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Avengers Reassemble Ch 1

*SPOILERS FOR SPIDER-MAN: FAR FROM HOME & AVENGERS:ENDGAME

“This is a terrible idea,” Peter Parker gulped, looking outside of his aunt’s car.

It was a peaceful evening in Queens as the teen watched his classmates dart into the building of Midtown High School. With the student’s senior year ending tomorrow and graduation in a week, the staff decided to hold a farewell party.

The problem was that the school begged Peter not only to attend, but to also give a grand speech to everybody there. Peter still remembered the class presentations, the charity balls and the court trials, and he remembers screwing up every one of them. But he wasn’t the type to say no to teachers, so here he was.

“Well, no turning back now, kiddo,” Aunt May grinned, “Come on. I overheard you rehearsing it in the bathroom for the past week. It sounds great!”

Peter blushed, tugging at his tie, “It really doesn’t.”

May sighed, placing a hand on the kid’s face. This boy’s been through so much. He’s lost his parents, Uncle Ben, Mr. Stark. He’s lost any chance of a normal life, but he still kept fighting. Even after his secret came out to the world, he still hasn’t given up.

“Hey, Peter, you deserve this,” May smiled, “A break from supervillains and world-ending disasters can’t hurt, right?”

Peter chuckled, “Guess not.”

“You’ve got this, kid,” May pecked a kiss on his cheek.

The boy opened the car door and began to walk towards the building. Students greeted him on the way in. A lot of them brought him into group selfies and asked for autographs. All Peter could do was put on a fake smile and put on a facade.

Peter began to mutter to himself, “Okay, Pete, you can do this. You’ve taken on Thanos, Vulture, asshole reporters. It’s just a simple graduation speech. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Once Peter reached the doors of the gymnasium, he groaned, “Oh, I am so screwed...Alright. Come on, Spider-Man. Come on, Spider-Man.”

He pushed open the door to hear the sound of blaring music and bright neon lights. The gymnasium of Midtown High was buzzing with energy as the class of 2025 was partying it up. He recognized everyone there, including a few members from his decathlon team.

The young boy walked towards the podium, chest out and back straight. People began to clap for him as felt his classmates patting him on the back and congratulating him. What was only a few feet away from him felt like an eternity away.

Once Peter finally got there, he began to fumble with the microphone. Loud noises screeched from it as he tried to set it up. The audience cringed, but at least he got their attention, right?

He laughed nervously before clearing his throat, “Hello, class of 2025! How’s everyone doing tonight?”

The response he received was applause. He heard people cheering out his name, cheering for Spider-Man. It wasn’t easy after his identity was revealed, but with time, he was able to regain at least a little of the people’s good will.

He giggled a little, “Well, I know we’ve all got things to do and, uh, places to be, so I’m keeping it short. Kind of like me, heh!”

The lack of laughter caused Peter to begin to worry. He pulled out a stack of notecards and began to read them out loud.

“Now, I want you to go out there-Wait, no. That’s the, uh, last part. Must’ve mixed it up,” the boy stammered, “Let me just resort them.”

As he tried shuffling them back in the right order, he accidentally dropped the pile, causing the cards to fly away. Peter cursed at himself as he tried desperately to get them back together. The awkward silence caused him to start shaking as he nervously stuttered apologies to the audience.

Before Peter’s anxiety could completely engulf him, he finally noticed a certain someone in the crowd. His girlfriend, the amazing Michelle Jones.

The usually somewhat dour woman looked beautiful that night (hell, she looked beautiful every night) as she gave him a reassuring smile and a knowing look. MJ knew he was Spider-Man even before the incident with Europe and she’s been helping him with his job ever since.

One look from her reignited the boy’s confidence in himself as he dropped his cards, got back up, and leaned towards the microphone. He could do this.

“Now, I know we’ve been through a lot,” he started, “Europe, the Battle of New York...The Snap.”

He noticed the uneasy glances some of the students gave to one another as the memories of these events flooded back. They were raised in a world of iron men and god, where their city could be destroyed at any moment. Hell, they lost five years of their lives to a maniacal alien overlord.

Peter nodded, “Yeah, I know. It can be overwhelming, the world we live in. We thought we would never make it out alive. We thought we were doomed. But we made it. We persevered, we worked our asses off, and we got to where we are now. Well, as it weird as it may sound, that’s honestly no different from adulthood. We think that this is the end of our lives, that we won’t have any future, but...if we can survive Thanos, I think we can survive college!”

Laughter erupted through the audience, reassuring the child that everything was going well.

He smiled, tears of joy starting to well up, “I am so grateful, not only for having been your classmate, but also for being...your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man. Thank you, Midtown High!”

The sound of clapping and cheering almost deafened Peter, as everyone was chanting his name. As he stepped down from the podium, he waved to everyone, almost like a president would wave to his citizens.

“Thank you! Thank you so much!,” he grinned, “I’ll be here all week! Well, not literally, but...you know what I mean.”

Peter walked across the room to finally embrace one of the people he cared about the most. MJ buried her neck into the boy’s shoulder as Peter stood on his toes to reach her.

Peter sighed, “Well, that could’ve gone better.”

“Well, it was better than that bio presentation from last month,” MJ pointed out.

“You ever gonna let me forget that?,” he asked.

“Not in a million years, Web-Head,” she placed a hand on his shoulder, “Better than being the Menace of Queens, right?”

“Oh, I’d rather not think about Jameson right now,” Peter groaned.

“Yo, Pete!,” cried a voice from behind Peter. He turned to see his best friend, Ned Leeds, standing behind him, wearing his fedora and everything.

“Ned, holy crap, man!,” he hugged his friend, “I heard about you getting the Osborn Scholarship, congrats!”

“Thanks, Peter!,” Ned beamed, “Looks like you’re not the only one working for a billionaire!”

“Ey, last time I checked, Stark Industries is still on top,” Peter bragged. He was happy that even after the passing of Mr. Stark, his wife, Mrs. Potts, still wanted Peter to work for her at Stark Industries. It was only as an intern, but it was still nice to be working for the company he idolized for years.

“Whatever, man,” Ned scoffed, “By the end of this year, Oscorp’s gonna be the best of the best all thanks to yours truly.”

“Well, I’m sure your plans for a fully-functioning Lego Death Star will thoroughly impress your boss,” Peter commented.

“Don’t give Oscorp any ideas,” MJ snickered, “Knowing them, that’s totally something that overly-patriotic, corporate douchebag would build.”

As Ned and MJ went about their usual back-and-forth on Oscorp’s beliefs and policies, Peter could only watch and smile. This was what he loved about this school. This was what he was going to miss.

…

After a few years, the night ended and everybody began to head out. Ned headed out with Betty a half-hour before the party was over, leaving MJ and Peter on their own. 

Everybody was heading over to Flash Thompson’s house to keep the party going. MJ wasn’t the type to party, but she did like skulking in the back to creep out the party-goers. Peter usually liked to watch, but he was just dying to go out and fight crime.

The two walked out, hand-in-hand, as Peter begin to fiddle with his web-shooter on his left arm.

MJ couldn’t help but notice the gadget on the boy’s wrist, “You are just itching to get out of here, aren’t you.”

Peter gulped, quickly tugging his sleeve down to hide the object, “Oh, I, uh, I’m sorry, MJ, this speech’s just got me thinking.”

After a moment of silence, the taller girl scoffed, “Well, you gonna share with the class?”

Peter shook his head, “It’s just that...it’s starting to hit me. I’m now the only superhero still working in New York. I mean everyone else is either retired or...gone. It’s just me.”

The somber look on the boy’s face prompted the young woman placed an arm on his shoulder, “Hey, loser, you might be the only one in this city running around in spandex, but you sure as hell aren’t alone.”

“Thanks, MJ,” Peter said as he embraced the girl he cared about.

“Don’t stay out too late,” the girl commanded to him.

“I make no promises,” he scratched the back of his head awkwardly. He only walked a few steps before rushing back, giving MJ a kiss on the cheek. The sight of her blushing got him to snicker as he hopped over the gates of his school and started swinging away.

MJ slowly lifted a hand to her face, “Oh, that nerd.”

…

The boy sat on the roof of a building in downtown Queens. Crime in the city was lax tonight, so Peter didn’t even have anyone to fight. He took of his mask and sighed, looking over the place that raised him.

Peter couldn’t help but feel alone now. He hasn’t had contact with any of the Avengers in about two years, not since Mr. Stark’s funeral. He knew that there were other heroes out there, but he hasn’t heard about them in news in a while.

Dr. Banner and Mr. Barton retired, Thor’s in space, Captain Rogers is in hiding, and Agent Romanoff and Mr. Stark are...gone. No one’s guarding the planet now.

The world needed protectors. Was Peter going to be the only one to step up for that role?

He sighed, “How did Mr. Stark do this?”

“You know, usually a guy getting out of high school would be out partying.”

Peter quickly turned around to see a man in a giant grey suit floating behind him. The guy was so large that even when his slow landing created a loud thud. The helmet popped off of his face to reveal a familiar face.

“Sup, Pete. Been a while,” greeted James Rhodes, the War Machine.

Peter met the soldier briefly during Tony’s funeral. He was nice, helped comfort him during the process.

The boy stuttered, “Rhodey, hey! I mean, Mr. Rhodey! I mean, Mr. Rhodes! Or is it Colonel Rhodes?”

The older man raised his hands up, “Whoa! Slow your roll there, kid. Rhodey’s fine. What are you doing up here?”

“Uh, just patrolling the neighborhood, keeping the city safe, the usual.”

“I saw you walk out of your school,” the colonel said, “You know, when Tony got of high school, the end of the year party he held at his place was something out of a dream. It was the type of thing older Tony would regret.”

“Yeah, figured,” the kid nodded, remembering the stories of Tony from before he became a superhero.

“Not that big of a party guy, huh?”, Rhodey noticed the shy look on the boy’s face.

“Pfft, before tonight, the last real party I had ended with me almost getting killed my homecoming date,” Peter laughed before regaining his composure, “Yeah, I...Parties have never really been that great for me. With everything that’s happened...I’m really not in the mood, you know?”

Rhodey nodded. He was more the type who would get dragged to parties instead of going on his free will, “I can get that. Sorry, I couldn’t help you with that whole Europe thing.”

“It’s cool. I know you’ve been busy,” Peter nodded sympathetically, “So, what brings you to Queens?”

The man in the armored suit began to shuffle awkwardly, “Well this is gonna sound crazy, but…I’m here to talk to you about the Avengers Initiative.”

Avengers Reassemble Ch 2

The king fondled with the silver ring on his finger, almost as though it would drop anytime soon. It looked as though T’Challa’s entire focus was solely on the trinket on his hand.

“Are you going to keep on fondling that ring all day,” his sister, Princess Shuri, joked. She walked towards him, a hologram of what looked like a finished building in her hand.

The two were standing before a construction site in Oakland where a few buildings were being built. The sound of drills and jackhammers filled the air, as well as what sounded almost like lasers. Construction workers, both American and Wakandan, ran back and forth, discussing plans and designs.

T’Challa rolled his eyes, “Oh, hush now. How goes construction?”

“Everything is going according to plan,” the teenager nodded, “The Outreach Centre should be finished by next month.”

“That is good,” the king nodded, “So many in this nation need our help as soon as possible.”

This area was once a symbol of Wakanda’s failures and mistakes. Where T’Challa’s father not only killed his own brother, but abandoned his own nephew. A nephew who almost caused the downfall of Wakanda itself.

Now, this place was going to be a symbol of Wakanda’s generosity and successes. A bridge between Wakanda and the rest of the world, where the technology and practices of T’Challa’s people could save lives.

However, to some people, it wasn’t enough.

Shuri’s smile slowly dropped as she looked around, “T’Challa, I know we are doing good work here, but do you not feel like we could do more?”

T’Challa sighed, having grown tired of this conversation, “Shuri, we have discussed this. We have been gone for five years. We need to concentrate on rebuilding our own nation and our ties to the rest of the world.”

While the Snap affected the lives of many, it hit T’Challa hard. The entire royal family was turned to dust, leaving the nation without a Black Panther to protect them or rule. The heart-shaped herbs were only to be consumed by those of royal blood, so no one could take the title. The Council and the Dora Milaje were the only ones keeping order.

Unfortunately, once the royal family returned, it’s been a difficult process returning to the original status quo. Even worse as outside of Okoye’s work with the Avengers, the nation has been keeping out of the issues the rest of the world was dealing with. It was as if they were backtracking to before Killmonger’s rule.

Shuri groaned, “I know the Council has been keeping you busy, but is there not a more proactive role we could take? Maybe while wearing a certain Panther uniform?”

“The role of the Black Panther is not only to fight off evil, but to bring hope and aid to those in need,” T’Challa shook his head, “I must not only-.”

“ ‘Break bones, but also build bridges’,” Shuri finished his sentence, a small smile crossing her face, “That was the only way Baba could get you to memorize your duties.”

T’Challa grinned, remembering his father’s words. He already had a lot of responsibilities to handle before Thanos’s attack. Now, that amount has doubled.

“I still feel like there is more we could be doing,” Shuri argued, “Like in New York. Fighting for a righteous cause, to protect people like we promised.”

“I understand,” T’Challa nodded, “But this is where our focus should be.”

The two stood in silence, their gaze on the construction, until an odd sound rippled through the air. Something that sounded like fires sparking.

“Wait, do you hear something,” the teenager asked.

They turned to see an amber-colored ring start to form behind them. Sparks flew from it as it looked like a figure was coming through.

T’Challa tilted his head, “Is that-?”

From the portal came a man wearing a long red cloak and a blue uniform, a golden necklace around his throat. It was the Master of the Mystic Arts himself, Doctor Stephen Strange.

“King T’Challa,” the sorcerer spoke in a deep voice, “I believe we have business to discuss.”

Shuri chuckled, “Well, if it isn’t the doctor with the cheekbones!”

“For Bast’s sake…,” T’Challa cursed, “What brings you to Oakland, Doctor Strange?”

“I need you to come with me,” Strange asked, “I have a proposal for you.”

The king turned to his sister, who laughed, “Like that movie Baba hated. Just when you thought you were out, they pull you back in, eh?”

T’Challa looked to the sky, asking for death, before walking towards the portal, “Just stay here.”

The king walked through the portal and found himself inside what looked like a large mansion. Like the ones his parents took him to when they made diplomatic trips to Europe.

“Where are we?,” T’Challa asked.

“Bleecker Street. New York,” answered Strange, “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?”

“Tea would be nice,” the king nodded.

“Alright,” Strange turned to look at the collar of his cloak, “Cloak?”

Suddenly, the cloak fell off of the doctor’s shoulders and flew off to another room, bringing back a teacup with a spoon in it.

T’Challa warily took the cup into his hands, his eyes focused on the floating piece of clothing, “By the goddess…”

He only looked down when he felt the cup heat up. He looked down to see it slowly fill with hot tea, “Incredible...How are you doing this?”

“I’m not creating the tea out of thin air,” Strange explained, “Right now, that’s coming from the kettle of some college kid from London. Sugar?”

“Yes please,” the king nodded. Two cubes of sugar surfaced out of the cup, dissolving in the drink, “Impressive. Now, what is it that you wished to discuss?”

“It’s a simple invitation really,” Doctor Strange cleared his throat, “I have been sent to offer you a position amongst Earth’s Mightiest Heroes.”

T’Challa almost spat out his tea before gulping. He slowly began to realize what this was about, “You want me as an Avenger?”

Strange chuckled a little, “As odd as it is to say, yes, I’m here to bring you into the Avengers Initiative.”

The king began to eye the wizard carefully to make sure he wasn’t joking. He always respected the Avengers even before he actually met them, but he would’ve never thought in a million years that they would wish to have him as a member.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that the team has returned,” T’Challa said.

“Not all of the original members have, but a few have come to me for help in choosing members,” Stephen explained.

“I assumed a man such as yourself would prefer to stick to your own corner of the universe,” T’Challa said, “Focusing only on the more...paranormal.”

“The people of Kamar-Taj have been protecting the Earth for centuries,” Strange described, “However, we always needed aid from more...earthly heroes.”

“Such as the Avengers.”

“Yes,” Stephen nodded, “That’s why I and a few others have joined to bring back the team. I believe a man of your prestige, power, and heroism would be a great addition.”

T’Challa was genuinely amazed to receive this offer and maybe in a different time, he would have immediately accepted the position. However, this was definitely the wrong time.

“I understand your concerns. If Thanos has taught us anything, it’s that the world needs protectors,” the ruler agreed, “However, I have my own dilemmas at the moment. I have my nation, my people,...”

“Your recent engagement?,” the sorcerer finished the statement, before quickly adding, “Congratulations, by the way.”

T’Challa nodded in thanks. A year after he returned to the world of the living, T’Challa decided to propose to his beloved Nakia. The woman inspired him to go out into the world in the first place and there was no one that he would’ve rather dedicated his life to.

“I don’t know if I have the time to act as a crime-fighter,” T’Challa frowned, looking away.

Stephen sighed and nodded, understanding the man’s concerns. As Sorcerer Supreme, he already had a large array of responsibilities. However, he knew that he needed to join this team if we wanted to make sure this reality was 100% safe.

“Sir, I know this is a lot to deal with and I’m sorry,” Strange apologized, “But the world...It needs heroes. Especially now that we’ve lost…”

“Now that we have lost Stark,” T’Challa ended the sentence, nodding somberly. 

He learned of how Strange told Stark about the one of fourteen-million outcomes where they would be successful and how in the end, Tony had to die to accomplish it.

Strange looked down at the floor, his face covered with guilt, “I may not have killed him myself, but I set the dominos up...I took an oath as a doctor not to do harm to others and I failed.”

T’Challa shook his head, “Stark made the choice of his own free will. Blaming yourself will get you nowhere. Believe me. I know.”

The king couldn’t help but think back to his crusade against the Winter Soldier, where his guilt for letting his father die overtook his senses. He knew the power of regret and grief and he knew that that wasn’t something he should face alone.

“I shall consider your invitation,” T’Challa sighed, “However, I cannot promise that I will accept it, Doctor.”

A smile finally came onto Doctor Strange’s face, “Thank you, T’Challa. Just contact me when you’ve made a decision.”

The doctor began to spin his arm in a circle, which opened up another amber portal behind T’Challa. Through it, he could see the construction in Oakland right there.

“I shall be in touch,” T’Challa nodded before walking through it.

Once the portal closed, Strange began to straighten his back and levitate, “Now, off to San Francisco.”

After a few seconds, his astral form surfaced from his body and vanished from the mansion, reappearing in a lab to greet two figures.

The doctor’s spirit looked down at the two, “Mr. Lang, Ms. Van Dyne, we need to talk.”

Scott’s eyes widened as his jaw almost dropped to the floor, “Oookay. Yeah, this is happening.”

Hope threw her arms up in frustration, “Oh, what the hell now?”

Friendly Criminal Spider-Man AU Part One!

A Valcarol Christmas

001

Pairing : Miguel O' Hara X Reader

Genre : fluff

Summary : In which you, his best friend, takes care of him when he's sick.

Wordcount: 1.5k lol 

Miguel O'Hara Masterlist

An odd sound leaves Miguel's lips, something between a cough and clearing his throat and he glances at you with the hope you won't notice.

Which you of course do.

You've been his best friend for years. The only person he hasn't lost yet. The only person he allows to be close to him. And the only one in his universe who knows of his identity and occupation. The other spiders know who you are aswell. You don't have any powers as you aren't a spiderman variant, but the other spiders like you a lot. Probably more than they like Miguel. ( You're often their ticket to getting stuff easy through him.)

" Are you okay?"

He glances at you with his usual, brooding expression, before his eyes move back to the screens focused on the multiverse.

" Ju-" 

As he tries to speak his voice sounds extremely hoarse, and so he clears his throat.

" Just fine."

You shake your head.

" No you're not. You sound hoarse. Are you sick?" You ask him.

He doesn't turn to answer.

If you were anyone else, he'd glare at you, maybe even tell you to mind your own business. But he doesn't. Of course he doesn't. 

Miguel's aware he's got at least a bit of a crush on you.

When he doesn't reply, you approach him. He watches in concealed curiousity what you're about to do.

He freezes when you raise the back of your hand to his head. He can't help but lean into your slight touch, turning qinqto absolute putty in your hands.

It's a pitty you retrace your hand all too soon, followed with a surprised expression.

" Miguel, you're heating up! You definitly have a fever.-"

" I'm fine Mi Perla-"

You scoff, cutting him off mid sentence.

" No you're not. You're sick. And you're going to rest, we're not going to argue over that. Layla?!"

Miguel can't stop you as you call out to his assistant.

" No, I have work, you know the multiverse rests on-"

" Y/N, what can I do for you?"

Yes, even his AI seems to like you more than him, something that makes him roll his eyes.

" I know, the multiverse rests on your shoulders. Didn't you build an entire team to help you with it?" You reply, giving him a pointed look before turning to the AI.

" Hi Layla, can you call Jess in please? Tell her Miguel's taking the day off, he's sick." You tell her.

" Will do! Get well soon boss." Layla says, turning to Miguel before dissapearing again.

He opens his mouth to say something, but the words leave his brain the minute you gently grab hold of his hand.

" C'mon. Let's get you to bed."

-

And going to bed he did. After you've personally delivered him to his room and instructed him to get changed into something more comfortable, he finds himself fast asleep the minute he lays down.

When he wakes up again, you're back, seated beside his bed on the floor, leaning your head on the edge of his bed. The tv in his room is on, and he recognises a series you've told him about a few times playing. As soon as he moves, you're moving aswell.

" Hey, how're you feeling? Too hot? Do you need me to refresh the towel?" You ask him hurriedly, moving to get up.

He stops you by placing a hand on your shoulder, taking his time to sit up. The folded cold towel which was laid on his forehead dropping in his lap, his skin still feeling feverish.

" Why are you seated on the floor?" He asks instead, bypassing al your questions.

You blink, before glancing around the room.

" There's no chairs in here." You point out.

" You could've sat on my bed. It's more comfortable." He explains plainly.

You blink again. 

It isn't as if his bed is small. Considering he runs the entire team, his bedroom is the biggest, a nice spacious room, with a spacious bed. 

When you don't reply, he speaks again.

" Come sit down." 

He pats the spot beside him.

" You sure you don't need the space considering you're sick and stuff?" 

He rolls his eyes.

" Sit down before I'll drag you on myself." 

At the well intentioned threat, you finally move, getting up and eventually seating yourself beside him on the bed. 

" You didn't reply to my questions though." You point out, turning to look at him.

He gives you one of his rare smiles.

" Don't worry, I'm alright." 

" Okay. Tell me when you're feeling hungry though, I'll make you soup." You smile at him.

The two of you sit like that for quite a while, Miguel joining you in watching the series.

He feels pampered with the way you care for him, refusing to let him as much as lift a finger.

At some point, he eventually has to go to the toilet. When he comes back, he sits slightly closer to you, his arm touching yours. He feels a flutter in his chest when you lean your head on his shoulder.

Later on, after diner and back to watching tv (stuff he picked out this time, doesn't matter that he falls asleep every so often in between.), the two of you are once again back to comfortable sitting beside one another on his bed. 

" You can lay down if you'd like?" He suggests, noticing you shift every so often in your spot.

" Wouldn't that be a little, I don't know, uncomfortable for you? To share your bed like that?" You ask, tilting your head.

He shakes his head, not even having to think about it.

" You're my best friend. I don't mind."

" Okay, wake me up if I fall asleep though. Or if you need something." You tell him before getting comfortable.

20 minutes pass before you fall asleep, just as you had expected. 

Miguel watches you for a few moments with a small affectionate smile. You looked so peaceful, he couldn't bring himself to wake you. 

His fever has gone down quite a bit, his skin thankfully not feeling feverish anymore thanks to his quicker healing. 

Eventually he decides to turn off the light, climbing back in bed before, also daring to throw an arm around your middle.

-

When he wakes up again, his fever is gone, and so are you.

Although he's a little dissapointed, he does understand you probably left for a fresh set of clothes and everything.

He's also made it clear that he doesn't want you to walk home by yourself at night (you often leave at ungodly hours, or really late. You'vefallen asleep in his office a few times before.) Your apartment is thankfully not too far off from HQ, and he trusts you've asked one of the other spiders to have walked you home.

He's become a little overprotective over you considering you're the last person outside of his business he has.

-

It's midday when he sees you again, having just returned for a mission. You're seated at his desk, swiping at your phone when he walks in.

" Mi Perla." He calls you in greeting.

You look up from your screen, smiling as you spot him and pocketing your phone.

" Miguel, how are you feeling? I take it your fever left?" You approach him.

He hums. You raise your hand to check again, and he subconsciously slightly lowers his head more into your reach.

" That does feel better, glad you're okay." You tell him, retracing your hand.

He takes your hand in his, and the surprise on your face is evident as he raises the back of your hand to his lips.

" Thank you for taking care of me last night, Mi Perla."

002

[ A/N: I actually really enjoyed writing this. Let me know if you'd like to read a pt.2 or send me requests please. I really want to write more about him but my brain is a little blank.]

Wanted

pairing: Loki x Reader: 18+

word count: 5k

summary: Even after inviting Loki to one of Tony’s parties, he believes that you do not truly want him to be there. Thinking that you and the team invite him out of pity, you follow him into the bathroom where you accidentally confess your feelings for him.

a/n: This is a long overdue present for my friend lmao. 

Requests that have been sent in are still being worked on and will be posted next!

Keep reading

Close to the Ground

Title: All In a Name

Word count: 4,204

Characters: Peter Parker, oc

Warnings: fluff? Platonic fic not romantic.

Notes: Sweet damn!!! This came out a lot longer than I intended for it to. Let me tell you. As I was writing I kept thinking of more ideas and the word count kept getting longer. I'll edit this when I have the time if I'm able, so forgive typos. There are so many typos. I'll change this when I've edited the story.

I came up with the idea years ago back when Civil War came out. But now I have time to headcanon and perfect it.

———

The little girl stared at Peter and he in turn stared back the two looked at each other as if they were deer caught in the head lights. That both sat criss cross, across from the other on May's living room sofa. Every time Peter even tried to make a move the little girl would flinch, a cold chill creeping up her spine so Peter tried to remain motionless.

While he appeared cool on the outside, inside his thoughts were spiraling out of control. What do I do!? What do I do!? Where's aunt May? One of my first real "rescues" as Spider-Man and I come home with a kid!? In the grip of silent panic his right foot beat uncontrollably against the cushion. It seemed to be the only acceptable action, as it didn't send the pipsqueak into a tizzy.

He had been doing a routine sweep of neighboring area swing through the cityscape when a scream as good as a a banshee's rent the air. Nobody screamed like that unless they were in fear for their life. It came from a darkened alley, and like a true hero he'd taken off toward it ready to take on whatever threat lied ahead. He shocked to find the alley seemingly empty though after a careful look around just to be safe he had found her. Lonely, buried beneath bags of trash, she laid out.

Peter wasn't sure what he'd been thinking back then, forty minutes ago. Scratch that, he knew damn well. The city streets were no place for child, especially one so young. It was going to be dark soon and thunder had been in the forecast for later that evening. He'd used his best judgement.

He mentally scoffed, best judgment.

Now here he sat just him and what could be more than a two-year-old. Her icy blue eyes stared directly into his soul unsure yet whether to consider him friend or foe. Her clothes were of the spring variety a season that would becoming to an end in following few weeks. They seemed kind small for her, which was saying something, stained with dirt, garbage, and other thing Peter didn't care to name. Her hair was knotted and tangled giving it a troll rat nest appearance. If he had to guess, she was brunette.

The ringing for the apartments land line went of like a school bell. The two caught off guard both flinched at the sudden noise, the little girl letting out a high pitched yelp as she did. Second ring. Peter shared a look with toddler at the other end of the couch. He needed to answer the phone, but he didn't want to trigger a panic. Third ring. She whimpers bring her knees up into her chest. Fourth ring.

"I need to answer the phone," Peter said. His words were clear and concise, carefully spoken as to not spook her. "Please, I promise that's all I'm going to do." Her icy eyes softened, not by much but enough to convince him she would allow him to get up and move across the room.

He moved in at brisk walking pace very aware of the fact that with each step he was silently being judged. Once in the kitchen her scooped up the land line and spoke into it. "Parker residence. Hey this..." he listened for a moment.

"Hey, May... I'm- I'm fine. I could really use your help though... Can it wait?" He looked over to the child now staring out the window, from the couch, with wide eyed fascination at the rain outside. "It's kind of important... Oh I see... Uh-huh... Uh-huh... But still... Uh-huh. Okay... Later? Sure... Okay... No, no I got it... okay, see you then... I love you too...bye." He hung up the phone, placing it back on it charging stand.

With a sigh he ran his hands across his face. The child immediately turned her focus back to him eyes darting up and down to discern his current emotional state. He wouldn't cuss in front of her, at least not a loud. Inside his head he was Kenny McCormick.

He gave a feeble smile to the toddler when he noticed she was watching his every move, as if she were studying him. "What am I going to do with you?" he laughed somewhat dryly. She obviously didn't like that lowering her head so only her eye and above peeked out from behind the couch's back.

Indeed what would he do with her?

........................................................................................................................................................

It seemed there was nothing he could do to make her budge. She was't interested in his action figured, books, or legos— Probably a good thing she wasn't to keen on the legos kind of a choking hazard — she ignored his funny faces and attempts to make her laugh. She just stared on, gnawing on her fingers, curled up at one end of the couch. She had moved when Peter accidentally came too close to her but he wasn't about to do that again. It would be cruel to use her spacial fears against her.

"Okay I give up," Peter declared. "You can just sit there on the couch and do nothing." He was laid out across the rug surrounded by various items he'd pulled from his room in an effort to entertain the emotionless youngling.

At Peter declaration she raised a brow, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corners of her lips. As quickly as it came it went, Peter was none the wiser.

Grrbbrggfgrr

She hadn't meant to do that, Peter could tell by the light pink pink color flushing her cheeks. Her stomach rumbles again making her squirm in her seat.

Peter raced to the kitchen. He swung open the fridge, digging past the left over takeout none of which he figured she'd like, he found a box with leftover chicken nuggets from a meal he'd made himself a few days prior. He took out the remaining seven nuggets and quickly placed them in the microwave for 49 seconds before coming back to the living room.

He sat back down, set the plate out on the coffee table in front of the child and asked.

"Are you hungry?" A lick of the lips was all he got in response. She carefully eyed the plate, focus switching from,Peter to the tenders on a loop. "It's okay, the foods fine," he tried nudging the plate a bit closer to her. "It's chicken nuggets. Do you like chicken nuggets?" She curiously dropped her head to one side eyebrows drawing together as if to ask 'what are chicken nuggets?'

"There really good," Peter coaxed taking a piece for himself to demonstrate. "It's okay, they're not poisoned or anything." He took a bite and smiled.

Hesitantly she reached an arm out but was quick to realize her arms were to short. Cautiously, carefully she slid herself off the couch cushion, eye never leaving Peter. Feet firmly on the ground she let herself relax a little. She finally took one of the nuggets off the plate and sat her little bum on the rug. She sniffed the meat then just barely touched it to her small tongue.

She cooed, kicking her legging up and down, as she'd just been hut by a stoke of lightning. Her eye dilated losing there icy sheen as she devoured the chicken nuggets. Eyes shining with new found life she looked to Peter. Clicking her feet together she held out the plate, making series of inaudible noises.

Peter bit back a laugh, "do you want some more." There was bag in the freezer, they would actually require more than a microwave to bake. But she was happy, maybe more would make her smile.

........................................................................................................................................................

Peter couldn't help but feel proud of himself. Making more chicken nuggets had clearly been the right decision. She chattered and observed everything with a newfound curiosity. He still hadn't seen her smile but that didn't bother him too much.

He sat on the couch watching her wander around the apartment reaching for and looking at everything. Every now and again she'd find something so interesting to her that she'd pick it up and bring it over to show Peter. She chatter and babble nonsensically then leave at his feet and amble of to continue exploring.

Peter was keeping a list in his head of where she was finding everything so he could later put them back. So far she'd gifted him nine items; an electronic candle, the tv remote, one fuzzy sock, his Mathematics of Astronomy textbook, a spare set of keys, a decorative flower, an orange, a quarter and two nickels, and his Wicket the Ewok action figure.

There was pull from under him. He looked over the back of the couch to see the little girl tugging atone end of the throw blanket, the other end firmly lodged underneath him. "Whatcha doin'?" She briefly stared at him, then continued to tug at the soft blanket.

"I don't think I can keep pretending you don't have a name." He said suddenly, lifting himself off his end of the throw blanket.

With no one else home it was easy to ignore the fact that he didn't know her name but it was starting to feel rude. She knew his name, he just thought she couldn't yet say it. Either out of shyness or verbal development.

"Do you have a name?" He asked. She blinked a few times before draping the blanket over her head. "Can you tell me what it is?" He tried. From beneath the blanket she chattered and honked at Peter stomping her feet against the floor.

"Really?" Peter smiled, pretending he knew just what she'd said. "Well, how about I give you a nickname?" she babbled some more craning her head to one side. "Okay cool," he pulled out his phone and brought up a cite for nickname recommendations. "Let's see... cutie? You are pretty cute," Peter teased. He couldn't see her face but he heard her blow a raspberry. "So that's a no... monkey?" she was curious. Another raspberry. "Bee?" This time she shook her head, her interest fading.

Blanket still over her head she traveled around the room like a ghost. A cute ghost. An unnerving tingle ran up Peter's spine making the hairs on his skin stand on end. He immediately looked to the toddler. "Ooah," she squeaked. She hadn't gotten far before bumping into one of the apartment's ceiling support beams. His eyes flew wide and his muscles went all rigid.

He surprised himself, he was at her side in seconds, still maintaining an arms length distance. Her arm length not. "Hey, hey are you okay?" He softly cooed, cautiously lifting the blanket off her head. He looked her over, as best he could from where he was, for any bruises or marks. She nodded.

"Yep? You're okay?" She continued to nod making clicking noises with her tongue. There was this twinge feeling in Peter that just wasn't convinced. Not a spidey-sense feeling just a fEeLiNg.

She affirmatively nods, struggling to stand up in the blanket tangle she'd created. Peter couldn't help but laugh softly watching her struggle to stand. She reminded him of the videos of newborn calves standing for the first time. She sneezed tripping backwards back down on her bum.

His muscles went stiff, he had to stop himself from touching her. "Hey, be careful. Clumsy." He laughed dryly. "You alright?" She turned her head to him, wiping the snot dribbling down her nose away with her sleeve and nodded.

Peter crinkled his nose in disgust, he was compiled by sheer grossed outness to peel her arm away by the sleeve. She flinched at the sudden contact, her face washed blank with confusion. Then she remembered, and her muscles relaxed.

"Let's use a Kleenex," Peter suggested bringing her arm away from her boogered nose. Her clothes were already coated in a thin layer of grime. "Maybe... take a bath?" He added. She was in desperate need of one, he was getting used to it but she reeked. And he was curious to know what she looked like without the filth layer.

That being said, this was the first time he'd been allowed to contact her in anyway since he'd brought her home and she still seemed agitated. So bath would be hers and his summit.

........................................................................................................................................................

"Okay look it's just a little water."

He managed to coax her into the bathroom and fill up the tub before she'd put two and two together. She stood back against the one door and shook her head. He'd been at this for fifteen minutes, though her trust in him had grown she refused to enter the bath. Peter wasn't about to make her that'd just undo her confidence in him.

"Hold on I'll show you." Peter dunked his head into the mildly warm water. Her nervous became frazzled jumping all together in a frazzled panic. Heart rate spiking, she speeds across the room to the edge of the tub. It wasn't long before Peter brought his head back up, he'd only been under for a couple of seconds. His hair lies plaster about his forehead beads of water dripping down from the tips. "See? Perfectly fine?"

Looking to her his smile fell. Gripping tightly the edge of the tub, her eyes held a sweet amount of concern. Lower lip drawn back in her, eyes brimmed with watery tear threading to fall. Guilt hit him like a fright train. "I'm sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to scare you." He apologized. She shakily sniffled, gnawing on her middle, index, and ring fingers as she sat her bum on the tile. She needed to calm her nerves.

So bath was a no go. Something about the water unnerved her.

"How about a shower?" He offered. Sure the toddler was small but she wouldn't fit in any of the sinks for a baby style bath. It was after all a small apartment. So a shower seemed like the next option. Peter pulled the the drain stopper out, to let the water run down.

Her blues curiously watched the water drain until the base of the tub was bare. "I promise a shower isn't bad." She looked at him, monitoring his movements as he stood and took off the handheld shower head. "Promise, promise," he joked sending a reassuring smile her way.

He turned the nob over the water nozzle, activating the hot water. "It's just like a rain...shower." He explained spraying the shower head toward the bath's back wall.

Eyebrows arching toward the sky, her eyes widened. She chirped and squeaked pointing — with the hand not in her mouth — toward the watery spray.

"See?" He held his hand out in front of the gentle spray. She moved close to him, so close her shoulder brushed against his. She held out her own hand, the warm droplets tickled her skin.

"There you go," Peter beamed. She babbled about, looking between him and the spray, her senseless words ran into one another. Peter reached over her head and took out rubber duck from the shower caddy. "Ducky will even be your shower buddy." It hadn't had purpose until then, previously nothing more than a decoration.

"Quack-quack quack," he teased tickle the duck against her side. She hummed, crumpling up. Her mouth formed what wasn't quite a smile but also not a frown. She poked at the rubber duck, attempting to mimic Peter's quacking. Peter laughed, she sounded like a chick.

"Ducky?" He tried.

She crinkled her nose making a stank face. Another raspberry.

He chuckled softly, she really is cute

........................................................................................................................................................

Peter couldn't believe it. Under all that dirt and grime the toddler was actually quite adorable. She was cute before but now that she was cleaned up she had this new glow to her. The toddler was Celtic looking, fair skin, sharp eyes, spotty dotty freckles that shifted with her cheeks and beautiful strawberry blonde locks.

"And blue," Peter called out.

The two were back in the living room. They spent the better half of an hour sorting Peter's stuff by color, something he thought she wouldn't be interested in but took to quite naturally. They'd run out of stuff from Peter's pile on the floor to sort twenty minutes ago. He wasn't quite sure how it started but now all he had to do was call out a color and she'd toddle off to find a match, then return so he could add it to the corresponding color pile.

No completely clean she'd certainly perked up even more so then before. She wore a pink black-squared tank hooded capri romper, hair still damp it fell loosely on to her shoulders.

Prepping for her a shower he'd discovered she wore pull-ups. Shouldn't have surprised him. This however made him realize there weren't any clothes suited for her in the apartment. Luckily one of the neighbors a floor below had a child close to her assumed age. The mother was confused as to why he needed some of her child's old clothes and pull-ups. Peter had just said he was babysitting and the child didn't bring an extra pair of clothes. Which wasn't a total lie.

The patter of little feet filled the room as the toddler waddled over to Peter from where ever she had been. She held out a blue sandal, not a pair sandals, just the one. "Is there another shoe," Peter asked raining a single brow. She drew in her lip, rocking back and forth on the soles of her feet, and nodded hesitantly.

"Can you go get it for the blue pile?"

She rolled her eyes but nonetheless complied, scuffling off to retrieve the other sandal. She was really enjoyable to be around, a bit of goof ball.

It wasn't long before she came barreling in sandal in hand, a blue metallic 1966 model Chevrolet chevelle clamped between her teeth.

"Hey what did I say?" Peter asked adopting a stern tone. She blinked a few times before remembering. She widened her mouth allowing the car to drop to the floor. "Little gum monster."

This earned him a raspberry.

Peter was certain she was still teething. If she wasn't gnawing/gumming on her own fingers she was gumming on some object. She'd gnawed on the rubber duck, a spatula head, four of the gifts she'd given Peter and now a metal model car. He'd have to get her a teething ring.

Peter shook his head mentally hitting himself. She's not staying.

Peter had to found himself forgetting that fact a couple times in the past two hours.

"Okay go find..." he wanted to challenge her this time. "Yellow." She chirped and squeaked before toddling off. She was a little scout, obtaining articles and returning them to Peter.

This time it too, her bit longer to find something of a yellow color. The duck had already been used so she need to find something else. She found herself in what could only be Peter's room. She sifted and searched, eyes on the lookout for some yellow.

Bingo

He heard it... again. The litter patter of little feet approaching. Heart swelled as he saw her round the corner of the couch, proudly clutching a mustard yellow cloth. "You found yellow," he commended holding a hand out for her to give him the cloth. Peter couldn't help but laugh as he spread out what was actually his mustard yellow tee with the words 'Bacteria. The only culture some people have' printed on in bold black lettering.

The little girl tried mimicking his laughter, but sounded more like a dolphin or chipmunk. This only made Peter laugh more.

"Thanks Gummy."

The name just slipped out. Her eyes sparkled like freshly fallen snow. He could tell by her body language and lack of raspberry that she at the very least didn't hate the name. In fact Her babbling happily like spring brook suggested she liked the name.

"Gummy," he repeated.

There was something about the nickname that just... suited her.

........................................................................................................................................................

When this kid, Gummy at as Peter now called her, got her energy she made the most of it. He never wanted to hear the Hokey-Pokey or the Baby Shark songs again. His muscles were tight from the childish motions. Simon says had been much more his speed for the night, at least until it was Gummy's turn be Simon. Hide-and-Seek nearly gave him a panic attack.

He could no longer deny the fact that he cared about her. Her bright eyes, bubbly chirps, and button nose. Her in all her quirkinesses.

"Okay Gummy, behold one of the greatest movies ever!..." He exclaimed holding up a colorful dvd box. Gummy did her cute curious head tilt, crinkling up her nose. "That we own." Peter murmured somewhat sourly.

Peter had the room set up for comfy movie watching. She'd burned out after four rounds of hide-and-seeks, showing clear signs of tiredness. Now she sat tired-eyed rather sluggishly on the couch. Peter himself was sort of tired too, she'd drain a lot of his energy. A movie seemed like the perfect way to wind down. He wasn't sure how long she'd last, her eyes already glazing over, but he'd enjoy himself even when she inevitably fell asleep.

Gummy reached for the box making grabby hands. Peter took out the dvd and handed it's case to the two-year-old. "It doesn't go in your mouth." He emphasized before turning his back on her. She tried to play with the thin plastic case but quickly discovered the only thing interesting about it was the sound it made when she opened and shut it.

"My Neighbor Totoro. It has animals I really think you'll like." After getting the dvd ready, he sat beside her, letting his body sink into the cushions.

They sat, brains off, engrossed. Peter would peel his eyes away every few minutes to check if Gummy was still awake. Though the television blared her eyes were half closed and her fingers were back in her mouth. She'd yawn, little tongue curling as she did. Her eyes lit up when the first Ghibli creature appeared on screen but there was still a tiredness behind them.

She'd be out like a light soon. Peter returned his focus to the movie.

Some time passed and he suddenly felt a weight increase against his side. He looked down and his eyes immediately softened. Gummy had curled against him. He gave her a side hug and brushed her wispy bangs back. She hugged her little arms around his, nuzzling her face against it, the softest smile gracing her lips.

Peter's heart melted. She's not staying. She's not staying.

He watched her chest rise and fall. The two's combined body heats, tethered with the bump-bump-buh beat of Peter's heart sent the sweet girl off to dreamland. Her fingers unconsciously curled into the fabric of his top, not clasping it tightly, but just enough to reassure her, he wasn't going anywhere. Peter using his other arm brought her onto his lap, protectively holding her against himself.

She's not going anywhere.

........................................................................................................................................................

EXT. Ending

The apartment was dark. The only sources of light came from the one lamp still lit down the hall, and the frequent passing of street cars. Their lights shining through the apartment windows. There was shuffling of feet out in the hall, a muttering of a curse, a jangle of key, and finally a satisfying click. The door swung open. In the door way, the silhouette of a woman shaking the rain off her umbrella.

"Peter?" She whispered quietly entering in. Just barely making out some movement on the couch she shook her head. Her nephew most have fallen asleep on the couch again. "Peter," she called out. At the second call of his name Peter awoke, his hold around the still sleeping baby in his arms tightening.

"Hey Pete sorry I had to work late." May apologized tussling her nephew's hair. "A coworker had leave suddenly, his wife went into labor. And it was my turn to cover." She headed to the kitchen.

Peter pushed a hand through his hair fixing the tussled up areas. "Yeah it's fine May," He assured looking back at her from over his shoulder. "Something huge happened after school." He began.

He didn't get a chance to finish as his aunt held up the dirty pair of clothes Gummy had been wearing earlier. Their apartment didn't have a washing machine so he'd simply discarded them in the sink until they could be washed. "Peter who's clothes are these? Who's Emilia?"

"Emilia?”

May held up the shirt tag. While he was seated too far to see what was written, he had to guess it was the word 'Emilia'.

Peter bit the inside of his cheek, mentally kicking himself. Her name was on her shirt tag! As the full realization, sank in, he threw his head back. From the pit of his stomach, came all his emotion, and a loud groan passed through his lips.

"Damn it."

possessive (b.barnes)

pairing: soft!dark!bucky x fem!reader

fandom: marvel - masterlist here!!

summary: bucky doesn’t share, especially when it comes to you.

word count: 1100

warnings: manipulation, gaslighting, sub!reader (bordering on little but no regression), reader calls bucky daddy, bucky is a prick but also soft

You’ve never been in a more devoted relationship than the one you share with Bucky; sure, you know it’s intense and maybe a little wrong how possessive he is over you, but how could you ever care when he treats you so well? He gives you anything you could possibly want, showering you with affection at all hours of the day and spoiling you with gifts. Not to mention how pleasing he is to look at - six foot five of thick muscle carved by the gods themselves, yet still so caring and gentle. Really, could you have found a better man?

He’s so devoted, in fact, it doesn’t even occur to you when he’s cancelling plans on your behalf and distracting you every time you try to leave the house; not until your friends are complaining that they haven’t seen you in the longest time. He neglects his own friends, always saying that he doesn’t want to even look at anyone but you. You don’t realise the lengths he’ll go to to keep you trapped in his little bubble, locked away from the outside world. Keeping you where it’s just you and him. Forever.

So when you’re all dolled up and ready for a girls’ night with Natasha and Wanda, you know Bucky has an excuse on the tip of his tongue. Unfortunately for him, you’re riled up and already prepared for an argument.

“Bunny…” he calls as you saunter past the bedroom door in search of your favourite pair of heels.

“What, baby?” you answer, fluffing up your hair and making sure your pale lipstick and mascara are pristine. He pads into the bathroom behind you, surprisingly light on his feet for such a huge person, and snakes his arms around your waist, pressing his chest flush to your back. His chin rests in the dip of your shoulder and he kisses your neck, purposely pressing his growing hard-on into your back. The sight of you in the mirror - short black dress hugging every curve and ridge on your body just right, smokey eye makeup accentuating your features and hair styled and billowing around your face - is enough to drive him insane and want to take you over the sink right then and there.

“Bucky, no,” you scold, elbowing him and sliding out of his grip, “You got yourself all worked up on purpose so that I wouldn’t go. Take care of yourself.” Your voice is determined, a steel and grit behind it that he hasn’t heard from you before. He needs to up his game.

“Bun, please,” he moans, “Can’t do it by myself. I need you, angel. Please.”

His breathy whines catch you off guard; Bucky, your towering, terrifying boyfriend that brings grown men to tears, is begging you. He uses your surprise to his advantage, forcing his lips on yours and muffling your protests. By the time you wrench yourself away, your resolve is crumbling and Natasha and Wanda are almost forgotten.

Almost.

“You can’t do this every time I want to do something fun,” you huff, pushing at his chest indignantly, “‘s not fair, I’m not gonna have any friends left.”

“You have me, don’t you? Or am I not enough for you anymore? You don’t want me anymore, hm?” He pouts, actually pouts, crossing his arms and turning his back to you.

“Bucky, you know that’s not what I meant,” you object, already stepping towards him.

“It’s fine baby, go out. See if I care,” he spits with as much venom as he can muster, the quivering of your bottom lip enough to make his chest ache. This is for your own good, he reminds himself.

“Wait, daddy-,” you whimper, reaching for him again. Your retreat into subspace means he’s already won and he knows that. He smirks to himself, hardening his expression before turning back to face you.

“What are you still doing gaping at me like an idiot, hm? Fuck off, brat.”

Tears well behind your waterline and you grab for him again, only for him to move out of your grasp.

“Stop it,” you murmur quietly, the tears silently spilling over and down your cheeks, “You’re being mean.”

“I am,” he assents, “Because you’re being an entitled brat and you hurt my feelings.” He advances on you slowly. “You think they love you like I do? Huh? No one will ever love you as much as I do!”

“‘m sorry, daddy,” you babble desperately, grabbing his black henley in your fist, “I don’t wanna go, wanna stay here with you.”

“Really?” He cocks an eyebrow skeptically as you cling to his towering frame, crying into his chest; he makes no move to reciprocate, knowing exactly which buttons to press to keep you needing him. To keep you attached and obedient. You’re his and his only and you should know that by now.

“Please, daddy. Don’t be mad. Don’t need anyone but you.” Your voice is muffled through his shirt and your makeup is already ruined, streaks of nude pink lipstick and black mascara smeared down your face. Bucky coos, lifting your chin and forcing you to look at him.

“There’s my good girl,” he praises, thumbing your cheek and spreading more makeup along it, “Where’s my good girl been? Thought I lost you, poppet.”

“I’m sorry,” you sob, guilt gnawing at your chest as he finally hugs you back, “Don’t leave me.” You hear yourself begging and at any other time you’d be mortified. But you’re so deep into your subspace that the only thing your fuzzy, dazed brain wants is daddy.

“Never, bunny. Daddy forgives you, okay? I’m just sad ‘s all.” His brows furrow, and he knows it's cruel to make you feel so awful for something that’s not your fault, but he can’t help but push you to the edge.

“Daddy, wanna make you feel better,” you sniffle, pawing at his chest, “Please, ‘m sorry for bein’ so bad. I feel so stupid.”

“Shh, none of that,” he croons, kissing your forehead; you relish in the feeling of him so close to you, his warmth and familiar scent making you dizzy. You wrap your arms around him; your head only reaches the bottom of his chest but still you press yourself further until you’re hanging off of him. He chuckles, hoisting you into his arms and bouncing you lightly, rasping a low “clever girl” into your ear.

“Love you, daddy. I’m sorry,” you cry.

“Love you too, poppet,” He soothes you with quiet words and touches until you’re pliant in his hold, gazing up at him with so much love and affection. You don’t even realise he’s manipulating you. And he has you right where he wants you.

Only the Dead

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC (Joanna Dawson), Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff

Rating: M

Chapter Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings: Torture, PTSD, mentions of combat

Summary:

“What happened in Cambodia?” Bucky insisted. He was practically seething. Joanna shirked away from the rage in his eyes. She'd never seen it directed at her.

“It’s okay, Barnes. She never told us what exactly happened either,” Natasha taunted. “I had to dig for it myself.” Burning fuel, shouts of pain. Blood pooling in her mouth. Suffocating heat. Screaming, wailing, bullets whizzing by her ears.

Joanna squeezed her eyes shut, her breath turning ragged and gasping. “Leave him, Jo!” Dogs snarling, burning palms sending embers to bite at her skin. “That mission was classified,” Joanna whispered. Phillips promised. No one was supposed to know what happened. It was supposed to stay that way. Buried in the past, tucked into a box under her bed. Erased, over.

Joanna set her jaw. The past had a funny way of demanding to be heard.

Joanna Dawson had the chance to leave the fight, to get out with her mind in one piece. A chance not many others get. She wonders now if she should have taken that chance while she could, rather than turning away.

CHAPTER 1: Where it Started

Joanna scrutinized the man sitting in front of her. A square jaw, standard military haircut, a clean shave; nothing to set him apart from any of the other soldiers she’d passed on base that morning. He fiddled with the pen in his hand before adjusting the buttons on his service uniform. She tried to remember his name; it had been on her appointment card. Dr. Marshall? Dr. Morgan? It didn’t particularly matter. He was only there because the brass said she needed to be evaluated, and she was only there because they threatened her with a NJP if she didn’t go. Two missed appointments were two too many, it would seem.

The stuffiness of the room made her wish she’d skipped this one, too. The walls were bare, except for an American flag that hung by the door. A large window to her left overlooked the parking lot of the VA. A cruel taunt to anyone stuck inside the building. The only furniture in the room were two plush armchairs, each with a smaller table by their side and a larger coffee table between them. Joanna wasn’t sure the small room could fit much more besides the furniture and solitary potted plant by the door. The sterility of it all made Joanna squirm. But maybe half of her unease came from the silence that she’d allowed to envelop the space.

Fluorescent lights overhead filled the silence with a low buzzing, which soon faded into the background. The fluorescent lights might as well have not been on at all, with the way sunlight shone through the glass. Joanna wished the man sitting in front of her would at least prop open the door. There were no blinds on the windows, allowing the afternoon sun to heat the room to a temperature that Joanna would swear was hotter than what she suffered in Afghanistan. She pulled at the neck of her t-shirt in discomfort. How the man sitting in front of her wasn’t sweating bullets, she would never know. She’d never found service uniforms to be comfortable in the heat.

CONTINUE ON AO3

Only the Dead - Chapter 1

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC, Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff

Rating: M

Warnings: Torture, PTSD, mentions of combat

Summary:

“What happened in Cambodia?” Bucky insisted. He was practically seething. Joanna shirked away from the rage in his eyes. She’d never seen it directed at her.

“It’s okay, Barnes. She never told us what exactly happened either,” Natasha taunted. “I had to dig for it myself.” Burning fuel, shouts of pain. Blood pooling in her mouth. Suffocating heat. Screaming, wailing, bullets whizzing by her ears.

Joanna squeezed her eyes shut, her breath turning ragged and gasping. “Leave him, Jo!” Dogs snarling, burning palms sending embers to bite at her skin. “That mission was classified,” Joanna whispered. Phillips promised. No one was supposed to know what happened. It was supposed to stay that way. Buried in the past, tucked into a box under her bed. Erased, over.

Joanna set her jaw. The past had a funny way of demanding to be heard.

Joanna Dawson had the chance to leave the fight, to get out with her mind in one piece. A chance not many others get. She wonders now if she should have taken that chance while she could, rather than turning away.

CHAPTER 1: Where it Started

Joanna scrutinized the man sitting in front of her. A square jaw, standard military haircut, a clean shave, nothing set him apart from any of the other soldiers she’d passed on base that morning. He fiddled with the pen in his hand before adjusting the buttons on his service uniform. She tried to remember his name; it had been on her appointment card. Dr. Marshall? Dr. Morgan? It didn’t particularly matter. He was only there because the brass said she needed to be evaluated, and she was only there because they threatened her with a NJP if she didn’t go. Two missed appointments were two too many, it would seem.

The stuffiness of the room made her wish she’d skipped this one, too. The walls were bare, except for an American flag that hung by the door. A large window to her left overlooked the parking lot of the VA. A cruel taunt to anyone stuck inside the building. The only furniture in the room were two plush armchairs, each with a smaller table by their side and a larger coffee table between them. Joanna wasn’t sure the small room could fit much more besides the furniture and solitary potted plant by the door. The sterility of it all made Joanna squirm. But maybe half of her unease came from the silence that she’d allowed to envelop the space.

Fluorescent lights overhead filled the silence with a low buzzing, which soon faded into the background. The fluorescent lights might as well have not been on at all, with the way sunlight shone through the glass. Joanna wished the man sitting in front of her would at least prop open the door. There were no blinds on the windows, allowing the afternoon sun to heat the room to a temperature that Joanna would swear was hotter than what she suffered in Afghanistan. She pulled at the neck of her t-shirt in discomfort. How the man sitting in front of her wasn’t sweating bullets, she would never know. She’d never found service uniforms to be comfortable in the heat.

CONTINUE ON AO3

Only the Dead - Series Masterlist

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x OFC (Joanna Dawson), Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff

Rating: M 

SUMMARY:

“What happened in Cambodia?” Bucky insisted. He was practically seething. Joanna shirked away from the rage in his eyes. She'd never seen it directed at her.

“It’s okay, Barnes. She never told us what exactly happened either,” Natasha taunted. “I had to dig for it myself.” Burning fuel, shouts of pain. Blood pooling in her mouth. Suffocating heat. Screaming, wailing, bullets whizzing by her ears.

Joanna squeezed her eyes shut, her breath turning ragged and gasping. “Leave him, Jo!” Dogs snarling, burning palms sending embers to bite at her skin. “That mission was classified,” Joanna whispered. Phillips promised. No one was supposed to know what happened. It was supposed to stay that way. Buried in the past, tucked into a box under her bed. Erased, over.

Joanna set her jaw. The past had a funny way of demanding to be heard.

Joanna Dawson had the chance to leave the fight, to get out with her mind in one piece. A chance not many others get. She wonders now if she should have taken that chance while she could, rather than turning away.

CHAPTER LINKS:

Chapter 1: Where it Started

Chapter 2: Echoes of the Past 

Chapter 3 Coming Soon!

Only the Dead

Chapter 2 - Echoes of the Past

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC (Joanna Dawson), Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff

Rating: M

Chapter Word Count: 6.4k

Chapter Warnings: PTSD, Graphic mentions of violence. One graphic recollection of an injury. 

CHAPTER 1 HERE. 

[JUNE 2017; AVENGERS COMPOUND, UPSTATE NEW YORK]

Vines creeped upwards from the jungle floor and grasped at her feet. They slithered up around her ankles, wrenching her to the ground and ensnaring her to the floor. Joanna kicked and pulled, but they wouldn’t let go; the more she thrashed, the tighter they held onto her. She couldn’t move, couldn’t run. The snarling of hounds behind her grew in volume, the barking echoed deep into her bones. Bullets whispered past her ears, smoke burned her lungs. The sweat that rolled down her face blinded her and stung her eyes. Run, we have to run. “Leave him!” A shrill voice screamed from behind her. 

With a thunk, Joanna flopped onto her bedroom floor. The muggy, humid air of the jungle faded away. The air conditioning in her room was running, leaving it brisk and clear and there wasn’t mud clawed in her fingers. There was only plush carpet, no moist dirt or vegetation. Slowly, she looked back to her feet. There were no vines, only sheets. Clean, white sheets that Joanna could carefully free herself from, now that she wasn’t thrashing about. 

“Sergeant Dawson?” The even voice of FRIDAY chased away the sounds of bullets and yells of men. “Would you like me to call someone?”

The sweat that had been rolling down her face turned out to be only tears. Joanna’s lungs burned, but from lack of air instead of smoke. After several gulping breaths she managed to gasp out, “Jamie. Bucky.” Bucky always knew how to chase away the nightmares that lingered. 

“I’m sorry, Sergeant Dawson, but Sergeant Barnes is on a mission with Captain Rogers and Mr. Stark. Would you like me to call someone else? Might I suggest Ms. Potts?” Joanna cursed. 

There was no reason to bother Pepper, no reason to make her worry. The dream that haunted her wasn’t a new one, it had plagued her countless nights before. Joanna squinted at the clock across the room. It’d be stupid to wake Pepper up at four in the morning for a silly dream. 

“That’s alright, FRIDAY.” Joanna moved back to lean against her bed. She did her best to take more deep breaths and remember where she was, and when. The compound, in the middle of the week. Another deep breath. She freed her legs from the bedsheets that she had yanked from her bed and debated pulling herself off the floor. Too difficult, she decided. Bucky would have helped her up. 

CONTINUE ON AO3

Only the Dead

Chapter 2 - Echoes of the Past

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x OFC (Joanna Dawson), Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff

Rating: M

Chapter Word Count: 6.4k

Chapter Warnings: PTSD, Graphic mentions of violence. One graphic recollection of an injury. 

CHAPTER 1 HERE. 

[JUNE 2017; AVENGERS COMPOUND, UPSTATE NEW YORK]

Vines creeped upwards from the jungle floor and grasped at her feet. They slithered up around her ankles, wrenching her to the ground and ensnaring her to the floor. Joanna kicked and pulled, but they wouldn’t let go; the more she thrashed, the tighter they held onto her. She couldn’t move, couldn’t run. The snarling of hounds behind her grew in volume, the barking echoed deep into her bones. Bullets whispered past her ears, smoke burned her lungs. The sweat that rolled down her face blinded her and stung her eyes. Run, we have to run. “Leave him!” A shrill voice screamed from behind her. 

With a thunk, Joanna flopped onto her bedroom floor. The muggy, humid air of the jungle faded away. The air conditioning in her room was running, leaving it brisk and clear and there wasn’t mud clawed in her fingers. There was only plush carpet, no moist dirt or vegetation. Slowly, she looked back to her feet. There were no vines, only sheets. Clean, white sheets that Joanna could carefully free herself from, now that she wasn’t thrashing about. 

“Sergeant Dawson?” The even voice of FRIDAY chased away the sounds of bullets and yells of men. “Would you like me to call someone?”

The sweat that had been rolling down her face turned out to be only tears. Joanna’s lungs burned, but from lack of air instead of smoke. After several gulping breaths she managed to gasp out, “Jamie. Bucky.” Bucky always knew how to chase away the nightmares that lingered. 

“I’m sorry, Sergeant Dawson, but Sergeant Barnes is on a mission with Captain Rogers and Mr. Stark. Would you like me to call someone else? Might I suggest Ms. Potts?” Joanna cursed. 

There was no reason to bother Pepper, no reason to make her worry. The dream that haunted her wasn’t a new one, it had plagued her countless nights before. Joanna squinted at the clock across the room. It’d be stupid to wake Pepper up at four in the morning for a silly dream. 

“That’s alright, FRIDAY.” Joanna moved back to lean against her bed. She did her best to take more deep breaths and remember where she was, and when. The compound, in the middle of the week. Another deep breath. She freed her legs from the bedsheets that she had yanked from her bed and debated pulling herself off the floor. Too difficult, she decided. Bucky would have helped her up. 

CONTINUE ON AO3

3, 7 and 9 for Loki

It takes a lot to make Loki sick, so when he does he's an absolute bear and wants to be doted on. Plus, kisses make the ache/hurt feel better.

You Make It Better

Loki x reader

Words: 347

~~~~~

Based on:

3. Acts like a baby when they’re sick

7. Secretly loves nose/forehead kisses

9.Gets cranky when they’re tired

~~~~~

“Darliiiinnggg,” dragged a hoarse voice coming from your bedroom.

“I’m coming,” you say, putting the finishing touches on the hot tea.

Loki was sick, or something of the sort. You didn’t exactly know what it was and at first when you pointed out he was ill, he declined, claiming that he doesn’t get sick. But it was obvious; the tired eyes, the unusual unkempt look, his more irritable than usual tone, it was obvious that he wasn’t well.

After disagreeing with you for about an hour, you’ve somehow done it. You’ve convinced him to take a nap and the moment his body hit your bed, his attitude melted and he did a complete one-eighty.

His voice that was booming before was now soft with each word.

Currently finishing up, you slowly step into the bedroom with the cup in hand. Across the room, there Loki lay waiting for you.

“I made you Peppermint tea,” you said, holding it out.

He gently pushed your hand to the side, “I don’t need foolish tea,” he said. “Okay, what do you need then? Cold water? A warm towel? A cold towel?”

Despite being unwell, that didn’t stop a grin from spreading along on his face, without a word he tugged you downwards and you leaned lowering your head closer. Bringing both of his warm hands to your cheeks he continues to pull you. You expect him to stop sometime, but he pulls you until your lips are against his forehead. Then he leans back satisfied, “much better,” he says with a wink and you shake your head with a grin.

“Get some rest,” you say, turning around to leave the room. “Wait!” He shouts and you turn back, “I need one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

His arms extended out, “Your warmth.”

Although a little bit surprised, you can’t help but grin to yourself, who would’ve thought that the man who used to abhor romance would be laying in front of you begging for your cuddles.

You climbed into his arms making yourself the little spoon before you relaxed against him.

(Natasha Romanoff X daughter!Reader, Yelena Belova X niece!Reader)

THIS TAKES PLACE AFTER THE BLACK WIDOW MOVIE BUT THERE ARE NO SPOILERS! This is also my first post and fanfic.

WARNINGS: fluff

Summary: Yelena meets Natasha's daughter for the first time.

NOTE: In this fanfic Natasha is about 33 and reader is about 14-15. She/her pronouns are used for reader. I don’t know any Russian so if I get anything wrong thing wrong then I'm sorry.

______

You’d been by yourself for about 5 weeks now, with trusted agents checking in on you regularly. Your mom was no longer on the run after the events of civil war but it didn’t mean that she could stay with you. She still had missions and other things to take care of.

“(Y/N), I'm back” Natasha called out, turning the light on and locking the door. “Мама(mom)?” You asked, rubbing your eyes, still half asleep.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa- did she just call you Мама?” Yelena asked in her thick Russian accent. The confusion practically radiating off her.

“Мама what's going on? I thought you wasn’t going to be back for a few more weeks?” You asked.

“детка(baby), there was a change of plans. Yelena this is my daughter (Y/N), (Y/N) this is my sister Yelena” Natasha responded, looking at their confused faces. “How about we continue this conversation in the morning? It’s 3am and I think we could all do with some sleep.”

You mumbled something under your breath which was too quiet for both Yelena and your mom before getting back to bed.

“Yelena you can take sleep on the couch, I'll go find you some blankets”

______

The following morning at breakfast was awkward to say the least. Yelena, Natasha and (Y/N) all sat silently around the small round table in the centre of the room. “ptst.. Natasha, why is she looking at me like that”

Your mom shrugged raising an eyebrow at you. “I, uh, Umm I really like you vest” you said nervously. This made Yelena's face light up.

“Really? This is what I was saying to Natasha! And the pockets, there are so, so many pockets” Yelena said with a large smile.

Natasha smiled at the interaction, “(Y/N) have you done your chores?” she questioned, collecting the used dishes.

“Umm about that, I kind of broke the dishwasher, I guess you'll have to use the sink?” you said nervously getting up to leave.  

“Wait you did what?!” watching you leave “get back here (Y/N)!”

“I'm gonna go do my homework, bye Yelena”

Lokitty (Loki x Gn!reader)

WARNINGS: fluff?

SUMMARY:There's a furry surprise waiting for Loki when he gets back to the reader. 

NOTE: This is only about 200 words and poorly written as i’m struggling to write anything right now. I’m also trying to put together a president Loki cosplay. ill also probably re-write this when i can.

______

Loki had just gotten back to earth after being away on Asgard for 3 weeks with Thor.

“Loki!” you shrieked starling Bucky and sprinting past Nat. You ran into him full speed, nearly knocking him over, and wrapping your legs around his waist. Peppering his face with kisses.

“I missed you too my love” he chuckled

“Umm Loki, I have something to tell you, you have to promise to not get mad”

“Oh, gods what have you done this time (Y/N)?”

“Pinky promise me”

“Fine.” he sighed, his free hand linking his Pinky with yours, pressing his fore head against yours.

“I got a cat.” you whispered

“Seriously?”

“yup”

“Show me the cat then”

You left Loki’s embrace and walked to the common room, Loki following behind you. Now in your arms was a large black fluff cat.

“what's the name?”

“Umm Lokitty?” you said with a nervous lopsided grin, it came out as a question more than a statement.

“Huh?”  

“I called him Lokitty”

“Yes, I get that darling but...why?”

“Well, I just thought that he looks a lot like your id when you accidentally turned into a cat...”

“I thought you promised not to bring that up again” he said with a groan.

What Happened Last Night Pt.1 - Jack Russell x Reader

Summary: You wake up in an unfamiliar campsite with your leg caught in a bear trap. What the fuck happened last night?

Warnings: female reader, being nakey lol, bit of blood, broken bones, Jack being the fluffiest person ever, slow burn bc reader is going to have to deal with some shit 

Word Count: ~1.5k

A/N: Ok so this is really only the first part of this story, but I wanted to get it out there and get some feedback before I get into a more plot driven second part. Depending on demand this might turn into a little series idk.

Also we only got 50 mins with Jack so be gentle if my characterizations a little wonky. Also Also for reference this does NOT take place right after the events of WBN. More like a random amount of time after that and there will be very little connection to the events of WBN.

Cross-posted on AO3 as always

Part 2 now posted!

Part 1-

You woke up groggy, disorientated, naked, and in more pain than you’ve ever felt in your life. All things considered, you had a pretty mild reaction to the elephant-tree-swamp-man… thing gingerly making coffee in a french press.

You screamed, scrambling to get up, then immediately collapsing in pain. The thing huffed as if he was frustrated with you for your reaction. Someone more human sounding groaned behind you, but barely heard them over the ringing in your ears. There was an honest-to-god old timey steel bear trap clamped around your very swollen, very broken ankle.

Shaking, you surveyed the rest of your body, finding various bruises and gashes littering your body. Your left ear felt hot and sticky, and when you brought your hand up to touch it, you found that the top third or so of your ear was only still attached to your head by a dangling bit of skin. You thought you were going to throw up. The irony smell of your own blood was almost all-consuming.

“Ted?”

The monster grumbled in acknowledgement, and you quickly shuffled to face your… captors? Rescuers? You made eye contact with an incredibly disheveled man wrapped in a quilt. His eyes widened, quickly scanning over your unclothed body and his entire face reddened. He swiveled clumsily to face away from you as you did your best to cover yourself with your arms. The man took a deep breath.

“Ted,” he said slowly, “who’s this?” 

The monster grunts a response.

“What do you mean you found her like that?”

Another long series of grumbles.

“Like me? Like me… before?” The monster nodded, “Oh.” The man glanced back at you again, but very briefly. As soon as his eyes met yours he jolted a little and turned back to the monster, seemingly having forgotten your unfortunate lack of clothes. 

“And you couldn’t have… given her something to cover up with?” 

The monster responded in an indignant monster-tone. 

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. You did good buddy. Really,” the man said, patting the man-thing’s large hand as it huffed, apparently happy its efforts had been acknowledged.

The man cleared his throat, and hobbled over to one of the many suitcases surrounding the three of you. He made a point to keep his back to you and your nakedness. 

You took the opportunity to look around at where the fuck you were. You were in a small campsite, complete with a firepit, a tee-pee made of sticks that the man had emerged from, and various pieces of luggage and other trinkets strewn about. 

The man had grabbed some plaid pajama pants and a white t-shirt and disappeared behind the monster’s back, groaning anytime he had to bend over. When he shuffled back into view, he was approaching you with the quilt, but once again keeping his head obviously turned to the side, not looking at you at all. You snatched the quilt from him and wrapped yourself up with it. When you stopped shifting around, the man finally looked at you, and smiled.

“Apologies. Coffee?” he asked, gesturing to the cup the monster was currently pouring the contents of the french press into. You shook your head. You didn’t trust yourself to open your mouth without throwing up everywhere, as the reality and enormity of the situation hit you. You were severely injured and trapped in the forest with a monster and a random man. 

The man nodded, and stumbled closer to you. You shifted away from him the best you could, given your mangled leg and ever-churning stomach. He held his hands up in a placating gesture, and slowly knelt down next to you. He examined your wounds carefully.

“Ted, can you get the first aid kit?”

The monster obliged, gently handing a box to the man. The man smiled again at you, before digging through the contents. 

You were at a complete loss for words. This random-ass woodsman and his pet monster– who apparently had the same name as your racist uncle– had barely addressed you, after presumably kidnapping you to their camp. You couldn’t remember most of the night before, but you knew you did not start out the night in the middle of the woods. Despite all that, you didn’t have much of an alternative to letting the man treat your wounds, so you didn’t put up much of a fight as he bandaged any gashes that weren’t covered by the blanket. It wasn’t until he was trying to tape your ear back together that he spoke.

“So, how long?” You furrowed your eyebrows and shot him a sideways glance, not wanting to mess up whatever he was doing to your ear. He met your eye and continued talking.

“Because for me, I’ve always been like this. It’s been in my family for generations. But judging by what you did to yourself in one night, I’m guessing you’re new to all this.” He sat back on his feet, still kneeling, and gave you a sympathetic yet expectant smile. He had shared so now it was your turn. 

“I’m sorry. I have no idea what you’re talking about. I don’t know where I am or who you are or what he is,” you gestured at Ted. “I just woke up in the woods all… beat up. With you guys. I don’t know what you want or who you think I am, but I’m not her.” You finished your rant with a shaky deep breath, willing yourself not to break down crying.

The man’s eyes searched your face, his expression now one of deep sympathy.

“How about we get you all patched up and then we’ll talk. Hmm? Is that okay, cariño?” You nodded, and he smiled once again. “My name is Jack, that’s Ted. He’s a friend of mine. He won’t hurt you.”

“Uh, okay. I’m y/n.”

Jack smiled widely. “Nice to meet you, y/n,” he said, dipping his head as he said your name. As he focused his attention on your leg, his smile faded into something more serious.

“I need to get this off of you. This is probably going to hurt. But I have to. I need to make sure these cuts don’t get infected and that your bone heals properly. You ready?” You gave him a curt nod and Jack took a deep breath and began to work.

You felt like your ankle collapsed when he wrestled the jaws of the trap open. You felt woozy watching fresh blood pour out of the many jagged marks on your skin where the trap’s teeth had dug into your flesh. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, hoping you wouldn’t pass out. You winced at every gentle touch of your ankle, from the stinging of the alcohol to clean your cuts to the bandaids laid delicately upon them. A constant stream of apologies came from Jack with his every movement.

“Ok. Now the worst part. Then it’ll be over,” he mumbled, applying more pressure to your ankle as he felt for the snapped bone. You involuntarily whined in pain.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry. So sorry. Almost done.” 

Jack’s hands halted their necessary assault on your ankle, then he firmly grabbed it, coaxing your bone into the proper spot. Even with closed eyes your vision became spotty and your head spun with pain. You felt Jack place a splint on your foot, and as soon as it was tightened and stabilized, your ankle felt much better. It still hurt like a bitch, but at least it was hurting in a proper, reinforced position.

When you finally opened your eyes, Jack was sitting down beside you, looking about as exhausted as you felt. His eyes fluttered sleepily and he had a dumb satisfied smirk on his face. He rubbed his eyes with one hand and reached an arm out to Ted with the other. Ted handed him a coffee cup. He took a large swig of it and offered it to you. You obliged now that you no longer had steel encasing an appendage. 

“Thank you. For all of this,” you said, but Jack just took the coffee cup back from you, shaking his head and waving your gratitude away. The two of you sat quietly together, passing the mug back and forth. You felt oddly safe here. 

At some point, Ted made a noise that made Jack snort and chuckle hardily. You looked between the two of them, smirking along despite not understanding Ted. They were… kind of sweet in the way they interacted. They truly were friends, despite the obvious species difference. Or maybe the post-panic wave of exhaustion that had hit you was so intense you were delirious. Either way, you leaned back, lying down and allowed the quiet conversation and crackling of the fire to lull you to sleep.

.

.

.

Will reader be as comfortable around Jack and Ted when she’s not exhausted and coming off of an adrenaline rush? How is Jack going to explain lycanthropy without sounding insane?? Will Jack melt my heart with his cuteness??? All this and more in the next part!

Feedback, criticism, comments, reblogs, and likes are all always appreciated. Keeps me motivated!

Tagging everyone who commented on my concept post. If you don’t want to be tagged in the next part just let me know! Literally no pressure I just wanted to make sure the people who encouraged by idea got to read it.

Let me know if you would liked to be tagged in the future!

Tags: @starfirette, @nicolewithanee, @fangurldayandnight, @zakizigekwe, @for-bebbanburg, @missdragon-1, @howlingco, @arvalee-knight

What Happened Last Night Pt.2 - Jack Russell x Reader

Summary: You wake up feeling less content than you had falling asleep. Then Jack drops the bombshell of a lifetime on you. You don't take it well.

Warnings: fluff (savior it, this chapter is rough), learning you're a werewolf, mentions of an animal attack, a bit more info on reader, no ted :(, and hmm what am I forgetting? oh yeah. Angst. Like a lot. I’m so sorry for all of you that were just here for the fluff. I promise there will be more in the future.

Word Count: ~1.5k

A/N: I was trying to get this out by Halloween, then by Día de Muertos, but this chapter took about two hours longer than the last one because I needed it to be juuuust right. I hope I did it justice.

Cross-posted on AO3 as always

Part 1, Part 3

Part 2-

When you woke up, Jack had fallen asleep beside you. He sat crisscrossed, his head propped up on his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. He swayed a little, his unconscious body trying to maintain balance. It made you smile.

Ted was nowhere to be found, although you did find some clothes laid neatly beside you. Nothing fancy, simply some old, baggy t-shirt and some sweatpants, but it was definitely better than staying naked in the forest. You threw the shirt over your head and, with some difficulty, managed to shimmy the sweatpants on without agitating your broken ankle too much. You leaned back with a huff, which apparently was enough to wake Jack.

He startled slightly, his head slipping from his hands. As soon as he got his bearings, his focus snapped to you. He grinned widely.

“You’re awake!” You nodded, a little taken aback by his enthusiasm. “How’re you doing?”

“I’m alright,” you said slowly, still groggy and a little weirded out by how much attention was focused on you. When you were actively bleeding, that was one thing, but this man was looking at you like he had to commit every detail he saw to memory, as if you were going to suddenly disappear before him.

His smile fell slightly and he focused his gaze on the ground, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry I fell asleep. I wanted to watch over you and make sure you were alright but… I didn’t get much sleep last night.” Ok, so when you weren’t delirious with pain, this guy was super weird.

“That’s okay. I didn’t expect you to stay by my side at all times,” you shrugged. 

Jack murmured his assent.

“Where’s Ted?” you asked, more to make conversation than anything else.

“He’s probably just going for a walk. Or gathering firewood. Or doing something stupid that’ll mean I have to rescue him again.” Jack’s tone was light as he spoke of his friend.

“You,” you said, eyeing Jack up and down, “rescue Ted?”

Jack gave a single nod with a smirk.

“What’s brave enough to go after Ted?” you said, puffing out a snort of incredulity.

“Monster hunters,” Jack said frankly.

“Monster… hunters? As in multiple. Multiple monsters and multiple hunters?”

Jack nodded again. “Is that so crazy to believe? I mean how many times have aliens and superhumans and sentient robots destroyed New York City? Nowadays, fantasy turns into reality all the time.”

He had a point. But everyone knew about the aliens. You’d never heard or seen a credible source of monsters running around. Until Ted, that is. You were questioning this possible new development when Jack cleared his throat. 

He muttered “no hay razón de andarse por las ramas,” to himself, then turned to face you more squarely, his posture straighter than it had been in the meager time you had spent together.

“Speaking of monsters and hunters, what do you remember about last night?”

You really had no idea what had happened. You went to bed in your little one-story house, and woke up in the woods with half an ear and your ankle in pieces. You told Jack as much.

“Well, based on what Ted told me, you… transformed last night,” Jack said, never once breaking eye contact.

“What the fuck does that mean. Are you saying I, like, hulked out and what? Tore myself apart?” Jack’s serious expression broke into a little smile.

“‘Hulked out’ isn’t the terminology I would use, but more or less, yes. Y/n, I think- no I know- that last night, the moon came up and you-”

“I’m sorry are you trying to insinuate that I turned into a fucking werewolf? Seriously, Jack? Do you really think I’m going to believe that I went to bed as me, saw the moon, and turned into some… some beast? Do I look like fucking Lon Chaney to you?” Admittedly, you had begun to yell a little bit, but Jack seemed to have been expecting this. With a stupid smirk on his face he replied quietly, “Well, I mean you did get caught in a bear trap so The Wolf Man is probably the most apt analogy…”

You glared at him and he chuckled, albeit a bit nervously. You glared harder.

“But yes, y/n, I was trying to tell you that Ted didn’t bring you into our camp this morning. Ted brought a werewolf. When the sun came up, you turned back into you.”

He had to be messing with you. This was all some fucked up joke. He probably was some deranged lunatic who kidnapped you and hurt you to fit whatever fantasy you were fulfilling.

“But, don’t freak out, okay? It’s not so bad. I manage pretty well most months,” Jack was obviously trying to comfort you, but the more he talked the worse you felt.

“Oh, so you’re a werewolf now too?” you said tacking a humorless laugh on the end of your statement.

“Well, I’m me. But, yes, a part of me is a wolf,” Jack said, his tone a little less sure as he spoke of the difference between himself and the wolf.

“You're insane.”

“Y/n, I know you can feel it. You feel the ache in your bones from twisting into something else last night. Everything is brighter and louder. You can hear my heartbeat if you listen for it. No normal human can do that,” he was pleading with you to understand now.

And you knew he was right. From the moment you woke up this morning, you’ve been disoriented. Not just because of the unfamiliar location, but the intensity of it all. The way the smell of your own blood had threatened to drown you, the noise of the fire, hell, even the coffee tasted richer. Everything is so much more than it used to be. And it was freaking you out.

Not to mention the fact that you had gotten attacked by… that thing in the woods a month ago. You had been biking home from a later shift at the pub you worked at. It wasn’t too far of a trip from the little secluded cottage you called your own. But it was dark and it was raining, so you didn’t even notice the creature growling by the trees until it pounced on you, knocking you off your bike. It hadn’t had time to do much damage before grizzled old Mr. Kessler had intervened. His truck’s horn and lights had scared it off, and he gave you a ride back to your house. You had been fine to go to work the next day, simply wrapping up the bite mark on your arm.

Honestly, you hadn’t thought much of it. You lived in a farming town, and wildlife was not unfamiliar to you. You had just started carrying bear mace and continued with life as usual. The wound didn’t even get infected. It just went away on its own after a week or two.

“I’m so sorry, y/n. I know this is confusing and it’s going to make everything more complicated. But I can help you. Ted and I can stick around for a while, we can figure out what this means for you together,” Jack reached to put a comforting hand on your arm. The arm that had been bitten. The arm that he had probably bitten.

You yanked your arm away from him. You didn’t care how hurt he looked. You were angry. And scared. And you let that cloud your judgment. You let that anger and fear lead you to conclusions you had no basis for, let it push you to lash out like the cornered animal you now were.

“Don’t fucking touch me. I don’t want someone like you even near me. You may have turned me into this, but I won’t be like you. I won’t be some sick freak that kidnaps girls to patch them up after you maul them. I won’t be like you,” you snarled, ignoring the way Jack’s eyes widened, the desperate devastation dawning on his face as you spoke.

“Y/n, no. I didn’t-” you ignored his pleas, instead resolving yourself to getting the fuck away from him. You awkwardly clambered to your feet, the rage you felt numbing you to the pain of your ankle.

“No, no, no, no, no. Y/n, you shouldn’t be walking on that, you’re going to hurt yourself. Just, let me help you-”

“No! Jack, you are not some type of good samaritan savior. You don’t get to help me, or anyone. You’re just some… beast. A fucking animal. A monster,” you spat. You began to walk away, and you knew Jack was about to call out to you. Maybe you heard his mouth open with your newly heightened hearing. Maybe you just needed to get one last dig in. So as you walked away from Jack Russell, you snarled your last words to the man.

“And you deserve to be hunted like one.”

.

.

.

I'm sorry. But I needed some drama. And I mean are you seriously going to tell me you wouldn't be a little bit weirded out by Jack? He's very intense and then he just gives you some life altering news and insists on being apart of this transition. We, as viewers and readers who know Jack, know he means well, but our poor reader character does not have that same context.

Also I've set up a dangerous prescient of having at least one werewolf movie reference in these parts and idk if I can keep that up. Brownie points to you if you can sus out my obscure werewolf homages.

Feedback, criticism, comments, reblogs, and likes are all always appreciated. Please tell me what you think! I really gave this one my all and I hope you guys enjoy it. <3

Let me know if you would liked to be tagged in the future!

Tags: @starfirette, @nicolewithanee, @fangurldayandnight, @zakizigekwe, @for-bebbanburg, @missdragon-1, @howlingco, @arvalee-knight, @emiemiemiii, @spicydonut25, @sparkythefallen1, @girlymusiclover09, @pxl8ed, @littlenosoul, @lemmons1998

What Happened Last Night Pt.3 - Jack Russell x Reader

Summary: Lycanthropy, much like periods, turn out to be a multi-day monthly annoyance.

Warnings: Some injury, being grumpy, retail jobs (the horror!), and only a little bit of Jack. :( Sorry. You both need space after you called him a monster. You did, not me, don’t blame me.

Word Count: ~1.7k

A/N: lol hi. its been months and idk if anyone cares about this anymore other than the sweet souls who pushed me to publish another chapter. I would like to write more. I’m fairly certain this is going to be less than ten parts total, and that seems like something I can finish.

In other news im fucking obsessed with Red Dead Redemption II so lowkey might write something for that once this is over.

Oh also I changed my url from @ / ABitGryffindorky to @galactigoos. I wanted to make my AO3 and tumblr match, make them different than my other socials so fanfic doesn’t come up when a job searches me, and JKRowling is a terf bitch. Oh and I had a stalker so thats really what prompted the change lol.

Cross-posted on AO3, as always.

Part 1, Part 2

Perhaps you hadn’t really thought through this whole running away thing. It only took about two minutes for your broken ankle to really catch up to you. Pain radiated through your ankle, spiking with every step, no matter how light it was.

But you wouldn’t go back. Not to him. So you soldiered on, picking up a large stick to serve as a cane along the way. By sheer luck, you successfully wandered back to your house.

Your poor house. The one-story little shack had its back door ripped off the hinges. A few of your dining chairs had given their lives in service of your moon-induced freakout last night. Your bedroom door had slammed against the wall so forcefully the knob was stuck in the drywall.

Leaving most of the carnage for a better day, you placed the back door into its rightful place so no animals would get in. Well, no other animal besides yourself. The thought brought a humorless laugh forward. The absurdity of the situation, the sheer isolation you now faced, piled onto you, forcing you to the floor in a fit of delirious laughter.

You kept laughing. Past when your lungs tired, past when your laugh became more of a shaking wheeze, past the tears that had accompanied your anguish. You couldn’t stop. You laughed until your tired, broken body could no longer handle the strain, and you succumbed to the gentle relief of unconsciousness.

…

At least this time when you woke up naked in the forest, you weren’t caught in any traps. You were alone and relatively unharmed aside from a long gash ripping up your torso.

You groaned as you hauled yourself to your feet. When you stood, your ankle made its presence known. But it was not the scream for attention you faced yesterday, but more of a soft yell. It felt much, much better, but still carried enough pain to force you to limp.

Was this going to happen every fucking night?

… 

After calling into work and once again resetting your back door (thankfully your only damage this time), you decided you needed a plan. If this was going to keep happening, you could not keep running into the woods stark naked. You were out of sick days at work and were already well past your skill level in home repairs. 

So you spent the day modifying the leaky, cold cellar beneath your house. It couldn’t be called a basement. The cottage you had inherited was old. Like so old, the best way to deal with flooding was to build a cobblestone wall under your house with a space for water to run through. The cellar had now been reinforced with concrete, but the drain structure remained the same. The space was unused by you, given the room was designed to flood. So you didn’t have to clear anything out; what you did have to do was secure it. 

The cellar was entered through a door in your kitchen. Down a short flight of stairs, there was another door, this one metal, to keep out a draft. You dug through junk drawers and your shed to find every lock you could, and set to work securing them all to the door from the stairs. You even hauled your mattress to be propped up against the door for some added weight. After triple checking the locks, you grabbed a bottle of NyQuil and went outside.

There, you were able to remove the mesh that normally protected your cellar from debris, and squeezed yourself through the drain opening. Thank god the old motherfuckers that built this shack left a big enough hole. 

By now, it was the middle of the afternoon. You did everything you could to stay awake, despite the exhaustion of the previous two days threatening to pull you under. You talked to yourself, you sang, you worked out. Anything.

And when it started to get darker, you paced anxiously. You removed your clothes (no point in destroying another outfit) and prayed that the werewolf would not be able to fit through the gap to the outside world. At the last second you could bear to wait, you chugged the NyQuil. Hopefully, a tired werewolf was a less destructive one. And hopefully you didn’t just overdose on NyQuil.

…

You’ve never been so happy to wake up on a cold slab of concrete. Apparently, a tired werewolf was unable to claw through your defenses. There were scratches along the cellar walls and the doorknob had been bitten into a shape resembling a crumbled wad of paper, but you were still in your house. You redressed and crawled out of your night’s sanctuary.

You had sustained a rather ugly cut across your face, going over the bridge of your nose, narrowly missing your eyes. You pictured the wolf trying to rub the sleep from its tired, drugged eyes, which was… slightly endearing? As you were otherwise unharmed, you went about your normal morning routine, with about ten times your regularly required caffeine.

It wasn’t until you were stumbling off your bike in the parking lot of the tavern that you realized your ankle didn’t hurt. You were limping still, but there was no pain. And addressing the rest of your body quickly, you noticed that most of your wounds had healed. The gash on your stomach was still tender, but even your ear had repaired itself, leaving just an angry scar and a knick on the outside edge of your cartilage where you must’ve taken a chunk clean off. All things considered, you weren’t doing too bad.

Your boss ignored your haggard state, not that you had expected him to give a shit. Mr. Glendon was always too caught up in tending to the lush garden beside the pub to notice much about his employees. As long as you did your job well enough that he didn’t have to do his, he was happy.

In a zombified state you went through the motions of customer service, serving coffee, pancakes, and toast with a smile. Internally, you were cursing this stupid fucking establishment for being open from 6AM-2AM and requiring you to drag yourself to a goddamn pub for a breakfast shift. You were so tired you hadn’t read the name on the DoorDash order you packaged. You could not as easily ignore the man who walked in to pick it up.

When the bell above the door rang, you smiled and automatically started a welcoming comment, but froze mid-sentence when your eyes met Jack’s. He froze too, halfway through the door, glancing behind him like he was ready to forget the mediocre waffles sitting behind the counter. 

“Come on,” you grumbled, gesturing him inside.

“Lo siento. I was just grabbing us breakfast before we leave town. You won’t have to see me again. I had no clue you work-”

“Waffles, Jack,” you said, cutting him off and shoving the bag at him.

“Right, waffles,” he replied, grabbing the bag and getting out his wallet, and shoving five dollars into the tip jar before you could stop him. “Okay. I’m sorry. Goodbye, y/n.”

He spun to leave. You wanted to let him. He was dangerous and had likely gotten you into this mess. But at the same time, he was the only one who could help you through it. So you had to stop him. He was almost out the door when you called his name. Well, more accurately you whispered it, as part of you was hoping he wouldn’t hear you and you wouldn’t have to keep him in your life. His werewolf senses threw a wrench in your plan, and he spun on his heel and came back to you. He didn’t say anything, just looked at you. His eyebrows were knit with worry, and he tilted his head slightly like the stupid fucking dog he was.

“How much longer? I can’t keep,” you looked around and lowered your voice, “transforming every night.”

Jack let out a breath he was holding, apparently relieved you weren’t about to continue your name-calling of your previous encounter.

“You’re done for this month, cariño. Three days a month. It’s manageable,” he said with a reassuring smile. He looked tired, even more so than you did. You wondered what he had been doing while you were having a meltdown and playing Doomsday Preppers: Werewolf Edition. 

You nodded, relieved in the knowledge that you would have a reprieve now.

Jack cleared his throat. “I know you do not want me around, but perhaps I could put you in contact with some others like us? It’s tough to figure out all on your own.”

“You want me to tell more people? Absolutely not!”

He held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Alright, I wanted to offer. Best of luck, y/n. I won’t bother you again. If you need anything,”  he said, ripping the receipt from his bag and snatching a pen from a cup on the hostess station, “Here’s my number.”

You stared at the scrap of paper offered to you, and hesitated before taking it.

“I’m not trying to impose on your life. I just want you to have help if you need it. No strings attached,” Jack said, filling the silence. You took the paper and shoved it into your back pocket. Jack gave you a tight smile and a nod, and left.

You weren’t given much time to ponder the interaction as the demands of your job quickly stole your focus away from Jack.

…

After work, after your commute home, and after your door fell out of its frame when you tried to enter your own home (you had forgotten it was no longer on its hinges), you were staring dumbly at your mattress-less bed frame. It took you a full minute to remember that your mattress was shoved against your basement door. You huffed, making your way to your couch, as there was no way you were going to bother with lugging your mattress up a flight of stairs after an 8 hour shift.

This was unsustainable. Your house was in shambles, your body scarred, and you were alone and ill equipped to handle any of this. You texted Jack before you could think better of it.

.

.

.

*Cue werewolf training montage*

Also cue Jack jumping up in down at excitement at getting a text.

“See, Ted? I knew she would text! I’m glad we stayed an extra night :D”

Feedback, criticism, comments, reblogs, and likes are all always appreciated. Please tell me what you think! I apparently forget about fics unless you guys hound (pun intended) me about them.

Tags: @starfirette, @nicolewithanee, @fangurldayandnight, @zakizigekwe, @for-bebbanburg, @missdragon-1, @howlingco, @arvalee-knight, @emiemiemiii, @spicydonut25, @sparkythefallen1, @girlymusiclover09, @pxl8ed, @littlenosoul, @lemmons1998, @may4ri, @i-am-iron-man-3000, @maxppt

If anyone wants to be added or removed from the taglist lmk!

Sooooo????? This is not a drill!!!!!!!!! My bsf asked me something like "What music are you listening to except that depressed girl ???" And the thing is she KNOWS that I listen to my babygirl Elizabeth Grant with my ears& soul more than anyone ever could do I was like "Oh...Nirvana's great (greatest of all time)" And she sent me a voicemail sayin "Why TF didn't u tell bout em earlier. I loveeee thiss" WITH "That's what makes u beautiful or how tf it's called".......................................

........................,............................................................................................................. I'm done y'all 🎀