#and getting blown out because of the incredible kindness radiating from this ask

[bluepallilworld]

okay apologies I wanted to have a nice bit of spam and I think that equals just about 5 cups of tea in erm anyway love yourself. I care. I asked. + You're amazing. + You're an angel. + You deserve all the good things in life. + You deserve all the hugs and cuddles. And all the love. And I hope you have amazing days forever.

WHA-

THAT'S SO SWEET

JUST

LOVE

OH BOI THANK YOU SO MUCH

EFFJKVNITBNIYTBO?RNBVNRTV

It's just so sudden-

I got a case of shiny 3 times over that because I reread it a few times

[stealforreal]

Future kids - Bakugou Katsuki I

Bakugou meets his son from the future. Just some fluff, with a jealous Bakugou.

Bakugou Katsuki x F! reader

Warnings: none

Bakugou was stomping his way back to the dorms, cursing that stupid nerd Deku in his mind. Kicking some rocks lying in his way, he was radiating murder. Naturally his classmates left him alone to cool off for a minute, even the Baku squad left him alone. They had chosen not to interfere, because they would like to live to see another, thank you very much. 

The stupid nerd had been too close to y/n at lunch today, and Bakugou had spent the entire time glaring at the curly green haired boy. What really made him snap was when she hugged him, and the stupid brocoli went as red as a tomato. She was giggling loudly and seemed really happy at whatever Midoriya had said, and the fiery ash blond couldn't control his jealousy so he stormed off. After class was over Bakugou was the first out the door, not even stopping to insult Denki when he made a bad joke. 

The rest of his classmates were confused, sure they all knew Bakugou to be a hothead. But still he seemed angrier than usual, only the Baku squad had small nervous but knowing smiles on their face. They knew of the explosive boy's crush on y/n, it wasn't totally obvious and they really wouldn't have known had Kirishima not pointed out the subtle things. Like how he never once called her an extra, he still called her idiot, dumbass and such. That was probably Bakugou's version of a compliment, which was probably the reason they took so long to figure out his crush.

So here he was stomping his way back to the dorms, cursing Deku for being close with y/n, Himself for getting jealous, y/n for being too friendly and everything he could curse in general. He stopped dead in his tracks when he felt a little tug on his uniform pant leg, glaring down at the thing that stopped him. Only to be confused when that thing turned out to be a little boy, around the age of 4-5 by the looks of it. Bakugou's brows furrowed in confusion, how did a little boy end up here. UA is one of the most secure places in Japan, courtesy of the League of Villains and other past incidents. 

What caught Bakugou's attention though, was the fact that this little boy was bawling his eyes out and trembling with his sobs. Bakugou didn't know what was happening, he felt incredibly protective of the young boy but didn't know why. He seemed kind of familiar, like Bakugou had seen parts of him somewhere else before. The little boy had big e/c doe eyes, filled to the brim with tears as he stared at the ground. His hair was unruly and a familiar shade of ash blond, he reminded Bakugou of himself a bit when he was young except the crybaby attitude of course. It was weird for Bakugou to feel this protective of anything, and he didn't like it one bit

" Oi brat, where are you parents?" The teenager asked the little boy, crouching down to his level, making the little lad finally pay attention to the stranger he had grabbed. The little boy gasped and flung himself at Bakugou, clutching on tightly to the stunned teenager's shirt. A new wave of tears hit the little blonde, being relieved at the familiar sight of his fathers face though much younger. " D-daddy, I-I was so scared" the little boy whimpered, burying his tear stained face in his fathers shoulder. Bakugou was speechless, he sure as hell was not this kid's father even if it explained the feeling of familiarity. No Bakugou shook his head at the ridiculous thought, this kid was obviously terrified and contrary to popular belief Bakugou would not abandon a lost child " Oi brat, I'm taking you with me back to the dorms. Afterwards we'll find your parents' ' he huffed, Bakugou was going to kill this kid's parents once they were found.

The younger boy began calming down in the older boy's arms, the tears had stopped and he was only softly hiccupping now. "B-but daddy I did find you, I wanna go see mommy" the young boy huffed out, defiantly crossing his arms over his little chest. " Oh yeah, prove it brat" Bakugou smirked thinking he had cornered the little boy in his lie, but much to his astonishment the little boy let out a small explosion in the palm of his hand. Though much brighter than his own, there was no mistaking his explosion quirk.  Bakugou hated to admit that so far the brat seemed to be telling the truth, and he hated even more how his feeling of protectiveness grew at the revelation that this kid in fact was most likely his son from the future. It wasn't rocket science, right now Bakugou was 16 and 100% not a father. Yet here is a little boy that is the spitting image of him as a kid except the eyes, and in this world where quirks exist perhaps time travelling was possible.  

Bakugou's little chat with his son had taken longer than he thought, because as soon as he entered the dorm common room every one in the room snapped their head towards the two ash blondes. The first to break the pin drop silence was Kirishima  " Eh who is the kid, Bakubro" he asked. While Mina asked if he had kidnapped the kid, earning a glare from the explosive blonde. " Daddy, why does Aunt Mina and Uncle Kiri not recognize me? " a little voice asked, making a lot of jaws drop and eyes widened. 1....2......3...... " WHA!!!" The lot of them shouted, questions coming left and right, wanting an explanation as to why this little boy who looked suspiciously like Bakugou called him dad. 

What they all failed to notice was the little boy was recoiling from the loud noise, pressing himself closer and closer to his father. Bakugou noticed this, and thanks to his newfound protectiveness he hugged him closer and glared at them effectively shutting them up. Mostly they were just silenced because the sight of Bakugou hugging and being protective of his supposed son baffled them. I mean we are talking about Mr.Hothead angry Pomeranian, the most blatant rude student in class 1-A if not in the entirety of UA. " Shut it ya damn morons, can't you see you're frightening him" Bakugou sneered at his classmates, not loudly but it was still malicious enough to make a shiver run up their spines. 

Midoriya, who had known Kacchan the longest, was intrigued by this side of Kacchan and unconsciously moved closer to the two ash blondes. Seeing the familiar shade of green hair approach them Bakugou sneered, while his son became ecstatic. " Uncle Izu '' The child yelled excitedly, stretching his arm towards the blushing brocoli boy indicating he wanted to be held. " Ah hell no! He is not your uncle, I won't allow shitty Deku to hold my son" Bakugou yelled, making a few snicker quietly, but what really set them off was the fact his son chopped his head with a little fist. "Oi, why the hell did ya do that for ya brat? Bakugou barks at his son, only receiving a deadpan expression in return. " Mommy said, every time your daddy is mean to uncle Izu chop his head for me, okay baby?" After that announcement they all burst out laughing, while Midoriya tried not to tremble under Bakugou's glare. 

"Speaking of which, who is your mom?, uhm I never got your name, little guy" Kirishima asked the little boy, stating a valid point. Bakugou realized that even though he had known his son for about 5 hours now, he never once asked what the boy's name was. " What do you mean, Uncle Kiri, it's me Katsuma?" Katsuma tilted his head a bit, not really being aware or understanding that he most likely travelled through time. " Well you aren't born in our time yet, mini Bakugou" Kaminari informed the little boy, in his usual teasing voice. " Really Uncle Kami" Little Katsuma asked " Does this mean mommy and daddy aren't together yet?" He asked, surprising the teenagers. Katsuma was surprisingly smart for a kid his age, and after the initial shock from being called daddy Katsuki totally forgot to ask about his son's mother. 

"That is correct, Katsuma'' Todoroki piped up in his usual monotone voice, surprising Katsuma with his appearance. " Uncle Todo'' Katsuma replied coolly, surprising everyone present. The happy bubbly 5 year old had vanished in an instant, and been replaced with a little boy full of hatred. Breaking the little staring contest that had broken out between his son and the damn half n half bastard, was none other than Midoriya's phone. Being the klutz that he is, he ended up answering and putting it on speaker. " Izuku, Ochaco said there was a cute kid at your dorm, so I'm coming over " y/n voice could be heard, instantly Katsuma brightened up again being all sparkles and rainbows again. He tugged at his dad's collar, demanding Katsuki's attention " daddy, daddy did you hear, mommy's coming over" the little ash blonde exclaimed, bouncing in his fathers arms from being giddy. This new information caused everybody's jaw to land on the floor once again.

" WHY, why does Bakugou get the hot chick? '' Mineta yelled in agony, being the little pervert he is, he had to comment on her looks. " Oi, don't talk about my future wife and baby mama y/n like that, I'll fucking blast you to hell" His statement followed by the crackeling in his palm, and the sound of a phone being dropped? Turning around Bakugou was met with your stunned face, eyes blown wide with confusion and astonishment clearly written on your face. " Mommy" Katsuma yelled, squirming trying to get out of his fathers embrace, and slowly Katsuki sat him down. When his small feet hit the floor, Katsuma was sprinting towards y/n with all his might and flinging himself into her arms. Resulting in the poor girl, falling down on the floor in her confusion.

Katsuma buried his face in her neck, sighing happily to himself. The remaining nerves  he had totally disappeared once he saw you. As much as Katsuma was a daddy’s boy, he was even more of a mama’s boy. Katsuma could feel the lack of response coming from his mother, curious and slightly scared he looked at her face. you were absolutely stunned, no response came from you frightening the young boy. Tears began swimming in Katsuma’s beautiful e/c eyes, snapping you back to reality. The sight of a child with tears in his eyes, struck your motherly instincts. Answers could wait, right now there was an adorable toddler with tears in his eyes, and you had to comfort him.

Slowly Katsuma was pulled into your embrace, head buried in the crock of your neck. Arms wrapped tightly around the preciuóus boy, letting him cling to you for deer life. “ M-mommy, I m-missed you, I was s-so scared-d” Katsuma said through sobs and hiccups. Not bothering to correct him, you bounced him lightly up and down in your arms. Bakugou came and helped you onto your feet, putting an arm around your waist. His other hand began stroking Katsuma’s unruly blond hair. 

Around them the rest of the class was still stunned into silence, seeing the small family in an embrace. Most of them had never seen Bakugou look so protective and calm, let alone with a small blush. You would also sport a matching blush if it weren’t for the fact, all your attention was on the young boy in your arms. He looked like a carbon copy of Katsuki, yet his e/c eyes looked exactly like yours. Slowly the sniffles stopped. Instead they were replaced by steady breathing, it seems like the child had a long day because he was fast asleep in your arms.

Slowly you made your way to the 1-A dorm living room couch, with the sleeping child in your arms and Bakugou not far behind you. He made it a point to keep his hand on the small of your back, glaring at the other guys present if they looked at your or his son the wrong way. “ Can somebody please explain to me what is going on?” You whispered so you wouldn’t wake up the young boy, whose name you still hadn’t caught. Your eyes caught Izuku’s eyes, but for some reason his eyes widened and he averted his gaze from you. Izuku is one of your best friends, you met because you and your classmate Hatsume Mei worked on his hero costume and you hit it off. 

With your attention not fully on the child anymore, you now realised that somebody had their arm around your shoulders. Looking to your right where the owner would be stítting, your eyes widened slightly at the person on your right. One of the hottest guys in UA had his arm around you, Bakugou Katsuki of class 1-a was well known in the school. His temper, looks and quirk had made him extremely popular with the female population of UA, though none of them dared approach him. The bad boy image both attracted them and made them keep their distance from him. He wasn’t exactly known for being a teddy bear, so Katsuki hugging y/n closer to him and keeping touching her was not expected.

 “ Oi Flashlight, brat is ours from the future. I don't know how he got here but it’s true. He even has my quirk, you know what this means right ” Bakugou spoke, explaining the situation. The others had left the two of you alone, giving Bakugou privacy to explain the surreal situation to you.  What this means? What did he mean by that? You couldn’t help but ponder the meaning. Turning your head to face him and question him on what he meant, you were met with a very close Bakugou. Bakugou couldn’t contain himself seeing you look so adorably clueless, so he closed the small gap between you. 

His lips were surprisingly soft. He was gentle in kissing you, not knowing how you would react. I mean you had to like him back right? You were sitting there next to hum with YOUR SON in your arms. He smelled nice, it was a sweet scent like caramel courtesy of his quirk. The kiss was slow, loving and gentle, the feeling of his lips on yours were intoxicating. Pulling back from the kiss, Bakugou growled silently, huskily in your ear “Your mine, flashlight” Heat crept up your neck, and you were left softly blushing. “ What are we going to do with him Bakugou?” Still facing Bakugou, you looked at your son from the future. There really was no mistake, he looked like a perfect Katsuki copy with your eyes, and your motherly instincts told that this was in fact your son. 

“It’s Katsuki to you Flashlight ” He corrected you “For now let's go to bed, it’s late. We can ask the squirt questions tomorrow” Katsuki led you to his room, still with a sleeping Katsuma in your arms. His bed was big enough to fit the three of you. You laid down with Katsuma in the middle, both you and Katsuki put an arm around Katsuma. Katsuki intertwined your fingers, and slowly you fell into a blissful sleep. You could ask more questions tomorrow.

But when you woke up, Katsuma was nowhere to be found. Only you and Katsuki were cuddling in his bed. You and Katsuki both came to the conclusion that whatever quirk sent Katsuma here probably sent him back to his own time. “Katsuki, is it wrong of me to miss him already?” You looked at your new boyfriend, looking into his sleepy vermillion orbs. “ If you miss the little firecracker already, why don’t we bring him back” His morning voice was rough, and tickled your ears just right, sending a shiver down your spine. Bakugou's eyes glinted with mischief, as he began kissing your neck. The innuendo not lost on you, the feeling of his lips on a particular spot had you giggling. It was ticklish and stopped him in his tracks for just long enough for you to get a word in. “ Let’s wait a few years okay” He nodded and laid down next to you again, pulling you close.

You would see Katsuma again. Someday.

[inkykeiji]

i can take you there but baby you won’t make it back

character: dabi | todoroki touya

notes: stepcest (kind of—ur parents aren’t married yet) with dabi-as-touya x a very naïve and inexperienced reader, normal!AU (no quirks, dabi also has tattoos over his scarred + fully healed skin), university!reader, implied yakuza!dabi, excessive use of the words niichan and good, praise kink, fingering, face fucking, title credit = save that shit by lil peep lmao  uhhhh yeah i hc dabi as a very intelligent and perceptive individual soooo i feel like he’d be a master at reading a person & their emotions and then adapting his manipulation techniques

warnings: 18+, pseudo-incest (stepcest), noncon/dubcon, slight somnophilia, emotional manipulation, toxic relationship, size difference, slight degradation, mentions of drug use

words: 7.1k

part 2.1 | part 2.2

synopsis:

“You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, when you lay awake in your bed, you’ll feel ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

        ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          ✰          

Your dad’s been dating Rei for a while—nearly a year, now—when things begin to get serious, and he proposes to her.

She accepts, so it’s not exactly a surprise when she suggests you guys move in with her—she’s got more than enough space, she tells you, it’s just her and her son in that big old house—and your dad seems pretty thrilled about it. This was the next step before marriage, after all.

You like Rei well enough, she’s always been nothing but sweet to you, and anyway, your father’s relationship really isn’t any of your business or concern.

It isn’t that you don’t want to move in with her—her house is in a better part of the neighborhood, a standard detached upper-middle class home, and just a short walk from a bus stop that’ll take you directly to university, which you start in a week.

It’s just…You’re a little apprehensive.

You know she has kids. She mentions them in passing every once in a while, but you can’t for the life of you remember their names, or their ages, or how many of them there are. You know they don’t all live with her, that her relationship with her ex-husband is complicated and rocky at best.

But you’re still surprised to hear that only one of them, her eldest, lives with her. She tells you he’s five years older than you are, that he’s a clever, smart boy, going off on a tangent about how disappointed she is that he didn’t go to university, because ‘he would’ve done so well—he could’ve shone so brightly.’ Something about the way she says that, the way her voice sounds almost sad, makes anxiety turn to lead in your stomach. She talks about him as if he’s already a lost cause, but he’s only in his mid-twenties, isn’t he?

You understand the moment you see him. The man standing in front of you as you shift from foot to foot unsurely in the foyer of this unfamiliar house is about as far from what you anticipated as he could possibly be.

He’s tall, skin pale as moonlight, with jet black hair and the most stunning blue eyes you’ve ever seen. But that isn’t what captivates you. It isn’t the lip ring curled around his bottom lip snuggly, and it isn’t the tongue piercing you’re about to find out he’s hiding in his mouth, either.

Every inch of the exposed skin of his arms is covered in intricate, seamlessly flowing tattoos—or, for a moment, you thought it was tattoos, plural. Upon closer inspection, you realize that each arm is actually covered in one giant tattoo, giving a new definition to the term ‘sleeve’. It’s all black ink, not a splash of colour anywhere, depicting an extremely detailed and anatomically correct mechanical arm, complete with what would’ve been joints, ligaments and bones in the form of wires and steel.

The tattoos extend onto the tops of his hands, made to look as if surgical staples are peeling his skin back to reveal the robot beneath. This same tattoo continues up his neck, along his jaw and onto his cheeks, all the way to his bottom lip, spreading across his entire face and disappearing into his hairline and onto his ears. Finally, there’s a small portion of the tattoo underneath his eyes, the surgical staples lining the edges of the face tattoos, too.

It startles you—you’re not necessarily scared, you just…weren’t expecting that. But there’s no denying the rush of breath that involuntarily escapes your lips as your eyes search his face, raking over his body in a brazen way that should make you feel shameful, travelling back up to find him smirking smugly at you, raising an eyebrow as your eyes meet again.

The look in his eyes tells you he knows, knows what you’re thinking about, knows how undeniably attracted you are to him, and scalding heat floods your cheeks.

He chuckles a little, which does nothing but add insult to injury, and sharp anger slices through your chest at the way that you stomach absolutely drops at his gravelly voice. You can’t believe yourself, can’t believe your body is reacting and responding so readily to this man—this stranger.

He introduces himself as Touya, in that rough, deep voice that forces a jolt of electricity to run through your veins. You idly wonder what your name would sound like on his tongue, how it might sound if his voice dropped to a growl, find yourself stuck thinking about this for the rest of the night.

✰          ✰          ✰          

To your disappointment, and as much as you are unabashedly interested in him, you don’t interact much with Touya for your first few weeks in the house—in fact, you barely see him at all.

This only piques your curiosity about him more, finding that you’re unable to tear your eyes from him on the rare occasion that you are in a room together. He catches you staring every single time, and he has the audacity to chuckle to himself and shake his head when his gaze meets yours, your eyes quickly darting away and cheeks burning at his laugh.

You begin gathering little tidbits of information about him, purely sourced from interactions you witness in the house, desperately praying for something that’ll give you an opportunity to start a conversation with him.

Your efforts prove fruitless when, almost a month and a half since you moved in, you’ve still only spoken a handful of words to him. You do learn a bit about him through observing, though.

You discover that he’s a smoker, which really doesn’t come as a shock at all. Marlboro’s are his favourite, and he’s always got a pack in his back pocket or rolled up in the short sleeve of his t-shirt. He must have them imported—Marlboro’s are incredibly rare to find all the way in Japan.

Touya must have a lot of things imported.

You find out that every other Thursday, Touya discreetly stuffs an absurdly large wad of cash—all composed of ten-thousand-yen bills—into his mom’s hands, forcing her fingers to curl around it. She fights him on it, every time, but he’s firm and adamant that she take it. It always ends with Rei giving him a small, watery smile, Touya pressing a kiss against the side of her head and murmuring that he loves her.

After you witness this interaction for the first time, you begin to notice that, while the house looks relatively normal on the outside, it is stuffed full of luxury on the inside. Flat-screen TVs each complete with full entertainment systems, state of the art appliances that are somehow up to date with all of the latest trends (including a smart fridge—absolutely ridiculous), custom made furniture, ornate rugs, a housekeeper that drops by every Sunday…

You have no idea what he does for work, but you think you’ve got at least some sort of idea when you catch him one night, just past 2AM, exiting his room and using a thumb to brush excess white powder off his nose. His eyes catch yours, pupils blown and shining in the low light, and he smiles darkly at you, winking once as he walks away.

You don’t ask—no one ever does.

You don’t ask about the crimson splattered on the toe of his boot, or why he sometimes smells metallic, like copper, the strong scent wafting after him and invading the halls as he stalks leisurely toward the bathroom. You don’t ask why he leaves the house at odd hours in the night, and you definitely don’t ask about the soft clinking and clicking you hear through the thin walls every so often while he cleans his gun at 3AM.

You’re not sure if it’s really any of your business, anyway. So you stay quiet, and continue to wait.

The opportunity finally comes one Wednesday in October, two weeks before Halloween, when you’re in the kitchen after school busy fixing yourself an afternoon snack. Touya comes home uncharacteristically early—you rarely see him before 10PM, so his entrance scares you, and you jump a little.

“Sorry,” he murmurs as he passes by behind you, just an inch too close, just enough so you can feel his body heat radiating off of him.

“It’s fine,” you say quietly, shaking your head a little and trying in vain to stop your hands from trembling as you spread peanut butter across a piece of bread.

You can feel his eyes on you, and it makes you nervous, makes your skin crawl in a way you’ve never felt before. He laughs a little at your struggling, leaning against the counter next to you and crossing his arms over his chest.

“You don’t have to be so nervous around me, y’know,” he says with a smirk, eyes glittering at the way your lips part in surprise, your breath stuttering a little. “I’m your niichan after all, aren’t I?”

You hadn’t even considered using the honorific until he himself uses it.

Your hands freeze, hovering over your plate, and you look over at him slowly. “You…Want me to call you that?”

“You can, if you’d like,” he says smoothly, nonchalantly, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. It makes no difference to him, he tells you, but when he finally looks back at you, you think you can see it in his eyes—a sharp, small glimmer of…of something. Something that makes your stomach twist in a way you can’t decide if you like or not.

But this is it, you think, this is your opening to finally begin talking to him.

So you do. And the smirk he gives you the first time you address him by the honorific, voice quivering slightly as you ask him where Rei normally keeps the blender, is nothing short of predatory.

“It’s on the top shelf. It’s too high for you, though,” he says, voice so sickly sweet it almost sounds mocking. “Let niichan get it for you,”

It isn’t, but you let him get it for you anyway.

And he knows—knows he’s got you the moment you gasp at the honorific leaving his lips, trying to hide it behind your hand, nodding quickly and squeaking out a thank you.

It starts after that. He begins playing with you; a sick, perverse game of cat and mouse, hunter and hunted, and you play your part perfectly.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t love it, if you said it didn’t send wicked sparks of excitement shooting up your spine and an intense fluttering in your stomach.

And it starts slow. It starts with gentle pet names—honey, sweetheart, princess—and fingertips trailing down your arm as he passes you. It starts with a large hand placed on the small of your back, guiding you—out of the house and into his car, out of the kitchen and into the living room, out of the hallway and into his bedroom—and with little pecks on your lips stolen when no one’s watching, quick kisses that leave you feeling exhilarated despite their chastity.

Suddenly, he’s home a hell of a lot more. He’s sitting too close to you on the couch while you curl up with a textbook, his thigh pressed against you and flesh burning hot through his black jeans. He’s joining the family dinner a few times a week, idly hooking and unhooking his ankle with yours beneath the table while smirking at you from across it.

Suddenly, he’s asking you if you need a ride to school, or if you need someone to pick you up. You don’t, you tell him, the bus is just fine, but he insists. It’s what niichans do, he says. He wants to take care of you, he says.

Who are you to deny him that, really?

✰          ✰          ✰          

The first time you experience Touya angry is about a month after the inciting incident, when he catches you walking home with a few of your university friends.

He had texted you earlier that day, telling you that he—very regretfully, he said—would be unable to pick you up from school this afternoon because ‘something had come up’.

You didn’t question what it was—you knew he’d lie even if you did. So you accepted it obediently, reassured him that it was fine, that you’d find another way home.

You’re pretty sure if you had told him that you didn’t have any extra change on you for the bus suddenly whatever important thing that had ‘come up’ which so desperately needed his attention wouldn’t be so urgent anymore. But you didn’t want to be a bother, or inconvenience him, so you say nothing.

Two friends decide they’ll accompany you on your walk home, so you aren’t lonely, they claim. Normally, the walk from campus to your house is about thirty minutes, but that day it takes you nearly an hour, wasting time goofing around and walking slowly as you talk idly.

Touya’s already pissed that it’s taken you so long to arrive home, that you’ve ignored all of his extremely considerate texts asking if you’re alright, but when he sees you squished between two boys, giggling as the three of you stumble up your driveway—he’s fucking fuming.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he asks, voice calm and monotonous, leaning casually against the doorframe.

Your head snaps up—you swear he wasn’t there just a second ago—blood running cold.

His stance is relaxed, arms crossed loosely over his chest, lazily raising an eyebrow as your wide eyes meet his. Technically, the only indication that he’s furious is the blazing blue fire in his eyes, but your friends can read the tension in the air surrounding him, shuffling a little closer to you. This minuscule action does not go unnoticed by Touya, sharp jaw clenching once.

“You had niichan worried,”

You’re frozen a few feet away from the porch, unable to find your voice, to move your legs, to breathe at all.

“I didn’t know you had an older brother,”

Your eyes do not leave Touya’s as you speak, the words hoarse. “Oh, we’re—”

“Yeah,” Touya bites, irritation finally bleeding into his voice. “She does,” his eyes float back to yours. “Come here, princess,”

Your body snaps into action, moving automatically before you can even comprehend it, allowing Touya to tuck you into his side the moment you reach him.

Your hands are shaking, but you have no control over them as your fingers curl in his white t-shirt, clinging to him. To your surprise, the arm around your shoulders hugs you closer in response, thumb caressing you.

“Thanks for making sure she got home safely,” he tosses over his shoulder, managing to make the simple sentence sound like an insult, tone bordering on patronizing, while he turns on his heel, marching you both inside.

“I-I’m so sorry,” you’re rushing to say the moment the front door shuts behind you two, Touya’s arm still wrapped firmly around you.

He looks down at you coldly. “Don’t you dare pull shit like that again,” he tells you, eerily calm voice forcing spikes of icy dread up your spine. He pauses for a moment, letting his words sink in as his eyes bore into yours. “You had me worried sick,” he breathes out then, squeezing you again. You’re surprised in the sudden change of tone, feeling your chest swell at the thought of him fretting over you, a small smile gracing your lips.

“I…I did?”

Touya’s eyebrows furrow, as if he’s offended at your questioning, mood morphing in the span of a second. “Of course you fucking did,” he spits like you’re stupid, arm dropping. “Do you ever check your phone?”

“Wh-What?”

Touya rolls his eyes. “Check your phone,” he calls out airily as he begins walking into the kitchen, shaking his head a little, disappointment rolling off him in waves.

Hastily fishing your phone out of your bag, you’re astonished to see eight texts from him and three missed calls. You scroll through the texts quickly, each one making you feel more nauseous than the next. ‘Is everything okay? You should’ve been home by now’; ‘Please answer me, princess, you’re making your niichan nervous’; ‘Where are you? Answer my fucking calls already’. Guilt turns sour in your mouth and you hurry after him.

“I-I really am s-so sorry,” you force the words out, unsure as to why there are suddenly tears stinging your eyes. He isn’t even doing anything—his back is facing you as he nonchalantly begins brewing a pot of coffee.

But the thought of him being upset with you, of losing his approval, sends a sharp pain searing through your chest.

“Are you?” he asks, and although his voice holds no malice in it, it causes your whole body to stutter with a harsh breath.

“Yes,” you whimper out, latching onto his arm and tugging in an attempt to draw his eyes to yours, to see how regretful you are, the remorse written across your face. “I should’ve…That was so careless and inconsiderate of me,”

“It was,” he agrees simply, voice still light, as if he’s discussing something as mundane as the weather. “But you’ll never do it again, right?”

“Right,” you agree readily, breathing out the word before you even realize what you’re agreeing to.

“Tell niichan you’ll never worry him like that again,” he finally looks over at you.

“I-I’ll never worry you like that again, niichan, I pr-promise,”

His eyes hold yours for what feels like eons, before he finally twists his arm out of your grasp, instead wrapping it around you and tugging you against his body. You stay staring up at him, eyes wide and obedient, breath bated as you wait for your next order, so pliant and ready to serve him.

“Good,” he whispers, eyes finally softening, and you feel like you can breathe properly again. His free hand cups your face, thumb running along your lips, then your chin, then your jaw. “You want to be good for me, don’t you, sweetheart?”

“Of course,” you respond instantly. Later, you’ll lay awake in your bed, feeling ashamed by your actions, by how readily captivated you were with him, by how easily he was able to manipulate you with those sapphire eyes and that rough voice—

But in that moment, you’ll do anything to pull that little smile from him, anything to hear him tell you you’re good. You just want to be good.

Something dark and primal flashes in those gorgeous eyes as they gaze down at you, a small grin spreading across his face. “Of course,” he repeats softly.

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

He begins to trust you more. You meet his friends, each one terrifying in their own right. Jin is alright, although his brain is fried from drugs, and he talks to and contradicts himself a lot, earning the nickname Twice from Tomura.

Tomura horrifies you to your very core—a tall, lanky man with sunken red eyes and sickly pale skin who looks like he’s one bad day away from death—and Touya tells you very sternly to stay away from him.

A university student not unlike yourself, Keigo is your favourite. Keigo is the most normal, with his wild blonde hair and enticing gold eyes that always look like they’re playfully holding the secrets of the universe just out of your grasp.

Keigo’s brain is always going a hundred miles a minute, although you’d never guess it with his trademark lazy drawl, speaking as if he hasn’t got a care in the world. But he can always keep a conversation going, knows exactly what to say to avoid awkward silences or lulls in the discussion, and you appreciate that. You think he’s so cool—he has so much knowledge about the oddest things, everything and anything, ‘a walking encyclopedia’, Tomura calls it, and it fascinates you to no end.

It’s the speed, Touya tells you one night while you’re laying on the couch, your body on top of his, the pads of his fingers dragging down your back in rhythmic strokes. Speed is Keigo’s drug of choice, you find out. Speed is the reason why Keigo knows as much as he does.

“Sometimes he doesn’t sleep for days,” Touya says. “That’s how he has all the time to memorize everything he knows—though that big overactive brain of his plays a part in it, too,”

The thought inexplicably makes your heart sink in your chest, and you don’t say anything else. If Touya notices your shift in mood, he doesn’t mention it. You idly wonder what Touya’s drug of choice is, but you’re too scared of the answer to ask.

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

It’s only a few nights later when you wake with a violent jolt, breathing laboured as you absentmindedly press your palm to your chest, trying in vain to calm your racing heart.

A nightmare.

You sit in silence for a moment, listening to the sound of your own harsh breaths echoing off the walls and debating what to do next. A minute later, you swing your legs over the side of the bed, wincing when your bare feet touch the cold hardwood, and pad down the hallway.

You try to trick yourself into believing that you aren’t using this purely as an excuse to spend the night with him. It really was so scary, you reason with yourself, it really has made you all shaken up…

Who are you kidding? You didn’t even attempt to go back to sleep.

You’ve been in his room plenty of times now—sitting daintily on his bed as he introduces you to new music, new movies, new books. Stuff that reminds him of you, he says, stuff that he thought you might be interested in. You’re grateful for it; there are so many things you’ve learned in the short time you’ve known him.

That isn’t all, though. There’s no denying the warmth that spreads through your body, that tiny excited flutter in your chest, when he calls your name and interlaces your fingers, leading you toward his room and telling you he’s got something to show you.

Yes, you’ve been in his room plenty of times now. But this is the first time you spend the night in his bed.

He’s still up, soft golden light leaking from under his closed bedroom door. Your hand quivers a little as you lift it to rap your knuckles against the wood. He appears in the doorway a moment later, leaning against the frame in a black t-shirt that looks like it’s a size or two too small for him, riding up to reveal a teasing sliver of milky skin, tips of his hipbones jutting out from the waistband of his plaid pajama pants.

“Princess? What is it?”

You didn’t realize you were staring, and you jump a little at his gravelly voice.

“Oh. I, um—Well, I just…had a nightmare a-and I can’t sleep,”

You can barely look him in the eyes as you say it, your cheeks burning. You both know it’s a lie.

But he plays along.

“Aw, baby,” he coos, drawing you into his arms, into his room, into his bed.

“You’re trembling,” he murmurs as he turns on his side to face you, propping his head up with a hand. “Poor thing. Was it a bad one?”

Your mouth feels like its been stuffed with cotton, rendering you incapable of speech, tongue dry and sluggish. You nod in response, heat seeping into your cheeks again at just how loudly your heart is thumping while you roll onto your side. There’s only a few inches of space between your bodies now, his hot breath fanning across your face as he speaks again.

“Do you want niichan to help you forget about it?”

The question hangs heavy in the air, and you suck your bottom lip into your mouth, eyes searching his. Your thighs squeeze together at the way his voice has dropped an octave, low and husky, familiar heat pooling in the depths of your belly. He waits patiently, lifting a hand to caress your cheek, then runs his fingertips down your bare arm, goosebumps following.

Finally, you nod. You think you see the corners of his lips quirk up into the slightest hint of a smirk, but you blink, and it’s gone.

“Here,” he whispers, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you against him. Hand cupping your jaw, he tilts your face up and slots his mouth against yours.

You’ve kissed before, of course—in his bed, in yours, on the living room couch, on the kitchen counter with his hips shoved between your thighs—but this…this feels different.

These are kisses with intent, with purpose, with a goal in mind. These are kisses that keep you distracted—slow, soft, messy with saliva—as his hand slips down your body and between your thighs.

Your gasp breaks the kiss, wide eyes blinking up at him then fluttering shut as he brushes a knuckle against your clit. He hushes you, nimble fingers spreading your folds before he drags them up your slit, huffing out a laugh at how wet you already are.

“Were you thinking about something naughty before?” he gasps mockingly, sliding the pads of his fingers back down as he speaks.

His hand withdraws from your shorts and he orders you to lift your hips, tugging the waistband down your thighs. You squirm a little, forcing them further down your legs until you free yourself of them completely, eyes gazing up at him again, awaiting your next command.

Legs part dutifully as his hand travels back down to the apex of your thighs, pushing a finger into your soaking pussy.

It’s slow at first, thrusting leisurely with his middle finger a few times and loosening you up a little before adding his ring finger. Sapphire eyes watch his motions, captivated by how your eager little cunt sucks his fingers in selfishly.

“Look at that, huh?” he breathes, looking down at you. “Such a pretty little pussy you’ve got,”

You open your bleary eyes to peer at yourself, mesmerized by the way his fingers are pumping in and out of you, glistening in the dim light of his bedroom. He curls his fingers and you inhale sharply, hips twitching toward his palm.

“Oh?” he chuckles darkly, knuckles nudging the spot again. “Did niichan find something, baby?”

You don’t know, you’re not sure, you try to tell him, but all you can seem to manage is pathetic little whines while you nod your head.

“Have you ever touched yourself?” he’s asking as the pads of his fingers tap against that spot, your entire body jolting.

“Y-Yes,” you whimper out, a little breathlessly. “But it’s never felt like this,”

“Aw, baby,” he coos, and it’s so condescending. “Then you weren’t doing it right, sweetheart,”

He quickens his pace, chuckles at the way you try to desperately fuck yourself on his fingers at such an awkward angle.

“Poor little thing, can’t even get herself off properly,” he tsks. “You need your niichan to do it for you, don’t you?”

Soft whines spill from your throat as you nod eagerly, your stomach coiling tightly.

“One day,” he breathes, curling his fingers with a vengeance this time, your hips rolling up off the mattress. “When we have the time, I’ll teach you how to make yourself feel so good,”  

He’s talking too much. You want to tell him this, tell him to shut the hell up, but every time you try to speak he presses the heel of his palm to your clit and grinds against it, effectively scattering all of your thoughts, soft mewls of niichan the only sound escaping your lips.

Can’t deny his voice is fucking hot though, a form of foreplay all on its own.

And he knows this, can read you like a goddamn book, especially when he’s got his fingers two knuckles deep inside of you. He can feel it, he tells you. You don’t even need to speak; he can feel your thoughts when his voice drops an octave and your cute little hole flutters, when he chuckles and your pussy clenches around his fingers—a slut for his voice, aren’t you?

“Pretty baby, you can’t do anything but nod dumbly, can you? Been fucked stupid by my fingers alone, huh?”

Your head barely moves, lost all control of your body by this point, only able to whimper in response.

“Gonna come all over my fingers, pretty girl?” the knuckle of his thumb begins grazing your clit in quick strokes. “C’mon, make a mess for niichan,”

And it’s pathetic, how quickly your body obeys. Your pussy squeezes once, twice, three times and you’re gushing all over his fingers, juices collecting in his palm, running down his wrist. You’re embarrassed—you’ve never cum that much before, have you?

Breathing still ragged, you nuzzle into his sheets, partially hiding your face from him. Nothing could hide the involuntary grin that forms on your lips, though. Arms snake under your boneless body, tugging a bit.

“Oh no, baby, we aren’t done yet,” Touya’s saying while he hoists you up, letting you lean heavily against him.

Head tilting in confusion, your glazed eyes find his. “Wh-What?”

He looks down at his lap and your gaze follows, a tiny whimper slipping past your lips at the bulge straining against his pants. “Doesn’t niichan deserve a nice reward for helping you forget that scary dream?”

Eyes darting back to his, you nod slowly, whispering out, “Yes. But—But…” But you’re hesitant; you’ve never done anything like this before. Shaking hands reach for the waistband of his pants, beginning to pull them down but freezing when the head of his cock peeks out.

Touya sighs. “Come on, you wanna be a good girl for niichan, don’t you?”

Of course. Of courses you do.

Then he wants you to touch him, he says. He’ll help you; he promises.

“But you gotta get it wet first,”

You ask how, and he laughs at you. “With your tongue, stupid,” he tells you.

He instructs you to kneel on the floor and you comply immediately, trembling legs folding beneath your body as you situate yourself between his knees. He inches forward on the bed a little, shuffling himself to the edge and caging you between his thighs. Bringing his cock close to your mouth, he taps the head against your closed lips.

They part instantly, obediently, his eyes flashing with something sinister as you take the head into your mouth and suck hesitantly, big eyes staring up at him waiting for approval.

He curses, his hips twitching ever so slightly, skin stretched taut over bony knuckles as a hand forms a fist in the sheets. Starting with kitten licks at first, the tip of your tongue barely touches him, tracing veins, then begins to gain more confidence as he groans a little, telling you what to you, that you’re doing good, so good for him.

Watching him through thick lashes, you have the audacity to look bashful as your tongue laves around the shaft, drenching it in saliva. A hand tangles in your hair and yanks, pulling you off his cock when he decides it’s sufficiently wet enough. Long fingers encircle your wrist, bringing your hand to form a fist around him.

“Like this,” he says, jerking your hand up and down.

You’re terrible at it, movements awkward and uncoordinated, but in that moment he doesn’t really care. He’s irritated a little, wondering out loud how anyone can be bad at handjobs while a large hand wraps around yours and forces you to speed up. Bad? Your heart sinks at the small three letter word, a hard lump forming in your throat, looking as though you may start crying.

But he cums quickly after that, ropes of searing hot white painting your cheeks and face. You watch him the entire time, panting a little, lips parted slightly and your tongue darts out to lick them, tasting him.

He laughs at your bitter reaction, and it’s such a patronizing sound.

“Don’t worry,” he says, collecting the cum off your face and forcing his fingers into your mouth. “Someday I’ll stuff your throat full of it.”

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

You can no longer mention needing—no, wanting—anything around him anymore, because within the next few days it’s sitting pretty and perfect on your bed, propped up against your lace trimmed pillows.

He’s so good to you; you should be grateful you have such a generous niichan, one who eats you out and spoils you with gifts. You’re so spoiled.

And he tells you this, in the dead of night when you wake to find him shoving his cock into you, snarling a little at your soft whines of protest.

“Don’t be a brat,” he warns. Just be a good girl and take his cock. He does so much for you, can’t you be good for him?

Yes, yes, you want to be good for him, you want to be the best for him.

By this point you’ve lost count of how many times you’ve woken up in the middle of the night with his head between your thighs, prepping you to take him.

“Stay sleeping, baby,” he’ll tell you, words whispered into your hair as his cockhead nudges against your hole.

As if you could ever stay sleeping when only a few minutes later he’s pounding you into oblivion, large hand clasped over your mouth so tightly his blunt nails are digging into your cheek, so hard that it’s yanking your head back, neck beginning to ache.

He tells you to be quiet, “You don’t want anyone to hear, do you? Then we’d have to stop, and you don’t want that, right, sweetheart?”

You don’t, you whimper. Of course you don’t—you want whatever he wants, you want to be his perfect little baby, you want to be told how good you take his cock, the praise mumbled against your skin in a low, strained voice right before he fills you with cum.

  ✰          ✰          ✰          

He disappears for a few days near the end of December. You have no idea where, Touya answering your curious texts with playful quips at first before he grows tired of it and tells you to stop fucking asking.

But eventually, he returns.

The front door slams shut and your body flinches with a jolt of excitement. Adrenaline spikes your blood when you hear his heavy boots colliding with the hardwood, getting louder, louder, louder…

He passes right by you, not glancing at you at all. Moments later, the sound of water hitting the tiled shower wall echoes down the hallway.

And you wait. Patiently, you wait, like the good little girl you are, not daring to move a muscle. Eventually he re-emerges, hair still damp, a few strands sticking to his neck.

With a groan, he collapses on the couch next to you, flopping his head into your lap and gazing up at you with glazed, blown sapphire eyes.

“You’re high,” you say softly, not accusatory, just an observation. He giggles a little.

“So what if I am?”

“What did you take?”

“Oh,” he gasps mockingly. “Oh no, baby, I can’t tell you that,”

Why? The question is burning on the tip of your tongue, and you can tell that he’s anticipating that to be your next response, but you bite down on your bottom lip, holding it in. You know his answer already, can practically hear his patronizing voice—Because good baby sisters aren’t supposed to know about stuff like this.

“Can I try some?” you ask instead.

All of the mirth fades from his eyes in an instant, and he moves in a flash despite his inebriated state, so quick you can barely tell what’s happening. His large hand wraps around your bicep in a bruising grasp, pulling you towards him as he sits up, his face an inch away from yours.

“Absolutely fucking not,” he spits, cobalt eyes blazing and voice rumbling against your chest. “And if I so much as catch wind that you’re using, have a mere feeling that you’ve tried it—even just once—I’ll slaughter you and the fucker you got it from. Do you understand me?”

Surprised tears spring into your eyes and you nod jerkily, body beginning to tremble as your breath gets caught in your throat. You want to tell him that you didn’t mean it, honest, you promise!; that you were just kidding around, you swear!, but you can’t, voice mangling itself with the hitched little breaths on the back of your tongue.

He growls at your silence, his grip around your arm tightening and you cry out, terrified that he might actually crush the bone with his bare hand.

“Say, yes Touya, I understand,”

“Y-Yes Touya, I understand,” you manage to stutter out, voice returning only at the command of a direct order, tears spilling over and rolling down your cheeks in pairs. His eyes search your face for a moment, his features contorted in fury, before he sneers at you, squeezing your arm once then roughly letting go, shoving you away from him.

You fall backward against the arm of the couch, heart thumping so vigorously you’re sure he can hear it. He groans, throwing his head back and closing his eyes, exasperated.

“Fuck,” he sighs, eyes opening to glare at the ceiling. “You’ve ruined my high,”

You stare at him, breath coming out in uneven huffs, clinging to the couch.

“I-I’m sorry,” you whisper, terrified to move lest you upset him more.

He’s silent for a moment, still staring up, until he lolls his head to the side, glancing at you through the corner of his eye. A small smirk spreads across his face.

“C’mere,” he says, nodding his head a little in indication.

“Wh-What?”

“C’mere,” he repeats. “Come make it up to me,”

Your body’s moving before you’ve given it permission to, crawling into his lap obediently, thighs on either side of his hips. His smirk widens, and you love it—you love how much control he has over you without even trying, you love the way a quiet whimper slips through your lips as his large hands begin kneading your flesh, running up your legs and grabbing your ass.

Lips trail up the column of your neck, and you tilt your head back, a silent plea for more. You can feel the way his lips curl into a grin against your skin, nipping at it a second later.

“So, how you gonna make it up to me? Huh?” he shifts his hips under you, pressing his hard cock into your clothed core. You whine a little, grinding against him.

“I’ve got a few ideas,” you breathe out while sharp teeth mar your collarbone.

“The hell you waiting for? Show me,”

You begin sliding down his body and he pushes on your shoulders, forcing you to your knees between his spread thighs. He watches you through half-lidded eyes, gaping pupils outlined by a thin ring of blue.

Holding his gaze, you lean forward with your pretty little tongue hanging out and begin licking along the straining bulge, tracing it slowly, the denim rough against your sensitive muscle. You relent though, lapping at his clothed cock in slow, long strokes, and his jeans are just thin enough for you to feel him pulse in response.

A giggle bubbles up past your lips, muffled by the denim, already beginning to feel heady as you pull simple reactions from him. Your mouth forms a cute little ‘o’ and you suck on him the best you can through his jeans, drooling all over his lap and soaking through the material.

The hand in your hair tightens into a fist, yanking hard and pulling your mouth away. “Stop fucking teasing,” he warns, a hint of something ominous in his voice.

You obey, because you always obey, tiny fingers working to quickly unbuckle his belt, pop the button, yank down the zipper. He aids you, lifting his hips and allowing you to tug his jeans down his thighs enough for his cock to spring out.

His own hand wraps around the shaft, you pausing mid-action as you reach for it.

“Open,” he demands, your dutiful lips parting immediately, letting him push his cock into the warm, wet cavern.

He sets a brutal, punishing pace from the start, refusing to give you a single moment to adjust. His other hand fists in your hair, forcing you to stay still as he rams his cock down your throat.

Reflexive tears burn your eyes, blurring your vision. You blink quickly to clear them, desperate to watch him, to catalogue all of his micro-expressions and the sound of his voice as he grunts out your name, to burn it into your mind, etch it into your very soul.

Touya’s head falls back against the couch, Adams apple bobbling with his rough whimpers, long neck and sharp collarbone on full display. If your mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, you’d love to lick up his smooth skin, to trace the dips of his collarbone with your tongue and sign your name in brilliant splotches of blue and purple.

You’re gagging around his cock now, starting to feel lightheaded and struggling to inhale enough oxygen. The ache in your jaw is beginning to spread, but you ignore it, stretching your mouth open wider, to take more, to be good for him, to make him proud. It’s worth it for the hoarse, throaty moans you’re pulling from him, to hear your name shuddered out, followed by a breathy, “Fuck,”

He forces hot cum down your throat a moment later, and you choke on it, sputtering around his cock, throat spasming as it tries to force the foreign object out. He won’t let it, though. He holds your head in place, nose pressed against his pubic bone, and you can do nothing but take it, like a good little girl, like he tells you to.

But it’s all worth it. It’s all worth it, to hear his broken whines like that, to have him look down at you and pull your hair and tell you you’re good, so good for him.

And you’re sobbing by the end of it, gasping for air the moment he lets go of you, wheezing violently as your head collapses against his thigh.

“Did I—” you cough, voice raspy from having your throat fucked raw, “—Did I make it up to you, niichan?” you gaze up at him, eyelashes spiky with residual water. You’re the perfect picture of obedience, strands of hair stuck to your face where your salty tears have dried and swollen lips gleaming with saliva as you watch him with glittering eyes, waiting desperately for his praise.

He looks down at you, eyes devious and diabolical, chest heaving a little. “Of course you did,” he tells you, corners of his lips tugging up into a sharp smirk as you melt into him. “You always do, don’t you?”

[stovetuna]

Oh! Oh! Your Tony-finally-accepts-Steve-Loves-him fic was so lovely. A+ 🥺

And the reverse-ish! The first time Steve realizes Tony doesn’t actually believe him when he says I love you and how Steve both reacts and comes to term with the situation (does he plan on talking about it? Love offensive with super romantic dates? Figure out that the solution to this problem a marathon not a sprint?)

aaaaaahhh I am gonna EXPIRE

can you imagine?? the moment I think about it my heart absolutely BREAKS in the best, most bittersweet way, because oh, Steve. you really thought the moment you kissed Tony the first time—you were sitting next to him on the living room sofa, a whole empty seat on either side of you because you were so unnecessarily close together, but then you were struck by the thought not close enough, and you were in the middle of listening to and watching Tony watch the Lost in Space reboot (so many science critiques you didn't understand a lick of but you are more than happy to play audience to the things Tony cares about, loudly) when you leaned forward and placed a lingering kiss on the corner of Tony's motormouth, which apparently was all the invitation Tony needed to crawl into your lap and press his warm, warm, warm lips to yours and kiss the breath out of you—he understood.

because it was so easy to go from best friends to romantic partners, and you had years of friendship between you to hearken back to. Plenty of moments when you thought you'd made it clear to Tony that you loved him, that you cared about him, that you admired and respected and yes, deep down (not that deep, really) were very much attracted to him.

you thought.

so when you kiss the first time, you think he knows. when you go on your first real date and play footsie all night under the table and hold hands the whole walk home, you think he knows. when, a few days later, he slides inside you, deep and hard and wet, and butterfly-kisses the tears from your eyes and tells you how beautiful you are as he fucks you, wailing, into the mattress, you know, down to your soul, to the basest atoms of your existence, that Tony loves you as much as you love him.

but something isn't right, because even as weeks, months go by, and you move into Tony's suite and fall asleep wrapped around him almost every night (except those when he's in another country, and the bed is almost as cold as the ice, or when he's consumed by some project in the workshop and loses track of time), and you tell each other "I love you" out loud multiple times, and say it without words in a million other ways, you get the feeling that Tony. doesn't. believe you?

you're baffled. genuinely, it doesn't make sense. you've loved each other for years. even when you fought, bloody and fierce and deeply, horrifically wrong, you loved each other. it wouldn't have hurt nearly as much—felt like a piece of you being ripped away, phantom pain aging you inwardly until every step in any direction that wasn't toward Tony was agony—if you didn't.

but even though Tony says it back, and he does, every time, even when you're yelling at each other after a battle goes "tits-up," thank you, Logan, he has this look in his eyes, and the only word you've been able to put to it is doubt.

at first you think it means Tony doubts you—your feelings, your intentions, yourself and all the baggage that entails—but that thought quickly passes. because you know he doesn't. you know, from experience, that Tony's worst thoughts and feelings very rarely have anything to do with anyone other than himself. which means Tony doubts himself. maybe even reality. not in a "you might be a Skrull" kind of way, but in a "this is too good to be true" kind of way.

and doesn't that just break your fucking heart.

for months you watch this doubt flicker like a guttering little flame in Tony's bright blue eyes, every time you say "I love you, Tony" with your voice. it's never there when you're brushing your teeth next to other in the morning, bumping hips and giggling like the children you never got to be; it's not there when you silently hand him his coffee and kiss him on the temple on his way out the door to a morning meeting, grousing on the phone even as he blows a kiss to you before the elevator doors close; it's not there when you sit down next to him after a battle, on the steps of some middle-of-nowhere courthouse that just got blown up by some no-name villain, taking unspeakable comfort in the radiating heat coming off the armor that kept Tony safe in combat, and without having to ask or say anything at all Tony takes the helmet off and you lean your foreheads together and just breathe each other's air, too relieved and too exhausted to kiss; it's not there when you make love to him, slowly, excruciatingly sweet, your hips rolling in a steady, undulating wave between Tony's long, golden thighs, his arms loose around your neck, his gorgeous voice gone raspy and quiet from screaming through two orgasms already, and you tell him to look at you as you come together one last time.

it's only when you say it. put words to it. make it real. that's when that banked ember of doubt flickers to life, and it feels like you have to start all over again. which isn't a hardship, per se. not at all, really. it's an honor and a privilege and an absolute pleasure to be a part of Tony's life like this. it's also frustrating, and infuriating, and dangerous, but that was always the case. the only difference is now, you can have make-up sex.

you fight about it first. it starts out in earnest, a forthright—if frighteningly vulnerable—conversation over dinner that turns into a shouting match to rival anything from the war that of course gets cut short by the Avengers alarm going off and having to Assemble before you can clear the air. he almost dies in the battle, short-circuited by an exceptionally advanced EMP that takes out the RT (and whoo, boy does that make you spiral, thinking back, to the moment you did that to Tony, almost killed him, and thinking those thoughts while you keep vigil at his bedside for days makes you wish harder than you ever have before in your life that you could drink yourself to death), and you're too relieved when he opens his eyes and the first word out of his mouth is your name, like he's the one who should be relieved, to bring it up again.

you love him. he loves you. it works. better than that, it's good. and eventually—quickly, even—you learn. you learn tell him in every which way you can think of, without words, how much you love him, and why. you text him pictures from your runs through Central Park (he makes the photo you sent him that spring, of the adolescent raccoon emerging from a hollowed-out tree, his lock screen for a week before he changes it back to a picture of you in bed drooling onto your pillow). you help him take off the armor when he's dead on his feet. you feed him. you train with him. you listen to him ramble on about bad movie science and cheer when Matt Damon mentions him in that Mars movie. (You literally cry laughing when Tony picks up the phone at the end of the movie and calls Matt Damon and tells him to text him next time, "I'll come pick you up, just stop getting lost in fucking space, asshole!")

you kiss his scarred fingers, with their fresh cuts and scrapes and bruises from working in the shop, with a reverence. you draw baths for him and don't join, even though it's one of your favorite things to do in the world, because you can just tell Tony is going through something and he needs the space to work it out for himself. you're always there to fish him out when the water gets cold, and by that time Tony's ready to tell you about whatever's eating him.

you call him every foul, dirty name in the book when you fuck him loudly against the wall and sob yourself hoarse when he makes love to you for what feels like hours, so slow and deep and steady you honestly lose track of how many times you come. you clean him up after and tuck him in. you kiss him on the forehead before you go on your morning run, every morning without fail (except for those when you're apart, and you still, even after almost two years, catch yourself mid-motion sometimes, about to kiss empty air—you text Tony about it and he laughs every time).

you learn to be patient. you learn to show more than you tell. because you realize that Tony was lied to his entire life, about so many things. Lied to his face about who he was, who he was going to be, who he never would be allowed to be. Told over and over again by liars and cheats and villains and friends and lovers and family that he wasn't worth the effort of loving. that he would never be loved for anything other than the black credit card in his wallet, the cars in his garage, the houses and the private jets and the clothes and the money and the things he invented—the things he made—that were supposed to help people but only ever ended up killing them.

money, and blood.

it's no wonder he doubts.

so you set yourself to the long and genuinely joyous (if at times frustrating) task of convincing Tony that not only do you love him, more than you've loved anything else in your life, ever will, but he is lovable. not worthy of love, not deserving, and he is those things, but inherently—he is a sweet, caring, kind, fierce, sexy, strong, dangerous, incredible, dorky, suave, fumbling genius of a man and he is loved for those things.

it takes time. good things always do.

you've had a little velvet box hidden away in your bottom bedside drawer for four months when Tony wakes up and sees you in bed with him, realizes you've been watching him sleep—so peacefully, the furrow between his brows erased, as you play with his slightly overgrown hair (you wish he'd keep it, but it's a hazard, in your line of work). you kiss him on the forehead and say good morning, sweetheart, because it is, even if it is pouring down rain outside.

maybe especially because it's raining outside. because here you are, high up among thick grey clouds that smother every inch of the city, so it's just you two, in this bed, together in your own little world, and you're watching that stubborn ember of doubt in Tony's eyes finally get washed away.

read part one

[nicole-lynne]

Pool Party Disaster

Notes: Well y'all, because I'm the worst, this has been sitting in my drafts for the better part of a year. It was supposed to be for @kayteewritessteve's writing challenge...and then I lost every single motivation I had to do anything I enjoyed. So it's 100% late and who knows how it really turned out. But I finished it so here ya go!

Description: Steve and you are in a secret relationship, but it may not be so secret anymore after some semi-public sex.

Based off the prompt: "I could just pull your bikini bottoms to the side, no one would notice."

Warnings: NSFW +18. Minors DNI.

You watched lazily as a bead of water rolled down Steve’s shoulder blade, past the dip of his back, and disappeared into his swim shorts. In a large group of people, you knew you should look away, but it felt impossible to drag your eyes away from the place where the shorts hugged his muscular thighs.

“You know you’re drooling, right?”

Snapping your eyes in the other direction, you shifted to find Bucky hovering behind your chair with an annoying smirk on his face. Folding your arms roughly, you ignored the heat in your cheeks. “I was not.”

“Yes, you were.” Bucky said as he moved to sit in the pool chair next to you. “But it’s okay, I don’t think anyone else saw.”

“There was nothing for anyone else to see anyways.” You said snarkily.

“You two aren’t discrete at all, you know? Steve practically popped a boner when you walked out in your suit. Somehow all these other idiots just haven’t put two and two together yet.”

Truthfully, you weren’t surprised that Bucky had figured it out. He was Steve’s best friend and a trained assassin. It’d been more surprising to you that it had taken him this long. You and Steve had started this, whatever this was, over a month ago and no one had mentioned it yet.

There was a part of you that wanted to deny it just for the satisfaction of seeing Bucky question himself, but the other part felt relieved that someone finally knew. And as you glanced over at Steve, laughing with Thor about something, you knew, no one denies Steve Roger. He’s the kind of guy that girls trip over themselves to get a few moments of attention.

“Look, Buck-”

“It’s fine, it’ll be our little secret.” He squeezed your arm lightly, clearly seeing all of the thoughts on your face. “Why not let you two have your fun while you can. You know Tony will blow a gasket once he finds out.”

The idea of your brother finding out about your budding romance with the supersoldier wasn’t exactly something you wanted to think about today. Clearing your throat, you gave Bucky a smirk with a bit of gratefulness behind it.

“Although, I’m still amazed you’ve been able to keep it a secret from the little play-boy genius.”

“It’s not like we’re making out right in front of him, Buck.” You said, irritated.

“No, you were just practically undressing him with your eyes like a love-sick teenager.” Bucky guffawed loudly, and you shoved him backwards futilely. He stayed planted to the chair, snorting at your weak attempt. “Okay, fine, I’ll drop it. I’m just saying, you better get a plan together before Tony stumbles upon it on his own. After the Accords and...well, you know he’s not Steve, or my, biggest fan.”

“I know...you know I don’t blame either of you for that though.”

“We know you don’t, doll. It’s still hard to live with.” Bucky said with a grimace.

“Buck, it wasn’t you. And I’m glad Steve protected you from Tony. You’re his best friend and he needs you in his life.” Reaching forward, you squeezed his hand until he looked up at you. “Besides, who else would annoy me if you weren’t around.”

“You know you love me.” He scoffed, giving you a big grin. “So what are you guys gonna do?”

“Eventually, we’ll work on a plan, but for right now, thanks for keeping it quiet. You’re a great friend, even if you are a sadistic ass sometimes.” You smiled and patted his leg before standing up and moving towards the patio door that entered into the huge kitchen.

To your back, Bucky shouted, “Baby, you don’t even know the half of it,” making you shake your head and giggle. Sliding the door closed, the rest of the noise from the backyard hushed to a dull roar.

You made your way toward the island, in search of something to snack on. Finally you located some tostitos - score! Pulling out a handful of chips, you turned to watch the party through the glass panes that took up the whole fourth wall.

You were pretty sure that Tony had invited the entire company for his barbeque and no one dared to decline. He wasn’t exactly scary or anything, but he definitely liked things a specific way and he always made a mental note if someone wronged him - in his eyes. That was the reason it was so hard to admit this thing with Steve. It wasn’t a secret that Tony didn’t like Steve and he wouldn’t be too happy to know that his little sister might be falling - hard - for the supersoldier.

The sound of the door opening and closing brought you back to reality and you looked up to find Steve watching you intensely from the other side of the kitchen. The light framed him, reflecting on the few drops of water on his chest, and his hair was spiked from where he’d run his fingers through it.

“Hey there, soldier.” You said, smiling sweetly at him.

“Hey, sweetheart.” He replied, walking around the island to you. “You look like you’re having fun.”

“Yeah, it’s alright. Not as much fun since we have to keep our distance.”

“Seemed like Bucky was keeping you company.” He said curtly, his gaze focused on the solo cup on the counter.

You raised an eyebrow, “um, yeah I guess so.” Steve hmphed grumpily. “He was teasing me about being so obvious while I checked you out. He said we’re not discrete enough to be having such a naughty fling.”

Surprised, Steve lifted his eyes to meet yours. “Oh. I thought... Well, I thought he might be-”

“Hitting on me?”

“Something like that.”

Reaching forward, you slipped your hand into his. “He wouldn’t be dumb enough to do that, Steve, when I’m so obviously into you. I couldn’t keep my eyes off you all afternoon.”

Steve let out a breathy laugh and shook his head. “I’m sorry, doll. I guess it’s just seeing you like this has my head all cloudy. It’s hard not to imagine every guy being attracted to you looking like that.”

“Are you serious? I’ve been watching these vultures circle you all day hoping to get a shred of your attention. It’s ridiculous.” You laughed haughtily and hopped up to sit on the counter top. “I think one girl jumped into the pool in front of you like six times trying to catch your eye.”

“Really? I haven’t even noticed.” Steve said, amusement in his voice, as he moved to stand between your legs. “I was too busy focusing on how incredible you look and how much I wanted to have you wrapped around me.”

You let out a shuddered breath as he dipped his head down to press a kiss against your exposed shoulder while his hand moved under your top and pinched your hard nipple. Every time he talked like that, so different from his public image, it made you black out. There was only the tiniest voice telling you that anyone could walk in at any moment.

“You’ve got to stop talking like that or I won’t be able to control myself.” You panted, glancing over your shoulder to make sure no one had spotted you through the tinted glass.

Steve’s lips trailed up your neck until his teeth nipped at your earlobe, sending a shiver down your spine. “What if I don’t want you to control yourself?”

Lord have mercy, this man was going to kill you.

“I’ve been so desperate to have you all day, sweetheart. I could just pull your bikini bottoms to the side, no one would notice.”

“What if someone’s watching?”

“No one’s watching us. They’re all too scared of Tony to look for us.” His fingers on his free hand traced back and forth along the tops of your thighs, leaving goose bumps where he touched.

“Aren’t you?” You forced yourself to ask.

Steve leaned back to look at you, “Scared of Tony? Nah. I’ve fought him for the people I love before, and I’ll do it again if I have to.”

You couldn’t help the smile that grew from his words and shifted closer to his body, letting the heat of his skin radiate through you.

Breaking the silence, Steve’s gruff voice said, “Now do you want to explain why you snuck out of my bed before I could have my way with you this morning.”

You hadn’t meant to leave him hanging this morning, but you’d been late for your meeting already, and if the hard-on pressed against your ass was any indication for how the rest of your morning would go, you couldn’t risk being any later.

“I-I was late for a meeting that I couldn’t miss.” You managed to stutter as his mouth trailed down and sucked on the pulse point in your neck, knowing that always drove you crazy. “I’ll make it up to you tonight, I promise.”

“I don’t want to wait until tonight,” He nudged your thighs apart more and ran his index finger along the edge of thin material covering you, rolling your nipple with the other hand. “I want you now.”

Before you could protest, he pressed his thumb against your clit through the bottoms and captured your mouth in a kiss, swallowing your moan happily. Your lips parted and his tongue slipped against yours. In just a few moments, he had you worked up and you were grateful that the swimsuit was absorbent. Then, with no hesitation, he broke your kiss and dropped to his knees, his pupils blown with lust.

“Steve,” you hissed, “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“I’ve been dying to taste you, sweetheart.” He said as he pulled the fabric to the side hastily and ran his tongue through your slit. Your mouth fell open in a silent moan and, instantly, you ran your fingers through his hair. “God you’re amazing.”

“Don’t stop.” You breathed out.

Quickly, he sucked your clit and flicked his tongue back and forth over it, causing your eyes to roll back with intense pleasure. His finger teased at your entrance and, with one look up to your blissed-out face, he pushed in one finger to the knuckle.

As slow as he could, he dragged his finger out of you, hooking it just right against your g-spot, then pushed it back in. Each time, playing with your clit in the same rhythm. You were dripping wet but Steve wasn’t letting any of it go to waste. The warm feeling was growing in the pit of your stomach and you knew this orgasm wouldn’t take long at all.

You were beginning to regret not waking him up this morning.

His other hand cupped your ass and pulled you closer to his face just in time for him to hit your g-spot and your clit at the same time, pushing you just over that edge. Fire raced through your veins as you rode out your high, his moans sent vibrations through your body that made you buck against him harder. His hands gripped you tightly to keep you sat on the counter until you started to come down, his mouth still working against you in gentle motions before letting your suit snap back into place.

Slowly, he pressed a soft kiss to each of your thighs and stood up, letting you pull him in for a kiss and you moaned as the taste of yourself hit your tongue. You let your hands roam down his chest to stop at the top of his shorts. Only hesitating for a second, you pulled them down enough to reveal how hard Steve was.

“Can I fuck you, baby?” His breathing was ragged, his lips brushed against yours, as you pumped him in your hand.

All your inhibitions went out the window and all you could do was whimper in response. With one swift motion, he jerked your suit to the side and pushed into you, both of you groaning in pleasure. He didn’t pause to give you time, instead, he began thrusting into you mercilessly.

Your head tipped back, letting him drop his lips to your exposed neck. He slammed into you over and over, rocking your body on the counter, and you dug your nails into his shoulder, desperate for something to ground you.

“Feels so good, sweetheart.” Steve murmured. “Were made for my cock.”

His dirty words made you moan, and you tightened your legs around his waist in response. Slipping his hands under your ass, he lifted you up so he was hitting a deeper angle. With the change, you slipped your hand between your bodies and started circling your clit, bringing your orgasm closer.

“Don’t stop, Captain.” You huffed.

The second you used his title, his eyes darkened with lust and his speed picked up as he stroked into you roughly. Each time, he hit the perfect spot and your eyes rolled back in your head. Your hand had stopped moving, distracted by what Steve was doing. Pushing your hand to the side, Steve moved into the spot and rubbed in sync with his movements.

“You gonna be a good little girl and cum for me?” He growled.

A few more thrusts and your orgasm washed over you and you clenched around his dick in pleasure. Immediately, he attached his lips to yours in a passionate kiss and you slipped your hand into his hair to tug him closer. He pulled out of you two more times before he faltered and his own orgasm hit him. You could feel him pulsing in you and there was no stopping your own body squeezing him for everything he had.

Both of you were panting, trying to catch your breath, occasionally making eye contact and laughing about what had just happened. Gently, he pulled out of you and tucked himself back into his shorts before reaching for a few napkins on the counter and cleaned you up as best as he could.

“Thanks, soldier.” You giggled, adjusting your suit bottoms.

Steve opened his mouth to respond when FRIDAY interrupted. “Mr. Stark requests your presence in the study.” All the bliss drained from your body instantly. You whipped your head around to look at Steve but his face was already hard as stone. Sliding off the counter, you dragged yourself toward the study with Steve trailing behind you, silent as a shadow. You lingered at the door for a moment before pushing the door open and walking in.

Behind the desk, Tony sat back in his plush chair with his hands steepled together. His lips were tight together in a harsh line and he was glaring daggers into Steve behind you.

“On the counter? Really? I eat there.” Was all he said.

“H-how did you know?” You squeaked.

“I always ask FRIDAY to inform me of any... inappropriate behavior when I throw a party.” Tony raised a brow incredulously, “People are animals and can’t keep their hands off each other in public, clearly.”

“Hey,” Steve snapped, “keep it respectful.”

“Why don’t you take your own advice, Cap.” Tony jumped up. “That’s my little sister you had your filthy hands all over.”

You blanched at the thought of Tony seeing what you’d just done.

“I’m sorry that you had to find out this way, but that doesn’t give you the right to judge either of us.” Steve took a step toward Tony. “I’m well aware of some of your indiscretions in your past.”

“Indiscretions are way different from absolute betrayal.”

“I think you’re being a little dramatic now, Tony.” Steve ran his hand through his hair in frustration. “I think I deserve to be dramatic after my sister was being railed on my kitchen counter.”

“That’s enough,” Steve stood in front of Tony and balled a fist into his shirt roughly, “you’re not going to talk about her like that again.”

Neither of them paying attention to you, you backed up and dropped onto the couch. Tears swelled in your eyes and rolled down your cheeks. This was the worst case scenario of your brother finding out - no, this hadn’t even come up in your list of worst case scenarios. You were absolutely mortified that a moment like that had been captured on camera.

Not able to stop it, a sob slipped from you and you buried your face in your hands. Steve’s eyes moved from Tony’s face down to you, instantly releasing Tony’s shirt and moving to your side.

“Sweetheart, don’t cry.” He wrapped his arm over your shoulder and tucked you into his chest, making you cry harder, your body shaking violently.

“Ahh kid, I...” Tony trailed off, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Steve glared at Tony harshly, then leaned down to kiss your head. “Baby, I need you to try and take some deep breaths. Can you do that for me?”

Lifting your chin with his fingers, he waited patiently until you made eye contact with him. Your eyes were red and puffy from crying, but Steve didn’t judge, only waited until you nodded slightly. He took a deep breath and you followed his motions, inhaling deeply, holding at the top, and releasing it slowly.

Steve held your focus as he breathed with you until you stopped shaking and the tears were dried on your cheeks. He gently cradled your face, wiping your cheeks with his thumbs, before kissing the tip of your nose.

You knew, without a doubt, that you loved Steve more than anyone you’d ever been with. The fact that he’d helped you through this breakdown had just made it more clear that he was the one you wanted to be with. Your eyes fluttered shut and you worked up the courage to look at your brother. Turning to him, you grimaced at the blank look on his face.

“I’m sorry about how you found out, Ton. But I’m not sorry for loving Steve. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and I’m not going to let your own emotional problems get in the way of my happiness.” You croaked, your throat raw from crying.

Tony’s face fell and he had the decency to look ashamed. “Kid, I didn’t mean to make you cry. I’m sorry for what I said. I guess I was just in shock at...”

“I know this isn’t easy for you, but believe me, this wasn’t how I wanted you to find out either.” Steve squeezed your hand in support and you gave him a small smile.

“You really care about her, Rogers?”

“No, Tony.” Steve said and your head snapped up to see him grinning at you, “I love her. I’m in love with her.”

Not having a care in the world, you launched yourself at him to give him a huge kiss. Steve chuckled but kissed you back with the same enthusiasm. Tony groaned and grumbled until you leaned back, a blush on your cheeks.

“Look, I guess this all fine and dandy, but let’s try to keep the displays of affection in front of me to a minimum. I already have to bleach my eyeballs and I don’t need any more reasons.” Tony headed toward the door, avoiding looking in your direction again. “And Cap, if you hurt one hair on my baby sister’s head, I will blast your ass all the way to Wakanda.”

You and Steve bust out laughing and you let him haul you to your feet. He held your face affectionately and you leaned into his touch.

“Since we’ve got Tony’s blessing now, you want to sneak home for round two?” He teased.

“No way, Captain. Now that we’re free, I’m planning on spending the whole day with you in the pool.” You took his hand in yours and pulled him to the door. “Besides, I’ve got to show all those girls who you belong to.”

“Belong to?” Steve darted forward and flipped you over his shoulder, smacking your butt playfully. “I think you’re all mine, baby.”

[duskholland]

One Million | Tom Holland Smut

summary ↠ you’re not one to shy away from competition, so when your co-star Tom approaches you with an opportunity to secure the ultimate bragging rights, you aren’t afraid to play a little dirty... ↠ famous!y/n x tom.

word count ↠ 4.3k

warnings ↠ mxf protected sex, oral (fem receiving), fingering, swearing, fluffy feels.

a/n ↠ this took a very soft turn, but I’m not mad about it tbh. it’s definitely inspired by that thirst trap photo that Tom posted the other day. does that man ever chill??? for frame of reference, Tom currently has 35.4 million followers on Instagram, which is...insane lmao. I guess this is kind of similar to my last Tom fic, but I’m really digging famous!y/n, so I wrote it anyway and I’m really happy with how it turned out! I hope you enjoyyyy :)

18+ !!!! this contains NSFW material, so do not read if you are a minor.

“Y’know, Y/N, I think my fans love me more than yours love you.”

Your eyes widen as you take in the bold statement. With a grin rising on your face, you glance up and across the sofa, your gaze drawn immediately to Tom. Your co-star has a cocky smirk fixed to his lips, and he raises an eyebrow defiantly as he meets your eyes.

“As if,” you scoff. You sit up straighter and stretch out your back, glaring slightly at him. “My fans love me. That’s why I’ve got more followers than you on Instagram.”

“Low blow.” Tom isn’t looking so cocky now, as he draws his arms across his chest and pouts at you. You try not to stare at the way his tight black t-shirt clings to the bulge of his arms, but it’s quite difficult: Tom is incredibly attractive. “Plus, that’s barely even true. What are you at? Like, 37 million?”

You delight as you tilt your phone screen towards him, his brown eyes widening in shock as you exclaim, triumphantly, “40!”

Never one to accept defeat so easily, Tom reaches up and wraps his hand around your wrist, his touch keeping your phone in place as he brings his index finger up and begins to scroll through your feed, greedy eyes skimming over the numbers. You stay still, trying not to think about how nice it feels to have him gripping at your skin so tightly. 

“Well, I get more likes than you,” he finally resolves, his words significantly weaker than they’d been previously. When you raise an eyebrow at him, he shrugs. “I do!” 

“No, you don’t.” Disliking the way he seems cocky now, you shuffle up the sofa. The cushions are firm and slightly uncomfortable, but that’s what you get when you’re crammed inside a trailer on a film set. You’re just glad Tom had suggested you spend your lunch break together in his trailer rather than yours -- his, at least, has a working lock on the door and a functioning mini-fridge. “Give me that.” 

He passes you his phone, and you fall to a stop when you’re sitting right beside him, your thighs now pressing together. Your teeth catch at your lower lip as you begin to scroll through Tom’s profile, your irritation slowly rising as you realise that he’s right: he does tend to gather more likes on his posts than you do. 

“Shit,” you mutter defeatedly. You pass him back his phone and lean back, stretching your arms above your head as you groan softly. You can feel him, looking at you with those warm, brown eyes, his stare taking in the curves of your chest and the way you know your nipples strain against the fabric of your white t-shirt, so you make a poised effort to jut your front out just a little further than is truly necessary. When you bring your arms back down to your sides, his eyes find yours, and the way his pupils are blown a little wider brings a smirk to your face. You’d be lying if you said you viewed Tom only as a co-star, or even as just a friend: really, there’s been this palpable, will-they-won’t-they air surrounding the two of you ever since that first day on set. The timing’s never quite been right, but as your gaze shifts between his handsome, seductive grin and his phone, you have a feeling that things may change sooner than you’d imagined.

“How about we settle this, once and for all,” Tom suggests, his words slow as he thinks. His eyebrows pull together as he picks his phone up and presses the small plus button at the bottom of the app, creating a new post. “We have a little competition, right here, right now. Whoever wins gets supreme bragging rights.”

“And what exactly do you have in mind?” 

Tom’s tongue slips across his lower lip, wettening it torturously slowly and his firm gaze settles on your mouth for a quick moment, his lips pulling into a slow smirk as he takes in the way you fluster beneath his gaze. He knows exactly what he’s doing. 

“We both post something, together, at the same time. Whoever gets to a million likes first, wins,” he explains.

“And I can post anything?” 

“Anything you’d like, love.”

Your eyes narrow as the cogs begin the twirl in your mind. “And when I win..?”

“If you win, darling, I’ll let you rub it in my face as much as you’d like.” 

You hum slowly, letting one of your hands fall to Tom’s covered thigh. You feel his muscles flex beneath your touch, and it makes your thoughts darken. “Let’s raise the stakes,” you suggest, “If you really believe in your popularity, that shouldn’t be an issue, right?”

A semblance of hesitation twitches out across his face, but Tom nods nonetheless. “What do you want?”

You let your hand go for a little wander, the tips of your fingers circling up to his knee. You tap a small rhythm over his jeans as you string your words together, doing your best to sound as innocent as possible as you say, “Winner takes all.” 

“Winner...takes all?” 

“If you win, I’ll let you do anything you want to me.” 

Tom’s quiet for a moment, and the silence that envelopes you is charged with the past few weeks of lingering touches, suggestive stares, and building sexual tension. When you drag your eyes from Tom’s knee to his face, you find his cheeks tinted a light rosy red and his forehead pulled tight. His eyes narrow as he looks at you, but then one of his arms moves and wraps around your back, and he’s bringing you in closer. You lean into the touch and find yourself swinging a leg over his thighs, your body shifting in closer as you straddle him. He’s hot and firm beneath you, and you find yourself sinking into his thighs easily. 

“And if you win?” Tom continues, both of his hands now resting on the curve of your waist. His fingers are light, teasing, and you try not to think about them as he drags his touch down to toy with the hem of your shirt.

You let your lips brush up against the shell of his ear as you move closer, feeling the heat radiating from his skin. His cologne is strong and distracting and a sense of lust pushes aside all other logical emotions. “If I win,” you say, whispering into his ear, “I get to do whatever I want to you.” You brush your mouth, feather-light, across the column of his neck, barely leaving a kiss to his skin. 

When you move back, Tom’s face is flushed significantly darker. He tilts his head to the side, his loose curls flopping over his forehead, and he looks so fucking attractive that it’s hard to keep your mind focused when all you can think about is how lovely his head would look, buried between your thighs, or how nice it would sound to hear his deep grunts as he fucks you. 

“You’re on.”

You sit back in his lap as you force your attention back to your phone, ignoring the way your body is slowly rising in temperature. You know exactly what you need to post in order to win, and luckily, you already have the shots edited and saved as a draft; you’d been prepared to post them last night but something had told you to hold back, and now that’s going to play to your advantage. 

“I’m gonna win,” you tell him confidently. “There’s no way you’ll be able to beat me. May as well just throw in the towel now, Holland.”

Tom just hums in response, his eyes fixed firmly to his screen. “We’ll see about that,” he counters. “Are you ready?”

“Not gonna let me see?” You ask, taking stock of the way he’s purposefully angling his phone so you can’t get a sneaky peek. 

“Nope.” His tone is infuriating and the way his eyes twinkle mischievously makes you doubt, for the first time, your ability to win this bet. “Don’t want you getting any big ideas and beating me.”

“Fine,” you grumble. You move your thumb to hover over the post button, eyeing him sceptically. “3.”

“2.”

“1.”

In sync, you press post, watching as Tom does the same. You watch as it takes a moment to load, and then it pops up into the top of your feed. You grin as you refresh, and you see Tom’s post slip up. You can’t help but sigh wistfully as your eyes take in his photo.

It’s so obviously a thirst trap, but fucking hell, you don’t care. He looks glorious. You forget for a moment that you’re straddling the man as you pinch your fingers together and zoom in on the photo, your eager eyes taking in the lines of Tom's sweaty, post-workout body. He’s posing in a mirror, the lighting all dark and mysterious, but the lines of his hard, exercised abs are clear, and his face looks so goddamn sexy pulled into an intense smirk that it makes your panties wet.

“Holy shit,” Tom says. You shake yourself out of your blissed-out thoughts and look up to him, finding him staring at his phone, looking at your post. Your lips quirk into a small smirk as you watch him swallow deeply, his lower lip pulling into his mouth as his eyes examine your photo unabashedly. “When did you become a Calvin Klein model?”

You shrug lightly. “Had a shoot a few weeks back,” you say. “I think the photos turned out quite well, don’t you?” 

You know the photos are bomb. The air on set had been electric, the photographer had been a creative visionary, and you’d felt unbelievably alive the entire time you’d been posing. The branded underwear and bralette clung to your body in just the right way, and for the first time in a long time, you'd felt radiant. The photos capture that completely, and you know that you've probably played dirty - because who can resist a thirst trap? - but you can't bring yourself to feel guilty because Tom's done the same thing. 

He doesn’t give you an answer verbally. Rather, Tom takes one final look at the screen, curses beneath his breath, then tosses his phone aside and pulls you closer. Your centre settles over his crotch and you find yourself raising an eyebrow as you feel his hard cock straining up against his jeans. His hand finds your face, fingers grasping at your chin, and you let him tilt your head towards him, eyes dark and heady. His mouth is close now, his breath warm and smelling of peppermint and lavender, and the temptation to dive right into kissing him is almost overwhelming, but instead, you decide to tease him a little bit.

With a slight smirk on your face, you move in, allowing yourself to grind against his covered crotch as you let your lips kiss at the corner of his mouth. Tom groans softly, the noise rattling straight through your chest and sending excitement rushing between your legs, but you reach up and curl your fingers through his hair, and delight as you continue to kiss around his face, your pecks light, always avoiding where you know he aches to feel you. He lasts a few minutes, his eyes fluttering shut as he allows you to tease him, but as you drop your mouth to his jaw and start to nibble at the sensitive skin there, Tom pushes you away.

“Such a fucking tease, love,” he murmurs, voice dark. One of his hands slips up beneath your t-shirt, skating over the curve of your back. “No bra?”

You give him a slight shrug. “No need,” you say. “You know, you’ve probably just made a million people horny, just from that one picture.” You pause as Tom’s hand skims around to the front of your body, gently, delicately shifting up to cup one of your boobs. A soft hiss passes through your lips as he drags his thumb across your nipple, his touch firm. “You’re quite the specimen, Holland.”

“Could say the same about you, love,” he returns, bringing his second hand beneath your top. He explores your front, and your body responds naturally as you push nearer to him, craving more of his touch. “Better check the likes.”

“Don’t move,” you ask him, ignoring the way his smirk drips with confidence at the words as he continues to play with your breasts. You reach down and pluck up your phone, opening up Instagram and moving to your profile. A loose chuckle falls past your lips. “I’m at 1.2 million,” you brag. 

Tom growls. “What about mine?”

Your smirk is quickly wiped from your face as you find your way to Tom’s profile. “It also has 1.2 million.” You keep refreshing each post, but the numbers are moving too quickly for an outright winner to emerge. “I think we’ve tied,” you’re forced to admit.

Tom’s mouth finds your neck, and he delights in dragging his lips up and over your sensitive skin, kissing softly, deeply, tenderly, letting his teeth occasionally drag over you as you whimper. He makes his way up to your ear, his tongue swirling around your ear lobe, and you have to stifle a moan as he whispers, “guess that means we’re both winners,” in that delicious, husky voice. “C’mere.”

He finally catches your lips in his, his mouth moving fiercely against yours as you return your fingers to his hair. He groans as you pull on his strands, bringing him nearer, kissing him back just as hungrily. Your mind lingers on that image he’d posted, of himself all hot and defined and sweaty, and it brings the heat between your legs to the forefront of your mind as you start to imagine what it’ll be like to see the thing in real life.

His kisses are needy and messy - a collision of teeth and tongue, but you part your lips and you let him push his tongue into your mouth, his hands clinging to your front. As his thumbs skim around your nipples, you grind down against him, every part of you on fire as you let Tom consume you. 

“Is the door locked?” You ask between hot kisses. 

“Fuck,” he says as he breaks away, angling his head back to look at the rickety trailer door. “No.” 

With a reluctant sigh, you catch his lips in a long, hard kiss, and then break away. You’re a little unsteady on your feet as you stagger up, your chest feeling a chill as Tom’s large hands fall away from your skin. You can feel his eyes on your ass as you quickly go to the door and turn the lock, breathing out a sigh of relief as you realise that’s it: no more distractions, only Tom, and you, and hopefully, a fuck so good it rocks your world.

When you turn around, you see that Tom’s moved. He’s ditched the squeaky old sofa in exchange for the small double bed that’s hidden in the corner of the trailer, and he’s laying across it, waggling his eyebrows seductively. You giggle as you approach him, your eyes skating over his bare chest, and you appreciate that he’s taken the time to pull off his top and jeans, and you scramble to do the same.

“If it’s a tie,” Tom mumbles, as he wraps you in his arms and presses you down into the mattress. His arms go either side of your head, his eyes skating across your naked chest. “I think it’s only fair we each get something that we want.”

You let your hand wander down his body, your fingers curving over his abs before grasping at his length over his boxers. The groan that rumbles up his throat makes you catch your lower lip between your teeth. “Seems fair,” you concede, a smirk lilting at your lips as he grinds down against your hand, pushing his aching member further into your touch.

“What do you want me to do?” He asks you. 

You kiss him a few times as you ponder his question. There are about a thousand things you’d like Tom to do to you. 

“Might be nice if you ate me out,” you say finally. The man raises a ruffled eyebrow as he slides down your body, grinning. His fingers push into the soft flesh of your inner thighs as he spreads them apart, face level with your hot core. A shy smile on his face, he maintains eye contact with you as he presses a gentle, dry kiss to your covered clit. “Fuck, Tom.” 

He’s a tease. For a while, he seems to enjoy kissing everywhere but your centre, always lingering just over or beside your silk panties. By the time he hooks his fingers beneath the waistband and tugs them down your legs, you’re throbbing and wet, and you’re so sensitive that you’re thrusting down to meet him the second you feel his tongue dragging through your slit. 

“Taste so good,” he coos, voice muffled by your heat. He wraps his arms around your thighs and holds you in place as the wide, flat expanse of his tongue leaves bold stripes up your centre, exploring and poking at your slick folds. He’s attentive — keeps an eye on you and notes the way you respond as he does certain things, and within no time at all, he’s got you moaning and squirming. The sensation of his tongue as it firms and slips into your aching hole, or as it sucks and flicks around your clit is sensational, and the fact that it’s Tom makes it a thousand times better. 

“Shit, Tom, you- fuck, you feel so good.” Your hands twist around his curls, finding relief as you tug at his strands whenever his tongue caresses you particularly strongly. “You’re gonna make me cum.” 

Your words seem to spur him on, and as you make brief eye contact with him and see your juices soaking his chin, you realise that’s exactly what he wants. Tom slips two fingers into your flushed entrance and coaxes up against your back wall, fucking you roughly as his tongue continues to twist around your clit. 

“Cum for me, love,” he urges, speaking against your slit. “Want to watch you fall apart for me, gorgeous girl.” 

You’re seeing stars before you know it, your legs tensing and your mouth falling open as you cry out, Tom’s fingers and tongue working you through it. He makes out with your heat like there’s no tomorrow, the obscene sounds mixing with the way his fingers twist and thrust, and it’s got to be one of the best orgasms of your life because you’re still shaking from the aftershocks even as he’s pulled his fingers from your cunt and pushed them into his mouth. His eye contact is unwavering as he licks his fingers clean, a dirty twinkle dancing in his eye. 

“Fuck,” is all you can muster, your chest still heaving. Tom falls to rest beside you, and you’re quick to turn and move up to straddle him, enjoying the view of his flushed body as you grind your soaked centre over his boxers. “I guess it’s time that I return the favour, Tom. What would you like me to do?” 

You run your fingers over the grooves of Tom’s muscular abdomen, admiring the lines of his abs as his hands wander your sides, drawing up to find your boobs again. You raise an eyebrow and draw a lovely, rattling chuckle from his mouth. 

“Sorry, love, can't help myself.” He rolls your nipples between his fingers teasingly, smirking as you whimper. “There are so many things I’d like you to do…” One hand moves and he cups the back of your head to pull you in. Your lips connect in a deep kiss and you shift against him, his muffled moan sinking into your mouth as he bucks up against you. “I think I’d like you to ride me.” 

“You think?” 

Tom moves his hands to the curve of your bare ass and he squeezes softly over your skin, nudging the line of his strong cock further into your slit. “Y/N,” he says, eyes flooding with heat as you teasingly rock down against him, “I need to feel you. Been waiting- fuck, been thinking about you on top of me for months.” 

You reach down and pull his boxers down his legs, returning to settle in his lap with a smirk on your face. “Who am I to deny that?” You ask, voice sultry. “Condom?” 

Tom reaches out and rummages through a nearby drawer, procuring a silver packet with a grin. 

“You fuck a lot of people in this bed, Tom?” 

He splutters, and you feel bad for a moment, until he says boldly, “Not been with anyone since I met you.” 

You raise an eyebrow, ignoring the way it makes your heart beat a little faster in your chest to hear those words. “Me neither,” you admit. Then you take the condom wrapper from his hand and rip it open, and the mood shifts as you wrap your hand around his length and give him a few pumps, Tom groaning deliciously in response. Once he’s full and hard, you pinch the tip of the condom and roll it down his length, settling yourself over him a moment later. You grind down for a few moments, enjoying the feeling of his rock hard tip rubbing over your clit. 

“Please, love.” 

You see the desperation on Tom’s face and quell it with a long kiss. Your hand guides his length between your legs and you sit back on him slowly, moaning into his mouth as he fills you up completely. Your lips separate, and for an aching moment, your foreheads are pressed together, and there’s an air of unspoken silence hanging between you as you get a little lost in his deep brown eyes. You swallow deeply, the emotions stirring in your heart making you nervous, so you quickly kiss him again, and then his hands are on your waist and he’s guiding you along. 

It’s electric. As your bodies connect and you gradually begin to move faster together, you find yourself getting lost in it. You drag your lips over Tom’s necks and collarbones, kissing him and sucking lightly, and enjoying the quiet whimpers that fall from his pink lips. His hands explore you, grabbing at your ass, or your boobs, before one of them settles permanently between your legs and toys with your clit. His fingers work magic as his hips jut up to meet yours, the combination of your movements allowing his cock to hit nice and deep inside you. 

You wonder why it’s taken you so long to do this with him. Tom’s eyes watch you intently, notes of adoration mixing with his obvious arousal. At some point, his free hand stretches out and tangles with yours, and then your intertwined fingers fall to the mattress and you find his lips with yours as you begin to build towards your high. His grip on your hand keeps you anchored, even as you begin to get lost in the hazy pleasure of it all, his body twitching slightly as your walls start to squeeze him. 

“G’nna cum,” you manage, voice thick. Your clit pulses beneath his fingers. “Fuck, Tom, you feel so good in me. Love your cock.” 

He kisses you harshly, but it fades to a softer kiss as you hold your mouth against him. “Let go, baby,” he urges, “‘m close too. Want to feel you, darling.” 

It’s the way he grinds down to meet your bounce as his fingers rub your slick clit that has your breath hitching and your orgasm rippling across you. You don’t even try to stay quiet as you rock against him, his length brushing over your walls perfectly, and his face screws into a picture of orgasmic bliss as he cums with a splutter, his grip on your hand tightening as a string of curses fall past his lips. 

A deep breath escapes you when you collapse beside Tom, your body blissed out and tingling warmly. A smile springs across your face as he brings your joined hands to his mouth, kissing over your knuckles softly. It’s so gentle and loving that you find yourself looking at Tom a little differently, his lips now appearing alluring and inviting, and the shaggy curls resting across his forehead endearing. You inch closer to him subconsciously, and one of his arms wraps around your shoulders to keep you against him. 

“So,” he says, voice a little uncertain, lacking that normal charismatic charm. “That was…”

“Life-changing,” you suggest, punctuating it with a light laugh. 

Tom nods, large hand shifting over your bare back. “You could say that.” His eyes focus on your lips for a moment, before he moves in and lets his mouth press across your forehead. “Would you want to… go on a date with me, sometime?”

You draw your lower lip between your teeth as you nod bashfully, finally allowing yourself to feel the butterflies that twinkle in your heart every time you see him. 

“I’d really like that,” you admit. You press a kiss to the top of his shoulder before snuggling down, wrapping your arms around his warm chest as he holds you near. “I’d say this was a pretty good outcome to our bet, wouldn’t you?” 

Tom chuckles. “Yeah,” he says. “I’d say we’re both winners.” 

He kisses your temple, lips soft, and you know that he’s right: you feel like the luckiest woman in the world, to be held in his arms like this, to have felt him so intimately, to have his heart held in your hands, even if you don’t quite know it yet. 

“Definitely,” you agree. “I couldn’t think of a better prize.” 

And he kisses you then, mouth meeting yours in a slow burn of new love, and you know that he agrees with you wholeheartedly. 

[petitelepus]

Tarn MTMTE #22

Thank you Lovely, here is your story!

WARNING: AMPUTATION, ROBO BLOOD, PAIN, SUFFERING, AND A GROUP OF PSYCHOPATHS.

There has been a war for as long as you can remember. You were constructed cold for the war between Autobots and Decepticons but you never really felt like you belonged anywhere. Even less on the battlefield. You could take a gun and shoot, but you could never take a life. You valued life more than anything else so why everyone wanted you to do so?

You didn't want to take lives, you wanted to save them. If you had been given the chance, you would have loved to study to become a medic, but fate was cruel and you weren't given that chance. Then you got shot in front lines with a fragging fusion cannon and everyone left you behind... Your own comrades were too busy retreating and they wouldn't even have had the resources to save you. Not with your whole helm blown off... But you didn't die that day...

You wouldn't call yourself a traitor to the Decepticon cause. Like, Starscream was a Decepticon and a high ranked one and he was now Cybertron's ruler. You heard Swindle had a nice thing going in capital and Skullcruncher was his own comedy show. Everyone's lives changed and the Decepticons adapted to living with Autobots. It was only natural.

So why were you on your knees before the feared Decepticon Justice Division and not them? Because they stayed safe in Cybertron? Because you had wanted to spend your free life exploring new universes, planets, and people? Whatever the reason was, you were most certainly screwed.

"Now, do you know why you're here, little femme?" Tarn, the famous and feared leader of the DJD asked from you. You swallowed and shook your helm, too scared to actually talk. Your crimson optics flicked from one mech to another. You knew their names very well. Helex, Tesaurus, Vos, Kaon, and his pet Sparkeater. Every one of them was a ruthless killer and they wouldn't mind crossing your name from the List.

"You were reported as a casualty during the war but you didn't die, didn't you?" He Con asked and you could hear the smile on his face behind his Decepticon mask. "And when you survived you chose to stay dead instead of joining your comrades again."

"I- I-!"

"A a a~! That was a rhetorical question." He waved his finger at you and you shut your mouth.

"Now, you and I aren't so different. You may have heard it already, but I'm Outlier and if rumors are to be believed so are you?"

You could feel the group's optics on you, expecting you to plead for your life, but you just stared at the huge Decepticon before you in fear until he chuckled and that alone almost made you cry. "Oh, of course, you can speak now."

"P- please, what do you want from me?" You asked fearfully, coolant collecting to the corners of your optics.

"What we want is simple. We want you to join us." Tarn said and you looked at him in shock. Had you heard correctly? The Decepticon Justice Division wanted you? But why? You weren't a stone-cold killer like they were. Despite attending the war, you had never taken a life.

"But of course, we have to test and see ourselves if you really are the femme we were looking for." Tarn looked at his comrades and snapped his fingers. "Tesaurus, if you will do the honor?"

"With pleasure." The enormous mech with a huge red X over his optics said and walked up to you and you cried out in fear, quickly bolting to your feet and trying to run when a pair of clamps on his shoulders grabbed you and lifted you off the ground.

"No- NO, PLEASE!" You cried in horror as you heard his chassis starting and you looked down to see the sharp blades whirring to life. "Please, NO, I'll join you, don't do THIS-! YAAAH!" You were cut off by a blood-curdling scream as your legs were sunk into Tesaurus' chassis and his shredder chopped your legs off.

You were maybe hard to kill but you did feel pain and living for millennials didn't make you any tougher or more resistant towards the pain.

"Enough!" Tarn called and Tesaurus pulled you out of his chassis and set you on the ground. You were crying and mumbling incoherently as you tried to crawl away from these psychopaths but the stumps that were left of your legs dragged you down.

The only thing was that they weren't like that for long. The Decepticon Justice Division watched how the wires, tubes, and metal started to grow back from what was left of your legs and in 5 minutes your legs were back like they were never gone.

"Incredible...!" You heard someone gasp before a set of purple legs stopped right in front of you. Tarn himself kneeled down and grabbed your chin so he could make you look at him.

"I'm giving you two choices and you get to choose which one you prefer. One, we will take you with us and keep you in life support as we harvest your organs constantly. Would you go mad from pain and beg us to kill you for good? That wouldn't happen."

You shivered and shook your helm like crazy. Anything but the pain. You were ready t do anything else than suffer constantly.

"Or, you join us and we take what we need from you, but there will be a medic taking care of you so you won't feel a thing."

Both options were so similar and they left you with little choice. Suffer or don't. One way or another, you would end up in Peaceful Tyranny and you wouldn't be able to leave.

"H- How can I trust you don't hurt me again?" You stuttered through tears and sobs and you could see a grin in Tarn's optics as he placed his hand over his chassis where his spark was. "You have my word. No one will hurt and even less touch you without my permission."

You squinted your optics at him. You weren't sure if you could trust him, but you had no choice in that matter. So you nodded weakly and you could see him beaming behind his mask. He picked you up gently like he was handling a neoncat and he carried you towards the Peaceful Tyranny with you in his arms like new Conjunxes.

"I trust you are a mech of your word..." You grumbled weakly and he chuckled, "I am nothing but honest. Also, your voice?" His voice dropped and you flinched as he let go of his self-control and his field flared and all you could feel radiating from him was pure carnal lust.

“Can you feel what you’re doing to me?” He asked and saw the lust in his crimson optics. "I can't wait to hear what other kinds of voices you can make."

[vintagedaydreams]

TLNRS-Part Six (Marcus)

Without further ado- part six!!

Warnings: some cursing, brief illusion to panic attacks, low self esteem

Enjoy!!

@kettnerjanea @jelly-fishy-babie @the-graceful-ace @amwolowicz @batsdothings @waxingmoonstone @littlebabybatthings @mauvette268 @katsav17 @batsuperflashmartianwonderman @imyourapocalypse @chubbybbt @bepo-is-sorry @raindancer2004 @artaxerxesthegreat @bethanymccauley @bloodsweatandsnapple @kawaiipoplover268 @legithraclya

The next morning found you down in the kitchen for breakfast, a silly grin on your face and a happy song on your lips.

Last night’s date had been...amazing. You didn’t know anyone could be that attentive and sweet and Marcus had blown even the Queen’s expectations out of the water.

You gave a happy twirl and goosebumps erupted over your skin as you remembered the hooded look in his eyes and the gentle way he had wooed you over the course of the evening.

It was way too soon for Love and you were still a bit wary and skittish of anything remotely romantic, especially with Vampires, this soon after the whole Carlisle debacle, but oh, did you wish and want whatever this was to come to fruition.

It was so nice to be appreciated and feel as if you were sought after.

“Sounds like someone had a good night,” Edward’s sudden voice came from behind you and you jumped with a yelp.

“Eddie!” you scolded, holding a hand over your heart, willing it to stay within your rib cage, “Don’t do that!”

To your surprise, Edward lifted his hands in the air, a serious look on his face.

“No harm meant, Y/N.”

Your brow furrowed- what the heck was his problem? It wasn’t like you thought he meant to scare you into an early grave.

Edward’s head tilted a little behind him and you looked over his shoulder to lock eyes with Jane.

“Oh, hello,” you said with a small, uncertain smile. The Volturi has all been incredibly welcoming and helpful, but the Witch Twins had been more standoffish than the rest.

Which you could understand. After all, you were a human, and an Unwanted Mate at that.

Edward’s eyes narrowed in your direction and you gave a small sigh.

Honestly, you loved Eddie like a brother but the mind reading thing was a bit tiresome at times.

And it wasn’t like you were wrong!

You were human and you were an Unwanted Bond Mate.

Simple as that. No amount of positive thinking or good self esteem was going to change that.

You turned your attention back to Jane as she shifted and stepped further into the kitchen.

“You are okay?” the blonde vampire asked emotionless, ruby eyes darting from you to Edward and back again.

You tried valiantly to tramp down the warmth that blossomed in your chest at her question.

It was nice to know that she cared, even if she was just asking out of what was probably duty to one of her Kings.

You were suddenly grateful that Jasper didn’t like you enough to hang around like Edward.

One invasive-talented vampire was enough.

A gentle throat clearing reminded you that you had yet to answer, so with a very red face, you assured her that you were fine.

Jane stared you down for a few moments, long enough for you to start fidgeting, before giving a single nod and disappearing.

You turned wide eyes to Edward who just shook his head with a chuckle.

“I have no idea,” he smirked and you rolled your eyes.

Uh huh. Sure.

“Where’s Bella this morning?” you asked curiously as you continued to make your breakfast.

“Packing for our return trip,” Edward said quietly after a moment and you froze, all happy thoughts of Marcus disappearing as it dawned on you.

They were returning to Forks.

You probably should too.

Your mind started to race. What was it going to be like, back in Forks with the Cullens? Could you even stand to see them every day? Would their sudden apologetic and sad demeanors make you give in when you should stay strong or would their attitudes change back to how they were once you were out of Italy? Did you even want to stay in Forks? What if you didn’t have your job when you got back? What if you never recovered from being an Unwanted? What if—

A cold hand was suddenly on your shoulder and you were drawn back into a gentle, brotherly embrace.

“Breathe, Y/N,” Edward murmured into your hair. “Just breathe for a few moments, okay?”

You nodded as best you could with your head tucked into his chest, but dutifully took a few deep breaths.

Why were you like this?

You were pretty sure that normal people wouldn’t be freaking out over a sentence as simple as, “She’s packing”.

Then again, what exactly was normal anymore? Since apparently vampires existed and had their own version of the Mafia.

Edward snorted and you gave a somewhat shaky smile.

Well, at least you were entertaining to someone.

“You are not going to be forced to go back with us, Y/N,” Edward said softly after a few quiet moments. “I am sure that Aro would welcome you here.”

You raised your head to frown at the vampire. “I am not going to be a charity case.”

To your surprise, Edward actually rolled his eyes.

“Aro thinks many things about you, Y/N, but charity case is not one of them.”

You blushed at the slight reprimand and burrowed your face back into Edward’s chest.

A gentle hand ran through your hair and Edward added quietly, “There are a lot of people who care for you, Y/N. Never forget that. And those same people would do everything in their power to make sure you were taken care of and provided for. You have a way of endearing yourself to people quickly and we vampires are no different. Those that want to take care of you do so because of you and who you are, not because of any sort of pity.”

That warmth was back, unfurling in your chest like a flower blooming on a warm spring day.

You squeezed the vampire in front of you in a tight hug, mentally sending your thanks.

You needed to hear that.

“Anytime,” came Edward’s murmur and then you found yourself suddenly seated at the table in a rush of wind.

Your forgotten breakfast was placed in front of you with the order to eat.

“You’ll feel even better when you have something on your stomach. And then you can decide if you want to stay or come back to Forks.”

You weren’t exactly sure what epiphany Edward thought your food would give you, but by the time you had finished eating, you still were no closer to figuring out what to do.

Should you stay or should you go?

What really was waiting for you back in Forks?

But then, what was really waiting for you here?

You gave a soft growl, a pathetic sounding one compared to the ones the vampires could produce, but it made you feel marginally better.

Maybe you could just go...live in England on your own. No vampires, no Mates, no supernatural.

Just the English countryside, horseback riding and rain.

You smiled big, this was a great solution!, and turned back to Edward who was looking at you in a mixture of both amusement and disbelief.

“Y/N,” he started after a moment, “what on Earth makes you think that’s going to be an option for you?”

Your jaw dropped.

“An option for me?” you parroted. “I’m a grown ass woman! Why wouldn’t it be an option?!”

Edward snorted in pure amusement now and took a seat across from you at the table.

“Y/N, there are too many vampires interested in your well being to let you go off on your own somewhere. And,” he continued, holding up a hand when you opened your mouth to interrupt him, “English is very wet, very rainy and very cloudy. Not the ideal place to try and get away from creatures that thrive in the shadows.”

You snapped your mouth shut.

The man had a point there.

Which kinda sucked. What a good excuse to move to the UK.

“Why don’t you come back with us, Y/N?” Edward suggested when your thoughts didn’t leave England.

Your eyes locked onto tawny gold.

“At least for a little while. That will give you a chance to get everything in order if you don’t decide to stay.”

You studied his face while you thought it over.

It would be good for you to go back. Get back to the familiar and comforting.

And maybe even get on with your life.

Although…

“I know it sounds kinda crazy, Edward, it being so soon and all, but I’m going to really miss everyone here.”

The mind reader picked up on exactly who you would miss the most and he gave a gentle smile.

“I can assure you the sentiment would be returned, if he wasn’t going along.”

You blinked once. Twice. Three times.

And then, “Wait, what?”

Edward leaned back in his chair, an air of smugness radiating from him.

“Marcus. King Marcus. The one with the beautiful eyes and the amazingly kind heart you haven’t stopped thinking about?”

You blushed red at that.

“He decided to come along with us to Forks,” Edward continued, “if you had decided to join us.”

“But why?” you asked in genuine confusion. Why would he want to go to Forks of all places?

Edward leveled you with a look that said, ‘Really?’

You leveled a look right back at him.

“He’s known me for a few days, Eddie. And we’ve had one date- if you can technically even call it that. Seems a little premature for him to go galavanting across half the globe for someone he just met.”

Edward leaned in, elbows on the table and face serious and close to yours.

“Y/N. Listen and listen good. You are worth it. Whatever my sire has said and done, however my coven has treated you, forget about it. I told you- you endear yourself to people quickly. The Volturi are no different. What they feel for you is true and all because of you. Bonded or no, Unwanted or no, they care for you. As do I. Don’t be so hard on yourself or surprised that Marcus would travel with you to Forks. There are more that would come if they could.”

“Young Edward is right,” a low, gravelly voice said from the doorway and you snapped your head over to see Marcus standing there, Volturi robes blending in with the shadowed doorway.

“You sell yourself much too short, Cara Mia. I am going with you to Forks because I wish to. Because I do not want you to have to face Carlisle and his coven alone. And because I very much want to see where this attraction between us may lead.”

Marcus stepped into the room and slowly made his way to your side before lowering himself elegantly to his knees.

“However,” he continued quietly, “should you wish me not to go, I will remain here in Volterra.”

You blinked dumbly at him.

“You mean, I have a say in this?” you asked in surprise.

Edward made an odd sound and Marcus looked stricken.

“Y/N,” he said earnestly, “you will always have a choice.”

You looked between the two of them and then your eyes went wide.

“No, that’s not what I meant! I mean it was, but not necessarily like that! Just...it is surprising to me that I would have a say in whether you went to Forks or not, because...well, of the obvious.”

“Why would you think you wouldn’t have an input into whether I accompanied you to Forks or not?” Marcus asked quietly.

You rose a brow. “You mean other than the fact that you’re a King? A Vampire one at that? You can go wherever you want- why would my opinion matter? I’m just me- human and decidedly not a royal.”

“But perhaps I am just Marcus- a man trying to woo a woman he’s beginning to care very deeply for. A man who wouldn’t want to press his luck and go anywhere he wasn’t welcome.”

Silence reigned in the kitchen. Marcus was looking intently at you, you were gaping probably quite unattractively back at him, and Edward was pretending to be engrossed in the ceiling to give you two the illusion of privacy.

“Y/N,” Marcus whisperer, cold hand lifting to gently cup your cheek. “May I accompany you to Forks? And act as your Protector?”

Edward’s attention was now focused intensely on the two of you, but you paid him no mind, your own attention captivated by the King kneeling at your feet.

“Yes,” you finally managed to murmur. “Please.”

A soft smile curled the edges of the Vampire King’s mouth and he smoothly stood.

“Then I have preparations to finish. I shall see you when we depart tonight, Y/N. Until then.”

With a kiss to the back of your hand, he was gone in a swirl of robes and a gust of wind.

Dazedly, you wondered if Aro’s flamboyance was contagious.

After a few minutes, you snapped out of it and looked over to see Edward looking at you with an unreadable expression.

“...What?” you asked cautiously.

“King Marcus,” Edward started, before stopping, his expression warring somewhere between joy and caution.

“King Marcus what?” you finally demanded when it seemed he wouldn’t say anything else.

“He asked to be your Protector.”

“Yeah? And?”

“And you agreed.”

“Yeah? And?!”

Edward’s honey gaze met your own.

“And he has formally claimed you. He is your Protector and you are his Charge. Your battles are his battles, your enemies are his enemies. He wants nothing more than your safety and happiness.”

You gaped as Edward leaned forward to add lowly, “He would now die for you.”

[hufflepuffhollander]

fire and gasoline (mob!tom series) ch. 1: new vendetta

a/n | wooo buckle in this is a wild ride 😼 and pls share w the world! i’m proud of this one!

synopsis | Your family runs a sect of the british mafia. Tom Holland is the son of the mob leader in your rival gang. You’ve been groomed to be at each other’s throats for as long as you can remember, and a chance run-in after over a decade of feuding and secrecy has you questioning everything you thought you knew.

cw | mob!tom au. enemies to lovers. language, angst, death threats, objectification, sexual tension, and lots of spit. 3.1k words.

read the prologue, join the taglist :)

Roxy’s was your spot- it always had been. The dark alleyway entrance, the smoky air inside that concealed who you truly were, the faceless regulars that just knew to leave you be- it was everything you could want in a local bar. So, instead of somewhere a little cheerier, you chose here; instead of a glimmering club with strobe effects to blind you and music loud enough to burst your eardrums, you decided to spend your birthday where you knew you could melt into the blackness of the night and live mess-free, even if it was just for a few hours.

You had just gotten your second round of drinks with a few friends, your heels clicking from across the room as you wandered over to your table with freshly topped off shot glasses. A brand new, skin-tight black dress paired with electric blue heels adorned you, and the birthday glow radiating across your skin had you looking and feeling like absolutely nothing could bring you down. You were celebrating, you had just landed a major deal with a supplier to your casino; and better yet, you hadn’t heard from the Hollands in weeks. Since their failed attempt at taking out your father during a high-profile event, they had been lying low, full of shame. A recent victory for your family in the never-ending turf war with the Hollands? Not a single mention of Dom or Nikki thwarting your plans in days? Well, that was the best birthday present a girl could ask for. 

You barely had time to feel the gin roll down your throat before the bar door was shoved open, bells tied in a knot overhead chiming ominously as it felt like a tornado had blown in. The room fell quiet, the punkish music on repeat seeming to mute itself. Even the smoke moving through the air was put on pause. Everyone was eyeballing the doorway, where two heavily armed young men stood rigidly; right behind them, a pale, muscular boy with the scent of his own ego radiating off him, a slick smile painted across his face. Every part of your body suddenly felt ice cold.

The boy took off his glasses, the sheer notion that he was wearing wayfarers at night making you groan, and coated the room with his gaze until it landed—and stayed—on you. You tried to avert your attention but couldn’t, as a wave of realization fell over you when he made eye contact. You knew this fuckwad. It was Tom Holland- the son of your rival mob, the boy your father always told you to imagine a target was when learning to sharpshoot...the one who had orchestrated the failed assassination of your dad. Your belly filled with a white-hot fire at the audacity he had to show his face here. Who did he think he was? What the hell was he doing on the East side? And did he know he had just walked into his own execution?

You would’ve seen it through, too, had he not been about to strike you square in the face with a curveball.

“We’re closed.” you heard Roxy spit out, not even bothering to look at the boys as she dried a glass.

“Doesn’t seem like it, babe,” Tom sneered, flashing her an insincere smile and focusing his attention back on you. “And anyway, we aren’t staying; I just came here with a message for the birthday girl.”

You fantasized about a knife appearing on the table in front of you so you could slice the little bitch to shreds for even daring to acknowledge you. But no such luck.

Tom whisked past the bar front, taking his time to saunter over towards your booth. You had bribed your security guard to let you take the night off- he was only there because of your dad’s doing, so he could breathe easier when you were out of his sight. But you hated feeling like a little kid needing to be babysat, especially tonight, when you were turning a year older, and paid him off to get doped up with a friend instead of coming with you. You were kicking yourself for that decision now, watching Tom come up to you without a hint of fear in his dark, shimmering eyes. 

You hadn’t seen him since you were kids, when you had told everyone you were getting married to the cute boy you played with and exchanged candy rings with him in your backyard.

“My my, what an impressive array of barbies,” Tom laughed as he stopped in front of your table, swiping his tongue across his teeth. “any of you pretty things looking to blow this joint?” 

Your few friends looked simultaneously revolted and terrified, and you knew they lived their lives too sugarcoated to witness the interaction you were about to have. 

“Girls, you should leave,” you said, giving them a concerned stare, and it took them less than a second to get up and bolt. Some real friends you had.

You tried to remain composed as you turned your attention to Tom, syllables seething through your gritted teeth. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” 

“Aww, baby, that’s no way to greet an old friend, is it? ‘Coulda least let me wish you a happy birthday,” he sat down on the bench across from you, making you recoil into your seat. “I even have a candle you can blow, if you like.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, asshole.”

“Well someone just isn’t feeling very sentimental, hmm? You remember all those years ago, playing hide and go seek in your mansion, holding hands under the dinner table...I think I remember you having it pretty bad for me back then-”

“You must have a death wish, huh?” you cut him off, standing up and advancing towards him, but taking a step back as he stood up to meet you and towered over you menacingly. He smelled like cigar smoke and cherry aftershave and it clouded your thoughts. You’d always said you’d kill him if he ever got this close to you. Why were you faltering now when it mattered most? Your heart couldn’t keep up with your head.

“No, doll. Not tonight, and definitely not in a place like this. But I gotta admit, I was not expecting you to look so fucking good after all these years. Pop had me believing you were some kind of ugly recluse. Makes it extra difficult for me to tell you to give daddy a call before your birthday is over,” his eyes hungrily flicked over you in your dress, making your blood boil. “y’know, tell him you love him.”

“The hell are you talking about?” you reached for your purse where your pistol was lodged, but felt a cold piece of metal touch the back of your head, halting your movements.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you,” said minion #1, standing behind you with the barrel of his gun nestled into your curled hair. You swallowed nervously and felt your heart rate skyrocket. The bar seemed to have emptied out; it was just you, Tom, and the promise of death caressing your scalp, and you had nowhere to go.

“Hey, now, Harrison, there’s no need for that! y/n and I go way back,” Tom said, motioning for his friend to lower the weapon. Deeply buried flashbacks of child you linked arm in arm with child Tom flicked through your mind, memories you had suppressed long ago.

“Love,” Tom started, advancing towards you again, leaving you nowhere to go if you didn’t want gun grease staining your head. “I’m simply hinting that you may want to get out any last sentiments before we bleed him out on his crisp white sheets tonight.”

Your eyes widened in panic, and your words came out stuttered. “Y-you’re bluffing-”

“You so sure of that, baby?” He clicked his tongue against his teeth, leaning his head in so his face was only inches from yours. “You tellin’ me you know he’s safe and sound right now? Or does an itty, bitty part of you think that maybe, when his baby girl and best insurance policy went out for drinks, it left his ass dangling out in the open, just begging to get capped?”

Your nostrils flared and your teeth were clenched so hard together that you were sure they’d break, but you couldn’t move, couldn’t fight. You were stuck in the space of Tom as his cool breath violated your cheeks, suddenly picturing violent images of your family in a pool of blood.

Your eyebrows raised with each syllable you spoke, trying your best to conceal the incredible stress eating at you from the inside. “Get...the fuck...out of my face.”

Tom did something that almost made you combust then, swiping his thumb across the bottom of your chin, grinning, and blowing a smooch at you before finally drawing back. The sound of his lips smacking together lingered in your ears, like he not only had total control of you, but of all the soundwaves in the air.

“Look, I thought I was doing you a favor, giving you the heads up and all...I definitely didn’t have to. So if you wanna be an ungrateful little bitch about it, fine,” he stepped back, sitting down in the booth again and casually propping his feet up on the seat opposite. “don’t call him. I don’t fucking care.”

With a path to the door finally freed, you began to calculate your next move in your head, but Tom seemed to have violated your thoughts, too.

“Nuh-uh,” he tsked, looking off to the door and giving a nod as minion #2 locked it into place and stood with his arms crossed in front of it like the world’s least intimidating bouncer. “You really think we’d come all this way to tell you we’re about to kill daddy and then just let you, what, leave? Run home to his rescue?” he scoffed at the mere thought, and his worker bees in black laughed along with him. Tom gave you an infinitely objectifying once-over. “Like you’d make it that far in those heels.”

“I’d like to see them off,” one of his men said, prompting Tom to violently curse at him.

“Don’t you fucking dare talk about her like that, Harry. She’s not yours.” He was acting like some protective owner of you, which only made you angrier as you felt a dull electricity appear in your stomach.

The alcohol already in your system mixed with the adrenaline coursing through your veins made you feel fiery, out of control, erratic. You weren’t sure if you wanted to lunge at him or cry, the sting of worry pinpricking your eyelids as Tom’s smirk stayed put.

“What do you want?” you resigned, looking down and away from him, leaning against the wall behind you for support. You didn’t want to cave, but you couldn’t help it- you were paralyzed, fight or flight response warring with itself.

Tom shrugged, remaining nonchalant. “Just bragging rights, really,” he picked up an arm and ran his fingers through his tousled hair, his oversized platinum watch catching the light as he did it.

You were able to regain some composure as you responded, remembering who you were, knowing that your family could hold its own. You took a few paces forward in an attempt reclaim your pride. “Slim chance. You’d never be able kill him anyway, you pathetic excuse of a television criminal,” you spat out, seeing Tom’s expression falter just enough to spur you on. “You’re not the only one who knows things, y’know, I’ve learned all about you, too. All bark and no bite. A puppy who acts tough until he gets a paper cut and cowers under the bed.” you could feel your confidence refueling your words, and narrowed your eyes. “Maybe you were intimidating as a kid, but you don’t fucking scare me now, Holland.”

Upon the callout, Tom bolted up from his seat, swiftly pulling a handheld gun out of his belt and backing you up against the wall, barrel aimed at the perfect angle to blaze a clean hole through your head. “You little-”

Thankfully, you had friends on this side of town, and Roxy always had your back.

She tore out of the back with an assault rifle twice the size of her, firing a round of warning shots into the rickety ceiling. It shook Tom’s focus enough for you to make a break for it, running and ducking behind the safety of the bar.

“You better get to leaving before I have to mop you greasy motherfuckers off my floor,” Roxy said in her thick cockney accent, looking as intimidating as you’d ever seen her. Tom sniggered and stayed put.

“You think I’m joking?” she said, aiming at the wooden boards and landing a shot barely an inch from one of his friends’ feet. 

“Jesus-!” they yelped, forcing you to stifle a laugh as you watched the scene unfold.

Three very oversized men walked out from the back of the room with their own weapons of choice to back Roxy up. Seeing they’d been outnumbered, Tom retracted his gun and looked warily at his friends, grouping up to leave the bar. He saw you backed in the corner and took an extra moment to let that cocky sneer find its way back to his face, making sure to remind you why you ran in the first place.

The group walked out unscathed, leaving behind a deafening silence until Roxy looked back at you and shook you from your trance.

“Go home, babes, and make sure your family is okay.”

As you ran outside against your better judgement, eyes locked on your car parked in the alley, an abraisive pair of hands grabbed you from behind and pushed you up against the side of the building. You recognized the sickly sweet smell of cherries and knew Tom wasn’t finished with you.

He had his arm up over your head and the other on your shoulder, evidently taking in all of your features for the first time in years.

“Time did you well, didn’t it? My god, can’t believe my little kid wife grew up to be so pretty,” his eyes sparkled with a twisted, deep desire. “We’d look good together in different circumstances, hm?” His words prompted you to spit in his face.

“In your fucking dreams.”

“Ooh, a feisty little thing. I’d watch that temper of yours, y/n, you’ll make a lot of enemies talking like that,” he said in a low voice, collecting your spit from his cheek and sucking it off of his finger.

“We’re friends forever, darling. I’ll find my way back to you.” he winked at you and sauntered away into the dark. “Say hi to daddy for me.”

Your foot on the gas pedal made an indentation on the floor of the car as you sped home, tears almost blinding you from the road, making every streetlight overhead look like an abstract explosion of color. You left the ignition on as you careened into the gated entrance of your house, kicking your blue heels into the grass and sprinting inside, yelling. “Dad? Mum? Hello???”

You almost ran head first into your parents as they rushed out of the den after hearing your exasperated calls.

“y/n? What the bloody hell is going on?” your mother saw you standing shell-shocked, taking in the fact that they weren’t chopped into pieces, and pulled you into a hug as you broke out into uncontrollable sobs.

“T-they locked me in and told me they were- that you’d be dead when I got home-” you choked out in between tears, unable to calm your breathing. 

Your dad gripped his tumbler of scotch with so much sudden anger that it shattered into his hand. You could see fire in his eyes. “Who? Who told you that?”

You looked up at him and said exactly what he was expecting. “The Hollands. Tom. He- he came into Roxy’s.”

“I’m going to hang that chav from his wimpy little fucking-”

“Hon, please.” your mom said sternly while motioning to you in your sorry state, making your dad’s face a little less violently red. He took a deep, ragged breath.

“Hey, sweet pea, look,” he said, tucking away a strand of hair that had fallen in your face and was clinging to your tear-streaked cheeks. “We’re okay, alright? Tonight is an ordinary night, and our security detail is the best in the city. You stop worrying and go get yourself cleaned up, mum and I have something special we want to give you.” He smiled only to steam off and slam the door to his office, most likely to make a call to get someone, anyone, that may have had a hand in tonight’s events drawn and quartered by dawn.

You came downstairs after a long, boiling hot shower that only made you seethe more at the fact that Tom had been bluffing the whole time. It had clearly just been a fear tactic, probably done for no other reason than to fuck with you on your birthday and ruin your night. He loved crafting little games like that, this being the first time he’d come to play in person—and what made you angriest is that it had worked.

“Honey, we have a gift for you,” your mom said, handing you a silver box that was much heavier than it looked. She and your dad sat on the big sofa in the den, looking at you expectantly.

“Well, open it!” she smiled.

You undid the box, hands still shaking from earlier, and found a shiny, pitch black glock with a silver inscription in its body reading “sweet pea”, the nickname your dad had given you forever ago.

“Uh, wow, I don't know what to say...” you trailed off, picking it up and turning it over in your hand. It became surprisingly weightless, feeling like it was made to fit in your palm.

“It was mine, back in the day,” your dad spoke, seeming wistful. “Had it rebuilt and shined up for my baby girl.”

“Thank you, daddy, I love it,” you said, leaning over to hug your parents. You smiled blankly as they talked to you about the gift and how special it was, nodding at their comments...but you weren’t really listening.

All you could think about was a pair of flushed lips inches from your own, an intoxicating smell lingering in your brain; and just how amazing this gun would feel in your hand right after it had burned a bullet-sized cavity into Tom Holland’s chest.

[ophiexb]

See you Shine

Based on this post by @moonchildmarauder about Willie’s first time seeing Alex perform. 

-----------------

Willie hadn’t actually gotten to see Alex perform. He’d never had the chance between the madness at the club, and all the mistakes they were trying to fix. That he was trying to fix - because he had to. He had to fix this he had to undo what he did to Alex. Afterwards being sent somewhere awful, dark, and so painful that he kind of wished Caleb had just killed him. 

Alex was gone-what was left for him. He’d been a ghost for so long he’d been so tired. So lonely and Alex washed it all away. He never should have told him about Caleb. Then maybe they could have been safe, could have been far, far away from that man’s grasp. All he could think over and over as he laid in this empty room was that he never got to even see Alex play the drums. He never got to see them perform and now he never will. 

What he wasn’t expecting, he could of never even come close to predicting was the whole rescue team busting in. Lifers and all to save him. He wasn’t expecting to see Alex. Beautiful blonde glory all sweaty and wild looking from rushing into the room looking for him and only relaxing a fraction when he finally laid eyes on him. Willie never would have predicted when he crashed into the nervous looking guy on Hollywood Boulevard that he’d be freed from Caleb after over two decades of control, that he’d find a whole family, and even more. He’d find love. 

Because god did he love Alex and he made sure from the moment of his rescue and on he let the other know that. No more wasted moments, no more wasted time. 

“So you’ll come?” Alex asked his whole face lighting up as he played with the strap to his bag. Swinging his legs over the sign to the movie theater. 

“Of course I’ll come! I’ve been no pun intended, dying to see you perform since the Orpheum. I’d been hoping to catch you then but. You know-“ Alex waves his hand dismissively and Willie appreciated it. 

“I’m just-I’m glad you're coming. Really.” Alex said softly, warmly his whole face softening a little and Willie scooted closer and despite their height difference got Alex to really look at him.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be. Not going to miss a single show.” He says, somewhat playfully but the way Alex's face lights up. The way his face gets so dusted with red and his eyes can’t look at Willie it’s those moments he’s going to have forever. Willie leans up giving the other a gentle kiss before he’s off to practice for the night's show.

Another plus side of being a ghost, he gets vip access. 

He keeps his distance at first, towards the back of the small venue as he watches. Julies got a killer outfit on, something that screams confidence and star. The place is packed but she doesn’t seem the least bothered at all. Setting up their “hologram machine” and turning to talk to her friend and Father. He can see the guys, right beside her and smiling themselves but obviously unable to have input at the moment. He doesn’t see any gear, and he wonders how that works. Alex said they were a part of their instruments-But he never had the time to go into much detail outside of that.

He catches the blue eyes nervously scanning the packed crowd and decides to come a little closer. “You made it.” Alex breaths the tension leaving him as he moves to hug the other. 

“I told you. Nowhere else I’d rather be.” He reassures. “No go, go stun the audience.” He jokes falling back a bit to not be too much of a distraction. 

He has to admit, it is impressive to watch. Even after all of Calebs shows, and all his performances and events. There’s something so raw and real about the band. Something so strong behind them that screams a group of people who all genuinely love what they're doing completely. It’s more powerful than anything Caleb could have put together and he can see why the guys were willing to die before joining the club.

It’s Alex though, that keeps his focus. Because of course it is...but it’s also more than that. His Alex is sweet, he’s soft and tender. He’s shy, and anxious. Fumbling over words and fiddling with his bag. He’s uncertain of himself and honestly truly lacks a lot of self confidence. All things there working on-But this Alex? This is a whole other person.

He’s still smiling, bright and inviting but there’s a confidence he radiates, an energy as he absolutely wails on the drums perfectly. It’s an art that he’s doing and Willie can’t take his eyes away. He’s got so much energy, and certainty behind him as he plays, truly and absolutely in his element right now. Willie understands that, he never feels more alive than when he’s skateboarding. It seems the same goes for Alex.

He thought he’d been blown away enough tonight, seen the unexpected enough and everything but then Alex had to go and sing during the last song. Standing up with the band as he sang out to the audience and it makes the brunettes knees weak because wow. Just-wow. Holy smokes-it’s as if something short circuits in his mind seeing the other that he barely realizes the show is over. The audience slowly clearing the venue. But Willies eyes are glued now to that empty spot the other had been just moments ago. 

He knows Alex is probably waiting for him, but he gives himself a moment of air. Fresh air to really compile what he just saw before he’s hunting his boyfriend down. He’s sweaty, smiling and still holding that air of confidence it seems performing gave him still. His hairs sticks to his face and he’s pushed his hoodie sleeves up a bit. 

“Willie!” He beams turning, some of it leaves finally, some uncertainty and nervousness now taking hold of the other hes a little out of breath from playing. “What you think? Did you like it?”

“You...you looked so hot.” He couldn’t help it, his dark skin reddening so much and he didn’t mean to say that exactly but it was all that was cycling through his brain. He’d never had this issue before.

“Urgh I know right?” Alex groans, not even phased. “Those lights are the worst and I’ve got to find something else besides my hoodie to wear.” Willie doesn’t have the heart to correct him, but gosh does Alex make it impossible not to love everything about him.

“You guys were absolutely incredible.” He praises, pulling Alex close now that the band was all distracted and holding him tight. “You were incredible.” He adds clarification and Alex's whole face lights up, and yeah. Willies never missing a show again.

[slytherinbarnes]

Sub Rosa [46]

i. echoes 

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 7.5k

Warnings: mentions of blood, wounds, dead bodies, stitches, fighting, violence. 

Summary: picking up immediately where the season 3 finale left off, you, Bellamy, and the rest of your people find yourselves stuck in Polis following the aftermath of Alie’s destruction. 

a/n: HAPPY SEASON 4 PREMIERE!!!! lots of good things coming your way this season, (in my opinion), and i’m so excited to share this with you guys! the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

February 24th, 2150; Polis

Clarke tries to distract Bellamy from Octavia’s killing of Pike by telling you both about Alie’s purpose in creating the City of Light: to save humanity from a wave of nuclear radiation, heading your way in six months. You quickly process her news before turning to Bellamy, more worried about him. You're not even sure he heard her, his expression still shocked, but as soon as he recovers, he starts to head from the room, practically dragging you behind him. “We have to find her.”

You allow him to lead you towards the Commander’s chambers, and Clarke follows the two of you, determined to stay close. You see her hesitate when she reaches the door of the bedroom, her eyes falling towards the bed, and you pull yourself free from Bellamy’s grip so you can turn to face her. “What’s wrong?”

“This is where…” She trails off, eyes still locked on the bed. Her voice is practically a whisper when she adds, “I saw her in the City of Light.”

You reach out and pull her into a hug just as her tears start to fall, and you feel your heart break for your twin. “There’s nothing I can say to fix this for you, but I wish there was.”

You pull away, and push her hair from her face, before giving her a small smile. “I just know she’d be so proud of you, Clarke, and I wish she could be here to see you now.”

Bellamy, who appeared at your side while you and Clarke were hugging, puts a comforting hand on her shoulder. “She’ll always be with you.”

Clarke nods, and wipes away her tears, giving you both a watery smile. She composes herself, putting her emotions away for later, before nodding towards the window, “Let’s go find Octavia.”

Bellamy leads the way to the window, and you all look out, watching as Octavia makes the drop at the bottom and runs into the crowd. You’re all hesitant to take this path to the bottom, but with the elevator sabotaged and the ladder blown up, you know this is the only way. Bellamy steps up to the window, taking the lead. “I’ll go first, just follow my path.”

He steps through the window and shimmies his way down to the siding on the building that provides a patchwork of ladders you can use to get down. You and Clarke watch him go down a few feet before you mutter, “Guess I’ll go next.”

You carefully go through the window and follow Bellamy’s path, using the same places to put your hands and feet. You see Clarke come though the window a minute later and follow you down, and slowly, but surely, all three of you make your way to the ground. When you reach the last 6 feet, the siding stops and opens up to a ledge. Bellamy reaches it first, and then steadies you and Clarke as you step onto it, before he turns and jumps the last few feet to the ground. He looks up at you, waving for you to follow, and you take a breath before jumping down after him. You land on your feet, but the force of your landing sends a shock through you and you almost fall over. Luckily, Bellamy is there, keeping you upright, before turning to help Clarke stick her landing. Once all three of you are at the bottom, you look up at the tower, to the top floor that you just came from, and you feel nothing but shock. 

You were so focused on following Bellamy's path down, that you never once spared a look to the ground below you. Only now do you realize that if you had fallen, you’d be dead as soon as you hit the ground. But you don't have enough time to contemplate that, because Bellamy steps away and looks out into the crowd, searching for his sister. His face is set with worry, and you reach out to put a comforting hand on his arm. “She'll be okay, she can take care of herself.”

“That's not what I'm worried about.”

Clarke catches his meaning first, and shakes her head. “She won't be charged. Everyone will say that Pike had it coming.”

“Maybe we all do.” Bellamy pauses and looks out into the crowd, and you follow his line of sight. For the first time, you get a good look at the chaos around you. Dead bodies litter the street, some people bloodied and killed, while some bodies are in pristine condition, yet still comatose. The sound of crying and wailing comes from every corner of the street, while other people are groaning in pain, trying to tend to their injuries. 

Clarke, who is also surveying the scene, mutters, “How do we tell these people that the world is ending, after everything they've been through?”

You think of the chaos that kind of announcement would cause, and you give her a serious look. “We can't.”

Bellamy nods, backing you up. “We keep it to ourselves until we know what we're dealing with, and how to stop it.

She looks at both of you in surprise. “You're both afraid of how people will react.”

“Yes.”

You glance over at the woman holding a small child, sobbing over his lifeless body, before looking back to her, your voice soft, “We gave them back their pain. Let's not add to that by telling them they're gonna die in six months.”

She nods, indicating that she understands, and once you're all on the same page, Bellamy says, “Good. Once everyone's down, we go home and we get to work. We didn't survive this long just to let a little radiation take us out.”

You hear a loud scream nearby, and Clarke immediately runs in the direction of it, stopping in front of a woman who is kneeling beside a man. He’s slumped over, unresponsive, and there are no signs of blood on him. Bellamy looks down at him in confusion, “He didn't fall.”

Clarke looks back at the two of you with a look of horror. “He chased me in the City of Light, Lexa killed him.”

And suddenly, the comatose bodies make sense. Your mother told Clarke before she took the chip that dying in the City of Light killed you out here too, just not in the way you’d expect. The woman freezes, and it’s obvious she heard Clarke’s revelation because she stands and spits, “Wanheda.”

You, Clarke, and Bellamy move closer together, growing tense as she yells, “Yu dula dison daun!”

You turn to Bellamy and mutter, “She’s saying that we did this.”

All around you, those that were in mourning or nursing their wounds start to stand and close in around you, looking incredibly pissed off. As they grow closer and closer, they start to chant, “Wanheda! Wanheda! Wanheda!”

Clarke grabs your hand and starts to pull you away, through an opening in the crowd, and you reach out and grab Bellamy, pulling him along with you. Once you’re free of the larger group, Clarke hastily makes her way through the crowd, trying to get away from the Grounders, as all around you, they mutter her nickname. As you break into a larger clearing in the city, your mother and Kane approach you, looking worried. Clarke stops in front of them both, and you and Bellamy stop beside her. “Good, you're down. We have to go, the rover's in the north woods.”

Your mom looks at her in shock, “What about the wounded?”

Bellamy answers for her, “The Grounders don't want our help. Our people we treat at Arkadia.”

Before anyone can argue further, the radio at Bellamy’s side comes to life with the sound of Raven’s voice, “Hello? Bellamy, please. Come in.”

You reach for it first, beating him to it, your mind drifting to Jasper being chipped as you ask, “Raven, are you okay?”

You, Clarke, and Bellamy step away from the adults slightly, giving you some privacy to talk. “Yeah, yeah. We're all in one piece.”

You sigh in relief, and hand the radio to Bellamy, who looks like he has something to say. “That’s good, there's something we need you to look into.”

Raven shuts him down quickly, “First, tell me how my friends are. Did everyone make it? Clarke?”

Clarke takes the radio from Bellamy, and reassures her, “I'm here, thanks to you. Raven, did Alie ever tell you why she created the City of Light?

“No. Why?”

As Clarke lifts the radio to answer, someone nearby yells, “Haihefa, en's kiken! Osir gaf fisa in!”

The king, he’s alive! We need a healer! You and Clarke translate it at the same time, but Bellamy just looks between you in confusion. Clarke nods her head in the king’s direction, “Go, take mom, I’ll meet you there!”

You turn and yell to your mother and Kane, “They need a doctor!”

They immediately start moving towards you as you run in the direction of the man’s voice, leading you to a pair of Grounders that are laying Roan onto the ground, face down. You reach him first, and gently roll him over as your mother kneels beside you, and you whisper “Roan?”

You glance at your mother, and mutter, “He got shot trying to help Clarke.”

She checks his pulse, and turns to look at you in alarm, “He’s not dead, but he’s close.”

She searches his body for the bullet wound, finding it on his chest. She shifts him slightly to check his back, which is free of any blood. “No exit wound. We need to get the bullet out quickly.”

You nod, ready to assist her until Clarke shows up, but you freeze in place when a sword is placed against your throat. “Get away from our King.”

You put your hands up in surrender as your mom protests, “Wait, no, please.”

You glance over and see Echo glaring at you, and she grabs your arm to pull you to your feet, her sword still at your neck. You mutter, “I saved your life in Mount Weather, and then you left me to die at the hands of an Azgeda assassin in the very same mountain. Now this?”

She presses the sword into your neck, and you feel it bite into your skin. You wince and watch as Skaikru guards start to run towards you, guns drawn and pointed at Echo. Kane holds your mother back as he says, “You're making a mistake, we're part of the Coalition.”

“I can save him, but you have to let me.”

Echo looks at your mother. “We have our own healer.”

She turns to the men at Roan’s side and snaps, “Lid haihefa-de gon bangeda seintaim kom ostof kom oso stedaun. Dula'm op nau!”

You hear Kane translating for your mother, “Take the king to the embassy with the rest of our dead. Do it now.”

You all watch as Roan is taken away, and in the distance, you can hear Bellamy yell, “Echo!”

You glance at your approaching boyfriend and twin, both of them pissed and stalking this way, and you mutter, “Here we go.”

When Echo sees them, she presses closer to you, the sword nicking your skin again, and you lock eyes with Bellamy and warn, “Bellamy, don't.”

Kane grabs him as he tries to get to you, and your mom grabs Clarke, holding them back as they both yell, “Let her go, Echo! Let her go!”

Echo puts her head beside yours, pressing you both close together, and she snaps, “Back off, Bellamy.”

Clarke is the first to stop fighting, and you watch her take a breath to calm herself before reasoning with Echo, “Your King is my friend. Let us help him, and let her go.”

“I saw you in the City of Light, I know you destroyed it. Thank you for that.”

She abruptly lowers her sword and pushes you hard, sending you stumbling towards Bellamy, who catches you easily. Once you're in his arms, he tips your head back so he can get a good look at the two small cuts on your neck, and his face sets into a glare. You reach out for his hand and whisper, “I’m fine.”

But no further conversation is had because Echo starts to yell, “Look around you. Skaikru did this to us. Because of them, Ontari, your rightful Commander, is dead! This imposter stole her Flame.”

Kane steps forward, yelling back, “No! Wanheda saved us, all of us. Grounder and Skaikru.”

“There would've been nothing to save us from if not for you.”

You marvel at the pure anger radiating off of Kane, his protective side coming out as he levels a glare at Echo. “Azgeda has no authority here.”

“We do now.” She starts to yell again, so those around you can hear her. “In the name of King Roan, as rightful caretakers of the throne of the Commanders, Polis is now under Azgeda rule!”

Immediately, two Grounders walk up, a man and a woman, and you recognize them as the man and woman you fought in the throne room while you were trying to protect Clarke. The woman immediately challenges Echo. “Like hell it is. Where's your war chief, girl?”

“Our war chief is dead, Ambassador. As a member of the Queen's guard, command of the army has fallen to me until the king awakens.”

“If he awakens.” You watch as she turns to yell at those gathered around. “Until a new Commander can ascend, Polis is to be ruled by ambassadors of the Coalition. If Azgeda wants it, they must take it by force.”

Echo’s response is immediate. She steps forward, swinging her sword out, cutting the Ambassador’s neck with a single sword stroke. You all watch in shock as blood rapidly pours from the wound, and the woman falls to the ground, dead in seconds. 

Echo quips, “Consider it taken.” Then she commands, “No Skaikru leaves this city. Gon Azgeda!”

For Ice Nation! And with one last glare directed at your group, she turns and walks away, following the path they took Roan in. You and Bellamy exchange a look of shock, and when you turn to look at the rest of the group, you see that they all feel the same. Bellamy whispers in your ear, “Looks like saving the world will have to wait.”

Kane turns to the guards that gathered around when Echo threatened you, and he quietly orders, “Gather every one of our people that you can find and bring them to the temple. We’ll be waiting for you there.”

“Yes, sir.”

They turn and immediately run off, and as Kane turns back to the rest of you, he accidentally hits Bellamy in the side. Bellamy lets out a sharp gasp of pain, and you turn to look at him in shock. “What?”

He unzips his jacket and pulls it to the side, revealing his shirt, stained with blood. You look up at him in alarm before looking back down at his side, watching as he pulls his shirt up to reveal a cut in his side. The sight of it makes Bellamy unsteady on his feet, and he sways, the pain coming back to him now that he’s aware of its presence, easily forgotten in the aftermath of the City of Light.  You reach out for him, steadying him, and Kane does the same, looking over just in time to catch sight of the wound. You see his face fall, and it takes a second for you to remember why. Kane above you, choking you, plunging a knife into Bellamy’s side to stop him from saving you. 

Kane pulls Bellamy’s arm around him and says, “Let’s get you to the temple and get you stitched up.”

“I’m fine. I need to find Octavia.”

You glare at him. “You're not. We’ll find Octavia after.”

He opens his mouth to say something, and you cut him off, “Don't argue.”

Surprisingly, he snaps his mouth shut again, allowing himself to be led to the temple and set onto a chair. There are people already collected inside, some of them injured, and when you turn to your mother to ask her to stitch up Bellamy, her eyes are locked on a woman in the corner, bleeding heavily from her head. She turns to glance at you, looking torn, and you grimace, “Stitches aren't my forte.”

“As long as you get the wound closed, the look of it doesn't matter.”

You sigh, then nod. “Go, I’ll take care of Bellamy.”

She smiles and hands you a medkit. “You’ll be fine.”

As she walks away, you turn to look for Clarke, ready to make a last ditch plea to her, but she’s already kneeled beside a child, cleaning their wounds. You turn and go back to Bellamy, kit in hand, and his brows lift as you approach. “I saw those stitches you did on Myles after Grounders shot him with an arrow. I’m not sure I want stitches from you.”

You glare at him and he looks serious for a long minute before he smiles, and motions for you to come closer. “I’m kidding. Crooked stitches are better than bleeding out.”

You roll your eyes and drop down beside him, and he lifts his shirt to reveal the wound. You look it over carefully, checking for infection, and when you find none, you quickly clean around the wound so you can get a better idea of the size of it. Fortunately, after further inspection, it’s only an inch or so long, and won’t require much stitching. “Lucky for you, my knife is much smaller than the arrowheads that hit Myles, so your crooked scar will be much smaller than his were.”

He pretends to look disappointed, “Aw, bummer.”

You ignore him as you get started on the stitches, putting him back together again, and Bellamy distracts himself from the pain by asking, “Remember when fighting Grounders was the only thing to worry about?”

You snort, still stitching and add, “Yeah, and now we have had to deal with Grounders, facist leaders, an AI hellbent on wiping us out, and now,” You finish the last stitch, looking at it in satisfaction before meeting his eyes, “Nuclear radiation.”

You quickly bandage his wound before giving him the all clear. “We can go find Octavia now.”

Bellamy stands and you follow suit, putting the medkit down and following him as he heads towards the door, but just as you reach it, your mom calls out to you. You turn and see her and Clarke bent over one person, working together to doctor them, and your mom motions over at the group to her left that are still awaiting medical attention. Faced with the same dilemma your mom just faced, you turn to look at Bellamy, feeling conflicted. He smiles at you, presses a kiss into your hair and whispers, “Go, give the people the crooked stitches they deserve.”

You laugh and lightly punch his arm. “Shut up.”

He starts to turn away, but you grab his arm and spin him back towards you, tugging him down for a kiss. It’s quick, but it conveys all the things you want to tell him every time you're forced to separate. When you pull back, you whisper, “Be safe.”

“I will.”

And then he turns and walks out the door.

-

You spend the next hour or so providing medical attention to those that come to the temple. As soon as they’re cleared to go, they are led to the secret entrance of the tunnel system that is hidden within the temple. Everyone travels in small groups, keeping each other safe, but as time passes, fewer and fewer people come to the temple. Eventually your mother and Kane stay by the tunnel entrance, leaving you to gain some first aid practice. You and Clarke alternate first aid duties as people come in, until the last injured person comes through some time later. As you’re finishing bandaging the cut on their leg, Major Costa comes in and heads straight for Kane. “Sir, that's everyone we could find. I've stationed ten guards at the temple door. Are you sure you don't want me to stay?”

“You lead them home, Major.”

They shake hands, and Major Costa helps your injured patient out the door as they disappear into the tunnels. You glance over at Kane, watching as your mother inspects his wounds and they talk quietly. He lifts a hand to her cheek, caressing it, and you smile. Someone comes to a stop beside you, and you look over and see Clarke, who is also watching your mother. She smiles and asks, “How long has this been going on?”

“I only noticed after Pike took power, but I think it’s recent.”

She hums, but says nothing else, as Indra, Octavia, and Bellamy run into the temple. You smile when you see him, and he comes to a stop beside you as the rest of you gather around. Indra hugs Kane quickly before she looks between all of you, “When you destroyed the City of Light, there were a thousand Azgeda warriors inside the City of Polis.”

Octavia mutters, “Good timing.”

“The only way to remove them is by force.”

Octavia muses, “Then let's remove them.”

Your mom turns to look at her in shock. “Slow down. You're talking about a war.”

“Yes, Rockline, Floukru, and Broadleaf will join Trikru without question. We'll still be short.”

Your mom turns to Kane, seeking his support. “This is madness. We should be leaving with the others, while we still have time.”

“They know where we live. If we run, they'll follow.” Kane turns to look at Indra. “There are eight other clans, how do we get them to join us?”

“I can do it, but I'll need the Flame.”

Clarke’s response is immediate. “No.”

Bellamy shifts beside you, turning to look at her. “Clarke, the clans will follow whoever has the Flame.”

“Azgeda won't.”

Octavia shrugs, “Then we fight. That's the point.”

You think of war, six months before the end of the world, and your stomach drops. You can tell that Clarke is on your mother’s side, against the war, and you find yourself agreeing with the stupidity of it. “No, it's not. The point is, there's no time for a fight.”

Clarke agrees and adds, “We have to save Roan.”

“Save him? They won't let us near him.”

Your mother is the first one to read between the lines of yours and Clarke’s disagreement with the others, because if there's anything she knows, it’s her twins. “Wait a second. What don't we know?”

You, Clarke, and Bellamy exchange a look. And though you don't think the masses should know about the end of the world, this group should. You nod, letting Clarke know you agree with telling them, and Bellamy nods too. Clarke turns back to the others. “The reason Alie created the City of Light.”

“Why?”

“Nuclear reactors inside power planets that survived the bombs are melting down. Radiation levels are already rising. If we can't figure out a way to fix it, all of us will be dead in six months.”

Indra processes the news, but quickly moves on. “Even if that’s true, that's six months away. There are a thousand Ice Nation warriors on the street who want to kill us today.”

Clarke shakes her head. “They won't kill us.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

She turns to Octavia and answers, “Because we're gonna surrender.”

-

As Clarke unveils her plan to the rest of you, Jaha ends up coming to the temple, asking what’s going on. Clarke seizes the opportunity and incorporates him into the plan, which will put all of you in separate locations. Your mom, Octavia, and Clarke will sneak into the embassy so they can try to save Roan. Jaha will be delivering Ontari’s body, which is actually Octavia in disguise, to the Ice Nation, while Kane and Indra watch on. You and Bellamy agree to take up a position in a watchtower nearby, with guns, so you can keep an eye on everything from above and take out anyone who tries to make a move against your people.

That’s where you find yourself now, gun propped out of a window, watching the scene down below. Bellamy is at the window beside you, quietly watching as Jaha walks across the courtyard, carrying Octavia’s body, wrapped in a cloth. He disappears into the room where they’re keeping Roan, and you only have to wait a few minutes before Indra and Kane step into the courtyard with the 10 Skaikru guards, offering up your surrender. 

A messenger runs into the embassy, following Jaha’s path, and moments later Echo comes out of the building, into your line of sight, with Jaha and a handful of Ice Nation guards. Jaha is bloodier than before, and limping, which Bellamy remarks on. “Looks like Jaha took a beating.”

You hum, “Considering he brought Alie into all of our lives, can't say I blame them.”

Echo grabs Jaha and mutters something to him, before shoving him away, towards Kane and the others. He limps his way over there, passing along the message, and Kane surprises you by glancing up at the window, towards you and Bellamy. He looks away just as quickly, before retreating back into the corridor. You and Bellamy exchange a look, and a second later Kane's voice comes through the radio at Bellamy’s side. You both move closer together to listen. “Echo says she’ll only talk to the two of you. We have to buy time for Abby and Clarke to save Roan, so we’re going to make Echo wait as long as we can before calling you down.”

“Copy that.”

Bellamy clips his radio back to his side, before pulling a crate over to the window so he can sit and watch at the same time. You do the same as he muses, “Nothing to do now except wait.”

You plop down onto the crate, and turn to look his way. “And practice Trigedasleng.”

“What?”

“I know a little Trig and you know none. It’s a tactical advantage to understand the language of your enemies and allies. You should learn.”

He turns towards you a little, his face serious for a long minute before he breaks into a grin. “Ridiyo. O yu na tel ai hashta skaifaya steda.”

True. Or you can tell me about me about the stars instead. You look at him in total shock, not expecting to hear an entire Trigedasleng sentence come out of his mouth and he laughs at your expression. “What?”

“Why have I been translating for you if you know Trig?”

“Because I don’t know Trig. Lincoln only taught me a few sentences. That was one of them.” You cut your eyes at him, suspicious, and he raises his hands in surrender. “I swear. That’s about all I know.”

“Then let’s change that.”

-

You and Bellamy pass the time practicing Trigedasleng, and he picks it up quickly as you watch the afternoon turn to evening and then night. Long after the sun has set and the moon has risen, you finally get a second radio call from Kane. “She’s getting antsy now. We need you two down here.”

“Copy that, we’ll be there in five.”

You and Bellamy sneak from the room, down the stairs and across the courtyard until you appear at the corridor, approaching the group from the back. Bellamy lets out a low whistle as you approach, signaling to everyone that no one should turn around and attack, and Kane turns when he hears it. As soon as the two of you arrive, Indra turns and shakes her head, hating this plan. “She's Ice Nation, she can't be trusted.”

Before you can agree with her point, someone mutters from behind you, “Never a dull moment, huh?”

You, Kane, and Bellamy turn and see Murphy approaching, and he comes to a stop right behind you. Indra mutters, “Pay attention.”

You turn your attention back to her, as she briefs you and the guards in your small group. “She's part of the royal guard, spies. That's why she's not marked. Very dangerous, very loyal.”

Bellamy shakes his head, and glances over at you. “Not to the people who saved her life.”

Kane steps closer, his voice dropping low, warning him. “Bellamy, I know how you feel about her, but you can't lose control. You offer them technology, guns, whatever it takes to keep her talking. Is that clear?”

Bellamy nods, but Indra objects. “I didn't agree to give them guns.”

Murphy lets out a snort and offers, “Well, that's probably because you're not an idiot.”

“It won't get that far. Our objective is to buy time for Abby to save the King.” Kane turns, and says the next part to Murphy. “And if you wanna help, grab a weapon, stand a post.”

Bellamy unshoulders his rifle, and holds it out to him. “Take mine.”

Murphy takes it with a nod of thanks, and you hand your rifle off to Kane, knowing it’ll look better if you’re unarmed. You remember the knife strapped to your thigh and you quickly take the strap off and adjust it, making it long enough to strap around your waist and hide under your clothes. When you finish, you look up and see Bellamy watching you, and you shrug. “Just in case.”

He nods, supporting the decision, before leading you out of the corridor and into the middle of the courtyard to meet Echo. She walks to meet you halfway as she sees you approaching, and you all stop six feet apart from each other, keeping your space. Echo looks you both over, appraising you, before her eyes land on Bellamy. “Before you say anything, remember, I saved your life by taking you out of Mount Weather.”

She pauses, glancing at you before looking back to Bellamy. “I'm sorry I couldn't tell you to bring her. But I was following orders, Bellamy.”

“I wish it was that easy.”

“We do what we do for our people. You slaughter us, we slaughter you. That all went away in the City of Light, but it's back now, so here we are. What are the terms of your surrender?”

Bellamy sets his jaw, and grinds out, “We recognize Ice Nation rule, and you honor Lexa's Coalition, including the 13th clan.”

“No.”

You and Bellamy share a look, and he shakes his head slightly before offering, “We'll give you guns and show you how to use them.”

Echo glances behind you, to where Indra stands with Kane. “Trikru accepts this?”

“They're not happy about it.”

“Not much they can do now, though, without an army.”

Bellamy’s reaction, though subtle, is immediate. You watch as his jaw clenches and he looks away from Echo, working hard to keep his composure. But Echo, smart as she is, notices immediately. “You were there. Then you know why everyone hates Skaikru, and why we can never accept your terms.”

You snap, “The alternative is war. Is that what you want?”

“No one wants war. Lay down your guns, and we'll let your children live. I'll give you time to decide.” 

She starts to turn away, but Bellamy, knowing your mission to keep her talking, reaches out and grabs her arm to stop her. “We weren't done talking.”

She turns and hits him away, faster than your brain can process. Then she knocks him to the ground, and pulls the knife from his holster, pressing it to his throat. You start to launch yourself towards her, but Echo snaps her head up towards you, and presses the knife into Bellamy’s skin, cutting him slightly. “Move any closer, and I’ll kill him.”

You freeze in place, lifting your hands in surrender, and one of the Azgeda guards comes up behind you and turns you around to face your people, before hitting the back of your legs and knocking you to your knees. Bellamy opens his mouth to protest, but it dies in his throat when the guard lifts his sword to your neck. Once Echo has you both restrained, she yells to Kane, “Guns on the ground, or they die.”

Kane and Indra are frozen in place, quietly having a conversation, and you know Indra is protesting the order. But Kane's eyes find yours, and you see the fear in them, the weight of yours and Bellamy’s fate on his shoulders, and he turns to the Skaikru guards and yells, “Guns on the ground, now.”

Echo smiles down at Bellamy, expression smug, and you have to fight the urge to lash out. As all of you are restrained and led towards the embassy, you hope and pray that your mother was successful and that they got out of there before being spotted. Instead, your hope is squashed as soon as you come around the corner and are pushed inside the room behind Echo, because your mom, Clarke, and Octavia are all kneeling on the ground, surrounded by men. 

Echo turns and puts her sword to your throat, and you roll your eyes, annoyed to find yourself in this position again. She misses your reaction though, because her eyes are trained to the table at the back of the room, Roan's body laid across it. “Emo don’s trana slip Haihefa daun! Chek em au!”

You’re still translating the words in your head, not quite fluent in Trigedasleng, when Clarke protests, “No, we weren’t trying to kill him, we were trying to save him!”

Echo steps away from you and stalks over to your twin, staring down at her in anger. You watch her lift her sword, and you immediately start to fight the men holding you back, as you yell, “Echo! Leave her alone!”

You watch as her sword starts to come down, straight towards your twin, and you scream and fight harder. Through your yelling, you hear someone mutter, “Wait.”

The authority that one word has stills the room, and everyone turns and watches as Roan sits up from the bed with a cough. He looks over at Clarke, who immediately begs, “Roan, help us. Tell them we're friends.”

He stands and coughs again, ignoring Clarke to ask, “Where is Ontari?”

Echo, ever obedient, answers, “Dead, sire, killed by them.”

“We couldn't save her, but we did what we came here to do.” He looks at Clarke, who is insistent. “Now I need you to honor your promise to protect my people.”

Roan quips, “Yeah, that was before your people shot me and killed my Commander.”

The words are enough to piss Octavia off, and despite the sword at her back, she snaps, “We just saved your damn life.”

Behind you, Bellamy shifts, anxious, wanting to protect her, but the words go unpunished as Echo pushes past everyone to get to Roan, and when she stops at his side, her voice drops to a whisper, quiet, but still loud enough to be heard. “Roan, your people are hungry for you to lead them. Do so now, as your mother would have. Kill Wanheda. Take her power, and rule over everything.”

You look at Clarke, worried these are the last moments you’ll get to see her. Instead, Roan yells to the guards, “Teik emo we.”

Take them away. The guards comply and drag you all down to the prison, and they search each of you for weapons quickly, before chaining you up around the room. In their search, they miss your knife, and you have to work to keep the smile from your face. Instead, you give the guards a blank look as they chain you up, in between Bellamy and Kane. Octavia and Indra are chained across from you, and your mom and Clarke are at the far end of the room, chained to the floor. The rest of the guards are placed in the remaining empty spaces. 

The mood of the room is silent, everyone feeling dejected and angry, but you spend your time trying to quietly concoct a plan to get yourself out of the mess you’re all in. You don't know how long they leave you down there, but the windows on the wall gradually start to lighten as the sun starts to rise, indicating that at least a few hours have passed. As you’re thinking and planning, you hear Grounders coming down the hall, towards you again. They step into the cell, yelling, “Wanheda, on your feet!”

You look over at your twin in alarm as she scrambles to her feet and the Grounder guards descend on her. Her voice shakes when she asks, “Where's the king?”

Echo is the last to step in the room, watching as they remove Clarke’s chain, only to restrain her again. You watch in horror as they pull a bag over Clarke’s head and start to lead her away, and you turn to Echo, full of rage. “Echo, bring her back here! If anything happens to her, I’ll kill you myself! Do you hear me, Echo?”

You can hear your mom and Bellamy also yelling at the Ice Nation spy, but she ignores all of you, turning away and following Clarke out of the cell and away from your group. The mood turns tense after watching Clarke get dragged away, and your planning shifts into overdrive as you try to recall how many guards you’ve seen, the path they took in and out of the cell and the room, the exits you saw on the way, how quickly you can take them all out with only a knife.

Your plan, however, never sees the light of day, because Clarke returns sometime later, unguarded, unrestrained, and holding a set of keys. “Clarke! What happened?”

She walks over to you, answering your question as she frees you from your chains. “I told Roan about Praimfaya, and promised I’d find a plan to save all of our people.”

The chains drop from your hands, your wrists now free, and as she passes you a key, she mutters, “I also had to give him the Flame.”

You reach out to her, sympathetic, knowing how hard that was on her. “Clarke-”

But she waves you off, smiling to hide the tears that have started to glitter in her eyes. “It was the only way to save us. It’s what Lexa would have wanted.”

She turns and walks over to your mom, unlocking her chains, and you can hear your mom quietly comforting your crying twin. You turn to Bellamy and free him first, before you and Clarke go around the room and release everyone. As soon as you’re done, she takes the key back from you and leads you all from the room, passing the keys to an Ice Nation guard along the way. She leads you right from the embassy and into the sunshine, to a large crowd of Grounders gathered in the center of Polis. 

They’re all facing a stage, which is surrounded by Ice Nation guards, and Roan and Echo stand on the stage, preparing to address the crowd. Despite the bullet wound now hidden beneath his clothes, Roan looks strong, powerful. A crown made of bones encircles his head, and his hand rests lightly on his sword as he speaks loud enough for the gathered crowd to hear him. “I know you've all come here for an execution, but no one else will die here today. The City of Light has fallen, and there is no Commander left to rule us. Until another Nightblood ascends, I - King Roan of Azgeda, eldest son of Nia, Grandson of Theo- am Caretaker of the throne and keeper of the Flame.”

He holds the Flame up so the crowd can see it, and murmurs instantly erupt through the crowd. Near the back, behind you, someone yells, “Kaina bandragen dison bilaik?”

Unable to translate the whole sentence, you turn to Kane, who stands beside you, and ask, “Bandragen?”

“Blasphemy.”

You nod, finally understanding. What blasphemy is this? Roan yells back to the dissenter, “Nou bandragen. Reinseden!”

Not recognizing the second word, you again turn to Kane, who immediately understands why. “Order.”

Roan finishes the rest of his speech in English. “Until another ascends, Azgeda honors and will defend the Coalition of the last true Commander, Lexa Kom Trikru, including the 13th clan. Let it be known that an attack against Skaikru is an attack against us all.”

Again, the crowd murmurs, displeased with the news, but now unable to do anything about it. Roan disappears from the stage soon after that, and the crowd disperses, before Clarke gathers your small group and nods towards the front gates. “Roan is going to send us off with something to protect us from those who aren't in Polis and haven't heard the news. He said to wait by the gates.”

You all nod and follow her there, where someone from Ice Nation meets you and returns your weapons to you. A few minutes later, you see Echo walking towards you, and you and Bellamy walk towards her to meet her. She holds out a leather parcel and says, “From your king.”

She flips the leather back, revealing an amulet imprinted with the Azgeda seal and a second seal that you don't recognize. “With this, you'll be safe in any of our lands.”

She folds the leather back up and hands it to Bellamy, as you watch her in annoyance. She glances at you before her eyes land on Bellamy, lingering on him a little too long for your liking. “You think we'll ever be able to trust each other again?”

“Doubt it,” you answer for him, a sarcastic smile on your face. Her face falls, but you think about the scars on your body from the Azgeda assassin, and any empathy you would normally feel is forgotten. 

She steps away from you and Bellamy, looking back at the rest of your group. “Welcome back to the Coalition.”

She steps away, leaving your group alone, and you and Bellamy turn and walk back to the others. “Time to go.”

There's an awkward silence as everyone watches each other, wondering who is going where, and Kane smiles and motions to himself and your mom. “We'll do our best to keep the king on his throne.”

And with the decision made for them to stay behind in Polis, you, Bellamy, and Clarke share a look, knowing that you're going together. She speaks for the three of you, “We'll find a way to beat the radiation.”

Bellamy glances at Octavia, who makes no move to leave her spot, cementing the fact that she’s staying in Polis with Indra. Bellamy nods, accepting that, and Clarke looks up at the darkening sky. “It's getting dark, let's do this.”

Your mom reaches forward and pulls Clarke into a hug, and you step over to Octavia to hug her. As you do, you whisper in her ear, “I didn't get the chance to say it before, but Pike got what he deserved. Thank you for giving us justice.”

She nods once, and pulls away, before her and Bellamy exchange a look. You step away, towards your mom, giving them space. Your mom hugs you tight, and tells you, “Keep Clarke safe.”

“I will. May we meet again.”

“May we meet again.”

As you step away from her, you catch the tail end of what Kane is telling Bellamy. “You do better today than you did yesterday. Before you know it, you'll deserve to survive.”

“I hope so.”

They move away from each other, and he turns to look at you, his eyes falling to your neck. Finger shaped bruises wrap their way around your neck, indicating Alie made him do, and you see a flash of guilt pass over his face. You reach out for him, pulling him into a hug, and he hesitates at first before hugging you back. You look at him when you pull away, and smile. “The advice you just gave Bellamy? It applies to you too. Forgive yourself, Kane, because I already have.”

He nods, squeezing your arm, before allowing you to turn and join Bellamy and Clarke. With one last look back at your group, you all turn and head towards the exit, following Jaha and the six guards that are accompanying you on your journey home. The other four stay behind to protect your mom, Kane, and Octavia. 

As they lead you through the streets of Polis, towards the front gate, Bellamy looks over at you and Clarke. “Okay princesses, what now?”

You think of the first time he referred to you and Clarke as princesses, right after the dropship landed and he dragged Wells out into the woods to take his wristband. You smile as you remember the nickname came on the heels of a threat, one you didn't take seriously, not even when he flashed his gun. It's hard to believe how far the two of you have come just in the last few months, and though the journey has been hard at some points, you’re thankful for it. When you look at Bellamy, you can tell he’s remembering the same memory, marveling at the evolution of your relationship. You reach out for his hand, intertwining your fingers, and give him a resolute nod. “Now, we survive.”

-

next chapter

[preciousthingsareprecious]

With a Heart of Scars Chapter 9

The biggest thanks to @dreamer-247re for creating incredible art for this chapter. It’s stunning and gorgeous and still takes my breath away every time I look at it! 

This one’s Damian’s POV again, and I hope you guys enjoy it <3

AO3 Link 

~

The moment Grayson dropped into the building the connection to his comm went silent, and nothing Damian tried could get it to turn back on. He suspected some kind of interference, if people had been trapped in that building for hours, something was blocking their phone signals, and that same something was probably interrupting their comm line as well. Not that either of them had thought of that before Grayson entered.

A stupid miscalculation on Damian's part. One he would not repeat again. 

Damian found an external camera he could hack, and caught sight of a hooded figure whose shape was roughly the same as that of one of the people who had set up the strange twister game. The person was fiddling with something blocky that Damian couldn’t quite make out, before pressing it to the side of the building. 

Could it be a bomb? A listening device of some sort? He wasn’t sure, and he couldn’t hail Grayson. But, perhaps he could send backup Batman’s way. 

“Oracle, I need your assistance.” 

“Hey Lil’ D, what’s up?” Gordon asked, sounding far too bright for this hour, and curious. 

He ignored the outrageous nickname usage, “Are the Birds close to the downtown shopping district?” 

“Batgirl and Black Bat are currently stowed away on a ship, getting ready to turn it around. Why?” 

“Tt, Batman is in need of backup. There are unknown hostiles approaching him and a possible bomb threat, but I cannot contact him.” 

“I’ll give it a shot on my end. Is Tim home yet? Can he head out?” 

Damian ground his teeth. No his brother, and Grayson’s supposed partner, had not returned yet. If he had, he had not made it known to any of them. There was no one to back Batman up. No one but Damian himself. 

He shoved aside all thoughts of possible punishment for going out without permission, and pushed his chair away from the desk. 

“No. He is not.” Damian stood, “It seems it is up to me to handle the situation. Oracle, stay on this line so that when Pennyworth comes down you can inform him of the situation.” 

He looked down at himself and frowned. He was wearing a brightly colored shirt Pennyworth had purchased him, featuring a cartoon dog on the front. There was no way he could rescue Batman in that. 

He hurried to the lockers and grabbed the first dark thing he could find, a black hoodie. It turned out to not be solid, but had a Nightwing emblem splashed across the front. The sleeves were also too long, but Damian easily rolled those up, before tugging the hood over his hair. Then he grabbed an extra domino mask and affixed it to his face. Lastly, he grabbed one of Drake’s Robin belts. Grayson had made Damian take inventory of the belt a number of times to get familiar with its contents, and he was confident it was small enough to fit him. It also would have medical supplies and weapons to defend himself if the situation called for it. He didn’t bother changing out of his black jeans or tennis shoes, both would do fine for the rescue mission. 

Through his quick change, he ignored Oracle’s requests for more information, and demands that he stay right there and send Alfred instead. Damian respected Pennyworth, but he didn’t want to waste time. 

Besides, this was partially his fault, and he was the only one who really knew how to fly the Batmobile. It would be the fastest way to reach Grayson. 

Damian was quite proud of his achievement. After growing bored of exploring the cave systems, and discovered some of Father’s schematics and future plans to make his car fly and had taken to making those plans a reality. He had even gotten permission to work on it. Grayson had happily supplied not only permission, but any supplies he needed when Damian had asked. He was further encouraged by the fact that the man had come downstairs to sit with him a few times. However, it was Damian's project and he was most familiar with the systems. He had not even had time to tell anyone that he’d actually managed to get it to fly. 

Gordon must have called Pennyworth, because Damian spotted the man hurrying down the stairs as he climbed into the car.

“Master Damian, wait!” he called. 

Damian ignored the request, closing the door, and starting the engine. He felt a little bad for ignoring Pennyworth, but time was of the essence and he needed to get to Grayson. He hoped Pennyworth would not be too upset with him as he raced past the man and out the exit, but he would have to understand just how important this was. There was no time left to dally if he were to stop something bad from happening to the man he was beginning to consider family.

A few meters out of the cave, Damian hit the button to begin the car’s flying sequence. After a brief moment of panic that it would not work, slowly but surely it lifted off, and Damian's shoulders relaxed minutely. Soon he was zooming over trees and streets, and obstacles that would have cut into the time it took to get to Grayson’s location. 

He fretted as he flew, his mind coming up with every terrible thing that could happen, his stomach growing sicker at each thought. Most of all, he couldn't stop thinking about why he was betraying every house rule to rush out and save Grayson. 

When had he really started to care about him? When had it become more than his just using the man to learn more about his Father? He’d come to respect Grayson quickly, that was certain. But this sick feeling of worry was one Damian had only held for his mother on the rare occasion she was late returning from a dangerous mission. 

Damian tolerated Brown and Todd and Cain, but Grayson? He looked forward to seeing the man. Had come to enjoy his smiles, and even put up with his nicknames. They were warm, like a blanket wrapped around his shoulders when he was tired, or a coat on a cold day. 

It was stupid. And weak. And foolish. Feelings like this were compromising, they would get him killed. Make him run headlong into danger without a thought for himself, much like he was doing now. But Damian found he didn’t care about being weak in that sense. It hurt to imagine  not  caring about Grayson. And so he fretted. He fretted and worried and ignored the pinging of a message from Oracle. 

That sick feeling in Damian’s chest exploded into awful panic as Main Street finally came into view and he caught sight of what used to be Wonderland, now a smoking wreck, collapsed in on itself. 

He held his emotions in check long enough to take the car down, right onto the street and bolt out of it. 

“Batman!” he yelled, bolting for the wreckage “Where are you?” 

Damian should not be panicking. Panic made one miss things, it made them sloppy. But Batman had been in the building. It had blown up. He could be--Grayson might be--

No. Grayson would be fine. Damian would find him, and get him home, and he would be fine. 

He scanned the rubble of the building, and yelled for Batman again, his voice raspy in the smoke billowing around. Belatedly he remembered the domino was equipped with some basic alternate vision options, Damian poked at it until it showed heat signatures. 

It didn’t look like the building had caught fire, thank goodness, but there was a large area of warmth towards where the back would have been that radiated out into other areas. 

“Batman!” he called again, vision slowly creeping across rubble. 

He had no idea how deep the lenses would penetrate. Some parts of the rubble were raised higher than others, like they’d all fallen in that direction, while others were spars, bits and pieces here and there still showing the floor that had once been inside.

“Here.” the word was faint, and trailing at the end, but it gave Damian hope. 

He jerked his attention towards the sound, and there! A figure, the heat registering as cooler than Damian wanted it to be, but that could have been the weather or injury or just rubble blocking it. Whatever it was, he bolted in it’s direction, only turning off the filter when he was close enough to clearly see Batman. 

He was on his back, partially trapped under fallen drywall. Damian had missed him on his first glance due to the drywall’s angle, tilted up and slightly against Grayson to block him from proper view. 

“Batman!” He called again, and started climbing over the rubble as carefully as he could without risking dislodging something and shifting the whole pile, “I am on my way.” 

His heart was racing. He was terrified, he realized. Afraid of what he’d find. Afraid of what had happened. Afraid to be too late, even now. 

When he reached Batman, he dropped to his knees to examine him. The most obvious injury was the blood that seeped out from under his cowl. Everything else was hidden under the fallen drywall.

“Batman, I am going to have to lift this, brace yourself.” he said. 

“Nightwing?” Grayson asked, the word slurring, “What?”

Damian looked down at his hoodie and the Nightwing emblem emblazoned on it, “Oh. No, you idiot. It is me. Now hold still while I lift this.”

He leaned forward, and gripped the drywall to lift it. It was lighter than Damian imagined it to be, but still quite heavy. When he got it up high enough, he shifted to shove his shoulder under it to help him leverage it even higher and then away, angled just far enough that his brother’s body was revealed. 

“Scoot back.” Damian grunted.

Thankfully, Grayson seemed to have enough sense to listen. He dragged himself back from Damian and the drywall, moving just far enough that after a moment, Damian let the whole thing drop again with a crash. 

His shoulder ached, but he had more important things to worry about than it. He quickly examined Batman, the suit on Grayson’s right thigh had been torn open by something, and his leg was slowly oozing blood. The wound did not seem to be serious enough for Damian to stop and take care of it now, so instead he focused on getting the man home for a full check up and proper medical attention. 

He leaned over to take Grayson by the arm, “Come, we are leaving.” 

He hauled his brother up onto unsteady legs. Grayson stood for a few seconds before slumping. He would have fallen if Damian hadn’t caught him, still the man was much taller than him, and carrying him was going to be difficult. 

“This is not going to be comfortable, Batman.” Damian said, “But we will make it work.” 

He tugged one of Grayson’s arms over his shoulder, and gripped the back of Batman's utility belt as tightly as he could under the cape to help hoist him up, and then started forward. He was basically dragging Grayson as they moved, and because of that he could not be as careful moving across the rubble. Thankfully, he was not worried about further crushing his brother, so the only real obstacle was tripping or dislodging something so that he fell into a hole. 

Grayson seemed to come a bit back to himself, at least enough to speak, “But  I’m  Nightwing?”  

Damian shook his head, “No, as I explained, you are Batman, I am--” he dreaded having to use the nickname, “Lil’ D.”

His brother shook his head, “No, no, I’m Nightwing. Batman is--Bruce is--”

“Grayson, Father is-- he is gone.” Damian said, “You are Batman now.” 

That was the wrong thing to say because it made Grayson try to pull away from his grip. He was confused, and hurting, which added some strength to his attempts and threatened to topple them both. 

“No!” Grayson cried, “I don’t want to be Batman. I never-- I don’t have to because Bruce is.” 

His attempts to get away from Damian finally succeeded in making Damian slip, a stone dislodged from under his foot, and then the ground disappeared and Damian fell down, then to the side. He lost his grip on Grayson, and landed hard on his already aching shoulder. 

Behind him, he heard rumbling as the structure shifted. He felt the vibrations under his palms as he pushed himself up, to spin and search for his brother. 

Grayson had landed on his knees, and was staring down at the bat on his chest, one hand brushing over it.

“Father is dead, Grayson.” Damian snapped, as he stepped over to lift Grayson again. 

“That is why you are Batman, now act like it and pull yourself together for a moment.” 

Normally, he would not have cared about being so brusque, but even with the cowl covering most of his face the effect of Damian’s words on Grayson was obvious. He looked like a kicked puppy. It twisted Damian’s heart, but he couldn’t waste time on feelings. He needed to get Grayson home, first and foremost. Then worry about the hurt his words caused. 

He managed to drag Grayson off the rubble and back to the car. It took some work to get him settled in the passenger’s seat, but Grayson had stopped fighting him, and was mostly responsive to directions.

It did not take long for Grayson to pass out once they were moving. Damian tried to wake him, but there was no autopilot function build into the flying portion of the car yet --he had that on his list of activities for next week-- so he had to focus on getting them home, and hoping that Grayson would be fine. 

He did phone the Batcave to update Pennyworth on their status. The butler’s anger was quickly set aside for worry, and a flood of questions about Grayson’s condition. Damian did his best to describe it, and estimate an arrival time. 

Pennyworth took over when Damian finally parked. He went from being in command of the situation to following whatever directions were aimed at him, and he did so happily. Grayson had woken again when they moved him from the car, and was now babbling about Father. He was alternating between asking where he was and crying over losing him. 

The guilt Damian had been able to ignore earlier came back at those words, and he felt terrible for snapping at his brother. He felt even worse that he could not seem to muster any grief over his father. Not in the same way Grayson was feeling it now. He was too concerned about his brother. His not quite partner who he’d almost lost tonight. Who had been out because of a Father who was not there. Who was alone because of a father Drake was still searching for. Who was now crying out for that same father. 

He did his best to ignore the strange twist of emotions in his chest and help Pennyworth instead. He collected blankets, lifted Grayson’s head, and handed over bandages as they were requested. 

Damian finally stopped moving when Grayson was at last sleeping and settled into a medical cot. He could not leave Grayson, no matter how conflicted looking at the man made him. So Damian settled in a chair and declared he’d keep an eye on him while Pennyworth got some rest. 

He tugged his legs up, onto the chair, so he could wrap his arms around them, and rested his chin on his knees. Somewhere in all the chaos, the sleeves of his borrowed hoodie had slipped down, and fallen over his hands to flop. Damian didn’t bother re-rolling them, but instead enjoyed the way they gave him a feeling of being further wrapped up, snuggled in something tight and comforting.

Sitting there, his odd feelings from earlier returned. He called them odd because he had not had time to pick at the strange ball of emotion in his chest and sort out what it all meant. 

There was irritation with himself over this attachment. He could hear mother’s voice in his head, chiding him and reminding him that love was a weakness. That caring about others only held one back. She was right of course, Damian had thrown all caution to the wind, disobeyed Pennyworth, and Oracle and run headlong after Grayson over a hunch. It had been correct, but even that was neither here nor there in consideration of the danger it had posed. 

The caring itself was another factor Damian turned over in his head, like he had turned the batarangs Grayson had shown him how to sharpen in his hands. Love, or at the very least, like, was dangerous. It was sharp, like the ends of the batarang, and would cut him if he was not careful, but it was also warm, like Grayson’s words had been. Gentle like his hands had felt in adjusting Damian’s grip. Something soft and happy like Damian’s heart had felt at Grayson’s praise. 

Damian looked back down at his brother. Grayson’s arms were laid out on top of the light blanket covering him. One hand was already showing bruising, ugly black and blue splotches where he must have raised them in defense. The bruises flowed down his forearm, and ended in a bullseye on his elbow. It made Damian wince just imagining it.

He released his hold on his legs and brushed a hand across the back of Grayson's palm, considering taking it in his own. Then the man groaned, and shifted, his hand slipping away from Damian's feather light grasp. He swallowed, and wrapped his arm back around his legs to grab his other hand, before resting his chin on his knees to continue his vigil. 

[free-pool-trash]

angel - warren worthington iii

My first Warren fic, woah okay. I remember seeing apocalypse in the cinema when I was 13 (I was almost 14 :')) and being so happy to see Warren because I was such a little nerd and I used to religiously read a book from the library about the x-men and it had a whole section about Warren and I was crazy about him. So I was so in love with him when I saw him on screen (I guess I've been in love with Ben Hardy since before I actually knew he was Ben Hardy 😳) and I was SO upset with how dirty they did him in Apocalypse. Also upon further inspection that entire movie was a hot mess and X-men peaked with days of future past.

Anyway Ben Hardy put me back on my X-Men bullshit so here we are.

Here is the idea that was sent in by the lovely Anon for this fic: Honey!! 'cause I can't have enough of your work and since you said it was okay to suggest any ideas for warren, I was thinking, what about him letting the reader pet his wings. Since he is emotionally distant and stuff? (idk if that could work to develop a whole fic) anyway, i'll love some angst and love. Just bless us bringing our bird boy back 🤭.  keep doing amazing darling ♥️ 

Word count: 5k (shes a long one alright)

Warning (s): swearing, mentions of blood, plane crash, platonic!Peter :) (also i didn’t really proof read this and it’s 3:44am lmao)

comments and feedback are much appreciated! <333 

masterlist

Your breath came out in labored heaves as Kurt bamfed the final one of your teammates into the plane, all of you were more or less safe from Apocalypse now that you had the professor back in your custody, that's what you'd thought anyway. You hadn't anticipated what was to come.

Once you caught your breath after being dropped into the plane by Kurt, you spoke up, "Anyone need a pick-me-up?" 

As you looked around at the group, most of whom were all close friends of yours, you noticed the vast majority of them littered in only small cuts and bruises, all except Charles who was still unconscious from Apocalypse's assault on his mind, but there wasn't much you could do about him, for now at least. 

Your mutation was, according to Hank, "essential for field work" and by field work he actually meant high intensity missions that made you feel like you had the weight of the world on your shoulders. You had the ability to heal both people and animals of any outward affliction, you could cure inward wounds too but taking on anything more than a headache was dangerous for you, so you mainly handled cuts, bruises, burns, stab wounds, bullet holes (provided the bullet was already removed) and the occasional broken bone, y'know, the small stuff. 

It was a pretty incredible power to have, only it also came with a not so incredible bonus of amplified empathy which meant you could feel people's emotions, read people's energy and usually you could tell people's intentions too. It all got a little tiring sometimes.

"No save your energy, (Y/n), Peter or Raven might need you later." Jean responded just before pounding started coming from the roof of the jet as some sort of blade pierced through the metal. 

Sparks flew and you shared a worried glance with the rest of your teammates as the roof of the jet was torn open and two of Apocalypse's minions appeared, only one of them entered the plane, however, the one with the wings- you didn't know his name. Being on the edge of the group, you took the defensive, the winged man was bigger than you but you could probably kick his ass if you needed to. You were so busy squaring up to the bird boy that you didn't notice the panic happening behind you.

"Just get us out of here." You heard Jean say, followed by the all too familiar sound of Kurt's teleportation.

They'd left you.

Your eyes widened when you felt the plane plummet, the pilot, along with everyone else gone, only yourself and your winged enemy were left on the aircraft, his partner in crime seemed to have lost her balance and got swept away by the wind. 

Despite being together you were both alone. You wouldn't lie, you were scared, he was too. You could feel it.

"Fuck!" You shouted trying your best to reach the controls of the jet before it impacted the ground.

Unfortunately before you could reach the console, gravity did it's thing and you found yourself being hurled violently against the plane's windshield and the next thing you knew you were shielding your face, bracing for impact then everything was black.

-+-+-+-+-

"Ow, fuck." You groaned once you came to, laying on the hard concrete of the ground which, of course, was covered in glass shards from the window you'd been thrown through. 

The glass dug into your back painfully, you'd have to figure out some way to pick the shards out before you could heal. 

Blinking your bleary eyes until you could open them and actually see clearly, you stood up as gently as you could, trying to avoid getting cut by any more glass.

The air was smokey and thick, it filled your lungs and made your eyes water. Your head was spinning, the feeling of dried blood on your temple ever present as you struggled to keep your balance.

The plane was destroyed, completely wrecked to the point where it's insides were now it's outsides, the roof had been blown off and the seats were nearly disintegrated.

Swallowing thickly, you remembered that you hadn't been the only one on the plane when it crashed. Heaving a sigh, you closed your eyes tightly, please have gotten thrown out the windshield you prayed silently to yourself.

Sure you didn't know the boy or like him all that much from what you did know of him, but you didn't want him to have died alone in a fiery wreck. 

When you worked up the courage to finally open your eyes you let out a gasp as you noticed the winged boy not burned to a crisp but laying face down in the shards of glass, unconscious, a few meters up from where you had woken up.

Please don't have a punctured lung. Please don't have a punctured lung.

Please don't have glass lodged in your neck.

Oh my God what if he already bled out?

Oh fuck what if he's already dead?

You panicked internally as you limped over to the boy, his face was covered in blood, but you imagine you didn't look much better.

Kneeling down as you reached his body, you brushed away whatever glass you could before you turned him over so he was laying on his back.

"Thank God." You muttered as you could see his chest rising and falling, the movement was slight but all that really mattered to you was that it was there.

Gently you picked out all of the glass that had gotten embedded in the boy's pale skin, you had to hand it to him, he sure was pretty when he wasn't trying to kill you. Not wanting to waste time staring, you placed both of your hands softly onto his chest, a golden light radiated out from under your palms onto the tattered material of his clothed chest, within a few seconds his gashes began to close up and his heartbeat became stronger against your palms, he definitely had more injuries than you could physically see as your energy had been all but gone once you finally removed your hands.

Another downside to your mutation- it requires a lot of energy.

A few minutes passed before you heard a soft gasp coming from beside you, the blonde boy's eyes opened and he glanced around frantically, green eyes shining in the light of the setting sun, he picked a good time to wake up as you didn't particularly want to be waiting out in the cold night time air. His metal wings meant he was too heavy for you to drag to any kind of shelter, especially now after using up all your energy to heal him, you wouldn't make it far on your own never mind with someone else. 

"What happened?" He asked with a groan, this was actually the first time you'd heard him speak, he had an accent- he must've been from England. 

"You and your little buddy busted our plane, my teammates ditched and you and I got left to die. You almost did." You explained in as few words as possible, you didn't paint your friends in a very good light but you needed the winged boy on your side, you couldn't have him leaving you in the middle of nowhere with open wounds and no energy.

"Why didn't I? Die I mean." He asked, eyeing the wreck with a grimace before meeting your eyes again.

"I healed you, that's my mutation." He raised an eyebrow at you suspiciously.

"Why did you save me? We're on opposite sides." The boy inquired further, you tried your best to entertain him but your energy was running extremely low.

"The fights over and judging by the fact that the world isn't burning I'm assuming that your side didn't win. Besides we both got left on that plane, I didn't want you to die alone." You explained, your voice becoming slurred as you ran out of steam, eyes struggling to stay open.

"You look awful." The boy stated to which you just nodded, drowsily.

"Mm, feel awful." You responded as he stood up, glass crunching under his heavy boots.

"Come on." He demanded and you felt him tugging you into standing position, you weren't really sure what was happening but you didn't fight against it, you were simply too drained.

"Jesus, why didn't you heal yourself?" He asked, staring at your tattered backside in a mixture of horror and disgust, you assumed it looked as bad as it felt.

"Couldn't get the glass out." At that your head lolled against the boy's neck as he wrapped your arm around his shoulder and hoisted you up with his arm around your waist.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Warren dragged you to a nearby house, the surrounding area had all been abandoned during the fight between Apocalypse and the X-Men which you were apparently a part of.

He couldn't quite figure out why you'd spared his life, he had been the reason your plane was abandoned in the first place. It annoyed him really, he was supposed to be your enemy but you'd shown him so much blind kindness despite the stress he'd caused you and your team in the past couple of days. His reasoning for joining Apocalypse in the first place was because he'd given up on being shown any form of kindness, by anyone, and in the space of ten minutes and less than ten sentences from you his head was spinning.

The regret was almost too much for him, you should've let him die. 

Before he could spiral any further he decided he had to help you first, you'd saved him first after all.

Warren, as gently as he could, laid you down on a bed in one of the house's bedrooms, on your stomach. The boy, who didn't even know your name, began to pick the glass out of you as you'd done to him, he didn't have any healing powers but he was used to fixing himself up after fights back in the cages. He removed all the glass, cleaned the cuts and covered them as best as he could without having to undress you.

Warren noticed that your gashes began to close up by themselves, your back glowing golden. You kind of reminded him of an angel, the kind of glow he'd seen in a Renaissance painting back in Berlin, the kind of light that represented heaven.

You were still completely passed out, it was dark by then and Warren debated on just taking off into the night, but his gut forced him to stay with you, this girl who got forgotten by her own team then saved the guy she was supposed to be fighting against, it was kind of poetic to be honest. So he set up a makeshift bed on the floor of the same room you slept in, and laid down, staying vigilant in case anything or anyone were to attack while you slept.

-+-+-+-+-+-+

Light steamed through the window of wherever it was you were, you couldn't remember, wherever you were you were comfy.

 Cracking your eyes open you looked around the room, noticing the winged boy laying on the floor beside the bed you slept in, awake and staring at the ceiling.

"Morning." You whispered to the boy, and he immediately turned his head towards you, "Good morning."

"Thanks for taking the glass out." You thanked him with a soft voice and a small smile as you looked at him.

"Just repaying a favour." He responded, a smile of his own playing on his face, you could tell he was trying to fight it, but it peaked through.

Reaching your arm out toward him, you laughed as he raised an eyebrow. "I'm (Y/n)."

Finally letting himself smile, the boy let out a chuckle as he took the hand you held out to him and shook it, "Warren."

"Thanks for not ditching me here." You spoke quietly as you withdrew your arm, picking up on his energy, he was unsure but decided to stay by your side anyway. 

Warren's gaze returned to the ceiling, "We'd both been ditched enough for one day. Thanks for not letting me die, didn't get a chance to thank you yesterday before you passed out."

"Right. Sorry about that, healing people tends to take it out of me. I'm glad I healed you, though." You told him gently, as he scoffed.

"Not 24hours ago we would've killed each other on the spot, now we're having bloody pillow talk." He grumbled out, the accent you'd picked up earlier really coming through.

"Would you rather we tried to kill each other?" You inquired with an airy laugh, the contrast between today and yesterday didn't bother you, you'd felt him when you healed him, he was good, just has a lot of demons, like every other mutant you know.

"I'd rather I didn't try to kill you at all." He confessed, his lip trapped between his teeth, eyes never leaving the ceiling.

"It's not your fault. I felt it when I healed you, you're just like the rest of us, you needed something to believe in. I can't blame you for that." You tried your best to soothe him, you could feel the regret in his voice, you knew many of your friends at Xavier's school had been in similar situations before eventually joining the good fight.

"Doesn't change the fact I was ready to watch the world burn so I could feel some sense of purpose." His voice was filled with self loathing and you didn't know why exactly but you couldn't stand it, you didn't like that he hated himself so much.

"From your perspective the world deserved to burn. I've been there too, the world hurts us and we'd love nothing more than to hurt it right back. You wanted something better than what you had, you got brainwashed by someone who promised you everything you wanted, it's not your fault, if I wasn't with the X-Men I probably would've joined too- if he had asked." You admitted to Warren, it was strange, you trusted him with what you were saying and you could see that he was absorbing every word you said, he trusted what you were saying.

"Aren't you pissed? That you're stuck out here with me?" You knew what he meant, he wanted to know how you felt about all of your friends bamfing away and leaving you to crash and burn with Warren, the supposed enemy.

"It hurt a little yeah, but I understand, Kurt was scared, he'd never teleported so many people at once before, I was too far away from the rest of the group anyway,"  you shrugged before going on, "I'm not pissed that I'm stuck out here with you, you're pretty cool for a henchman." You teased, the way he shook his head at your statement caused you to giggle.

"There's a place for you at the school, if you want it." You floated the idea towards him breaking the silence that had filled the room, because to be honest you didn't want to part ways with the bird boy just yet, turns out almost dying together was quite the bonding experience.

"You sure? They'd forgive all this shit?" He asked you disbelievingly to which you nodded, "They'll understand. Charles forgives Erik and Raven every five minutes. Besides if they have a problem they'll have to deal with me." 

"Thanks, (Y/n)." 

-+-+-+-+-

 It took you both a few days but you eventually managed to make your way back to the school for gifted youngsters.

You and Warren had bonded quite a bit during your trip and you'd developed an understanding of each other. Nights spent at sketchy motels and shared take out containers the symbols of your blooming friendship.

He told you about his original wings, he'd tiptoed around the fact that he wanted them back, he didn't give you a direct answer when you'd asked but it was clear to see that his metal wings didn't feel right to him anymore, they were a reminder of his lapse in judgement. And in return for his truth you'd shared some of your own, how you sometimes struggled with the aftermaths of healing someone more than you let on to your team, you told him that you had a hard time maintaining your energy when they sometimes asked too much of you on missions and even in the school's infirmary.

It had only been a few days spent together but you considered him a friend, you had a lot in common and you couldn't quite tell yet, but you felt as though Warren started warming up to you from the second he'd opened his eyes after the plane crashed, he was so quiet and reserved but he had a certain vibe about him, he had this sort of protective energy around you and you couldn't lie, that feeling of security grew on you very quickly.

You promised yourself as you both walked into the school that if anyone had anything negative to say about him joining the team, you'd kick up a storm.

The atmosphere in the school was somber when you walked in, Warren stayed close to your side as you walked towards the Professor's office, you needed to get Warren set up.

The pair of you didn't make it very far before you heard a gasp from in front of you, you didn't even see who it was before you were being crushed in a hug.

"You're alive... Oh my God you're alive!" You recognized the hugger and smiled, hugging him back tightly.

"Yeah, Hank. I'm all okay." You reassured the bigger man. Hank was like an older brother to you, ever since you joined the school you'd spent so much time in the infirmary and since you were so much younger then, Hank had taken on a brotherly role to you, he'd essentially become your mentor. He loved you like a sister and by the tears that were soaking into your shoulder that really showed.

"We thought you died, I'm so sorry (Y/n)." Hank sniffled into your shoulder, squeezing you tightly before pulling away, revealing his puffy eyes and red face, it looked like he'd been crying on and off for days.

"That why everyone's so gloomy?" You questioned, glancing around to see the majority of people that occupied the hallway staring at you in shock.

Hank swallowed thickly and nodded. You just smiled and nodded your head in Warren's direction, and Hank immediately stiffened.

"No worries, Warren took care of me." You assured him and he could tell by the look that you were giving him and the fact that aside from your over-sized clothing, that definitely didn't look to belong to either you or Warren, you were in good condition and the boy had in fact had a change of heart. If he truly was the reason you'd gotten home safely the older man was in no place to be skeptical, so instead he nodded gratefully to Warren who returned the gesture, not speaking.

After reuniting with Hank, he brought you and Warren to see Charles, who was like everyone else, in mourning.

You'd never seen him smile as bright as he did when you entered his office, the relief on his face made you laugh as he wheeled toward you. 

"Thank goodness, darling girl." He exclaimed, grabbing your hand tightly in both of his own, without having to be told his eyes met Warren's, "Thank you, Warren. Come, sit."  Charles invited him but the boy in question looked at you skeptically.

"Go on, he's okay." You assured him, smiling as he sat down in front of Charles' desk, fidgeting with his hands like a child who was about to get in trouble.

Charles turned to you again, a gentle smile on his face, "Peter is in the infirmary, his leg got injured during the fight. I don't need for you to heal him but I've never seen a boy cry so much in such a short amount of time. Go and say hello."  

You smiled sadly and looked to Warren, "You okay if I go check on him?" Warren only nodded again, he'd become even more quiet than usual but you could feel his energy, he was nervous yet hopeful, optimistic even.

"Could you show Warren to the infirmary once you two are finished up?" You asked Charles who nodded, "Of course, go on now, we'll be ok."

Nodding again, you left the office and made your way to the infirmary, not meeting anybody along the way. Thankfully. At the moment you just wanted to see your friend and talk to him about everything that had happened within the last few days.

As you walked into the infirmary you saw Peter, a cast wrapped around his leg and a red and puffy face. Silently you leaned against the doorway and watched your closest friend in the school stare blankly at the ceiling.

You were so used to seeing him energetic and happy, you'd even told Warren about him, you wanted them to be friends, they were the exact opposite of each other but Warren liked to sound of Peter when you'd told him about him, you were all the same age- give or take, and you wanted Warren to be able to just act his age and let loose, Peter Maximoff, and yourself of course, were the perfect people to help him do that.

Shaking your head at his low mood, that was as a result of thinking you were dead, you pushed yourself off the doorway and made yourself known, "What's with the long face, speedy?"

You laughed at the look on his face when he heard your voice, and saw your face. The feeling of relief flooding over you as a result of his own.

"I knew you weren't dead!" Peter shouted, shooting up into sitting position and smiling brightly at you as you raised an eyebrow, pulling him into a hug.

"That why you been crying for two days straight?" You teased him, as you squeezed him tighter, Peter scoffed and gently pushed you away. 

"Nah I was crying of happiness that I finally have some peace and quiet." He shot back matter of factly, his usual mood already returning as you joked around together.

"Don't get me wrong I'm glad you're alive and all but how'd you survive the crash?" Peter asked as you sat up on the edge of the bed he was on.

"I got thrown out the windshield, so did Warren. We were both pretty fucked up, I healed him up then he took care of me, made sure I didn't die in the desert after I passed out." You explained to Peter and rose an eyebrow at him as he smirked at you.

"Warren, huh?" He teased and you couldn't stop the laugh that left your mouth.

"What about him? We almost died together it was quite the bonding experience," you told him, still chuckling before calming down and going on, "You're gonna help me settle him in. I told him lots about you, we're gonna be one super weird little trio." You told him definitely and he chuckled at your optimism.

"Right, a kleptomaniac, an empath and a reformed henchman." Peter nodded approvingly at his own deduction and you laughed, "Exactly. Perfect." 

Not long after Charles and Warren appeared in the doorway. Warren greeted you with a small smile, and nodded to Peter who waved at him, a friendly smile on his face. 

"Warren has decided he'd like to stay with us." Charles spoke up proudly, happy to have a new mutant joining his side.

Smiling brightly you listened to Charles continue, "He'll be staying in the room across from Peter's for the time being but I'd be more than happy to make different arrangements should further developments take place." Charles' lips curved into a knowing smile, which Peter mimicked while yourself and Warren shared confused glances.

"I'll leave the three of you to get to know each other."

-+-+-+-+-+-

Weeks passed and Warren settled nicely into the school, he didn't talk to many people, mostly only you and Peter, sometimes Charles or Hank but he tended to only speak if spoken to first.

He'd been thinking a lot lately, looking hard at himself in the mirror and not really liking what he saw. His metal wings were starting to weigh him down and the tattoos that adorned his face were driving him crazy. He hated himself for buying into the notion that he needed his wings weaponized in order to fight when he knew that he could fight perfectly well without the blades. 

You'd offered to try and restore his original wings and he knew you'd be able to, but he knew doing something that big could be potentially dangerous for you so he turned down your offer at the time but he wanted to change his mind now.

Still, the need to keep you safe far outweighed his want to get his wings restored. Being at Xavier's school saved him but that was all down to you, to him you were an angel and he'd both kill and die for you if it ever came down to that, he knew it was ridiculous though, you didn't need his protection but he still wanted you to have it.

He eventually decided to bring the topic up with you again one night when it was just you and him. You were in Warren's room, just chilling together as you did most nights, Peter usually joined too but he hadn't that night for whatever reason. 

You sat on Warren's bed, cross-legged as a record spun on the record player, Warren's favourite band playing through the speakers as he sat beside you, his eyebrows furrowed while he worked up the nerve to ask you what he wanted to ask you.

"I want my old wings back." Warren spoke out suddenly, causing you to lift your head from the book you were reading.

Smiling, you closed the book and set it on his nightstand. Finally. 

"You're sure?" You asked gently, although you were ecstatic that he was finally allowing himself to heal. To properly heal.

Warren nodded and swallowed thickly, looking at you pleadingly. He didn't realize how much he'd really wanted his wings back until he'd said it out loud and seen the smile on your face once he did.

"Well, I haven't healed anybody so far this week I've got enough energy… we could do it now?" You offered, smiling as he nodded rapidly.

You instructed him to get comfortable in the center on his double bed before you crawled over to him, "Do you mind if I sit here?" You asked, motioning towards his legs, as close as you'd grown over the past few weeks Warren was still on the fence about physical affections of any kind, he longed for it, especially with you but he just hasn't been ready. 

Which sucked since yourself and Peter weren't shy about hugging each other, or kissing each other's cheeks, or throwing your arms around each other and it wasn't that Warren was feeling excluded or anything, no he knew that if you both thought he'd be okay with it you'd be showering him with hugs too, he trusted the both of you enough to know you'd never hurt him but being so vulnerable in front of anyone just hadn't been in the cards for him. 

Deciding to let you help him get his wings back was the turning point for him, he was finally letting you all the way in. So he nodded and gave you a reassuring smile, the kind of smile he reserved only for you.

Returning the grin you straddled his legs and seated yourself comfortably on his thighs, his breath hitched as you placed a hand on each shoulder, you bit your lip as you looked into his eyes, "This might be a little uncomfortable, hold onto me if you need to." 

As soon as your hands began to glow, Warren felt the sting of your powers against his back, it felt like he was burning and without thinking about it Warren's hands moved to grip your hips and his head buried itself in the crook of your neck and he bit his lip harshly.

"Sorry, War. Almost there." You whispered sympathetically in his ear, placing a gentle kiss on his temple, hoping it would make him feel better.

Watching the feathers replace the knives was incredible, his wings were beautiful, he was a literal angel and the way the glow of your powers illuminated his body almost made you cry. He looked like something straight out of heaven.

Soon, your palms stopped glowing and the fatigue hit you like a truck, every ounce of your energy had gone into Warren but it was worth it. 

Slowly, Warren removed his head from your neck to stare at you, amazement painting his face. Your smile grew impossibly wide when you noticed his face was completely clear, the tattoos gone.

"Guess the wings and the tattoos were a package deal." You murmured happily before your eyes rolled back and you collapsed into Warren's chest.

-+-+-+-+-+-+-

After you passed out Warren carried you to the infirmary to rest, his wings twitched every now and again but they felt better, he himself felt lighter, physically and mentally.

Warren stayed by your bedside until you finally woke up, you'd slept for an entire day and your self proclaimed protector was becoming restless.

"Morning, angel." You whispered with a soft smile on your face, he looked different now with his wings back and his tattoos gone, he looked happier.

"Hey, sleeping beauty. I'd say good morning but it's nine o'clock at night." He greeted, returning your smile.

"How're your wings feeling?" You asked, you wanted to reach out and touch them but you decided against it, you didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

Noticing the twitch in your fingers Warren bit his lip and gently moved his hand to hold your wrist, "Why don't you see for yourself?" He prompted you, moving your wrist towards his feathers.

Moving your freehand, you grabbed his wrist which held your wrist, the two of you now in a strange wrist lock. Warren looked at you strangely as your eyes shone brighter than he'd seen them shine in the weeks he'd known you.

"You're sure?" You asked him, genuine happiness laced your voice and Warren couldn't help but laugh at you, "I'm sure. I want you to."

Warren could barely contain himself when your face broke into the most incredible grin, the kind of smile that felt like sunshine despite the fact that it was 9pm at night and the sun had long since set. Warren had thought he'd been doing an incredible job of hiding his feelings toward you, but he was sure that the way he was looking at you now gave everything away and the funny thing was, he didn't care, he wanted you to know.

Slowly you sat up in the bed and reached out to touch his feathered wing, fingers gliding gently over the arch of his wing. They were so soft and warm and felt so nice under your fingers, your eyes had been so transfixed on the angelic feathers that when you raised your eyes you didn't realize how close you'd come to Warren's face.

His eyes met yours and if you ever had a doubt that he was designed by God himself they melted away when his green eyes looked into yours before flicking down to your lips, then back. 

You could feel his breath against your lips, he was intoxicating to you, like a drug, you didn't know how you were going to stop yourself from kissing him this time. You'd often found yourself wanting to kiss your winged friend but you always respected his boundaries enough not to, this time was different though, you could practically feel his lips on yours.

Warren, feeling the conflict but more importantly, the longing, radiated from you, decided to finally place his lips on yours.

His lips moved against yours softly at first but became more urgent when he felt your lips moving in sync with his, the way he kissed was possessive but soft and if he hadn't of pulled away when he did you're sure you would've moaned right into his mouth.

"I want you." Warren whispered, face still close to yours, his hand cupping your cheek, his smile was contagious as you found yourself copying his action.

"You can have me." You giggled out, chasing his lips, connecting them with yours once again.

[set-phasers-to-whump]

“i’m sorry, i didn’t know”

prompt: “i’m sorry, i didn’t know”

whumpee: kyle valenti

fandom: roswell new mexico

hi hi i bring again whump of a character that caters probably only to Me!!! i absolutely love kyle and alex so much and i like to write them sweet...there is plenty of pain in here tho!! def pre-ship vibes but you don’t Have to read it that way?

It hurts. A burning kind of pain that radiates out from his right ribcage all throughout his torso, hot and constant and spiking in intensity whenever he tries to breathe. Broken ribs, he thinks, dismally. Why? Anything but broken ribs would be fine. Pretty much any other kind of break can have something done about it. But for this? He can take a couple ibuprofen and set an ice pack on them and get back to work. 

Not that he particularly should, with broken ribs. A few days off is wise, as is getting checked out by a colleague, but to be honest he doesn’t feel like telling anyone. He doesn’t have any internal bleeding and nothing’s poking out of his skin, so he’s fine. He’s fine.

Except that his whole chest hurts every time he breathes, let alone speaks, or, god forbid, walks. But he has to do all three of those things, because he’s got work today, and then he and Alex are hanging out tonight. He’s not about to skip either of those things.

Work sucks. There’s no sugarcoating it. He hides his injury as well as he can, excusing his awkward posture, slight limp, and occasional wince as being products of a late, sleepless night, and if his colleagues doubt him, they’re kind enough not to say anything. 

Everything goes about as well as it can go until around lunch. He’s operating, a procedure he’s done so many times he could do it in his sleep, but he can’t fully extend his right arm or he’s pretty sure his whole chest will tear in two. He tries to ignore it, but he swears he’s on fire, and he drops his scalpel right on top of the patient. 

Nothing bad happens, but a fellow doctor gives him a curious look. He reaches for the scalpel and can’t quite hide a wince as he stretches out his side a little too much.

“Are you alright, Dr. Valenti?”

“Fine,” he says, a little more snappishly than he’d intended. He bites down on his lip to stop himself from making any more noise and stubbornly blinks away the tears of pain that have formed unwillingly in his eyes. 

The rest of the procedure goes off without a hitch, but Kyle can’t quite escape from the other doctor afterwards. 

“You sure you’re okay? I saw you wince when you reached for that scalpel.”

“Yeah, it’s nothing,” he says, as casually as he can, not wanting a repeat of his reply from before. “Just slept a little weird.”

“Thought you didn’t sleep at all.”

“Barely,” he says. “I barely slept. What I did get...not the best.”

Evidently this is a sufficient explanation, as the other doctor leaves him alone to go grab lunch. Kyle is definitely not hungry, so he skips out, hiding in the locker room until his break’s over. 

He gets home shortly after six, now slightly hungry, but unwilling to eat, lest it cause him more pain. The whole drive home his seatbelt had pressed against the lower side of his ribs, jostling them whenever he’d come to a stop. It hadn’t bothered him too much that morning, but evidently all of the ibuprofen is wearing off. He just wants everything to stop hurting.

He limps his way through the door, not bothering to take off his shoes or remove anything from his pockets. He makes a beeline for the bathroom, where he again takes too much ibuprofen and carefully lifts up his shirt to inspect his injury.

His entire right side is a vivid purple with the occasional splotch of red. It’s slightly swollen and excruciatingly painful to touch. God, it hurts. 

He very slowly makes his way to the couch, stopping by the freezer for a soft ice pack. He lies down carefully and places the ice pack onto his ribs, through his shirt so as not to freeze his skin off. Which would be just what he needs, he thinks. 

The light contact of the ice pack hurts like he’s been punched, and its steady pressure is almost unbearable. He lets out a groan of pain and finally gives in to the hot tears building behind his eyes. Even so, he leaves the ice pack on. It’ll help in the long run, and he’s still got things to do today.

Things which he could very easily cancel. He could text Alex and tell him he’s just not feeling well tonight, but then Alex would ask what’s the matter? and probably get concerned for him and Kyle really doesn’t want that. So he’ll suck it up. And he’ll ice his damn ribs. 

At 6:30, Kyle lifts himself up off of the couch as gently as he possibly can. It hurts anyway, but slightly less thanks to the time spent with the ice. He’s wearing the clothes he’d worn to work, which are slightly out of place for the Wild Pony, but there’s no way he’s changing again (into and out of his scrubs had been painful enough, especially with the added pressure of making sure nobody was around to see the rather horrific colors painting his torso). So the work clothes stay on.

He climbs into his car, wishing he didn’t care so much about his own personal safety as he buckles his seatbelt, which again presses itself uncomfortably against his ribs. He drives, doing his best to make the ride as smooth as he possibly can.

He arrives at the Pony five minutes late and slightly sweaty and feeling fairly awful. Still. He can’t help smiling when he sees Alex sitting in a booth, waving at him. He nods in response, not wanting to lift his hand. 

Kyle sinks down into the booth across from Alex, hiding a wince. 

“How was your day?” Alex asks, as one of the waiters comes up to them.

“Pretty boring. One surgery, a consult, no emergencies.”

“That’s good,” Alex says, as they order their drinks and some snacks. 

Kyle nods. Neither of them says anything for what feels like an age. It’s awkward. He can practically feel the tension in the air. But he really doesn’t want to talk. It hurts. 

“So…” Alex says, but evidently can’t think of anything to say after that.

“So,” Kyle replies, softly. He blinks hard as a slightly more intense wave of pain hits his side. Their drinks arrive, and he takes a big sip, hoping to cool off his ribs from the inside.

Which does not happen. In fact, the movement only makes them hurt worse, and he knows he doesn’t hide his wince.

But Alex, apparently sensing that Kyle doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t push. God, he’s so nice. And here Kyle is, acting like he doesn’t care about anything and not talking just because, what? His ribs may very well be on fire?

“Hey, I finally watched Star Wars,” he says at last, grinning, stubbornly ignoring the spike of pain in his ribs. 

“Oh really?” 

“What, you don’t believe me?”

“Tell me one thing that happened.”

“Let’s see...some planet got blown up.”

“You’re going to have to be a little bit more specific.”

Kyle racks his brain. “It was red?” he says, at last, not entirely sure of that fact. “Winona Ryder died,” he recalls. 

Alex laughs out loud, and Kyle can’t help grinning along. “What?” he asks. “What’s so funny about Winona Ryder dying?” 

“Kyle, that’s Star Trek. And not exactly the best Star Trek, either.”

 “Oh.” He smiles a little more. “Which is the best one, then?”

Alex goes off on a fair tirade of the various pieces of media in the Star Trek franchise. If Kyle’s being honest, he only follows about half of it, but Alex is clearly into it and kind of ridiculously passionate about which show is better than which other show, and which character was done so poorly in this rendition, and it’s incredibly endearing, so Kyle just pays as much attention as he can, asking questions whenever he feels able. 

On top of it being nice to hear Alex so enthusiastic, the conversation is also a nice distraction from the pain in his ribs, which has only increased due to all the talking. The fire has spread out and gotten hotter and he can barely stand it, but focusing on Alex helps. 

Their food arrives. Alex chews a fry thoughtfully as he explains the merits of The Animated Series. 

“...so there’s these close-ups, right? And it’s like, their entire face fills the screen at this dramatic moment, and…”

Eventually, Alex runs out of things to say about Star Trek, and Kyle runs out of questions to ask to keep him going, and the conversation, rather unfortunately, turns to him. 

“You haven’t eaten anything,” Alex observes, and pushes their basket of fries closer to Kyle.

“I’m not really hungry,” he says, though he carefully picks up a fry. He is hungry, truly, but he doesn’t want to figure out what it feels like to eat with broken ribs. 

“You should still try to eat something,” Alex points out. “You look a little pale.”

Kyle pretends to be affronted, throwing the fry very lightly across the table, where it lands on Alex’s lap. 

“Nice try,” Alex says. “Eat something, Kyle.”

He’d sigh in exasperation, if it weren’t for the fact that it would hurt like hell. He very slowly picks up a fry and bites it. Not too bad, he decides, swallowing. And yeah, that hurts a little more. He barely stops himself from putting a hand to his side in an effort to make the pain stop. 

He doesn’t eat any more. Alex doesn’t try to make him, though he does reach out a hand across the table, putting it to Kyle’s forehead.

“I’m a doctor, Alex. I think I’d know if I was sick.” 

“Hm,” Alex says, like he doesn’t believe that. “Maybe you’d know it,” he continues. “Don’t know if you’d do anything about it.”

Kyle can’t fault his logic on that. Not when he’s sitting here with broken ribs that hurt and hurt and hurt, because he hadn’t wanted to tell anyone and he hadn’t wanted to cancel on Alex. 

Their conversation moves on from that naturally enough, and eventually they find themselves at a natural stopping point. They pay for their food, and Alex stands up. Kyle takes a second to build up the strength to make himself stand, and then does it, shutting his eyes instinctively against the pain. 

Alex’s hand is on his arm when he opens them. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asks, looking like he’s not going to believe Kyle’s answer.

“I’m sure,” Kyle says. “I’m so okay. I’m super.”

“Sure,” Alex replies. “That sounded so convincing.”

“I’m fine, I swear.”

“If you say so.”

They make their way out to the parking lot, where Alex leans up against the driver’s side of Kyle’s car. 

“Hey!”

“I’m not letting you get in until you tell me what’s up with you.”

Kyle is so not in the mood for this. He walks around to the passenger side, intending on climbing across. Which is a really horrible idea. He gets one leg over the center console and reaches out an arm to balance himself, and his whole world goes white with pain. 

He slowly sinks back into the passenger seat, feeling his body shaking involuntarily. The too-familiar hot tears of pain are pouring down his cheeks, and he’s trying not to take the shuddering breaths his body so desperately needs, because they’ll only make the pain worse. 

Alex’s hand is on his arm again, and then Alex is turning Kyle’s body so he’s facing out of the passenger door, towards him. Kyle knows this only because he can feel a slight breeze on his face, since his eyes are screwed shut against the pain. 

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Alex asks, and his voice is as soft as anything. “What’s wrong, Kyle?”

He can’t speak. It hurts too much. His face is burning from tears and from shame and his chest is burning with horrible pain and it hurts so much and he just wants it to stop and -

Then it’s worse, it’s worse, it’s so much worse. Alex’s arms are around him in a gesture that would be the most comforting thing in the world were it not for the sheer amount of pain their presence is generating. He must scream, because all of a sudden Alex’s arms draw back. 

Kyle risks opening his eyes, hoping Alex hasn’t left completely. He doesn’t want to be alone. 

“Kyle, what’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

He nods, minutely, and sees Alex’s face fall through a haze of tears. It’s not your fault, he thinks desperately. You didn’t know. 

“Are you hurt? I mean, were you hurt before?”

Another small nod.

“I’m sorry, Kyle, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.” Alex sounds pained, almost like he doesn’t think Kyle will believe him. 

That gets through the pain enough to let him speak. “Not your fault,” he whispers. “Didn’t...wanna tell you.”

Alex shakes his head. “I should’ve seen that you were hurting,” he says. “And then I went and made it worse, thinking your pain was just emotional and that maybe you just needed a hug.” He scoffs, like he thinks that was a stupid line of reasoning.

“Alex,” Kyle says, forcing his voice to be a little stronger. “Shut up. Y’ were helping.”

“But-”

“No.”

Alex sighs in defeat. “Okay,” he concedes. “Not my fault.”

“Mine,” Kyle says.

“That’s not how this works,” Alex protests. “How is it your fault?” he asks, after a beat.

“Stupid,” Kyle mumbles. “Fell ‘n hit my ribs...knew they were broken...didn’t tell anyone.”

“Kyle,” Alex says, a mix between exasperated and worried. “Why not?”

He’d shrug, were he physically capable. “Didn’t want to.”

“What do you want me to do?” 

“Don’ need the hospital. Nothing to do about it. Jus’...wanna go home.”

“Okay,” Alex agrees, not even for a second insisting that they do anything else. “We’ll leave my car here. Give me your keys.”

Kyle lets go of the keys he hadn’t realized he was still holding. They’ve left red marks on his palm where they’d dug into his closed fist. 

Alex takes the keys and very gently pushes Kyle’s body to face the front of the car, and then brushes his hair off of his forehead with a light touch that feels like the nicest thing in the world to his warm skin. Alex starts the car, reaching across Kyle to buckle his seatbelt, which now presses against his left side and is a great deal less painful. 

“So it’s your ribs,” Alex says, after they’ve been driving for a few minutes.

“Yeah.”

“And they’re broken.”

“Yeah.”

Alex leaves the conversation at that, though something in his tone tells Kyle they’re not done talking about all of this. The rest of the ride home is quiet, though not uncomfortable, except of course for the pain, which still increases every time there’s a slight bump in the road or the car changes speeds. He’s crying again, though it’s entirely possible he never stopped. 

They reach Kyle’s place, and Alex helps him navigate his way to the door. It’s an incredibly painful journey, but Kyle tries his best not to lean too heavily into Alex, mindful of his leg and not in the mood to be the cause of any more pain. 

Alex slips his hand into Kyle’s pocket and grabs his house key, then wraps his arm around Kyle’s waist as he starts to list to the side. He inserts the key into the lock and turns it, then leads Kyle inside and directly to the couch.

Kyle very carefully sinks down onto the couch in a sitting position. He hears Alex walking around, apparently gathering...things, and then sees Alex standing in front of him with his arms full of various medical supplies, food, a bottle of water, a blanket…

He moves to say something, but Alex interrupts him. “I know you said you can’t do anything about your ribs, but I’ve got some ice for any swelling and some pain meds and some food and water because you really do need to eat, and blankets so you can sleep out here…” He trails off. Kyle gives him a little smile, for once glad there are still tears dripping down his face, so Alex won’t see him again tearing up at his sheer kindness. 

Alex gets to work in a very businesslike manner, stuffing a pillow up against the arm of the couch and guiding Kyle to lie back against it, picking up his legs and setting them onto the couch. He pulls off Kyle’s shoes and very gently undoes the buttons of his shirt, until it’s open enough to reveal his bruised side, which can’t look any better than it had earlier, if Alex’s horrified gasp is anything to go by.

“Kyle.”

“‘S bad. I know.”

Fingers gently touch the bruise, not hurting as much as Kyle expects. They’re cool against the burning feeling, and they don’t press into it. Alex drapes a soft hand towel over the bruise, then lies an ice pack atop it. 

Kyle is familiar with the sensation, having done a similar thing earlier, but it still hurts. He sucks in a sharp breath, which of course only exacerbates the pain. 

Alex’s hand moves to his face, cupping it with that same gentleness. “I know it hurts,” he says, “but it’ll help. You know that.”

“Yeah,” Kyle whispers back, because he does know. That doesn’t stop it from hurting, though. 

As though reading that thought, Alex holds out an opened bottle of ibuprofen. “You’ve probably taken way too many of these today, but I trust you’re not going to overdose.”

He lets Alex shake two of the pills into his hand, which he very carefully and slowly reaches up to his mouth. He swallows the pills dry, which is a terrible mistake. He coughs on them and feels his ribs explode with pain again. He groans. He is so damn tired of this. 

Alex’s hand is back, wiping away the fresh tears of pain from his face. “Easy,” he says, and holds out a bottle of water. Kyle takes it with a shaking hand and can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed when Alex’s hand joins it, helping him lift it to his mouth. 

He drinks a little water and feels the pain minutely recede. Alex pulls the bottle away, and Kyle leans his head back into the pillow, closing his eyes.

“I’m not gonna make you eat anything right now,” Alex says, and he holds up the assortment of items he’d brought from the kitchen. “But I’m guessing you haven’t eaten anything all day, so when you wake up you are going to eat. Okay?”

Though it’s phrased as a question, Kyle knows full well it isn’t. “Okay,” he agrees. 

“Good,” Alex replies, and puts a soft hand in his hair. “Now sleep. I’ll be here to remind you of that promise when you wake up.”

 thanks so much for reading this!!! like i said i am a huge sucker for kylex and i love them so so much :) i hope you enjoyed!

[someonefantastic]

If You Thought the Head Trauma was Bad…

More migraine Shawn and roommate stuff! Basically I headcanon that Shawn, Gus, and Juliet all lived in the loft together between s8 and the first movie. Also if you want more fics on Shawn and migraines, then feel free to check out my day 3 or @bijulesspookyohara​'s day 5. Shoutout to the folks of the psych discord, primarily @victoriantrashjohn for coming up with the concept and jackal switch for a lot of these migraine remedies. Oh and also @tonystarksspoopyhouseofkids because she drew this adorable pic of Shawn that inspired a scene in this. And shoutout to @chaosintheavenue for beta reading this! Summary: Shawn has a migraine. It's a good thing his best friend and his girlfriend are there to help. Warnings: migraines, nausea, ambulances ___ Shawn groaned as he snuggled deeper into the couch, barely even able to open his eyes. It had been an incredibly long day- he had spent most of it trying to infiltrate an illegal jewelry ring with little success, just another failure on his quest for Juliet’s engagement ring- and he was in the middle of a full blown migraine. He had seen it coming, recognized that the sharp pains in his brain and the small ripples of nausea could easily lead to later pain, but he had ignored it, instead letting the image of his girlfriend (fiancėe’s) elated face spur him to work harder.

And now he was suffering the consequences. No ring, no joyous girlfriend (fiancėe), just a massive, brain pounding, vision blurring migraine.

He sighed, pulling the fluffy blanket tighter around him. He was sitting on the couch, legs crossed, blanket over his head, its soft fabric enveloping him. A pair of child-sized kitty earmuffs were placed squarely on his temples while the sounds of 80s heavy metal filled the air. The shades had been drawn keeping the sun from invading- not that there was much on a rainy San Francisco evening- and the room was cast in a red glow, the source being a small red LED candle that Jules had bought him. It was cozy and nice and he could almost forget the incessant pain in his head.

There was a jiggling at the door and Juliet and Gus walked in, their loud joyous laughter causing him to wince. They paused, and he caught Juliet frowning as Gus walked over and collapsed into the armchair besides him.

Juliet’s hair was falling out of her half-ponytail, Gus’ tie was slipping from its knot, they smelled like coffee.

“Headache?” He asked, voice much quieter.

Shawn barely nodded, squeezing his eyes tight as sharp pains radiated through his skull.

“I’m sorry, babe,” Juliet’s soft voice spoke from his side. Warm fingers gently brushed his hair and he relaxed into her touch. “Did you take anything?”

His voice was strained, “Ibuprofen, a few hours ago.”

Gus spoke up, “He could take acetaminophen. It works differently than ibuprofen so it won’t cause any problems.”

“Perfect,” Her lips pressed against his forehead, “I’m going to go get changed and get you some meds.”

“Thank you,” He muttered, sad when she pulled away.

“Can you get me some too?” Gus asked, beginning to undo his tie, “My side is killing me.”

“Sure thing.”

After her small footsteps faded away, Shawn cracked an eye open. “What’s up with you?”

Gus frowned. “I pulled a muscle lifting boxes for that cute girl in marketing.”

His memory flashed back. A woman in blue, long black hair, Gus doing the thing with his nose. “Michelle?”

“Yeah… it was all for nothing, I overheard her talking about some dude named ‘Levi’.”

“Tough luck bud. That’s a solid name.”

“You know that’s right.”

Shawn’s eyebrows furrowed as he noticed Gus rubbing his side. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” He nodded, “Hey, where is the heating pad?”

Shawn jerked his head back, groaning as the motion caused the throbbing to double. That wasn’t his brightest idea. “Under Jules’ side of the bed. Just make sure to put it back when you’re done, she needs it for cramps.”

“Ah,” Gus nodded, standing up, “Sure thing.”

A stain on Gus’ pant leg, the carpet was rumpled, an empty can under the chair.

He shut his eyes tight again, trying to stop himself from noticing, an in vain attempt to ward off his abilities. Instead he flashed backwards, various images and memories jerking to the forefront of his mind, waves of nausea close behind.

His blue bouncy ball in fourth grade, divorce papers being signed, a bright smile on a beautiful blonde.

His jaw clenched, swallowing roughly as he tried to keep the contents of his stomach down. He leaned forward, trying to focus on the music around him. The beats moved in and out, giving him something to concentrate on.

“Babe?”

His eyes cracked open, the corner of his mouth turning up at the sight of his girlfriend (fiancėe). Her hair was now all the way down and she had pulled on his Thunderbirds sweatshirt. Even though she was only wearing the hoodie because it smelled like him, he couldn’t help but feel a little bit of pride- after all, she usually refused to wear any football team’s merch aside from the Dolphins’.

“Here.” She handed him some pills and water which he promptly took, noting how Gus did the same.

The cool water felt nice but did little to soothe the ache in his head. “Thanks.” He frowned, noticing how her knuckles were bruised, “Did you get into a fight?”

“What?” She glanced at her hand, giving a good natured shake of her head at his abilities. “No- well, kind of. I was sparring with Sam and accidentally punched him square in the jaw.”

He chuckled, “That’s my girlfriend.” Not noticing how she frowned at the term.

Now that his eyes were open, his brain leaped back at the chance to pick up on things.

Small smudge of mascara under her right eye (probably missed it when washing her face), a few crumbs above Gus’ lips, dog hair on the hoodie sleeve.

He groaned as a sharp pain erupted in his head, vision blurring and stomach churning dangerously.

“Shawn?” Juliet’s voice was worried and he soon found her sitting next to him, guiding his head to her lap. She shushed him, beginning to run her fingers through his hair. “I need you to stop thinking, okay? Just focus on my hands.”

His eyes fluttered shut and he relaxed, allowing himself to fixate on her and only her. He felt warm and safe in her arms, her presence always serving to be a beacon in his crazy mind. Honestly he couldn’t imagine life without her, ever since he walked into that dinner nine years ago she had become a permanent staple in his life. He loved her so much it made his heart hurt. Even though the idea of marriage still terrified him, he knew deep down that he didn’t want to marry anyone else but her.

“I love you,” He muttered, reaching up to squeeze her hand.

“I love you too Shawn,” He could hear the soft smile in her voice, “Get some rest.”

He snuggled deeper, a small smile on his lips. Her hands would occasionally drift over to his temples, rubbing where the earmuffs weren’t situated. It was very calming and soon he felt sleep begin to overtake him.

Somewhere between Judas Priest and Holy Driver he heard a groan- and not from the music. It dragged him out of his sleep. Vision blurry and head foggy, he cracked open his eyes. The groan sounded again. He barely registered Juliet’s hand pausing it’s soothing motion and her concerned voice, instead his eyes were on his best friend. Gus was clutching his side, the color draining out of this face.

Jerking upright, he ignored how his head throbbed. “Gus? You okay?”

There was no answer as Gus’ eyes rolled back and he pitched forward, landing on the ground with a heavy thud.

“Gus!” Shawn and Juliet yelled in unison.

In a flash they were both at his side, Juliet’s fingers on his neck and his hand being held tightly by Shawn. “He’s still alive, I’ll call an ambulance.”

Memories flashed through Shawn while his mind burned.

A large crowd, pain in his side, sweating, collapsing, a white room.

He should have noticed sooner, should have seen the signs. If it wasn’t for his headache-

“I think his appendix burst.” He all but shouted, words tumbling out of his mouth. This was all his fault, he should have noticed, he was trained for this for pete’s sake. The one thing he was good at was picking up on information, little things that most people didn’t notice.

He had failed Gus.

Looking back, he remembered the time between Gus collapsing and the ambulance coming so clearly but in the middle of it all, it frankly felt like a blur of regret and blame and worry.

As he watched Gus’ unconscious body being loaded into the ambulance, his hands shook, tears threatening to fall. Juliet grabbed his hand, beginning to lead him to her car. The paramedics only had room for one person but selfishly he needed Juliet to be his rock. He wasn’t sure if he could hold on without her.

She squeezed his hand, wide, worried eyes gazing up at him. “He’ll be okay.”

Nodding mutely, he followed her to the car. All he could hope was that she would be right.

[sloanerisette]

Jyoumi Challenge Day #24: Exchanging Hand Written Letters

Whew, this is a big one, and I realize that its kind of similar to one of my earlier ones but with more of the focus on the letters, but I had a lot of fun with this. Hope y’all enjoy!

---

It had already been a month since Mimi moved, and even though they were still able to talk through email and on the phone, Joe had still felt low. The little things like her visiting him after cram school or him popping by her place to spend time with her after he finished his homework were now off the table, and whenever the group got together now, there was a bit less brightness and energy that Mimi brought in full every time they got together.

The one bright side to all of this was that he and his girlfriend (a word that, even after all this time, still felt weird to say or think) had agreed to write letters to each other after she had been gone for a month. That day after cram school, Joe had spent at least an hour finding the best stationery for her, eventually settling on a soft pink piece with some vines and flowers along the margins. Really, there was no better option, he felt. Now, as he sat at his desk, he felt at a loss for what to say.

Sure, he could write an essay when he needed to, but thinking of what to write to his girlfriend after she had already been in New York for a month was much tougher.

He had gotten home and settled at his desk, pulling out a pen and thinking of what to say.

Dear Mimi,

Was that too formal? He frowned, deep in thought for a moment before continuing.

One month without you around has been really weird, and it makes me think about you that much more often.

Now was that too much? His mouth scrunched up, silently cursing the fact that he had picked up a pen and not a pencil. Joe took in a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

“Come on, Joe, its fine. Just… write what you want to say to her,” he mumbled to himself, shaking his head. That was the hardest part, though, because there was so much he wanted to say and not nearly enough space on the paper.

I miss you. I miss spending time with you. I miss you dragging me out onto all sorts of adventures when you say I’ve been working too hard. I miss wondering what Palmon and Gomamon are up to. I miss you being able to call me at normal times.

He sniffled, wiping at his eyes to preemptively counter any of the tears that would undoubtedly well up.

I’m not good at this. But I just want to write something special for you. About how much you mean to me, and even though you’re thousands of miles away that will never change. We’ve been through way worse together (remember MetalEtemon?) so we’ll get through this.

He chuckled to himself, still blown away at how long ago that was and how different things were back then. Not just for the two of them, but for him, personally, too. That was when he had really started to grow up and get brave.

I hope you’re liking America, though. I want you to be having a great time there, doing all sorts of great, exciting new things. I want to hear all about it next time we talk on the phone once you get this. I hope school is going well, and you know you can always ask me for help, even if I need to stay up late. I don’t mind.

Maybe if Tai was asking him for last minute help he might grumble, but definitely not for Mimi.

It isn’t great being so far apart now that we’re dating, but we’ll just have to look forward to the bright side that we’ll be able to spend time together someday. It might be a while, but I can’t wait for that day. I love you, and I can’t wait to read your letter.

Love, Joe

Another frown on his face, this time from how emotionally overwhelmed he was feeling as opposed to not liking what he wrote. Honestly? He felt pretty proud of what he put on the paper in front of him. He couldn’t wait for her to see this. He couldn’t wait to get her letter. He missed her so much, and to be able to let out all of his thoughts onto paper had done a lot in helping him feel better after she had left. It still hurt that she was gone after so much time spent together. After he had built up all of his courage to tell her how he felt.

He was sad, but there was a strange happiness to it, Joe smiling to himself even as he started to tear up. He sucked in a breath to steady himself and keep himself from crying too much as he neatly folded up the letter and placed it in the envelope. Without a moment of hesitation, he ran from his room to the door, slipping on his shoes, and then leaving the apartment, making his way down to the mailbox as quickly as he could, popping the stamp on it and into the mailbox.

On the other side of the world, Mimi had a whole selection of stationery laid out on her bed, thinking of which one would be best to use for Joe. What looked the nicest? Which one had the best combination of colors? Which one would most scream Joe Kido?

All sorts of colors, styles, and fancy types of papers that were glossy and smooth and though she bought way more than she needed, she knew she needed to find the perfect one for her letter.

She had opted to forgo her homework for the afternoon in lieu of something that was far more important. When they had agreed on writing each other letters as something for each of them to have from the other, she had been ecstatic, and she would’ve been lying if she said he hadn’t been thinking of what to write during the whole school day.

It took a lot of deliberation, but she settled on something sleek that was slate blue and looked incredibly fancy, and Mimi spent a fair bit of time searching for the best pen. Everything about this had to be perfect because it was for Joe. And Joe always deserved the best. Pushing aside some of the other stationery that was in the way, Mimi grabbed a folder to place the letter on, biting down on the inside of her cheek as she started to write.

Joe,

It isn’t easy being in America while you’re all the way back in Odaiba.

No kidding. She had been so sad since she had to leave, and even though New York was amazing, it was still hard to be away from where she grew up and everything she knew. Everyone she knew.

I’m doing my best, though! I’m already getting used to it, even all the big streets and school, but its all so different here! And it may be cool here, but it doesn’t beat Japan, trust me.

Though in all honesty, she couldn’t wait to show Joe around one day.

I miss all of you, but especially you. Its weird not being around you all the time, you know? I miss you so much and I miss teasing you and making you blush. And you can’t tell me you don’t miss it too!

She couldn’t see his blushes or as clearly tell his embarrassed laughter over the phone, and she missed the little joys of all of that on a daily basis.

I feel so lucky that I know you and that even when you’re not here, I can still think about you all the time. It helps when math gets super boring. I hope that it helps you too!

Even with all of the new friends she had made, that wouldn’t stop the ones she knew from being her closest friends ever, nor would Joe ever move from the top of her list.

I know I already said I miss you, but I miss you. And doing all sorts of stuff with you. Its so weird that not too long ago we could just do whatever whenever and now we can’t. What I wouldn’t give to drag you all around New York and do all sorts of stuff. I think you’d like New York. I mean, I’m here after all!

She smiled and laughed softly to herself. If that wouldn’t get him all flustered and blushing, she wasn’t sure what would.

I can’t wait to see you again, and I’m already planning out everything I wanna do with you when we do! Try not to miss me too much, because the more I think about it the more I miss you, even now.

She missed him too much for words, which caused her smile to fade as she started to finish up her letter.

I love you, Joe, and I always will. Even if you’re all the way in Japan, you’ll still always be the person closest to my heart.

Love, Mimi

P.S. I gave this letter a kiss so if you ever want one it’ll be there for you!

As soon as she finished writing, she placed a quick kiss on the paper before folding it and putting it in an envelope. She wasted no time in mailing it off if only for the hope that it would somehow get to him faster.

It took over a week, but the day Mimi got her letter from Joe she was just about bouncing off the walls, already ripping open the envelope as she padded off to her room once she got home, tossing the envelope to the ground and jumping on her bed to read it. Immediately she felt her breath catch, already so happy to read something from her boyfriend, and getting more emotional as she went on.

To hold the letter he wrote helped her feel like he was right there, but at the same time, he suddenly felt so far away. Farther than he already did. So, so far, and yet right there. The little jokes he made left her laughing to herself, and the warmth that radiated from this letter left her heart swelling. Every phone call left her thrilled beyond belief, and yet this felt like so much more, because she would always have this letter whenever she needed it. Whenever she was down, lonely, and just needing him in any capacity, he would be there.

And that was the best thing about this letter.

Each day that passed waiting for the letter made the day that it arrived all the more worth it. The day had already been rough with plenty of tests, but now that he got Mimi’s letter, he felt like this day had already gotten better. Joe wasted no time in opening it, eyes scanning across the paper to read it. A soft, content sigh fell from his lips with each word that passed by his gaze, unable to believe that she was in his life, but grateful for it all the same. Even the mention of New York had him chuckling, feeling like he’d be willing to brave the city for her.

Her words left him blushing, which was clearly what she wanted, and the words at the end, the mention of the kiss from her, left him smiling, and he knew today was definitely worth it. He held the letter close, smiling to himself. Anything from Mimi was always worth it, and this was no different. Joe already knew he’d be keeping this letter for the rest of his life. How could he not?

His favorite thing from his favorite person in the world.