#and in the midst of it for my efforts to be swiped off the table because what are you doing you’re attacking me

[dreamerwriternstargazer]

Love is communication and love is a language and love is understanding so of course it freaking stings when someone misunderstands you even lightly because it’s like oh just… a little bit less of being known because if you knew you would understand what I’m saying to you but this is also complicated because sometimes it’s not a lack of love it’s a lack of resources to communicate or comprehend healthily and it’s tricky because when is it either how do you identify it and how can you tell when you should keep talking your language and they’ll work on their skills at understanding or when they don’t want to understand and how much is there an overlap between the two

Something something…. Why are people always misunderstanding/misreading my language and when I try to break it down for them or translate it and try to learn theirs it’s like I stop speaking my mother tongue it’s like it’s lost and alien and why can’t… anyone read it and listen to it and listen to me for once?

Love is putting effort into finding the translation but what happens when only one is translated and the other is lost?

[imagine-loki]

Can you Keep A Secret

TITLE: Can you keep it a secret?  CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: 3 of 4

AUTHOR: ValarieRavenhearst2 ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine working with Loki in some way but you keep your distance because you have a massive crush on him and you tend to always embarrass yourself. Alas you find yourself in need of his help as you need his magic and he’s the only one for the job.

  All the incubators in the lab make it feel like a sauna today, with so many new species needing direct heat, we’ve had to give them their own room. All my specimens look healthy and well after yesterdays’ sampling and I record their status on my iPad. After working by myself for half an hour I make the easy decision to take my jumper off before I start to sweat. As I start to wiggle out of it by easing it over my head, my shirt begins to rise with it and I make that awkward wiggle to try and magically make my shirt fall down without putting my arms back down. Whilst in the midst of my struggle I can hear the keypad being used to unlock the lab door and instinctively I throw myself to my knees to hide as my shirt has risen over my bra. Instant regret. I quickly correct myself on the ground as I hear Dr Banner and another botanist talking idly. The side of my abdomen stings viciously in warning as the material of my shirt goes back over it. I quickly flip it up again to inspect a small scratch now etched over my ribs, ending just under my bra. I hiss quietly in annoyance at my own stupidity as I stand calmly to inspect what I could have scratched myself on.   Dr Banner greets me in surprise, obviously questioning what I am doing on the ground.

“Good morning.” I give them both a greeting smile, “I just dropped my jumper.” I wave it at them as proof and they go back to their conversation whilst I look at the plant specimens in front of me. This odd, black looking orchidaceous plant looks awfully ominous with its long bristly thorns of an olive green hue. It must have been the culprit as none of its neighbours have any type of protruding bristles. With a slight panic spiking in my veins I try to examine it’s ID card but it’s information is mostly blank as it hasn’t begun rigours testing yet. Shit! What if it’s poisonous. Surely it would be in a covered incubator if it was known to be poisonous and over in lab 2 with the others.  I try not to act concerned as I question if the other two know anything about it and the other botanist, Swanson? I think. Says that the whole table is due for testing today by his team. I just nod in acknowledgment and calmly exit the lab. I mean, I feel okay, right? I don’t feel faint and or woozy.  I canter off to the bathroom after throwing my jumper over my chair; I quickly raise my shirt again in the mirror to get a better look. It’s not that bad … I suppose. The thin red slice is only about six centimetres long and it doesn’t look like there’s anything caught in the wound. Honestly, what an idiot. I can’t believe I was so reckless. If bloody Branson found out he’d have my head and he’d carry on for eternity how right he was about me. Oh the ridicule! He’d have me on desk duty till he dies. No one can know! I’m breaking every safety protocol we have but if I am to die from it so be it. I’d rather die quietly than admit my fault to that grumpy old git. After a quick rendezvous with the first-aid box I should be fine. I’ll just have to spy on the other team later to see if they come with anything concerning on the evil looking sucker. Ugh! I can’t believe I just did that.   As I exit the bathroom mumbling curses at myself, adjusting my skin tight black turtleneck, a wisp of black enters my peripheral and I know that the god of mischief has returned to the floor. His eyes find me as I cross the open bullpen to my desk and I let go of the hem of my shirt and make an effort to make the concern vanish from my face. Draped in a navy Asgardian attire, he is what my high school best friend would call a snack. I briefly notice accents of gold and olive lining the leather but I am quick to advert my eyes and look busy. I suppose he would be a nice distraction from the sting in my side but I needn’t the extra embarrassment on top of my slightly spiked anxiety. I can hear Branson’s old decrepit voice engaging with that sultry sirens call as they wander by my desk but I make myself continue typing on my computer as if my life depends on it. As soon as he’s passed me I can smell his cologne lingering to tease me. Do Asgardians even wear cologne or is that just him? I shake my head, determined not to let my thoughts distract me.   As I continue to work at my desk for the day, every time I stretch and move around I check on the other team working in the lab and notice that pointy little sucker is still out in the open so my panic levels have been low and every time I go to the bathroom I check my side; gently peeling off the large non stick plaster to inspect the fading mark. The redness has reduced so much that I have to strain myself to notice the mark.   I steal glances with the God of Mischief throughout the day as he wanders from station to station. I smile politely whenever our eyes meet and always breakaway first to continue working, which I notice earns me a sly grin after the fifth time. See, I knew that tricky bugger was up to something. I just know he purposefully loves to get under my skin. But I am not giving him the satisfaction of watching me blush today. Two can play at that game. Danny surprises me at lunch by bringing me a latte and childish teasing. He sits on the edge of my desk and immediately notices Loki working in the adjacent Lab in clear view of my desk. Trying to be noticeably subtle he continuously taps my shoulder whilst cooing in excitement like a giddy school girl. I shush him and punch him hard in the leg whilst acting like his antics haven’t phased me. I’ve been doing an amazing job of ignoring his presence all morning, he is not going to trick me into actively swooning now.

“Oh he looking.” Danny murmurs whilst turning his head away, tapping my shoulder again.

“Shut up!” I mutter back as I briefly glare at him in warning before retuning my attention to my computer screen.

“Girl he’s definitely checking you out.” He rearranges himself as he opts for standing behind me and leaning over me like he’s studying what I’m doing.

“I’m going to kill you.” I swivel in my chair so that I’m facing away from the Lab. “You’re such a trouble maker.” I hiss and jokingly shove him so not to make a big scene. “Don’t you have work of your own to do?” I question as I make an excuse to walk out of sight by taking my drink bottle to fill it up. Danny follows, chuckling evilly to himself.

“Yeah but this is more fun.” I threaten to throw water on him. “But seriously, he’s definitely watching you.” I could feel it! But I ain’t playing into Danny’s game.

“Yeah right,” I scoff as I begin back to my desk with Danny in tow, “what for? A good laugh if I stumble?” I take my seat but swivel so I’m facing Danny and away from Loki.

“Well no ‘cause I don’t think he’s ever laughed when you’ve embarrassed yourself.” Danny leans against the empty desk adjacent to mine and I gasp at him with forced hurtfulness.

“Are you saying I’m not funny?” I question mockingly and his face grimaces fiercely as he shrugs in agreement.

“Well, either he’s attracted to you or just pities you.” He deduces with his great sleuthing skills. “Which would you prefer?” I scowl so hard at him that he might burst into flames yet his shiteating grin is till carved into his face. I don’t answer, not diving into this ridiculous conversation (not to mention unsafe when he’s so close). With a steady, yet annoyed breath, I exhale loudly before turning back to my computer and turn my concentration up to a hundred and ten percent to block out Loki’s alluring figure in my peripherals.

“I have work to do and if you’ve only come to tease me you can piss off.” I purse my lips together in my best passive resting bitch face before flipping him off. Honestly what an arse – breaking basic friend 101 rules. Don’t joke about the crush in front of the crush.

“So touchy today.” He laughs and kisses me on the cheek before stepping around my desk before I can clock him one. “I’ll see you later.” He teases before leaving and I can feel myself being watched and it is so tempting to look to where that burning urge is coming from but I just know if I make eye contact I’ll blush several noticeable shades. I’ll remain strong, purely out of spite.   I finish all my paper work earlier than expected and manage to send off all my reports just has mid afternoon rolls around. Spite is a good focuser. As I’m scanning through my emails to see if I need to reply to any I get a page from Clint to say that he’s on his way up to check out his new arrow heads. I beam excitedly in remembrance, jumping up from my desk and heading over to Lab 2, where I had been storing them in the cool room at the back of the lab. I had been experimenting and developing  new knockout gasses and combustibles and I thought adapting them to Clint’s arrow heads would be a more challenging task then the standard grenades. Thus far the little project has been a success, they just haven’t had any field time yet.   I notice Loki watching me through his lashes as I swipe into the lab and punch in the code. We’ve already exchanged pleasantries for the day so there’s no need for me to make any form of acknowledgment as I enter. As I enter through the double doors he straightens himself, most likely in expectance that I had entered to speak with him since it’s only he and another botanist in the Lab. But I just walk straight through without a glance which gives me such a surge of power, knowing how  much confusion I was causing him even though his poker face is exceptional. After punching in the security code on the fridge I gently pull out the draw with the arrow tips and remove the tray, taking it with me. I have to make eye contact on my way back since focusing straight ahead would be too obvious and the key is subtlety here if I want to be one up on his intimidating behaviour. My lips curve pleasantly at him but I don’t say anything as I head back to the door. Clint is already at my desk and is glancing around for me. He waves happily when he sees me and opens the door for me so I don’t have to.

“Hey,” he smiles at me and I pass him the tray, “you sure these work?” He questions mockingly.

“Have I ever failed you before?” I coyly quirk my brows in rebuke.

“Want to test them with me?” He nods his head at the door for me to follow him and I do with a skip in my step. I did archery as a child but I got nothing on him. I take my time to relish in the fact that Loki hasn’t taken his eyes off me as I exit through the corridor and I even dare a cheeky, subtly seductive glance over my shoulder just to make sure. Oh it feels good to be bad .. no wonder he loves it.

[yuzukult]

i’m bad too 06 (m) || kdy & reader

title: i’m bad too - drabble series pairing: kim doyoung x reader genre: angst, fluff, smut, goodboy!doyoung, nerdy!dy (basically he’s a dork) & badgirl!reader, hitman!au, oc-isn’t-a-hitman-but-she-could-be!au, there’s just a lot of unspoken things happening here lol word count: 1.7k warnings: blowjob/handjob (lucky doyoung), sexual usage of ‘oppa’ lol don’t judge a/n: still tryna learn the correct jargon for warnings but this is a drabble so.... very minimal stuff here lmfao

please let me know if anyone wants to be tagged! taglist: @wownajaemin​​​ @crescent-iak​​​ @ncttboo​​​​ @byunbaekby​ ​​← previous chapter || next chapter →

Doyoung makes you watch an obscene amount of superhero movies. For clarification: Marvel-Cinematic-Universe-kind-of-movies. However, you barely complain. If it means more time with him, you’d even watch Sesame Street just to be in his arms. 

He doesn’t like to watch those movies where there’s a way deeper message hidden behind the plot. He lives for the action, sprinkle of comedy, and occasional love interest. But not a ton. Too much romance might set unrealistic expectations, according to him. 

Albeit you sort of think he still has a vastly different depiction of love in comparison to you.

For one, in this alternate universe where there’s villains and superheroes, you, without a doubt, are a villain. You’ve tried explaining to him that you fit the stereotype—the whole leather attire plus motorcycle really takes the cake, but he doesn’t even know what you’re up to half the time. In fact, almost every single event you’ve performed a task, you’d show up at his front doorstep, hands remaining dirty from a mission for the Boss, and he’d welcome you with open arms with no idea. 

Doyoung doesn’t even have an ounce of a clue what you do.

He’s such a nice guy. Girls practically eat that shit up when they meet him, often overlooking the fact that he holds so many great boyfriend qualities. When you’re sore from “work,” (he questions what you do all the time but you just shrug nonchalantly) he’d always slip off your socks, massage the soles of your feet and finish off the rest of your body with no resistance. He doesn’t expect anything in return—not even sex. Doyoung just gives and gives, nearly never taking.

On one side, you’re glad that most women don’t recognize how perfect of a significant other he is. It gives you time to figure yourself out; how do you become good enough for Kim Doyoung? You’ve already dropped smoking. You’ve been putting more effort in your studies, granted he is your tutor. And you’ve spent the majority of your free time with him. If you ever needed to review material, you’d do it with him, just to show how much you’re trying. 

Even if there isn’t a label for the two of you.

You’re friends—but you’re definitely more than just friends. You fuck, but you’re not just fuck buddies either. You’re exclusive but you’re not straightforwardly dating. Doyoung doesn’t hide the fact that he wants you to officially be his girlfriend, although he never forces the idea upon you. He’s content with the circumstances he’s under even though he hopes to have you be his and his only. Nonetheless, it’s under your terms and he never forgets to remind you that. 

Honestly, you thought that you might be okay with this. That is, until a pretty gal with shiny black hair, toned body, and gentle voice named Joy came into the picture.

Joy is a given nickname. Her actual birth name is Park Sooyoung, a name as beautiful as the beholder, but people had gotten into the habit of calling her Joy, since… well, she’s such a joy to be around. She’s part of the school’s cheerleading squad, called the ‘Red Velvet Queens,’ plus extremely involved with other extracurriculars, including the competitive tennis team that Doyoung is on. There’s a lot of bitches on the squad, especially with the encounters you’ve had with them, but Joy isn’t one of them. She’s an angel. She’s the woman version of Doyoung. 

Doyoung likes to wait outside in the parking lot, right in the unspoken designated spot where you leave your bike. You’ve offered him a ride to school since he often stands idly, except he politely declines, and you speculate that it’s from fear. He remains cute in your eyes despite being a bit of a wuss.

Today, however, he’s not alone. It’s a daily routine that the view of Doyoung leaves you breathless, heart pumping like you’ve gone running, but today is different. Your blood is boiling, smoke whistling out your ears like a kettle on a stove from the heat that lingers around your neck region. Joy stands beside him, the widest grin smacked across her cheeks, lips stained as red as her cheerleading uniform. You wobble on your bike into the parking spot, shutting off the engine before kicking out the stand, pulling the helmet off your head while obnoxiously chewing on a piece of gum in your mouth. 

Joy’s gaze meets yours.

She’s sweet, and none of this is her fault. But you kind of hate her presence right now, just because she’s got all of Doyoung’s attention. 

Spitting out the gum on the asphalt, you shuffle through your pockets for a toothpick. This stupid toothpick that you’re stuck with because you quit smoking cigarettes for that charming boy. Popping the wooden stick in your mouth, you rake your fingers through your greasy hair, slinging the backpack over your shoulders before walking past Doyoung. 

“Sorry, Joy, I’ll catch up with you later,” You hear faintly before his heavy footsteps are rushed, catching up with yours. “Hey-Hey! Where are you going? We’re supposed to meet here. Why didn’t you wait for me?”

You shrug. He’s not happy with that response.

Hand grasping on your shoulder, he halts you in your steps to turn you to face him. As much as you hate to admit it, but you feel this green-eyed monster gnawing on your insides and you’re not a fan of it. “What’s wrong? What did I do? Talk to me.”

“Nothing. I’m busy. You still wanna tutor me later or are you busy making plans with Joy?” You snarl, munching on the pick. Doyoung’s eyes lighten up; he knows the problem now. “Are you jealous?”

“That word isn’t in my dictionary.” It’s a blunt reply, and your unfazed stare is there to support it. “Why would I be jealous of a nice girl like Joy who wants to get with a good boy like you?”

Doyoung likes you, no matter how hard you try to push him away. Your dilemma before was that you always thought a guy like him, so generous, so kind, could never love someone with a charred heart like yours. And yet, here you are, evidently jealous of a girl practically his equal when he’s done nothing but proven to you that you’re the only one he sees.

You want more, and the longer you continue to deny and swallow these feelings, you’re even more desperate to be held by him. In the midst of a tutoring session, you’ve managed to unbutton his cute sky blue dress shirt, unzip his trousers and suddenly his dick is in your mouth.

“We’re supposed to review l-limits,” He stutters over a moan, fingers reaching to comb back your hair. “S-So I told her I couldn’t hang out with her today.”

“Mm,” You hum against the tip, tongue gliding down his shaft. “I heard you the first time.” His thighs tighten when your mouth envelopes down his dick to the base with his head thrown back in the chair of your bedroom. He’s glad that he noticed you take initiative to lock the door today since you often don’t, and the possibility of one of the staff members entering in while sucking on him is kinky but he’s still scared of your brother. 

Doyoung lets out a soft gasp when your tongue swipes over his slit where a pearly bead of precum sits. “S-Shouldn’t we— oh fuck—be reviewing materi—ohh?” He sighs; your hands are everywhere; it’s hard for him to focus on anything when you’re gazing up at him through your pretty long lashes with tinged pink cheeks from his cock hitting the back of your throat. He melts under your touch when you graze over his thighs, claiming the territory that he’s succumbed to you willingly. You kiss the head of his cock and he bucks into it. “We’re reviewing a different kind of material. Have you ever been sucked off by a girl before?”

He shakes his head ‘no’, looking down at you with hooded eyes. With his arousal still in your grip, it twitches, yearning for your attention. You hate to admit it, but you’ve obviously tainted his ‘good boy’ persona with him in your bedroom like this, but Doyoung doesn’t think that. Disheveled hair, mouth gaped open, and sweaty forehead is a view of him you engrain in your memory. 

Doyoung is a good boy, but he has a body of a bad boy. There’s no way that tennis is the reason behind those washboard abs, toned thighs, and built arms. He’s not as muscular in comparison to Johnny, nor his friend Lucas, but Doyoung is gorgeous like this, perfect in your eyes. 

That’s why when you moan around his girth and he sputters, you think he’s got a halo over his head. He’s so pretty, so gorgeous, and you want to see him in all types of forms. Your hand wraps at the base of his dick, mouth wrapping around the red and angry tip, it’s glistening with your saliva as you start pumping him at a pace that leaves his jaw slack, groans bouncing off your bedroom walls. 

“Baby,” He calls out the term of endearment raspily, heart racing and abs tightening. A familiar feeling stirs in his stomach, and he knows he’s about to combust. “I’m about to cum, I need a tissue, I—”

“Cum in my mouth, oppa,” You whisper, quickening your movements but calling him “oppa” is what snaps within him, ropes of cum shooting down your throat along with a string of curses and a breathy moan escapes from his lovely lips. 

“So,” Doyoung begins, fiddling with his fingers anxiously across the lunch table from you. “You called me ‘oppa’ the other day. That was uh… new. You’ve never called me that before.”

Tying your hair up in a bun with a bobby pin between your teeth, his cheeks flush pink at the thought of you giving him a blowjob in your bedroom the other day, his fingers streaking through those luscious locks, and him cuming in your mouth. Popping out the pin, you slide in to push back a short piece of hair. “Yeah, well, there was a reason for it. You know why.”

Doyoung blinks blankly, utterly confused. “I… don’t. W-Why’d you call me oppa?”

“So you wouldn’t get nervous and just let me swallow.”

[hotwings0203]

Icarus

A/N: Me- ‘I can’t stand angst’

Also me- Lemme just write an angst fic rq

Hehehe anyways I hope you guys enjoy the pain and suffering I went through writing this. Side notes, I wrote this wayyy before 299 or any chapter that described Hawk’s life story, so I tried to make it as canon as possible when in the midst of creating the fic. Also, I just called Hawks’ dad ‘Takami’ since we obv don’t know his real name lol.

Pairing: DabixHawks

Taglist: The one and only @bakugosbratx​!❤

“What the hell Dabi,” Hawks hissed through gritted teeth. He brandished a large sword-like feather in front of the villain’s face, but the raven-haired man easily sidestepped it with a sleazy smirk adorning his stitched mouth. “The plan was for tomorrow, at the factory on the coast. Not in the middle of the damn city.”

“I changed my mind. Did I mention it was a test of the Nomu’s abilities? My bad,” Dabi said lazily. The shadows from the crumbling building they were meeting in fell on half of his face, making him look beautifully sinister.

“But I wasn’t the only one who acted outside of the plan, now was I? You said you’d ‘send some random strong guy’, but sending the Number 1 hero doesn’t exactly make for a good test. Did that ever occur to you?”

“Well, hey, it did some serious damage to him. You should be happy. I haven’t broken my promise-you’re the only one who went back on his word.” The winged hero spoke lowly, attempting to recollect himself.

“But it's even more unreasonable for you to think that I’d trust the Number 2 hero right off the bat. So this was also a test to see if you were trustworthy,” Dabi stared evenly at him, not breaking eye contact.

And it’s because I know you better than you know yourself, bird brain, he thought bitterly.

20 years ago, both men weren’t at each other’s throats and behind each other’s backs.

20 years ago, Keigo was holding his arms around Touya’s throat while perched on Touya’s back.

***************

“Keigo, loosen up a bit, you’re choking me,” the red-haired boy groaned, shifting the 20 pound body of chub and feathers on his back.

“Sorry,” Keigo giggled, moving his little hands on top of Touya’s head so he could push down and elevate himself to peek above the marble table. His mouth watered when he laid eyes on all the refreshments and appetizers decorating the stainless steel platters that filled up the white island.

His wide eyes quickly scanned around for his objective, and when they finally landed on a small corner of chicken dumplings, he reached a grubby hand out and snagged two that were big enough to fill his palm. He brought his fists down to Touya’s eye level, and the strained delinquent beneath took the sweaty rolls from Keigo’s hand.

“Lemme just grab a fried wing really quick, do you want some sushi or something?” 

“No, I hate fish. Just hurry up, I think his speech is almost done.” Touya bit out, his body shaking in effort to not topple over and drop the food and his best friend.

To confirm their time, Keigo swiveled his head to the podium in front of them and realized Touya was right- his large, equally red-headed dad was almost finished giving his speech. He was speaking about some winged villain escaping by a hair’s breadth from custody, and how it wouldn’t happen again under his watch. The crowd was smiling, nodding their heads as they clapped for the hero’s future success, cameras flashing in his broad face that illuminated every sharp contour of his brutish features.

One reporter had turned around, and had spotted a thick little hand waving around on the table, attempting to grasp the goodies that were placed meticulously in orderly arrangements. She saw a little round head poking over the top of the table and watched as the toddler’s face scrunched up in concentration.

Managing to swipe 5 or so pieces of chicken off the table with one brush of his arm, the little boy’s face disappeared under the side of the marble, but not before the lady made eye contact with him. He gave her a little grin and flashed his tiny pearly whites, some of the gaps in his gums emphasizing his innocent age. She tried to lean over to catch one last glimpse of the child when he sunk down, but unbeknownst to her, the boys had already fallen over in fits of giggles and were racing out of the conference room precariously holding the many assortments of grub against their little bodies.

Little thief, she thought amusedly.

Outside the Hero Commission headquarters now, the devious duo quickly rushed around to the side of the grand building where a dark alleyway embraced them. They stood in the cool midnight air, looking around for the man who had sent them for the errand.

“Where is he? Didn’t he say he was gonna be here?” Touya questioned, his aching arms struggling to keep a piece of teriyaki on his elbow.

“I dunno, but he said he’d be right here so I trust him,” Keigo shrugged.

As if on cue, a sudden gust of wind started billowing around them, almost causing the food to fall when they attempted to cover their faces from the dust and leaves swirling around their faces from the air pressure. They looked up to the source of the breeze and stared in awe as a silhouette of a lean man with huge wings descended down to the ground in front of them. He blended in with the shadows of the navy blue sky, the only indication of anyone actually being there apart from the wind was the way the constellations above broke their uniform formation around his outline. 

Even the stars make room for my daddy, Keigo thought with naive pride as he beamed at his father.

“Mr. Takami!” Touya and his counterpart rushed forward and gleefully gestured to the feast they held in their arms.

“Woah, when I asked for some grub I didn’t mean bring the whole damn buffet,” Takami laughed, running a hand through rugged dirty blond locks. Nonetheless, he gave the kids a proud wink and scanned the alleyway for any clean place to set the food down on. He might be an outlaw, but he’d be damned if he ate like a hobo.

They eventually found a relatively clean albeit rusty trash can lid to settle their bearings on, and abruptly dug into their meal.

“Mr. Takami,” Touya spoke through a mouthful of food, “that move you did last week when you flew upside down avoiding my dad's flashfire fist was amazing. You gotta teach me how to get bad guys like that!”

Takami laughed heartily and leaned in to swipe teriyaki sauce off Touya’s lips. 

“Mmh, kid, I don’t think your dad would be too pleased with you if you referred to him as the ‘bad guys’. He’d kick my ass and yours all in one, and I don’t think my wings are any good with too much heat. Ain’t that right chickadee?” He grinned slyly at his own son now, knowing how much the boy admired the hero despite his chemistry with his own elusive father.

“Yeah kid,” Keigo tried to mimic his father’s attractive lopsided smirk at his best friend. “Don’t you know Mr. Endeavor can kick dad’s butt and yours all in one?” He didn’t even know what that fully meant, only knowing from his dad’s tone that it was in begrudging respect of his idol.

Touya rolled his eyes and continued munching.

“He beats me anyways, even outside of training. I don’t think it would matter what I said at this point.”

Keigo laughed loudly, not fully understanding what this conversation was about but still wanting to fit in from the previous jokes. Takami stopped chewing however and looked at the boy, observing his leaner figure more than Keigo’s, the way his red bangs covered most of his eyes even though he never made an effort to move them out of the way. A thin white streak sprouted from the side of his head, standing out against the vermillion locks. His hands, like any other kids, were always grimy to a certain degree but unlike other kids they were bandaged from his wrists up to his elbows and then some.

Touya was quiet now, simply looking down and not eating anymore. Quickly trying to change the subject, the young father attempted to think of something that would cheer his enemy’s son up.

“Yo, I’ve got an idea. Since you guys did so well in bringing the grub, why don’t I take you guys for a midnight ride? We can fly by the beach if we have enough ti-”

But he was suddenly cut off by the sound of doors barging open around the corner. Touya whips his head around the corner of the alleyway and sees an entourage of reporters and paparazzi tripping over the entrance steps to follow Enji Todoroki outside. The large man squints his turquoise eyes and looks around the dark street. The crowd is shoving their mics and cameras in his face, and Touya catches a glimpse of his mother cowering behind her husband as everyone begs her to make a statement about the hero’s missions and future conquests. She looks slightly burnt out, but manages to keep up a tired smile on her face as she descends the concrete steps.

“TOUYAAAAA,” Enji bellowed, “we’re leaving, I know you went outside so get over here this instant.” His voice echoed through the street, and the small flame user quickly turned his head to bid farewell to his friend and admirable father.

But the alleyway is already empty.

Not wasting a second more in pondering where they both (and the food) could have gone so quickly, he stumbles around the corner and speed-walks towards his fuming father, hoping he remains inconspicuous.

That failed, seeing as how the second his son rounded the brick corner, the number two hero folds his arms and glares at the defiant boy who has his bottom lip stuck out.

“Touya! There you are love, we were worried you got lost,” Rei Todoroki laughs, albeit slightly shrill.

“Where were you?” Enji demands, paying no heed to the media circus eagerly watching the scene for any new content for tabloid headlines.

“I needed to use the bathroom, but I didn’t see one inside.” Touya retorted stubbornly.

Endeavor snorts, not buying the obvious lie. But on closer inspection, he sees a smear of something on the corner of the boy’s mouth. Before Touya can stop him, he reaches a calloused thumb out to swipe it off his face and peers down on the substance.

A brown sauce, suspiciously looking like the teriyaki sauce drizzled onto the chicken on the appetizer table he would know personally because he had chomped down on a few in anger before leaving the headquarters.

He looks to his son expectantly with narrowed eyes, asking an unspoken question.

“I was hungry,” Touya said simply, not offering any more relief for his father.

Enji growls at his impertinence, and everyone shifts uncomfortably when the temperature around them rises a few degrees.

Rei decides to step in.

“Ah, dear, he’s here now and we have to get home. It’s late,” she almost reaches a hand out to his shoulder but stops when her husband suddenly takes a shaky step forward, brushing his son aside to the curb.

Touya staggers at the brute force and falls on his forearm, wincing as parts of his elbow and wrist bloom with white hot pain. Looking around to see what his father had got so worked up about, he whips head behind him and pales instantly, the blood sprouting from underneath the fresh wounds in his arms turning to ice.

Both father and son watch as a few red feathers trail out from the same dark alley Touya emerged from and into the sky.

Endeavor furiously turns in circles as if he were possessed and desperately runs forward a couple of paces trying to keep up to the feathers, trying to see where they flew to the designated body.

But Takami has long since snatched Keigo and thrown him over his shoulder as he takes to the sky, conducting his feathers to hide away the remaining food to try and prevent their presence from being known.

No sense in worsening those bandages, he thought about Touya as the toddler on his back waved goodbye to his friend, unaware of the trainwreck about to unfold beneath their feet.

“Endeavor is gonna beat you dad,” little Keigo stuck out his tongue and his dad ruffled his hair affectionately, knowing he meant no harm in rooting for his beloved hero that he so looked up to.

“Ohh I bet he will, no doubt. But if he’s gonna take me down, it better be on the ground ‘cuz he’s never gonna catch me in my damn sky.” He chuckles

“Your sky?” The warm bundle in his arms looks up at him with huge golden eyes.

“That's right, my sky. It can be yours too, if you learn to master those wings of yours. See, even the birds in the sky make way for us. The moon too! Look Kei, see how it's lighting the way? That beauty is only for me and you.” Takami spreads his arms out and closes his eyes, basking in the way the moonlight drenches his face, the way the wind tousles his handsome rugged hair and swirls around him, embracing him as if he were an old friend.

Keigo hugs his arms around Takami’s neck tighter, looks up at his dad’s face and thinks to himself that maybe Endeavor won’t actually be able to take him down. Because in this light, his dad looks like he could live forever. 

They both are silent for a couple more minutes, until Keigo has the guts to take one arm off his dad’s neck and reach out into the endless open space, hoping the moon could spare him some light too if he were to inherit the sky one day.

Takami grins and lifts his boy with both hands higher to an angle where the entirety of Keigo was covered in silver ethereal light. 

Birds of a feather must truly flock together, because Takami can’t help but think that his son is going to outlive him and the moon itself. His heart squeezes and soars when he hears the tinkling bells of laughter emitting from his kin when small droplets of water tickle his chubby cheeks.

“You know the story of Icarus, Kei?”

“No, who’s that?” Takami pulls him down and holds him tightly to his chest as they begin to descend, the cars and buildings below coming into clearer view.

“Well, Icarus and his dad were escaping a cruel king when they were locked in this tall tower, so Daedalus-the dad- makes these big wings to use for him and his son to escape with.” He abruptly pulls a small finger out of his son’s nose.

“They had wings? Like us? Were they red too?” Keigo smiled a gap-toothed smile at the thought of a boy his age having a similar quirk.

“For sure he did, little bastard could fly twice as high as you though,” (“Hey!” from an indignant Keigo) Takami spoke louder as the wind rushed by their ears as they lost altitude from getting closer to the ground.

“So anyways, they jump out the tower just on the chance that they can actually make it, and they did! They mastered how to fly after a couple of close calls falling to the ground, but eventually they mastered it. Icarus flew higher than we did just now, and got realll close to the sun and-”

“Did his dad get close to the sun too?” Keigo interrupts, clinging to his dad’s rough leather jacket as he buries his face against the material to escape the cold stinging wind.

“Oh he got close alright. But uh, he kinda...fell after a while.” Takami finished hesitantly.

Keigo is silent for a moment.

“I don’t think I like this story.”

“Hey, don’t worry about the dad! He loved the sky and feeling the sun rays on him. He got to see the birds, feel the warmth, and most importantly see his kid be happy and fly away to safety and a better life.”

Even though the very same sun and sky are the things that lead to his demise, Takami laughs internally at himself, at the irony of it all and at his own fate.

***************

It’s raining in Osaka.

“Hawks. I’m sorry about what happened last time.”

“Yeah, same here.”

“Don’t bother tracing this call.”

“Haha, I won’t, I won’t! Please, spare me the attitude.”

Right, because you’ve got enough in that overly inflated head for the both of us.

Nevertheless, Dabi continues, keeping his voice low despite the deafening rain splattering the outside of the phone booth. He shifts the phone in his hand, and pulls his hood down lower on his face to avoid prying eyes from outside his sanctuary. 

“Listen, I want you to trust what I’m about to say. For the sake of the League of Villains, we must demonstrate our dedication to taking down the system. This time we’re asking for someone besides the Number 1.”

Hawks.

You might be right if you think I can’t cut you off-you’re too valuable. But even if you still keep playing the fool, I won’t forget about you at the back of my mind. That’s a promise.

Unlike you, I keep my promises. And I don’t forget about the past, ever.

Because the past never dies.

***************

Touya bites at his already-blunt nails, hissing as he rips a cuticle off.

He continues to walk down the hall, not letting his nerves get the best of him. The building itself was a pain to navigate, but being the son of a prominent hero had its perks. The staff fell over themselves trying to be the first to guide the young prodigy to where Keigo was living now.

Not that he told his father where he was going, though. It’s fortunate that Fuyumi’s favorite bakery and the Hero Commission were on the same street- he could bring back some cakes to give a good excuse for his whereabouts.

Approaching the designated door, he took a deep breath before knocking. He didn’t even get to rap his bandaged knuckles twice against the dark mahogany before the door swung wide open.

“Touya?”

Keigo stared open-mouthed at the boy, noting how more than half his hair was white now, giving a strange and out-of-place look to the new forming blueish/black scars on the lower half of his face and purple bags near his eyes.

 He giggled, before stepping aside to let his friend in. “It looks like someone painted your face with all the funny colors on it.”

“Yeah, something like that.” Touya mumbled as he shoved past and saw for the first time where the fledgeling had been cooped up for weeks now.

 The room itself wasn't huge for an adult, but for a kid around their age it was a glorified playground.

A single bed rested in the corner of the room, plain white walls blinding Touya’s weary eyes under the artificial fluorescent lights. A little desk was situated right next to the bed, and a closet adorned the adjacent wall. Nothing too crazy or fancy for the Hero Commission headquarters, but then again it wasn’t supposed to be a place for kids anyways.

Keigo sat comfortably at the edge of the bed, tossing his Endeavor doll back and forth between his hands.

“So you heard what happened huh? I guess your dad really did beat mine. He was so cool with his Jet Burn move! But I bet you they’ll fight again and this time my dad is gonna take yours down for some good revenge.” His gold eyes flashed as he adorned the trademark Takami smirk-hooded eyes, a lazy lift to the side of his mouth. Touya would’ve laughed at the pathetic attempt at mimicry if he had more energy.

But as it was, he wasn’t so amused at the moment.

He didn’t have the heart to tell one of his only friends how the elusive thief and murderer wasn’t coming back anytime soon.

Especially when it was at the hands of his own father.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and got off the wall he was leaning on, making his way to sit next to Keigo on the rickety bed.

“Yeah, um, about that Keigo...have you heard from your dad yet?” Touya bit his lip and tried anyway, hoping that Keigo would have a different answer than what he already knew.

“Nope!” Keigo said cheerfully. “All I know is that I saved some family from this huge car wreck when I was waiting for dad to pick me up. We were going to try and get some of those white pills for mom, but she hadn’t been home for a while again so dad thought it was better if we just got some food anyways...” And at this, Keigo trailed off as a small frown furrowed his eyebrows and caused a little crease in between them.

“Right...so the Hero Commission saw and somebody got you?” Touya filled in the blanks, trying to not let the younger boy catch on to why exactly his dad didn’t come back yet.

“Yeah, I’ve been here since then. Your dad told you?”

“Not exactly...I didn’t tell him about you specifically, I just asked him what happened ‘cause you were in the newspaper. He thought I was asking about the Hero Commission and got really excited about that. Made me train twice as hard that day, I told Natsu-”

“Wait, I was on the headlines?” Keigo interrupted. “How’d I look?” He cocked his brow and flexed his puny bicep, running a hand through his hair-the same way his dad would do after flying in high winds.

Finally Touya couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the ridiculous look Keigo had on his face. The latter laughed as well, both of them doubled over on lumpy sheets and rough-housing each other as playful fists went flying, shoving the other down.

“Well you looked a lot better on paper than you do with that stupid face you got on now,” Touya sneered, holding his foot down in between Keigo’s shoulder blades. He let the soles of his feet warm up to the point of feeling slightly more than ticklish as his captive shrieked with laughter and for mercy.

Touya thought about his father at that moment.

Would he be proud of the way he tackled Keigo down so quickly? Would he say he’s using his quirk to its fullest extent?

After a few minutes of staying in that exact same position, only the sound of Keigo’s increasingly pained screams brought Touya back to reality.

“Crap, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry Keigo I just zoned out, are you okay?” Concern laced his voice and was evident in his guilty face as he rushed to flip the sniveling blond over to sit up, a hand bracing his back as he did so.

“Y-yeah I’m okay. Man you gotta control your quirk, aren’t you supposed to be better at this since you train with your dad, like, every day?” Keigo fought to keep his shaky breath and wavering voice under control. He didn’t want to seem even more immature to his idol’s son.

Touya immediately stilled at Keigo’s question, his eyes darkening marginally, bandages seeming even more heavy underneath his layers of clothes. He suddenly felt pathetic and dirty under Keigo’s seemingly judging expression, and decided it was time for him to go.

He picked his trembling body up off the bed, avoiding the scrutinizing figure he was sure was mocking him from his earlier quip. Who was Keigo to say that he wasn’t training hard enough?

Did he not see the bandages? His burnt skin? Was he so blind to the weary demeanor he surely emitted?

He’s just like my dad. Should’ve burned him anyways.

But the vibrant eyas’s face held nothing but adoration for his partner-in-crime, even after he almost got burned. It took Touya some coaxing of false ‘no, I’m not mad, you didn’t do anything wrong’s and ‘yes, I’ll come visit again soon’ to let Keigo permit him to leave.

And as Keigo closed the door in front of him, he felt bubbling pride at his friend for becoming stronger since the last time. Even if it meant he might need some ice for his tender wings, if it was any indication for Touya that all his training wasn’t for naught then it was worth it-heat and all.

***************

Dabit spots a tuft of blond hair poking out from amongst the darker villainous colors around the massive underground bunker. How could he miss it, when it was so obviously out of place?

Shigaraki has just finished speaking, rasping something about him being leading the Violet Regiment.

He doesn’t give a fuck, honestly.

Boredom is etched on his face as the crowd cheers and yells its support for the new Paranormal Liberation Front, and he stomps his way down the stage steps with the other League members.

He thinks about a couple weeks ago, when Hawks brought him a black duffel bag with the Number 3 hero inside.

“Whether this is really him or not... clearly you actually killed someone.”

Following in your daddy’s footsteps, I see.

It doesn’t really matter what the reason is, Hawks. Takami had his own justification for taking lives, and you do too. This is what the League is about. Who are you to hold someone’s life higher than another’s? What makes your cause so much better than somebody else’s? It’s all just bullshit anyways.

“Well, how d’you do, Mr. Number Two?”

He’s finally made his way over to the eccentric blond who has just finished giving autographs to some lower-rank villains.

Hawks snaps his head around to the sound of the grating voice, and the grin he puts on makes Dabi feel things he hasn’t felt in decades. It makes his heart clench and causes his palms to smoke slightly. It makes the staples on his mouth twitch and he doesn’t like it, not one bit. 

So he grits his teeth and bears it with an even more determined smirk as Hawks weaves through the bodies and throws an arm over his shoulder.

“You look quite happy.”

“Sure am!” the winged hero responds easily. “Now, how about some intros?”

As Dabi steers the both of them around the cramped grounds, going from person to person, he can practically see the gears in Hawk’s head turn.

He knows he will be meeting his father soon, thanks to the spy he’s currently arm-and-arm with. He’s counting on it.

One down, one more to go

I bet you think you’re so smart, huh, pretty boy?

You haven’t changed in all these years.

Still doing everything you can to show me just how trustworthy you are, even though you’re nothing but a sick, twisted bastard whose morals come from a serial thief and murderer. At least I’m honest about my views, the same as before.

It doesn’t matter if we’re older now. You’re still the same person who breaks his promises. You’re still doing everything you can to reach Enji.

The Hero Commission trained you well.

***************

There’s a flash flood warning throughout Japan, the heavy rain and thunder confirming everyone's preparations.

Keigo has nailed the blindfold practice down to its core, and pleasing superiors means an early bedtime and extra dessert in the cafeteria.

He grabs an antiseptic pack from the nurse along the way and holds it between his fully developed teeth, now easily balancing two cheesecake slices and three fat chicken dumplings in his lean arms. He is so thankful for the Commission in aiding him shedding off unnecessary baby fat.

But he knows all the credit doesn’t go to his superiors though. As he walks down the empty halls, he thinks of earlier times, when he and Touya would race each other down concealed alleys and streets with food piling up in their holds, both boys trying to make the other drop their treasure by abusing their quirks to sabotage each other with glee.

Shaking his head and chuckling to himself, he arrives at his room and frees a hand, turning the gold knob and pushing inside. He turns on the lights and the pack from his mouth is dropped as his mouth gapes in shock.

“Touya!”

It's a name Keigo has uttered a thousand times, but Touya reluctantly admits to himself that he will probably never get used to it, will never get over the happy butterflies in his stomach as he feels his ever-standing guards being let down when he knows he can finally be himself.

Even more bitterly he comes to term with how he's sure it's not just his quirk that gives him the warmth that lights up his spine as Keigo draws nearer, beaming at him as if he were the only person in the world that mattered.

“Man, where have you been? It’s been so long since I’ve last seen you, how are things going?” The blond runs a hand through his hair, his locks longer than the last time Touya remembers.

He stands from being perched on the bed for hours now, feeling returning to his numb and more heavily wrapped legs.

Not that he expected Keigo to notice.

But Keigo does notice.

He notices how wobbly Touya stands, as if he were prone to fall over any second. He notices the blue flames that silently fume from his forearms and heels, the bandages he usually wears nowhere near in sight. Touya’s white hair has flecks of black soot embedded in the soft pristine tufts, and his eyes have a wild look in them, resembling that of a cornered animal.

An animal that knows it’s at the end of the road.

But he doesn’t remark on it. Instead, he listens to Touya explain how he came here.

“Yeah, yeah it's definitely been a while. Wouldn’t kill you to try and contact me too once in a while, y’know considering your idol beats my ass every time I leave the house without permission.” He laughs shrewdly, the scars on his face splitting and making Keigo internally wince at the pain he must feel.

“Oh right...hey listen, I’m really sorry about that dude,” Keigo awkwardly scratches behind his head and his wings ruffle slightly at his tension. “They just kinda keep me on a tight leash here with the training and all. Speaking of, how’s training with your dad? Any guys he’s bagged again?”

None apart from your dad, bird-for-brains.

 “-I keep hearing about the people here talk about All Might, but obviously you know I'm rooting for your-”

And Keigo continues, as if the confession of Touya’s abuse has no weight to it at all. 

Touya doesn’t want to hear or talk about his father anymore. Especially considering what hell he raised back home, and why he caused it merely a couple of hours ago.

He doesn’t have much time left.

“No he hasn’t. He’s just been training me until my skin burns and my nerves get fried.” Touya snaps, finding a sick pleasure in the way the other boy’s bright eyes deflate at his response.

Keigo can’t ignore Touya’s tone or passive aggressive words anymore, so he falls silent.

Both of them are facing each other, the distance between them so close yet becoming farther and farther the longer they stand.

Whether or not he meant to spite the winged-boy or because he was internally reminiscing on the easier days where he and Keigo wanted the same things, desperately trying to make at least one normal conversation before he left indefinitely, Touya blurts out, “Any news from your dad yet?”

Immediately he wishes the bandages on his limbs were stuffed in his mouth. Stupid, of course he couldn’t’ve, not when its been months since his father locked the latter’s elusive father up.

If Takami isn’t dead by now, he most likely will be soon. 

An image of burned wings sears itself into Touya’s mind.

“No...I haven’t heard from him in over half a year now man. Honestly, I’m not really bothered by it. He’s a thief anyways, I’m sure he can take care of himself wherever he is,” Keigo shrugged, making his way to the window and looking out as if expecting to see his dad fly across the navy blue sky.

Touya did a double take at Keigo’s level-headed confession. This was the first time he had openly acknowledged his dad’s less-than-holy lifestyle.

How could you not care? He did everything for you-made sure you were safe from my dad and your own mom!

How could you not care about the only man who was worried for me?

“I have a life here,” Keigo continued as he gazed at the star-dusted horizon accentuated with violent gusts of wind that rattled the window frame. “I can finally do good things and make the best of my quirk. Yeah, sometimes I’m pushed more than I can take, but the training and potential is worth it.”

He turns to the lanky figure slouching in the room shadows, and his eyes flash with a glint of golden, his lips upturned slightly as his white teeth gleam in the moonlight.

“Don’t you want to be a hero, Touya?”

“Don’t you ever think about the families you could save?”

What about my family? Can’t you save me?

Touya stumbles back, and Keigo reaches towards him alarmed. 

“Hey woah, woah. Sit down for a sec’, you okay dude?”

He falls backwards onto the bed, the same place where he and Keigo wrestled oh so long ago. His head is spinning, the faint ringing in his ears is making him panic even more, his breath is coming out in shallow pants.

Burning wings sear through his head again. As the boy is reaching for the sun, his wings are  gradually melting off.

And now the training room is burning, burning, burning up in flames. His skin is completely eroded, skin grafts making his once youthful face look like mediocre patchwork done from the hands of a child, at most.

A piece of jaw, nothing more. Blue flames engulf the vicinity, reflecting off the red and blue flashing lights outside along with police sirens.

He hopes Fuyumi is sleeping in her crib, and the smoke doesn’t choke her.

He wonders if his mom is scared more for herself or him.

“-forehead’s burning up, Touya can you hear me? You need to relax man, you’re shaking. What’s wrong? Do you need me to call someone?” 

He hears Keigo’s frantic voice swim around in his head, and he wants to reach out to him to beg him to just stay, don’t go, don’t leave me like everyone else, you’re all I have left.

But instead, he settles for gripping Keigo’s thin arm as hard as he can, silently begging him to not get up.

“Alright, if you don’t want me to get someone then I need you to calm down, you’re freaking me out. Can you do that for me, just take a deep breath?” the blond relents, rubbing Touya’s back and taking an odd note of how ash is covering his clothes in a thin layer. 

And they’re still warm.

“Hey, did I ever tell you that story about Icarus and his dad? My old man told me about it the night your dad had his press conference.” Keigo continues on, grateful that Touya’s breaths come in a little slower as he listens to the sound of his voice.

“So basically, there's this dad and his kid, and they’re like escaping this evil dude from this high tower right? But get this: the dad crafts wings, Touya, big red wings like mine-only, they’re made of wax so they’re not really like mine I guess…” Keigo trails off, pouting slightly, but immediately stops when he sees Touya’s face of incredulity as he clutches his slightly heaving chest. He hurries on with his story, encouraged by distracting his friend long enough to allow his breathing to normalize even if he looked like a madman spouting random, nonsense stories.

“B-but anyways, they have no choice but to jump off the tower and use their wings, and it actually works! Well, I mean it kinda does. They fly as well as they can towards the sun since they were in the dark for so long, like this.”

He demonstrates with a large jump, using his wings to boost him higher, and does a somersault in midair. Unfortunately he lands flat on his butt, much to Touya’s amusement. Keigo’s face lights up as the latter lets out a breathy chuckle and looks in anticipation at him as if to ask what happens next.

 He discreetly detaches a feather to rub his sore bottom as he gets up and joins Touya on the bed again. 

“I think the dad fell or something, if I remember it right, and the kid just flew up to the sun. I think that’s it. It reminds me of you and me-y’know, you with your fire or heat, and mine with my wings obviously.” Keigo grins widely, and Touya shakes his head, even though he smiles too.

“You’re so full of shit birdbrain. But whatever, if your dad told you that story then I’ll pretend it was worth listening to and wasting my time.”

“If I recall right, you were the one who came here to waste time, ashtray.” Keigo teases as he pokes Touya’s sides, causing him to yelp and swat his hand away as they both burst out cackling.

They both gained their breath after their fits of laughter, and layed on the bed in contentment. A flash of lightning, however, reminded Touya he couldn’t stay in this heaven forever.

He slowly pulled himself up the bed, and stood up facing away from Keigo.

The winged boy looked in confusion as Touya redid the bandages on his arms, and he squared his shoulders. His eyes started stinging, and he cleared his throat as he willed an imaginary dam to hold back the waterworks.

He started walking towards the door, and Keigo felt a sudden clench in his heart that served as his only premonition.

“Touya?”

He didn’t turn around fully as his wrapped hand turned the doorknob in its place, only enough so Keigo could see the sides of him. The shadows on his face made his eyes and the lower half of his face almost indistinguishable.

“Hey Keigo? We’re always gonna be on the same side, right?”

Please say yes.

Please say you understand me even if I know you won’t.

“Yeah, man, I promise. I’m...I’m gonna see you again though, yeah?”

And as Touya Todoroki felt the impending dam spill freely over his eyes and down his face, he let Keigo hold onto his last promise that he knew he would have to fulfill, whether the hero-in-training lived up to his word or not.

“Of course. I promise.”

***************

“‘You’ve just been unlucky’, was it?”

 He extended an arm and shot out a blue column of fire straight at Hawks and Twice. Hawks propelled himself and the unconscious man across the crumbling room just for a moment’s reprieve.

“Well, whatever...your ‘weapons’ have dwindled away anyways.”

The severely burned hero coughed and steadied himself on the floor.

 “You nearly burnt your friend, you know.”

“It’s fine,” Dabi casually waved a hand. “That instinctive lifesaving schtick is what you heroes are all about after all.”

Hawks wiped some soot off his face, desperately trying to keep Dabi’s face in his line of blurry vision.

“Well aren’t you sarcastic. You sound as if you had known all along...was I exposed?”

He scoffed and upturned his patched face in a sneer before answering the hero’s speculations.

“Whether you were exposed or not,” and as the shadows fell on Dabi’s face in an eerily familiar light, Hawks felt a shudder or deja vu pass him, as if he had seen the villain before but in another lifetime.

“I never trusted you from the start.”

“Is that so?” Hawks needed to stall. 

My wings are burnt to a crisp so my ability to take flight will be inhibited...plus we’re in a tight space. This is a worst-case scenario.

“Light him up!”

Twice was conscious.

“I said don’t move!”

But before the singed hero could subdue his objective, he felt the searing flames of Dabi’s heat encompass his body. He groaned and heard the villains’ voices swim in and out of his head.

“With you alone we can get rid of these heroes”

“Yeah...okay!”

That was Hawks’ cue to get the hell up. He launched himself out of the window when he felt Dabi’s next hit coming through, and used the momentum of the wind and flames to break through the shutters. Not wasting a moment, he spun mid-air and circled around the top of the floor and vaulted back down towards the entrance of the room.

At the same time, Jin Bubaigawara cloned himself and attempted to escape through the same way Hawks was coming in.

Dabi saw all of this in almost a split second, not even with enough time to fully lower his still-extended arm and turn around.

“You’re too fast.”

As Twice and Hawks collided, Dabi realized he was on his last straw, his last trick up his torn sleeve.

“TAKAMI

KEIGO.”

Everything seemed to move in slow motion. A fact made solid as his gaze landed on the vermillion sword-like feather already erupting from Twice’s back.

Both men turned to finally face each other, indescribable emotions reflecting off their eyes.

Hawks felt another shudder light up his body.

How does he know my name?

“Who...who are you?”

He didn’t have time to protect himself as another wave of blue hellfire rained itself on his back and wings, knocking him to the ground.

“Good work hero! You killed Twice!”

An inflamed boot dug its way into Hawks’ back, and Dabi internally thanked his former self for remembering his old friend in such a vulnerable position.

Memories so vague he could barely see them flashed through Keigo’s mind, but he didn’t have time to ponder on them even though he wanted to. 

He wanted to feel where that zing of clarity up his spine originated from when he felt a heavy weight crush his scorched wings. He wanted to know why it felt so familiar, and why it brought him a faint sense of bitter happiness instead of just pain.

But he quelled the flames of curiosity, and turned his shaking body to meet the hungry eyes of the man above him.

“Is that-is that the expression of someone whose friend was just killed?!”

Dabi felt his stitches rip at their seams as his haunting grin stretched wider.

“You’ve got a mouth on you, huh! Your words hurt! My tear glands are burnt so I can’t cry y’know!” He gleefully pressed his boot deeper into his victim’s shoulder blades, as he did when he was younger. He felt a sick sense of giddiness as he felt Hawks’ body shake, just like it did almost a decade ago.

Just like old times.

“With Twice around, my dream would certainly be seen through, so of course I’m sad about it.”

“I’m heartbroken,” and all Hawks saw for a split second was Dabi’s body engulfed in a wall of fire, his standing silhouette showing nothing except the reflection of light around his eyes. There was no remorse, no guilt, nothing but sadistic pleasure in his orbs.

He wheezed as the boot slammed on his back again and scrunched up his bleary eyes, fending off the smoke curling through his lashes.

“I looked into the backgrounds of each of the League’s members. But only you...and Shigaraki. You were the only ones I couldn’t find anything on..!”

Dabi said nothing but let the pathetic mess under his feet cough out desperate theories. It was funny, Keigo never specified how he wanted his best friend to fulfill his old promise. He was just unlucky that the latter completed his own promise, and expected the same from him.

Look who's unlucky now, huh ‘Hawks’?

“So who-”

His attention snapped back to reality.

“Who the hell are you?” Hawks bit out.

And as Touya Todoroki extended an arm and opened his mouth to speak, the sun welcomed Icarus into its warm embrace and fiery downfall.

[yangrr]

disastrous rolls [h.jisung]

⇾ pairing : han jisung x reader

⇾ summary : chaos erupts in midst of enjoying some sushi rolls.

⇾ wc : 2k

⇾ genre/warnings : college!au,best friends to lovers!au | mild swearing

The continuous buzzing of notifications fell upon deaf ears,but even if it was anything important,you told yourself you weren’t going to spare it a glance.Thick reference books sprawled across the table,notes and exercise papers arranged in a messy array.You were treating the finals season like it was a life-or-death situation,but it was only fit considering you laze away most of the days when you could’ve done early preparations.

Your phone vibrated obnoxiously,adamant on getting your attention. You let out annoyed noises,unable to focus on the swimming words in front of you.It killed your concentration alright,and you pushed back your chair to get to that exasperating piece of electronic.

You knew quite well it was no other than Jisung,no one would’ve been that relentless to keep up the fruitless efforts of spamming your inbox with repeated messages in a row.Jisung wasn’t one to give up,that boy is more determined than anyone you knew--he could be fighting for the last slice of cheesecake during a sale as if it was the last puff of oxygen anyone would inhale.

Sure enough,your phone lit up with his contact,but this time it was an incoming call.Deciding it was enough waiting on his part,you swiped on the green answer button,flopping down on the plush couch.

“Hey,oh my gosh.”Jisung puffed out in greeting.The resounding smack of the soles of his shoes against asphalt was loud enough for you to hear,little pants of breathlessness filled your ears as you waited for Jisung to elaborate.It was rare to hear the energetic male sound so out of air,but you guessed he had been running for a while now--there didn't seem to be any other logical explanation for him to come off like he was on the verge of death.

“Sung,did you miss your bus again?”You spoke,forcing back a yawn as you listened to more wheezes of wind.

“No,” Jisung huffed,sounding mildly offended. “Who do you take me for?I’m not that irresponsible.”

You bit the inside of your cheek,choking back a laugh.The memories of his misfortune right before he calls you every time were priceless--something always go wrong before he runs into you,it was almost like an endless time-loop that brought you both together again and again under the guise of bad luck.

It has a wide range of defects,from slipping on spilt hot coffee to accidentally burning your worksheets to crisps,you honestly don’t know how much more disaster you would run into the longer you spent time with him.

“Okay,yeah maybe I missed my bus.” Jisung coughed out.His footsteps faltered,pants slowing down simultaneously. “But I got some food and I didn’t want it to get cold so I ran over.”

His fingers curled nervously around the paper bag,tearing the brown material apart from how hard he was digging his nails into it.The lack of response from your side was unnerving,and he felt his guts gurgled nauseatingly.

“You’re okay with me coming over right?”He quipped,voice smaller than before. “I know you’re studying and all but I figured you could use a break.”

“My door is already open,hurry.”

+

Donned in a simple black hoodie and sweatpants,Han Jisung had a funny way of making your heart thump like hooves on concrete pavements.His hair was a tousled mess,clear sheen of sweat coating his skin was glistening under the evening sun.The eager and warm expression gracing his features was one you could never brush aside,as you let him into your humble abode.

“Nothing else happened right?”You giggled,taking the package from him.His lithe fingers grazed slightly against yours,igniting sparks on the expanse of your skin,causing shudders to run down your back like little ghost fingers.

He laughed,embarrassed. Jisung’s arm rested comfortably on your shoulder,guiding you into your own kitchen.Sometimes,you wonder if you were the one living here or him,considering how well he knew the layout by now.

The amount of times he disrupted your peace was phenomenal too.

He fished out the plastic container,revealing tempting-looking pieces of sushi.You recognised it almost immediately,making a grab for it before Jisung pulled it away.

“That aunty opened her shop again?”You gaped,lunging for the food,which Jisung avoided with ease.He sniggered,backing away to the kitchen counter. “Give me.”

Jisung shook his head,a teasing glint apparent in his eyes.He smirked coyly, “You’ll have to come get it if you want some.”

You whined in vex,crossing your arms across your chest and sent him the dirtiest glare you could summon.Jisung paid no mind,reaching over you to seize the chopsticks.He made sure to bend just enough,so his chest brushed you in the most subtle way possible.Silent smirk adorned his lips when he felt you tensed up under the contact,breath hitched when his warm breath fanned over the shell of your ear.

“You should study,I’ll keep you company,”

You raised your eyebrows questioningly,gesturing to the unopened packet of food.He returned your look with a smug playful one,almost quizzically as he stared back at you.

“These are my sushi.”He emphasised.Stretching his arms above your head,Jisung continued. “If you survive another hour of studying,I’ll give you the other box.”

“Are you really gonna bet with me right now?”You snarked back,a competitive grin stretching across your face. “No,if I do it, you’ll have to give me more than a box of sushi.”

“Bet.”

+

An hour has never felt longer in your life.The clock seemed to tick by way too slow for liking,like muddy water sliding down a cemented path.You were feeling agitated,fidgeting in your seat each time you heard chewing noises from behind you.

(Exaggerated groans of satisfaction accompanying the chomps were starting to piss you off too.You were sure Jisung was doing that as a very messed up form of torment.)

“Are you gonna give up yet?”Jisung asked,with mouthful of the meaty goodness.You could almost inhale the corporeal form of the tender salmon if you try hard enough,you think.Maybe then you would realise how stupid the bet was and you should have just tackled him for it. “It’s been 35 minutes now.”

“Stop talking to me.”You mumbled. “You’re being a distraction.”

“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

There it was again,the teasing lilt in his tone was about to drive you up the wall.You pursed up your mouth,choosing to violently highlight your textbook instead.

“If you give up I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Jisung,be quiet.” You chided,flipping the page a little too aggressively.It was times like this where it was just the two of you made you realise that the back and forth fronting was not worth it,but you were too much of a coward to act on a whim.The sudden overwhelming part of you that longed to be more than just his good friend burned,and you didn’t dare turn to face him lest the yearning got too much to curb.

“I’ll get you some water,stop drinking coffee.”He ignored your last statement,the sound of the chair legs scraping the tiles behind you told you that he had probably gone to the kitchen.

Sighing,you stood up and followed him out the bedroom. Jisung’s back faced you,one hand curled around a mug and the other around the kettle.The golden fingers of the sun bathed your apartment with the right amount of saturation,glowing off Jisung’s tanned skin.You let your eyes indulge in him,raking over his soft features from the curve of his nose and the divot of his lips,you swear you would give anything to keep the shine in his eyes last.

Jisung sent you a gentle smile,handing you the cup carefully.

Maybe in the same way,you saw his eyes adored you in ways you were sure you did to him,admiring your beauty in the bask of the yellow light.Maybe he was falling too deep to tap out,delirious and drunk with the throbbing want in his chest that he had tried so hard to suppress that he let his guard plummet.

And maybe he would’ve kissed you if his wrist didn’t go limp with the adrenaline coursing through him,anchoring back to reality when the ceramic shattered.

“Jisung.”You sounded weak,he wasn’t sure if you were angry or just too tired to deal with the non-stop chaos that tailed him whenever you both met up.He didn’t look up,opting to keep his head down as he searched for the broom.

“I’ll clean it up,I’m sorry.”

“Jisung,it’s fine--,”

“No,just--,”His tone was sharp.Frustrated. “Just let me do it.”

You watched as he swept up the bits and shards,leaning against the counter as he did so.

“Jisung.”You called out again. “Jisung.”You repeated,this time firmer.

He sighed in defeat,slumping against your form as he snaked his arm around your waist. “Don’t you think I’m just causing trouble for you?”

You disagreed,patting his back comfortingly. “Don’t say it like that.You’re never a bother.”

Jisung lifted his head,gaze trained on your face as he exhaled shakily.The room felt like it was closing in,the bursting need to hold him closer erupted in your chest but again,

You were a coward.

Jisung’s fingers were cold,tucking the stray locks of hair behind your ear as delicately as he could,in fear that he would break you if he wasn’t cautious enough.Blood pounded loudly in his ears,and he hoped it would get louder,just so he wouldn’t be able to hear your curses at him if you were to reject his moves right now.

Slowly,he closed in,squeezing his eyes shut when he felt all shreds of confidence leaving his body.He was afraid,afraid that after whatever he was about to do,your relationship will perish,burning into ashes of being strangers again.

But he figured,if he was already at this point,there was no reason for him to turn back.

So he pressed his mouth against yours,starting off strong and eager but it mellowed down,turning sweeter and more chaste by the minute.His lips told you words he would never have,studying yours with more enigma than readying for exams.You dreamt too many times of this,and it didn’t turn out the way you wanted--it was more than you ever expected.

You tasted the salmon on his tongue,shivering when his hands mapped out every curve and dip of your body.Hanging your arms on his broad shoulders,you dove more and more into him,familiar and cozy like fresh linens after a long day of hard work.It was just...right.

It wasn’t worth being a coward but at least you didn’t push him away like an idiot.

It took all self-restraint to pull away,Jisung steadied his giddy self by placing a wobbly hand on the marble countertop.The air escaped your lungs in bashful giggles,intertwining your trembling fingers with his as you inhaled the scent on his hoodie.

“You still want sushi?”Jisung choked out casually,opening the second box behind you.He forked out one,bumping your lips. “Say ah,”

Still slightly hazy and confused from the exchange of saliva,both your limbs and coordination haven’t recovered enough,causing Jisung to totally miss the target,and stabbing you on the bottom lip instead.You shrieked in pain,Jisung stumbled backwards and now there was sushi on the floor.

Everything was a roller coaster with him,but the kiss was definitely not a disaster.

Fuck the sushi.

[lockefanfic]

Business Trip: Pt 19 - History

“Let me help you relax,” she says, and she immediately presses her lips to yours in a kiss that takes you completely by surprise. But the sweetness of her lips quickly becomes too difficult to resist, and before you know it you are returning her kiss deeply, her tongue swiping lightly across your lips in a bid to enter your mouth.

“Bora,” you manage to say, “your students are right there, and you have a boyfriend,” you say matter-of-factly. And it was true; the nearest students were no more than twenty feet away, and at any moment any one of them could walk by and see what was going on.

“My boyfriend wouldn’t give a damn, and forget my students,” Bora replies, “what about your girlfriend?”

“She wouldn’t care. I think it would turn her on, to be honest. But she might care if your students caught us making out in the middle of a class she’s teaching.”

Bora brings her mouth to your ear, her voice barely heard above the loud music as she says, “I think we both need a little escape from all this. And also… Who says we’re just going to be making out?”

Seoul’s central police precinct was a hub of activity, but the small meeting room you and your team found yourselves in remained almost uncomfortably quiet.

Forty eight hours have passed since you’d received that mysterious text in the middle of the night, and an equal amount of time since anyone had last heard from Choa and Jeongyeon. The hope that perhaps their phones had run out of battery or some other reasonable explanation had long since died, and genuine concern that something serious had happened to them gripped what remained of your team.

Across the table Seolhyun is nervously fidgeting, scribbling angrily with a pen in her notebook or biting her fingernails. In the chair next to you Momo’s elbows are on the table, her fingertips massaging her temples. You reach over and try, in vain, to ease her mind by massaging the tense muscles of her shoulders.

After what seems like a lifetime the door finally opens and Park Jihyo enters. She is accompanied by another male officer whose clothing and wealth of tattoos make him seem a little bit like he could be a criminal himself, were it not for the badge worn on a chain around his neck and the holstered pistol at his hip.

“This is Detective Park Jaebeom, Organized Crime Unit,” Jihyo says by way of introduction, as she stands by the head of the table and drops a tablet on it.

“Jay is fine,” the officer says with a nod towards you and your team.

“Organized Crime?” Seolhyun asks, “so we’re assuming something bad has happened to Choa and Jeongyeon?”

“Given recent events and the text message sent after their disappearance, yes, we are operating under that assumption. As missing persons cases are beyond my jurisdiction and the assumption is that Red Velvet has a hand in this, Jay here has been assigned the case. I’ll continue to assist, but he will be lead investigator.”

Next to you Momo has covered her mouth with her hands in a vain attempt to hide her shock. You had to admit the seriousness with which the police were handling this case, and in particular the involvement of someone who usually dealt with gangsters and mobsters, made you fear for Choa and Jeongyeon’s safety.

“We’ll be investigating all possibilities,” Jay begins, “including the possibility that they were involved in an incident like a car accident or something else that doesn’t necessarily involve foul play. We’ll be contacting local hospitals to see if they’ve been admitted.”

“It’s fucking Red Velvet,” Seolhyun snaps impatiently, “who else could it be?”

“We need to investigate all the possibilities,” Jay continues, “and Red Velvet will certainly be at the top of that list. Jihyo has given me a brief summary, but I’ll need to speak to each of you individually to get the details. She also tells me you guys have combed through the data on their servers?”

“We made a copy of it, yes,” you answer, “and we were in the midst of going through it trying to find something that might lead us to Irene, their leader.”

“I know her well,” Jay answers, a dark look on his face. There was something in the way he reacted to her name that led you to believe there was history between him and Red Velvet’s leader.

“This tablet has a full copy of everything of note that we found on their server,” Jihyo says, picking up the iPad she had laid on the table, “organized by every case Red Velvet has been involved in.”

Jihyo hands the tablet to Jay, who scans the data. The female detective looks at him nervously, as though wondering whether or not she should say something.

“...including the Sistar studio case,” she adds.

At the mention of the name Jay pauses and sighs, an unreadable expression on his features. Whatever Sistar meant to him, it wasn’t good.

“How can we help?” Momo asks, recovering sufficiently from her earlier shock and rediscovering her desire to help find her missing friends.

“This is potentially a criminal case,” Jay answers, turning from the table, tablet in hand, as he begins to exit the room, “and no place for civilians. We will handle this.”

“There must be something we can do,” Seolhyun says, desperate to do something.

Jay pauses at the door, his hand on the doorknob. There is a seriousness in his tone and in his eyes that was not there when he entered the room.

“Comb through Red Velvet’s data again. Let me know if you find anything that might be helpful. But don’t do anything stupid. Stay out of this case.”

The detective leaves the room, shutting the door behind him, leaving the four of you to return to an uncomfortable silence.

---

“So what the hell is that guy’s problem?” Seolhyun asks, her mouth half full of hamburger as Jihyo sits down to join the three of you at the fast food joint across the street from the police station.

Jihyo takes a moment to compose her answer as she pops her straw into her drink and takes a sip.

“He has… history with Red Velvet.”

“Go on,” Seolhyun prods.

“I don’t know all the details, to be honest,” Jihyo admits, “but apparently he’s been involved with them before. Rumor has it Red Velvet went after his girlfriend. I’m not sure what the circumstances were, but he’s definitely not a fan of them.”

“That could be a good thing, I guess? At least he’s motivated,” you note.

“Then how the hell did he get assigned to this case? Doesn’t his history with Red Velvet compromise his judgement?” Momo asks.

“Normally, it would,” Jihyo answers, “but as far as his boss is concerned, this is a potential kidnapping case involving organized crime elements, nothing more. I suspect he just neglected to tell his boss Red Velvet was involved.”

“Please don’t call it kidnapping,” Momo says, a sad look in her eyes. Jihyo realises her mistake and rubs the back of Momo’s hand.

“We’ll find Choa and Jeongyeon,” the detective assures her, “and after we do, we’ll find Irene and make her pay.”

“What do you know about what happened between him and Red Velvet? You mentioned a girlfriend?” you ask, eager to know more about the man spearheading the effort to find your colleagues.

“Like I said, I don’t know much. I know she works at a small dance studio on the other side of town, but that’s about it. There was one other girl involved too - Jay’s girlfriend’s best friend. The other girl works at a bar.”

“We should go talk to them. Maybe they know something about Irene that could help us,” Momo suggests.

“I suppose I could dig up the names and the addresses of their workplaces from police records,” Jihyo offers, “but as a police officer myself I can’t officially question them if it’s not part of our active investigation. Someone else would have to speak to them - off the record, of course.”

“Momo and I can go speak to Jay’s girlfriend,” you say, “she can translate if she doesn’t speak English. Seolhyun, you can talk to the girl at the bar. Let’s regroup at the hotel in three hours.”

“Listen,” Jihyo says, measuring her words, “it’s important that the three of you realize that it’s entirely possible this could all be a misunderstanding, or that an unfortunate non-malicious mishap like a car accident or something has happened to your friends. Let’s not assume they’ve been kidnapped until we’re sure of it.”

The three of you nod in reply - a small part of you hoped that at any moment Choa or Jeongyeon would call and say their cell phones had died or something, and that all this was for nought, but the larger, more practical part of you knew that the chances of that happening were slim.

After finishing your meal, you and Momo flag down a cab and head to the address Jihyo supplied you.

---

Yoon Bora danced like her body was made of liquid.

You’d watched plenty of dancers in their element in your time - Momo herself was no slouch, and she loved to dance whenever she had the chance - but Bora was on a different level. She was not a precise, technical dancer; instead she danced as if the music flowed through her veins, and her long, limber limbs moved to the rhythm and beat to their own accord.

Momo appears entranced by the older woman as she completes her routine in the small dance studio, just as enraptured as the dozen or so students watching Bora and her two backup dancers work through the song. The two backup dancers were certainly not terrible, but whereas it was obvious they were putting tremendous effort into each and every move, Bora danced as if the various moves were as natural to her as breathing.

With one last flourish the song ends, and Bora’s students join you and Momo in enthusiastic applause. In Korean, the young woman dismisses her students with a wide smile before retreating to a nearby bench to take a sip of water and towel down the sweat running down her face and neck.

You approach her, somewhat hesitantly, with Momo by your side, neither of you quite knowing how to start a conversation. You make eye contact with Momo, and she takes the hint and greets Bora in Korean.

“Annyeonghaseyo,” Momo says softly, adding a small bow when Bora turns to the both of you.

“Annyeonghaseyo,” Bora replies, adding a small bow of her own in greeting, a hesitant smile on her lips.

“Ahhh….” Momo stammers as she struggles to remember the Korean words for what she wants to say. She stares blankly at Bora and back at you, before bringing her hands together and forming a circle with her fingers, as if she was trying to describe something using sign language.

“Nae… ileum? Ileum...eun…”

“Can I… help you?” Bora answers, her English heavily accented but nonetheless easy to understand.

Momo and you simultaneously let out a sigh of release at the fact that Bora could at least converse in English. You quickly introduce yourself and Momo.

“You’re an amazing dancer,” you say.

“Thanks. Dancing is my… passion,” Bora replies, taking a second to come up with the correct English word.

We were hoping to speak to you,” you begin, “about Red Velvet.”

A sudden look of concern washes over Bora’s features.

“Are you… with the police?”

“No,” Momo says, “but we want to find and catch Red Velvet.”

“How did you know who I am?”

“We have a friend in the police who gave us your information,” you explain, “because we’re dealing with Red Velvet and we were told you’d dealt with them in the past.”

“I… I don’t want to talk about them,” Bora replies, quickly turning and starting to pack her water bottle and towel into a small backpack.

“Please,” Momo pleads, “we think they were involved in kidnapping our friends. We could use your help.”

Bora pauses for a moment, as though weighing Momo’s words in her head and wondering whether she really wanted to speak further about a subject that had clearly triggered her. She finishes packing her things and zips up her backpack before sighing deeply to herself.

“You can buy me coffee first,” she says, before walking past the both of you towards the exit.

---

The nearby coffee shop that Bora leads the both of you to is small but cozy, and mostly empty save for a couple of students studying for an exam and a young couple keeping to themselves in a corner booth. It certainly wasn’t the most affluent neighborhood, and it was a far cry from the hyper modern buildings of downtown Seoul. But the coffee shop nonetheless had a certain old school charm about it that appealed to you, the slightly old fashioned decor and abundance of small, kitschy decorations somehow making the place feel more comfortable than the cold, cookie-cutter hipster coffee places that littered the trendier parts of South Korea’s capital.

Momo approaches the table where you and Bora are waiting, three iced americanos on her small tray. The three of you take a drink and a sip before Momo asks the first question.

“We’ve heard that you have history with Red Velvet. Can you tell us what happened?”

Bora looks out the window with an unreadable look on her face. You take a moment to appreciate her beauty for the first time - she was certainly beautiful, with a fit dancer’s body to match, but what struck you most was the look of utter contentment she had while dancing; that look was far from her features now, replaced with a look of concern as she relives memories that were probably painful.

“Three years ago, my best friend and I were head instructors at a dance studio in the less-wealthy part of town, not too far from here,” she begins, “We had two other friends who came from wealthy families - they were our primary investors, and they paid for pretty much everything. The four of us were really close… like sisters. In fact, we called the studio Sistar.”

Bora takes a sip of her coffee, the look on her face telling you and Momo that she was about to relive unpleasant memories.

“One day, someone from Red Velvet approached us with an offer to buy the studio. They didn’t care about the business; SM just wanted to buy the building it was in so they could demolish it and throw up a new building. We refused them; we loved our studio and we loved our students. It was a rough neighborhood, and we knew that dancing kept these kids from becoming involved in crime. My boyfriend - he’s a policeman. He saw the positive impact it had on these kids. He told me that dancing kept them off the streets, where they’d become recruits for local gangs.”

You share a knowing look with Momo, knowing now why Jay was so passionate about whatever had happened between Bora and Red Velvet.

“Anyway, Red Velvet became more and more insistent. And one day, our two friends - the ones that were the owners and ran all the financials - they decided to sell the studio.”

“Do you know why?” Momo asks.

“No,” Bora replied, her eyes cast downward as she begins to struggle to relate her story, “we never really knew why. Soyou and Dasom - they disappeared. They were our two closest friends, and one day suddenly they were gone.”

“My god,” Momo comments, “do you know what happened to them?”

“We found out later that they fled overseas. My best friend and I think maybe Red Velvet threatened them. Hyorin - my best friend - thinks their families were threatened. Either way, they decided to sell the studio, and SM took over. They demolished the building and threw up an ugly building made of glass and concrete to house one of their offices.”

“Bora,” you begin slowly, “did you come across anything that might help us track them down? A contact number, or an email address? Did they leave anything behind?”

“I don’t remember,” she answers, “it was a long time ago. And it was… tough.”

Momo leans forward and rubs the back of Bora’s hand, trying to give the woman some solace despite being a stranger. The older woman manages a weak smile, appreciating the gesture even if it wasn’t very effective at chasing away the demons of her past.

“I kept a directory of documents from that time on my computer back at the studio, including emails and other things,” Bora says, “maybe there might be something in there. I’d show it to you, but I have another class to teach in ten minutes…”

“I’ll teach it!” Momo offers, the eagerness in her tone surprising the both of you, “I’ve taught a few dance classes back when I was in school. Is it a hip hop class? Modern dance? Jazz? Teenagers? Little kids?”

“Modern dance, actually. Teenagers… and you’ll have to teach in Korean…”

“Dance is a universal language! I can do it!”

Bora takes a moment to weigh Momo’s offer, the younger girl’s enthusiasm at the prospect of teaching teenagers to dance finally convincing her. There is a brightness in Momo’s face that you hadn’t seen in awhile.

“Okay,” Bora answers, Momo’s enthusiasm having convinced her.

Momo nods happily as the three of you get up, Bora walking Momo through the outline of her class as you leave the coffee shop and head back towards the studio.

---

Off to one side of Bora’s small dance studio is a large room divider made of several rectangular cubed bookcases, each filled with a fitted box that students used to store their belongings during dance classes. It also served as a makeshift room divider, with the other side of the bookcases serving as a small office area with a table and a computer that you assumed was used for the dance studio’s administrative records.

After Bora takes a few minutes to introduce Momo to her class and ensure she was on the right track, she joins you in the small office area where you’ve already started going through the emails, spreadsheets, and other documents on her computer.

“Anything you need in there?” Bora asks, raising her voice slightly to ensure you heard her over the booming music that dominated the dance studio.

“No, nothing yet,” you reply, scanning each document for an email address, or contact number, or anything that might lead you even a little closer to Irene. While most documents were in Korean, email addresses and phone numbers used the alphabet and numerals, and so you would occasionally point these out to Bora, who would explain who the email address or phone number belonged to.

“I’m sorry I can’t be more help,” Bora says, “but I tried pretty hard to erase everything that happened from my memory. I’ve tried my hardest to move on.”

“I know,” you reply, “and I’m sorry for asking you to relive all of it. But we’re trying to bring Red Velvet to justice, and I hope you can help us do that.”

“I know,” the dancer replies, her eyes cast downward, “and I want to help you. If Red Velvet had my friends, I know I’d do everything I could to get them back and make Red Velvet pay.”

You give her a small nod as you put aside another close a PDF you were scanning through and open the next document in the folder.

“Your girlfriend is really in love with you,” Bora says with a glance back towards the dance floor, “it’s obvious by the way she looks at you.”

“She is,” you agree, “and I’m thankful for her everyday. And it’s partially why I want to put Irene behind bars. I want to make sure she can’t ever hurt Momo.”

Bora nods, a small smile on her lips.

“She’s a very lucky girl.”

You return Bora’s smile, but you quickly return your attention to her documents. A few minutes pass, but there is nothing in her computer that can help you.

“Dammit,” you swear softly as you close the last document. You bury your face in your hands on the desk, the frustration of knowing you were no closer to Irene than you were that morning finally getting to your nerves.

Bora reaches over and rubs your forearm.

“I’m sure something will come up. Maybe your friend will have had better luck with Hyorin.”

“I hope so. I’m so frustrated - I feel like I want to punch something. How can I sit here doing nothing, knowing my friends have probably been kidnapped?”

The music track booming over the studio’s speaker changes to a new song, and you listen to Momo speak in more-than-slightly broken Korean as she tries to explain the next routine to Bora’s students. As the song starts up and the sound of squeaking shoes once again fills the studio, Bora rises from her seat and, much to your surprise, sits in your lap. You are painfully aware of the tightness of her yoga pants and her scant sports bra, the thin, form fitting clothing failing to disguise her well shaped body and the toned muscles beneath it all.

“Let me help you relax,” she says, and she immediately presses her lips to yours in a kiss that takes you completely by surprise. But the sweetness of her lips quickly becomes too difficult to resist, and before you know it you are returning her kiss deeply, her tongue swiping lightly across your lips in a bid to enter your mouth.

“Bora,” you manage to say, “your students are right there, and you have a boyfriend,” you say matter-of-factly. And it was true; the nearest students were no more than twenty feet away, and at any moment any one of them could walk by and see what was going on.

“My boyfriend wouldn’t give a damn, and forget my students,” Bora replies, “what about your girlfriend?”

“She wouldn’t care. I think it would turn her on, to be honest. But she might care if your students caught us making out in the middle of a class she’s teaching.”

Bora brings her mouth to your ear, her voice barely heard above the loud music as she says, “I think we both need a little escape from all this. And also… Who says we’re just going to be making out?”

Before you can react Bora has returned her mouth to yours, and her tongue quickly finds passage into your mouth, grazing your teeth before her lips seal against yours and she kisses you deeply. Her slim hand reaches between your bodies, and you realize that she is quickly working your belt and button of your jeans loose.

You want to resist for any one of a million reasons - you had just met her, you didn’t really know what her intentions were, and there were students just a few feet away from the both of you, for starters - but the fact that you could both be caught at any moment brought new excitement to the act, and you found yourself not resisting at all as Bora finally manages to undo your button and slip her slim hand into your pants.

You gasp involuntarily at the feel of her hand cupping your already half-hard cock over your boxers. All the while she is exploring your mouth with her tongue, and you find yourself unable to resist pressing your own tongue against hers, duelling madly against it while her hand continues to stroke your rapidly hardening shaft.

Bora breaks the kiss, and without wasting a single moment she dives into your neck, planting passionate, almost frenzied kisses there. Freed from her lips, you take a moment to fully grasp what was going on - Momo was not even thirty feet away from you teaching a dozen teenagers a hip hop dance routine, and here you were, knowing at any moment that any one of those students could walk in and find their instructor stroking you to hardness.

The sheer audacity of what Bora was doing was exhilarating, to say the least, and you quickly find your shaft at full attention, the cotton of your boxers already moist with your pre-cum. Bora rises from your neck, a wicked look on her well-sculpted features as she raises her hand, and, with a quick, deft motion, slips it into your boxers.

The first touch of skin-to-skin contact between her hand and your hard shaft sends spikes of electricity shooting up and down your spine, and it is a current that quickly escalates in voltage as Bora quickly begins to stroke you up and down, her small hand closing around your cock and pumping up and down.

“Fuck, Bora,” you say into her ear, thankful at least that the loud volume of the music in the studio would likely mean no one but her could hear you.

“Feel good?” Bora replies into your own ear, “I bet it does… but we better make this quick, the lesson will end in ten minutes…”

You lift your head from against Bora’s, taking a moment to bring yourself face to face with her. And you are more than a little satisfied to find a flush on her cheeks, her eyes already drunk with lust as she continues to grasp your shaft and jerk it with quick pumps of her wrist and forearm. A sly smile appears on your face as a devilish thought crosses your mind.

You rise from the chair, Bora quickly taking the hint as she hops off your lap. Without giving her any time to react, you grab her by the hips and face her towards the bookcase; pressing softly on her back, she quickly realizes what you want to do, and she leans forward against the bookcase, bracing herself on it with her hands.

Hooking your thumbs on the waistband of her yoga pants, you quickly draw the skintight material down, exposing her round, full ass as you strip the pants down to her mid thigh, smiling as you notice that she wasn’t wearing underwear underneath them. Giving her as little time as she gave you, you quickly press your right palm flat against her hip before sliding it downward and quickly finding the heat of her crotch with your fingertips.

From this position there was almost nothing separating her from the dance lesson going on mere feet away from her. Were one to look closely, a student would have no trouble seeing her body pressed against the bookcase through the small spaces between the fitted boxes and the bookshelf itself. This was to say nothing of the fact that any one of them could simply walk right around the bookcase…

You are thankful once again for the volume of the music, because the fact that even you heard the loud gasp that escapes Bora’s mouth as you make first contact with her pussy means that it was probably a loud sound indeed. You are more than satisfied to find that she was absolutely drenched, the audacity of the act and extremely high possibility of getting caught in it driving up her pleasure, even before you touched her.

And so your middle finger finds no resistance whatsoever when it slips between the slick lips of her pussy and into the silky embrace of her body. Simultaneously you press forward with your hips, and your shaft presses against the naked, soft skin of her ass, your length nicely wedged between her cheeks.

Bora turns her head enough for you to see her mouth opening in a frozen, silent gasp of pleasure, her hands grasping the exposed shelf of the bookcase in a vain attempt to ground herself amidst the pleasure very quickly building in her body. With one hand she reaches back behind her own head until she finds your own, and she turns her head enough for you to lean forward yourself and crush her lips with yours in a passionate kiss.

She breaks the kiss with a gasp as the newer, closer position of your bodies presses your hard, leaking cock against the small of her back. You watch her lust-drunk eyes hold contact with you as she opens her mouth and mouths two words - you don’t hear them, but you sure as hell knew what she was saying.

“Fuck me.”

You take half a step back and line up the head of your shaft between Bora’s ass cheeks, searching for and quickly finding the hot wetness of her entrance. Then, wasting no time, you quickly press forward with your hips, slowly burying yourself into her slick, wet body.

You worry for a second that her students might hear the loud gasp that leaves her throat as you enter her, but you are convinced, in that second, that the entire class could have walked around the bookcase and found you balls deep inside Bora - and it wouldn’t have stopped you from fucking the delicious young dance instructor.

Remembering, suddenly, that there was less than ten minutes left in Momo’s dance lesson, you quickly grasp Bora’s wide, firm hips with both hands and establish a quick, rapid rhythm of thrusts into her slick pussy. There was no time for slow build up, no time to relish the slow rise of pleasure in your bodies. Not now, not with a dozen teenagers a few feet away presenting the threat of discovery, and not with the hard time limit presented by the end of their class.

And so you quickly begin fucking Bora against the bookcase, relishing the feel of her wet, tight pussy wrapped around your shaft, grasping each inch of your cock as it drives in and out of her body. You equally appreciate the sight of her round, soft ass cheeks as they are rocked with each thrust, and you are disappointed for a moment that you weren’t able to view more of her tight, fit body - not that you had any right to complain, not while you were fucking her against a bookshelf, a mere random glance on the part of any of the dozen students enough to get you both caught.

Despite the speed of your thrusts, you do your best to relish every entry and exit into her body, glancing down and enjoying the sight of your shaft, liberally lubricated with her juices, plunging in and out between Bora’s ass cheeks. You watch, delighted, as her round cheeks are shaken with each crash of your hips against them, enjoying the feel of her warm butt against your pelvis with each thrust.

She was slick, so very slick, but also very tight; part of it was the position, part of it was the gradually build up of pleasure that caused her pussy to tighten around you; but even without those factors Bora was still so tight around your shaft, squeezing you so much you thought she might crush you inside her body.

For her part, Bora seemed to be enjoying the session just as much, if not more, than you were - the tightening of her body around you and the white knuckle grip she had on the bookshelf wood telling you she was just fine with the liberties you were taking with her body, not caring about slow ramping up of speed or depth of thrusts, caring simply about fucking; about penetrating her pussy, driving your rock hard shaft in and out of her willing body as quickly as your hips would allow. She didn’t care, didn’t even want foreplay or gentleness; all she wanted, all she cared about was the thick shaft penetrating her wanton pussy over and over again and the pleasure it caused to surge throughout her body.

And so you aren’t surprised at all when her pussy tightens significantly around you as she reaches back with her right hand, her fingers turning into claws as they bury themselves into your forearm seeking some sort of release for the pleasure coursing throughout her body. The only surprise in your mind is how quickly the pleasure was ramping up in her body, and how quickly she had come to the precipice of orgasm.

She turns her head, and she leans back enough that you take it as a hint to bring your own head forward, thankful that you are endowed enough and she flexible enough to continue to fuck while your bodies were almost standing vertically, her back pressed against your chest. You take the opportunity to wrap your right arm around her torso, grasping the bottom hem of her  light green sports bra before pulling upward, letting her soft, round breasts bounce free; her chest was on full display now, as if having her pants pulled down to her thighs and being fucked against the bookshelf was not risky enough. You quickly grasp her left breast with your palm, squeezing the mound of flesh tightly, igniting another source of pleasure in Bora’s body.

That was when one of her students decided to retrieve a water bottle from one of the fabric boxes that filled the bookcase.

It is with no small sense of fear when you both realize that the student has chosen a box that is only two squares away from Bora’s exposed breasts and torso as you fucked her. You both watch, frozen, as the fabric box disappears from the bookcase, and you both listen as the student pops open the water bottle cap and presumably takes a few sips of water.

The risk of being caught is so near, so high - but it only made the situation more intensely hot.

And so you begin fucking Bora again, giving her long, slow thrusts with your shaft, and her body jerks and quivers with each thrust, knowing full well that she was just a wayward glance or a small sound away from being caught fucking a man she had just only met, and in the same room as one of her dance lessons, no less.

Her pussy tightens around your shaft as if reflecting her nervousness at the heightened possibility of being caught, her entire body taut with fear and anxiousness and intense lust,  and the feel of her body quickly becomes unbearable. Your hand squeezes a little tighter around her breast, and you could swear you could feel her heart pounding against your palm.

It takes what seems like an eternity, but finally the student finishes their water break. Tossing the bottle back into the fabric box, he or she shoves it back into the bookcase, making the only barrier between you and the rest of the class whole again.

“I’m… I’m gonna cum,” she says as soon as the student rejoins the class, the sounds unmistakable even given the loud music that was quickly reaching its crescendo. You are surprised she was close to cumming so soon, but at the same time, given the nearness of your own orgasm, you supposed that maybe you shouldn’t be surprised.

“Cum for me, Bora,” you manage to hiss into her ear, delighting in the effect of your words on her features as the pleasure quickly becomes too much for her small body to handle. Her orgasm is quick and short, but extremely intense, if the quivering, shaking mess that it reduces her to is any indication.

You don’t slow your thrusts as she cums, happy to feel the pulsing, tightening flesh around your shaft as you continue to hammer in and out of her slick, hot pussy. The song playing in the studio maybe had another minute or two to go, and then after then Momo might be able to buy you another minute as she dismissed the class - regardless, your time was quickly running out.

Not that you had any trouble cumming quickly, what with the feel of Bora’s orgasming pussy pulsating around your shaft as you fuck her. You quickly let go of any pretense of holding back your orgasm, quickly giving into your desire to cum inside this young woman’s body, to paint her pussy with white semen.

Bora recovers enough from her own orgasm to realize that the quickening of your thrusts means you are also approaching that wonderful plateau she is currently enjoying, and she somehow gathers the wherewithal to ensure you followed her into bliss as she presses her face against yours and uses her voice to push you over the edge.

“Fill me with your cum. Quick… fucking cum in me… faster.. Fuck me faster… harder... fill me up with cum!”

Her pleads have the same effect on you that yours had on her, and with one last, deep thrust into her wet heat, you finally begin to cum, your shaft pulsing as it sends stream after stream of hot, thick semen into Bora’s slick, hot pussy.

Bora opens her mouth at the feel of you filling her with your cum, and you are thankful that you are aware enough to realize that the song playing in the studio was winding down - quickly, you press your free palm against her open mouth, just tightly enough to stifle the long, high pitched moan that escapes her mouth.

Not even thirty feet away, Momo has begun to thank the students for their effort, and you are thankful to hear that the students are clapping in appreciation and have begun to ask her questions, thus keeping them unaware just long enough for a stranger to finish pumping hot semen into their regular dance instructor from just behind the bookcase in the same room.

You finally finish depositing your load of semen into Bora’s body, and as much as you would have loved to keep thrusting into her body and the slick mess you’ve made of her pussy, you regretfully pull out slowly, the sensitive skin of your shaft creating aftershocks of pleasure as you finally remove yourself from her. You are satisfied to stare at the creamy, slick mess of her pussy as you slump back into the chair and quickly button up your pants once more. Bora takes a little longer to recover from her orgasmic bliss to pull up her yoga pants, thankful that they were dark enough to hide any resulting stain your combined juices were about to make on the thin fabric.

Bora finds enough strength to stare enticingly at you, biting her lip seductively before she pulls her sports bra down and covers her naked breasts once more. She does so just in time, as the students have begun to walk towards the bookcases and withdraw the boxes within them to retrieve their belongings until the bookcases are basically hollow and see-through.

Momo turns the corner past the bookcases, her face flushed with exertion but nonetheless wearing a look of eager accomplishment. Completely oblivious to what you and Bora had just done, there is a bright smile on her face as she asks, “So, find anything?”

---

“Nothing,” Seolhyun replies with an exasperated sigh, “Hyorin told me all about what happened but didn’t have anything that could lead us to Irene.”

“We didn’t find anything either,” you answer, although Momo gives you a knowing smirk; you and Bora had confessed to her about your little liaison during her dance class, and while she was grudgingly impressed that you were able to have sex in the same room without being caught, she was nonetheless disappointed that she wasn’t able to join in, especially given your adventures with Jihyo earlier in the week.

“Bora and Hyorin are dead ends,” Momo says, a look of disappointment on her face, “and we’re not any closer to finding Irene. Any word from the police?”

Jihyo takes a moment to compose herself, or perhaps to prepare herself for the reaction her words are likely to receive.

“My team has canvassed local hospitals to see if Choa or Jeongyeon were checked in,” Jihyo says, “but they haven’t found anything either. Jay called a meeting an hour ago and he’s escalated the case - the two are now officially missing persons, and foul play is officially suspected.”

Momo, Seolhyun and yourself had of course suspected that Red Velvet was involved, but to lose your last hopes of your friends’ disappearance being chalked up to a misunderstanding or mishap was still a blow; to hear that foul play was officially suspected suddenly brought new weight to the situation, and made the situation a lot more real and intense. The thought that something bad had happened to Choa and Jeongyeon, that their safety and even their lives were in danger, was almost unbearable.

“Oh my god,” Momo gasps, and Seolhyun’s only reaction is to bring a hand to cover her open mouth in shock.

“There must be something we can do,” you tell Jihyo, desperate to be able to do something, anything, to aid in the search.

“Unfortunately, what Jay said earlier still holds true,” the young detective replies, “this is officially a criminal investigation now. We’re on it. And now the best thing you can do is stay safe in your hotel rooms. There’s no telling what Red Velvet is capable of, and as you three are potential targets, we need you to remain safe and secure.”

Jihyo continues to speak after that regarding what the protocol for this type of case was, and what you should do if Red Velvet tried to contact you, but though your ears hear her words your brain doesn’t process them, for you are too lost in worry for your missing friends.

Suddenly overcome by anger - at Red Velvet, at the police for their perceived lack of action, at yourself for being powerless to do anything - you storm out of the hotel lobby.

---

In a dark, abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Seoul, Park Choa and Yoo Jeongyeon are huddled together in a dark room.

“I’m scared, unnie,” Jeongyeon says softly. The young girl had tried to put on a brave face throughout their ordeal, but now, almost two days since they were kidnapped, her reserves of strength were beginning to run out.

Choa wraps her arms around the younger girl, stroking her hair with one hand as she rubs her shoulder with the other.

“Our friends will find us,” she says softly, “and these assholes won’t hurt us. They just want money. They don’t want to hurt us…”

Whether she believed those words was a different matter altogether, but Choa knew Jeongyeon needed comfort, and that was what she was going to try to provide.

Suddenly there is speaking, faintly heard, outside of the door of the room where they were being held. The two female captors were conversing with their male comrade, their voices rushed with alarm. There are footsteps and the sound of a door opening, before more voices begin to speak. The new voices are different from those of the three captors, although the number of new voices is difficult to discern, if there was even more than one.

“Something’s happening,” Jeongyeon states, her arms grasping a little tighter around Choa.

“Whatever happens, we’ll be okay,” Choa replies as she wraps her arms a little tighter around her friend, “we’ll be okay…”

There is a commotion outside - the voices are too muffled to be heard clearly but the tones suggest there is a confrontation happening. Loud noises follow; the sounds of a physical altercation, accompanied by threatening shouts.

Finally there are two loud cracks - the kind that send shivers of sheer terror coursing through one’s body - gunshots.

Seconds pass, but to Choa and Jeongyeon they feel like an eternity as they wait in tense silence. Jeongyeon has begun to quiver and shake in Choa’s arms, and the older woman tries to comfort her as best she can, but even she knows her efforts will be in vain. Who shot who out there? Were her captors now dead? Was it the newcomers? Were they next?

Eventually, the door to their makeshift prison opens, and two silhouettes appear in the doorway. The harsh light makes it difficult for Choa to focus, but when she realizes who is standing there, all she can do is sit there in stunned shock.

[bellamyblake]

Headcanons about Bellarke having a second kid after Gus:

Bellamy and Clarke decide to have another kid when Gus is about five years old; Clarke gets pregnant in the winter and this time, according to Abby, it will be a baby girl;

however, this pregnancy is much harder than the one with Gus; Clarke’s blood pressure is too high and she’s in pain all the time; her back, her legs, they’re so swollen she can’t walk, so Abby puts her on bed rest on the sixth month;

that means she can’t go to work or do anything-her only job is to stay at home;

which of COURSE, drives her crazy;

Bellamy is in a freak out mode, of course he is, so he does EVERYTHING, or at least tries to-bring food, cook for them, take care of Gus;

he was the one to take him to school, then pick him up, help him shower, feed him, put him to bed, take care of Clarke, force her to eat even take the short and mandatory walk around the kitchen table which she both craves and dreads at the same time;

he’s EXHAUSTED but trying his best to help her and prepare for the kiddo;

still, despite all their efforts, Clarke gives birth earlier than the ninth month and when she does, she loses a lot of blood;

Bellamy’s really scared because Abby’s not sure she’ll wake up and he’s left dealing with Gus on one hand and the tiniest sweetest baby girl Cassie on the other;

Abby lets him hold his baby girl and Gus peeks curiously from the seat next to him saying “Dada, she’s really tiny.” as he reaches to touch her little nose and forehead; 

“Yes, she is. She’s our tiny little bean but she’ll grow up, okay? Want to help me give her her bottle?” and Gus is all enthusiastic like “Yes! YES!!” so Bell carefully places little Cassie in his hands and together they feed her her bottle while Clarke is still asleep and all pale and weak;

After Gus is like “Dada, will momma be okay?”/ “Yes, of course. Of course she’ll be fine.” he says, though he’s not sure about it at all. “But until she does, you have to stay with uncle Monty and auntie Harper and be good to them okay?”/”Awkay” promises Gus but he’s sad he can’t be home with his mom and dad.

Bellamy stays behind and takes Clarke’s hand in his “I...I never was a guy to pray but...whatever is out there, God, the universe...all the angels and the saints, I...I just pray that they help you get better Clarke.” he kisses her knuckles “Just...get better. Gus needs you, Cassie...she needs her mom to make it through this, God, Clarke...she’s so small and I...I need you the most.” the tears fall over her pale white hand and he tries to keep it together but he’s breaking apart “This family can’t make it without you.”

however, she’s touch and go and he figures a few days later that if he holds her in his arms, her heart beat and blood pressure get better which Abby can’t explain AT ALL; 

but still, he climbs in her cot and pulls her body to his and holds her as hard as he can and whispers everything that happened that day in her ear-how Gus is, the way Cassie wrapped her tiny hand around his finger, how he had a dream of them all at home laughing as Gus tried to chase tiny Cassie around the house; 

a week later, she finally wakes up and she’s really weak and still not out of the woods but she...somehow makes it. however, her mom insists she stays at home until she stabilizes but of course, Clarke pushes herself;

she’s gotten sick of watching Bellamy do everything even before she gave birth and though he’d never complained, she just...she looked at him  and couldn’t help but wince every time she laid eyes on his face;

he barely slept-always waking up to feed Cassie her bottle, especially in the middle of the night so he wouldn’t disturb her sleep; then he dealt with Gus all the time, then he went to work, then used his lunch break to bring her food before he went back there, then he came back for dinner-he didn’t have one damn moment for himself; 

he was running himself to the ground and she couldn’t bare look at the way he walked all hunched or the way his eyelids drooped but he still held his tiny daughter and his son and smiled at them and told them how much he loved them;

so OF COURSE, she starts pushing herself, gets out of bed too often, tries to help Gus more, but she’s too weak still and one time when Gus is back from school and Bell takes another extra shift, she decides to make him dinner but passes out in the middle of it;

AND GUS IS so scared; he’s so afraid, he kneels on the floor and shakes her “MOMMA!!!MOMMA! Wake up! Mom!” he cries out “Momma, please! Please get up! Please!”;

Cassie starts crying in her crib and Gus is so scared but then his eyes fall on the radio his mom uses to call his dad on the table and he picks it up;

Later Bellamy is grateful for all the time Gus pestered him to teach him about his “guard” stuff because he knew how to turn it on and call his dad; A few minutes later, Bell bursts through the door and swipes her up in his arms, carefully carrying her to bed; 

later, after Abby checked up on her Gus refuses to leave her side, curled up on her left and falling asleep; when Clarke looks up at Bell, he’s angry and serious “He was freaking out, Clarke, he thought you were dead.”

“Bell-”

“No! You can’t risk your life like that! Not when your mom explicitly told you to stay in bed until you feel your strength coming back. Not when you still have a fever! Not when you’re still on antibiotics!” he stands up and runs his fingers through his hair frustrated “You’re not supposed to be the stubborn one out of the two of us especially when you know damn well what risks this could pose for your health!”

“So what? I let you do everything? You drive yourself crazy while I spend all my days in bed?”

“Yes. Yes. A thousand times yes.”

“NO!”

“Yes!” he raises his voice and Gus stirs but thankfully doesn’t wake up “You...what you did...making it through those horrible eight months...carrying a child and bringing it into the world with the price of your own health...almost your life....This is everything.” for a moment they just stare at each other’s faces as he breaths heavily “What I do is nothing-”

“Bellamy-”

“No! This subject is over. I will cuff you to the bed if I have to make sure you rest. I don’t give a damn, Clarke. Our son and daughter won’t grow up without a mom.”

Gus gets quite stressed out himself. He asks about his mom all the time when he’s not home and they have to sit him down and tell him that everything will be okay; that mom is sick now but things will be fine; still, he’s like “What if you pass out again and I’m not there...or dad is not there?”

“That won’t happen, son.” Bellamy promises “Your mom won’t leave bed and just to make sure I’m coming every hour to check on her between shifts, okay?” Gus calms down a bit but he still wants to sleep in bed with them because he’s afraid for his mom; 

Clarke disagrees with Bellamy’s speech about it all being for her and they are in a bit of a fight; she decides to punish him with silence and anger but he takes it; he just takes it; 

She has the right to be angry and frustrated because she’s cooped up in their cabin and forced to stay in bed; it’s awful, so she can take it out on him as much as she wants to, he doesn’t care; he can take it and he grows all quiet and a bit sad; 

Clarke realizes that...she shouldn’t be like that, that he’s just being Bellamy “Idiot ass” Blake; 

and when he comes home one night with Gus in toll, he goes around doing the same things he’s been doing for the pas month....and her heart clenches in pain for him. 

she watches him put Gus on the table, fix the fire, then cook them dinner while Gus does his homework; when it’s time for Cassie’s bottle, he picks her up and feeds her after putting Gus his plate and makes sure he finishes it; then when he’s done, he gives Gus a bath, then Cassie and changes them on the bed next to her, all quiet and solemn;

she can’t even help him with that but she does convince him to hold Cassie while he deals with Gus; then he puts him to bed, comes back and brings her dinner, takes Cassie and tells her a story to put her to sleep while Clarke eats and in the MIDST OF ALL THAT HE DOESN’T EVEN HAVE THE TIME TO TAKE OFF HIS JACKET OR BOOTS OR EVEN A SIP OF WATER and she tears up and when he’s putting Cassie in her crib, Clarke stands up, all wobbly, but a bit better, she comes from behind him, hands on his shoulder; 

“Clarke-” even his voice sounds like it weights a thousand pounds. “Go back to bed.”

She cups his cheeks and looks into his tired eyes “I want you to listen to me and I want you to listen to me good, Bellamy Blake” she says “You’re the best husband I could ask for, the best father for our children, the best partner, the best man that I have in my life. You are....everything.”

“Clarke-”

“No I got the floor now and you listen to me.” he looks down at his feet shyly “I may have given birth and I may be sick but how do we always face every difficulty in life?” 

He mumbles something “How do we do it, Bellamy?”

“Together...”

“That’s right, together. That means you can’t take everything on your shoulders. I know that I am weak and I can’d do many things yet, but I am not useless. I can help too. Even with the little things now, alright?”

“Clarke...”

“Alright?” it wasn’t a question it was a statement. He sighs but relents.

“You’re so stubborn.”

“Yet you love me anyway.” she whispers and pulls his head to her chest, rubbing her hands over his big broad back “From now on, when you come home I want you tot take at least ten minutes to put your feet up before you get on with everything else okay?”

“Clarke, I’m fine-”

“I didn’t ask if you’re okay. In fact, consider everything I said an order.”

“I don’t take orders from you, princess!” he says teasingly and she slaps his chest back in retaliation.

“Feet up when you come home, then after you bathe Gus and Cassie, I can dress them and you can eat, alright?”

“But-”

“I said alright?”

....”yes, ma’am” she crosses her arms over her chest “That’s what I thought too.”

that night, when they go to bed she spoons him but they don’t fall asleep right away; 

instead she uses her hand to carefully feel all the knots and bumps and bruises on his back and sides and try to carefully massage them until they disappear; the entire time he groans in relief and finally when her hand ends up in the back of his head and plays with his curls, scratches his scalp a little, he pushes into her like a child and falls into deep and uninterrupted slumber, quietly snoring every here and there, filling her heart with the universal hum of him all around, before she herself falls wrapped around him and thinks that everything will be okay.

[virsamin]

Come Home

Victor x Reader

Genre: NSFW

Word Count: 1,978

Summary: Victor has been neglecting you and you call him out on it

A/N: I’m a sucker for soft Victor too so you’ll see small bits of that with the rough side of him too sksksks

Additional: Rough Sex, fingering

******************************************************************

A thunderstorm rages against the mansion as rain pelts the shutters and the wind howls in angst. Light pours through the kitchen window as a strike pronounces itself in my midst. The storm keeping pace with the torrent coursing through me. Another night alone. 

I bring the blood red wine against my lips, savoring the sharp taste that tinges my mouth. The gold band around my left finger glints under the fluorescent kitchen light, more so as I tap my fingers against the table. Over. And over again. 

The production report mocks me from the counter, scraps and details very far from the forefront of my mind. Only a lingering thought of his soft lips and intense eyes looking into my own.  

Victor has been extremely busy, he doesn't hold me gently in his embrace as he used too. He comes home late and leaves early, and it’s as if I don’t matter anymore. My frustration builds, feeding my torrent of emotions once again. 

Seething, I close my lips around the wine glass again as I flip once more over the manila folder. My distraction.

*Click*

The sound ricochets through the silent house like a bullet, making the hair on my neck raise at attention. My body thrums to life as powerful footsteps echo closer to the doorway of the kitchen. He clears his throat to make his presence known. My back straightens and breath hitches slightly.   

“Late for you to be up.” 

 His deep masculine voice reverberates through the kitchen and across my body, igniting a tremble through my spine. I shift to hide it and sip my wine once again, without responding. His eyes burn into my body as he strides across the kitchen to bring out another bottle of wine.

 I sneak a glance up from the folder to catch a glimpse of him. Familiar taut muscles protruding from his dress shirt, his front shirt buttons undone showing his resilient chest. Messy hair cascading across his face, tempting me to go up and brush it out of the way. 

Before I can look away, dark fiery eyes meet my own. I only stare back, daringly. 

His eyes widen slightly before they narrow, his fire beginning to rage against my storm. 

I glance back down to my portfolio and take yet another sip of my wine as if bored by his glare.. though I'm far from it… I’m exhilarated.

I hear his footsteps as he quietly walks around the island counter until he is only a hot breath away. My whole-body quivers under his heated glare, his breath stirring the hair of my neck. 

Pushing myself to ignore the throbbing desire for him, I focus my attention on the glass in my hand. Swirling it slightly. 

Victor pulls the glass from my hand and downs it himself as he eyed the almost empty wine bottle carefully. He takes the folder from me and skimmed over it. 

"Is this the report I asked you for yesterday?"

"Mmm." I nod nonchalantly, never meeting his eye. 

He frowns as he flips through the papers and grimaced as he realized that I couldn't care less about the project. 

"Are you trying to provoke me? This the worst report that you've ever written. Have you left your common sense back at the research center with Professor Lucien?” 

My head snaps in his direction, anger quickly flowing through me with little effort.

“Y/N.” He quips.

“No. Don’t 'Y/N' me. You've been gone for how long now? A month? And ever since you've been back, you've refused to see me, to spend time with me and you're going to get upset with me spending time with someone else? 

You've neglected me for weeks. Weeks. I thought I was worth more to you than that- You haven’t touched me, you haven’t acknowledged me, you just ignore me. And I can’t even get this stupid report-” 

He whips my chair around and shoves his delicate tongue into my mouth, soft lips roughly caressing my own. 

“You think…” he kisses my neck “…I don’t…” he kisses further “…think about those sweet lips…” his hand squeezes my breast “…these plump breasts…” his finger travels down until it slides under my skirt and panties to coax my wet lips “…this lovely pussy. That’s...all...mine.”

A traitorous moan passes my lips when his finger slides into me, pumping deliciously slow. 

“Victor…” 

My gaze catches the desire in his eyes that most definitely reflect my own. He pulls me into his firm chest and thrusts two more fingers inside of me, almost driving me over the edge. 

Before I slick his hands from a beckoning high, he pulls out and steps away from me. A whine almost escapes, his vacant warmth leaving me cold. His eyes ignite. Victor shrugs off his jacket, pulls his tie off and takes off his shirt.

He quickly and purposely strides up to me, kissing the life from my lips. My fingers tangle through his hair as his hands run over my hips and under my blouse. Tingles of delight dance at his warm touch, overwhelming my senses.

Before I can react, he hoists me up around his torso and slams us into the kitchen wall. I moan and bite his lip fiercely, a snarl scrunches his face as he digs his hips into my own, grinding himself against me. His kisses shock and excite me all the same as he continues from my now swollen lips to the soft skin of my neck. Nipping and kissing along the way. 

Victor presses his warm body over mine, spreading warm tingles over me. He unbuttons my blouse hastily and unclasps my bra, capturing my breasts in his hands. Desire burned through us both, unrelenting from our days without. 

His hand massages one breast as they pucker out for him in need. He pinches hard on my nipple, and I gasp, my core throbbing. His hot mouth replaces it as his hand moves to my other breast. 

His trails his soft hands down my chest and grips my waist tightly, pulling us from the wall, the both of us still breathless as he strides from the kitchen towards our bedroom. I press myself to his body, relishing the feeling of his touch. 

He smashes his lips to mine once again, dominating my mouth without rebellion. His tongue swipes over mine, his knuckles digging into the small of my back as he carries us into our room. 

I open my eyes to find his heated gaze scorching my own desirous ones. 

He laid me on the bed, following with himself on top of me as he sucked and nibbled at my earlobe. 

"Victor...please..."

"Hm...?" He continued his assault, trailing kisses down my jaw and neck before he gently bites down and sucks. I moaned, reaching for the waistband of his pants, and tugged.

"Eager aren't we?" He arcs a brow and smirks at the sight of me being so disheveled. 

He bends down before me and strips me of my skirt and panties, pressing a gentle kiss to one knee and then the other. I can’t help but smile. 

He rises from the position and instantly his face hardens, he wasn’t losing sight of his goal tonight. 

Swiftly, he pulls my nakedness into his half-clothed self. My nipples flush against his chest, leaving only our bottom halves untouching. His bulge begs to differ as it makes itself known against my upper thigh. Victor grinds himself further into me. 

“This is only for you, and never will be for anyone else. Now, what do you want?” His hands draw circles against my back teasingly. 

I wrap one arm around his neck, pulling him closer as the other trails downward, scratching his back. My hand drops to his bulge and caresses over it slightly as I whisper, “You.” 

The answer makes him chuckle as he presses his lips onto mine lovingly.

“As if I wasn't already yours.” 

Exhilarated and ready, I spread my legs over the mattress and leave myself to him. His gaze sears my skin as he pulls off his pants and frees his pulsing cock. I lick my lips at the size, waiting eagerly for him to join me. Victor’s soft hands glide over my thighs as he makes his way forward. Trembles quake my body as he pumps two fingers through my folds.

He kisses up my stomach and pecks my nipples before he makes it to my lips, devouring them without mercy. He continues circling my clit and pumping his fingers, sending me into overdrive. 

He pulls his fingers from my folds, and I whimper. His eyes find mine and he smirks as he sucks my essence off of his fingers. My mouth falls open again, and he takes advantage, taking my lips into his own.

I buck my hips up against his erection, achieving the friction I craved all evening. A short moan releases from me. 

Victor growls low in my ear before, without warning, he thrusts himself deep inside of me, emitting moans from both of us. He pumps in and out, stretching and filling me whole. His name falls from my mouth and echos across the room fast and louder as he drives himself deeper into me. 

Becoming merciless, he rams into me roughly and thrusts faster. My eyes roll in ecstasy as I scream his name over and over in the room, raking my nails across his back. He grunts over me, picking up even more speed as we both climb to our climax. 

"Victor!” I scream as I peak, my core tightening around his shaft as he moans loudly over me. Pulsing inside me after reaching his high as well. 

Victor rests on top of me, both of us panting for breath. Delirious and exhilarated. 

When both of us have caught our breath, Victor pulls out from me and stands over me next to the bed. He kisses the top of my head as I continue to come back down from our sex cloud. I see him walk over to the bathroom and then I hear water running. 

When he comes back in his still naked glory, I look up to him lazily, wondering exactly he was going to do. Answering my inner curiosity, he picks me up bridal style and carries me to the bathroom. 

When we get there, I realize he was preparing a bubble bath. He slides me under the warm water and settles himself behind me, pulling me to his chest. 

Victor grabs a nearby washcloth and begins cleansing me, running the washcloth over my chest and legs. His hand steadies me, spreading warm tingles everywhere he touches. Caressing and kissing here and there. 

When he’s done, I twist in his light grip and take the washcloth from him. “Your turn.”

I proceed to run the washcloth over him, enjoying my excuse to keep touching him. His hands rest on my hips as he leans his head back and closes his eyes, relaxing. His hands tighten on my waist when I reach his cock, but I simply run the cloth over it and move further. It twitched slightly and then he relaxes again, a ghost smile on his face. 

I finish and rest my head on his shoulder, drawing random shapes on his chest. His fingers entwine in my hair and play with it. His other hand rests against the small of my back, both of us just enjoying the long-needed company. 

 ****************************************************************

We both lay in bed, him cocooning me from behind. I doze to him caressing my skin and playing lightly with my hair. Before I completely fall asleep, I hear him whisper.

“I expect you to revise that report by Thursday. Do well and you'll find yourself rewarded.” He kisses the crown of my head as I hum lowly in response, already half asleep. 

[starspatter]

Heroes and Thieves, Ch. 12

Title: Heroes and Thieves Fandom/Universe: BTAS, pre/post-RotJ flashback

Summary: A story about second chances, healing, and having hope.

Rating: PG-13, for references to character death, child psychological torture and trauma.

Genre: Romance/Family/Friendship/Hurt/Comfort

Word Count: 3,191 Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11

Also on ff.net and AO3. Note: I haven't actually read either of the books referenced in this chapter, but they came up when I was doing research and seemed to fit so I threw them in there.

Scars are souvenirs you never lose The past is never far Did you lose yourself somewhere out there Did you get to be a star

We grew up way too fast And now there's nothing to believe And reruns all become our history

-Goo Goo Dolls, "Name"

————————– 

Then. On Monday, Tim went to the library as usual once classes were over, but with a different purpose in mind than simply secluding himself in studies.  …That is to say, he wouldn’t be by himself this time. He wondered why he even agreed to this. That knock on the head must have scrambled his judgment – that was the only explanation he could think of for permitting himself to be possessed by such an insane notion. When he reached the agreed-upon meeting place though, there was someone else sitting at the table instead of the person he expected.  She had short, pitch black hair – sleek and strict – a style resembling Annie’s but with a widow’s peak; far darker bangs parted in the center, pulled back taut by a barrette. In addition, her skin was much more pale in comparison, emphasizing midnight mascara and lips.  Both her chin and slanted eyes were sharper, piercing pupils snapping up from her book to stare straight at him with such intensity he flinched on instinct.  He’d never seen anyone react so immediately to his presence. “Uh… Hello?” She eyed him with suspicion, silent and unmoving.  Statuesque. “Sorry to bother you, but… I’m supposed to be meeting someone here soon…” Again, no response. Tim didn’t know what to do. He thought about just giving up and turning tail (hey, can’t say he didn’t try at least), though somehow the prospect of presenting his back to her seemed like a dangerous idea.  He was about to retreat in reverse by slinking slowly into the shadows – safety – of shelves when a pair of hands suddenly emerged from behind him, blocking his vision. “Guess who~?” “Gah!” He whirled around in a panic, almost about to punch the invader to his personal space when he saw it was – of course – Stephanie.  The librarian sternly looked up from the counter at the loud disruption and pursed a finger to her lips, shushing. “Fuck- don’t do that,” he hissed with a sibilant shiver, clutching his rapidly beating breast. “…Sorry,” she whispered back, contrite. “It’s okay,” he muttered with a heavy sigh.  “Just give me some warning next time.” Meanwhile, the seated spectator was still watching the two intently, stony view shifting back and forth between them.  Tim felt even more uncomfortable under her penetrating gaze, and was about to suggest they move to someplace else when Steph waved to the glum girl in gleeful greeting. “I see you’ve met my roommate,” she chirped as she bounded over, cheerfully clasping hands on the sculpture’s stiffened shoulders.  “This is Cassandra, but you can call her Cass.  She doesn’t say much, but she’s a nice girl.  I hope you don’t mind if she joins us for today.” As she briskly babbled introduction in lieu of the stranger herself, who still had yet to speak, Tim felt he was starting to understand how Steph was able to put up with his own severe lack of social skills. “Um… Okay.  Sure.” “Awesome.  I’ll be with you guys in a sec, just let me finish shelving these books.” She bustled off again, leaving Tim alone with Cassandra before he could even say anything. Defeated, he laid his bookbag on the table and took the chair diagonally across from her, not wanting to remain directly in her field of vision.  She continued to follow his movements closely though, keeping sight trained on him as if a hawk tracking its prey – rigid and unwavering.  …It was starting to seriously creep him out. “So, er… What’s that you’re reading?” He blurted out in a feeble endeavor to fill conversation. Mechanically, she raised the cover so he could see.  Judging by the winged figure in frilly jeweled fashion painted next to a medieval knight, both holding what appeared to be fanciful masks, it looked like some kind of fantasy young adult fiction novel. “I… see.  Is it interesting?” She simply nodded, before (blessedly) returning attention to her reading material. … Can I go now? As the suffocating silence stretched on, Tim wasn’t sure if the situation was any better than before. Though her scathing appraisers were now fully fixed on the page in front of her rather than him, they didn’t seem to be making any progress.  …Which he supposed only made sense, given the orientation of the subject. …Should I let her know she’s holding that book upside-down? To his surprise, a rosy tint developed on the other’s complexion as she subtly flipped the tome to the correct position.  Odd, he was sure he hadn’t said that statement aloud.  …But then, reality was such a fickle thing these days. Yet, even though the volume was righted, her focus still didn’t seem to advance at all.  He mused idly if she was actually absorbing any of it. Don’t tell me she can’t actually read. “I can read.” Tim startled at the unanticipated answer.  …Okay, this was really getting weird.  He definitely hadn’t said anything that time.  Given that the supposed responder still hadn’t budged an inch, he began to doubt whether he was really hearing things… Before he could decide whether to inquire further out of sheer curiosity, Stephanie conveniently showed up at that precise moment, arms inflated with textbooks. “Back!  Sorry about that.” She plopped the heavy publications and herself down, insinuating cozily between the two, apparently without noticing the aura of awkwardness permeating the air. “Shall we get started then?” “Y- yeah.” Tim cast one more confused look at Cassandra before attempting to apply concentration to his other company instead.  It was difficult when said study partner’s own awareness kept wandering though, growing bored and fidgety within minutes.  In the corner of his periphery, he could sense the third party’s irises still peeking at him from over the pages as well, albeit remaining mute throughout the entire period. By the end of the (exhausting) hour, Tim had managed to at least hammer in a few concepts.  As they finally stood up and started gathering their things, Stephanie sheepishly apologized for her short retention span, and promised she’d be more attentive next time.  Meanwhile, Cassandra quietly shut her text and rose, maneuvering fluently – like lighter fluid, hazardous and almost undetectable – around the desk to approach Tim.  To both his and Steph’s astonishment, she leaned in alarmingly close, lifting delicate digits to lightly touch his forehead.  He swallowed apprehensively as she scrutinized his mystified expression, as if searching for something. After a bewildered beat, she lowered her hand, and placed the paperback she had in his. “Here.” He blinked at her in bemusement. “Read it.” She merely instructed, before departing without another word. “…What the heck was that about?” Steph pondered, scratching her hair. Tim shrugged.  “Beats me.  You know her better than I do.” “Yeah, but I have no idea why she does stuff sometimes.”  Stephanie paused, contemplating with a half-anxious, half-amused countenance.  “Hey, maybe she likes you.” Tim blushed, busying with packing away his possessions again. “Yeah, right.” … As he lay on his dorm bed later though, looking at the lent item against the light, he reflected on the strange glance and gesture she gave him.  It wasn’t like anything he’d ever experienced before.  It was as if the cold contact infiltrated deep into his soul, chilling to his very core… Conner came in then, bearing a broad grin. “Yooo Timbo, so how’d it go with that girl?” Tim shrugged, sitting up. “…She brought her roommate along.” The other boy elevated an eyebrow. “Dude.  That’s a bad sign.  Inviting someone else on the first date means you’re totally in the friendzone.” “I told you, it’s not a date.” “What is it then?” Tim exhaled, shaking his head. “…I don’t know.” Conner crossed over to clap a thick paw on Tim’s shoulder. “Lighten up, man.  You’ll win her over, don’t worry.” He elbowed with a wink and cheesy thumbs-up, and Tim rolled his retinas, but didn’t say anything. Conner’s eyes caught the object in the other’s lap, and he plucked it up without warning, wrinkling his nose as he examined the lacey title. “The Black Swan?  Since when do you read chick lit?” “It’s not mine,” Tim defended hastily.  “Steph’s roommate told me to read it.  Now give it back.” Tim made a swipe for the article, but Conner easily kept his extended muscle out of the shorter one’s reach as he flipped teasingly through the embarrassing narrative, reciting passages aloud with gusto. “‘Odile watched her father's back, swallowing involuntary bitter tears of disappointment and rejection, feeling her head droop a little as her heart sank with dejection.’” “Will you shut up?” “‘If she could have wept, her tears would have burned furrows down her face, so bitter were the dregs of degradation that she drank at that moment.’  …God, who writes this stuff?” Tim grimaced as he made another desperate effort to grab at the entity.  In the midst of their scuffle though, two tags secretly tucked into the spine slipped out from between the sheets, landing at their feet.  They both blinked and bent down to pick one up each, puzzled by the bizarre bookmarks. They were playing cards. Conner glimpsed up from the Ace of Clubs he was holding towards Tim, whose eyes were expanded wide with shock and – horror? – as his hand began shaking. “Hey, you okay, man?  What’s wrong?” Gulping, Tim gradually rotated the thin cardboard around to reveal its front: not a number or face… but a Joker. Anger and concern promptly carved onto Conner’s visage. “What the hell is this?  Some kind of sick joke?” Tim said nothing, as he peered down at the scarlet diptych design of mirrored angels and demons on the backside to find a brief note written in bold, black marker: Park.  4PM. Biting his lip in baffled frustration, Conner revolved his own cue around to discover a much longer message.  His brow furrowed as he tried (rather unsuccessfully) to pronounce the alien language it was inscribed in. “‘Rara avis in terris nigroque simillima cygno’ – what is this, French?” “It’s Latin,” Tim clarified.  “’A rare bird in the lands and very much like a black swan.’   It likely refers to a recent theory published by Taleb.  It’s a metaphor to describe an event that comes as a surprise, that’s hard to predict since it’s beyond the realm of regular expectations, and has an extreme major impact as a result.  Afterwards, it is rationalized by hindsight, as if it could’ve been anticipated if the relevant data were available – but this only becomes apparent in retrospect.  The phrase itself was coined by the ancient poet Juvenal, back when people thought black swans didn’t exist and that such an abnormality was impossible. It was only later proven wrong when the first one was discovered in 1697.” Conner blinked vacantly at Tim, looking as lost as he always did whenever the other went off on an encyclopedic (if perhaps slightly pretentious) tangent. “So…  What does it all mean?” “I don’t know,” Tim admitted as he took the pair and headed determinedly over to his computer, booting up the system.  “But I’m going to find out.” He navigated to the browser window – keeping a weather eye on the worrisome memo as it unwillingly brought back bad memories – and did some digging. … By the time he was done with his research, the hour of summons was fast approaching.  He snatched his jacket and was out the door before Conner could even get a word in edgewise, racing towards Gotham Central Park. As soon as he arrived there, he stilled for a second at the entrance gate, surveying the tranquil scene of people walking casually to and fro: lovers holding hands, families enjoying late afternoon picnics and games of Frisbee or Fetch with their pets, children running joyfully to their parents across the grass – the latter giving affectionate hugs and pats before sending off with smiles to the playground, all while keeping a careful watch on their precious bundles from a distance. Tim spotted Cassandra sitting by herself on a swingset towards the outskirts, exuding a gloomy atmosphere that likely aided in deterring any nosey youngsters. He neared cautiously, observing her glide like a gentle pendulum for a while, before she slowed to a stop and looked at him finally. “You came.” Dispensing with preliminaries, Tim cut straight to the chase. “How did you know who I was?” Cassandra smiled softly. “The way you move – it resembles him.  No openings, always on guard, not a single wasted motion…”  She then added in a hush: “Plus, I read your mind.” Her head declined in apology. “Forgive me.  It��s not something I normally like to do to others, especially to someone I’ve just met. …There was such a dark cloud surrounding yours though, I- I couldn’t help it.” She dragged a heel through the dirt. “Besides, you know who I am now, don’t you?” Tim sat down on the swing next to her, repeating everything he had learned based on his hunch. “Several years ago, the Joker broke into a Cadmus facility in Arizona. He released five metahuman kids, who had been abducted from their families shortly after birth and raised as secret weapons for the government.  He took them on as his own protégés, calling them the ‘Royal Flush Gang’.  The strongest of them was named ‘Ace’, who possessed telepathic powers the likes of which the world had never seen before.  …’Ace’ reportedly died not long after of a brain aneurysm in the presence of Batman, who was the only witness, in a park not unlike this one.” Cassandra merely nodded affirmatively. “…He helped you fake your death, didn’t he?” “It was the only way to free me completely from Cadmus’ clutches.  Otherwise they would keep hounding me forever.” She gripped the chains bitterly. “He sent for an expensive foreign doctor who performed the surgery in secret.  Afterwards, he gave me a choice: I could stay and be a part of his team, or I could live peacefully on my own. …I chose this.” Tim afforded her an odd look, thinking how close he evidently could’ve been to having an actual “sister” his age. “…I’m guessing ‘Cassandra’s’ not your real name either.” “It is the name he gave me.  After the Greek prophet from mythology.” “Can you actually see the future?” Tim questioned, genuinely intrigued. Cass regarded the horizon, as if squinting into some sort of far-off void. “What I see are… ‘possibilities’.  Infinite paths our lives could’ve taken, had we made different choices.  If just the slightest factor changed course.  ‘Alternate realities’, if you will.” She told him, about a world where there weren’t just two Robins, but a third Robin and then a fourth, a world where Barbara was the one shot and paralyzed instead of Dick, where Joker lived and he died and came back to life and his name wasn’t Tim it was- “Stop.  I’d rather not hear any more.” Tim prolonged a palm to halt her crazy-sounding speech, grasping his aching skull in the other. “I’m not saying I totally understand or believe you, but basically what you’re saying is… ‘Something’ was bound to happen sooner or later.” “…If that is how you wish to interpret it.” She removed her limbs from the links, resting on her legs instead. “I am sorry, for what he did to you.  The… things I saw inside his mind, they were so terrible, I should’ve known better than to leave him be.  I… should’ve ended him when I had the chance.”  Her knuckles clenched, impressing into her thighs. “Even though they trained me to use my powers to kill, I- I couldn’t.  I didn’t want to.” Tentatively, Tim reached out to wrap his own hand soothingly around her wrist. “Hey, that’s not on you.  It’s not your fault.  None of it was your fault, including-”  He hesitated. “-What happened with your parents.” He heard an abrupt wailing coming from the court where a kid had tripped and fallen from the bottom of the slide, scraping her knees on the wood chips.   Her mom and dad hurried to her side, cooing and consoling as they stuck numerous kisses and band-aids with colorful cartoon kitties and pretty princesses on them to the boo-boos.  Turning, he saw there were tears rolling down Cassandra’s cheeks as she unfurled her fist, knotting fingers into the comfort of his. While her nails were startlingly long, she took care not to wound his flesh, closing just tight enough to exchange warmth. “You and I… are similar.  I don’t mean just because of Joker either.”  She meditated off into that empty space again.  “The two of us are anomalies.  Outliers.  Outsiders. We don’t fit into the grand scheme.  We’ve always been… ‘different’.  We don’t ‘belong’.” Tim wasn’t sure exactly what she was talking about.  But he took a stab at alleviating the mood anyway. “I guess you could say we’re… ‘Wild Cards’?” She stared at him. “…Sorry, bad joke.” And people say I’m humorless now. Cass looked a little put-off as she pouted, and he winced, remembering she could hear what he was thinking as well.  He swiftly opted to switch the topic instead. “You cannot tell Stephanie about any of this.” “I don’t intend to.”  Gray eyes narrowed with gritty resolve as her voice dropped to a grave mumble, digging her toe into the earth and gravel.  “Someone like her should not know of the horrors we’ve been through, the darkness that we come from.  The number of evil sins we’ve committed.  …It will only lead to causing the same kind of pain in the end.” Her face contorted obliquely as she said this, ominous and foreboding. Breathing out, she monitored the fading violet brightness of the sun as it started to set. “Stephanie… is light.  A ray of hope.  She’s the first person I’ve met who wasn’t instantly afraid of me, but accepted me right away for who I was. She’s the first real ‘friend’ I’ve ever had.  …I would never do anything to hurt her.” She looked down at their connection, as if realizing the implication just now, and nervously began to relinquish.  Tim didn’t let go though.  Something she had said triggered a thought in the back of his conscience, and he stood up, coaxing mildly. “Come on.  There’s someone else I think you should meet.” Timidly, she trailed after his tow.  Whilst they stood there waiting for the bus, he overheard a passing elderly duo remark wistfully on that “cute young couple”, which in turn urged him to be the one to impulsively liberate this time.  As they both coughed and avoided each other’s eyes, Cassandra spoke up in a somewhat troubled tone. “There’s… something else I should mention.” “What?” “When I… looked into your subconscious, I saw an even greater darkness buried deep down.  I can’t explain it, but… I fear it may consume you someday.”  She frowned in vexation at her inability to identify, to express.  “…It bears strong resemblance to him.” Though he was afraid to ask, Tim did so anyway. “Who?” She gave him an ambiguous look, constricted and conflicted dots overwhelmingly obscure. “Both.”

————————–

And now we're grown up orphans That never knew their names We don't belong to no one That's a shame But you could hide beside me Maybe for a while And I won't tell no one your name

[simplybakugou]

Happier

↝ After seeing you in a happier relationship with another man, Bakugou can’t help but reminisce and think about what he lost.

SONG: Happier by Ed Sheeran

⋆ PAIRING: prohero!bakugou x female!reader ⋆ WARNINGS/TAGS: swearing; angst ⋆ WORD COUNT: 1201

A/N: I’m currently in my feelings and Happier came on shuffle was I was in the midst of writing something so I decided to make a little “song scenario” based off of it. Also, I made Bakugou seem like a dick in this, oops. Also the formatting of this maybe confusing but I hope it didn’t come across as that and you were all able to understand it.

I actually wouldn’t mind doing these types of scenarios based off songs, so if there are any songs that you want to be turned into scenarios, please do send them into my inbox :)

✐posted 03.08.2019✐

❝Walking down 29th and park, I saw you in another's arm. Only a month we've been apart, you look happier. Saw you walk inside a bar, he said something to make you laugh. I saw that both your smiles were twice as wide as ours, Yeah, you look happier, you do.❞

The pain was unbearable. Your smile was wide, small giggles escaping your lips at something he said. He whispered something in your ear and you continued to laugh uncontrollably. Bakugou stared through the glass of the bar that the two of you were in, in a drunken state of his own.

You were sitting on his lap, your arms wrapped around his neck as you leaned into him. Only a few weeks ago Bakugou was in his position. And here he was, watching as another man made you happy in a way that Bakugou never will.

❝Ain't nobody hurt you like I hurt you, But ain't nobody love you like I do. Promise that I will not take it personal, baby, If you're moving on with someone new.❞

Just a few weeks ago, it was still vivid and fresh in Bakugou’s mind as the scene of you two arguing replayed over and over. Your personalities were too bold to get along with one another.

“I haven’t seen you for three weeks, Katsuki!” You exclaimed, your eyes watching as Bakugou moved into the kitchen to get away from all of your yelling.

“Look, Y/N, you knew exactly what you were getting into when you starting going out with me. I’m a pro hero now, I can’t just fucking be at home every single day,” Bakugou huffed in annoyance.

You crossed your arms. “I'm not asking you to give up your job for me! Even when you come back from work, you ignore me and go straight to your room. How’re we even in a relationship like this?”

“I’m fucking tired after work and you expect me to go straight to you after?”

“Yes! I’m just asking you to actually put some effort into our relationship! Is that too much to ask?” Your statement earned you an eye roll from Bakugou. “You know what, if I’m being so damn annoying, maybe I'll just leave.”

“Then fucking go!”

Regret washed over Bakugou for the thousandth time as the scene kept replaying over and over and over. He could have tried more, put more effort into loving you.

Because he did love you, so much. He just had difficulty expressing it at times.

But when he did, there’s no man on earth who could make you feel as loved as Bakugou made you feel at times.

“Katsuki, that doesn’t seem right,” you muttered, backing away in caution as Bakugou attempted to fix your electric stand mixer. His definition of “fix” is jamming the wire whips into the respective sockets.

“I got it, don’t worry.” Bakugou, despite being a very bright young man, decided to be not so bright that day as he left the mixer connected to the outlet as well as leave the contents of your cake batter mix in the bowl.

Bakugou’s arm, deciding to rest for a second, did the horrible choice to rest on the power switch. “Wait, Katsuki--”

But it was too late. The mixer turned on and the wire whips that were jammed in by your lovely boyfriend whirred around, splashing the cake batter all over the two of you. 

You looked up at him, trying to hold back your laughter as you saw the cake batter on Bakugou’s face and spiky hair. You only had a few clumps stuck to your nose that you were able to remove easily.

Bakugou looked down at you as you stifled your laughter. “Is something funny to you?”

He took a step forward, placing his hands on the counter behind you and trapping you in his hold. You placed your own hands on his chest, giggling softly. “Nothing, I’m laughing at nothing.”

“Really?”

“Mhm, I swear.” You cupped Bakugou’s face in your hands. “I’d never laugh at you, Katsuki.”

“Can't believe you’d fucking lie right in my face.” What you hadn’t noticed was his hand slyly grabbed the cake batter covered spatula as he brought it up to, swiping it across your face as if he was painting on a canvas.

“Katsuki!”

“Not so funny now, huh?”

You gave him a slight shove, rubbing the batter off with your hands. “You’re awful.” Despite your words, you couldn’t help but laugh at the situation. “You’re lucky I love you.”

❝'Cause baby you look happier, you do. My friends told me one day I'll feel it too. And until then I'll smile to hide the truth, But I know I was happier with you.❞

“Drinking away your problems won’t help, you know?” Kirishima sighed as he watched his best friend down what seemed to be his tenth shot of the night.

“I’ll do what I fucking want and no one’s gonna stop me,” Bakugou muttered, calling over the bartender for another round.

“She came by your place last week, huh?” Kirishima sipped on his glass, watching Bakugou closely. He knew that only in his drunken state will Bakugou ever reveal how he’s really feeling.

Bakugou traced the rim of his empty glass. “She left a few clothes and shoes at my place before she moved out. She just came to get them back.”

“Was it hard? To see her?”

“It was the hardest thing I’ve fucking done in a long time.” Bakugou rested his head on the wooden table. “I had to force a smile on my face, act like I’m okay when I actually felt like utter shit. God, I miss her so much.”

Kirishima patted his friend’s back in order to comfort him. “Look, man, you’ll find the one someday. She’s moved on. You should, too.”

Bakugou raised his head up once more, rubbing his head vigorously. “I thought she was the one. And now, I just feel empty.”

❝‘Cause baby you look happier, you do I knew one day you’d fall for someone new But if he breaks your heart like lovers do...❞

“Katsuki?”

Bakugou’s head whipped around at the sound of your voice, one that he hadn’t heard in so long. A pain struck his chest as he laid his eyes on your soft, gentle face as you smiled at him.

“Y/N, what’re you doing here?” He was trying his best to be calm and collected and not reveal his true feelings.

“I just wanted to help with the fundraiser, but it honestly feels like I’m at a club than a charity event.”

“Tell me about it, this fucking sucks.”

You smiled at him again. “How have you been? It’s been almost three years.”

Bakugou shoved his hands in his pockets, averting his eyes from yours. “Great. I’ve just been working as usual. How’re you? How’s that boyfriend of yours.” He wanted to smack himself for asking you that, for showing that he cared about your love life.

You chuckled humorlessly. “I broke up with him a few months ago. Turns out he was cheating on me for the past few years that we were together.”

Bakugou’s hands balled up into fists. “Fucking bastard.”

You laughed, not at all surprised with his colorful vocabulary. “Look, Katsuki, I know we broke up on a bad note and I’m sorry for always hassling you about your job.”

“It’s not your fault, Y/N. I should’ve tried for us, I shouldn’t have fucking put more attention to work than you.” You put your hands behind your back, a habit that Bakugou recognized as something you did when you were going to say something bold. “Can we... start over?”

“What?” Bakugou did not anticipate this at all.

“I mean, can we give it another shot?”

“Are you asking me out on a date, Y/N?”

“Look, you aggressively pestered me into dating you the first time, so this is the least you could do,” you joked, earning a smirk from Bakugou.

“Yeah, let’s give this another shot.”

...Just know that I’ll be waiting here for you.❞

[ayafoxheart]

Mon Petit Papillon

An Aside with Aya and Virara ( @onehundredplumblossoms ) from Verad’s “God and Country” Plot Line.

Buried in the frigid depths of the city of Ishgard stands a quiet family inn. The sign hanging above the front door is decorated with a rather plainly painted Gryphon Rampant, its body raised up and foreclaws reaching as if to swipe at something threatening it. One blocky wing is visible and partially spread behind it, filling out the square placard.

Within the Rising Gryphon, members of the Tharintreu family were busy preparing for the evening rush that would soon descend upon them as the local craftsmen and workers began to hang up their tools and come in search of a hearty and filling meal to finish the day. One of the family, a tall and energetic young woman, whose image has graced the front of posters across the realm, was busy doing her part. Aya swept the entryway clean in preparation for the dozens of customers who would visit in the coming hours.

She paused, rather suddenly, in the midst of her efforts. Raising her eyes she looked at the door; peering as if she could feel someone - or something approaching. The sound of the stride, she thought she could hear, was passing strange. It were as if someone were stamping their feet, but not overly committed: the softest stamping she could recall.

She stood a little taller with a touch of concern rising to pinken her cheeks. She wiped her brow for a moment, and her staring caught the attention of an old man seated at the bar within inn's common room.

"Everything a'yight, Aya?" came the familiar voice of her father. She kept her eyes on the door, not bothering to look back at him as she answered, "I think so..." The old man leaned forward a little, only slightly alarmed at his daughter's insecurity.

Neither had much longer to wait, the door was shoved open with an intense suddenness as the diminutive form of a tall, purple-haired Lalafel entered the inn without so much as a pause or hesitation. As Aya expected, she seemed to be stomping - but Virara's natural tendency to step quietly resisted the effort resulting in her unusual, pouting gait.

Virara paused once fully inside the door, her her worn and ragged coat hung tiredly from her shoulders. "Fox-Lady," she greeted Aya with a voice filled with barely suppressed frustration. Aya stared at her, momentarily dumbfounder. Virara normally entered through the back, or somewhere else unexpected, sneaking in when no one would notice. She had never simply barged her way in before. And now Aya watched as she seemed to be rummaging through pockets in search of something.

The concerned voice of her father carried only weakly into the entryway, "One of your friends?"

Aya blinked her wide eyes in surprise, "Virara...?"

"Here." Virara stated flatly. She had gathered a very curious collection of coins and other discarded objects in her hand and abruptly offered them. "For a room." As she said this her gaze finally moved upward toward Aya's, her single good eye staring with a barely suppressed violence.

"I..." Aya stammered for a moment before answering. "Of course, Virara, but a warm room for the night is the least I owe you. Please," she waved away the proffered hand and its coin "come with  me."

Aya stepped to move behind Virara, carefully she took the ragged coat from her and hung it on the adjacent coat rack before showing her friend upstairs.

"Do you know how to keep the fire warm with coal? I can bring you an extra bucket if you would like, and... of course I'll bring some food up. Are you hungry?" She paused outside the room door, having unlocked it already.

Virara simply nodded without looking up or towards Aya. It was an immediate acceptance, and utterly out of character. Aya gulped as she took a step back to allow Virara to pass. She'd never seen the girl like this before and it was worrisome.

While Virara settled in, Aya slowly descended the stairs. Her father was waiting for her at the bottom. "Everything alright?" She nodded, "I think so. My friend just seems to be having a rough day." He nodded understandingly, grizzled fingers stroked his crinkly gray beard. "That -was- a purple-haired Lalafel girl, aye?" Aya nodded, looking up at him with curious eyes. "You know there are rumors going around about a girl like that. They're saying..."

He could see the look in her eyes and waved the thought off rather suddenly. "Ah, ne'er mind me. Just wonderin' about all the strange friends my daughter has!" He turned back toward the bar, "Speaking o', how is that Duskie friend o' yours? What were his name, Varid, or something? He sure was fun to have around, you should tell him to visit!"

Aya stood completely rigid for a moment, as if struck by a bolt of lighting. "Verad!" She nearly shouted. "What was that?" Her father had turned quickly at the sound of the outburst. "Ah, ah, his name was 'Verad', that's all.."

"Oh, aye, aye. That it was. 'Verad'." The old man seemed to be welcoming a pleasant memory as he settled back down at the bar.

Aya stood there for a moment longer, thoughts wandering back over her missing Duskwight friend. Departed for the East, she'd been told. Nary a word to her though, of course. She remained thus silent for some time, but when it broke she remembered Virara upstairs and soon delivered a heaping serving of stew and bread, with an extra portion of stew meat piled on top. Returning downstairs she could not help but think of the coat Virara had been wearing, and as she approached the coat rack again she stared at the ragged thing. Virara had clearly mended it numerous times, but the stitch work had been repeatedly pulled apart and sewn back together. There where holes, weak seams, numerous patches, and even in good shape it looked as if it could barely keep someone warm in the bitter cold of Ishgard.

She took the jacket up, lifting it to examine more closely. She could not help but shake her head, 'Tch, tch, tch' she sounded just like her mother.

"You poor thing..." she whispered softly.

After a moment's more thought she carefully folded the coat and leaned back into the common room, "I am going to be busy for a little while, pa-pa! Please tell Uncle!" The old man waved his hand in acknowledgment.

By the time she reached the top of the stairs the door to her parent's room was already opened. From the door smiled her mother, a picture of a gracefully aged matriarch. She had been a vivacious, beautiful princess in her day. Now she had bore and raised three children, and carried the weight of an entire family for decades of trouble. Her hair had grayed long ago, but an earnest warmth smiled from behind the grace.

"Ah!" Aya smiled hesitantly. She never liked asking anything from mother.

"What is it, Aya?" Mother asked with a warm smile amidst her gently formal countenance.

Aya held up the coat, its numerous imperfections immediately visible.

"Oh dear...!" Mother gasped, and stepped forward to look herself. Her delicate fingers examined the fabric as she shook her head, "Tch, tch, tch."  

Lifting her eyes to Aya she asked, "Your friend's?"

Aya nodded in reply to which Mother added, "No, no, no. This will simply not do. Poor girl will freeze herself to death."

"We could give her another," mother suggested unconvincingly, to which Aya shook her head.

"Then we can mend it..." Aya's shoulder sagged in relief. It was exactly what she had hoped for.

"Thank you, mother..." The older woman smiled, and ushered her daughter into the room with an arm around her shoulder.

There were a couple of chairs near the fireplace, as well as several cabinets accompanying the Lady's spinning wheel and work table. Here she had made, repaired, mended, and mended again the garments her family had worn through their entire lives in Ishgard. Aya took in the smell of the familiar; it was like walking into the past. The two began to prepare supplies: heavy thread and needles, sturdy leather and cloth pieces and scrap, and a few folds of woolen material that could serve as insulation.

They pushed the chairs close together and each took a seat, sitting with the coat between them. Under the lamp light, together, they began the tedious and time consuming work of mending the coat. There were almost too many spots to keep track of, and both frequently backtracked and re-checked their work to see what they were missing. Small tears were sewn up. Leather patches added security to fabric worn so thin it could no longer support thread. Sturdy cloth patches, color matched as best they could. They replaced flimsier patches that seemed to have been drawn at complete random from wherever Virara had found them. They re-affixed the buckles, and other fittings and repaired seams, cuffs, and hem.

Her mother sewed in a new leather lining for the collar, while Aya sewed in the extra insulation for the lining. This was a craft she was particularly experienced in, having added extra warmth to her own clothing on too many occasion to count. "I may have to tear these out for her when she return to the desert..." Aya noted, "Or maybe we can just get her a different coat to use in warmer climes," her mother helpfully recommended.

A couple of hours passed as they worked. But as she thought they were wrapping up, Mother noticed Aya had started on something new. She had switched to smaller needle and more colorful thread and seemed very intent upon whatever she were stitching. She simply watched for a moment, admiring her daughter, before asking about  what she was doing.

"Well..." Aya answered, not interrupting her careful work.

"It has been a little while since I have done any needle point, but I feel like Virara should feel a little more pretty in her coat."

"Oh?" Asked mother, with a heart-warmed smile. "What is it you are stitching for her?"

"Papillon..." she whispered a little embarrassed. "Hmm?" Mother asked again.

"Well... She has rather peculiar tastes, but I always associate her with butterflies."

"So you thought to..." Mother smiled broadly.

"Sew her some butterflies, yes." Aya matched her smile as the two grinned at each other for a moment.

Her mother picked up her own thread, and soon the two were both fast at work sewing butterflies. They were of various sizes, color and pattern, all sewn directly into the fabric of the coat. Sometimes it was one, sometimes a pair and three danced colorfully together on the left front of the coat. By the time the two women were done there were nearly twenty total butterflies, their wings warmly brightening the color of the freshly mended coat.

Their handiwork complete, Aya carefully folded the coat and left in front of Virara's door where she could find it in the morning. She wasn't sure how it would be accepted, but hoped it would bring at least a touch of cheer, and knowledge that her friends do care about her.

[chrysalispen]

Prompt #16 - Jitter

cute/sweet fluff maybe this weekend when i have time <3

in the meantime, the prompts continue!

Aurelia returned from her drawing lesson in the garden to find the parlor and most of the staff within in a state of panicked disarray. L'haiya was shouting orders at the hapless maids, dust cloths were flying everywhere, and she could hear Cook banging in the kitchen. Blinking, she removed her hat and swiped a forearm across her sweaty brow as she passed from the sun porch into the parlor.

“…What in the seven hells?” the Garlean girl said aloud, forgetting that her governess was in earshot. 

But the Miqo'te didn’t react. She was too busy directing a pair of burly men to adjust the position of the piano.

“Over there, you lot! Put your backs into it.” One of L'haiya’s hands were braced on her hips, the other impatiently shoving her bright auburn hair out of her face as her tail twitched in agitation. It was the look she so often wore when lecturing Aurelia about some shortcoming or other. “Mind the Nagxian vase in the corner! That’s Fifth Astral, his lordship will have all our heads if it’s broken.”

“Elle, what’s going on? What’s all the commotion?”

The smaller woman seemed to see her charge for the first time. Aurelia was becoming quite tall, standing nearly a head over her caretaker already– although her height hardly made her intimidating. She was but fourteen summers, baby fat still lingering in her face and her curves still more a suggestion than a reality. Her sudden growth spurt over the last few moons had rendered the young Garlean lanky and awkward, and she had been the terror of the drawing room for months.

“Aurelia! Thank the Twelve.” L'haiya grasped her wrists. “You need to go upstairs and change. Your nicest afternoon dress. Quickly!”

“You’d think the Emperor himself were coming to visit us with all this drama,” she began with a smile, one that slowly faded when she saw the grim press of the woman's lips. “Wait. What?”

“You jest, girl, but the viceroy will be dining with us this evening. We received a missive while you were in your studies.”

Aurelia nearly choked. 

“Wh-why? He has a whole palace to-”

“Does it matter? Legatus van Baelsar has requested informal audience with your lord father and no one tells the Black Wolf his timing is poor.” L'haiya lifted one of her curls and studied it critically. “We’ll make you as presentable as we can under the circumstances. Go. Draw a bath and wash the sweat off you.”

=

She stared at her half-finished plate with growing consternation, fighting not to nibble on the ends of her hair in agitation.

The man at the end of the table was hardly the dashing figure she imagined most army officers to cut, but there was something imposing about him all the same. He complimented L'haiya on the meal (though that had surely been Cook’s doing) and spent most of his time engrossed in discussion with her father about mundane matters without the city walls, so at least his attention wasn't on her personally.

Well, Elle had said this was supposed to be a meeting with her father.

“Aurelia,” L'haiya whispered from behind her, “it’s rude to pick at your food in front of guests and Cook will be upset if you don’t eat.”

"Sorry," she mumbled. Everything smelled lovely but she was too jittery to taste much of it. Knowing that both Elle and her father would be cross with her if she didn't at least try, the girl reached slowly for her tableware.

“Have you thoughts on the matter to offer, Mistress Laskaris?”

Aurelia was thankful she had not picked up the fork because she knew she would have immediately dropped it from startlement. 

She looked up to find the full attention of piercing, hooded pale hazel-gold eyes – like a wolf’s – fixed on her face. The legatus’ expression was one of mild and polite interest at best, but she sensed both a keen intellect and a hardness under that surface, someone who was even more accustomed to command than Father and who was much, much better at reading people.

Especially children like herself.

With effort, she smiled and shook her head.

“I, ah–I’m afraid that adminis–administrative matters are not– I am not familiar with such, my lord.”

One of those heavy brows lifted, and she tensed, wondering if she had given offense.

“They do not interest you?”

“In all honesty, my lord, no. I am-” She hesitated. “I am studying botany. The- the flora of the Empire and its provinces.”

“I see. And do you much field work, young mistress?”

“Where I can,” she confessed. “I’ve a journal I keep for my drawings of all the plants I’ve encountered for myself, and all their effects.” She also had several pages of notes she’d taken from some of the older women in the aan quarters, old folk remedies using those same plants. She did not mention this, however, because Sazha was her willing accomplice, and L’haiya didn’t know she sometimes slipped out of the administrative district unattended. 

“A hobby, my lord,” her father said, his smile tight. She plunged on, ignoring what was clearly a warning look not to waste Legatus van Baelsar’s time.

“I’m… I wish to be a chirurgeon,” she explained, “and I am told the entrance examinations for most schools are very stringent. I find the study soothing but also very enlightening, and I assume it can only help to have knowledge of such matters for focused study.”

That unreadable look relaxed into a smile.

“Ah,” he said. “A well-spoken young lady. You’ve a budding medicus in your midst, Julian.”

“So it would appear, my lord,” her father answered, though Aurelia knew full well they had barely discussed aught of her personal interests. Medicine and botany did not interest her father any more than the training exercises of the cohorts interested her.  

“Once you enlist for your service, young mistress, perhaps I will become a more familiar face.”

With a polite smile, she inclined her chin respectfully as she’d been taught to do, and with naught more to say those keen eyes shifted focus back to her father. 

Aurelia had to bite back the sigh of relief when they did. Whatever test she suspected that was, she knew she’d passed it.

~*~

The Vault was freezing cold and she was alone, and despite being the so-called Warrior of Light, Aurelia wished that Alphinaud were here.

She was not unaccustomed to private audiences, and even if she had been there had been so many in the last year that most of the shyness had been flensed from her. The leaders of the Eorzean Alliance were just people, and some of them she even counted as friends.

Had counted as friends. Assuming she wasn’t on a fugitive’s list elsewhere, as well. But she hadn’t been so desperately nervous to meet a political figure since she was fourteen years old and had met the viceroy for the first time. A man whom, fifteen years later, had faced her in a duel and lost.

“Come on, come on,” the Garlean said softly. This was no time to be thinking about that.

It really wasn’t, because she didn’t know why she’d been summoned by the leader of Ishgard’s Church. That was the real difference. Every other time she’d responded to an official request for her time, she’d known well beforehand the reason. By the reactions of Haurchefant’s half-brothers a personal summons was supposedly a great honor, but she had misgivings aplenty.

Aurelia wasn’t as certain as they that the man would be well pleased.

Those were two of his personal honor guard she’d defeated in Tataru and Alphinaud’s trials, after all. She had no idea if trouncing those two awful men would be the final straw to get them all tossed out the front of the city gates in disgrace, or what the Archbishop wanted at all.

The door opened, and an elezen in the garb of a Temple Knight bowed deeply; the mythrite chain of his coif gave a little chime as the small metal links struck each other.

“His Holiness will see you now, Warrior of Light. Come.”

She nodded, and out of half-remembered habit more than anything else, smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from the front of her robes and followed. Eyes lingered upon her as she did, glances that were a mixture of curious and appreciative, as she passed into the deepest recesses of the Vault.

[underoos-shield]

little italy

summary: peter can’t seem to get enough of her

warning: just one curse word

A/N: hi babies. @petey-verse is amazing and i love her and if u haven’t read her part makes sure you do cause it is amazing!!!! hope u enjoy part 3 babies! mwah!💫✨

<<02

peter’s jaded eyes glaze over the meal before him. he’s excited to tour the city of milan, but he isn’t too pleased that he, along with the rest of his noticeably exhausted classmates, had to wake up before dawn to catch the bus before the early morning traffic.

the tired boy slouches in his chair, arms set lazily on the armrests and disorderly curls covering his forehead. he didn’t have the energy to brush them out this morning, thus making a flop of curls sit at the top of his head. peter lifts a hand to tiredly run his fingers through the mocha tendrils, making the curly bangs lift from his forehead for a moment before they flop back messily into his eyes. he lets out a tired sigh.

and if things couldn’t get any more disorienting, the boy had failed to button his floral blue shirt all the way, the top three still undone and exposing his freckled chest.

peter doesn’t make an effort to join ned, betty and mj as they are busy discussing their afternoon plans, trying to see if they have enough time to visit il duomo milan cathedral and the grand galleria vittorio emanuele II. both sounded amazing, but very tiring, which wasn’t going to help peter at the moment.

“non ti piace la tua colazione?(do you not like your breakfast?).”y/n’s eyes are full of somber and peter quickly sits up and holds onto her arm.

“no no, è perfetto, grazie. sono solo un po 'stanco oggi (no no, it’s perfect, thank you. i’m just a bit tired today).” somewhere in the midst of his rushed sentence, his hand slides down from her elbow into her much smaller palm.

y/n furrows her brows as she stares at the sleepy peter. the skin under his eyes are darker than usual and he looks a bit pale.

“dovresti mangiare, per favore (you should eat, please).” she quietly begs. she would hate if he got ill while touring the wonderful city. peter knowingly nods and fills up a freshly washed ceramic bowl with fruit and yogurt. y/n can see how tired he is by the slow blinks and the short breaths that he takes.

“perhaps you should rest during your travel?” she kindly offers. the bus ride is going to be about an hour long, maybe even less since they woke up early enough to beat the morning traffic. but it was better if peter took a quick nap than tiredly drag through the long day.

“will you be coming with us?” peter asks almost desperately. he knew it was a long shot, especially since y/n and her family had to tend to the guests at the hotel. but he hoped...

she lets out a small sigh. “my father won’t allow it” she says, disappointment prominent in her voice. peter nods as he looks away and she can see how hard he is fighting the urge to pout. “ma ti vedrò stasera? al giardino? (but i will see you tonight? at the garden?).” her hand tickles the skin under his chin as she politely lifts it up for him. she does not want peter to have a bad experience just because she cannot tag along. peter deserved to have fun, with or without her.

peter’s lips curve up into a smile and he nods along with her words. “yes, please.” he says, hope lacing in with his voice. y/n smiles with him and runs the back of her hand across his cheek. it was a sweet gesture and it made peter forget that she wasn’t able to attend their trip to milan.

“okay.” her accent sounds like velvet and peter is almost hypnotized by her. she is so enchanting that peter doesn’t realize he’s still sitting at the table with his classmates. and he definitely doesn’t realize that flash is glaring at him and squeezing the handle of the knife he is holding.

“arrivederci,” she says sweetly. her hand slips away from his cheek and y/n allows her fingers to run along his bicep, down this forearm and past his fingertips. and peter is so under her spell that he watches her as she walks out of his line of view, a blush covering his cheeks.

she wanted him to have something to look forward too, again.

-

duomo di milano is so strikingly beautiful, with its massive stained-glass windows and gigantic pillars and amazing architecture. peter takes pictures of the richly-patterned exterior and he even has a few pictures taken of him and his friends in the background. it was just too beautiful to leave in his memories.

and the interior was just as beautiful, maybe even more so.

the stained-glasses windows were hit by the radiant sun outside, making the pictures appear so beautiful and almost like something you would see in a movie. the almost flower-like pattern decorating the floor was almost like a dream and peter can’t believe he’s actually lucky enough to get to witness such a sight. “i wish y/n was here.” he accidentally says out loud.

the group make their way to the elegantly structured gallery known in milano as “il salotto” to grab a bite to eat. it was dinner time now and they were all famished from their adventure. “thank god, if we didn’t eat soon i would’ve passed out.” ned sighs gratefully. betty pouts her lip and pats ned’s thigh affectionately. peter looks to mj on his right, who was failing to fight off a cringe.

“mind if i sit, parker?” goosebumps immediately appeared at the back of peter’s neck and he turns to his left to see flash towering over him.

“oh-uh, sure.” the boy hadn’t realized just how much flash affected him. just thinking about flash’s torment made peter was to run back to his hotel room.

“so, you and y/n seem to be getting along quite well.” flash was smiling, which was odd, considering that he basically threatened peter’s life last night when he wanted to talk to y/n.

“uh, yeah. i guess just as well as everyone else is.” peter tries to keep it neutral, but flash isn’t buying it.

“i told you to stay away from her”, he warns. peter swallows nervously and grips the left armrest, not doing the same with his right hand in case mj would see.

“i don’t know what you-,” peter tries to find an excuse to save himself.

“cut the shit.”flash says. peter looks around the table to see if anyone had heard what he said. unfortunately, no heads turned his way. “i saw you two at breakfast this morning.” flash is basically growling at peter now and peter doesn’t know what else to do except stare down at the menu, pretending to find it interesting as flash continues his reign of torture.

dinner was just as tense, flash making sure he cut his food as threateningly as possible, mirroring what he would do to peter if he didn’t listen.

-

“peter!” her voice was full of relief, happy to see him after a long and tiring day working in the dining room and kitchen. it was nice to finally have some time to relax. peter looks around the lobby to search for her and he jumps as y/n’s small arms wrap around peter’s waist from behind. he can feel her let out a satisfied smile and the way her cheeks are turned up as she smiles.

“mi sei mancato (i’ve missed you)”, she whispers, making goosebumps appear along his arms. the boy lets out a sigh filled with relief, he finally gets to be with her again.

y/n loosens her hold just enough to let peter turn around and finally catch a glimpse of her beautiful face. “ciao, bella (hello, beautiful)” peter says smoothly. y/n’s smile is hidden as she giggles into him, cheek pressed against his chest. peter would give anything to hear her laugh like that again. it was so light and free and so wonderful, just like her. and he smiles down at her because she is just amazing, so unlike anyone he has ever met.

“shall we go outside?”. y/n steps away from him and tucks her gorgeous hair behind both of her ears, her cheeks and nose noticeably glowing red.

“yes”. peter smiles at her and she shyly turns from him as she walks towards the garden. peter follows her with a dopey smile on his lips, happy that he was finally able to enjoy his favorite time of day with his favorite person in italy.

“ti è piaciuto milano? (did you enjoy milan?)” her voice was soft and inviting and so full of wonder. it made peter swoon.

“e 'stato stupefacente. vorrei che tu fossi lì. (it was amazing. i wish you were there)” peter whispers the last part but y/n’s ears still pick up the sweet message, it making her feel so appreciated.

she smiles and looks at her lap and tucks the already-placed hair behind both ears again. and peter picked up that this was her nervous habit.

“il ragazzo ti ha infastidito di nuovo? (was that boy bothering you again?)”. y/n rests her hand on his forearm as she waits for his answer. she would hate to hear that his trip was ruined because of some boy.

peter sighs and gives her a fake smile. “non parliamo di questo ora (let’s not talk about that now)”. y/n frowns and is about to push him into telling her what happened but

peter proceeds to take out his phone, opening to his camera roll and showing pictures of him, ned, betty and mj enjoying their day out, hoping it will change the subject. and it seems to work, because she leans forward to get a better look.

“chi è? (who’s this?)”, she asks, pointing at the picture to a happy mj as peter’s arm was around her shoulders. her voice is filled with something close to disappointment and peter lets out a soft laugh.

“solo un'amica. (just a friend)”, he says softly. peter can see that y/n visibly relaxes at his words, biting her lip to hide her smile.

she brings her petite fingers over his phone and swipes to the next screen, revealing a picture of him laughing as the golden sun hits his face. y/n smiles at this and takes the phone from his hands, gently stroking the sides as if she is stroking his face. her smile widens as each moment passes, finding the picture more captivating with each moment. he looks so beautiful in the light and his smile looks so carefree.

“sei molto bello (you are very handsome)”. peter blushes and wipes his sweaty hands on his pants. they’re sweaty now because no one had ever called him handsome before. only may, but it didn’t count.

peter smiles shyly and tucks his phone in his pocket. he reaches behind him and pulls out his soft cover copy of the book that brought them together, it being safely tucked into the back of his jeans.

“posso leggerlo a voi? (may i read it to you?)”, he asks charmingly. y/n smiles and rests the side of her head on his arm, waiting for her favorite private moment to begin.

“amo quando mi leggi (i love when you read to me)”. peter smiles down at her and opens to where they left off, imagining himself in an alternate universe where y/n and him didn’t have to keep their... rendezvous such a secret.

—

chapter 4

taglist: @ephermcls @directionerfae @milkyholland @tomshufflepuff @spideychronicles @unicorntrooper @cloudyyparker @spideyphysics @evrthngblvk @im-marvels-slut @spyds @legendarypenofeating @mrvlfangirl3190 @sarepurdy @bbscx1987 @honeymarvel @emistrash @bisexual-jesus-jr @schyuler @stylemute @shuriwithparker @deviantsupporter @unknwn98 @ohhowiwishtobemrsstyles @unusual-kindred-spirits @bands-and-shietz @midtownhighs @iwillalwaysreturm @softestgalaxy @jin-hyuks @peterbparkerthsecondblog @tangledmusee @mewcury @stydia-4-ever @bbyeliza @spideylovely @marvelousmorales @holland-peters @petersshirts

[hoeseamatthews]

In The Nick Of Time

A/N: My first fic for this fandom! I’m a lil bit nervous about this, but I still hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,796

Summary: You’re caught in a sticky situation, but luckily for you, an old, familiar face unexpectedly comes to your aid.

“Hey, you get your damn hands offa me! The hell d’you think you are?!”

You struggle to wrench yourself free from the client who’s currently dragging you up the stairs of La Bastille Saloon to his rented room. A drink is what you’d initially agreed to, and he’s obviously taken it too far with the booze tonight, which is a deal-breaker for you. You’ve never taken advantage of a drunk man in any way, shape, or form, and you’re certainly not about to start now.

Of course, when you’d told him you’d prefer to call it a night, and that maybe he’ll see you tomorrow night instead when he’s sober, he didn’t take too kindly to that. Even though he’s absolutely spangled, he still has you in a vice grip, and he holds you even tighter while he fumbles to open the door to his room.

“Shut up an’ keep quiet!”

He slurs, staggering slightly, momentarily releasing the handle on the door and steady himself with his free hand. His grasp is tight enough to bruise your forearm, and despite the fact that you haven’t prevailed in the struggle so far, you persist.

“I told you, it ain’t happenin’! Not tonight!” you fire back, “Someone’s gonna come along an’ put you in your place if you don’t let me go!”

Leering in, he laughs mirthlessly, and you can almost taste the whiskey on his breath, never mind smell it. You grimace, trying to turn away, but he’s got you cornered with nowhere to go.

“Yeah? Who’s gon’ come and help out some whore, huh?”

You’re silent, and for him, that says it all. He manages to get the door ajar, and you cling to the wall in a desperate last effort to get yourself out of the situation, proceeding to make a racket as you do so. He’s bound to overpower you, you already know that, but you want to at least try preventing the inevitable, or maybe give yourself time to conjure up a way to catch him off guard somehow-

“The hell is goin’ on out here?!”

A hotel room door swings open, snapping you out of your rapidly racing thoughts. Out steps a gruff looking stranger, and upon closer inspection, you come to realise that he is, in fact, not a stranger at all.

Arthur Morgan.

Not that you were ever expecting to meet him again, certainly not under these circumstances, you never did forget that name or face.

Back before everything had completely turned to shit for you, he’d once helped you and your parents out with trouble with bandits targeting your ranch while he was just passing through one day. Even then, his timing was perfect. Some things truly never do change, huh?

Your client turns to look at Arthur, and he scoffs, shaking his head at him, refusing to loosen his grip on you.

“Nothin’ for you to worry about. Get outta here! This ain’t nothin’ to do with you!”

Arthur strides forward, and his gaze is piercing, unfaltering. He stares the stranger down with every step he takes, until finally, he’s standing directly in front of him, keeping up the eerily calm resolve.

“The lady told you to let her go, mister. I suggest you listen to her.”

His voice is low, the hint of a threat behind his words. He’s almost challenging the man to argue back, and the poor bastard is drunk - more like dumb - enough to keep running his mouth. However, it’s enough to get him to finally release you, and without a second thought, you’re ducking out of the way.

“Get outta my face, boy, or I’ll knock you flat on your ass!”

He bites back immediately, sneering at an unflinching Arthur, which only seems to anger him even more. He draws an arm back, ready to swing at him and stay true to his word, but Arthur simply ducks to the side before it can connect.

Arthur simply shoves the stranger in the direction of the nearest wall with enough force for him to bounce back off of it, and he falls sideways, his head connecting with a side table. He hits the floor with a thud, flat on his face, and you stare, shocked at first. Then, the shock quickly morphs into fear. You’re honestly not sure if he’s just inadvertently killed this man or not, and before you can even stammer out an apology for intervening, Arthur is crouching down and rolling the man over onto his back, and he holds a hand out in front of his face, leaving it there for a second or two.

“It’s alright.” he hums, still crouching, “He’s still breathin’.”

Arthur glances at you before he rises back up to his full height again, and then, he turns his full attention to you. You bite your lip and nod slightly, doing everything possible to avoid looking him in the eye, but you know you’re going to have to at some point during this interaction.

“You alright, miss?”

“I...y-yeah. I think so.” you near enough mumble, and your eyes finally meet his, “...Thank you. If...if there’s anythin’ I can do to pay you back, just name it. I ain’t got much, but...I owe you.”

Now that Arthur’s had the chance to really look at you, there’s a flicker of recognition in his features. It doesn’t go unnoticed by you, and while he can’t place a name to the face to begin with, it eventually hits him like a punch to the gut.

“...(Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

He states your name, properly studying you now. What was once loosely braided hair now resembles a nest. Decent clothes have now become rags, and the bright smile you once wore has now turned into a semi-permanent frown. He can hardly believe it at first, but there’s no mistaking that it’s most definitely you.

You sigh and shuffle your feet, nodding slightly, and Arthur frowns, leading you away from the unconscious man laying before you both.

“What happened to you? Your daddy lose the ranch or somethin’?”

He asks, and that sets you off crying. But you don’t blame him. He has no idea what happened back then, and you sure as hell don’t owe him an explanation, but you’re about to give him one anyway.

“No, uh...y-you...well…” you stutter, pausing only to compose yourself, “...Remember those bandits, the day you met me, momma, and daddy?”

You ask, and he nods, willing you to continue in your own time.

“They...some of ‘em got away. Half of ‘em wasn’t even shot that day, and...they came back. Killed momma and daddy. They was gonna kill me, too.”

Your voice breaks, and the tears flow with no intention of stopping anytime soon. You momentarily turn your back on Arthur, praying you can calm yourself down to at least finish what you’re in the midst of telling him.

“Aw, miss, that’s real awful.”

Arthur sighs, and even then, he’s not sure if he’s saying the right thing, but he figures that it’s better than standing in silence. Your sobs turn into sniffles, and you slowly turn back to him, swiping the tears away with the back of your hand.

“...I got away. Hopped on the first horse I found and rode the hell outta there. Didn’t know where I was goin’, but...thought Saint Denis was promisin’.”

You clear your throat, looking him in the eye before you continue. Arthur is listening intently, arms folded, his eyes not leaving your face while he gives you the time to tell your story, knowing that nobody else is likely to have even asked about it anyway, so he grants you that, at least.

“I didn’t have nowhere to go. Slept in the backs of empty wagons an’ some folks barn when I knew they wasn’t gonna catch me there. Probably woulda shot me or somethin’. And...now here I am, waitin’ out on the street for whichever feller wants to take me with ‘im, just so I got enough money to eat, or maybe get myself a room if I’m lucky. Lord knows how I survived this long.”

You let out a shaky sigh, shrugging to yourself, trying to smile despite it all. But you fail. Your lip quivers, sobs threatening to resume all over again, even though you’re trying your hardest to put on a brave face.

Arthur could easily leave you here, give you enough money so you can at least attempt to start over elsewhere. But he doesn’t. Instead, he considers you for a moment, weighing both options he has in mind. Finally, he sighs, shaking his head slightly, but it’s meant more for himself, not you.

He doesn’t usually do things quite like this, but he knows you’ve lost everything you held dear, and he really does feel sorry for you. Had Arthur not already known you, maybe he’d see the situation differently, and even though you’re falling apart at the seams in comparison to the last time he saw you, he knows that the sweet and amiable rancher’s daughter from his memory is still hidden away in there somewhere.

“...C’mon.”

He stands aside, creating space to allow you to pass, but you don’t. You simply stare at him, dumbfounded and frozen in place, mouth slightly agape. Arthur gestures to the clear path in front of him, nodding his head to the side, signalling you to follow him.

“Wh-...What?”

“I’m gettin’ you outta here, somewhere safe. I ain’t just gonna leave you on your own like that.” when you step forward, he continues, “I’m with a group, where we’re camped out ain’t too far from here. You can stay with us.”

A few seconds later, your feet drag along the hotel hallway floor whilst your legs carry you towards Arthur. You open your mouth to speak, but no sentence, let alone any words, spill out. He waits until you’re by his side before he continues to walk, remaining close to you in hopes of you feeling some form of comfort from his presence. You do, of course, and it’s not until you’re halfway down the stairs that lead into the saloon that you’re finally able to speak.

“You...d’you think they’re gonna mind? I don’t wanna just show up if it’s gonna be-”

“It’s all gonna be fine.”

Arthur interjects, softly. He halts just before the next step, and he turns to gaze down at you, occasionally glancing down at your hand, as if he’s asking permission to take it. When you don’t shy away, he slowly reaches out, clasping your significantly smaller hand in his, and he gives it a reassuring squeeze.

“Come with me, sweetheart. I’m gon’ help you out. I promise.”

[thranduilsperkybutt]

Gif source:  1  |  2  |  3

Series Masterlist

Pairings: Dean Winchester/Reader; Sam Winchester/Reader

Warnings:  Some cursing. Lengthy exposition. Nothing else, really.

Word Count: 3,982 words

Reader Gender:  Female

Author: Meg

Summary:  You bring Charlie up to speed on things and learn a little more about Sam from a colleague. Car trouble causes delays but a handsome stranger swoops in and saves the day. [While You Were Sleeping AU, Coffee-Shop!AU? — I’m playing fast and loose with the plot.]

A/N:  Ayyyy! Here’s part two! So this slow-burn is going slower than I planned, but I’ve got a lot of ideas! Next chapter things are going to start to heat up between Dean/Reader and I plan on going into some more detail on both of their pasts! Hope y’all keep enjoying!

|  Part 2  |  Long Road Home

“You told them what?”

“Shh!” you hiss quickly, glancing around the shop to make sure none of the patrons had been too disturbed by Charlie’s startled shout. Charlie, on the other hand, hardly seemed worried about the few curious eyes her outburst had drawn, too occupied with gaping at you in disbelief to notice. You couldn’t blame her; not after the story you filled her in on over the course of the morning, “I know, I know! All I wanted to do was make sure he was okay, but everything just snowballed out of control!”

“A snowball would be an understatement! You’re like Indiana Jones in Raiders, and the giant boulder that’s chasing you is the web of lies you’re weaving!” Charlie waves her hands at you dramatically, but there was a teasing tone in her voice, “You’re so doomed!”

“Thanks,” you comment sarcastically, “that’s really what I needed to hear right now, with the family dinner right around the corner. You’re a big help, Charlie.”

Leaning on the counter top, you’re thankful the Coffee House’s morning rush had decided to settle down with the nearing of noon, making it easier to finally have this talk with your friend. The night of the accident, the best you could do upon arriving home was to crash on your bed, your exhaustion taking all the wind out of you. But in the light of day, you found yourself seriously in need of Charlie’s insight on the situation, despite her reputation for brutal honesty or her lack of viable relationship advice. With her having gone to her class yesterday, you hadn’t seen her at work, and this was a conversation best had face-to-face.

“You know, you’re probably right,” reaching to take a sip of ice water from the Yeti you bought yourself this Christmas, a heavy sigh escapes you, “Maybe I should just back out of it. Come up with an excuse not to go---”

“Oh, no you don’t! You have to go to it,” Charlie interrupts, nearly making you choke on your water as her features smooth with her seriousness. She tugs her hair out of its falling messy ponytail, letting the fiery tendrils drape across her shoulders for an instant as she pops the band around her wrist.

“What? I thought I was ‘doomed,’ remember? Your words, not mine,” quoting her in the air with your index and middle fingers, you fix her with a skeptical brow. What’s with the sudden one-eighty? She was going to give you whiplash at this rate.

“Oh, you are still totally doomed, my dude,” she breaks into a teasing grin, pulling her hair back up to fix it into a, hopefully sturdier, bun, “but this is the most interesting thing that’s happened in the past three years I’ve known you! I’ve gotta’ see how it turns out. Nothing exciting ever happens to you!”

“Wow, Char,” rolling your eyes, you scoff. “Glad to know this is at least amusing for you! Meanwhile, I’ll just completely wallow in my own guilt about living a lie! His family--- they’re so nice to me. They wanted to know how we met, what made me know he was the one, and all I could say was that his eyes were kind. I don’t deserve how nice they are.”

“Okay, fine! If you won’t listen to me, listen to… Cas!” she calls, drawing him to look up from where he was currently in the midst of restocking the blueberry muffins, “Cas, please tell (Y/N) that she should go to her fake-fiancé’s family dinner!”

“Don’t drag Cas into this,” the protest does nothing to quell her enthusiasm. You can see it in her eyes, she was nowhere through with trying to convince you to go.

Cas’ dark brows draw together in confusion beneath the Charlie’s Coffee House cap he wore, before he decides it’s better to not question her too much, and fixates his sapphire eyes on you, “You should go to your fake-fiancé’s family dinner.”

In all honesty, you didn’t need much convincing to go. Somewhere buried beneath the rational side of you who knew there was something morally wrong with lying to Sam’s family more than you already had, was a desperate want to experience a family dinner. You ached to have at least one day’s worth of the simple family gathering you never got to have. Living your life with an estranged family was better than being around them, but it still hurt that you could never experience the things that normal families got to. Gathering around a dinner table always seemed just barely out of your family’s reach, each Christmas or Thanksgiving being filled with some sort of drama or falling-out. The dysfunctional circular motions your family went in each year resulted in your slow drift away from them, until it culminated in this year, when you hadn’t even received so much as a phone call on Christmas.

As one last-ditch effort to talk yourself out of it and listen to the morally-correct angel clinging onto your shoulder by a thread, you murmur, “I should tell them I’m not his fiancée. Ripping the band-aid off sooner is better than later, right?”

While you had expected Charlie to start in on you, it’s Cas that pulls your listening ear back to him, “While I did not catch all of your story, (Y/N), I believe I’ve heard enough to have a grasp on the situation you find yourself in. From my perspective, I don’t think you should tell your fake-fiancée’s family the truth right now.”

“Someone pinch me! Did the saint just tell you to lie?” Charlie quips, making Cas’ shoot her a mildly annoyed glare at her teasing nickname for him.

“All I’m saying is, what good would come from it? Think about it,” Cas begins, leaning beside you on the counter as he tries to make his point clear, “if you do tell them, yes, they most likely would be upset, but they also are having to handle their son’s accident, too. Do you really think it is the time to give them the truth? It’s a mercy to keep it to yourself, at least for now.”

“What happens when Sam wakes up, though? It’s going to be even worse, then, if I don’t come clean now,” you worry your bottom lip with your teeth, feeling quite stuck between a rock and a hard place. It seemed that whatever you did, the end result left you hurting them, and admitting the embarrassing truth that you’d lied, regardless of what your initial intentions were.

What was the saying? The road to hell is paved with good intentions. You never quite put too much thought into the phrase until right now.

“When Sam does wake up, at least that is one less thing they have to worry about,” he offers.

“Our friendly neighborhood saint has a point,” Charlie hums, gripping Cas’ shoulder in her own proud approval. “Maybe you should put it off until Sam’s back up and running. At least they won’t have to worry about you and Sam at the same time.”

“Ugh, I hate to say that you two are probably right,” you groan, rubbing your temples, “how did I get myself into this mess?”

“You told a fib,” it comes out jokingly, but all it makes you want to do is smack her for it. Luckily, you’re saved from the conversation by a vibrating in your back pocket. Pointing up your index finger in the universal gesture for them to hold on a second, you pull the phone from your pocket, not recognizing the name there.

Arthur Ketch, it announced.

“Huh,” you huff, debating whether you should even answer the call. It wasn’t even your phone, it was Sam’s. You had just been toting it around in case it got a call, but you hadn’t actually thought you would be on the receiving end of one, as Sam was in the hospital.

“Did you purchase a new phone?” Cas wonders, but you shake your head.

“No, it’s… Sam’s,” the admission earns a scandalized gasp from Charlie, and you quickly explain, “The hospital gave me his stuff! I’m the fiancée, remember?” Finally deciding it could be something important, you move away from the two of them, if only for the space to breathe that the distance provided. Swiping to answer, you lift the cell to your ear and motion for them to be quiet, “Hello? This is Sam’s phone.”

“Uhm, hello,” the man’s voice was accented, but curious, as he drawled through the crackly reception of the phone, “To whom am I speaking?”

“This is (Y/N), I’m… taking Sam’s calls while he’s in the hospital. Would you like to leave a message?”

“In the hospital? My goodness, so that explains why he hasn’t called in to the office! What’s he gone and done to himself this time?”

“He was hit by a car on Wednesday,” you reply, choosing the blunt approach. “He’s in a coma right now, but the doctors think he’s doing better. Sorry--- you said ‘the office?’ Are you from Sam’s work?”

“Ah, yes. My apologies. This is Arthur Ketch of MacLeod and Associates. I was calling to see why Sam had neglected work, but I dare say this is quite a valid excuse for not showing up, or giving a call-in, for that matter,” Arthur chuckled in his own amusement, before adding. “Which hospital did you say he was in, again?”

“I didn’t, actually, but he’s at Lawrence Memorial,” you wondered if your frown was audible through the phone. This guy didn’t even sound too upset at the news that Sam was in the hospital, as if this were just another business phone call. Freakin’ lawyers.

“We’re very sorry to hear that. I will definitely pass on the news to our partners. Of course, we wish Sam will get well soon,” he pauses, before adding, “He is one of our best attorneys, after all. But, it can’t be helped. Please, be certain to send our sympathies to his family. It is truly bad luck after the last accident.”

“The… last accident?” you press, only to hear Arthur click his tongue in response.

“It isn’t my place to say…”

“I’m sure the doctors would want to know about it,” a bit worried now, you wondered how Sam could have been hurt before. It could really be some information the doctors needed to know! It wasn’t as if his family knew a thing about him, it seemed.

“Well, I suppose you’re right.”

While Charlie was spending her Friday night on a much-anticipated date with her online friend Ruthy, who she had spent the last three months gushing to you about, you had a date of your own at the hospital.

Your Jeep had other ideas, though.

“Damn it,” you growl, kicking angrily at the tire that was comically flat, as if just for God to laugh at you. “Just had to ignore that repair, didn’t you, (Y/N)?” The nail that you’d been avoiding paying to have fixed until payday had finally taken its toll, when your tire had blown on the highway. Really, you were lucky you didn’t wreck when you felt the threatening thump-thump-thump of your rim on asphalt, but sitting at the side of the road, all you could do was blame yourself for this.

The sun was already low in the sky, and in another hour sunset would settle into nightfall. The last place you wanted to be was on the side of the road with a spare you couldn’t even put on because your damn lug-nuts were on too tight for you to be able to get off. With a defeated sigh, you crouch back down to take up the lug wrench once again, in the hopes that maybe third time's the charm and you find some strength you hadn’t had before.

You’re in the middle of struggling with it, a slew of grumbled profanities slipping from you, when the low rumble of an engine draws closer in the distance. Your attention isn’t drawn from your own work until you hear the car pull off the road, and you find the driver stopping a little behind your Jeep, blinding you slightly with the circular headlights and drawing your hand up to shield your eyes.

For a moment, your heart skips with icy adrenaline. You’d seen enough horror movies to know where this could go.

When the lights turn off, you blink away your blindness, the spots in your vision resolving just as the driver’s door opens and a man steps out, calling to you, “You need some help over there, princess?”

He was tall, with short hair that bordered on a buzz in the back, and stubble trailing along his jaw. His smile was warm, though, blindingly white teeth parting his plump lips. A leather jacket framed his broad shoulders, with a flannel layered beneath it, nearly covering the Henley that peeked from below.

But it was the car that caught your eye next. All black and sleek and something right out of a period piece set in the sixties. It was a car that was cared for--- fawned over--- that much was apparent.

Hell, it looked better than the old and slightly rusted ‘95 Jeep you bought off your uncle back in the day for two grand before leaving town, and was probably twice the age. At least. You were guessing it was a Chevy.

“Uh, yeah, actually,” you respond cautiously, after weighing your options. No way were you getting these lugs off by yourself, “Just having a hard time with the lug-nuts, is all.”

“Hey, leave it to me. I gotta’ impact wrench in my trunk, it’ll be better than that old thing you’re using,” you hadn’t thought his smile could get wider, but you caught a glimpse of it before he turned to move to his trunk, popping it and rummaging around. Your watch never left him, not wanting to turn your back on a stranger on the side of the highway.

It had absolutely nothing to do with how attractive he was. Yeah, nothing at all to do with that.

It doesn’t take him all that long to fish the wrench from his trunk, which he shakes a bit in his hand at you as if he’s discovered a treasure, before he makes his way on over. When he comes closer, you notice his eyes are green, right before he leans down towards your tire.

“I appreciate it,” you begin, but he just waves you off, taking the lugs off as if you hadn’t been struggling for the last thirty minutes with the damned things. You might just need to get yourself a wrench like the one he had, if you could save up enough.

“Don’t mention it. These things can be a bitch to get off with the manual wrenches, especially if they were tightened in a shop,” he sighs, making quick work of the flat and replacing it with your spare as you put the now-ruined tire in your cargo. By the time you come back around to the side of your car, he’s already lowering the jack, seemingly finished.

“There, should get you home now,” and he was grinning at you again.

“You have no idea what a life saver you are,” you sigh gratefully, but feeling a little guilty for taking up this kind stranger’s time, “I’d pay you for your time, but all I’ve got is like five bucks in cash and a gift card to Charlie’s Coffee House on me.”

He laughs at that, “Don’t worry about it. Just call it helping a damsel in distress.” With a playful wink, he moves around you to head back to his car, leaving you with the jack and repaired tire.

Still, you call after him, offering a wave as you climb back into your Jeep, “Thanks, stranger!”

Albeit a little later than you intended, you eventually arrived at the hospital to hand off the information you learned that morning from Arthur Ketch. Telling yourself you were there to pass on the info wasn’t enough to deny the fact that you didn’t want to go back to your empty house just yet. You could have turned around and went home as soon as you finished your conversation with the nurse, but instead you lingered, moving to Sam’s bedside.

“Hey,” you murmur low, almost half-hoping for an answer that doesn’t come, your only response his steady breathing, “do you mind if I sit?” With the chair comes a contented sigh, the ache in your heels subsiding just a bit as you finally get off your feet for the day. With a sigh, you murmur, “You won’t believe the day I’ve had.” Looking around the hospital room, you notice the things that hadn’t been there the day before.

There were flowers, an assortment of daisies in all different hues, along with the Get Well Soon cards that Jo had littered the windowsill with. A militarian-looking duffel bag was in the corner of the room, left by John, stuffed full of an extra set of clothes as if Sam could wake up at any moment and walk out of here. A tug in your heart reminded you how you wished he would, not just for his own sake, but for theirs.

“They love you,” a soft smile comes to your lips. “Mary misses you, more than from just this... I can tell.” Looking back to Sam, you sigh, “I’m sorry I roped you into this whole, engagement thing, but I couldn’t tell them I wasn’t really getting married to you. They let me in, and I can’t bring myself to tell them different.” Your hands fidget with your bag as you dangle it between your knees, your elbows resting on your thighs as you lean towards him, “I know it’s probably selfish, but I’m going to go to the family dinner, Sam. I don’t expect you to wake up and fall madly in love with me at first sight or anything--- I’m not going to ever be a perfect model girlfriend, like I’m absolutely positive you’ve had in the past--- no matter how awesome it would be to feel wanted like that, and if it was by you, that would be amazing, because the more and more I hear about you, the more amazing you apparently are. I know you’ll wake up and I’ll have to go on with my life. I know I’m going to have to let them go, but I just…” you huff out a chuckle, but there’s no humor behind it, “I don’t want to be alone for once, you know? I just want to have this one dinner, okay? Is that really so bad?”

Of course, Sam doesn’t answer. He just breathes steadily. He could have tricked you into thinking he was sleeping, if it weren’t for the hospital gown and the beeping of the monitors in the background.

Pursing your lips, you add dryly, reaching to brush his hair out of his face, “You’re a pretty good listener. Thanks, Sam.”

With a sigh, you will a smile onto your face, “Hey, on a lighter note, I got you something.” You fish through your back, pulling out the small, stuffed bear who proudly wore a tiny Lawrence Memorial shirt and had Feel Better embroidered on its left paw. It brings an embarrassed chuckle from you, “The gift shop is lined with rows of these things, but I think this one’s the cutest.” You sit it on the bedside table, making sure the bear can sit upright on its own before letting it go.

Dean’s anger was tempered just enough by the time he got to the hospital that he wasn’t entirely steaming as the elevator let him off at the floor his brother was apparently on.

“You needed to be focused on finishing the job. It’s not like you could have finished in Chicago any faster.”

Yeah, well, he could have damn well tried if he’d known something like this had happened. Dean would have dropped everything, job be damned. But he didn’t want to fight with his dad right now. Right now, Dean wanted to see his little brother.

Frustration and worry matched themselves in equal strides as he moved towards the nurse’s station, catching the eye of a plump woman with latte hued skin as he leaned over the counter to ask her softly for directions to his room.

“Oh, he’s in three-oh-eight, right over there on the left,” the nurse points out to him the room, drawing his eye to spot the glass-lined room. Dean’s about to thank her and head over, when she adds, “Just knock before you go in.”

“Wait--- I thought Sam was in a coma?” Dean raises a brow.

“So you don’t startle the fiancée,” she explains, looking with pity towards the room, “Poor thing comes by every night to check on him.”

Dean does a good job of hiding his shock. Keeping the emotion simmering beneath the surface. The most she gets is his widened eyes, though they turn towards the room quickly enough.

“Thanks for the tip.”

Dean maneuvers around another nurse wheeling a vitals machine as he makes his way to the door, peering through the window as inconspicuously as possible to catch sight of the fiancée he hadn’t known Sam had.

Her back was to him, seated in a chair as she leaned a bit on the edge of Sam’s bedside. Her fingers fiddled with a teddybear on the nightstand, trying to keep it from falling over before she could be satisfied with leaving it alone. A hint of recognition flashes through him as he stares at her, before moving to open the door without a knock.

The sound of the door opening draws your attention, and instinctively you move away from the bedside in case it was a doctor or nurse who needed to get to Sam, only for your eyes to find someone entirely different.

“It is you,” comes from the man in the doorway, who looked on at you with an incredulous look in his green eyes.

It was the guy who fixed your tire.

“Y-You! What are you doing here!” you stood, immediately on edge, your mind rushing back to the worst-case, horror-movie scenario, “Did you follow me?!”

“What?” his nose wrinkles up at the accusation, rolling his eyes, “No! I’m not some freakin’ creep who goes around stalking chicks who have flat tires on the freeway. Sam’s my brother!”

You weren’t as good at hiding your shock, your mouth parting slightly at the news, as your finger pointed at him warily, “So you’re Dean, then?”

“Now you’re on the right track, princess,” he sighs, before his eyes widen a fraction at himself and his hand comes to rub the back of his neck nervously, “Eh, I mean--- Guess it’s about time I learned your name, huh?”

“Oh! Yeah. Right,” you stammer, before offering it and an apology, “Sorry.”

“Well,” Dean frowns, glancing to Sam as he moves to the side of the bed, reaching out to give his brother’s hand a squeeze, “wish we met under better circumstances.” Dean’s eyes find yours again, studying you as you stood there awkwardly, as if trying to figure something out in his mind, before speaking, “So… you’re Sam’s fianceé, huh?” He said it like he already knew the answer, but just wanted to hear it confirmed from you for himself.

Heat burns at the back of your mind as you stammer out your lie, poorly, “Y-Yep. That’s me.”

Dean must take your nervousness for something else, because he just shakes his head with a sad sounding sigh, “I can get why he wouldn’t want to tell everyone all at once, but… I just can’t believe he didn’t tell me about you, though.”

[meghandoesfanfic]

hey sister

a/n: another relationship i wish was explored more was peter and nebula--like, come on, give me that good ‘you’re-dating-my-sister-so-i-hate-you-but-you-love-her-so-i-guess-you’re-okay’ relationship!!! enjoy!

----

Peter didn't talk to Nebula a whole lot.

Mostly because he was terrified of her, but also because he wasn't sure how much he really wanted to trust her. Gamora only half-trusted her, and it didn't seem like the rest of the team trusted her very much at all.

Though, Peter and Gamora had this... thing, now. Which meant Peter felt the need to make a little more of an effort to talk to her.

So, when he found her sitting at the table in the main living space on the Milano, he took advantage and sat across from her.

"Hey." He smiled, grabbing a fruit from the basket in the center of the table.

She looked up from whatever device she'd been fiddling with, her eyes dark and skeptical.

"What do you want?" She grumbled.

"Nothin'--just wanted to come say 'hi.'" Peter offered, taking a bite of the fruit.

She squinted her eyes then, making his smile fade.

"Are you sure Gamora didn't put you up to this?"

"What--no, she's sleeping." Peter offered, "Look, I just feel like since she and I are... you know, getting close, I thought that maybe you and I could--"

"No." Nebula said, rising to her feet.

"Nebula, wait." Peter sighed, causing her to stop, "I'm genuinely interested in what you have to say, and I want--"

She rolled her eyes and walked away, heading to her bunk. Peter huffed, shaking his head.

He'd tried, and very clearly failed.

-

Peter was determined to make friends with Nebula--or at least acquaintances. He would take any opportunity he could to try and talk to her--even in the middle of a battle or mission.

He didn't want to give up, but she really didn't seem to care that he was dating her sister. Peter knew he needed to just talk to Gamora about it.

"Just be patient--she might not come around, you know." Gamora offered, closing her eyes as Peter slowly braided her hair.

"I just don't get it," He huffed, "I'm a likable guy, right?"

"Of course," She replied, "Nebula just hates everyone."

"Don't you think it's weird that your sister won't really even talk to me?"

"She doesn't talk to me much."

"Gamora."

She sighed then, opening her eyes and turning to face him, her half-finished braid still in his hands.

"Peter, don't worry about it. If she doesn't want to talk to you, she won't. That's just the kind of person she is." Gamora offered, "It's nothing against you. She's just... difficult."

Peter sighed and finished up the braid, then tied it off.

"I just want her to like me, you know? She's your sister, and I know you guys fight but you're still close, so--"

Gamora stopped him with her hand over his mouth.

"You think too much." She spoke softly, meeting his eyes, "Don't overthink this. Nebula is just difficult."

Peter sighed as Gamora took her hand from his mouth, moving it down to take his hand in hers. She rubbed her thumb over his knuckles with a small smile, making him smile.

"Sorry for being a dick about it, I just want to make a good impression, since she's, like, your family." Peter said.

“My family is a mess, Peter.” Gamora replied, making Peter smile.

“Well, I’ll still try to talk to her. At the very least, I’m her captain, and as long as she’s on my ship, she’s a part of the team.”

Gamora smiled then, leaning up to kiss him quickly.

“Thank you for the braid.” She offered, “It makes me feel like I’m home again.”

“I’m glad I can make you smile.” Peter grinned.

He wasn’t done yet—he was determined to get Nebula to like him.

—

If there was a bar on a planet, the Guardians ended up there, unfortunately.

Rocket, Drax and Groot usually got into trouble, Mantis and Kraglin usually just laughed the night away, and Nebula always seemed to just disappear. Peter and Gamora almost always sat at a table in the midst of the chaos and rowdiness of whatever bar they'd found, sharing drinks and talking about anything and everything.

Tonight didn't start any differently, but about mid-way through the evening, Peter looked up from his drink when he heard some commotion.

"What the--"

He and Gamora both looked over to see a group of large alien-guys ganging up on Nebula. She didn't seem fazed, but she was a member of their crew and Peter wasn't going to have that.

Peter looked to Gamora then, and she unsheathed the Godslayer as the two stood up and walked over. Peter had his hand on his blaster, just in case he needed to use it.

"Hey! Leave her alone!" Peter yelled, causing the guys to stop shoving her around. Peter noticed they'd been able to tear off her robotic arm, and one of them was holding her by her neck.

"Oh, you here to save her?" One of them laughed.

Peter felt his blood boiling--these guys were just being assholes to be assholes, and he wasn't going to take any of it.

"Dude, don't be a dick about this--leave her alone." Peter said, "I'm not asking again."

One of the guys didn't hesitate to grab the lapels of Peter's jacket then, pulling him close so they were face-to-face.

"Who do you think you are?"

"Star-Lord." Peter spoke with a grin, "Haven't heard of me?"

"What kind of dumb name--"

Gamora immediately held the Godslayer to the guy's neck, making Peter fight a smile.

"Drop both of them now and you'll live." Gamora snapped.

"You might want to listen to her." Peter grinned.

"I'm not done with either of them yet." Another guy spoke up before landing a punch on Peter's face that he couldn't quite avoid. Gamora slashed the alien that was holding Peter in the throat, causing him to drop him. Peter quickly rose back to his feet and hurried to grab Nebula as Gamora continued to kick their asses. He was able to get her out of the fray, then turned to see Gamora standing with all of the guys laying on the ground around her, groaning and moaning.

"We need to get out of here." She huffed, "Help Nebula back to the ship and find Mantis and Kraglin--I'll get Rocket and the others."

Peter nodded, helping Nebula to her feet and bending down to grab her arm in the process. He helped her back towards the bar area, looking around for Mantis and Kraglin.

"Cap'n? Everythin' alright?" Kraglin asked from behind him, making him sigh.

"Uh, not really. We gotta get back to ship, like, pronto."

Kraglin nodded, heading off to get Mantis, Peter assumed. Peter activated his mask and jet pack before using them to get him and Nebula back to the ship quicker. Once they were at the Milano, he landed and the two got onto the ship quickly.

"Once Rocket gets back, he'll be able to help get this back on." Peter offered, holding up her arm.

"Thank you, Quill." Nebula spoke quietly, "For getting me out of there.”

"Wait, was that an actual thank you?" Peter asked, a small smile on his lips, "Like, a real--"

"Don't make me take it back." Nebula warned. She grabbed her arm and headed to her bunk, making Peter drop his hands to his sides. It was something, he guessed.

He headed to the cockpit to get the ship fired up so when Gamora and the rest of the team got there, they could leave. They always seemed to cause more problems than solve them when they weren't on a mission.

Moments later, Gamora hurried on board, the rest of their crew in-tow. Peter closed the bay door, then started up the ship.

"Seat belts on!" Peter exclaimed as the team hurried to their chairs. He pushed the acceleration, lurching them up and forward.

"Get ready to jump!" He yelled to his team.

He navigated them through the atmosphere of whatever planet they'd landed on, and once they were out, he pressed the hyper-drive button on his dash and jumped them over. He sighed with relief, as did the rest of the team.

"Rocket, help Nebula with getting her arm back on--she's down in her bunk."

"On it." Rocket said, hopping out of his chair to head back.

"Kraglin, pilot for Peter." Gamora said, making Peter furrow his brows.

"Yes, ma'am." Kraglin nodded.

"Gamora--"

"Kitchen, now." She said, making him clench his jaw and roll his eyes before following her.

Once they made it to the small kitchen, she took his hand and pulled him in. He looked down at her with soft eyes, watching as she reached up to cup his cheek in her hand.

"Peter, what were you thinking?" She asked.

"Your sister was in trouble--she's a part of his crew, too."

"She also can stand her own ground."

Peter opened his mouth to speak but closed it.

"Your eye looks terrible." Gamora sighed, "And your nose is bleeding."

"I mean, I figured--my face doesn't feel great." He replied, "But, it'll heal, I'll be fine."

"You can't fight for everyone." Gamora spoke softly, grabbing a small towel and gently dabbing at his nose, "They weren't going to stop--they could have hurt you worse."

"They could have hurt Nebula more, too." Peter said.

Gamora sighed then, offering a small, sad smile.

"You're a good man, Peter." She whispered as she gave one last swipe along his nose with the towel before setting it aside..

"Nah, wouldn't go that far. I just care sometimes." He teased, making her roll her eyes with a wider smile.

She leaned up to kiss him, making him sigh into her. He settled his hand on her waist, tugging her closer by her jacket.

Gamora was the first to tug away, looking up at him.

"She thanked me." Peter offered, to which her eyes widened.

"Really?"

"Yeah--I was surprised, too." He grinned, "Looks like she's finally come around."

"Maybe." Gamora replied, "I'm just glad both of you are okay."

"Yeah, me too." Peter smiled.