york x you #dave york x reader #dave york smut #pedro pascal #into the pedroverse #ao3 fanfic #dave york x f!reader #pedro boys #pedro pascal characters fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character smut

39 notes · View notes

dreamcatcher-faux · 7 months

Text

FINALLY! THEY'RE FINISHED! :D

The reason why this took so long is because I was drawing them all at the same time! I wanted them to match eachother and look like siblings while still feeling like their own character. I gave each of them some purple to match with their mother, corresponded their eyes with eachother, and gave their outfits the basic colors of Red, White, and Black :3

Of course they still have their differences, Sonic is very minimal clothing wise, keeping it simple yet practical. Manic is similar with keeping things simple and practical, but add some punk elements, asymmetry, and some survival flair. Sonia, on the other hand, leans more into fashion than practicality, combining sporty with witch and a hint of glam rock :3

In this universe, while they're not separated because of a prophecy, they do still end up separated at different points. Manic is first, being kidnapped and escaping into the forest at the age of 5, then Sonic running away at 10, and Sonia starting to become a popstar. They reunite eventually, I'm thinking maybe after this universe's version of Frontiers? Sense the gang separates to go on journeys of self discovery and have their own adventures, leaving Sonic on his own for a bit :3

As for what they do before reuniting, Sonic is traveling and taking down Eggman along the way as per usual. Sonia is on her way to becoming a popstar like their mother. Manic is the Co-Guardian of a small colony of Wisps along with Sticks, going into the nearby town for supplies :3

I would explain them more thoroughly, but this is already very long. I might make character info cards one day tho! If I do I'll explain them individually there! Until then, feel free to send me asks about them! I like to talk as you can see :3

Below the cut are transparent versions, a version without clothes, and a Manic concept headshot :3

#faux art ✨️#sonic the hedgehog #sth fanart #sth au #sth fandom #sonic fanart #sonic au #sonia the hedgehog #manic the hedgehog #sonic underground #also fun fact #Sonia has a genetic condition where the light and dark colors are reversed!#like imagine a penguin that's white with a black tummy #is there a real world equivalent?#it'd be cool if there was

107 notes · View notes

wispisstillverybored67 · 8 months

Text

6 notes · View notes

brighterdaysarebeforeus · 1 year

Text

Soooooooo...basically a rewrite of Hobie's entire part in the movie? Except more awkward teenager and much, much more rambling. This does feel a bit all over the place so...enjoy, if you wanna.

Meeting Gwen for the first time wasn’t anything particularly memorable or anything like that, Hobie didn’t think. It was a simple thing, really; LYLA had found an anomaly, Miguel had reluctantly put Hobie on the case, Hobie had gone out of his way to ramble on about how he wasn’t a cog in Miguel’s system (man looked like he wanted to punt Hobie out of the office, and that just added more pleasure to his insubordination), and then Jess had sort of insisted that Gwen tag along to learn how to inter-dimensional travel and also how to deal with the anomalies as they occurred. Her exact words, if he remembered right, were “she needs to learn how to deal with these things in a team setting, and also maybe get some more friends her own age” or something similar that Gwen had immediately protested against.

He’d protested as well, as if it would change anything, as if these two would take him any serious. Hobie told them that he didn’t believe in teams, or in teamwork, and Jess put her hand on his shoulder, looked him in the eye, and told him very sternly to get over himself. Miguel was in the back, rubbing his hand over his face with one hand and waving the other at them in a motion that screamed ‘just go’. The mission itself was fine, easy job for a sole Spider let alone two Spider-People, but Gwen had been pricklier than he’d been expecting. He thought she was spunky, but particularly withdrawn for a Spider, and she’d snapped at him several times before the mission had ended. Afterwards, they’d gone their separate ways and he didn’t think too much about her, focusing on being the one and only Spider-Man (Spider-Punk, the newspaper headlines screamed, and he’d hated the name with a passion when he was younger, but found the title had grown on him over the years) in Camden.

Then they got paired together again. And again. And again. There’d been a genuine moment of concern that Miguel and Jess were punishing him for something, because they kept sticking him together with this small wisp of a child who looked like she wanted to bite his head off any time he asked her anything remotely personal, whether it be about her family or even her favorite kind of music. Hobie couldn’t even begin to figure her out, but decided that if he kept pushing, especially if they kept getting put on missions together, she’d have to crack eventually, right?

(It was worse when he realized she was actually older than him, even if it was only by three months. She held it over him for days, blocking his every question and prompt with “I don’t have to tell you anything, I’m older than you are.” Like a kid. Like a little kid, and how in the hell was she older than he was? It was unjust, it was.)

The sad part was, Hobie wasn’t even sure when things changed, with Gwen. Rather, he wasn’t quite sure why they had changed, though far be it from him to criticize someone’s changing of their mind. They’d gone on a mission, catching an inter-dimensional Doc Ock in some bizarre backwards universe made up of graffiti art that had her particularly subdued and snappish with him; she’d just given a thirty second rant that had cut Hobie deeper than he’d wanted to admit and they were swinging around searching for the Doc in a strained silence that had lasted until they’d found the fucker; at some point in the fight, the Doc had her pinned and Hobie’d yelled for her to cover her ears, and used his guitar to blast the scientist off of her at the last second, using his regular webs to yank her from where she’d been embedded in the ground; they’d, somehow, ended up victorious back at HQ and handed the Doc to Margo to send back to the proper dimension, went to Miguel and Jess to report their success. Hobie set his watch to his home dimension, the portal had opened up, and then —

“Hey, can I…” He’d half-turned to Gwen, eyes wide on his mask to showcase his paying attention as Gwen held her left arm tightly in her right hand, pointedly not looking at him and using the longer left side of her hair to cover her face. She’d taken off her mask, though Hobie had never really felt comfortable enough in the Spider Society to do so very often, and he could see the uncertainty in her face as she finally spit out, “can I…crash with you? For a bit?”

“Like, in my dimension?” Hobie’d asked, and she rolled her eyes so hard that her head followed the motion automatically. Something warm and pleased grew in his chest as she pushed past him roughly, muttering something sarcastic under her breath, and he didn’t even notice Jess watching them from behind as he nudged her shoulder playfully while they walked through the portal together.

Gwen started hanging around more after that, even when they had to keep moving from abandoned house to abandoned house in order to keep a roof over their head for the night. She didn’t stay over every night, but it was often enough to leave some of her shit laying around for him to trip over. He discovered she like playing drums and incorporated her into his band, more or less the only permanent member aside from him despite the inter-dimensional shenanigans. ‘Gwen’ became ‘Gwennifer’ (she threw her drumstick at him) which then became ‘Guinevere’ (he’d barely dodged the swing she leveled at him for that) became ‘Gwendolyn’ (she’d webbed his mouth shut) became ‘Gwendy’ (she rolled her eyes and crossed her arms, but he’d caught the pleased look on her face for that one). Over time, she started opening up about her dad, her indefinitely on-hold Spider-Woman work in her home ‘verse, her Peter…

Miles.

The name lit up something at the back of his head, the first time she’d mentioned it, and Hobie couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was. It wasn’t until she mentioned something about a particle collider that it came rushing to Hobie; he was Miguel’s “original anomaly”, the one who had apparently weakened the multiverse apart enough for the Spider Society to be kept busy damn near constantly. Hobie could respect a Spider who could throw the multiverse into chaos like that, even if was accidental and wasn’t even his fault to begin with. He tried prompting her, through trial and error, into talking about Miles damn near constantly; it worked better than he’d hoped, and for a hot minute all she would talk about was Miles. What he looked like, what he’d say, the way he’d stuck his hand to her hair when he’d first gotten his powers and she’d had to cut it off on the sides (“and you kept the hairstyle?” “Fuck off, Hobart — ” “Ew, no thanks mate, ‘o the fuck is Hobart — ”). She talked about him so much that Hobie felt like he knew the damn kid all on his own without ever having met him.

And then Gwen got herself assigned to a mission in his universe. Not only that, but she was allowing herself to miss her friend enough to stop off to visit when she went, though she had a brief moment of panic before she’d left and she’d called him for ‘moral support’ or whatever it was she’d hissed at him when she called. Hobie felt proud of her for that, even though he couldn’t find his chucks the day she left and he nearly brained himself tripping over her damn jumper when he headed to the bathroom.

It was her first mission on her own, officially, and Hobie was pulling out damn near every trick in the book to keep him from worrying. He was sitting at her drum set where they had it set up in a practice warehouse, listlessly banging on the cymbals when his watch went off a second time. Heart jumping up into his throat, Hobie answered the call and whipped his way into Mumbatten, which was exactly where Gwen was not supposed to be at this current moment. He’d barely even taken the time to suit up, nearly forgot to grab his damn guitar, and didn’t even pause to take in the situation before strumming the thing and bursting through what looked like a barrier. He’d heard Gwen and Pavitr shout, but he’d landed with his back to them and then he’d gotten rushed by Pav the second he caught his breath.

Then he’d turned fully, pushed Pav off of him, and nearly swallowed his tongue when he caught a good, solid look of him, dressed in his black suit with pops of red; it had to be Miles, the Spider-Man-Who-Wasn’t-Supposed-To-Exist-In-Earth-1610-Specifically, which for some reason both was a surprise and yet was completely expected.

“This the kid from 1610?” He asked first, like he wasn’t fully aware of who Miles was to begin with. Gwen’s head rolled, a sure sign she was rolling her eyes, and he’d glanced her way briefly before looking back at Miles, who was complaining to Gwen. He’d gotten close enough when Pav thanked him for destroying the barrier in time to hear him (“I weakened it!”) and shot a quick demonstration of “use your whole palm, mate, not just your fingertips”, complete with hand visuals. Miles looked, low-key through his mask, like he wanted to strangle him. Gwen looked away, but Hobie could tell her shoulders were shaking from held-back laughter.

He wanted to crawl into a small hole for a minute. For a hot second, Hobie debated the pros and cons of potentially just jumping back through the portal and going home, there were three Spiders to deal with the Dalmatian over there, he wasn’t really needed for this, was he? He was distracted for all of two seconds before remembering there was supposed to be a fight going on, and he was supposed to be helping, and that Miles was standing in front of him.

So, naturally, once he was back online and fully focused, he opened his mouth and immediately put his foot in it.

“What’s up with his suit, is he bleeding from the armpits?”

“Wha-Who even is this guy?” Gwen introduced them quickly, Hobie talking even faster as they prepared to fight the Dalmatian-looking dude in front of them, and though Miles looked slightly lost (“I thought you hated labels?”), Hobie had hope that they’d be able to get along swell.

Then he stuck his foot in it again.

“Gwendy, you left your jumper ‘round my place.”

“What’s a jumper?”

“It’s a sweater!”

“How many sweaters do you own?”

And, because he couldn’t keep his damn mouth shut to save his own damn life even as Gwen clearly tried to salvage that mess, Hobie continued.

“And your toothbrush.” He kind of wanted to die. What was the deal with this spotty dude? Hobie wondered if the dude would shoot him into another dimension if he asked him nicely enough. He hated asking nice though, and it was pretty obvious this guy happened to be the villain of the week (as it were), so his best bet was staying here. Shame, that. He was really fucking things up right about now, and he just knew Gwen was gonna give him shit for it later too.

Things happened…weirdly fast after that. They fought the Dalmatian, they lost the Dalmatian, Mumbatten’s AlcheMax began crumbling and they had to save the people. Normal Spider stuff, and Hobie was glad for the distraction — well, not glad glad, he didn’t want Mumbatten to fall apart and Pav was far too little a Spider to be dealing with this kind of cosmic mess — just because Miles took off with Pavitr and left him and Gwen to hold the building up. Even better, Gwen was all the way over there, so she couldn’t even give him shit for how he’d been acting the fool in front of Miles.

God, he just hoped it wasn’t noticeable. To Miles, at least.

Then after the building collapsing was the bridge falling apart, and Miles diving to save the Inspector. Hobie had skid to a stop next to Gwen, the both of them staring down as Pav tried to save the bus and his girl, and Miles tried to save the Inspector. Gwen’s eyes were wide, taking up the entirety of her face as she held onto the railing in a death grip with one hand, the other still outstretched; she’d grabbed Miles then, right before Hobie had gotten there, and for a moment he wasn’t sure why she’d done it.

“He’ll be aces, yea?” Hobie said to her quietly, eyes still on the bridge.

“It’s a canon event. He’s interfering with it.” Gwen said somberly, and Hobie scoffed with a roll of his eyes — she sounded just like Miguel, there, for a hot moment, and he wondered if he should begin extracting them both before the man’s ideals managed to get in any deeper — but Gwen didn’t seem to notice him. When the bridge finished collapsing, she didn’t hesitate to jump over the rail, yelling for Miles as she did so. Hobie followed after her, beelining his way to Pav first to help him with the bus. Once it was on solid ground, relatively speaking, the passengers disembarking and Pavitr trying to smooth things over with his girl, Hobie turned on time to see Gwen lift a giant piece of rubble to reveal —

Miles. Holding a small child, with the Inspector right behind him. Both were fine, probably filled with adrenaline but relatively unharmed, and Pav’s girl was rushing past them all to embrace her father. Hobie followed her, not to the Inspector, but to Miles; Miles, who had been facing Gwen, who hadn’t heard him approach and therefore wasn’t anticipating it when Hobie grabbed his shoulders from behind and shook him eagerly.

“Miles, my guy!” He said cheerfully, and even the city cheered for them (and wasn’t that just novel, that’s never happened to Hobie before), and then —

There was a hole, big and black and looking similar to the spots on the Spot, sucking in pieces of Mumbatten. There was Jess, and her team of Spiders trying to keep it contained (points to Spider Society!) and her just blatantly blowing off Miles in a way that made Hobie’s hackles rise and ordering them all back to HQ to talk to Miguel (negative points for their diligent leaders!). Panic spiked at that, briefly, for Hobie; he leaned on Miles and tried to get him out of it, get them both out of it, but Miles shrugged him off in order to practically run into the belly of the beast with his fist in the air like he’d won something. Hobie dropped his face into his palm, but followed along anyway. Just to see what was going to happen.

Miles looked slightly awed when he took off his mask, which was kind of an ego boost, if Hobie was being honest; his whispered comment was met with one of his own comebacks (“how are you even cooler under the mask?” “I was this cool the whole time.”) that made Gwen press her lips together as she repressed her snort of laughter. Hobie glowered at her slightly, and she rolled her eyes in the opposite direction. Even Jess looked somewhat amused, and Hobie grunted softly at both of them.

He tried, honest to god, he tried so hard to keep Miles from meeting Miguel. Once he’d realized that Gwen had met with Miles and yet told him nothing about the Spider Society, told him nothing about how he fit into all of this as the supposed “original anomaly” (he had ThoughtsTM about Miguel’s thought process, is all, ThoughtsTM that he didn’t necessarily have time to delve into at this specific moment) — he couldn’t let him walk in blind. Miles didn’t deserve the way Miguel was gonna treat him on a normal day, short-tempered and blunt as the man was, let alone a day where a mission was fucked up bad enough that the BBG got away and another dimension was in peril of nonexistence. There was just no time to prepare him, not right at this moment, and he’d completely messed up his entrance to begin with so it wasn’t even like Miles would wanna even listen to anything Hobie had to say, let alone believe it, so…Hobie stalled.

Easily reaching out and grabbing anything potentially useful, Hobie distracted Miles as best he could. Bet this don’t even do anything. Why’d you wanna join up anyway? (The scoff Miles gave him when Hobie told him to make his own watch was not cute, Hobie did not find it endearing at all, and he was shit at lying to himself) What’s your set up — loving parents? (He was thankful Gwen was walking ahead of them for that one and not paying them any attention; the way he’d leaned on that unused portal more or less broadcasted his interest, especially combined with the way he’d fallen through it. He was also infinitely grateful Miles was too preoccupied to notice that blatant display). Hell, he even planted himself in front of the damn kid, sitting in the chair and stretching his legs out onto the table top so that Miles wouldn’t advance anymore, and felt his heart flutter in his chest when Miles simply pushed past him without even stopping.

Then it stopped when Miguel showed up, acting more Miguel-ish than usual. Miles greeted him brightly, holding up the empanada he’d gotten from the cafeteria, but Miguel was having none of it at the moment. Hobie glared at him out of the corner of his eye when he threw the empanada, then dipped out of sight in order to steal more tech that he needed; he lost track of what was happening all the way up to the loud crashing noise, and he’d popped his head back over to see Miguel yelling at both Gwen and Miles. Sniffing irritably, Hobie opened his mouth and was cut off immediately by Peter Parker from Earth 616 making his appearance. Miles was happy to see him, Hobie could hear it in his voice, and against his better judgement he went back to what he was doing.

When Miguel trapped Miles, way before literally trapping him in a cage, Hobie made his way to Miles’ side while keeping a small distance from him. He kept his eyes on him, watching how he ranted against Miguel’s idea of ‘keeping to the canon’, how he fought against the idea of letting one person die just to save others, how he argued that as Spider-Man they should be able to do both. Watched how he turned to his original allies, Peter 616 and Gwen and even Peni, and how they all couldn’t look him in the eye for longer than a few seconds. Encouraged him when it seemed like he needed it (“Here we go.” “Hobie, you’re not helping.” “Good.”). Miles realized it was a trap a second too late, and once Miguel had him caged, chaos began to descend upon them all. His friends were yelling at Miguel, who was yelling back, and Miles was panicking. He couldn’t break himself out, and Hobie’d had enough.

“Oi, Peter Pan.” Hobie hissed at him, and Miles stared at him with wide eyes. He didn’t touch the digital net, all too aware of the fact that it would draw attention from the others, but he spread his hands out just in front of it. Hobie repeated his advice from earlier, complete with visual demonstration, without speaking out loud. “Use your palms.” Miles seemed to take a breath at that, his shoulders lowering from around his ears as he pressed his hands fully against the barrier, palms and all. Since Hobie was the only one paying attention, he knew to brace himself when electricity started crackling up and down Miles’ arms; when the barrier exploded, he was the only one who wasn’t knocked over aside from Miles, who seemed to freeze for a sec when he realized he was free. He chuckled, smiling proudly when Miles’ wide brown eyes met his again, without the barrier this time.

Then Miles turned heel and booked it down the corridor, where the door was wide open and awaiting his exit. Hobie sort of regretted that breaking the door so it would stay open meant that the other Spiders also had easy access to go after Miles, but they were still trying to pick themselves up off the floor and that gave Miles a solid four second head start. It was the best Hobie could do for him, given the situation, along with one last thing.

Miguel yelled for everyone to go after Miles, and they complied. Hobie activated his watch, creating a portal to his home ‘verse. Sneering at all the Spiders rushing past him, Hobie shouted “for the record, I quit!” and threw his watch off once he was safely in the portal.

He crash landed towards the edge of the bed in the room, close enough to where he was aiming originally. Sighing heavily, Hobie sprawled out on the bed and listened to the drones flying overhead, watched as their lights illuminated the room he was staying in currently. Gwen’s jumper was still on the floor where she’d left it, her shoes dropped carelessly two feet beside it. (Seriously, her shoes were right there, did she really have to take his?) With a soft sigh and a quiet groan, he pulled himself back up, stretched, and started pulling shit out of his pockets. He’d actually grabbed a lot more things than he’d needed, courtesy of trying to hold the door for Miles, and he tossed aside the things he didn’t need in order to get started. Several other watches dropped out of his pocket as well, the ones he’d made before staying on him for safekeeping — one for him, one for Pav, one for Gwen.

Just because Miles didn’t want to make his own watch didn’t mean Hobie couldn’t make one for him.

#punkflower #spider punk #spider gwen #miles morales #hinted punkflower #like just a taste of it #spiderman atsv #more hobie pov of his part in the movie than anything else #starts before the movie events

202 notes · View notes