#i desperately wish i could draw anything for my old fandoms without feeling a need to put in a whole background

[aquanutart]

chomp

[koutarouthighs]

『 champagne bubbles 』

S U M M A R Y ― drunken words expose sober thoughts, and what do these boys have to say when their heart is too soaked in liquor to dull their filter?

post type ➺ headcanons fandom  ➺ haikyuu!! characters  ➺ tsukishima ⧾ kageyama ⧾ atsumu  genre ➺ fluff; slight nsfw (sensual themes) tags ➺ established relationship; alcohol; language; pda; lotsa touchy drunk boys;  word count ➺ 2.2k+ request ➺ [YES/NO] ; anonymous requested “could you maybe write drunk!tsukki being really sweet to his gf? like calling her pretty and being super sweet?”     ↳ request status: *.·:·.✧ O P E N ✧.·:·.*

✕ tsukki doesn’t really like to get drunk, because he’s more of a spectator. he enjoys watching everyone else lose their wits so he can poke fun at them for it, sarcastically asking them a dozen questions just to video their answers to bring it up when they’re sober.  ✕ but, with kuroo betting tsukki that he can drink him under the table, his obstinate personality has no option other than to meet his old friend’s challenge. what he doesn’t know is that kuroo never planned to win, not even from the start.   ✕ when you see tsukki later, you’re confused with his wobbling frame and garbled words. his eyes seem to cross behind his glasses, and when he approaches you, he’s got his arm around your shoulders in a flash. you’ve never seen him be so publicly affectionate, especially not in front of a group full of his old friends who knew him once as an antagonistic rival. ✕ tsukishima compliments your appearance, your voice, your dress. he talks about how lucky he is to have you and you swear you see his reddened eyes begin to blear with tears.  ✕ his hands cannot find a part of you he does not wish to explore further, always seeking but never finding solace. and finally he cups your cheeks and sloppily kisses your mouth, and you are so frozen in your stead that you do not have half a mind to kiss him back. 

more below the cut ↯

⧾

“you’re just so pretty,” his voice drawls, eyes blinking slowly as he uses the arm not slung around your body to push his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. the slightest of pouts tugs on his lips and you want to push yourself up on your toes to kiss him, but you know how he feels about public affection.

a small laugh makes your chest blossom and tsukishima tugs you closer, your body engulfed by his lanky yet thick arms. his bicep flexes as he runs his index and thumb against either side of your neck, “you are! i know i don’t tell you enough, but you are. you’re the prettiest girl i’ve ever seen.”

“kei,” you murmur as he drops his head to your shoulder, planting a quick kiss to your exposed collarbone. kuroo and akaashi widen their eyes at the sight, and you try to weave your fingers through tsukishima’s hair to get his attention, “kei, are you drunk?”

“yep!” kuroo’s voice is unmistakable, even from where he and akaashi, and now bokuto, are sitting in the kitchen, swiveling in their barstool seats, giggling to themselves. you narrow your eyes and hope that the glare you cut them is enough to not let them sucker him into anything like this again, knowing how much he will hate finding out about this when he’s sober. 

“we can go home,” you murmur in promise against his neck, pressing a kiss to his cheek before settling back on your heels. tsukishima kisses the top of your head and wraps you back up again, tucking your head beneath his chin. he sighs, and you feel his chest deflate, “no, i like going out with you. i know i say i hate it, but i like that you want the world to know that you’re mine.”

you tilt your head back, raising a brow, “tsukki, i’m not ashamed of you. never have been.” 

“no, i know,” he almost sounds stone cold sober for a second, and you blink to try and make sure you can reconcile what you’re hearing with what you’re seeing. “i just hope you know that i’m not ashamed of you. you’re kickass, and i can’t believe you let me call you mine.”

“of course,” and you feel your own voice growing heady without the influence of whiskey, “i love you.”

tsukishima, drunk or not, reaches down to frame your face with his hands and as if in slow motion, purses his mouth until you feel the bow of his lips meet your own. you flex your feet so you’re up on your toes, face heated at the sudden display of affection, disregard to who might see. his palms are expansive and warm, floating from your neck to your shoulders, down your arms until he finds the curve of your hips. his thumbs slip beneath the hem of your shirt and he sighs, parting his mouth from yours, “tell sober me to appreciate you more. he’s kind of an asshole.”

“yeah,” you lick your lips and read the hunger in his eyes, matching it with a fire in your own, “i’ll make sure to tell him in the morning.”

✕ kageyama believes that alcohol dulls the senses and takes his mind off of what is truly important - the next match. so, it’s kind of difficult to get him to indulge in a drink from time to time. but hinata always manages to spur him on, citing his days in brazil have made him the better consumer, and kageyama just can’t let that redhead best him at anything. ✕ you wish you had the effort to try and deter him from it, but watching kageyama turn loose and enjoy his time with his friends is so elating in it of itself that you don’t have the heart to try and drag him to a glass of water.  ✕ your face goes red when kageyama puts down his fourth glass of rum and coke and turns his attention to you. eyes sheathed by half-hooded lids, lower lip consumed in the cage of his canine tooth as he sucks the slow drip of whatever drink did not make it to his tongue. ✕ the praise he dotes on you when he slots himself into the couch next to you is not unwelcome, and yet foreign and uncomfortable all the same. tobio is not unknown to shower you in kindness when you are alone, and when he can gather his words and his spirits, but now, in front of his friends and rivals from high school, it all feels a little out of place. ✕ his hand rests curiously high on your thigh, the other arm around your back to hold you close. he kisses your cheek and then your neck, warm breath smelling of the sweet concoction he’s downed one too many of in your absence.

⧾

“tobi,” you whimper when his thumb drifts against the seam of your jeans, manicured nails digging into the plush of your thigh, “a-are you drunk?”

“so what if i am?” his curt response is quick, just like always. you suppose even when drunk, he’s not completely unlike himself. your gaze meets his darkened irises, pupils dilating as he tries to focus on any one feature of your face. his tone softens as he looks at you a little while longer, “god, you’re beautiful.”

your expression must show how taken aback you are, because tobio’s nose scrunches and he looks like he’s eaten something sour, “have i never told you that before?”

“n-no, you have,” you shake your head to bring your wits about you, “it’s just weird to hear it in front of all your friends.”

kageyama shakes his head and straightens his spine, palm falling down to your shoulders to massage at the blade of your back, “well, it’s the truth. in front of my friends or at home. y-you’re pretty.”

you can’t help but laugh at his wavering voice, another wave of drunkenness bringing out a shy side of him that you’re used to seeing from time to time. you lean across the space between your bodies and press a kiss to his cheek, “you’re adorable, tobi. especially when you’re drunk.”

“d-do you need anything?” he asks, the palm on your thigh finding your hand to squeeze your knuckles between his own, “water? another drink?”

you nod, brushing dark hair back from his face to his ear so you can see his sapphire irises in full, “i could use some water, if you’re getting up. but you don’t have to get me anything, babe.”

tobio is standing to his feet as soon as you finish your sentence, eyes wide and hands still clutching at you, despite the distance, “of course!” and he is gone before you have another moment to draw him back in. biting your lip, you watch as he scrambles about the kitchen, but your attention is drawn away by the other girls sitting on the couch opposite of you. 

when kageyama returns, his arms are full, and his mouth is moving as if it were attached to a motor, “i got you two bottles of water and they had a can of that seltzer you like in the fridge so i got that too, and then i know where hinata hides the chocolate so i grabbed you a few pieces and then there’s also an apple in case you get hungry.”

you want to laugh, you desperately want to let your giggles escape, but you tamper them down to take the various items teeming in tobio’s hands. you reach up to cup his cheek, “you really do think of everything, don’t you, kags?”

“for you,” his voice sounds faraway, ethereal, “i’d do anything for you.”

✕ most nights after a long week of training, or a tournament with msby, atsumu spends time with bokuto and hinata and sakusa, and even osamu tags along, and they buy up tumugi, sake, and vodka until they can’t see themselves home. atsumu has the dd or a cab bring him home, and you can always tell by the way his steps stutter over the rug that he’s too far gone to even know you’re home. ✕ atsumu is a clumsy, most of the time loud, drunk. he forgets how lumbering his body is, how much he weighs, and how his head might hit the overhanging light in the living room if he’s not too careful. ✕ as soon as he spots you, curled up on the couch, his whole being softens. he licks his lips and calls your name, eyes shining when you finally make eye contact. he’ll call out for you again, asking for his girl. ✕ atsumu’s hands are insatiable as he fumbles over the top of you from where you lay, tucking his head into your neck and caging you in with his limbs. he likes the reminder of how big he is, how he can encompass your space with minimum effort. he seeks skin on skin contact while he can’t see straight, preferring to close his eyes and just feel you. ✕ he’ll mutter things into your soft skin and slip his hands underneath your shirt, but it’s nothing you haven’t heard already, only accented with giggles and blown raspberries along your body.   

⧾

“don’t you have a game tomorrow?”

“so what?!” he nips at your jaw, “what are you, my mother?!”

“that would make this a very strange position, wouldn’t it?” you snort, scratching your nails up the base of his back to his shoulders, his shirt riding up inch by inch. atsumu groans, dropping his head to your chest, circling his arms around your waist until he’s clinging onto you for dear life. he sighs and you try your hardest not to shiver at the feel of his warm breath over your bare skin.

he grunts, shifting his legs to get more comfortable, “osamu bet he could do three shots faster than me, and you know i’m the better twin, and i had to prove it, so i did it. and... and now’m here.”

another laugh makes its way out of your throat and you squeeze his shoulders, “that competition is going to get you in trouble one day. you can’t win everything.”

“i don’t gotta win everything,” atsumu licks his lips and takes a breath, craning his neck so he can look you in the eyes, “i already got you, don’t i?” you’re blushing but that doesn’t stop him, not when he’s on a drunken roll like this, “i mean, that’s about the best thing i ever coulda won.”

you twirl a finger in his hair to keep your hands busy, rolling your lips together as he rambles. atsumu pushes himself up further on your body so you’re eye-to-eye, the tip of his nose brushing up your cheek as he gets situated, “cause even when i lose a match, i still get to come home to you.”

the threatening heat of tears makes your eyes throb and you close them to get some relief. atsumu kisses both of your eyelids and then your nose, and your face scrunches at the overwhelming smell of vodka on his lips, but you don’t care, not when he’s being so kind and genuine. he cups your face with a palm, heady and calloused, and then kisses your cheek until your skin relaxes. he chuckles, “i mean it, sweetheart.”

“i know you do, ‘sumu,” your voice is thick and you clear your throat just after you speak. you finally peek your eyes open to look at him, and you almost wished you hadn’t. his umber irises melt into dark pupils, a warmth there that you cannot place, cannot describe. his skin is rosy, kissed by alcohol and emotion, and you just want to drown in him.

he noses your cheek and then captures your lips, soft kisses volleyed back and forth between the two of you as your hands roam and find supple skin and dense bone. lines blur between evening and morning, and words slur between the both of you.

and every time, as one breath ends and another begins, atsumu makes sure to show you that his words ring true, and his greatest win was always you.

[spacedancer1701]

The Night Before Christmas (Or: Don’t Start Without Me!)

A Star Trek Fic

Fandoms: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series (TOS), Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (AOS) Pairing: McCoy x Original Female Character (Dr. Jennifer Hope) Characters: Dr. Leonard “Bones” McCoy, Jenny Hope Rating/Warnings: Explicit (M) Tags: Romance, Love, Smut and Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content Word Count: 4,747

Read it on AO3: The Night Before Christmas   

Summary:

This is a very private story Hope and McCoy decided to share after I received several requests expressing interest in their more intimate affairs. 😉

Or simply put: a (missing) Hope and McCoy smut scene.

(Although you don’t have to be familiar with my other Hope/McCoy stories to enjoy this little one-shot.)

A little present 🎁 for everyone who mourns the lack of smutty details in my other Hope/McCoy fics. Merry Christmas! 🎄

And to all of you who don’t celebrate Christmas – don’t worry, it’s not what this story is really about. It’s basically just a ‘naughty’ Hope/McCoy chapter. 

You have been warned. 🙈😅 Enjoy! ❤️

Jenny was trying to get comfortable in the bed that suddenly seemed far too big for her alone. She couldn't believe she was spending tonight without Leonard. Especially, since they hadn’t seen much of each other for the past two weeks, either, and the evening had begun so promising.

It was Christmas Eve, and after Jenny had helped putting the finishing touches on the decorations for the big party tomorrow, she and Leonard had shared a lovely festive dinner with their friends, who’d sent them ‘home’ early with knowing smirks and not so subtle remarks, after the captain and Uhura had unanimously decided that they’d had enough of watching them ‘shamelessly making out’ all evening.

The Enterprise crew had had a tough month, with lots of adventure and surprises, to put it mildly, and Leonard had practically been living in sickbay, while Jenny had also had her hands full between work and helping prepare for the big Christmas party that had become the annual highlight for everyone aboard. Even the crewmembers who didn’t actually celebrate Christmas, just because it was one of those lovely human traditions that reminded them of Earth, or Earth colonies, which were home to most of the crew.

After dinner, Jenny and Leonard had all but raced along the ship’s corridors, with Leonard using the time in the turbolift to wrap her in his loving arms and make the most thrilling promises about all the things he was going to do to her once they were back in their quarters.

“Don’t start without me,” he’d murmured suggestively in her ear, before slipping back out the door to quickly go get his PADD, which he had accidentally left in sickbay, making her soak her panties with just those few words in that incredibly sexy voice of his.

That had been more than two hours ago, as not even a minute after he’d gone, he’d called her on her comm to let her know that he’d arrived just in time for yet another emergency, the disappointment in his voice easily matching her own. Clearly, she hadn’t been the only one hardly able to contain herself anymore.

For some time, Jenny had tried to distract herself by getting ready for his return. Tarting herself up, as her grandmother would have called it, indulging in a real water shower and slipping on the Christmassy underwear Nyota had talked her into buying during a recent starbase shopping spree. A silky shirt and matching panties that were sure to bring out the tiger in Leonard.

Then she’d made herself some tea and settled down on the couch with her PADD to read for a while, but soon found that there wasn’t much fun in wearing a seductive outfit without Leonard around to appreciate it. Particularly as, with his soft drawl and all the enticing promises still fresh in her ear, if anything, her arousal had only grown since he’d walked out the door.

So, with a sympathetic sigh, knowing that the poor doctor didn’t have that luxury and was, by now, most likely totally focused on whatever medical emergency had arisen, Jenny slid under the covers, closed her eyes, and conjured up his sweet, handsome face. Sex was certainly not what their love was built on, but she couldn't deny that making love to him had become a sweet addiction, and that they both got kind of restless and on edge if it had been too long. Which it definitely had.

Making love to Leonard was wonderful beyond description. Gentle and hot, tender and exciting, comforting and fulfilling. He was everything a woman could wish for, and he was all hers. He’d also been the first to show her how enjoyable physical love could be, tenderly and patiently guiding and teaching her, and it had become even better ever since.

The devotion with which he ‘worshipped her body’, as he called it, knowing exactly where and how she loved to be touched most, yet always searching for new ways to pleasure her, got her all flustered just thinking about. Not to mention the way he responded to her touches, making pleasuring him at least as rewarding as letting him drive her to ecstatic heights with his incredibly nimble fingers, lips and tongue.

Smiling to herself, Jenny thought how they’d still be ‘at it’ when they were both old and grey. She couldn't imagine the day when she wouldn’t find the doctor hot and wildly attractive anymore. One of his slow smiles, an almost indiscernible wink, or the gentle sound of his voice saying her name were all she needed to make her go weak in the knees.

Unnoticed, Jenny’s hand had found its way inside her panties, looking to ease the heat that thoughts of Leonard never failed to spark. She hadn’t wanted to ‘start without him’, but now she found she just couldn't stop. Gently writhing and slowly rolling her hips under the touch of her own fingers, she imagined Leonard expertly bringing her to the brink. But no matter how hard she tried, there was no way she could draw out her pleasure and tease herself as skilfully as he could. Instead, she was tumbling over the edge almost instantly.

Tensing up, Jenny came with a low moan, unable to pull her fingers away just yet, as the short relief immediately turned into desperate need again. Leonard always teased her about how, once he got her going, she just couldn't seem to get enough, taking great pleasure in the fact. And just picturing his enraptured gaze as he took her from one orgasm to another, made her climax again. And again. Until her fingers were too wet to apply enough friction, helplessly slipping around inside her drenched panties, and Jenny fell asleep, completely drained.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Tired and disappointed to have missed out on what had promised to become his best ‘Night Before Christmas’ yet, McCoy quietly slipped into his quarters to the titillating sight of his darling Hope fast asleep, bedcovers kicked aside, fingers wedged inside her panties, leaving no doubt about what she’d been up to before falling asleep and kindling instant desire in him.

Of course, he knew that women did that all the time. He was a doctor, dammit! And he’d been a lover before Hope was even born. Or would have been born, if she hadn’t already been born three centuries ago. God, the view made him lose all power of coherent thought, while the bulge in his pants was threatening to burst through the material. And, of course, he’d fantasised about her doing it while thinking of him long before they’d become lovers. But Hope actually lying here like this, a breath-taking picture of silky red and lacy/fluffy white, cheeks still flushed a rosy pink from exertion, was by far the hottest thing he’d ever seen.

Picturing her in the act of pleasuring herself, McCoy didn’t doubt for a minute that she’d been thinking about him. He knew only too well that it had been him who’d taught her the physical pleasures of love in the first place. A fact she loved to remind him about frequently. And he could never get tired of hearing her tell him how, that first time, he’d made her feel pleasure like she’d never known before, and how, ever since, she’d been helpless to resist his touch, a single finger, or the simple flick of his tongue, enough to drive her crazy with desire.

Oh, how he longed to hear her tell him that now. In fact, he longed for much more than just that. What he really wanted, was to know exactly what she’d been thinking about. What she’d imagined him doing to her. Details of what she loved and enjoyed most. How she’d brought herself to orgasm. And how often. And, not least, what had aroused her so much it had caused her to touch herself to begin with.

Hope wasn’t big on dirty talk, or even on telling him what she liked or would like him to do. She just didn’t feel comfortable with it, happy to let him do all the talking. But she had a million other ways of showing him how she enjoyed his ministrations, that he’d come to appreciate at least as much. He could certainly never get enough of her little moans and gasps, or the way her body trembled and pressed against him with need and pleasure.

After quietly taking off his clothes and a quick trip to the bathroom, McCoy slid into bed next to Hope, stark naked, leaving the lights on low, so he could still enjoy her beauty and her incredibly hot outfit. She certainly knew how to turn him on beyond measure. It took all his self-control not to wake her, his desire almost getting the better of him. But looking at her relaxed and serene face, so peacefully asleep, he settled for taking matters into his own hands, literally. Imagining the things Hope might have done and thought about while he’d been tied up in sickbay.

He’d barely started touching himself, shivering as he ran his thumb lightly over the already slick tip of his erection, when his gaze fell on Hope’s hand still caught inside her panties, the naughty sweetness of it nearly killing him. This was his Hope, the light and love of his life, the wonderful woman who’d chosen to spend the rest of her days with him, and who never ceased to amaze and surprise him. Or arouse him. And that was the moment he decided that, with it being Christmas and all, it was practically his duty to wake her and show her how much better he could finish what she’d begun on her own.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Jenny woke to the feeling of soft lips covering her face in little kisses, and the gentle touch of familiar fingers on her skin, lovingly caressing her hips and belly. Noticing with a start that her own fingers were still trapped in her panties, she felt herself blush furiously, totally embarrassed to have been caught ‘in the act’. But when she tried to pull her hand out, Leonard’s bigger one quickly gripped hers, keeping it in place.

“Don’t take your hand away, love,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, “I want you to keep it right there. To show me what you did. How you touched yourself. I want to watch you pleasuring yourself and maybe learn something new about you.”

She must have blushed even more at that, because Leonard pressed a gentle kiss on her lips and said with a smirk, “Don’t be shy, love! No need to be embarrassed! It’s really quite flattering to think that I left you so horny you couldn't wait. Finding you like this certainly made me so hard I briefly thought about following your example. And I’m not even talking about your stunning outfit, although I’m pretty sure there’s a law against wearing such a slinky little thing. But then I decided I’d rather wake you after all.”

“I’m glad you did,” Jenny smiled at the doctor, blinking the sleepiness away.

She was already incredibly turned on again just listening to his words, yet couldn't help feeling shy about touching herself in front of Leonard, even though it was perfectly clear how much the idea excited him. Just like she could never really bring herself to talk dirty to him, despite understanding why he’d love her to, seeing what his dirty talk unfailingly did to her.

So, deciding to humour him when he let go of her hand, Jenny gingerly started to draw little circles with her fingers inside her panties, unable to suppress a low moan as she noticed how wet she’d already become again, and eliciting a not so subtle groan from the doctor, who pressed a hot kiss on her lips before returning his lustful gaze to her nether regions.

“Don’t hold back, love,” he purred, gently stroking her thigh and rolling his hips in obvious arousal. “Show me how you make yourself feel good!”

Emboldened by how much Leonard was enjoying this, Jenny began to rub herself in earnest, her breath getting more erratic and her own hips starting to roll in time with her circling fingers, the doctor’s soft moans and encouraging words spurring her on.

“That’s it, love,” he murmured close to her ear, sounding a little breathless, “just let yourself go. Feels so good, doesn’t it? Your fingers going exactly where you need them, touching you just right.”

Leonard talking like that, fuelling her desire like only he could, was too much. Jenny forgot all about her inhibitions, bucking her hips and letting out a soft yelp as she came by her own fingers under the doctor’s mesmerised gaze, his hand sliding under her shirt and tenderly caressing her breasts, as she came off her high, gasping and trying to get her breathing back to normal.

“Do you do this often?” he asked softly, his eyes gleaming and his breath hot on her face, as his hand slid down her belly until it gently covered hers, still preventing it to pull out of her panties.

“I did, before we became lovers,” she confessed reluctantly, suddenly feeling shy again.

“And when you did, what were you fantasising about?”

The question alone was enough to set Jenny on fire again. Add Leonard’s bedroom voice, and she was helpless to keep her fingers from starting to move anew.

“About you, Leonard! Who else?” she sighed longingly, losing herself in his soulful eyes. “About you holding and kissing me.”

“Just holding and kissing, huh?” Leonard chuckled affectionately, brushing a tender, almost chaste kiss on her temple. “And that got you going?”

“Actually, it did!” Jenny blustered, momentarily distracted by the doctor’s undisguised mirth, her fingers losing their rhythm.

Leonard pressed another – less chaste – kiss on her lips, and, chuckling to himself once more, gently pushed her fingers aside.

“I’m taking over, love,” he smiled softly, and a moment later, Jenny’s whole body was on fire with unbridled desire.

-x-x-x-x-x-

“Oh my God!” Hope cried out, her body writhing under McCoy’s touch. “It’s so much better when you do it!”

The doctor felt a hot surge of pure lust ripple through him, thrilled by her keen response.

“Tell me, love, what exactly makes it so much better?” he tried to cajole her into a little dirty-talk after all, keeping his touches extra light, knowing perfectly well how that was driving her crazy.

“I just can’t last as long without you,” she confessed sheepishly, blushing adorably and drawing in a sharp breath every time he gently tapped her swollen nub. “I can’t help giving in to my need, where you would still endlessly torment me.”

“So, you love it when I tease you?” he probed, enjoying every word of this stimulating conversation. “When my touch is deliberately light and slow? Like this?”

Hope just nodded, groaning at his ‘demonstration’, his fingers easily gliding through the delicious wetness. It never ceased to amaze and delight him how responsive she was to every little one of his touches.

“When you’re begging me to let you come, you actually want me to keep you on the edge?”

“No! Please!” she cried, her thighs clamping around his hand, desperate for more friction.

“But I think you do,” McCoy kept on teasing her, knowing her well enough to see that she was already incredibly close and wondering how much longer he could still keep his own arousal at bay. “Why? Because it makes release infinitely sweeter the longer you’re denied?”

“You’re cruel!” Hope gritted out, bucking wildly against his hand now, her fingers scrabbling around the bedsheets for purchase.

“Maybe I am,” he whispered, starting to kiss her neck and nibble her ear, taking full advantage of knowing her body so well. “Or maybe I just want you to experience unprecedented pleasure.”

Hope was groping for McCoy’s hand now, getting hold of his wrist and gripping it hard. She always did this when his teasing got too much for her, and it never failed to amuse him how she really thought she was strong enough to force his hand into applying more pressure.

“But then again, perhaps I simply love having this power over your lust, over your body,” he grinned wickedly, enjoying nothing more than driving Hope to the heights of ecstasy, before going for the clincher, anticipating the exact effect his next words would have on her. “And, of course, you need to be punished for starting without me.”

That did it. That, and the skilled touch of a finger that, after months of experience and practice, had come to know Hope’s body inside out.  

-x-x-x-x-x-

Jenny hurtled over the edge into free fall, exploding into a million shards of pleasure, only realising the noise she was making when Leonard sealed her lips with a passionate kiss in an attempt to muffle her sounds of ecstasy the way he did every time after making her lose control, always a great source of amusement to him.

Admittedly, virtually every orgasm the doctor gave her felt like the best ever, but this time, Jenny was fairly sure it was true. She’d definitely come harder than she had ever before. And a second and third time, before the first climax had even subsided. It felt like getting caught in an endless stream of intense pleasure, the smug grin on Leonard’s face proof of how well he knew what he was doing to her, and how much he enjoyed it.

“My insatiable girl,” he smiled tenderly, brushing damp strands of hair from her flushed face, love and lust blending together in his beautiful eyes. “You have no idea how gorgeous you are. Or how hot it is to see you like this. And how exciting to know that I did this. That I can make you feel like this. That I can tease you to my heart’s content and make you feel pleasure almost too much for you to handle.”

Always staying humble, incredulous almost, despite being this amazing lover, was one of Leonard’s most endearing qualities.

“Just be careful it doesn’t get you more excited than you can handle,” Jenny giggled as soon as she’d caught her breath again.

And still high from her incredible flight of ecstasy, she gently took hold of Leonard’s pulsing erection, finding it rock-hard and fit to burst, and almost made him come at the first touch.

“Jesus! What are you doing to me young lady?” he groaned, and Jenny was thrilled to see that he had to squeeze his eyes shut in concentration to stave off his own imminent orgasm. “Go easy on an old man’s heart!”

“Too late, old man,” she laughed, enjoying being the one in charge for a change, giving his shaft a few firm strokes while lightly running the fingers of her other hand over his crown, teasing his slit and rim, and revelling in the groans, and grunts, and gasps, that her ministrations coaxed out of him, his whole body twitching and jolting with desperate, urgent need. “You brought this on yourself, Doctor! It’s time you got a good taste of your own medicine!”

Watching him come apart at the touch of her hands, Jenny’s heart was brimming over with tender love for the man who’d thrown himself into making this the night of her life, as if he hadn’t just spent exhausting hours in sickbay, dealing with whatever emergency had come up this time. Judging from his playful mood, she could at least be sure that everyone was all right again. She’d ask him all about it later, but for now she had another goal to accomplish. And that was to give him as much pleasure and satisfaction as she possibly could. He’d definitely more than earned it tonight.

Applying all the skills she’d acquired over time, having had months of exploring Leonard’s body and desires, she went on stroking and teasing, alternating between firm and light touches, one hand taking care of his throbbing erection, while the other gently played with his balls. The whole time, her eyes never left the doctor’s handsome face, adorably scrunched up with unbridled lust now, as he was lost in sweet, unbearable pleasure, visibly torn between needing to come so badly and never wanting the feeling to stop.

“I love you, Leonard!” Jenny whispered, leaning over to softly trail her lips from his cheekbone down to his jaw, making him shiver with need, and want, and longing.

“God, Jenny, I love you, too,” he sighed, his lips capturing hers in a deep kiss, and his hand slipping inside her panties again.

“Teasing me makes you even wetter it seems,” Leonard groaned, thrusting hard into Jenny’s hand a couple more times before pushing away abruptly and going down on her before she even knew what was happening.

“Oh my God you’ve never tasted better,” he mumbled, his mouth pressed against her core after having made quick work of her panties, and Jenny thought she might pass out from the intense desire he was arousing in her once more.

She started to grind against his face, so close again already, but the doctor easily pinned her hips down with his strong hands, thus putting a stop to her movements.

“I want to drink every last delicious drop of your juices, love,” he positively growled, “before I give you what you so desperately crave. But I promise you won’t regret it.”

And true to his word, after putting her through what felt like endless, overwhelming need, his lips, tongue, and even his teeth teasing her in every possibly way, he sent her higher than she’d ever been before, making one orgasm spill into the next, his mouth never leaving her most sensitive parts, humming and moaning as if he were indulging in the most deliciously tasting dessert.

Once again, Jenny couldn't help but admire how much control over his own body Leonard showed when it came to pleasuring her, patiently stroking, and caressing, and nibbling, and licking her through all of her orgasms and beyond, not stopping until she’d come back down from her incredible high, breathing hard and shivering with exhaustion.

As soon as he was sure that she was truly satisfied, however, he didn’t waste another moment before finally acting on his own raging need, sliding up her body in one swift move to kiss her mouth hungrily and bury himself deep inside her with a single thrust, knowing that she was wet enough to easily take him.

And, unable to maintain control over his lust any longer, Leonard came after only a few more thrusts with an almighty groan, a soft curse, and a completely misguided apology. A sad hang-up from his time with Jocelyn, that still needed a lot more of Jenny’s gentle reassurances and healing love to help him finally overcome it.

Having learned how to draw out Leonard’s pleasure, Jenny clenched around his length, still buried deep inside her, eliciting more moans and gentle swearing from him, and making him throw back his head one last time before finally collapsing on top of her, breathless and drained, barely able to keep his weight off her.

“God almighty, you’re something else young lady,” he panted, the tender contentment in his eyes melting her heart. “I should really know by now that teasing you always backfires.”

Jenny laughed delightedly, wrapping her arms tightly around him and rolling them over on their sides. She didn’t mind his weight at all, in fact, enjoyed feeling him blanketing her. He wasn’t a heavy man. But she knew that he was always afraid to crush her and couldn’t really relax like that.

“This was amazing, Leonard!” she sighed, shifting even closer and nestling tightly into his arms. “But even so, I think I prefer you not being called away, so that we can ‘start together’.”

“I’m absolutely with you there, love,” he chuckled, “even though every night with you is amazing, no matter how we start or what we do. I sure am the luckiest man alive.”

“Just as I am the luckiest woman alive,” Jenny replied, gazing deeply into his eyes to make him see how sincere she was.

-x-x-x-x-x-

And McCoy knew that she really meant it. That was the best part of loving Hope. She didn’t play games. Not power games, and not any other kind. She was always straightforward. Genuine and sincere through and through. With her, you got exactly what you saw. At least he did. Maybe she could still fool someone who didn’t know her so well. She did have a tendency to hide her troubles behind her cheerful personality, after all.

But he could usually tell, if she was truly happy or not, and she’d more or less given up on trying to pretend with him, accepting that he’d much rather worry about her than find out too late that he hadn’t been there for her when she’d needed him. And he could always be sure that when she said she liked something, she really did. And when she was angry with him, or disappointed, she’d just say so, too. Simple as that. Being with her was just so easy. He’d never been so comfortable in a relationship before. Or so happy. Or so in love.

That didn’t mean she didn’t stress him, of course. In fact, aside from being his sunshine and the joy of his life, she was also a nearly constant source of worry for him, almost as bad as Jim in attracting danger. Or strange blows of fate. But it was all worth it. She was worth it. He’d gladly take on all the worrying in the world, if it meant having her love.

Because Hope’s love, boundless and unconditional, was one of the few certainties in his life. The one thing he had complete and utter faith in and knew he could always depend upon. Whatever she saw in him, he’d given up trying to understand, simply accepting that she believed him to be worthy of her affections and had given him her heart to hold and take care of.

McCoy might be afraid of losing her, considering all the dangers that came with living and working in space, but never of losing her love. And he’d certainly never stop doing everything in his power to make her, if not the luckiest, then hopefully the happiest woman alive.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Jenny watched Leonard’s eyes grow soft, as he let his loving gaze roam all over her body. She knew that look well. He always had it when she paid him a compliment or told him how much she loved him. Especially after they’d just made love. It was a look of blissful happiness mixed with wonder, and it never failed to tug at her heartstrings.

Leonard was every woman’s dream, in and out of the bedroom. And while he was confident enough as a doctor and scientist, and also as a lover, she knew that he still felt undeserving when it came to being loved. Jocelyn really had a lot to answer for, and Jenny was glad that she had a whole lifetime to convince Leonard of his own worth. To make him see what an amazing man he really was.

His gaze finally returning to her face after having lingered on her Christmas outfit for a considerable amount of time, Jenny saw a naughty grin spread across the doctor’s face.

“Tonight has turned out amazing after all, love, hasn’t it?” he smiled, kissing her tenderly on the lips. “But knowing you as I do, we’re not done yet.”

The mischievous grin on his face grew even wider, as his fingers started toying with the hem of her silky shirt and slowly making their way further down from there.

“I’m exhausted, Leonard!” Jenny laughed, trying to brush his hand away.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to check that myself. I can’t just take your word for it!” he replied in his no-nonsense CMO voice, before adding in a softer tone, “You are my insatiable girl after all, and I’m sure you’ll understand that, as your doctor, I couldn't afford to be negligent in my duties!”

“Believe me, Leonard,” Jenny giggled, as the doctor’s fingers gently probed between her thighs, and he broke into a knowing smile, “I’m totally spent! You made sure of that only a minute ago, remember? I couldn’t even ... ah ... oh my God!”

************ Disclaimer: Nothing of or associated with Star Trek is mine – it all belongs to Paramount / ViacomCBS (or whoever else is currently holding the rights). This is a work of fanfiction, no infringement intended.

[unholyplumpprincess]

Sweet Little Lamb

So I made a gift for @useeer based off his wonderful art that you can see here. Though I have only known him for like,,,3 days it is in my nature to make my friends gifts so here we are. Bone apple teet.

Reblogs > Likes

Fandom: Apex Legends

Relationship: Bloodhound/Reader

Warnings: R18+/NSFT, Reader’s pronouns are never stated but calling them a ‘sweet boy’ is used, Reader also has a vulva but verbiage is Cock/dick/hole to describe bits and bobs, Bloodhound’s werewolf strap on makes a comeback as always, knotting, spreader bars, primal play, predator/prey, aaaand knife play.

Words: 2.3k

________________

Bloodhound was a soft lover.  

Patient, kind, thoughtful, adoring- they never made you feel second best. They spoiled you in their own little ways, they were playful in their teases and how they could chase you playfully around and mock pin you. Leaving you squealing, smiling, and kicking as they playfully gnashed their teeth as if they planned to bite you.  

They made you feel loved and domestic. Even when they went away on long trips to the games. You  understood  that it was their path, that they had a calling from their gods. That you would see them once the season ended and they could return home without paparazzi tailing them. You always watched their games, rooting for them from home. But otherwise you tended to your little cottage- perhaps old fashioned, but it is what they liked.  

Whenever they could come home, they were always pent up. You never asked Bloodhound the obvious question of ‘do you masturbate when you’re away’ but you figured the answer was no. Considering how hungry they always were. It was like clockwork when they were home, if you were up to it of course. They were always polite even if they were breathy and near humping your leg, asking if you wanted it too.  

The little things.  

~Rest under the cut~

Now it’s been a week since they’d come home. You’re on edge waiting for it. Bloodhound kept teasing you all week knowing you were practically trained to be horny the minute they came home. You try and swallow it down, breathily replying when they ask you what’s wrong, “Nothing, Hound, nothing at all.” And they’d hum coyly, sliding a hand across your neck and press a kiss to your lips that left you wetter than you’d like to admit.  

They were doing it on purpose. Sizing you up. Making you needy. It was working, but even  then,  you could see their patience almost snap sometimes. Especially when the other night they’d straddled your hips, kissing you deep and rough, marking your neck with their teeth and you’d begged. You’d begged prettier than you’d ever begged in your life, trying to press yourself up against them, whimpering, begging for any sort of friction.  

“Be patient, my love, and I shall reward you.” They’d said against your lips, their own breath shaking with hushed restraint. You’d about sobbed, near desperately in tears by the time they licked into your mouth again for another taste.  

You’d wished they’d break it, just take you- hell, you wished they’d let you at least touch them to quell your hunger. You wanted to taste their slick on your tongue, wanting to bruise their skin with your teeth and hear them whine-  

However, you could be patient.   

This time.  

By the end of the week, you’re practically dripping at the sound of their voice. It’s a little embarrassing when they so much as ask what you’d like for dinner and you’re squishing your thighs together and trying to come up with an answer. You didn’t take yourself as that needy, but you suppose your body is trained, and you’re getting a little desperate.  

But, that’s what they wanted.  

Finally, you’re rewarded when they come up to you with a proposition.  

It’s as if they waited for you to come downstairs. Watching you with hungry eyes the moment you got close. Their red curls were pulled up into a high, messy ponytail with a singular braid framing the right side of their face with a feather braided in at the end. Their outfit consisting of a black lace bralette, a leather jacket with fur lining the collar and cropped at about their navel, tight black leather pants and boots.  

It had been alluring, a trap you suppose as you’d gone towards them to eagerly trace your hands along their exposed waist, but they’d hummed at you instead.  

They’re backing you into a wall then, and you swallow hard at the action, immediately feeling small despite their petite stature. Their aura is always dominating as your back hits the wall and they spring on you like a predator. A switch blade in their hand making a distinctive ‘shnk’ sound before it’s pointed at your chin, a smirk to their lips as they watch your mouth part to shakily exhale as your eyes flicker to the shiny blade.  

“My little lamb,” They coo out, their full lips gathering your attention briefly and watching their split pierced tongue slide over their lips. Shit. “I wish to chase you tonight. You are familiar with my little game, yes?” Their voice is practically a purr as the blade moves to tip your chin up, making you shamefully try to shut your thighs together. As if they could sense the action, their thigh pressed between yours and your lashes flutter.  

“Y-yes-” You finally manage to get out. You knew very well. One of their favorite versions of foreplay and something that set your skin and heart alight. You were familiar with the burn in your lungs, how the backwoods you’d routinely run through could seem so big and terrifying in the nights.  

“You know my rules and rewards?”  

“Yes.” You repeat, feeling the point of their blade trace down your throat and making you swallow hard. It was simple rules, but the rewards were the highest of stakes: If you managed to hide or run from them successfully for an hour, you got whatever you wanted. And if they caught you? Anything they wanted. In the forest.  

“Good,” They murmur, drawing their blade from you and making you realize how close their face is to yours. You strain the need to  cup  their cheek, eyes flickering down to their mouth as it pulled into a wolfish grin, baring their double set of sharp canines. “Now run.”  

And you do. You take off out the front door the second they stop caging you, frantic to abuse the head start they’re offering you.  

But, you know in the end who would win.  

--  

By the time you’re caught, you’ve managed to enter a clearing- which was your mistake thinking you could pause to take a breather. They’d managed to tackle you, wrestling your squirming body and at first you manage to escape. You’d cried out in joy like a deer who broke free from a trap, turned right back around to book it, only to have your ankle snagged and you tugged to the ground.  

It’s a blur of mouths, teeth, and how deadly their eyes look in the night. You also remember a blade, trying not to squirm as they cut off your clothes or the sounds of the cloth shredding.   

Now? Now you’re on all fours, a spreader bar keeping your thighs far apart. They’ve graciously taken off their jacket to fold under your head so your cheek isn’t pressed into the grass and dirt under you, your arms tied behind your back with rope they’d brought with the bar in a bag that is rested off to the side.  

You currently have four fingers inside of your hole. Your cock twitches weakly at the feeling of their split tongue licking over it and occasionally trapping it between them. You sob out when you feel the telltale tightening in your abdomen as you cum, drooling slick into their hand and onto their tongue. The sound of Bloodhound moaning makes your cheeks burn as they lick up all you have to offer.  

“You always taste so good, my prey.” They growl out behind you, making your hole contract weakly around their fingers. They twist them, hooking them inside of you and spreading them just a bit to test the resistance of you. When Bloodhound’s fingers pull out, you just about cry until they’re shushing you once more.  

You’re wet and lubed up, stretched sloppy for whatever they have planned. But you could take a guess as to what it is when you feel the tapered head of their preferred cock choice brushing against your hole. It’s lubed up as well, and you know exactly which one it is. It’s bright red, themed after a werewolf. It’s seven inches long in total with a knot the size of their fist.   

You whimper beneath them; Fingers flexing in your bonds as you hear them growl above you.  

“Stay still, little lamb.” Bloodhound growls out when you begin to squirm. Their calloused hands roughly grabbing your hips, pulling your ass up to begin pushing inside. The first inch or two isn’t bad, but once it starts to get thicker and thicker, that’s when you begin to whimper. You’re stretched for the occasion, lubed up so there isn’t any pain, but oh the stretch is always such a tight fit.  

Your eyes roll into the back of your head when they start moving. Their  thrusts  are well timed and deep, the knot slapping against you but not penetrating right away. You sob and cry out beneath them, face feeling hot as your senses are surrounded by them. You hear them grunt behind you, tinging on a whine and you know that they way they’ve angled themself has the cock bouncing back against their clit.  

You briefly smile at the thought, thinking about how wet they must be all  because  of you. You wonder faintly if they’d let you eat them out.   

Well, if you’re coherent after this.  

Bloodhound’s nails press into your hips, yanking you back against them now with an almost frantic need. It takes a few times, your moans spilling out of you in harsh little whines to match their growls, but they fit the knot inside of you. It pops into you, spreading you wide and making your hips jerk, but both the bar and Bloodhound’s grip keep you afloat.  

They don’t even do you the courtesy of keeping it inside and reaching around to jerk you off like they normally do. Instead, Bloodhound chuckles lowly, breathless as they pull it right back out of you just to hear you cry out and whine in dismay.  

“I may have you however I please, my love,” They remind you with a low growl echoing in their voice. “You are mine to do with as a I wish. Are you not?”   

But before you can reply, they pop the knot back into you again, forcing you wide again and making you scream. “Ah, there you are, bráð mitt. Let me hear you.”  

Again  and again they force the knot into you. Never giving you a break from the constant stretch until you get close. You’ve got tears running down your cheeks, eyes rolling into the back of your head and your mouth forming words but nothing coming out.   

And then they wrap a hand around your throat, pulling you up and onto your knees and against their chest. Bloodhound’s hand is loose around your neck, holding you close to their body and making your own body tremble as they fuck into you. Bloodhound’s other hand comes down, finally giving you mercy of jerking off your engorged, little cock. You sob out, your bound hands splaying across their abdomen behind you and feeling the flex of their muscles there with each thrust.  

Their split tongue licks up your neck, surely tasting your sweat before they nip at your ear and snarl in your ear, “Cum for me, my sweet boy. Let your god hear you.”  

And you do. Just at the same time they must press the syringe of the cum tube because you can feel one final slam into you to  knot  you, and the feeling of the sticky cum lube filling you. You’re near about frantic when you cum, your cries an echo off each other until their hand around your throat comes to grab your chin and forcing two fingers into your mouth to press down your tongue. It forces your throat open, each cry partially muffled yet still louder than before.  

You’re pretty sure you black out.  

--  

By the time you come back to life, you find yourself clothed and cleaned. You’re in bed, feeling a hand stroking your hair and massaging your scalp down to your nape. You moan softly, shifting your head to roll a bit to the side and finding yourself with your head in their lap.  

Bloodhound looks beautiful at this angle. Their hair is let down, their other hand holding a book that they seem invested in. Their round glasses rest on their nose, but they blink twice when they hear your noise, looking down at you and a fond smile spreading across their face. “Are you quite alright, my love? I was not too harsh on you, was I?”  

Their hand moves from your hair, stroking over your cheekbone with the backs of their two knuckles. You can’t help but smile at their worry, reaching up to pull their hand to your face so you may kiss their palm. You note how their cheeks flush at the action and count yourself lucky for such a cute partner.  

“Nah,” You get out, your voice hoarse even after you clear your throat. “C’mon, Hound, you’ve done much worse than that. Didn’t even cut me.”  

“Ah, but I did bruise you.” They tease, tracing a hand down to one of the various bite marks on your neck with fondness. “Though it appears that when you are needy you can take,” They let their hand trace down your frame then, making your breath hitch as it brushes down your stomach, their fingers teasing your waistband with a coy smirk playing on their lips. “,Much more than we thought.”  

Your cheeks flush red, groaning as your head falls back against their lap, burying your face into their thigh. “Don’t get me started again, babe, come on!”  

“I would never dream of it, my love.”  

Liar, you think, as you sneakily grab a pillow and fling it at their face just to hear them burst into laughter as you tackle them.  

You could only hope you made good prey.  

[violetsbaudelaire-archive]

Title: The Cloud That Took the Form of a Demon In My View - Chapter One 

Fandom: Julie and the Phantoms

Relationships: Background Julie Molina/Luke Patterson

Summary: After the death of her mother and the demonic possession of her father, Julie Molina hunts the supernatural with her best friend Flynn. She pursues a nomadic life until a string of suspicious bathtub electrocutions draws her back home to hunt down a ghost. (Supernatural AU)

It had been a 13-month search and nothing had come of it. Nothing pertaining to the being Julie and Flynn were looking for. They had found and removed varying other supernatural beings but not their target, a demon whose name neither girl knew. Julie was sitting at a desk in a cheap hotel, one of many in the months that had passed. She was looking at the odd happenings around the country as she always did hoping to find a lead on their demon. Where one odd occurrence happened, another wasn’t too far behind and demons usually loved to get into trouble. Flynn had gone out to buy fast food breakfast and hadn’t come back yet. It wasn’t long enough to worry most people but it worried Julie. She tried to logic her way out of worry as she scrolled. There’s probably a long line. There’s always a long line to get coffee before work.

Just as she repeated those thoughts to herself again, she found an article. To most, it could be ruled off as an accidental bathtub electrocution. The problem was this was the third this week, all in the same city: her hometown, Los Angeles. She sighed and minimized the page. They were close to Arizona, a little while from LA but they had no intentions of returning. At least, not until the demon inhabiting her father’s body could be found. If the demon even still had it, Julie thought to herself macabrely. She shook it off. Her dad was still alive, full of demon or not. 

The door swung open and caused Julie to jump out of her skin. Her hand instinctively flew to the cross necklace she had started wearing with her other jewelry since her dad’s possession. 

“Sorry I’m late,” Flynn said, balancing a bag of food and a cup holder in her hands, “There was a long line at McDonalds.” 

Julie dropped her hand. 

“Are you okay?” Flynn asked when she saw her friend’s face. She put the food on the table and came closer to Julie. “Was there something in here?” 

Julie shook her head. “You scared me coming in.” 

“Ghosts and demons don’t use doors,” Flynn said matter-of-factly. 

“Yeah, well, someone possessed by them might. Or maybe a witch, vampire, werewolf, or something else.” 

“Anything that comes in here has a death wish. We’re the most badass hunters in America.” 

“Yeah,” Julie said, as if trying to convince herself. Then, she added more confidently, “We are.” 

“Anyway, did’ya find anything?” 

“Yeah. Ghost in LA.” 

“Are you ready to go back there, Jules?” Flynn asked softly. 

“I think so. Besides, it’s been awhile since our last ghost.” 

Flynn didn’t look entirely convinced. “It’s okay to not take this one. Someone else will get it.” 

“No, it’s okay. We won’t be there long.” 

“You’re not going to see your aunt and Carlos?” 

“I’m not ready for that conversation.” 

Flynn nodded. “Are we going after breakfast? Or?” 

“Yeah, after breakfast.” 

Los Angeles was a strange place for Julie. It was her home but it was also the place where she had lost everything she ever had. Returning reminded her of this but also of failure. It reminded her of the empty seats at her graduation. Going home meant she had to accept that her and her little brother were orphans now - not without loved ones but faced with a loneliness that could never end. Julie had to find her father, not just for herself but for Carlos. 

Flynn opened the bag and divvied up their breakfast. Julie pushed her food closer and began to eat, trying to find the bright side of this situation. Flynn was the first to come to mind. Even if the world turned against her, Flynn would be by her side. Her mother, though passed on, was still a bright side. Nothing, not even permanence of death could take her memories of joy and music that they had shared. The possibility of her dad being out there was a bright side. With this in mind, Julie finished her breakfast with her mind more at ease. 

Flynn wasn’t the best driver but she liked to drive nonetheless. Julie was the more capable driver but she was a better navigator. She found it easier to navigate when she wasn’t avoiding drivers worse than Flynn on the road. Being the navigator also meant choosing the music and Julie wanted something upbeat for the road. California had gotten so far from her and Flynn that it would be a day or two before they reached it. It was the longest road trip with few stops they had gone on in awhile. Flynn turned the key in the ignition and Julie scrolled through her playlists. She found a song and selected it just as Flynn pulled out of the parking lot. 

At some point Julie had fallen asleep. She blinked as she took in her surroundings. “Where are we? Flynn, I was supposed to be navigating.” 

“It’s okay. I’m handling it,” said Flynn. “You barely slept at all in the last motel. You needed sleep.” 

“Thanks.” 

After a minute, she added, “I should drive. You need sleep too.” 

Flynn shook her head. “I had a Redbull.” 

Julie gave her friend a look. “Flynn.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll pull over,” Flynn said and she did. Seat belts unbuckled and they switched places. Almost as soon as Julie pulled off the shoulder, Flynn was asleep. Julie looked amusedly at her friend. She drove until the sun rose again and they were just outside Arizona. 

Then it was a quick stop at a gas station to buy a less than satisfactory breakfast. It was time like these Julie missed her mom especially. It was Saturday morning and in a time that was starting to feel like an old movie, she would be watching cartoons with a much younger version of her brother and eating a fresh, hot breakfast her mother had made. 

“I said that’ll be 10.50,” the cashier said irritably. He was the usual sort someone would see at a gas station in the middle of practically nowhere: some old man whose love of life was fading faster than his hair. 

“Sorry,” Julie said quickly, pulling the cash out of her pocket. The cashier checked the money in the light then put it in the register. He slid her breakfast across the counter and asked if she wanted a lottery ticket or a pack of smokes. Yes, he had said ‘smokes.’

Julie made a face and grabbed the black bag her food had been put in. “I don’t smoke, or gamble.” She headed toward the door and added, “Have a nice day” as she went out. He didn’t get the chance to return the formality. Gas station cashiers have a way of making people uncomfortable, even if they do nothing at all. This one was no different. 

Flynn was waiting in the driver’s seat. Julie opened the bag and handed some of the food to her. Neither said anything as they made their way back to the freeway. 

California was a refreshing sight after over a year of navigating unfamiliar places. Los Angeles was especially so. Julie watched the buildings of the Citadel Outlets pass by in the window. She was home. 

The occurrences described in the article had been occurring in a residential part of town made up of mainly middle class families. The victims were disproportionately teens. The types of teens who bring their cell phones into their bathrooms. Julie wasn’t an expert on electricity but these incidents struck her as odd. Not many people got electrocuted in their bathtubs. Based on her Google searches over the past day and a half, a cell phone isn’t enough to electrocute a person in a bath. It has to be plugged into the wall. Then it has to fray or fall into the bathwater. It takes a great deal of stupidity or negligence. Put a ghost in the mix, however, and everything becomes more likely. 

Flynn was checking them into a new motel when the news of a new electrocution came in. This article confirmed Julie’s suspicions of a ghost and made this trip less of a waste of time. Nothing at all had been plugged in when this teen girl had gotten into her tub. Her mother had checked on her only minutes before her death. Then when the police arrived, a frayed extension cord had made its way from a drawer into a socket then into a wall. It was far too strange. And when Julie told Flynn, she agreed. 

Flynn pocketed their room key and they headed for the car. 

Usually Julie and Flynn’s adventures involved abandoned buildings so Julie was unsure what to say when they arrived at the Ford residence. She was too young to be a police officer and too old to be a girl scout. She knocked on the door anyway. 

A distressed middle aged white woman answered the door. “Whatever you’re selling, I’m not buying it.” 

The woman moved to close the door. Flynn interrupted her. “We’re not selling anything, Mrs. Ford, we’re here about your daughter.” 

“It’s Ms. Ford. I’m divorced,” the woman corrected. “And the police were just here.” 

“We’re not police,” Julie said. “We hunt the supernatural. We think your daughter’s death wasn’t an accident.” 

The woman frowned. “I’m desperate but I’m not that desperate. Three boys about your age came around her an hour ago saying the same thing. They said they were looking for a ghost in this neighborhood.” 

“Don’t you think it’s weird four different teens have died the same way in the past week?” 

“Yes,” the woman said. “But teenagers are stupid.” 

“Even your daughter?” 

The woman shrugged. “I don’t believe in ghosts.” 

Ms. Ford went to shut the door again but Flynn stopped her. “Do you know where those boys went?” 

“Something about the junkyard down the road. The blonde one said something about it being a good spot to hide something.” 

“Thank you,” Julie said. “I hope you find answers” - she clutched her cross necklace - “I know what it’s like to lose those you love.” 

Ms. Ford nodded sadly and shut the door. 

“Do you think those boys are trying to find the object the ghost is attached to?” Julie asked Flynn. 

“Yeah,” she said. “But why in a junkyard?” 

“Good place to hide something you don’t want found.” 

By that point, they had made it back to their car and proceeded to get in. 

Then, it was off to the junkyard.

[fics-not-tragedies]

Claimed

©

This is fic based on this request I got ages ago, and it is what it is, I couldn’t help myself!

SUMMARY: You’re surprised when from your balcony you see Santino having a smoke at the stairway that leads to your house. Turns out he came to you to claim the Marker you gave him few years ago. Words:  3958; Warnings: smut;

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You were surprised when you saw him standing on the steps that lead to your house. He was quickly finishing the cigarette before he leaned closer to press the buzzer on the wall, but you were quicker, opened the door ahead of his slender finger touching the small button.

“Santino…” you breathed out his name and he raised his eyebrow, the much obvious smile on his lips followed right after when his eyes landed on your figure, “I saw you from the balcony” his gaze moved up and down your body before it finally settled on your face, his eyes growing wider with a silent question, “looks like I should change my plans now… Please come inside.”

Inviting him in with a gesture of your hand you stepped to the side making more space for him and as he slowly sauntered inside your house he quickly turned around so he could still look at you.

“Were you going out, bella?” He asked in a soft tone, shrugging his coat onto your sofa when you two walked arm in arm into your living room.

“Yes I was… but since you’re already here I might just ditch the idea. What brought you here, Santino?”

With your arms crossed in front of your chest and your side pressed into the floor length mirror you carefully eyed him. Santino reached into the inside pocket of his jacket then slowly walked over to you, handing you the Marker.

“I’d like to fulfill this…” you opened it only to see your own bloody fingerprint pressed onto the metal.

“What requires my assistance then?” Voice got stuck in your throat when he undid all of the buttons of his jacket, then took the Marker from your hands and placed it on the tall table by the mirror where you kept your most handy knives.

Then he was right behind you, his hands grasping your sides, his body pressed into yours, “I require your assistance, bella…” he rasped.

“M-Me?”

You caught his gaze in the reflection, the way his lips twitched at the thought of all the things he wanted to do to you. Your entire body felt tense, afraid to move in or out of his touch and as he moved your hair back over your shoulder to expose your neck, you couldn’t help but sigh, your left hand coming down to clutch his wrist in an attempt to steady yourself. His mouth was so close to your neck, his breath tickling the sensitive skin exactly where he knew he’d be able to change your mind for good with just the slightest brush of his lips.

“Santino … please…” you whispered, as if to beg him to allow you to keep some of your self-control because you knew that as soon as he’d go in for the kill, you wouldn’t be able to resist. He was going to be the end of you. 

“Yes, bella?” He drawled, his hands slowly wandering up your sides, his grip tightening as he dragged them along your body, his fingertips just brushing past the underside of your breasts.

“I-I…” You were lost for words, the only thing you could think of now were his hands wandering upwards, groping your breasts while he sucked on your neck, pressing himself closer to you. You were playing a dangerous game now, not resisting meant that he was going to win, and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it. You trembled as he pressed his lips to the side of your neck and your skin tingled as he started sucking right below your ear, his words making your knees weak. 

“Don’t fight me, bella…”

“Can’t you wait?” You sighed, exhausted, a last attempt at holding it together, your eyes fluttering as you failed to conceal the effect of his touch. Santino took in a sharp breath, as his hands grabbed hungrily at your chest, spilling your breasts further out of your dress, eager to see more of you.

“No pupa” he uttered forcefully, meeting your gaze in the mirror, unblinking, “If I don’t fuck you right now I will tease you all night at the party and you will beg me to take you…”

As soon as he’d finished speaking you melted into him pathetically, his insatiable need making your knees buckle.

Your arms were shaking as you tried to hold on to the edge of the table, swallowing hard. The low tone in his voice, the rough touch of his hands, it was too much for you. 

“Santino…”

“That’s right, bella…” he drawled, “I’ll have you screaming my name in no time. Cazzo, I’ll fuck you so hard you’d forget your own name…” you whimpered, pressing your body back into his desperately, craving more, craving all of him, craving for him to fulfill his promises, “I know you want me, bella…” he chuckled, “I bet your cunt’s so fucking wet for me already…”

You let out a staggered breath, one you didn’t realize you’d been holding and tried to press your legs together, try to keep him from finding out too soon just how right he was but he shuffled slightly and his knuckles nudged your thighs apart with ease, your lips falling open in a weak protest.

In one swift move, his fingers found their way to your already soaked panties and you relaxed against him as he began to rub the fabric, teasing you when he knew he had no reason to. He knew you were desperate, he knew you needed him, he knew he’d won - but this was punishment for trying to defy him.

“I knew I was right…” he groaned, pressing his lip close to your ear, his free arm circling your waist to draw your closer against him, restricting your movement, “Fucking dripping for me. You’re gagging for it bella, aren’t you?”

Your dress had bunched up a little in his movement, but he pulled it further out of his way now, exposing you, and you both watched the way he teased you in the mirror. You could feel his growing arousal pressing against you, the feeling of his cock straining against his trousers, his belt barely containing him.

Your eyes fell shut tightly as you grew painfully aware of how he’d made you so wet, had gotten you so desperate for him within merely a few seconds. He knew just how to push your buttons, how to get you to surrender, and he was taking full advantage of it. You breathed out shakily as you felt him press up against you, the outline of his cock rubbing against your ass and you were aching for him, the empty feeling between your legs growing more and more prominent, “Please…" 

"Oh, you  better beg me…” he growled, attaching his lips to your neck, sucking lightly on your skin, “Thinking you can fucking resist me…”

His spicy scent intoxicating you mixed with the faint memory of the cigarette he’d just finished, your eyelids felt heavy and you moaned uncontrollably, any dignity or restraint you had before draining from you in mere moments.

You reached up to grab what you could of his hair. His nose wrinkled with concentration and frustration as he forced your underwear aside, his fingertips pressing into your clit hard. You jerked in his touch, desperate to feel full. For a moment you’d thought you’d have the upper hand, gripping his hair always making him weak, but the second his fingers brushed through your folds, making their way to press hard against your clit, every shred of self-control, every shred of power went up in smoke.

Santino had full control of you and he knew it, toying with your clit at a torturous pace that kept you on the edge, but wasn’t quite enough to get you there yet.

“Look at yourself, pretty girl” he drawled, lifting your chin and holding your neck so that you were straight right back at yourself in the mirror, “Do you see what I’m doing to you?” He added, his breaths short and shallow, “You look fucking gorgeous and all, what a perfect sight.”

And just when you thought he was going to let you have what you’d been expecting by building up his pace and pushing you closer to the edge, he worked his fingers inside you instead, curling them to make you shake around him and you hissed as he stroked your walls to bring you closer to the edge in away you hadn’t been quite expecting.

Your knees were weak, your legs shaking from the way his fingers curled inside you, coaxing you closer and closer to the edge, his thumb coming up to tease your clit and you could barely hold on, felt yourself getting closer and closer in a matter of seconds but then he stopped. You should’ve known it was too good to be true but you whimpered with desperation nonetheless. 

“Santino…” you cried, your voice small, needy, absolutely desperate. 

“Shouldn’t have resisted me, eh? I will make you regret that, bella, you will wish you shouldn’t have put up a fight…”

You whimpered as he curled his fingers inside you again to emphasize his words, his hand tightening as it came around your throat, forcing you to look back at yourself in the mirror, your face flushed, eyes wide, lips parted slightly.

“I’m sorry… I’m sorry, Santino…” you mumbled, over and over, desperate for him to let you go, “I’m sorry, baby…” the words fell from your lips without you even trying, his gaze forcing you to submit, willing to do anything just for your release. He had you bouncing on the edge and you both knew that one solid move would be enough to send you spiraling but he knew your body, knew how you worked under his touch so he hovered around the feeling, still not read to give in just yet.

“Well, have you learned your lesson, pupa?” He spat as you held onto him for stability.

“I think so…” you sighed through gritted teeth, your body beginning to slump as your knees knocked together and your vision went blurry as the mirror began to fog with the way you’d been pathetically panting.

“I’m not so sure I believe you” Santino replied, darkly, drawing his fingers from you. The feeling was agonizing and cruel but before you could so much as complain, he bent you over the table and slapped his hand over your bare ass forcefully, licking his lips hungrily at the sound. You body shifted forward with the sting and your groaned, the sensation bringing tears to your eyes suddenly. It was all consuming, the wet between your thighs dripping and you tried to gather yourself, open your eyes to look at him again but you couldn’t focus on anything but how badly you needed more from him.

Despite his heavy breathing against your neck, despite his body pressing so tightly against yours, you knew his every move was planned out, set out specifically to tease you, to make sure you’d regret telling him no at first. His hand ran down to your breast, groping harshly at it as his other hand spread your wetness around, his voice unfazed, nonchalant as if he wasn’t driving you absolutely out of your mind with his fingers. 

“You’re so wet, bella…” he drawled, “I haven't allowed you to cum and it feels like I’ve fucked you to orgasm twice already….”

You whimpered desperately, well aware of how wet you were for him. He’d slide inside you so easily and the thought of his cock finally filling you made you dizzy. 

“Got it running down your legs, principessa…” he muttered, just poking a finger inside you again, not nearly enough to satisfy your needs, now mocking you for how desperate you were for him, “You want it so bad, there is no reason to pretend you didn’t… I know you’re a dirty little girl…”

“Santino…” you groaned, your eyes rolling back involuntarily as you sucked in a breath, your hips wiggling back to meet his lack of touch. His words had you trembling, so ready to let go when he wanted you to and you were so close, your clit throbbing relentlessly.

“What?” He groaned, almost annoyed that you’d disturbed his thought process, whatever was playing in that beautiful head of his.

“Please…” you persisted, pouty and pathetic.

“Please what?”

“Please spank me again.”

“You’re not supposed to enjoy the punishment, bella…” he drawled, his arms tense as he held your hips still. He considered his choices for a moment when you had no answer for him.

Then, without warning, he spanked you again, harder this time, once on each cheek and you yelped at the surprise. The sting made you feel filthy, his touch having completely disheveled you now and you knew you were a mess but didn’t care anymore. You reveled in the feeling for a while, the idea of his red hand-print marking you for the rest of the night driving you crazy.

“You’re gonna know exactly where I’ve been when I’m done with you” he declared quietly, as if he was reading your mind, “You won’t be able to focus all night, won’t even be able to sit without reminding yourself how bad you were.”

Santino pressed his lips to your neck for a moment, biting down on your skin so hard you worried he was going to break you. There was a lull when you wondered what he could possibly have in store for you, the pressure still throbbing between your legs and then he sent a short, stinging smack to your core and you were gone. You came undone completely, Santino only holding you out of fear you’d fall to the ground as your walls convulsed around nothing, the mere thought of him filling you enough to have your orgasm ripping through you. Your entire body shook and you were hot all over, groaning his name louder than either of you knew was possible, the sound vibrating off the walls.

The sting of your walls closing around nothing, desperate for him to fill you made you cry out with need, pushing your ass back against him but his hand was tight on your hip now, holding you in place, making you gasp when his fingers closed around your throat, your breath hitching in your throat.

His voice was calm, like honey dripping down your skin but there was something else coiling under the surface, an edge to it that had you shaking, “Did you just…” he swallowed hard, “Did you just cum without my permission?” His grip around your throat tightened, his fingers adding more pressure and you knew he wouldn’t let this one slide, “I wasn’t even touching your cunt and you came from just a slap of my hand…” he groaned, “You’re so fucking desperate for me, it’s embarrassing…”

“I’m sorry…” you almost sobbed as his words brought you down from the elation, your apologies now frequent and meaningless, anything to get more from him be it bad or good or both. He shook his head, undecided how he was going to punish you this time and then you heard his slender fingers toying with his belt, the buckle clanging as it came undone.

At first you were excited, wondered whether he was finally going to deliver his promise. But instead, Santino dangled the leather over his finger teasingly, his lips pulling into an uncontrollable smirk and you tried to process what he was thinking as he pushed you back over the table, your face rolling against the glass. And just then, the leather slapped your ass searingly, just once. You screamed, the material hurting much more than his hand had but there was so much pleasure too. You felt it everywhere, a burning prickly heat that you couldn’t get enough of. You loved the power he had over you and he did too, there was no denying it.

“You liked that too didn’t you, pupa?” He mumbled, bringing you back up, his hand around your neck tightly again. You whimpered, unable to give him a response as his fingers pressed against your throat lightly, his lips attaching themselves to the back of your neck, biting down on your skin. 

You had liked it, the way he dominated you, demonstrated his power over you had you dripping, even more desperate for him. 

“S-Santino…” you whimpered, submissively. 

“I asked you a question…”

“Yes” you groaned, at last, the deep scarlet blush washing over your face again, “I liked it.”

“Spread your legs for me bella” Santino commanded quickly, no doubt in his voice and you did, anything to please him. 

You sighed at the sight of your dress, bunched around your waist, your body exposed completely but he apparently loved it, grabbing a handful of your ass as you wiggled over the table, his eyes taking you in hungrily.

He’d been playing games up until now but Santino was only human and seeing you like this for him was too much to handle. He had to have you. You watched him fumble with his zip, something about the idea of him fucking you whilst fully dressed making you quiver in anticipation and drew his thick cock from the straining fabric of his underwear, palming himself a little, just watching you, licking his lips at the sight of your shiny arousal. 

“Right, bella, I will fuck you now, and I don’t want you cumming until I tell you to. Be a good girl for me, now.”

You nodded obediently, biting your lip his hand moved to guide your head upwards, forcing you to look back at yourself in the mirror.

“I want you to look at yourself … watch how your eyes roll back when my cock fills your cunt … watch what a needy girl you are … so hungry for my cock…”

You shuddered as he inched forwards, the head of his thick cock rubbing up against you in a way that made your knees fall apart even wider. With his free arm, he held you against him to keep you still and you both hissed as he entered you at last, the desire well and truly uncontrollable. Santino’s eyes clouded over with lust as your walls fluttered around him and you tried to keep your gaze as wide as you could when the inevitable eye roll came, obeying his instructions as best you could. He knew you, knew how you’d react to every movement, no inch of your body left unexplored. He shifted forward again, deeper, wanting more, your bottom lip trembling as he filled you to the hilt. You could feel him throbbing inside you, the tightness making him grab onto every inch of your skin he could find, fueled by how badly he needed to fuck you.

“C-cazzo, you’re so beautiful” he groaned, meeting your gaze in the mirror as he gathered a fistful of your hair, “So tight, so wet, so fucking… ahhhh… Look at that, bella…“ he drawled, “Look at yourself in the mirror while I’m fucking you…”

You whimpered, craving more of him instantly as he pulled back, then buried himself inside of you again, making your lurch forward on the table, your nipples hardening from the cold material of the mirror as your breasts were pressed against it and you gasped from the feeling of his cock brushing up tightly against your walls, the friction absolutely delicious.

You groaned loudly, the sound reverberating around the room as he thrust his hips into you and you tried to keep your mouth closed, embarrassed by your neediness, how much you were enjoying him filling you over and over. He shook a little as you tensed around him, barely able to contain how badly he’d needed this, his fingers curled into your hip and shoulder to keep you down, keep you still, your eyes only just able to watch at the angle he had you.

“You feel so fucking good, bella…” he groaned, the grip of his hands on you tightening as he drove into you, making you whimper desperately, writhing underneath him as you were completely at his mercy.

“S-Santino…”

“That’s right, say my name, pupa…” he muttered, his hand coming down on your ass without a warming, landing a few slaps before gripping your hip again, screwing you hard, your hips colliding repeatedly as he slowly drove you closer and closer to the edge.

His noisiness was turning you on to no end, his need to express everything he was feeling tonight only making the moment more desperate.

“Santino… Santino…” you groaned, the burning in your stomach beginning to tighten as he began to speed up again.

“Tell me what you’re needing, principessa…” he purred, panting between words, sweat pooling under his white shirt.

“I need to let go…” you mumbled, barely audible, the need to cum again consuming you. He gave a couple more thrusts with equal ferocity then slowed down, each thrust concise and teasing, drawn out so that he could keep you on the edge now that you were there again. His fingers found their way to your clit and you jolted at the surprise, the slow circular rubbing making every inch of your skin crawl, your body threatening to collapse under his touch. In the midst of his delightful torture he placed a couple of delicate kisses over your sweaty shoulders and exposed back, his appreciation for you endless.

His hard thrusts combined with the tenderness of this kisses, the lazy circles on your clit, it was slowly overwhelming you, threatening to send you over the edge right then and there but you knew that would only mean more teasing and you didn’t know how much more you could take. You were aching for your release, ready to do anything it took.

“S-Santino … b-baby, I’m so close…”

“Hold on, bella, hold on for me…” he muttered breathily, his chest rising and falling rapidly and you could feel his heartbeat, his fingers trembling, “I’m so close, bella, cazzo…” he groaned, his accent thick, his voice laced with lust as he thrust hard inside you, picking up the pace again.

You noted the way he’d flipped, no longer focused on teasing you, no punishment left in him but that now he was focused on getting himself there as he made you wait for him, a complex task but one he’d accomplished plenty of times.

“Are you ready, bella?” he groaned, breathless, “Ready to let go?”

“Yes…” you sighed, exhausted, your eyes locked with his in the mirror.

His hips jolted dramatically and he pressed hard and suddenly on your clit, the simple movement sending you over the edge. You felt as if you were falling, the feeling euphoric and your walls contracted around him continually as he came inside you, his moans obscene and relentless. 

He held you tightly, his arms wrapped around you as you calmed down, both panting, sweating, tangled up in each other. 

“Cazzo, bella…” Santino chuckled against your shoulder, “You’re so fucking incredible…”

You sighed, leaning back against him. “And you’re impossible” you giggled shakily, “Was the Marker worth it?” You picked it up from the table and opened it.

Santino pricked his finger on the small needle that was attached to it and pressed his thumb into the empty space right next to the imprint of yours. Then he caught his finger between his lips and sucked on it harshly.

“Of course it was, bella… we should do it again some time” he slid himself from you and you groaned loudly at the empty feeling, his release running down your thighs.

“Do you have plans for the night?”

[alirhi]

22

Title: Winter's Frost Chapter: 22/? Fandom: MCU Rating: R to be on the safe side Pairing: Loki/Bucky Summary: Loki never told anyone the real reason he became so obsessed with Midgard. Much better to let them think he wanted to hurt his brother than draw their attention to the one thing in the universe that makes the God of Mischief truly vulnerable. Notes: Due to massive levels of incoherent rage at the thought of what they did in Thor: Ragnarok, I have decided to pull from actual Norse mythology again. Everything after The Avengers has been erased in this fic, anyway, so fuck it. Hel and Fenrir are Loki's children as it always should be.

Loki sighed, head resting on Bucky's chest as he basked in the simple joy of hearing his beloved's heart still beating. "I hope you know that you're not allowed to ever die on me again."

"Technically, I haven't died yet at all."

He frowned, pinching Bucky's side and making him laugh. "I mourned you for nearly fifty years, James, and it almost destroyed me."

"Loki..." It was Bucky's turn to sigh as he pushed the Trickster off of him and they both sat up. "Serum or no serum, I'm still human. Eventually, I'm gonna grow old and die. That's just the way it works."

"I don't want you to." Feeling like a child, tears choking him that he refused to shed and Bucky's hands gripping his, Loki shook his head. "I can't lose you again."

With that sad smile he was so sick of looking at, Bucky squeezed his hands a little tighter. "You lived over a thousand years without me, Doll. You'll be okay. You've got Sigyn-"

"I hardly think that's relevant." Prying his hands loose, he wiped furiously at his eyes. "Especially since, if the oaf can't sway Odin, I'll likely never see her again, either. Or my other children."

It was truly beginning to sink in, just how much Loki had sacrificed in his mad scramble to rescue Bucky, and he could tell from the stricken look on his lover's face that it was hitting him, as well. A grown man – a God– and he'd behaved like a reckless child ever since he'd first discovered his soldier alive. He'd succeeded, at last, but at what cost? If his actions left him forever on the run from Asgard, he would never see his wife and sons again; his one consolation was that at least he had his daughters. Hel ruled her own realm and answered to no one, least of all Odin, and Eira... He would die before letting anyone take Eira away from him.

"Jesus, Loki..." Bucky winced, pulling him closer for a hug. "Nari, Fenrir... I'm sorry, I can't pronounce the snake's name-"

That got a half-hearted laugh out of the Trickster, and he laid his head on Bucky's broad shoulder. "Jormungandr. It's alright, love, I'm impressed you remember any of them."

"I get headaches," he admitted softly, "when I try to push too hard, but it's coming back." Arms tightening around the other man, he murmured, "There's a lot I'd rather never think about again, but I don't want to lose a single memory I have with you."

"Don't force it," Loki cautioned as gently as he could, bringing one hand up to tangle in that beautiful dark hair. "It will come back; a remarkable amount already has. Just be patient."

"...Nari," Bucky whispered, shaking his head. "Fenrir, Sleipnir, Jor...Jormun... Can I just call him Joey? I know that's not how the J is pronounced, but his name does start with a J, technically... Right?"

At that, Loki buried his face in Bucky's shoulder and laughed so hard he couldn't breathe. "I would pay to see the look on Jormungandr's face if he ever actually heard you call him Joey!"

"Loki, I'm being serious!"

"About 'Joey'?" He could hear the grin and the suppressed laughter in his beloved's voice, so he didn't feel bad for being unable to contain his hysterical laughter.

"About your kids." He didn't sound amused anymore. With a firm grip on Loki's shoulders, he pushed him back to look him in the eye, and the atmosphere instantly shifted. Expression pained, Bucky reminded him, "What you lost, for me... If you can't fix this, you'll lose your whole damn family. Did you think I was just reciting their names trying to remember them all for a fucking Christmas card or something? Eira's brothers, her sister, her step-mom... Your whole family, everything you built before we met... My God..."

"Yes." His attempt at a snarky, slightly cheesy retort fell flat even to his own ears, but Loki still tried. Prying one strong hand from his shoulder and cradling it between his own, he told him, "I am your God. As for my children... Sleipnir was already taken from me long ago. I'm not sure he even knows I'm his mother."

"Christ, Doll, that makes the rest of this worse!"

"I haven't 'lost' anything." Freyja, how he wished he believed what he was saying. All that mattered at the moment, though, was that Bucky believed it, and so he soldiered on. "Not yet. Odin is a stubborn old fool, but he is old. Worst case scenario, if I can't return home without ending up in chains while he lives, well... he'll die soon and Thor will take the throne despite my best efforts – I really had a lot on my plate when last the Sergeant and I met – and because he's sentimental and forgiving, I'll be welcomed back with open arms."

"'Home'?"

He blinked, confused. "What?"

For someone with such a remarkably expressive face, Bucky could, on occasion, be difficult to read. With the most curious look that Loki couldn't quite identify, he pointed out quietly, "You still call Asgard 'home.'"

He scoffed and shrugged. "Force of habit, I suppose. Best not to read too much into it, darling."

"Right." There was a brief moment of tense silence, and then Bucky, bless his strange mind, smiled and nudged him. "Look, thanks to the serum, I don't really get sick anymore. So as long as the purple menace doesn't lop my head off, you've still got decades before you have to worry about me croaking on you."

Though he appreciated the effort, Loki couldn't quite bring himself to share his love's optimism. After all, what were decades to a being who would live for millennia? Rather than point that out, though, he focused on the other troubling fact: "James, Thanos is dangerous."

"Why, because he kicked your skinny ass?" he teased. "Or, to be more accurate, his minions kicked your skinny ass. Did Thanos actually do anything? How do you know he wants anything nefarious with these magic doohickeys?"

"Because one man amassing ultimate power has never been for the benefit of others, no matter how they delude themselves for the sake of remaining the heroes in their own stories." Giving him a bland look, Loki grumbled, "One would think a World War II veteran would understand that better than most."

Still clinging desperately to his attempt at humor, Bucky shrugged. "Hey, I'm still holding out hope on the kitten theory. You can't deny the world would be a better place if everyone had their own adorable kitty to spoil."

Finally, finally Loki chuckled, shaking his head. "I'll tell you what, darling... Survive what's coming with sanity intact, and I'll get you a kitten myself."

Bucky snorted. "Oh, baby, the sanity ship has sailed. Are you kidding me?"

"The best you can manage, then," he amended with a soft, sad smile. "Just stay close to me, so I can keep you safe."

Watching the other man's expression crumble and all the humor immediately vanish as if it was never there at all, Loki wished he'd never spoken a word.

"No," Bucky told him quietly, but firmly. "I'm sick of constantly being rescued and protected."

"It's not that I think you're weak-"

"Do you remember what I told you when you wanted to stay and fight just so we could be together?"

He did, though he failed to see its relevance. Still, to prove to Bucky that he was paying attention, he dutifully recited his own words back to him. "'You're outside of all this and that's where I need you to stay.' But neither of us is 'outside' of this one-" He was interrupted by his lover snorting and rolling his eyes. "What?"

"Not that part." Shifting position slightly so that he and Loki were facing each other directly without either having to twist, he took the Trickster's soft hands in his own - one rough and callused, the other chilly and unyielding - and reminded him, "'You make me weak. If I see you out there, you'll get me killed.' Well, babe, this time neither of us gets to walk away, so we both need to be focused on the enemy, not each other. Don't waste energy trying to protect me. Having to protect Eira got you both captured. When the war comes, just fight it, and trust that I can look out for myself."

That was a terrifying proposition. Enhanced by mad science or not, Bucky was still only human. The thought of him standing alone and fighting Thanos or one of his psychotic minions with no powers was enough to make Loki sick to his stomach. Perhaps it would be best to leave Bucky in New Mexico with Darcy and Eira; after all, run-of-the-mill human dangers didn't simply vanish because a bigger threat loomed. They would need someone to look after them, as well, and Bucky could certainly handle some random thug looking to cause trouble.

He opened his mouth to suggest it, but his thoughts must have been showing on his face. A metal hand clamped over his mouth before he could utter a sound and Bucky snapped, "You're not sidelining me. Purple Space Hitler calls for all hands on deck, so deal with it."

With a sigh, Loki batted his hand away and shook his head. "You really are the most stubborn creature, James."

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[doc-pickles]

500 FOLLOWERS?!

What the heeeeell?! I am so grateful for this and so thankful to be apart of our Jolex community, because I would not be at this number today without you guys. I’ve truly found a second home in writing these two idiots, I’ve even found some of my closest friends because of this fandom.

In honor of hitting 500, I’m going to share this little fic I wrote. I was originally planning this to be for our Halloween challenge, but it didn’t end up working for it because I literally word vomited this out in like two hours. But it’s fluffy and it’s a fix it. Thank you guys again so much!!

xoxo Nina

the worth while fight

This is a state of grace This is the worth while fight Love is a ruthless game Unless you play it good and right

Kansas City Children’s Hospital. The sign in front of Jo feels like it’s screaming at her, the neon lights a warning signal to turn around now before she ruins everything. But she can't, she’d come so far and she wasn’t going to let her nerves get the best of her.

Pushing through the doors, Jo resolutely walks to the reception desk and up to the first nurse she sees. Settling a smile on her face, she asks the question she wishes she’d never have to ask.

“Hi I’m looking for Doctor Karev. Alex Karev… Chief Alex Karev. Please,” Jo tries her best not to seem crazy or stalkerish, she knows she isn’t but her anxiety is soaring as the nurse states her down.

“Do you have an appointment?”

Jo blinks confusedly at the woman. She didn't expect that, hadn’t really got any further than walking through the doors in the scenarios that played through her head on the plane ride here.

“I, uh-,” Jo’s stuttering is interrupted by an all too familiar voice coming from behind the reception desk.

“Jennifer, can you tell Doctor Weller that he has a-,” his eyes meet hers and his voice stops, Jo’s heart beating erratically as she takes in Alex for the first time in almost a year. He looks exhausted, like he hasn’t slept well since he left Seattle, but his eyes shine just as true as always. “Jo. What’re you doing here?”

Her impending answer is cut off by a small cry, Jo’s hands instinctively reaching into the stroller in front of her to unclip the baby and cradle her close to her chest. She can feel Alex’s eyes on her, knows that he’s staring at her, but she can’t be bothered by it as she holds her daughter in her arms.

“Can we talk? Somewhere… private,” Jo’s eyes finally float up to Alex’s face, taking in his eyes that are glued to the little girl she’d just revealed to him. “Alex? Please?”

He snaps back to reality then, telling one of the nurses in front of him to cancel everything else he has planned for the day. Alex steps closer to Jo, grabbing the stroller she’d pushed in and leading her away from the prying eyes of the hospital staff. He leads her into an empty conference room, waiting for her to enter before locking the door and drawing the blinds.

Logically she knows she should start talking, but she can’t. Jo’s standing catatonic, eyes meeting Alex’s as they both stand in silence. She can’t tell if it’s overwhelming anger or the relief of seeing each other again or the elephant in the room, but standing here with Alex does something to Jo that she can’t quite explain.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

As if wanting to join the conversation happening, the baby in Jo’s arms lets a squeal out, tiny hands clawing at her mother's shirt as the squeals turn into cries.

“Sorry I have to feed her, she’ll start screaming if I don’t,” Jo doesn’t know why she feels the need to explain this to Alex, he’s the Chief of a pediatric hospital for god’s sake, but she doesn’t know what else to say. She makes a last minute decision to grab the nursing cover from the stroller before settling into a chair, suddenly feeling the need to hide from Alex. She knows she doesn’t have to, this man was married to her, but things felt different. She settles the baby on her breast finally, sighing in relief that her cries have quieted.

“How old is she,” Alex’s voice makes Jo look back to him, his eyes searching her face desperately.

“Three and a half months,” the answer brings Alex down into the chair across from Jo, hands running over his face in exasperation. “Alex, you-”

“You could’ve called! You could’ve told me Jo! Jesus Christ, after everything we’ve been through,” Alex’s voice booms around Jo, a discontented squeal coming from the baby in her arms. Alex lowers his voice, an expression of sadness overwhelming his features. “Why didn’t you call Jo?”

“You left Alex! You left me all alone and you couldn’t even be bothered to pick up the phone and tell me, you wrote me a pathetic letter,” she knows tears are pooling in her eyes, but she can’t hold them back. She’s been playing this conversation over in her head for months, practicing exactly what she’d say to Alex when she saw him again. But seeing him now, sitting across from him, the words slip out of Jo’s mind. “I was waiting for you to come back home so I could tell you, but you never walked back through the door. You didn’t even ask me if I wanted to come with you. Did you ever think that might’ve been an option? That I would’ve followed you anywhere, Alex?”

The silence that envelops them is tense, Jo realizing that her words had rung true. He hadn’t thought she’d come with him, he’d thought that she’d choose her career and whatever else was in Seattle over Alex and their future. The thought nauseates her, a hand pressing against her mouth as she feels more tears drip down her cheeks.

“You didn’t think I would drop everything in my life to be with you,” Jo’s voice breaks as she stares at Alex, his head in his hands unmoving as he listens to her. “Damn it, you’re so stupid! I’m your wife Alex! That’s what we vowed to each other! I love you! Does that not mean anything to you?”

The baby at her breast unlatches and lets out a loud cry, Jo bringing her up to her shoulder and patting her back gently. The cries don’t lessen though, Jo thinks it’s because she herself is still bawling uncontrollably as she tries to calm her daughter. Alex stands and gestures for her to hand the baby to him, Jo relenting almost too easily. She’s so small in his hands, the sight of Alex holding his daughter for the first time sending Jo into another round of tears.

“It’s okay, it’s alright baby girl, I got you,” Alex’s voice is calm and sweet as he sways back and forth, his own eyes closing as he pats the baby’s back gently. “You’re okay, no need to cry.”

Through her rounds of tears, Jo realizes that she hasn’t told Alex his daughters name yet. She takes a deep breath, wipes at her cheeks, then raises her voice so that Alex can hear her, “Her name is Reese. I’m... I’m sorry I didn’t call but I couldn’t...”

Her resolve to speak ends there, instead Jo looks to Alex who’s staring at her with a look of sadness. He extends his free hand to her, pulling her out of her seat and into his embrace before she has a second to overthink anything. The comfort of being in Alex’s arms again overwhelms her, worry and fear melting away as he holds her tight against him. His other hand still has Reese clutched to his opposite shoulder and the moment feels like a long time coming for Jo.

“I’m sorry, about how I left you and what happened. I know it doesn’t mean much, but I should’ve talked to you and I’m sorry that I didn’t even think of you. And if I’d known...,” Alex pauses, his words halting as he presses a kiss into Jo’s hair. “I’m so sorry Jo. I want to make it up to you, I want to be there for you and Reese. I’ll split time between here and Seattle, I’ll do whatever you want. Just please, let me try. I don’t deserve that from you, but I want to try.”

Jo presses herself into Alex’s shoulder, giving herself a moment to relish in the comfort he’s always brought her before speaking again, “We didn’t just come to visit, Alex. I told you, I’d go anywhere for you.”

She can feel the pause his body takes as he processes her words. Alex leans back, eyes searching her own for any indication that she’s playing some cruel joke on him, “You’re moving? Here? To middle of nowhere Kansas?”

Jo wipes her cheeks once more as she nods, forehead leaving against Alex’s as a small chuckle escapes her lips, “The moving truck is two days out, I couldn’t... we couldn’t stay away from you and I know you can’t leave your other kids. We just decided to make things easier for you.”

The tears that come next aren’t from Jo, but from Alex as he presses his lips to hers. The salty taste of his tears mixes between them as Jo kisses back hungrily, the time and miles that had been between them melting as they come back together. They only break apart when a small burp sounds from the baby still resting on Alex’s shoulder.

“You... you’re beautiful just like your mommy,” Alex coos at the infant, cradling her in his arms as he takes in her features for the first time. “You’ve got my nose though, sorry about that.”

Jo never thought she’d get the scene before her. When she’d read Alex’s letter, she’d thought that she would never see him again, that their daughter would never meet her father. But despite the shit they’d been through, Jo knew at the end of the day that the one thing Alex valued over everything else was his family, the people closest to him. That’s why he’d almost gone to jail for her, why he left Seattle, why he’d stuck by her through everything. They had a long road back, but Jo knew without a doubt that her and Alex would be okay.

[argent-vulpine]

The Queen’s Scheme(r)s

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Rating: G

Characters: Yuri/F!Byleth/Claude

Chapter One: Proposals

Read it on AO3

Byleth leaned against the windowsill, peering out of the Goddess Tower, her green hair catching in the breeze and tickling against her cheeks. It was… peaceful up here. She liked it, and the memories associated with it were… good, overall. Well, perhaps not the part where she’d been asleep for five years, only to come trudging up the stairs driven by a promise she’d intended to keep. Finding Claude waiting for her had been good, even if the news of the long war was… less than.

She heard the click of boots on stone - two sets - and straightened up, though she didn’t turn around just yet. A pair of voices accompanied the footsteps; a teasing, cajoling tone answered by the long-suffering (yet still amused) retort of the other. She probably could have understood what they were saying, if she’d really tried to listen, but it was nice to just hear them.

Their voices drew nearer, and she fidgeted. Since when was she a fidgeter?

Well. The circumstances were… unusual. Perhaps it was okay. What would you do in my place, Dad? He couldn’t hear her, of course. Of everyone she’d tried to save… he was the only one she’d been unable to. It still stung, all these years later. The war was over. Finally, blessedly over. Dimitri was getting the help he so desperately needed, and Edelgard had surrendered when Byleth had told her in no uncertain terms what Claude’s intentions were. (She wouldn’t think about how many Divine Pulses it had taken to get the phrasing right, or the timing… She was just glad she had managed.)

“Oh, she’s already here,” said one of the voices behind her, drawing her back to the present. “You wanted to see us, Teach?” he asked. Byleth could hear the grin in his voice as easily as she could picture the smirk on his lips, using such an old term for her. Teasing her, of course.

She very firmly did not roll her eyes - fond as the gesture would have been - and turned around, looking over the both of them. Her Master Tactician and her Master of Spies. They’d happily taken on the roles when she’d asked it of them, knowing that she would need trusted allies in her role as Archbishop of the (slowly reforming) Church of Seiros… and the queen of a unified Fódlan.

Not that Claude didn’t have his own duties to attend. Almyra needed their king, after all, and he’d had to spend just as much time there as he did at her side. Such was the difficulty of running a country and trying to make things work the way he’d dreamed.

Two pairs of eyes - vibrant green and gentle purple - watched her, waiting patiently. They knew her well by now, that she sometimes needed a moment to compose what she wanted to say.

She’d been rehearsing this one for hours now.

“Claude. Yuri.” She reached out her hands to them, the shadow of a smile turning the corners of her lips when they each took one.

“Hey, friend, tell us what’s wrong, yeah?” Yuri was the first to step forward, his brows creasing with worry.

“I…” A pause, and then a deep breath followed by a slow exhale. “You both asked me to marry you.” The men glanced at each other, perhaps shocked by that. Or maybe not. Their expressions were hard to read right now. “And… I love you both. I can’t choose between the two of you.” Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. She couldn’t imagine life without them, both of them, at her side. Advancing one over the other just felt… wrong. And since she couldn’t choose, she was ready to let them both go. It seemed for the best.

Two pairs of arms were suddenly around her, nearly crushing her between them, and most assuredly engulfing her until she couldn’t see anything but lavender and deep brown locks of hair mingling together. One of them was shaking… laughing?! That was Claude, she could tell by the way the sound vibrated in his chest. Yuri huffed out a sigh. “Knock it off, von Riegan,” he groused somewhere above her.

“Okay, okay, sorry, I couldn’t help it.” They pulled back, though Claude put his hands on her arms, thumbs stroking against her skin soothingly. “Sorry, we’d… we’d come to that realization ourselves not long ago and… neither one of us is giving you up, By.”

“What he means to say is that we’re willing to put up with each other and… be your husbands. If you want us, that is.”

She blinked, mouth parting slightly as her brain tried to register what they were saying. “But… the Church…”

“You are the Church, now, friend, in all the ways that matter. You can set whatever precedent you’d like.” Yuri pressed up against her back, steadying her further, his arms wrapping around her waist. She couldn’t see his face, but she caught the look that Claude shot him. It wasn’t jealous or angry. In fact, Claude seemed… almost relieved?

He had the grace to look a little sheepish when he caught her gaze. “Ah, Teach, don’t look at me like that. Yuri and I get along great. I… I really trust him. As much as I do you.” Now that was saying something. She knew how hard it was for Claude to trust anyone. “And we all know I’m not going to be able to be here all the time. I’d hate to leave you alone like that.”

“You both talked about this?” she finally asked, twisting in Yuri’s arms to get a look at him.

“We did. We both love you, Byleth. And… yeah, I trust him, too. If neither of us can have you for ourselves, well… if you don’t mind putting up with us both, we want that. Giving you up… that’d be too much to ask.”

The tears welled up again, stinging her eyes, but they weren’t sad. Happy tears… she didn’t think she’d ever cried happy tears before. Dad, do you see this? I wish you could be here. She’d have to figure out the ring situation later. Now, though… she flung her arms around her beloveds, pulling them against her, kissing one and then the other, marveling at this new sensation. Love, fulfillment… pure joy.

They stood that way for a long moment before Byleth suddenly groaned. “What will Seteth say?”

————

As it turned out, Seteth didn’t have a whole lot to say on the matter at all. He was still the Archbishop’s advisor, though that title now belonged to her and not Rhea.

Instead he’d merely pulled out a few musty old books that had probably been hiding in Abyss, judging from the layer of dirt and grime on them, and set them on the desk. “There’s precedent. Really old precedent. And most of it was a king with two wives, not a queen with two husbands. But, you’re already becoming known as the Queen of Change, so why not this, too?”

If she didn’t know him as well as she did, she’d almost suspect he sounded annoyed, but she could hear the smile in his voice.

“I’m happy for you, Byleth. If anyone can manage this, it will be you.” There was silence for a moment as he shuffled some papers around. “Just… please do try to make them behave, won’t you? At least in the monastery.”

“No promises, Seteth, but I’ll do my best,” she replied with an amused smile.

————

Propriety required that Claude precede Yuri, being of noble birth and a king in his own right, but they’d expected that. There would be another ceremony later on in Abyss, surrounded by their friends, and Yuri would get his moment then. She wanted things as balanced as possible, but even as Archbishop and Queen of Fódlan, she had to placate the nobles somehow. At least for now. And if that meant putting Claude first in the ceremony instead of having them proceed together, well, she’d balance it out however she could. They’d agreed with her solution, knowing it made sense… and that it would make her happy in light of the circumstances.

Marrying Claude was the first step toward unifying their nations, and it was their shared dream, one she was happy to see through to the end. But she wasn’t marrying him - either of them - for that.

And, well, she got to choose their titles. As far as Fódlan was concerned, they were both King-Consort. Technically no real power as far as the populace was concerned, but, well… this was her Master Tactician and her Master of Spies. And her husbands. They already held considerable sway. What was a little more?

She’d teased Yuri about it, saying this legitimized his claim to being King of the Underworld, for who else should run it but him?

The church ceremony itself was long, full of the Fódlan traditions that none of them were the most keen on but which had to be upheld for the stuffy nobles of all Fódlan. (Okay, some of them weren’t stuffy, some of them were her friends who had to act that way for the truly rigid ones, at least for the time being.)

That night, Byleth fell asleep between her husbands, feeling safe and loved.

She knew what they were like. Knew that they loved her, and trusted each other.

It still didn’t prepare her for what was to come.

[black-streak]

Waiting for the Worms - Hey You

Part 15

I had planned to be so much further in the plot by this chapter and yet here we are. I don't want to say this is a filler chapter, because the reunion of the team and all is important but like, nothing exciting happens here. Very tame. Don't expect anything crazy. That's next chapter.

Special thanks to @cassiopeiathequeen for reading this over for me when I second guessed if I should even post this one or not.

CLOSED list of dinner specials (I'm tired, shush): @northernbluetongue @thethirdwheelfriend @shizukiryuu @theatreandcomicfreak @michellemagic @karategirl119 @moonlightstar64 @my-name-is-michell @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @miraculousdisapointment @dorkus-minimus @jardimazul @allthebooksandcrannies @g-arya @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @persephonescat @mycupisbroken @luciferge @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dawnwave16 @alwaysreblogneverpost @kris-pines04 @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @weird-pale-blonde-person @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @kokotaru @naclychilli @slytherinhquinn @clumsy-owl-4178 @ladybug-182 @darkthunder1589 @evil-elf16 @dast218 @lysslovsanime @emilytopaz @naoryllis @iloontjeboontje @thepeacetea @danielslilangel @finallyaniguana @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @vixen-uchiha @yuulxd @bleeding-heart-romantic @magic-inthe-stars @st0rmy-w1th1n

~---~

It took a moment for anyone to move, all still looking back and forth between Jason and her, as though unsure how to proceed.

While they took their sweet time figuring it out, Damian glanced at Jason, then back to her, "I see what you meant now. This will take time to adjust to."

"Oh?" She inquired, a quirk to her eyebrow.

"I keep looking to him, but that isn't correct, is it? It's annoying to think I might accidentally treat him as I treat you just because his flesh prison is the one I am accustomed to."

"Would that be so terrible?" She offered, face barely hinting at amusement.

"Yes."

Chuckling, she drew him closer into her lap where he allowed himself to huddle close, turning to watch the masses once more.

Jason, a state of content shock, kept their hands tightly bound, watching the two before him interact with such ease. Meanwhile the others only just now found the nerve to move fully into the living room, very aware of the two sets of eyes observing them. One pair, they thought they were used to, had seen almost everyday for years, but the glow to them was different. Electric green seemed to spark through the vivid blue, dangerous and wild. 

Kagami never felt fear as a civilian, especially after having been a superhero for so long. Had never felt threatened or like an easy target, but those eyes on her suddenly made her feel like prey in the sights of a killer. The dark green eyes set below only added to this.

Juleka couldn't explain how on edge the little boy put her. His hardened eyes never strayed from their little group, harsh and judging. No child should be so intimidating or coiled so tight, as though to pounce. The protective arms wrapped around him seemed less for their safety, but rather hinted at more than one opponent should things go downhill.

Marc suddenly had a new idea for a story about a lone wolf and her wolf cub, living in the wilderness, avoiding conflict but capable of taking down even the mightiest of warriors. They could wager a guess where that idea came from as they stood behind the armchair Kagami placed herself in, Chloe sitting on the arm of it, Juleka sitting on the carpet between her feet.

As for Chloe, she simply stared at who she could only assume was Jason. That tall, ridiculously muscled man, with his white streak and swimming teal eyes was who they had fought alongside so long? How in the hell did he pull off a tiny little teenage girl for so long? How old was this guy even to have such a scarred, built body? What had Mari been through in her time as him? She couldn't help it, she needed to know.

"Jason, how old are you?"

He startled in his seat, turning to look at her, "uh, well I was a year older than her, so eighteen, I guess."

"Seventeen and a half," Marinette corrected.

"But he said-"

"You don't continue aging in a dead body."

She answered so matter of fact, so flippantly, they fell silent once more. Kagami was the first to regain her bearings.

"Must you be so blunt about it?"

Those eyes swung to focus in on her, sharp with challenge, "Why not?"

Chloe rose to it first, "Because it hurts okay? Your acting like it means nothing, but it does. It hurts-!" 

"Like a crowbar to the face?" She cut in, a dark little smile twisting her face as the green seemed to flash in her eyes.

Damian snickered at the playful jab, adding on, "Such cutting words, Mari, how do they compare to the autopsy?

"Like a gentle caress, little one," her grin becoming more wicked as she nuzzled the top of his head. Right then the hand she forgot was gripping her own became nearly crushing as it shook.

"Fucking hell, Mari," his voice rattled out and as her head jerked in his direction, she saw his crumpled expression break into a broken laugh. He ran his free hand through his hair, "I only found out you were alive an hour ago, could we maybe hold off on the morbid humor?"

"Hey, that means I was alive two and a half more years than you thought though," she attempted to comfort him.

"Yeah? And how were those two years spent?" He snarked back, though she could hear the desperation in his voice, begging to know why she hadn't come back sooner. Hadn't looked for him.

"Curbing my bloodlust," she easily replied, not outwardly reacting, eyes searching his for understanding. The flash of green in his own answered. 

He shook his head and nudged Damian, the boy instinctively moving at the nudge from a familiar hand and looking pissed upon realizing his mistake as he dropped onto the other end of the couch behind where Mari had ended up. Jason heeded him no mind as he pulled Marinette closer until she moved herself into his lap, letting herself marvel at how small she now was.

"Excuse me? Do we just not exist over here?" Chloe snapped into their little bubble.

"I wish," Damian muttered.

"Watch it brat."

"Chloe," Marinette growled out the warning.

The blonde teared up, "Mari, we're friends. You remember right?"

Sighing, she clamped down on the anger, "Of course I remember. Please try to refrain from calling him names though," swiveling towards Damian, who had started smirking, she snapped him out of it, "And Damian, learn tolerance. More people will be entering our lives now and we'll have to navigate around those the other chooses to associate with." He hunched in on himself at her reprimand.

"She lashed out at you. Her feelings about your death are not your fault."

"They aren't, but I also have zero tact about the topic of my demise. Maybe I cannot be blamed for her feelings over my dying, but I could control how hurtful my words are. Then she wouldn't have felt the need to lash out, just as you wouldn't. I won't become more tactful and I'll understand if she doesn't wish to talk to me because of it, but I could have," she turned back to Chloe with that, noticing the contemplative look to some, sadness to others. Jason simply looked like he understood and sympathized.

"So how exactly did this group come to be?"

"It took less than two months for Jason to fire Chat," Juleka spoke up, gripping Kagami's calf from her spot on the floor, purposefully drawing attention to the person she held, " choose her as the new black cat."

"Fair enough, and the rest are holders as well, I presume?"

At this moment, kwamis began to reveal themselves, Longg peeking out of Chloe's bag, Trixx popping out of Marc's hoodie, Mullo showing off their spot amongst Juleka's hair. Tikki eventually floated out of Kagami's blazer, looking at her with forlorn, yet hopeful eyes.

Feeling a purr start up against her neck, she twisted to look up at Jason.

"You two switched?"

"We switch often," Kagami spoke here, cradling Tikki who sat her palm holding back tears at the lack of reaction given, "good for confusing the enemy. They never knew which of us it was until the fighting style gave it away."

"It also became necessary due to my not being a very good fit for Tikki despite my body being the proper match," Jason cut in here.

"Juleka and I switch often as well. Fits us better that way."

"I stay the same, but I have three different forms, so I suppose it's fair," Chloe added.

"And Hawkmoth?"

"Gone. We ended it about a year or so ago," Jason reassured.

Only then did a tiny, happy smile slip onto her face, lightening the atmosphere and allowing everyone in the room to relax.

"Tikki? I've missed you sweetie bug," Mari cooed, the little goddess perking up and launching herself forward into the other side of her neck to cuddle close.

"Mari? I'm so happy you're alive! I missed you so much, you don't even know!" Tikki sniffled then immediately begin to scold her, "don't you ever pull a stunt like that on me again, do you hear? I can't lose you again."

"I know, I'm sorry. I cannot promise that."

"What does that mean?!"

"I might not have known I would die in that moment, but I would do so again," she looked over to Jason now, "I would take that hit again without hesitation. And I'm sure my life being threatened isn't going to suddenly stop. I will however do everything within my abilities to prevent another unnecessary death." 

The kwami gave a little huffy sniffle and ducked back into her neck once more, as Kagami gave a cough. "Don't worry, I have no intention of taking back your miraculous. You fit Tikki quite nicely from what I can tell."

"You.. Don't want me back?" Tikki spoke up.

"It's not that I wouldn't like to have you back by my side, but tell me truthfully Tik. Looking into my soul, could you see me being able to use your miraculous?"

The kwami deflated once more at that, knowing her to be right. At that moment, she felt a small hand softly tap her back before reaching up by her neck and slowly cupping the sleepy cat resting there. Sitting perfectly still until Plagg had been completely extracted, she turned to watch Damian slowly pet the God, the surprisingly docile kwami watching the boy out of the slits of his eyes. 

"What is he?" Damian looked to her, wide eyed and curious.

Chloe spoke up, trying to amend the static from earlier, "He's a kwami. They're like pocket sized Gods, bonded to pieces of jewelry. The person who wears that jewelry is granted the ability to use the corresponding kwami's power. His name is Plagg and he's the kwami of Destruction."

Damian nodded along, eyes filled with wonder as the others took turns introducing the other kwamis in the room, Tikki joining them as Plagg floated back over to Mari. For her part, Mari relaxed further as the others became purposefully distracted so as not to overwhelm each other any further, while also keeping Damian occupied.

Turning to greet Plagg, she offered a considering look, "You were on my person in the cafe."

He nodded.

"You adjusted my aim during the attack."

"You were going to kill them," he tensed up, tone defensive.

"I know."

"Marinette-"

"I'm glad you stopped me. They were not lives that needed taken."

"You've changed so much," the cat kwami sounded remorseful and desolate, taking her in, soul and all. 

"I have. You still love me though?"

"Course I do, sweetheart," the big green eyes teared up, never good at hiding his real feelings around her, especially now that he could see his own destruction magic in her soul and consuming Jason's body.

Taking a deep breath, she spoke out to the room, informing them that she'd be in the kitchen, making lunch. They all nodded in agreement, knowing they all needed the space to figure out their thoughts.

Jason followed her, "Mind if I join you?"

Turning around, knowing they no longer had an audience, she let her tears fall freely, speaking softly to not alert the others "Jay? This is real isn't it? You're really here?"

Holding her by the shoulders, he leaned down to meet her eyes, "shouldn't I be the one asking that?" He teased, smiling at her small laugh, "This is some surreal shit, isn't it?"

"Yeah," she choked out, rubbing her eye as she pushed forward and pressed her face to his chest, wrapping herself around him, feeling his arms hover a moment before pulling her in tight.

"You're being strong for him, aren't you?"

Grabbing his hand, she led him into the bedroom, closing the door softly, "He doesn't have anyone else, Jay. I'm sure he told you about the league?"

"Yeah, something like that."

"Didn't happen to mention what he was doing there, did he?

"He slipped a bit, but I'd rather hear it from you."

"Talia is his mother. She took me in so I could get him out. Trained me to be the perfect protector, gave me the means to leave, disconnected from him completely so he wouldn't argue. And of course I agreed. He was being abused, Jay. It was so terrible, the way they were raising him. But I don't know what I'm doing."

"I don't know, you seemed to be doing a pretty amazing job out there," he brushed tears off her face, still amazed that he could, "How do you want to handle this? With me having taken my body back. I'll follow your lead here."

"About that… You and I have joint custody."

"What?"

"Legally, you're his older brother, who adopted him after your parents died, since you were of age to do so. Marinette Todd is your wife who adopted him with you."

"Wh-why would you- I mean-?" He cut himself off, confused.

"Well I mean, I didn't think the connection would ever come back, but in case it did or if I felt it safe to find you. I didn't want to take a chance. We can go back and change them?"

"It's fine, just, how old did you make us to be married and able to adopt a child?"

"Well he's your brother, so the adoption part would be easy despite age, plus we forged documentation for cps check-ins for two years, so they won't be checking now."

"And how old does that make us?"

"You're twenty one and I'm twenty. We've been his legal parents since you turned nineteen. We married the year after I graduated high school. You looked old enough to pull it off and I wasn't sure what I looked like anymore but doubted anyone would look twice."

"Well alright then," he blinked, pulling her close again and setting his head on top of hers, "It's going to take a while to get used to being this tall," he admitted.

"How do you think I feel," she rested fully against him, blown away by the ability to lean on someone for once.

A knock sounded on the door and Damian peaked in, "Mari? You need to come see this."

[galahadwilder]

We Are Miraculous, Ch. 5: Allies

We Are Miraculous Archive

With thanks to @alexseanchai and @paganinpurple

*

Scraps of paper fall around Chloé’s legs, some of them onto her pants. She brushes them away with barely a glance, too focused on the newspaper she is currently attacking with the scissors in her right hand—paying special attention to the face of the man on the cover.

The scissors aren’t enough, and she slams them onto her vanity with a growl, tearing into the newspaper with her fingers. “Rip your stupid ridiculous face,” she growls at the picture of Edouard Carón as her fingernails cut into his paper cheeks, scattering bits of newspaper across her vanity.

She turns, glances at Sabrina behind her, and holds up a hand. “Another one,” she says, her fingers clutching at the scissors again.

Sabrina stands, newspapers held in crossed arms against her chest, chewing her lip. “Are you sure this is the best idea, Chloé?” she asks.

Chloé grimaces, turning in her chair, crossing her legs at the knee, fingertips brushing disdainfully at her capris. “You heard what Daddy said, right?” she snarls. She leans forward, jabbing her finger at Carón’s smug bastard face, causing Sabrina to stumble backwards. “Apparently Monsieur Ladybug-Hater ‘can’t be fired for having an opinion.’ Even if it’s a stupid one.” She flips her ponytail, turning back to her mirror and staring into the blue of her own eyes. “What’s the point of being Mayor of Paris if you can’t fire idiots who insult superheroes?”

Sabrina clears her throat. “Um, I’m—I’m not sure your dad could fire him anyway?”

Chloé groans, dropping her head onto the vanity on top of crossed arms. “I know,” she mumbles. “I just wish he could.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Sabrina tentatively reach for her shoulder, then draw back, pressing the newspapers back to her chest.

”You don’t deserve this,” Chloé whispers to the Ladybug costume she can see reflected in the mirror, hanging in her closet. “They don’t deserve you.”

She sits for a minute in silence, silence only broken by Sabrina’s nervous shuffling, before the other girl finally clears her throat. “I thought—I thought we were still mad at Ladybug?” she says. “Since, you know...” Her eyes flick downward, looking at herself, and Chloé knows she means Miraculer, when Ladybug fired her.

Chloé straightens, slamming a fist on her vanity, and Sabrina jumps. Chloé’s eyes narrow. “Ladybug might not be able to see talent when she’s looking at it,” she snarls, “but she’s still doing a better job than anyone in Paris could except me.” She snatches one of the newspapers from Sabrina’s arms, uncaring that she’s caused the rest of them to scatter to the floor, and lifts the scissors, preparing to take the blade to Carón’s face again, when suddenly her phone rings.

Her eyes meet Sabrina’s—both of them confused, both of them lost—before she looks down at the phone. Blocked Number.

She picks it up, slides to answer, and puts it to her ear. “You shouldn’t have called this number, you piece—”

”Hi Queenie.”

Chloé’s breath catches, her stomach curling in on itself like a caterpillar. “Who—who is this?” she says. She’s fairly certain she recognizes that voice—are they planning to threaten her? Do they want a Miraculous? She’s told everyone who came after her that she’s been fired, that she’s not Queen Bee anymore, but all these losers keep getting her number, keep pestering her, and she’s thinking of changing her number just to make them stop.

Still, every one of them so far has called her “Madamoiselle Bourgeois” or “Queen Bee” or “Madamoiselle Bee.” Never Queenie. Only a few people have ever called her Queenie.

”It’s Rena Rouge,” the voice on the other end of the line says, and Chloé’s heart drops as she realizes she does know that voice, the voice of her old teammate, the voice of the true fox. A voice she wasn’t expecting to hear again outside of recordings. “Ladybug needs your help.”

Chloé scoffs, mentally pulling herself back together as Sabrina tilts her head questioningly. “Of course she does,” she says, glancing to the window. “Where’s the Akuma? Are you bringing my Miraculous?”

Rena snorts. “You sure haven’t changed,” she says. “No Akuma. Meet us on the roof of your school at 1700.”

Chloé blinks. “What’s going on?”

”Caron,” Rena says. “I’m planning to send a message.”

”What message?”

”We stand with Ladybug.”

The phone disconnects, and Chloé pulls it away, staring at it in confusion.

Alya taps the "disconnect call" button on her phone, then slumps against the brick wall at the edge of the park, letting her bones turn to jelly. Well, she thought. That call could have gone worse.

Trying to keep her cool around Chloé has always been... difficult, at best. From day one, Alya had been horrified by how the heiress treated Marinette; there were few things that could have redeemed her in Alya's eyes. And then she'd gone and made herself ground zero for Akuma attacks. Alya can't even get close to her without getting the urge to puke, and she can't tap her phone charm in front of Chloé without fear that Chloé is going to assume she's spying on her and get her suspended again.

And yet, against Miraculer and Mayura, Queen Bee had done something unprecedented... and fought off an Akuma after it had already infected her. She'd turned down an offer from Mayura that Alya was sure she'd have taken. Even though she'd been fired, her faith in Ladybug had been so strong that she'd overcome her self-obsession to save them all.

Alya closes her eyes, pressing her palm to her forehead. She hopes calling her was the right move. Marinette needs everyone in her corner that she can possibly get right now.

"Hey babe?"

Alya opens her eyes to see her boyfriend standing not quite in front of her—more a little off to the side, not intruding on her space. He's looking at her with the soft eyes he always wears when he's worried.

"Everything's fine, babe," she sighs. "Just... had to make a tough decision."

Nino leans his back against the wall. "You sure?" he says. "I saw you walk past the spot where Pixelator got hit and you didn't reach for your phone." He purses his lips. "It looked like you were clutching your chest, actually."

Alya swallows. "Ah," she says. "Yeah." She glances at Marinette and Adrien, who seem to be steadily reddening while they try desperately not to verbally trip over each other—oh man, no wonder Ladybug's never been receptive to Chat—and definitely aren't paying attention to her. She reaches into her shirt, fishing the chain around her neck and producing a familiar fox-tail necklace. "This is... a bit more effective."

Nino's eyes widen, then narrow. "You bought a replica?" he says. "If it works, I guess..."

Alya shakes her head. "Trixx?"

She feels tiny paws on her neck as the fox pokes his head out from Alya's thick russet mane. "Hello, Mari Tòti!"

Nino blinks. "What."

Alya grimaces. "Sorry I didn't say anything," she says, crossing her arms over her stomach. "Adrien was right there, and... well..."

"I getcha," Nino says, looking at their friends. The expression on his face is hard to read—she can't tell if he's actually hurt, if he understands, or if he just is having trouble caring. She can tell he's having a bad day—they all are.

She reaches into her pocket. "Got something for you," she says, holding up the familiar jade pendant.

Nino's eyebrows pop. "Is that what I think it is?" he says.

Alya grins. "Put it on and see," she says, pressing it into his palm.

*

(Notes: Mari Tòti is Hatian Creole for “Turtle Husband,” according to Google Translate.)

We Are Miraculous Archive

@not-a-welcome-matt @depressed–and–underdressed @peregrer @me4ml @bighgbrother @sparklyaxolotlstudent @mewwitch @tinyterror333 @themacbethslayer @callmequoteman @boopboopitydoop @adashofaroace @lexysama @tourettesservicedog @fandoms-are-for-always @valentine1604 @whimsicallyconfusedforlife @happymonster-pants @mysticsoulgirl @lunab00 @weirdflyingpotato @ariana-the-fangirl @unsung-knight @absolutelycoathangered @happymonster-pants @junipernight @miraculousl4dybug @not-a-welcome-matt @alyas-ladyblog @angelofthequeers @whatsdisshiz @random-blog-i-cant-delete @aerequets @yin-390 @zebrabaker @thecorruptedhuman @melicmusicmagic @happymonster-pants @imspectralboiii @gearstorm @tinkerbela @auninoelle @dani-ari @random-blog-i-cant-delete @alovvelyghost @lovebug5151 @miraculous-elcie-fanfics @miraculous-elcie-comics @stardustyx @gryffindorcls

[fandom-collective-writers]

What He’d Never Lose (Nobunaga Oda x Reader)

Fandom: Ikemen Sengoku

Pairing: Nobunaga Oda x Reader

Prompt: Jealous Ikesen Nobunaga, fluff and smut, making up after a fight

Warning: Smut and Fluff

Intended Audience: Female Audience

Word Count: 4,132

Requested by: Anonymous @ikemen-discord-writers

Written by: @lordsister

Disclaimer: I do not own Ikemen Sengoku or any of its characters. I do however, own the plot of this fanfic. Please do not reblog or repost this on any other website.

He had balls, Nobunaga would give him that, even if he was a fool for thinking he ever had a chance of wooing the Devil King’s queen.

Taking another swig from the sake in his hand, Nobunaga glared as the river of honeyed words continued, drawing polite chuckles from the girl seated at his right. It was a wonder Lord Kunieda hadn’t noticed the warlord’s red gaze yet, intense and burning as it was and for so long.

“My lord,” Hideyoshi murmured next to him, a question in his low, angry tone. It was clear he wanted to tear the visiting lord’s head from his neck just as much as Nobunaga did.

Holding up a hand in answer, Nobunaga didn’t bother looking at his vassal, keeping his gaze set firmly on this idiot who had the audacity to romance a woman while she sat at her lover’s side. There was going to be hell to pay for this, he would make sure of that.

From the moment the Lord Kunieda had arrived, his unworthy eyes hadn’t left (y/n), every few minutes bearing witness to a new attempt to butter her up with sweet words and compliments, the man even going so far as to lay a pile of luxurious gifts from his province at her feet in a very obvious attempt to win her affections. 

He hadn’t gone any farther than words and his gaze had remained respectfully on your face, but Nobunaga still didn’t like it, especially since you didn’t seem to express even the slightest discomfort in response to the lord’s advances. If anything, Lord Kunieda’s friendly disposition made matters worse. It would have been easy to cast him out in shame if he had been lecherous or untoward in any way, but he was neither of those things, blinding you to the desire Nobunaga could see lurking just beneath the surface. 

When his gaze lingered on you just a moment too long or he moved just a little too close to you to be considered simply friendly, Nobunaga saw it, the same interest he felt towards you reflected in the other man’s eyes, the impulse to take you away and intimately learn all there was to know about your strange, wonderful self, so different than any other woman of the Sengoku. 

But your were his treasure, your love his and his alone, and Nobunaga would be damned if he ever let another man take you away from him.

He continued to watch, calculating his next course of action, as you continued to talk with the visiting lord, enthralling him without even knowing it. It seemed as if you and he hadn’t stopped talking for a moment since he arrived, your conversation continuing well into the evening as the Oda warlords and Lord Kunieda’s traveling party feasted on an elaborate banquet.

He watched with narrowed eyes as Lord Kunieda poured your sake for you, a sign of utmost respect, and you thanked him, bringing the red cup to the lips he’d kissed so many times. It was a simple gesture, curious as Kunieda had yet to pour for his host and superior, but nothing to be as overly upset about as Nobunaga was now, the flames of his anger effectively fanned.

This lord wasn’t here to make an alliance if the minimal amount of words he had spoken to the Oda warlord was anything to go by. If anything he was here to make a marriage alliance. To say that Nobunaga was jealous would be an understatement. His blood was boiling with rage and the desire to take you away to his rooms and mark you again and again and again as his own.

Nobunaga had never been the kind to hide his displeasure and now was no exception. Enough was enough. 

“Lord Kunieda,” he began, wrapping an arm around your waist as he did and drawing you so close you were practically sitting in his lap. In his peripheral vision he saw you look up at him questioningly, but ignored it in favor of holding Lord Kunieda’s gaze which had snapped up to meet his for the first time since he arrived. Nobunaga took an odd pleasure in the way the man froze under his gaze, mouth pressed into a firm line as he struggled to school his features. 

“Y-Yes, my lord?” Kunieda replied, shuffling in place uncomfortably.

‘Yes, squirm, fool.’ Smirking savagely, he continued, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were here to steal my princess away from me.” A hush fell over the banquet hall and he felt you freeze against him, shooting him a warning look, but he ignored it. “You must have an abundance of confidence in yourself and your province to make such advances in the very presence of your host.”

Lord Kunieda’s jaw dropped, his mouth opening and closing ridiculously before he choked out, “M-My most sincere apologies, my lord! It-It was never my intention to come off as rude!”

“Oh?” Lifting a brow, he watched pitilessly as the man sunk into a bow, his shoulders shaking slightly. “Then what were your intentions?” All pretense of humor was gone from his voice, replaced with cold hostility. 

The hall was silent, the room holding its breath. Lord Kunieda finally spoke, his voice shaking as he answered, “I only wished to learn more about the Oda Princess of Azuchi everyone’s speaking of. I’m terribly sorry for letting my own curiosity get the best of me. It was never my intention to make advances or insult my host. Please, don’t let my thoughtless actions reflect on the success of our alliance.”

All eyes turned from Kunieda to Nobunaga who lounged against his armrest, you still tucked safely against his side. “I’m afraid I’m not in the most gracious mood tonight. I’m sure you can understand why.”

Kunieda said nothing, but Nobunaga saw his throat bob.

“I-” he began, but stopped. He would have gladly sent the prostrating lord back to his province empty-handed with his tail between his legs that very second, but his eyes suddenly shifted down to yours and what he saw there gaze him pause, the smug expression on his face falling. Your gaze was pleading, desperately asking him not to do what you knew he was about to do, and while a part of him grew angrier over the fact that you would defend someone who was obviously interested in taking you away, the larger, better part of him knew you were right. He couldn’t blame a man for feeling as he did for someone as amazing as you, but oh how he wanted to tear him apart anyway. “The night grows old,” he finally said, looking back to his audience. “I’ll make my decision to continue as planned or not in the morning.”

A collective sigh or relief went through the visiting party, Lord Kunieda thanking him even as he remained in his bent position, forehead pressed to the tatami mats. A few grumbles went through the Oda forces, but they complied with their lord’s decision anyway, rising to their feet to retire to their individual manors for the night.

Bringing you up with him as he stood, Nobunaga said, “I need to speak with you in the tenshu. Now.” He didn’t wait for your answer before taking your wrist in a gentle albeit firm hold and leading you out of the room, ignoring your questions and complaints as he pulled you up the stairs and through the sliding doors.

“Nobunaga, what was all that about? What were you talking about when you said he was trying to steal me away?” you demanded when he released you, your tone angry and confused as he turned his back on you to close the doors.

He didn’t answer your questions, instead stating, “I’m going to send Lord Kunieda away empty-handed tomorrow morning.”

“What?! Why?!”

His glare met yours, his form towering over you as he took a step closer. “I have no interest in making alliances with men who don’t know not to touch what’s not theirs.”

“He wasn’t trying to make advances on me, Nobunaga!”

“Yes, he was. And you weren’t doing anything to deny him.”

“He wasn’t doing anything wrong!”

Nobunaga scoffed, taking another step closer so that he had you cornered between himself and the wall. “He’s supposedly here to make an alliance, but he hasn’t spoken more than ten words to me. He seems to have plenty to say to you, however. He’s kept your attention from me all evening and you seemed to be enjoying it well enough.”

“I was not!”

“Don’t lie. I saw you smiling at him.”

You pushed hard against his chest, trying to put some space between the two of you, but he didn’t budge. “I was being polite, Nobunaga! If you have this lord’s support, that’s one less province you have to take by force! Why are you being so jealous?”

Taking your chin a little more harshly than he intended, Nobunaga forced you to look up at him, to meet the fire in his red eyes. “He thought he could get close to what’s mine, (y/n). I could see it in the way he spoke to you, the way he looked at you. Are you really so naive and foolish that you cannot tell when another man wants to spread your legs?”

That was too far, and he knew it the second after it passed his lips. The next thing he knew there was a slight stinging sensation in his hand as you smacked him away, your expression hurt and angry as he watched tears bead in the corners of your eyes. 

“I can’t believe you,” you choked, stepping away from him before he could reach out to catch you. “I can’t-” Turning on your heel, you bounded out of the room, the sliding door smacking against the doorframe as you pushed it aside in your rush to get away from him. 

Nobunaga shouted your name, taking a few steps after you, but you were already long gone, your pounding footsteps growing faint as you disappeared down the corridor. His outstretched hand fell to his side as the warlord bit his lip, head hanging in shame. 

His own cruelty astounded him. How could he have said something like that to you, the person he loved so, so much; the only woman he would ever love? 

As much as he wanted to chase you down right that instant and hold you close, erasing all the bad as he begged for your forgiveness, he knew that would only hurt you more. You needed time to yourself until you were ready to accept him crawling back into your good graces. 

For now, the Oda warlord gently closed the door to his room and sat down on the futon, preparing to wait through the long, sleepless night ahead while the pain he had inflicted on you burned bright in his mind and tears pricked at his eyes. 

He was the real fool in all of this. 

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

It took a week for him to crack, his patience wearing thin as desperation began to set in.

Nobunaga hadn’t slept since his fight with you and what rest he did get was fitful and shallow. The morning after his blunder, with Lord Kunieda and his party anxiously awaiting their fate, he had decided to allow the alliance to proceed anyway, lest he risk incurring any more of your wrath. It surprised everyone in attendance but no one was willing to question it. Even Hideyoshi didn’t dare come near him, sensing the dark cloud hovering over his lord. Kunieda left soon after, saying something about needing to get back to his province, and while you were sure to have heard news of his decision, you still didn’t come to see him.

Nobunaga strained to catch little glimpses of you throughout the days, watching you from the balcony of his tenshu when you went into town, assigning you work via Hideyoshi that brought you closer to him, even peaking through the doors of your room to watch you sew whenever he passed by, keeping as quiet as possible.

As the days went by without a word from you, he grew more and more exhausted. It was lonely without you. His nights were either spent working or staring at the ceiling of the tenshu. He couldn’t sleep without you beside him.

Finally, exactly a week after the fight, he couldn’t take it anymore. He had to make things right with you. He was willing to get on his knees and beg if that’s what you wanted. He just had to have you back in his arms. Anything to stop this agony of being parted.

Rising from his futon, Nobunaga quietly opened the doors and slipped down the stairs, shuffling to your room. A light emanated from beneath the door, but when he knocked softly there was no answer. Calling your name as he opened the door, he found your room empty, a lamp burning low in the corner and half-finished sewing pieces scattered across your desk. The cover of your futon was turned out on one side, signifying that you had gotten up some time during the night just like he had. 

Leaving your room, he continued his search for you. He wasn’t going to wait any longer to settle this. He couldn’t.

Nobunaga caught sight of you in the courtyard, sitting on a stone bench and looking up at the moon and stars. His heart thumped in his chest as he stood in the shadows, watching the way the milky light bathed your features, making you ethereal. You were his angel. The only thing that would have made you more beautiful to him in that moment was if there had been a smile on your face. Instead, there was a heaviness to the set of your shoulders, an unspoken sadness that he knew he was to blame for.

Stepping into the courtyard, his wooden sandals crunching on the stones revealed his presence to you. Your eyes snapped to him, clear and surprised in the starlight, and he held your gaze, unable to look away even if he wanted to. This was the first time your eyes had met his in a week. Nobunaga’s hope grew when you didn’t make a move to run away from him, but he stopped before he reached you, leaving a few feet’s space between you and him.

Neither you nor he dared say anything, lest the moment break and the pain and heartache come rushing back in. Lifting his hand in a silent offer, he held his breath as time stretched between the two of you, hoping with all his heart and soul that you would take it, that you wouldn’t turn away from him.

With a shuddering breath, you closed the distance and threw yourself into his arms, fully accepting him. Nobunaga could’ve cried it felt so good to have you close again, warm, safe, and loved. His lips pressed to your head, lingering as he took in your scent and held you tighter.

“Can you forgive me, my love?” he spoke, his voice a low murmur in the night air as you nuzzled into his chest. “Can you forgive me for being a fool?”

You nodded against him, biting your lip as you whimpered and clung tighter to him, your tears wetting his kimono. “Yes,” you choked, taking in a shuddering breath. “I forgive you, Nobunaga.”

“I’m sorry, (y/n). I’m so sorry I hurt you.” The warlord could feel tears of his own pricking his eyes, a burn forming in his throat as he tried and failed to keep his voice steady. 

“I forgive you, I forgive you,” you repeated, tilting your head up to look at him. To his surprise, there was a smile on your face, so happy and joyful even as tears continued to stream down your cheeks. “I’ll always forgive you.”

The relief was almost enough to send him to his knees at your feet. His lips captured yours, desperate to feel you after so long without you. Your arms moved from his torso to his neck, drawing him even further down to you as your lips moved with equal passion. Nobunaga didn’t let you go until both of you were thoroughly breathless, even then only pulling back just enough to draw in air, his forehead pressed to your own. “Thank you. Thank you, (y/n).” Giving you another quick kiss, he murmured, “I missed you so much.”

“I missed you, too,” you responded, cupping his cheek in your hand lovingly and brushing away the few stray tears that fell with your thumb. 

Catching your hand to press his lips to your palm, he looked at you questioningly, wondering if he had the right to ask you this yet or if the hurt was still too fresh. “Will you come back to bed with me?” 

You blinked, processing, before a bright smile appeared on your lips, and he couldn’t help but smile back. “Nothing would make me happier right now, my love.”

He didn’t need more confirmation than that. Taking your hand, the two of you practically raced back up to the tenshu, trying to stay as quiet as possible (not that it would matter later on). Several times, Nobunaga traded joyful smiles with you, and you had to stifle your giggles more than once as he leaned down to give your ear a playful bite.

A weight had been lifted from both of your shoulders, the exhaustion of sleepless nights falling away in response to what the rest of the night promised. There was happiness now where there had been hurt an hour before.

His lips were on yours again before the sliding door was fully closed, eagerly swallowing your moan as his tongue met and tangled with yours. Laying you back against the futon, he continued to kiss you as his hands smoothed up your legs to your obi, parting your kimono and baring your lower half in the process. Kissing down your jaw to your neck, he bit and sucked at the tender skin, leaving marks that would bloom into beautiful hickeys later on. 

“Nobunaga,” you mewled, hands fisting in his kimono as his fingers probed at your dampening heat, stroking up until he found the bundle of nerves and pressed on it. He smirked against your neck as you arched beautifully, pushing your breasts towards him and crying out his name. His name would be the only thing you could say by the time he was done.

You whimpered as his hands left you to tug his kimono off and he chuckled, smiling at you as he moved farther down your body and hoisted a leg over his shoulder. “Patience, my love. I have a lot to make up for and I plan to do it...thoroughly.”

Your hands fisted in the futon a moment before his mouth met your core, his tongue licking a strip across your slit as his thumbs stroked at the insides of your thighs, feeling them tremble against his head. He moaned at your sweetly familiar taste and his grip tightened as his tongue slipped inside of you, satisfying his starvation for you. Your moans grew louder and your hips bucked against his face as his hand stroked up your thigh to pinch your clit, drawing circles around the bud with calloused fingertips and drawing you ever closer to your release.

“Ngh-! N-Nobunaga, I’m-!” He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes in rapture until they flew open, his mouth detaching from your core with a wet pop and a cry of protest from you. Not yet. He wasn’t going to let you have that pleasure you so wanted just yet. Not until he was buried deep inside of you, falling off over that edge with you.

Leaning back on his haunches to look at you and lick away the traces of your essence dripping from his chin, Nobunaga felt his breathing quicken as he took in the beautiful way your breasts heaved, skin flushed with pleasure, hair spread out around you like a halo, and legs splayed in desire and trust for him. A low growl tore from his throat at the sight, his cock becoming painfully hard as his instincts screamed at him to shove himself into the woman he loved and prove to her there was no one better for her than him, that he was the only one for her. He swore he’d never seen anything more beautiful. You shivered under his hungry, primal gaze, an answering whine rising from you as your lust and love filled eyes beckoned him to take what he wanted, to become as close as possible.

Still, there was one thing he had to do before he could take you the way he wanted.

Reigning himself in for a moment, he leaned down to press a kiss to your breast, feeling your heart flutter beneath his lingering lips. “I never want to hurt you again,” he promised softly, leaning into your touch as your fingers carded through his hair. The expression you were giving him when he looked up had shifted to something so tender and loving, he almost thought this was a dream, that he was actually slumped over his desk in reality and that you were still hurt, nursing your broken heart.  But when he lunged up to kiss you again, desperate and passionate, he knew this was real, your warmth and the feel of your small hands on his back pulling him closer too vivid and familiar to be a dream.

Your lips abruptly broke away from his, your head thrown back against the mussed covers with a moan, when he suddenly rutted between your legs, coating his considerable length in your wetness and prodding against your entrance teasingly. With a moan of his own, Nobunaga’s lips attached to your exposed neck, his breath fanning across your skin as he breathed hard with need.

“Nobunaga!” you begged, wrapping your legs around his waist as you tried and failed to pull him into you.

“Who do you belong to?” he husked into your ear, a deep part of himself needing to hear your response, to soothe the wounded beast that wanted nothing more than to destroy any other man that looked at you.

“You, Nobunaga,” you answered breathlessly, turning your head to look him in the eye. “You and only you, forever.”

“That’s right.” In one smooth thrust he plunged himself into you all the way to the hilt, his roar joining your scream of pleasure. It felt unbelievably good, feeling your walls squeezing and fluttering around his cock as he drove himself into you again and again, imprinting his name into the deepest parts of you. “You’re mine, (y/n). I’m never letting you go,” he snarled, one large hand holding yours above your head while the other gripped your hip, holding you in place. 

Each thrust was punctuated with the word “mine” as his fingers tangled with yours, squeezing as he kissed you again, sloppy and breathless. It wasn’t long until he felt his peak approaching, the tightening of your walls signaling your own impending climax. Releasing your hands, he moved back to your clit, pinching and pressing enough to send you over the edge just as he did, roaring your name into the night as his release filled you to the brim and your own dripped down his length. Your satisfied cry of his name rang in his ears as he slumped over you, panting into your ear as your chest rose and fell against his with your own harsh breathing. A few moments passed, but he didn’t pull out, his hips continuing to move against you once more. Nobunaga wasn’t done making love to you tonight. Not by a long shot.

His thrusts were slow, deep, and forceful now, making you feel every inch of him as his body joined with yours. “I love you,” he said softly, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he did and wrapping his arms around you, holding you safe and loved.

You embraced him back, body moving in gentle waves to meet his thrusts. “I love you, too.” He could hear the smile he loved so much in your voice, the smile he’d wished to see for so long. “Always.” 

For the rest of the night, he held that smile close as he continued to make love to you. Nobunaga had what he wanted most - your love - and looking into your eyes and seeing the way you looked at him was enough to know he knew he would never lose it.

[29-pieces]

Whumptober day 9 - Good Omens

Day 9: Take Me Instead Fandom/setting: Good Omens, post Apocalypse-that-wasn’t Read on AO3 Read on FF.net @witchingwhovian this is where Cult Man makes his debut ;)

~*~

PART 1/3 [part 2]

"Angel, erm... I think I might be in... well, you know."

Aziraphale frowned and set his cocoa mug down, clutching the phone tighter. "No, my dear, I don't know. What are you in?"

An exasperated sound from the other end. "Trouble, there I said it, I think I'm in a bit of trouble."

The chair scritched across the floor, shoved backwards as Aziraphale hastily leaped to his feet, cocoa utterly forgotten. "What sort of trouble? Where are you?" he asked, trying not to sound too worried, but not succeeding because he was, as his friend rightly deemed, a "fuss-pot."

Nervous laughter. "Ah... well, that's the funny thing, right? I'm not, uh... well, I'm not sure, if you must know."

"Crowley! No, I don't find that funny at all! What's happened?"

"Somebody summoned a demon, so here I am—wasn't my choice, before you say anything, got yanked out of a perfectly good nap against my will—but there's nobody here."

Aziraphale had a strong feeling he was missing something rather important, brow furrowing even deeper. "If no one is there why don't you just... leave?"

The pause filled him with dread, and the longer it went, the dread-er he got.

"Crowley?"

"I- I can't. Angel, I really need help."

The flippant tone was gone from his voice, leaving a warble of what might have been vulnerability but also rang of concealed pain, and quite a lot of it, and that had Aziraphale gripping the phone so hard it nearly broke.

"Alright, my dear, I'm coming to collect you. I need you to focus and tell me everything so I can find you. What do you see, what do you hear? Anything to help narrow it down."

"Warehouse," the demon grunted. "Can't be sure it's anywhere near Soho, but these summonings usually just grab whatever demon is closest, so unless I'm the only demon in the entire world still topside—not likely, before you panic—I expect this is still London. 'S still dark out. Um... oh, I just heard a train."

Aziraphale gasped. "That'll be the 2:47. I know exactly where you are. Hold on, Crowley, I'm coming!"

He slammed the phone back into its cradle without another word and dashed off into the night, not even stopping to grab a coat or lock the door.

o.O.o

Crowley gritted his teeth from his seat on the dirty floor, clutching his arm tightly against himself. The door of the warehouse slid open with a rusty squeal that set him even more on edge, but it was only Aziraphale who hurried in with a splash.

"Crowley!" he cried out, eyes widening at what was sure to be a bit of an unpleasant picture. "What...?"

"Like I said... demon summoning," Crowley reminded him, gesturing with his limp arm at the unusual decor. A black altar was set up in the middle of the room with various levels of half burned candles, metal bowls containing ingredients he didn't want to consider, and an old book that was probably written on skin or something—wasn't that the usual for these sorts of things? Crowley himself was in a circle chalked out onto the floor with various more signs around the outer edge. He wasn't sure what they meant, but he was fairly clever, and the fact that he wasn't able to use a single lick of demonic power while standing in the circle suggested that they were meant to inhibit his demonic power.

All of that would have meant nothing, as the circle wasn't actually intended to contain him. He could have simply walked out, except for... well, everything else in the room.

Aziraphale splashed through the puddles of standing water, making a beeline towards Crowley, who threw up his hands in a panic.

"Wait, stop!"

The warning wasn't fast enough. Aziraphale skidded to a halt at the border of the circle, but his haste left him splashing the water on the floor in all directions with every footstep. Crowley ducked and covered his head with his arms, meaning the droplets avoided his face but peppered his sleeves. He choked on a tight sob as his already severely burned shirt sizzled all the way down to skin.

Aziraphale gasped, catching on immediately and glancing down at his sodden feet. "Holy water?"

"Someone didn't want me getting out of here," Crowley said through an even tighter jaw. "I- I tried, but..." The foot he'd stepped into the closest puddle with—not realizing it was holy water until it was too late—was burned and mangled all to ruin. The knee he'd immediately fallen down to was a blistered wreck. And the arm he'd splashed into the water to catch himself and roll out of the way with felt like it had practically melted.

"Oh, Crowley," Aziraphale cried, tears visible in his eyes as he took in the sight of the injuries. The angel took a steadying breath. "Alright, not to worry, we'll figure this out. I can carry you out, my dear, but we'll have a hard time getting you healed up." He stepped into the circle and knelt by Crowley's side, careful not to let any part of his wet clothes touch the demon.

Somewhere behind them, the door slid open with a squeal once again, drawing their attention. This time, it was a human who slipped into the warehouse, followed quickly by five more. Crowley glowered at them; he'd been hoping for a group of dumb kids not realizing what they were playing at, but these folks had more of the "satanic cult" look about them.

"It worked," one of them said hoarsely as he raised, of all things, a water gun. It was pointed at Crowley. And not one of the plant misters he'd tried to intimidate Hastur with, mind you, but a proper water gun that could probably hit him even from that distance. Odds were good it was filled with more holy water and he wasn't going to call that bluff.

Crowley gulped, wishing he could stand.

Never leaving his side, Aziraphale drew himself up. "And who, might I ask, are you? What exactly were your intentions here?"

One of the other cult members frowned. "Who are you?" she asked. "I thought we only summoned one..."

"How are you not burning?" another demanded, raising a water gun of their own and looking at Aziraphale's soaked trousers. "You're not a demon."

"I should say not," Aziraphale sniffed. "Why were you summoning one?"

The leader beckoned another cultish-looking fellow, who held up a pair of silver handcuffs. Even from the distance, Crowley could see the marks that glowed on the metal like fire and he groaned. He didn't know where these people had gotten actually effective tools from, but he didn't like it.

"Why else?" the man asked with a shrug. "They have power."

Not even an original plot. Crowley was almost insulted. "So you think I'm going to be your genie in a bottle, granting your wishes?" he asked with a scoff. He immediately wished he hadn't as five of the six immediately primed their water guns. Aziraphale tried to move in front of him, but he couldn't cover all five angles.

"No," Cult Man said. "Literally, you have power. Power we can extract."

"Oh." Extraction. Okay. Ah... that was more original. Crowley would have preferred to go back to the genie thing. He really, really didn't like the word "extract"...

Nor, it seemed, did Aziraphale. The angel must have had enough, because he reached out one hand and snapped his fingers with determination.

Nothing happened.

"Erm..."

"Angel?" Crowley hissed, eyes drawn once more to the symbols around the circle. They must have worked on more than just demons. Aziraphale's stricken face showed the same realization. "Oh, hell..."

"Whoever you are, get out of the way," Cult Diva snapped as all six of them closed in. "It's the demon we want."

Their smiles were dark and their guns were ready, and Crowley could see his life flashing before his eyes. He didn't know how exactly this "extraction" thing was going to work but he was pretty sure he wasn't going to survive it. And he was already so injured, fighting back wasn't going to work.

"Take me instead."

Crowley gaped at Aziraphale, then bristled in fury. "What are you doing?"

"Told you, we want the demon-"

"If you think a demon has power for you, try an angel," Aziraphale boldly challenged. "Look at him, he's already half dead. Take me instead. Let him live, and I'll go without a fight."

"No!" Crowley shouted, but he could see the considering looks on the Cult Gang's faces. Desperate, he tried to shove Aziraphale away. "He's lying, he's not even an angel, just a human-"

Aziraphale glowed briefly, his inner heavenly light not a miracle so not blocked by the trap they were in. Crowley swore, because now of course there was no denying it.

"Aziraphale, don't."

But with every water gun still trained squarely on him, there was nothing he could do as Aziraphale held out his wrists in invitation for the human to deftly lock the handcuffs around them. The glowing signs flared and Aziraphale bit his lip with a wince, which meant nothing good. Crowley's heart thudded in terror.

The angel turned to offer him a sad smile. "Afraid it's my turn to save you, my dear."

He let himself be pulled away from Crowley, feet scuffing the ground, as the other Cult Jerks kept their guns trained on the demon.

"What about this one?" the Jerk asked.

Cult Man shrugged. "We only have one set of cuffs," he pointed out. "Leave him here. We'll know where to find him when it's time."

"Aziraphale," Crowley whispered.

The angel only gave him an encouraging nod, trying not to look afraid, Crowley could tell, only he could also tell Aziraphale was afraid.

Then the humans pulled him away and Crowley was left on his own.

...TO BE CONTINUED...

[raywritesthings]

Bird in a Storm 14/17

My Writing Fandom: Arrow Characters: Laurel Lance, Oliver Queen, Tommy Merlyn, John Diggle, Athena, Moira Queen, Thea Queen, Frank Chen Pairing: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen Summary: The confrontation between the Hood and SWAT on the roof of the Winick Building goes differently, altering the course of Laurel’s career, relationships and efforts to save her city forever, the shockwaves of such an altered path making themselves felt throughout her family and friends. *Can be read on my AO3, link is in bio*

Her first foray on the bike was going pretty well, in her personal opinion. It wasn’t like she had never ridden one, of course. Under her dad’s supervision, she’d been on the back of one of the police-issue motorcycles a few times and even shown the different controls. Ollie had always liked his bikes as well, and Laurel had refused to act the nervous girlfriend about it; part of why he and Tommy had always liked hanging around her had been her relative willingness to go along with their various misadventures to a point. She’d stopped short of anything that would have seen her in front of a judge.

Though if Oliver or Tommy could see her now, risking arrest night after night… she didn’t know how they could all be in the same city and yet feel further apart than ever most days. Even if a lot of that was her own fault.

She knew John Diggle was right. Oliver was likely to find out the truth of what she was up to these days, if only by running into her out on the streets some night. Wouldn’t it be better for the truth to just come from her?

But there was every chance it wouldn’t be better, that Oliver would react badly either way. He still blamed himself for all the crazy turns her life had taken this year. Laurel wasn’t sure if she could make him understand that this wasn’t the rock bottom of some downward spiral. If anything, this was a newfound sense of purpose and, strangely, of inner peace after being frozen in place for the last five years.

Did she have regrets? Of course. She wished she’d never agreed to date Tommy and broken his heart; she wished her job and the jobs of countless others actually paid a decent wage; she wished with all her heart that Sara could’ve been the girl in the Rockets cap her mother had been so desperate to find. But losing nearly everything had forced her to look at things from another point of view. 

No longer was she the charitable helper from on high, enlightened and sympathetic to the plight of others when no one else would listen. She could see for herself that there had been and always would be those in the Glades helping each other. Laurel had made more friends in the months since moving to her new home than she had had in her life, and friends who wouldn’t just disappear on her the way so many of her and Oliver’s high society acquaintances had after the Gambit sank. And her understanding of justice and how it was enacted out in the real world had shifted radically as she had lost the blinders of her father’s old strictures and learned for herself what truly needed doing. She wouldn’t trade any of that for her old life.

Maybe, in a way, Oliver would understand. After all, he was the man he was today in part because of the misfortunes he had learned to fight and live through. She didn’t think he would go back, either.

Her wandering thoughts were cut off by her phone, which she could feel buzzing in her pocket. Laurel pulled off the road into an alley before stopping the bike and getting it out. “Hello?”

“Laurel, listen, it’s me,” John Diggle said. She tensed, wondering if he was about to let her know he had told Oliver about her. “I’m hoping you can stop by the base tonight.”

“How come?”

“We got word about Walter, and it’s… not good. Oliver’s not doing well. I’d stay with him, but Felicity’s taking it hard, too. She needs someone. And I think — no, I know he probably needs you.”

Laurel’s eyes had closed at hearing Walter’s name and she swallowed once before nodding. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

Bad news about Walter. She could only assume someone had found the body. What a horrible thing to happen to a good man. What must Oliver’s family be going through? Apparently they weren’t grieving together, if Oliver had chosen to retreat to his base.

Laurel stopped by her home to drop off her wig and mask, then drove out to the Verdant. John’s car was still parked out back, so he must have decided to wait for her to arrive before leaving for Felicity’s. She remembered the blonde woman a little, though she didn’t know what she had to do with Walter exactly. Anyone would be taking the news of an innocent man’s death badly, though.

Laurel came in through the back entrance and immediately took notice of the fact that most of the lights were off. She spotted John in a chair, talking in low tones to Oliver, who was sitting on the ground with the wall at his back.

They both looked up at her approach, and Laurel slowed to a stop. But John stood and nodded to her in thanks before walking out the way she had come. Oliver’s gaze lowered back to his hands, and they were left in silence.

Laurel forewent the chair and settled cross-legged on the ground, her knee bumping Oliver’s thigh. “I’m so sorry, Ollie.”

“I don’t know what I expected. I guess, because of the lack of ransom note, I thought he might be being held for some other reason. That we could find him in time. But it didn’t matter what we did. He was dead before I left the hospital last December.”

She couldn’t exactly hug him from this position, so Laurel wrapped an arm around his shoulders and guided him to rest his head against her own shoulder. That he went with little fuss or fight wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

“How’s Thea taking it?”

“Not well. I left her with- with Raisa.” His shoulders, if anything hunched tighter together. “They both knew Walter better than I had the chance to. I can’t really relate to what she’s going through.”

“Of course you can,” Laurel told him gently. “You lost your own father.”

“And I wasn’t able to save him any better than I was able to save Walter for Thea. Or for mom.” His throat bobbed, and his voice came out strained. “She’s shut herself back up in her room again. I don’t know how we’ll get her out.”

“You will. Your mother loves you and Thea, but she just needs time. And this wasn’t your fault. You said it yourself, you were in the hospital when he was taken.”

“If I had beaten the Dark Archer—”

“Then you still wouldn’t have been at Queen Consolidated to stop Walter’s kidnapping. How could you have known to be there? Like you said, these people who took him left no sort of warning or indication that this was happening or why.”

He sighed through his nose. “There’s a lot happening that I still don’t know why.”

“You’ll figure it out,” she insisted. “You’ve already done so much since coming home. You can do this, too.”

“Thank you.” He lifted his head to look her in the eye at last. “You always believe in me no matter how badly it hurts you. I can’t help thinking you’d be better off if you never found out who I was, or if I’d kept my distance as the Hood. But maybe you’d have just ended up helping out the Woman instead.”

Laurel stiffened, her arm drawing back. “The Woman?”

“Yeah, that’s… well that’s what some of them are calling her. From everything that’s said, she’s more the hero that you hoped I’d be.”

Laurel’s heart sank. That wasn’t what she’d intended at all by going out. She’d been inspired by him and wanted to further what he had been doing on a smaller scale, not cause him to doubt himself.

“Ollie...”

“Hm?” His head tilted, curious as she struggled with how to say what she needed to. Yet as she struggled, a light seemed to spark in his eyes as his mouth fell open into a silent oh.

Laurel cringed. “That obvious?”

“Not as much as it should have been.” He hung his head, slowly shaking it side to side. “What have I done?”

Laurel frowned, shifting onto her knees so she could face him fully. “This isn’t something you did. Yes, you inspired me, but this was a choice I made. And it’s one I stand by.”

“If I hadn’t gotten you into trouble at work—”

“How many times am I going to have to remind you of all the good you’ve done and just how heavily it outweighs the bad? I’m not even talking about the city here. I’m talking about me.”

He looked up at her, and Laurel decided in that moment that they’d better stand. She needed to pull him out of this hole, and physically doing so was just about as good a place to start as any. So she took hold of his hands and tugged him up onto his feet with her.

“Without you, I would never have won the Hunt case once it got put in front of Judge Grell. I wouldn’t have won the Sommers case, either, because I’d probably be dead. Assuming I even managed to survive that, I would have let Peter Declan die like everyone else without you pointing it out to me. Yes, I was a lawyer, Ollie, and a good one. But I was passive. I was passive in every aspect of my life, too afraid to live because I didn’t want to get hurt. I’d found my comfort zone, and I was stuck in it.

“You changed that, the way you always do,” she continued, allowing herself to smile a little. “And it turned out that losing everything was the best thing to happen to me. I was too naive to see just how badly the system was functioning until I was living it for myself. Now that I know better, I can be more proactive, both in protecting the people of this city and myself. I know exactly what I’m willing to tolerate from people and the level of respect I deserve.” She thought of her mother and the lie she had kept all those years and never truly apologized for. Hard to imagine that she could find it easier to forgive the man who had betrayed her trust rather than her own flesh and blood, but Oliver had never once taken her forgiveness for granted the way her mother had seemed to be doing when she had arrived. He had worked for it, earned it.

But how he responded to her choice to take to the streets was going to be the true test going forward of whether she really did have his respect. She took a breath and said, “I can understand if you’re upset I didn’t tell you, but I needed to do this for me. To prove to myself I still had something to give to our city. So what are you thinking now?”

Oliver shifted his weight from one foot to the other, clearly still taking in a lot of what she had just heaped on him. At the very least, she had probably provided a distraction from his grief if she hadn’t alleviated it. But she knew firsthand it wasn’t so simple a thing as telling it to go away. “I don’t know. I can’t be happy about this, Laurel. Not because you’ve done something wrong, but because of the way this city forces good, honest people like you and your father to go outside the system in order to actually make a difference. Anywhere else, CNRI could’ve operated independently from the interests of wealthy backers, and they never would’ve forced someone as talented as you out the door. They have no idea what they gave up.”

He paced away a moment, then came back. “I’m also terrified. I know just how dangerous it is out there, and I never wanted you to be in that kind of danger, let alone put yourself there. Is this what you’ve been going out there in?” He took hold of the two sides of her jacket which she’d unzipped upon reaching the base. At her nod, he frowned. “It’s not enough. You could take some real damage, get shot.”

“I have been,” she told him and shrugged. “Mostly a graze, but I handled it.”

He stared at her in shock, seemingly at a loss for words.

Laurel sighed and placed her hands over his. “Look, I knew this was going to be hard for you. That’s why I didn’t want to burden you with it. We haven’t run into each other out in the field so far, so you don’t have to think much about it if you don’t want.”

“It’s not that simple,” he argued. “I won’t be able to stop thinking about what could happen.”

“You can’t ask me to stop.” Laurel pried his fingers off her jacket and stepped back, only for him to follow and cup her face.

“I know. I know that, Laurel. If this year’s shown me anything, it’s that you’ll do things your way no matter what. You’re just like me that way.” His thumbs stroked her cheekbones as his eyes searched hers, and she tried not to shiver. “If the choice is between doing this with or without me, which would you choose?”

“What?”

He seemed at least a little amused by her shock, judging by the soft smile on his face as he said, “I’d rather you be at my side than out on your own. That’s what I’m thinking now.”

Laurel swallowed, her eyes stinging a little. Not in her wildest dreams had she expected Oliver to make that kind of offer, not at first anyway. He really had changed. She gripped his forearms. “There’s things I’m focused on that you’re not, and I can’t say I’d be much help against someone like that Dark Archer.”

“That’s okay. We can figure out what works.”

“Okay,” she agreed, her voice barely audible.

Oliver licked his lips, and, close as they were, she couldn’t help staring. “I need you, Laurel.”

“I know.” The truth was, she needed him, too. Tommy had seen it all those months ago, back when she had been unwilling to admit it. But she knew in her bones they were ready now, in a way they’d never been before.

He leaned down, one hand moving around to cup the back of her head, fingers playing with the shorter strands. Her own hands slid up his arms to his chest, his shoulders, his neck as their lips met. This wasn’t the rushed, blindly passionate kiss they had shared in his bedroom all those months ago. Laurel felt grounded in who she was and where and when and who she was with, and she was glad. She had missed him so, so much.

They broke apart, and Oliver brought his forehead to rest against hers, his eyes closed. She stroked the back of his neck and held him, her eyes darting around the base. Everything was so cold and sterile; had he really been planning to spend the whole night here?

“Why don’t you come home with me?”

His eyes opened, though he stayed silent.

“You shouldn’t be alone right now. We can talk, or we don’t have to, but I want to be there for you.” She would make sure he returned to his family at some point, but she’d learned the hard way to read his physical tells of when he wasn’t ready to do something and wouldn’t say it out loud. She would give him the night before gently reminding him how much his sister and mother needed him, too.

Laurel led him by the hand out of the base, though Oliver stopped short at the sight of her bike. “You drove here on this?”

“Yeah. It’s sturdy,” she added when he continued to stare dubiously at it.

“Maybe for one. Come on, we’re taking mine.”

“I think you just want to drive,” Laurel replied with crossed arms as they headed further across the lot.

“You can drive — once I get you a new bike.”

She was having trouble keeping herself from smiling, glad that he already seemed to be feeling at least a little better. “I like my bike. Roy and I worked hard on it.”

“Roy?”

“Let’s just say I’m not the only one you inspired.”

Oliver’s eyebrows raised, though all he did was swing a leg over the bike and wait for her to get on. She wrapped her arms securely around him, and with one last soft look back at her, he started the engine and headed off for her place.

---

Oliver didn’t actually go to sleep. He rested with his eyes closed, even retreated into his own mind for a while, but he was afraid to truly lose consciousness. Because it might mean that when he woke up, he would realize all this was a dream.

He didn’t know how he could be experiencing a kind of dream with everything else going on — Walter’s loss was waiting somewhere in the recesses of his mind for the chance to drag him down into guilt and grief again at any moment. Yet the Laurel in his head had often come to him in his darkest moments on the island to help him see a way through. That the real one was here now to do so herself was a greater comfort than she probably knew.

Laurel had dozed for a while, but mostly she’d stayed awake, quietly running a hand up and down his back while his head rested against her breast. They were entwined practically head to toe to fit on her incredibly small mattress, and Oliver’s feet were still hanging the slightest bit over, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. In truth, parts of his body were very happy with the situation.

The part of him that wanted to remain in this bed with Laurel forever, whatever they got up to in it, was eventually superseded by the realization that he had not eaten since before his confrontation with Dominic Alonzo. A loud growl from his stomach pretty effectively cut through the quiet intimacy of their embrace, and Laurel lifted her head the same time that he did.

“I probably have something in my cabinets. I’ll give you a minute to get settled.” Her pointed glance down had him ducking his head slightly, though she swiftly leaned in to kiss him on the cheek in a sign she clearly didn’t mind.

Oliver ran through some of the meditation techniques he had been trained in before feeling sufficiently calm and in control, then stopped in the bathroom to wash his face. There was a potted plant of some kind that sat there, its green leaves long and healthy. He padded out to the kitchen in his bare feet to find Laurel at the stove with a skillet and eggs. This warranted some monitoring.

To his surprise, however, there were no major accidents as she fried two eggs for them each. He found a couple plates in her cabinet and got them each some water as well, and they took seats at the counter beside each other.

“So, this Roy. You wouldn’t be talking about Roy Harper, would you?”

“I would. Jealous?” She asked in mock seriousness.

“Considering he’s supposed to be dating my sister, I hope not.”

Laurel raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t know they’d gotten together. That’s interesting.”

Interesting was a perfectly neutral word and probably one he would use if Thea ever asked his opinion on her relationship.

“How much does he know?”

“He knows about me. Helped me home the other night when I was shot.”

Well, the younger man was rising in his estimation, at least.

“He wants to know about you,” Laurel continued after taking another forkful of egg. “I told him I’d see what you thought.”

He frowned in thought. What did he think? Roy Harper was an oddball, in that he had been on the right track to becoming a career criminal before suddenly changing his ways. He couldn’t say if it was down to Thea’s influence, his saving the kid’s life or these encounters with Laurel he was only just learning about. Maybe it was a combination. That being said, he wasn’t sure he was prepared to trust Roy with his identity just yet. He was still something of a loose cannon, even if he had turned over a new leaf.

“I’ll give it some thought. Maybe once I’ve figured out what the Undertaking really is.”

“The Undertaking?”

He froze and then shook his head. “I guess I always meant to tell you. The night I went to see my mother as the Hood, it was because Digg had overheard her meeting with some man about something they called the Undertaking. It has something to do with the list my father gave me and something to do with the underground subway tunnels in the Glades, but beyond that I don’t know a thing.”

Laurel frowned. “Did Walter? Maybe that’s why…”

He nodded. “Felicity told me he got a copy of the list from my mother and was looking into it before his- his death.” It was hard to put it so finally. “But he didn’t have any better ideas about what it was than we do, or if he did then he was never able to share them.”

Laurel placed her hand over his resting on the counter. Oliver turned his palm over so that he could lace their fingers together.

“If it’s something worth killing for, it can’t be good.”

“Yep.”

They didn’t have much longer to talk about it since his phone started buzzing. Oliver glanced at the caller ID, seeing his sister’s name, before answering. “Hello?”

“Ollie, where are you?”

He winced. He hadn’t actually wanted Thea to worry about him. “At a friend’s. I’m okay, Speedy, I promise.”

“Then you haven’t seen the news,” she told him.

Oliver felt something cold settle in the pit of his stomach. “Why, what’s happened?”

“They’re saying Mr. Merlyn passed away in the hospital sometime last night. Complications with his recovery.”

“Oh.” It was wholly inadequate, and yet, Oliver could only feel numb. He had just started processing Walter’s death. To know that another man who had been in his life since childhood — and truly more so, having been his father’s best friend — was simply gone, like that, was simply bizarre. He had known Mr. Merlyn’s chances of recovery were slim and felt incredible guilt over having been unable to convince Tommy of the blood transfusion, yet for it to have taken such a turn for the worse so quickly, it felt like pulling the rug out from under him. He hadn’t even had the chance to visit the man in his hospital room yet.

Though thinking of his old friend, Oliver asked, “Have you heard from Tommy?”

“No. I was kind of hoping you had.”

His eyes squeezed shut. “I haven’t. Listen, I’ll- I’ll be home soon. I’ll leave right now. Just stay with mom. Has she heard yet?”

“I don’t think so. She’s still in her room,” Thea told him.

“Then wait for me, and we’ll tell her together.” He couldn’t imagine how hard this would be for his mother, losing her husband and her old friend in essentially the same night. They would be lucky if she left the house by fall. “I’ll be back soon.”

“Okay.”

He hung up, meeting Laurel’s concerned eyes. “What’s wrong with Tommy?”

“Nothing exactly. Just… Mr. Merlyn passed last night, according to the news.”

Laurel brought her other hand up to her mouth, and the one holding his clutched at his fingers tightly. “Oh, Tommy.”

“Yeah. I need to check on my mother, and then I’ll see about tracking him down.” Guilt churned anew in his stomach as he thought of the way he and his friend’s last conversation — or perhaps argument — had ended. And he worried what Tommy might think if he knew where and who Oliver was with right now. In the next moment, he dismissed that thought. Laurel was important to him, and Tommy knew that. He had been willing to set aside his own disappointment to be happy for his friends when they had tried to make a relationship work. As his friend, wouldn’t Tommy be willing to make the same choice?

He stood up and leaned in for one last kiss Laurel readily gave him. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do. If there’s word on the arrangements…”

“Of course.”

He made the drive back to Queen Manor to find Thea sitting on the steps up to the bedrooms. “Were you out all night?”

“Kind of. Come on.” He helped her up, and together they headed to their mother’s bedroom door. He knocked lightly. “Mom?”

“Yes, sweetheart?” Her voice sounded remarkably steady. 

Oliver exchanged a look with Thea before asking, “Can we come in?”

“Of course.”

He opened the door and entered, Thea trailing him.

Their mother was sitting up in bed, a robe pulled on over her pajamas. A photo album sat in her lap, one that, Oliver realized with an uncomfortable lurch, must have been produced for her and Walter’s wedding. She was stopped on a photo of the two of them, her one hand lovingly stroking the side of the page.

“I always hated this picture. I thought I looked bug-eyed,” she confessed, her tone more wistful than it was sorrowful. “But he always took a wonderful photo.”

“Mom, there’s been some, uh, some news,” Thea spoke up timidly.

She looked up, expectant, but Thea turned to him.

“Mr. Merlyn passed away last night in the hospital.”

He watched her eyes widen and mouth drop, heard the sympathy in her voice as she said, “Oh no, I was hoping for Tommy’s sake he would pull through. Malcolm was such a strong man.”

“Yeah, they think it was complications from the coma or something,” Thea muttered. “I wish I’d apologized to him for what I said at the party.”

Their mother opened her arms, and Thea sat on the side of the mattress and accepted her hug. “I don’t think he held it against you at all, dear. You were going through a hard time. Something this family isn’t strangers to, I’m afraid.” She smoothed Thea’s hair back and looked up. “I’ll make sure flowers are sent to Tommy’s home right away. Have you spoken to him yet?”

“No,” said Oliver, a little stiffly. Something felt off.

“Well, I’d reach out as soon as possible, Oliver. He’s going to need your support.” She shut the album and laid it on Walter’s side of the bed with care. “I’ll dress and start seeing to those arrangements.”

Thea stood and backed up towards him, and when their mother got up as well she reached out and cupped both their cheeks. “Thank you for checking on me and letting me know. It would have been dreadful to read it in the paper.”

“Sure, mom,” Thea said.

“Yeah,” Oliver agreed uneasily. He followed Thea out of the room and shut the door, pausing there in the hall.

Thea let out a breath in relief. “Well, nothing like keeping up appearances to get her moving again.”

“I guess,” Oliver replied, but kept the rest of his thoughts to himself. He hated thinking it, but his mother had been almost too put-together given what Thea had told him of her handling of his and his father’s reported deaths and what he’d seen when Walter was first declared missing. And while she had displayed the typical signs of shock at the news about Mr. Merlyn, it just hadn’t felt like his mother. Where was the denial, the insistence that someone at Channel 52 had gotten it wrong?

But what did it mean? It could just be that she had made her peace with both Walter’s disappearance and Malcolm’s health already.

There was nothing he could do about the misgivings he held right now, and truthfully he was avoiding reaching out to Tommy. Oliver got out his phone and dialed, frowning when it went straight to voicemail. He tried again and sent a text for good measure.

Where would Tommy be right now? The hospital? He didn’t want to intrude there if he was. Beyond that, Oliver wasn’t totally sure where Tommy had been living ever since he had walked out of Laurel’s apartment.

He looked up the number to call to try and reach Tommy at Merlyn Global. A secretary answered, of course.

“Hi, this is Oliver Queen. I was hoping to get in touch with your boss. I just heard the news about his father.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Queen, but Mr. Merlyn is taking a leave of absence at this time and will not be taking any calls. I can have the details of the upcoming memorial service sent to you if you would like to pay your respects at that time.”

“I would, thank you.”

He took lunch with his mother and Thea, even more troubled than before. His mother was up and about while Tommy had shut off all forms of contact. What was going on?

Diggle had made it in by the time lunch was over, and Oliver led him into a side room to talk. “You’ve seen the news?”

“Yeah. I was expecting it to be pretty quiet around here.”

“So was I.”

John raised an eyebrow. “You weren’t here when it hit?”

“Later. Look, the main thing is, I can’t get a hold of Tommy. He’s been… off lately, but I don’t want to leave him alone in this. Would Felicity be up for pinging his phone?”

His friend shook his head. “She’s zonked out on Nyquil after crying her way through the night. I doubt she’s even heard about Merlyn.”

He let out a breath. “Then I guess we wait.”

It was two days of feeling like something was not quite right with the world. Between Mr. Merlyn’s sudden passing, Tommy’s silence and his mother’s strange calm, Oliver wasn’t sure what was truly causing his senses to be on high alert.

Only Laurel could get him to calm both nights when she joined him and Digg down in the base. Without Felicity there to chatter like she had been the last couple nights they had been following the lead on Walter, her company was welcome to them both, and Oliver felt some of the tension in him ease as they ran practice spars against each other. Laurel was fairly solid on the fighting forms she had chosen to learn while Oliver had bits and pieces from a variety of teachers, and it made them an odd yet oddly suited match as they tested each other’s limits. She took quickly to learning from both him and Diggle; it was the studious nature in her that drove her to discover and master anything about a subject she took interest in.

“The memorial is going to be at the Merlyn home,” Oliver told her the second night as they danced around each other on the mats. “They’re burying him next to his wife.” 

Laurel froze, only for a moment, but it was enough for him to get behind her and pin her arms to her sides.

She kicked out, forcing him to jump back, and then she had spun to face him again. “Do you think… I still haven’t spoken to him since it all fell apart.”

“What other time is there going to be?” Oliver pointed out. “I know things didn’t end well, and I didn’t help that by driving a wedge between you two as the Hood. But Tommy is going to need us. I hope he is, anyway.”

His mother and Thea reacted only with mild surprise when Laurel arrived at the manor the next morning dressed all in black to make the drive over to the Merlyns’ with them. She had brought a basket of roses with her in a deep red color, more like crimson.

“They mean grief and sorrow. Pam and I put them together,” Laurel told him.

After being dropped off by their driver, their procession of four walked across the lawn to where chairs had been set out. Already the crowd was filling in, and Oliver found them a row near the front with enough open seats.

Before she could enter the row with them, his mother was approached by Frank Chen, another old friend to the family. The two were speaking softly enough that Oliver couldn’t make out what was being said, but something again felt odd. He just couldn’t place it.

Up ahead, he spotted the back of Tommy’s head where he sat in the front row. His only companion looked to be a woman with long, dark hair, though Oliver could not distinguish any of her features from behind. He didn’t think he knew her, and he wondered how Tommy did, his mind briefly recalling what his friend had said about the girls at Oliver’s funeral being like fish in a barrel. He immediately dismissed the thought; Tommy would never use his own father’s funeral for a score. He felt he knew his friend that well at least.

Eventually his mother took her place beside Thea, and Chen found his own seat further back. The funeral conductor moved to the front and center of the gathering.

“We are here to remember and to commemorate the life of one of Starling City’s most dedicated humanitarians. A beloved husband, father and friend to many. There were few who were as passionate about the future of our home and our people as Malcolm Merlyn.”

The conductor championed Mr. Merlyn’s story; a young businessman who had come to Starling City because he saw the potential to prosper, and prosper he had. How he had met Rebecca Merlyn through his friends, Oliver’s parents, and how special their love had been. Merlyn Global, Tommy’s birth, Rebecca’s loss, the ways he had continued to give back in memory of her.

“It was another senseless act of violence that robbed the world of Malcolm Merlyn. But I am told that he died as he lived, protecting another. His son, Thomas Merlyn. Thomas asked not to speak today, but he wished it to be known that he intends to carry on his father’s legacy in all ways.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed his mother shift, her throat tightening. Her eyes stayed fixed forward. Laurel sent him a questioning glance, but Oliver gave the smallest shake of his head. Here wasn’t the place to get into his mother’s strange behavior.

The ceremony closed, and one by one, everyone came up to the front to pay their respects. Oliver tried to think of the last words he exchanged with Mr. Merlyn; he truthfully hadn’t seen much of him since his return home. He had called out to him to keep moving that night of the attack, and his father’s old friend had nodded in understanding. If only it had been the right call to make.

“I got in an argument with him,” Laurel said quietly, as if sensing his thoughts. “I went to dinner with him and Tommy, and we had a disagreement about his treatment of him.”

“Well, from what I know, Tommy and his father became pretty close by the end,” Oliver mused. “So maybe your argument helped more than you thought.”

Most of the guests were making their way to the house where tables with refreshment had been set up. Tommy, however, remained standing on the patio, nodding in acknowledgement or murmuring a quiet thanks to those mourners who addressed their condolences to him. As Oliver and Laurel approached, his eyes seemed to fix on them. Oliver wasn’t sure what to make of the expression on his friend’s face; it seemed like one of loathing.

Laurel took the lead in coming up to Tommy, hesitating for one moment before wrapping him into a hug. Tommy remained stiff and did not even attempt to return it. Oliver was more concerned with the woman who had sat next to Tommy at the service watching them from several feet back. Her gaze was cool and calculating, and the noticeable scar on her face had him wondering just who she was.

“Tommy, I’m so sorry,” Laurel said as she stepped back. “I know things between us — they didn’t end well, but I’m here for you. We both are,” she added, looking back at Oliver.

Oliver’s own words of comfort died on his lips when Tommy’s mouth twisted into something like a sneer. “A united front, just like the old days. I can see that’s not the only thing you coordinated. So how long after the breakup did that take?”

Oliver looked down. “What’s happened between Laurel and I is recent. It’s also not what today is about. You’ve lost your only family, and as your friends, we just want to support you.”

“Forgive me if I don’t really believe you, considering one more dead billionaire should just be another feather in your cap,” Tommy said. “Or hood, I guess.”

Oliver felt his heart stop for a single moment, and beside him, Laurel’s mouth dropped open. But he knew he had to try and deflect this — nothing about Tommy’s behavior right now said that confirming his suspicions was a good idea. If anything, Oliver’s own worst imaginings of his friend’s reaction were playing out in front of his eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t try. I still have keys to the club. I’ve seen your little base of operations, Oliver.”

He had no idea what to say. That Tommy was essentially accusing him, and in front of a witness, what did that mean exactly? Was he planning to expose him?

“Oh, don’t mind Athena,” Tommy said, having followed his line of sight. “She’s my new partner. What I know, she knows.”

“You told her before even talking to Oliver?” Laurel didn’t bother to hide the outrage Oliver was beginning to feel beneath the shock and the panic.

“She’s been truthful with me unlike my supposed best friends,” Tommy shot back. “Were you ever planning to tell me, or were you waiting until my father was dead so I couldn’t warn him?”

“Tommy, your father was the humanitarian of the year,” Oliver reminded him. “He was never in any danger from the Hood.” It was the four of them only on the patio, yet he didn’t feel comfortable naming himself as the vigilante all the same.

Tommy eyed him, just the slightest bit of surprise on his face. “You really don’t know, do you?”

“Know what?”

But his friend shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. If you weren’t the one behind this, I’ll find out who was. Someone hired the Triad.”

That brought Oliver up short. In the aftermath of the attack, he had never really thought to pursue that angle. Why had Mr. Merlyn been targeted? Who had wanted him dead in the first place? Who stood to gain?

“We can help you with that,” Laurel offered, looking back at him once to check that she wasn’t stepping over a line. He quickly nodded. “Oliver has contacts, resources.”

“Thanks, but I have my own now.”

“Tommy,” Oliver began, but stopped. He hated having to ask this. It scared him to ask. “What are you going to do about…”

“About what I know? Nothing. I like being alive,” Tommy said coldly.

Oliver drew back a step. He had never wanted this, one of his loved ones to look at him with utter loathing and revulsion. Even if it was what he deserved.

“You could have just asked him not to come if that’s how you feel,” Laurel said, and he noted dimly that her hands were clenched into fists. She was ready to fight.

“It’s how I would have expected you to feel, given everything you used to believe in,” Tommy told her. “But he was always the exception, wasn’t he?”

“As it is, I believe you both should go,” the mysterious Athena said, walking up to Tommy’s side. Her voice was accented, but he couldn’t place the origin. “Thomas has guests and other matters to attend to.”

“That’s just fine.” Laurel turned and seized Oliver’s hand, marching him down the walk towards the front gates. She was seething, and Oliver didn’t know if her plan was to walk all the way back to his family’s home or to the Glades themselves.

“Let me call Digg,” he said, horrified to discover his voice sounded choked. Oliver blinked, and moisture gathered at the corners of his eyes. He had known and feared since the night he had failed to save Malcolm what Tommy’s reaction might be. The reality was worse than anything he could prepare for.

Laurel waited for him to place the call, then stepped into his space and pulled him into a hug after he had put his phone away. He folded around her, needing this comfort more than ever. How could his oldest friend have changed so much? Or had Oliver simply been the one to change, and it was too much for Tommy to handle?

“We need to know more about this Athena,” he decided after an unknowable time. Wherever she had come from and why, she was exerting a powerful influence on Tommy that worried him. He had to know what her aim was, if only for his peace of mind regarding his friend.

---

He had thought he would feel some sense of satisfaction or vindication. He didn’t.

Instead, Tommy had more questions than answers once again, a feeling he hated. If Oliver truly hadn’t known his father’s identity, then who had the Triad been working for that night? Who were they still working for?

Athena was convinced his father’s death was no accident or the result of a complication. “The waters I gave you are infallible. They heal, they do not cause further harm. Someone else must have acted to ensure your father’s demise.”

One of the people his father recruited. Probably they were inside the manor right now, playing the part of a mourner. It made his blood boil.

He retreated to his father’s office with Athena. It was high time to go through the files on what his father had called the Undertaking in full. It had waited too long already. Had he known the person behind the attack at the award ceremony would strike again, he wouldn’t have put it off. He could have saved his father. But he had always been a disappointment, hadn’t he?

I won’t fail you now, dad, Tommy thought to himself.

What truly interested him in the files was a folder his father had labeled Insurance. There he found documents detailing the crimes of each member of Starling City’s high society Tommy had always thought of as his father’s inner circle. Carl Ballard’s record of tax evasion; a voice recording of Robert Queen, confessing to involuntary manslaughter; and most importantly of all, Frank Chen’s connections to and dealings with the Triad.

“Shall I apprehend Mr. Chen?” Athena asked.

“Wait until everyone has gone home. I don’t want people thinking his disappearance is connected to my father.” Not yet, anyway. He wanted the facts before he did anything that might affect his father’s reputation, not when it was all he had left.

“Then I will go and prepare a site for the interrogation. I will inform you of the details.”

Tommy nodded, then wandered back down the hall towards the main room where the low murmur of voices waited. An interrogation. Since when had this become his life?

He supposed it had always been this way. Ever since he was eight years old, at least, and his mother had been ripped away from them. He had been shielded from the majority of the violence that surrounded them ever since, but it had never meant it wasn’t present. He just hadn’t been paying attention. He would have to work hard at catching up.

“Tommy, there you are,” said a familiar voice, and he found himself being hugged again, this time by Thea Queen. Sweet Thea, so innocent to everything happening around her the way he had once been. He pitied her and envied her in turn. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine, Thea. It’s not my first time losing a parent.”

“Yeah,” she agreed glumly. “Me neither. We, uh, just got the news the other night that Walter… he wasn’t taken. He’s gone.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, because it was the thing to say. He supposed he felt badly for her. Walter Steele had been more her father than Oliver’s, at any rate. But she still had her mother and brother, assuming the latter didn’t get himself killed out there on his ridiculous crusade.

“If you ever need to come over and like be around people, you know you can do that, right? You’re like family.”

“That’s kind of you, Thea. But I’ll be fine.” He left the young woman behind, his eyes scanning the room. It appeared Chen had already left. A guilty conscience? He’d know soon enough.

Athena called him late in the afternoon and relayed the address she had brought Chen to. When Tommy walked into the empty building — one of Hunt’s abandoned projects since his company had pretty much dissolved with his death — Athena was waiting with Chen bound to a chair, a black sack over his head. He nodded to her, and she ripped it off.

As Chen shook himself and blinked in the sudden light, Tommy slowly stepped forward. He wanted the man to see him now, to know what this was truly about.

Chen’s questioning gaze left Athena, and his eyes widened as he took Tommy in. “Tommy? What is this?”

“I think you know exactly what this is, Frank. The humanitarian award ceremony. Why did you hire the Triad to attack my father at it?”

Chen’s face had gone slack with despair as each word was spoken. “I didn’t.”

“You’re lying.” It was as if people thought he was born yesterday. Well, Tommy Merlyn had woken to the ways of the world now, and he wasn’t going to be made the fool ever again.

“I didn’t hire them! I only—”

“Only what?”

“Please, Tommy. You are not your father,” Chen begged. “You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, I won’t be doing anything,” Tommy promised. “Athena’s going to take care of that for me.”

A vicious grin rose on her lips as she withdrew a dagger from her belt. Athena held it up to the light, studying Tommy for a few moments before turning sharply on her toes to cut Chen across the cheek. The man cried out, and Tommy swallowed while shoving his hands into his pockets not to show them trembling. Chen would do better to talk; Tommy didn’t want to watch him be tortured, but he needed the information he had more.

“What was your role in the attack!”

“I only… I gave her the right number to call.”

“Her?” There were two women in this Tempest, as the group had apparently called itself. Councilwoman Pollard and Mrs. Queen.

Chen’s eyes were on the ground. “Moira. It was Moira’s idea.”

He froze. “Mrs. Queen?”

“Yes. After the Hood’s attack on her, she decided things were getting too dangerous. She wanted out, and she was convinced that Malcolm… that your father’s death was the only way to achieve that.”

Tommy stood there, unable to say another word. Mrs. Queen had done this? The woman had been something of a mother to him since he had lost his own, as much as he had allowed her to be.

“She chose the location and the time for the assassination. When it did not work as intended, she told me that would be the end of it. That we would wait and see.”

“And did she?” He couldn’t stop his voice from shaking, but Tommy didn’t mind that so much. It was in anger, not fear, and he thought Chen could sense that. “Wait?”

“I do not know. I tried to ask her today at the memorial, but she would tell me nothing. If she acted, something must have changed. I can’t think what that would be, other than her husband.”

“Walter?” What did Walter have to do with any of this?

Chen looked up, his brow furrowed. “Yes. Malcolm was holding him. You- you do know what he was doing, what he was planning? You can’t agree with it, Tommy. Please.” Chen leaned forward a little, only to shrink back when Athena moved the knife under his neck. “You must see it is madness.”

His father had been holding Walter hostage. Thea had said they had received the news that Walter had died. But how could that be if his father hadn’t even been conscious?

He needed to know what had happened to Walter Steele. Tommy turned to Athena. “Keep him here.” Then he marched back out to his car.

He went to the penthouse office rather than the house for expediency's sake. Tommy knew it was only down to how organized his father had kept things that he was able to find what he was looking for. A live feed to a dark room containing one living occupant: Walter Steele.

He was alive. Which meant his father had died for nothing at all.

Tommy was speeding back down the streets to get back back to the abandoned building, his mind so caught up in his anger and grief that he did not notice at first that the siren going off behind him was for him. With an irritated snarl, he pulled over and smacked his hand on the steering wheel as he waited for the officer to take his good, sweet time.

“Sir, are you aware you were going fifteen over the speed limit tonight?”

“Are you aware that I don’t actually give a shit?” He glared up at the man who gulped upon seeing his face. “Are you really going to give a man a ticket the night he had to lay his father to rest, Officer Brock?”

“No, Mr. Merlyn. Just, uh, just wanted to make sure you were driving safe.”

He smirked. “Thanks.” Tommy waited just long enough for the officer to step back before peeling away from the curb.

His fists were clenched tight enough he could feel his nails digging into the skin by the time he returned to find Athena standing guard over Chen while sharpening her knife. He slammed the side of his fist against the wall. “Walter Steele is still alive! So why did she do it?”

“I- I don’t know. I would tell you if I did.” The blood from his cut had dried on his cheek, a couple droplets staining the white collar of his shirt.

“If this man is useless to us, I can dispose of him and acquire the woman,” Athena offered, and Chen shuddered.

“No,” Tommy said. “Not yet. Mrs. Queen — Moira,” he corrected himself. She no longer deserved the respect. “Is a special case. We’ll need to be careful.”

The moment she was taken, Oliver would act. Oliver made this whole thing far more complicated than it needed to be, and the fact that his mother’s entire assassination plan had been precipitated by Oliver’s attack on her was all the more infuriating. If not for Oliver, his father would be alive!

There could be no physical harm brought against Moira Queen unless her son wasn’t an issue. And Tommy wasn’t sure he wanted to test Athena against Oliver. She claimed to be an elite fighter and had displayed a number of skills casually enough that he believed her, but the Hood had fought off impossible odds time and again this year. He had survived Tommy’s father, even. Striking out against Oliver would attract Laurel’s ire in turn as well, and while she was nowhere near the threat that Oliver presented, Tommy knew if it came to it, he could not harm her. Not physically.

But Moira was guilty. In her case, he might not have found himself so squeamish as to his father and Athena’s old ways. It just meant he would have to get creative, was all. One way or another, Moira Queen would receive retribution. This boiling rage inside of him would never cease unless she did.

“She just wanted the Undertaking to end,” Chen begged. His voice sounded a little hoarse. It had probably been hours since he had water. “The threats against our families—”

“If you wanted the Undertaking to be over, you would have turned my father over to the authorities. But you didn’t want your precious lives to be ruined by your own part in his plan,” Tommy told him coldly. “That’s what we’re all about in the elite high society circles, aren’t we? Appearances. Don’t try to pretend you cared what was going to happen to the Glades.”

“But you care. You’re not- you’re young, Tommy. You have your whole life ahead of you. You’re an innocent in all this. You don’t have to continue what Malcolm started.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

Athena looked at him sharply, but Tommy ignored her for the moment. She would see what he meant. An idea was slowly starting to form in his mind, something that might take care of his revenge on Moira and the matter of those earthquake devices sitting at Unidac Industries…

“Because you’re right. I’m not like my father.” Tommy paced away from Chen as he spoke. “My father cared about the Glades. Whatever you think of his methods, he wanted them to improve. You could even say he and the Hood were alike in that way.”

When he turned around to look, Chen was staring at him open-mouthed, stuck as if unsure whether to keep up his pathetic pleading. Athena was watching him, and he could not decide if she was doing so cautiously or curiously.

“I’m not,” Tommy announced plainly. “I have no grand plans or compassion for the Glades or its people. I’ve known since I was eight years old they can’t be saved. So I’m not going to.”

“Thomas.” Athena jerked her head towards the hallway. Tommy scowled, but followed her out. “You said you would uphold your father’s legacy.”

“And I will. But dad… nothing in his plans accounts for people who may work in, but not live in the Glades. Glades Memorial hospital is still open. The beat cops that patrol at night. It’s too imprecise, and I’m not comfortable with it. Should you really be?”

Athena blinked at him, the closest to surprised he had ever seen her.

“You told me you were going against what the people who taught you and my father stood for. We don’t have to do that. We can do things their way, seek their help.”

She frowned. “The League itself is weak. The Demon Head grows old, and has failed to secure a worthy line of succession. But I can teach you their ways and principles on my own.”

“Alright.” He didn’t mind the idea of training, in all honesty. Once he had gotten his revenge on Moira, he would be making an enemy of Oliver. Knowing how to defend himself was crucial.

“What of your father’s killer?”

“I have a plan for her.” The beginnings of one, at the least. He would need to perfect the details before he moved forward with it, but once he did, he wondered if his father might have been proud in some small measure. “We don’t need Chen any more.”

“I will need to silence him,” Athena said, in a tone that allowed no argument. “He is duplicitous and knows you will be moving against Moira Queen. He cannot warn her in advance, or you will lose her.”

She was right. And who was to say if Moira learned what he knew that Tommy wouldn’t find himself with a poisoned bullet in his chest next? Chen had Triad ties. That made him just as dirty as any of the people Oliver had killed this year. Probably more so. Why should he mourn a man who was party to his own father’s murder?

He drew in a breath through his nose and nodded. “Do it.”

Athena nodded back and slipped back into the room. Tommy turned and walked away down the hall, hearing the muffled thump of a body hit the floor. He knew what that sound was ever since he’d watched his own father fall.

It wasn’t retribution, not just yet. But it was close. And it wouldn’t be much longer now.

[stimmypaw]

stimmypaw reads the apprentice’s quest, a blog post

A big one, just a bunch of thoughts as I’m reading it, of course, lots of spoilers for the first book in the Warrior Cats series A Vision of Shadows. This will be covering just the first book tho, it’s all in the Read More, let’s gooooooo!!!!

Vision Of Shadows time

Lots of new cats!!! I don't remember these guys as kits or anything wrow!!! I like their names but itll take a while to get used to them

Also cant believe they printed stormcloud's dead name

Omg there's a cat named beepaw

I love these cats all of them so much im going 2 cry

All new names are perfect

I FORGOT HOW GORGEOUS THE CAT VIEW IN THE RECENT BOOKS WAS, LOVE IT LOVE IT LOVE IT

I'm glad leafpool smokes weed

I love reading from Jayfeather's point of view, his grumpiness hasn't grown on me ever but thats just me, I still enjoy it lots he's great and its fun

Firestar and Leopardstar's characterizations are On Point i love it

OOF i feel so bad when jayfeather is mean to others, poor kestrelflight, I love those two

Lovely Jayfeather moments now its time for the first chapter

I like this duo! Also I didn't think I'd ever say this but shut up squirrelflight one can have fun AND learn with their mentors

Sparkkit sounds nice she makes jingling bell noises when she walks around

Alderkit is chadphobic /j

I can see Alderkit taking deep breaths to relax its rotating in my mind its beautiful

God this first chapter feels so good and comfortable, like eating noodles and chicken nuggets. I am so so deeply in love with it, its gorgeous!

Sparkkit is so perfect too, and Graystripe remembering Firestar aaaaaa

DUSTPELT SAID WHAT? PHDHAHAHHA OH NOOOO I don't remember their relationship much, must have been fun, I love young little creature squirrelflight I MISSED HER SO BAD WOW

I started reading the second chapter and died, I think ill take a break now 2 sleep heehhee

I love them describing twoleg stuff its always so fun and alien, like watching an animal planet show about funny sea creatures.

Also I have determined sparkpaw is my favorite, might be my favorite cat ever next to hollyleaf??? I really identify with her and also she's autistic i have decided that

Alderpaw baby noooo hhhh their mentor at least is trying to show its okay, he seems very emotionally distant so far and alderheart feels very emotionally needy, actually both of them do, did I mention I love Sparkpaw??? I might be imprinting myself 2 much on her

I love how like, its clear both of them are absolutely anxious and worried about others opinions on them, which is clearly something they got from being Firestar's grandkids, deputy kids and leader kids. And bramblestar too, I recall him being quite the anxious lad ahhah. Sparkpaw will be showing confidence and being loud but the second anyone isn't approving of her or she does something "wrong" she gets small and quiet, and she ended up setting a high bar for herself by being good at hunting and fighting so I'm curious to see how that will go. Also there's nothing wrong with being guided through a crowded place to meet others Sparkpaw!!! I bet the two of them would be stuck without not knowing how to talk to others had Needlepaw not shown up. I love them, my gf is mocking me saying I'm a Sparkpaw kinnie.

Apprentices will like learn about a thing and tell everyone about it all the time and assume its always true in every situation and thats valid I love kids like that. Also in my head Needlepaw kinda looks like a porcupine. Oh boo she's fatphobic >:(

I love apprentices they are so fun and silly, just making fun of the leaders like its nothing. The way they are clearly learning and absorving everything their warriors say and do like sponges its just ***chefs kiss***

Omg shadowclan is just full of 12 year olds help

And then the old person said "it sure is hard being old!" And everyone clapped

Shout-out to pretty Riverclan apprentice #481977 I love her

Leafpool: 👁👁

Alderpaw: I knew it im cursed and awful and terrible and I will never amount to anything

I wish the cats didn't seem to be giving up on him so easily though

Ah yes the classic thunderclan move "you suck, into the medicine hole you go"

The way sparkpaw changes the things she says and how she does when it isn't the status quo around her oooooooooooooyeaaaaaaa I love 1 autistic cat

Alderpaw considering your problems lesser than other cats won't help you deal with them better bro

I love Needlepaw's excitement about Alderpaw being a medicine cat apprentice, and her sarcasm, she feels like a preppy teenager

Ahhh this is so good, I am so thirsty for family moments like this, just Alderpaw bonding with grandma, I’ll definitely want to draw this one it’s so sweet.

Oh to be young and silly.

I really am enjoying like, Alderpaw’s struggles to seeing how he fits in the clan, how he fits in himself, how he wants to be seen and what he wants to be, it’s really good. I Am Engaged(tm) With This Plot.

SPARKPAW NOOOOOOO but also Yes I want her to be shown vulnerable and weak please 

POP, god watching this stuff always awful, the cats must have thought he broke her ahahah

Also, really great that they learned from Dovewing and now like leave choices and discussions about prophecies between adults

And plus Brambles seemed to take the time to explain stuff to him, seems he wont be going alone either the 1 thing is that he will be the only one knowing what the journey is really about, why though??? I didnt read Firestar's Quest or whatever why does Skyclan need to be secret??? Seems quite silly really!

YESSSS SANDSTORM GET HIS ASS FIGHT FIGHT LOVE THIS LOVE SANDSTORM

I could feel squirrelflight nearing explosion here, this was very fun, i wish they werent hiding this though!!!

The secret thing is showing to be a plot point so I am once again Very Engaged

Also, wonderful dialogue bit, someone asked Bramblestar why an Elder is going and:

Lovely perfect perfect

I miss you dovewing

SQUIRRELFLIGHT LOVE YOU

Oh boy this is it

Traveling book moment

Graystripe: Soooo you're excited to go on the journey to the old territories and Skyclan?

Sandstorm: Yes! It's been ages and-

Graystripe: I'm sure the tribe will love the visit too

Sandstorm, groaning: Oh noooo I forgot about how the tribe is in the way of every journeyyyyy noooooo they're such a racist caricature, please tell me you have a plan

Graystripe: Yes don't worry about it the writers forgot about the tribe in my comic book so you can just use the excuses i did to actively avoid it

Sandstorm: Oh thank Starclan

Sparkpaw's desperation to prove herself oof, her anxiety with understanding the prophecy, oh boy, and Alderpaw feeling too overwhelmed by the questions and not managing to talk!!!! I am so glad they are both autistic

Hoping "Being Leader" wont mean theyre putting nonsense responsibility on the apprentice again

Ah good Sandstorm is on the lead again, as she should, she should have been leader she would have been great

I can't believe Alderpaw thinks I look stupid and diseased :( /j

Everything about this twoleg scene was scandalous I loved it, Sparkpaw just toppled over a trash bag and they are eating from it, iconic, also did those twolegs throw out a whole turkey? Damn

Its not that Sparkpaw is freakishly good at hunting she is very hungry and constantly on the watch for things to eat

BRO Ive never been in a road where the drivers are this wild, throwing bottles out of the car????? Ive seen Fruit being thrown like once or twice, what the fuck!!! I'm glad they are going to wait until the morning to continue

Okay I was not expecting Needlepaw to show up this girl is chaotic I love her

ACTUALLY YEAH WHY DIDNT THEY TELL THE OTHER CLANS ABOUT THIS SINCE THE PROPHECY IS ABOUT ALL THE CLANS???

Needlepaw is like Rono from Bambi 2 if he wasnt a mean bully and thats very epic

Very curious character though, how come her mentor isnt teaching her the warrior code properly? Is that an issue with all apprentices?? Is the clan overwhelmed by 12 year olds and they won?

Having lots of fun trying to play the game "what animal are they describing this time" the erins made here, im glad they're in a farm. Worried about Sandstorm though :c

Fuck im worried about sandstorm a lot, her wound hurt on Me

Yeah water is good youre right sandstorm

Aw man I hope she's okay let her at least survive to meet skyclan please

NOOOOOOOO SANDSTORMA A AAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Sandtteooonrjrbbbmmnnnnnnnnnn

I am so sad

Alderpaw denying it, Starclan shining upon their vigil, everything crushed me i cried

Alderpaw considers Nihilism

Haven't seen a cat thank starclan for prey in a while its

Oh look they time skipped a journey! They don't tend to do that thats nice

I'm so excited to be meeting The Skyclan that everyone in the fandom knows now

So far they seem kinda mean but thats most clans at first glance really

Okay somethings up

I uh have heard of Darktail pretty sure he's a bad guy so yeah something really bad happened to Skyclan

Am worried

Darktail sounds like an evil himbo* i may be enjoying him actually

*himbos are usually nice by default so he's just evil and stupid and strong

Does needletail know these cats already?????

Ah

Shit

Oh okay fuck

I've been quietly reading the rest because I am just concerned and I want them to be okay as quickly as possible

Waterfalls are a classic nice

Oh boy time for our unlikely duo of Alderpaw and Needlepaw to get out of a Mess!

I did not expect this to end up with the two of them journeying into parenthood, but I'm happy it did

Well actually I'm very unhappy theyre so lost and there's no sign of Skyclan I am very worried for everyone involved Sparkpaw must be feeling awful!

Twigkit is a great name

Yeah this ended terribly

Overall! Frigging loved it this book was GOOD and a great start for the series I am very excited to read the rest, SO WORRIED ABOUT SKYCLAN THO AAAA the characterizations were great the characters were great the pacing was fun and I didn't get bored once!

I think o only wish I had read this sooner really so I could look up others thoughts without getting heavily spoiled about the last books, I can watch a few videos already though thats a start ahhaha. But yeah it was great and it felt very good to read, haven't swallowed up a book so quickly in a very long time!!! Very happy I finally got my hands on this 💕💖💕💖💕💖 cant wait 2 start the next one

If you read all this, hope you had fun hahaha, ill be making more of these cus theyre fun and I like talking about warrior cats thats just my thing

Til next time

[bearly-writing]

So that gunshot wound fic you wrote was AMAZING. While savoring every word, I was thinking that I’d really love to also read something with older, Red Hood era Jay being protective of Dick. So, if you don’t mind, could I request the Burns square for Dick with Jay??

Thank you very much for such a lovely compliment! I am so sorry that this is taken SO long to write! I hope that it’s at least slightly what you were looking for and that you enjoy it :)

All of my prompts have now been requested! Thank you everyone who’s requested something - I know I’m getting through these painfully slowly, but I promise I am getting through them! :)

Under The Skin

Fandom: Batman

Prompt: Burns

Characters: Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Bruce Wayne

Warnings: Violence, Blood and Injury, Gun Violence, Gore, Burns, Acid burns, Torture, Permanent injury, Career-ending injuries

Summary: This is exactly what Jason means about Gotham’s villains. Two-Face can’t just shoot Dick, or beat him, or, hell, mutilate him a little. It has to be a fucking performance. It has to be totally goddamn insane.

Read it on AO3 here!

There will be a second part to this. I’ll add the link in here once it’s been posted!

The problem with Gotham, Jason thinks bitterly, is that everyone has a fucking gimmick. No one seems capable of doing anything in this city without putting on a goofy outfit first: Freeze, Catwoman, the Riddler, the Joker – fucking Batman can’t fight crime without his fur suit. It wears thin after a while. Jason is tired of the overwrought jokes and the overly-contrived crimes. What happened to the good old-fashioned thugs? What happened to a classic get-your-hands-dirty beating? Jason would take that over Batman’s rogue gallery any day. He would take a punch to the face over sitting here listening to Two-Face rattle on about chance and probability and rolling that fucked up coin between his fingers in a heartbeat.

“I’m a fair man,” Dent is saying, the coin flashing beneath the glare of the bare bulb above them: warehouse-torture-room aesthetic at its finest.

Jason snorts and Dick throws him a look that’s almost physical. It’s easy to ignore, though – Jason’s had plenty of practice.

“If you want it to be fair, then untie us and fight us properly.”

That earns him a cold look, but not much else. One day that sort of goading will work – until then Jason will have to make do with tugging fruitlessly at the cuffs binding his hands behind him again and snarling.

“I’m a fair man,” Dent repeats. He smiles with the side of his face that isn’t mangled flesh and exposed bone. “You’ve both been poking around where you shouldn’t be. I should kill you for that, but I want to give you a chance.”

Flash, flash, flash, goes the coin. Watching it makes Jason feel dizzy and he has to shut his eyes to stop the room from spinning, has to tighten his throat against the anxiety that’s slowly expanding in his stomach. A 50-50 chance. That’s Two-Face’s shtick. Not the most inventive gimmick in the world, but with a face like his, Jason supposes there aren’t many other options. Except not becoming a homicidal maniac, of course, but then, Jason doesn’t have much room to judge on that count.

Footsteps, loud against the concrete floor. A shadow falls across Jason. When his eyes snap open, almost automatically, Two-Face is standing over him, leering down at him. Jason tries to jerk away but there’s not much space to put between them whilst he’s tied to a chair.

Two-Face grins. Scarred fingers grip Jason’s chin, tilting his head up. “You first, I think.”

Flash, flash, flash.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jason can see Dick’s face, pale and tense, attention focused like a laser-point to the press of fingers against Jason’s skin.

“Red Hood doesn’t have anything to do with this,” Dick snaps, because he’s too stupid and self-sacrificing to not draw attention to himself. “If you really want to be fair, you’ll let him go.”

Because that has always worked for them.

Two-Face ignores him, of course.

“This side –“ The coin stops spinning. Two-Face holds it up between his fingers, the smooth side facing out. “- and you get to go unscathed. This side –“ A twist, then it’s the scarred side facing them. “- and I leave you with a little reminder of exactly why you should stay away.”

Jason rolls his eyes. Which came first, he wonders? Is it Batman’s fault that all of the villains in Gotham are like this? Or is Batman a product of whatever chemical is clearly floating around in the air too? He wishes Two-Face would let go of him. Wishes that he and Dick hadn’t crashed the villain’s party in the first place.

“Get on with it,” he snarls, because he can’t figure out how to get out of his bonds with Two-Face standing so close, and he’s been sitting in this chair for long enough that his ass has gone numb.

The coin flips up into the air and Jason tightens his gut to prevent his stomach from doing the same. It lands in the palm of Dent’s hand with a soft thud. The villain glances at it, and Jason struggles to read his face, but it’s difficult to parse an expression from the mess of scars. Then the coin is extended towards him. Shiny side up. Jason breathes a soft sigh of relief. Beside him, Dick strains in his own bonds, trying to get a look at Jason’s fate.

“Lucky,” Two-Face murmurs, but he’s smiling that creepy half-smile. Jason can’t tell if he’s angry or not. At least he lets go of Jason’s face, finally, if only to stalk across the warehouse towards Dick. “Your turn.”

“Let Red Hood go first – that was your bargain.”

“No,” Jason snaps, because he’s tired of feeling so out of control here and he’s tired of Dick throwing himself on the fire every fucking chance he gets. Jason doesn’t need anyone to coddle him, and he definitely doesn’t need Dick martyring himself for his sake – if only because the others would never forgive him for letting golden boy get hurt when Jason’s here to take the punishment instead. “Take that as Nightwing’s toss and do mine again. Or better yet, let us go and fight us properly.”

Two-Face just shakes his head, still smiling. The effect is unnerving – that bright flash of teeth that shouldn’t be visible even in the widest grin.

“Cute.” He stops in front of Dick’s chair. The vigilante glares up at him with a surprising amount of venom. “You both get your own chance with fate. Then you can both go free when I say you can go free.”

There’s another flash. The soft thud of metal against flesh. Jason can’t help straining forward, even as he works desperately at the cuffs around his wrists whilst Two-Face is distracted. The metal is digging painfully into his flesh, scraping the skin raw. Something warm trickles over his hands – blood probably, but Jason doesn’t have time to care about that. If he can just get the leverage he needs to break his thumb…

“Oh dear.”

One hand stretches out towards Dick. For a long moment, Dick just stares into Dent’s face, gaze locked resolutely on his. Then, as if he can’t help himself, he looks down. Dick recoils. It’s not hard to guess which side came up.

Shit.

Shit, this is bad.

“You cheated,” Jason manages, voice a low, gruff growl. It makes him sound uncomfortably like the Batman, he knows, but he can’t soften his voice when his anxiety is crawling up his throat and choking him. “You fucking cheated.”

Two-Face is on him before Jason even registers the movement. An arm slams hard into Jason’s throat, jerking his head up and rocking him backwards. Pain spears from the point of impact, racing down his spine, setting alarms blaring through Jason’s head. He tries to gasp a startled breath but he can’t suck any air past the press of Harvey’s arm. Pain and pressure lock his throat tight.

“Say that to my fucking face,” Two-Face snarls, inches from Jason’s nose.

Jason struggles. Gasps. The chair is tilted back dangerously, threatening to spill him onto the floor at any moment, but Jason can’t pull himself upright with Two-Face holding him down. Can’t drag in enough air to get the words out.

“Hey! Red Hood goes free. That’s what the coin said. You can’t touch him. Hey!”

Even through the fog of panic, Jason can hear the fear in Dick’s voice. It sends his heart rocketing against his chest. Has his pulse throbbing beneath Two-Face’s arm.

For a long moment, the villain doesn’t move. Then, finally, he pulls away. Jason rocks forward at the release of pressure, gasping in a solid breath of stale, dusty air. Instinctively, he tries to reach for his throat, but the cuffs hold him just as helpless as Two-Face had.

“You’re right,” Two-Face says, calmly, smoothing down his suit, as if he hadn’t just launched himself across the room to strangle Jason. As if he isn’t holding them captive in a sketchy warehouse, threatening them, hurting them. “The coin has decided you go free, Hood. But don’t test me. I can always flip again.”

Jason’s throat is still too tight to manage a scathing reply. He settles for baring his teeth, glaring as darkly as he can manage. Two-Face seems entirely unconcerned, turning away from him to focus his attention back on Dick.

“You’re not so lucky, huh?”

One hand braces against the back of Dick’s chair as Two-Face leans down until he’s right in the vigilante’s face. Dick doesn’t react, just stares back evenly. It’s hard to tell if the confidence is fake or not. Jason knows that Two-Face scares his brother. Knows that Dick still has nightmares, sometimes, from when the villain had beaten him senseless with a baseball bat well before Jason’s ill-fated turn as Robin. Jason understands that.

“Cat got your tongue?” Two-Face smirks.

Scarred fingers twist through Dick’s hair and jerk his head back, forcing his neck into a painful-looking arch. Dick snarls, teeth flashing, the muscles of his arms bunching as if he’s tugging on his restraints. From where he’s sitting, Jason can only see half of his face. Something cold and frightened blooms in Jason’s chest, an awful paranoia born of Two-Face’s proximity, Two-Face’s threats.

“Don’t touch him,” Jason snarls, and Dick’s head jerks, as if he wants to look over despite the hand in his hair holding him still.

Two-Face straightens but he doesn’t let go.

“Stop me,” he says, mildly. “If you can.”

Jason yanks harder on his restraints, feels the skin split beneath unforgiving metal. Snarls. There’s no more give than there was before. As hard as he struggles, he isn’t getting out of these cuffs.

A smirk. “That’s what I thought.”

***

This is exactly what Jason means about Gotham’s villains. Two-Face can’t just shoot Dick, or beat him, or, hell, mutilate him a little. It has to be a fucking performance. It has to be totally goddamn insane.

“This is a joke right?”

Jason tugs harder on the cuffs. It won’t get him anywhere, but it makes him feel a little better and it’s the only thing he can do with Two-Face standing behind him, scarred hand resting heavy on Jason’s shoulder.

He isn’t in the chair anymore, although they haven’t untied his hands. Instead, he’s kneeling on the ground, cold concrete leaching the heat from his knees. There are about fifteen of Two-Face’s men milling about, waiting for the entertainment, and Jason had been stripped of his helmet and most of his gear before he’d been strapped into the chair, but he thinks he could still make a good go of it, if he could just get his hands free. Or even without his hands, if Two-Face wasn’t holding a gun, resting it casually against the back of Jason’s head.

Dick won’t be much help either, and Jason isn’t sure he can take on sixteen people on his own. His brother is more securely bound, ropes wrapping tight across his chest, winding around his arms and cinching his legs together, tethering his ankles to his bound hands to render them immobile. Oh, and he’s also dangling in the air above a wooden platform covering what Jason strongly suspects is a vat of goddamn acid.

Honestly, Gotham. Sometimes Jason feels as though he’s fallen down the fucking rabbit-hole.

“I don’t joke,” Dent says from above him, voice mild, as if he’s commenting on the weather rather than someone dangling over a vat of acid. “I do like to keep to a theme though.”

A theme. Fucking hell.

“You would think you’d stay away from acid,” Jason says, nastily. “Don’t want to fuck up the rest of your face too.”

Two-Face doesn’t rise to the bait. Jason wonders if the theatrics are just for them, or if he’s always like this. There certainly hadn’t seemed to be any themes involved when Two-Face had shot Jason’s good-for-nothing dad dead. Just a short fuse and a gun.

But then, a thug is a thug – maybe caped crusaders require more pizzazz.

“He’s obviously jealous of my good looks,” Dick interjects, surprisingly calm for someone who’s good looks are in imminent danger.

Jason sneers – his skin feels too tight to manage any other expression, pulled taught across the bones of his face. “Well, you could always scar the other side Harv – if you’re looking for a way to improve that mug of yours.”

The gun presses hard into Jason’s skull, rocking his head forward until his neck aches, chin pressed into his chest, staring down at his own lap. It’s an uncomfortably vulnerable position.

“Shut up,” Two-Face orders, voice still mild. There’s no hint of the snarl from earlier, although Jason feels the phantom press of an arm against his throat all the same.

Jason kind of wishes he would lose his temper – Jason can work with anger, particularly if it’s aimed at him. Anger makes most people sloppy. Makes them react without thinking. All Jason needs is the opportunity. But Two-Face has pulled cool and collected Harvey Dent to the surface like a flip of the scarred coin that had doomed Dick earlier.

“My boys have been promised entertainment. The coin has decreed a punishment. Nightwing is taking a little dip and you’re going to sit here and watch it. Isn’t that right boys?”

There’s a ragged cheer. The pressure against Jason’s head lessens. For a moment he doesn’t look up, just keeps his eyes fixed on his legs, feels his heart punching against the curve of his neck. If he can’t see it, maybe it won’t happen. Maybe this is all in his head.

Except, when he finally lifts his head it’s all still there: Dick’s still dangling from that fucking rope like a rat caught in a trap; the vat of acid is still sitting underneath him; the goons are still milling around, watching Dick with hungry eyes. The gun is still hovering close behind Jason’s head.

There’s a flash of light at the edge of Jason’s vision. That stupid coin turning over and over in Two-Face’s fingers. What Jason wouldn’t give to snatch it out of the air, toss it down a drain or bury it under the earth, or maybe throw it with enough force to bury it in Two-Face’s head.

“Take him down,” Dent says. He could be closing a case in court, listening to his voice, rather than sending an innocent man to his death.

Or maybe there’s not such a difference there after all - Jason’s never much liked lawyers.

Across the room one of Two-Face’s goons closes their fist around the lever connected to the winch system Dick is dangling from. There’s a metallic clank. A suspended moment where even the air feels still, as if not a single person in the room is breathing. Then there’s a jolt as the rope holding Nightwing in place starts to unravel, dropping Dick down towards the vat.

“Stop!” Jason snarls.

Panic shreds his voice to something rough and painful. He strains against his bonds, against Two-Face’s looming presence, against the fact that this is happening. A heavy hand layers over his shoulder, pressing him down as he tries to struggle to his feet. Dick drops steadily downwards.

“It’s fine, Hood. I’m fine.”

Because Nightwing is a martyr to the end. Because even as he’s being lowered to his death, he can’t keep his mouth shut, can’t let a moment go by without nobly sacrificing his own wellbeing.

“Shut up,” Jason snaps.

Behind him, Two-Face chuckles, a low, awful sound. If Jason can just get out from underneath him. If he can slip his cuffs and get across the room and pull that fucking lever back up.

“Don’t do this, Dent. You bastard. Let him go.”

As if begging has ever helped anyone. Two-Face ignores him. He’s breathing heavily, fingers pressing savagely into Jason’s shoulder without the protection of his leather jacket between them. Around them, Two-Face’s men jeer and laugh as Dick inches ever closer to the acid beneath him.

His brother’s face is tight with fear now, that strange calmness completely gone, eyes huge and dark. He’s struggling, trying to gather enough momentum to swing himself out of the path of danger, but he’s bound too tightly to have much success. By now, his knees are almost touching the surface. Dick tries to pull them up, to curl them safely against his chest, but the rope between his wrists and ankles pulls taut, holding him in place.

A hollow, frightened sort of hope carves out a space behind Jason’s ribs. It’s the same sensation he had felt, through the agony of his broken bones, his ruptured organs, as he had leaned against the locked warehouse door, waiting for his father to rescue him. It’s stupid. It’s childish. Jason, of all people, should know that you can’t rely on a last-minute rescue, knows that even Batman can be too late. If they’re going to get out of here, Jason can’t rely on the bat. The only person he can rely on is himself.

“Wait,” Dick shouts. The whites of his eyes are bright against his dark skin. “Stop, please! Don’t-“

Batman isn’t going to make it. Jason isn’t even sure if Batman knows they’re here. It’s down to him. No one else is going to save them.

There’s a sharp crack as Jason’s thumb gives way. To Jason, it might as well be loud as a gunshot, but it’s mostly lost beneath the jeers of Two-Face’s men and Dick’s terrified shouts. Jason’s heart is punching so strongly against his throat that it feels a little like it might leap right out of him. He can feel the frantic throb of his pulse in his wrist. There should be pain, Jason thinks, numbly, as he slides his damaged hand out of the cuff, but instead there’s only adrenaline, bunching every muscle in his body, setting his heart ricocheting against his chest.

Two-Face isn’t looking at Jason. Instead, he’s focussed on Dick, exposed teeth and eye gleaming in the harsh light. Jason doesn’t spare any time following his gaze, or hesitating, or waiting for a better opportunity. He acts. Sweeps one leg out to catch Two-Face by the ankles. Rocks him back. Surges up to catch his flailing wrist. The arm in Jason’s grip gives with a satisfying snap beneath the pressure of his elbow and Two-Face howls. Jason lifts one leg and plants his foot solidly against the villain’s chest. The kick sends Two-Face flying, crashing to a groaning, hurting heap against the far wall.

In a matter of seconds, Jason’s arms are free, Two-Face is across the room, and Jason has a gun in his hands. When he spins to face the rest of the room, Two-Face’s men are staring stupidly, attention drawn by the sound of their leader’s scream, but no one has reached for their weapons. No one is prepared for Jason hefting the gun in his hands and opening fire.

There’s green crowding close at the edge of Jason’s vision. A wavering, blurry quality, as if Jason is under water. As if he’s back in the Lazarus pit, drowning in toxic green, water in his mouth, his nose, his throat, pressing in against his eyes. There’s a roaring in his ears, a swelling wave of noise crashing against him. And underneath that, the sharp rapport of gunfire – his and the thugs who haven’t yet been dropped like flies.

“Hood!”

The cry cuts through the strange, tinnitus-ring in Jason’s ears, the green-tinged fog in his head. He blinks. The voice is frightened. Someone’s in danger. There was something Jason was supposed to do.

Then Dick screams and Jason slams back into his body with a jolt like an electric shock.

The lever. Jason needs to get to the fucking lever, now.

Jason isn’t sure if he’s ever moved as fast as he does now, launching himself across the room. He gets a flash of a white, terrified face - the thug’s mouth dark and wide as Jason barrels towards him - before they collide with a force that knocks the breath out of him.

That terrible, agonised scream cleaves the air in two. Jason fumbles. His hands are slick with sweat and blood. They slide hopelessly against the rusty metal of the lever.

Beneath him, the thug struggles for his gun. Jason smashes his fist into his face. Ignores his gurgling cry - barely hears it under the siren-pitch sound of Dick’s pain. Reaches. There’s metal under his hands and something gives and somewhere in the distance Jason hears the rattle of mechanical movement and please, please let that be Dick being pulled free.

The thug is limp beneath him. Jason pushes himself upright in a sort of daze, feeling both very far away from his body and yet strangely present at the same time. The world seems to spin around him. Some of Two-Face’s men are still standing, but no one is firing at him. Most of them are on the floor, lying groaning in pools of blood, or clutching wounds, or crouching in fear.

Above them, Dick is writhing on the end of his rope like a worm on a hook. The black material of his suit is dark around his knees. Liquid drips off of his legs in a slowing stream, splattering across the wood and concrete as he jerks and twists in his restraints. The scream has tapered into a high, choking keen. It’s...it’s a noise unlike anything Jason’s heard before. It pours icy water down his spine, tightens his skin until he feels claustrophobic in his own body, twists cold fingers through his gut.

Dick was dunked - that much is obvious. Dick is hurt. That’s acid clinging to the weave of his suit. Acid darkening his legs. For a long moment, Jason feels paralysed by the realisation. Dick is hurt, Dick is injured, and Jason doesn’t know what to do.

Get him down. That’s the first thing. Jason needs to get him safely on the floor and away from that goddamn vat. He moves almost without meaning to, as if his brain is trailing behind his body, still caught up a few seconds ago. One of the goons, startled by Jason’s sudden movement, fires off a shot. It goes wide, splinters the wall somewhere behind him. Jason doesn’t turn to look. He doesn’t care. If the bullet had ripped through his shoulder, he’s not sure if he would even have noticed.

The gun in his hands comes up automatically to return fire, but Jason doesn’t stop to aim or to check if it hit its mark. He keeps his eyes fixed on Dick. There are a set of shallow steps leading up to the platform. Jason scrambles up them. His whole focus laser-sharp on Dick, his world narrowed to the dark shape of him, the contorted twist of his legs. The rest of the room might as well not even be there. But no one fires on him.

Jason has nothing. Nothing but the gun and his own hands - his jacket, his knives, his fucking boots are all in the other room. Jason could shoot him down, but the acid is still beneath him, and if Dick falls…

But it’s not like Jason has any other choice. If he doesn’t get Dick down now, who knows what could happen. He’ll just have to catch him. He’ll haveto.

Jason launches himself at Dick a second before his gun goes off. For a breathless moment, Dick is free falling, dropping like a stone towards the acid below him. Then Jason collides with him, hard enough to knock the breath from both of them, sending them both crashing to the wooden platform.

Beneath him, Dick makes a choked, breathless sound of pain. Jason rolls off of him as quickly as he can. Fumbles with the ropes holding him tight. Doesn’t look at his legs even as he frees Dick’s arms and torso. Carefully avoids touching where the rope is damp and already falling apart.

Dick writhes. It’s hard to tell whether he’s trying to free himself, or just too caught up in the pain and fear and confusion. His eyes are wide and white, his mouth dark where it’s stretched around the awful little sounds of pain he’s emitting. When he finally frees his arms from the ropes, he reaches automatically for his legs, blindly, and Jason catches his wrists and holds them tight.

Dick’s pulse thrums like a desperate bird beneath his fingers. Jason’s own pulse is beating almost as hard, a sick, throbbing rhythm at the hollow of his throat. When Jason finally glances down at his brother’s legs, his heart almost leaps right out of his mouth.

The fabric around Dick’s knees has melted away almost entirely, leaving ragged, bald patches in Nightwing’s uniform. The skin underneath is already blistering. The flesh is raw and wrinkled, pink and wet in some places, bone white or blackened in others, as if the skin is already dead. Jason has to swallow bile at the sight of it. Feels acid burn at the base of his throat.

Water. He needs water. Needs to get the acid off Dick’s skin. He should cut the uniform off too, get the contaminated fabric away. Or should he? Would removing the fabric, practically melted onto Dick in some places, only make the wound worse? He doesn’t know. He can’t remember. Jason knows that Batman taught him this - knows that first aid for burns was one of the first things he had learned. But the fog in his head is too thick and he can’t think.

Not that there’s much Jason can actually do. There isn’t exactly a handy water source in the middle of the huge concrete warehouse and all of Jason’s gear is piled in the other room: his comm, his jacket, his gloves. Jason is scared to touch Dick’s legs. Scared to hurt him and scared to disable himself. The last thing this situation needs is Jason with acid on his hands.

All he can seem to do is clutch at his brother’s wrists and stare, helplessly. Dick’s face is white, a wet sheen of sweat glimmering in the bare orange light. His mouth is just as wet, parted around his ragged breaths. Each exhale comes out as a whimper, little helpless noises of pain.

“Hood.”

Dick’s eyes roll sightlessly. Jason can see the whites all around them. The words are pressed out between gritted teeth.

“Hurts. Fuck. Fuck. Help. Jay, it hurts.”

It trails off into a high whine. Dick jerks, all of his muscles tightening, knocking his head back against the metal floor of the walkway. It looks a little like he’s having a seizure, his entire body tight and twitching. Jason tightens the fingers around one wrist and tries to cushion his head with his other hand.

“You’re OK, N,” he babbles, feeling useless. Panic draws his stomach tight, a hard, heavy ball in his gut. “You’re gonna be fine. You’re gonna...B will be here. He’ll come. It’s OK.”

It’s all meaningless, but Jason doesn’t know what else to do. They can’t rely on Batman, as much as Jason might want to. Batman’s only human. It’s Jason who needs to get Dick out of here. He needs to get water. Needs medical attention.

His hands flutter over Dick’s legs, his chest, too frightened to land. Dick moans, a low, rattling sound. Jason could get him under his arms, but the last thing he wants to do is drag Dick’s ruined legs across the ground.

“Who’s cheating now?”

The voice is surprisingly close. Jason hadn’t heard Two-Face get up. Had missed the soft thud of his footsteps beneath the sound of Dick’s pain. But the voice comes from right behind them - as if Two-Face is standing over them, and suddenly Jason is painfully aware of the fact that he had slung the gun onto the floor beside him in his haste to get to Dick. That he doesn’t have any of his gear and Dick is incapacitated and not all of Two-Face’s goons are out of commission.

He crouches low, trying to cover as much of his brother as he can. Beneath him, Dick writhes, staring blankly up at the ceiling high above them. Two-Face steps closer. Jason can feel the heat of him against his back. He tenses.

There’s an ear-splitting crash - splintering wood and glass - and a huge, dark shape barrels through the boarded-up window. In that moment, Jason understands exactly why so many people are terrified of the Bat - his almost mythical status. Because now, a shadow against the shattered window, cape spread wide, face grim beneath the cowl, he could be a demon. A nightmare. Despite knowing that Bruce is on his side, for a moment Jason is terrified.

He ducks and Batman flies over his head. There’s a dull thud as he collides with Two-Face, then a garbled cry as the two of them shoot over the edge of the platform. Jason doesn’t turn to watch. Beneath him, Dick’s face has gone slack, his eyes half-lidded and Jason is too preoccupied with fumbling for Dick’s pulse. It’s too fast. Too weak. But it’s there, still, threading beneath his fingers.

“What happened?”

Jason starts at the sound of Batman’s voice. It’s low and strained, even gruffer than normal. Jason recognises it as panic, although not many people would. It touches Jason’s own fear, sharp and bright in his chest.

“Acid,” Jason murmurs. “Two-Face dunked him. I got him out before...but his - his legs…”

A hand lands on Jason’s shoulder, warm and firm and reassuring, and Jason hates how grateful he is for that small touch. Hates how, despite everything, Jason was relying on Bruce showing up.

Batman crouches beside him. There’s a water pouch in one hand, drawn from the recesses of his cloak. His mouth is tight and pinched as he pours most of its contents carefully over Dick’s legs.

Jason can’t help himself. “It’s bad, isn’t it?”

Batman ignores him. Reaches up to touch the comm hidden in his cowl before sliding a knife out of his utility belt and slicing it carefully across the ruined fabric covering Dick’s legs. Batman’s gloves are thick black leather. Jason wonders if it’ll be protection enough, or if Bruce just doesn’t care.

“Agent A?”

Jason can’t hear Alfred’s reply without his own comm but it must be immediate, because Bruce launches right into the situation with barely enough time to draw breath.

“Nightwing is injured. At least second degree acid burns, possibly third degree. Basic triage applied.”

The knife slices through fabric like butter. The dark exoskeleton of Dick’s suit peels away beneath his hands. The flesh underneath is raw and wet - an awful, gory mess. Jason has to stare hard at Batman’s hands to keep from gagging.

“We’re heading back to the manor, but we’ll need an ambulance to meet us there. I think this is beyond our capabilities.”

Can Alfred hear the muted terror in Bruce’s voice? The little tremble? The low rasp at the back of his throat? Probably better than Jason can, but Jason hears it well enough to have his skin prickling, to have his heart rocketing against his chest.

Most of Dick’s suit, from the top of his thighs to his ankles, is stripped now, lying in tattered, half-melted shreds around him. Some of Dick’s flesh had gone with it, adhered to the fabric in a way that has bile surging up the back of Jason’s throat. Dick is still unconscious, thank God, face loose, chest rising with too-shallow breaths.

“Help me with him,” Batman murmurs as he rinses his gloves with the last of the water. Then he unclips his cloak, tucking it carefully around the open wound that is Dick’s legs.

Jason moves dumbly as Batman orders him. Hooks his arms under his brother’s armpits. Batman cradles Dick’s legs as carefully as he can, fumbling to find a spot that isn’t as badly damaged. Still, when they lift Dick into the air it must hurt, because he jerks back into consciousness as if electrocuted, eyes white and wide and rolling in his head. Jason tightens his grip to stop Dick writhing right out of his arms and Dick lets out a punched-out little noise of pain.

“Calm down, Nightwing,” Bruce orders, voice a low growl, and Dick goes still and quiet with a strangled whimper, as if he can’t help himself obeying.

“B? Hurts. My - my legs -“

“You’re OK,” Batman reassures - or maybe that’s an order too. Maybe if Batman says it sternly enough, Dick will be forced to make it true.

“Told you B would get here,” Jason murmurs. His own pathetic reassurance.

Batman’s head jerks up. Through the flat white lenses of his cowl, it’s difficult to read his expression, but Jason thinks that’s something like grief in the tight lines around his mouth. Something like guilt in the way he ducks his head.

“I’m here,” Batman agrees, although it’s clear that Dick isn’t listening. “Hold on Nightwing, we’re getting you home.”