#like step back! no gesturing at em! no turning to the camera and doing a moralising soliloquy! enough! just leave em be!

[luxraydyne]

inhaaaaale if i had a quid for every time a stranger has tried to condescendingly overexplain to me how a use of X ableist trope isn’t abelist at all Actually bc it’s supposed to be about Love and looking Past disability i’m just being mean and/or stupid. i mean it’s not as if i wouldn’t need my disability benefit anymore but like. i could order a takeaway innit.

[ddejavvu]

Hungman - Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Summary: Jake's camboy endeavors are not unbeknownst to you, and one day you take him up on a teasing offer to join

Requested: ohhh how about thoughts on camboy Jake (screen name Hungman) whose best friend walks in on him after a show and he jokingly invites her to join him next time. she accepts (shocking Jake bc she’s lil miss sweet, shy, good girl) and when it comes show time he finds out just how nasty his bestie can be (I’m talking her begging him to be mean and nasty and “spank me daddy please!!!” which blows his mind). he makes bank that night and invites her back to his bed anytime. show or not.

Contents/Warnings: best friend/roommate!jake, smut (minors dni), rough sex, oral sex (m receiving), AFAB/fem!reader, ever-so-slight degradation, p in v but from the back, penetration, no mention of protection, teasing/joking daddy kink (she says it once to piss him off so it's not really a kink i don't think), camboy!jake

WC: 2.8K / navigation

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

"Jake, I found the rub you were looking for last week, it was only- woah!"

You come to a screeching halt in the doorway, watching as your roommate doesn't seem rushed at all to cover up his bare lower half. He's got a lazy smirk on his face, standing with his sweat-slicked chest on display as his hands hover almost uselessly over his dick.

"Oh, good," He nods, holding eye contact with you as your gaze threatens to slip lower, "Meat for dinner tonight. then. Sorry," He apologizes a moment too late, glancing down at his bare form, "Stream ended late."

"No worries," You give him a small smile, bag clutched tighter in your hands, "Sometimes I forget you do those things, m'never here to see 'em."

"Oh, yeah? You wanna be?" Jake chuckles, reaching for a towel while keeping one hand still over his cock. As big as his hand is, it's no use there.

"Wouldn't mind joining," You shrug, "It would be nice to have some extra pocket cash."

"Joining?" Jake's laugh is even more incredulous now, and he rubs the towel through his sweaty hair rather than wrapping it around his midsection, "Darlin', the day you join me is the day I'll keel over in shock."

--

You march towards Jake's room clad in tight lingerie, black lace snug to your skin.

"Get ready to keel over," You command, stepping over a stray sock in his doorway, "Ready to do this thing?"

"Woah!" Jake's eyes widen as he turns, clad in only tight briefs. It gives you a very intimate view of his clothed cock, and all of a sudden the fabric seems a lot tighter.

"What's the plan?" You ask, readjusting the strap of your bra, "Just, drop down on the floor and fuck like rabbits?"

"Y/N," Jake breathes, chest heaving with shock, "What- what are you doing?"

"You said I could be here," You huff, cocking a hip out and crossing your arms, making your tits pop, "What, you changed your mind? I wasn't kidding, I need money."

"You're really joining?" Jake asks, face the picture of a disgruntled Ken doll.

"No, Jake," You sneer, narrowing your eyes, "I was actually planning on going for a walk in the park. Just wanted to see if you'd join me."

"Alright, alright," Jake's shoulder slump from where they're tensed at his ears, "No need to get snippy, missy."

You see his dick twitch. He likes snippy.

After a bout of awkward silence, Jake gestures to a camera set up on his desk.

"Camera's there," He reaches up to scratch the back of his neck, "Not on yet, though. We're gonna go live, so I can't edit out your face. You got a mask, or something?"

"Nah," You shake your head, "Not unless you want me wearing your helmet."

"That's-" Another dick twitch, briefs straining to contain him, "-not a bad idea. But I probably shouldn't use government-issued equipment for porn."

"No fun," You lament, striding over to the bed and crawling onto the mattress on your hands and knees. You're fully presented to him, ass up and head down, wriggling your hips as you wait for the beep of the camera.

"So," You shimmy, "Anytime soon, big guy?"

"You're really ready for this?" Jake asks, hovering by the camera with an uncertain gaze.

"Just-" You huff, straining to meet his eye with a desperate look in your own, "Fuck me, Jake!"

His eyes darken, his jaw clenches, and you swear his briefs nearly rip.

"Okay," He murmurs, low and dangerous, and you hear the click of the camera's recording button.

"You," Jake drawls, sidling up behind you and gripping your hips in his strong hands, "Have been a very naughty girl."

You scoff at his stereotypical porno-style dialogue, playing along anyways, "Oh, yeah? What did I do, daddy?"

You hear his breathing hitch, and his fingers dig harder into your flesh.

"You've been watching my streams," He murmurs, dangerous and accusatory. Your stomach bottoms out, you have. You aren't sure how he's figured you out, but you have, and until now, you'd thought you were getting away with it. He wasn’t hard to find, and you have to give him credit for his creative screen name: Hungman.

"All this time," He hums, slowly smoothing his hand over the fleshy globes of your ass, "You've been buried under the covers in your room, those pretty little hands of yours sinking in your cunt, huh?"

Then, after a moment of silence, he hums, "Yeah?"

You nod, almost shamefully, and you're given a sharp smack to the ass in response.

It makes you cry out, and your voice blends with Jake as he roars, "Answer me!"

"Yes!" You yelp, breathing heavy as you push your ass further towards him, in search of another surge of pleasure, "Yes, I- I've been watching your videos."

"And last week," He drawls, rubbing your sore ass with his massive, rough hand, "Caught me damn near naked. You think I didn't see how flustered you were? Think I didn't notice how tense those shoulders were, huh?" Jake's large hand moves up your back, squeezing at your tight shoulder. You gasp at the feeling, his fingers prodding at sensitive muscles.

"This whole time," He stalks around to the front of the bed, cock out and hard near your face. It makes your mouth water; you nearly choke on your drool.

"This whole time you've been thinkin' about me, haven't you?" Jake asks, running a soft hand through your hair, "Fingers buried in that wet cunt of yours, stuffin' a shirt- my shirt in your mouth to stop from moanin'."

"How do you-" You stammer, but Jake cuts you off, hand tightening in your hair.

"I saw you." He reveals, "'Came in to give you your laundry. You left the door open, baby. Did you want me to see?"

"No," You shake your head, but it doesn't go far with his hand in your hair, "No, I- I didn't know you were home."

"Didn't know," Jake scoffs, dick stiff, "I walk like a damn elephant, Y/N. You knew."

"I didn't mean for you to see me," You insist, but oh, you did, "Honest, Jake, I swear!"

"Don't swear," He sneers, letting go of your hair to lean over and swat at your ass again, "This is what you wanted, baby. This is it," He slips a hand under his hard cock, pushing it towards your face, "Take it, darlin'. Take it, this is what you wanted."

You lean to the side, tongue already out in anticipation of taking Jake's dick into your mouth. But the second before you can get a taste, though, he backs away a step, leaving you open-mouthed and whining.

"Look at that," He chuckles, reaching with his free hand to grip your jaw, thumbs hollowing out your cheeks, "So desperate. You opened right up for me, baby."

"Mhm," You struggle to speak through the grip Jake has on your cheeks, "Yeah. Want your- your cock, Jake."

"Filthy," He scoffs, releasing your face to land yet another smack against your ass. You let out a broken whine through pursed lips, but you feel the head of Jake's cock bump them, and you're opening your mouth eagerly once more.

"Take it," He scoffs, "You want it so damn bad. There," He jerks his hips forward, jamming his dick so far into your mouth that it's nearly down your throat, "That good enough for you, baby? That what'cha wanted?"

"Mhm," You nod vigorously, mouth subsequently sliding up and down the shaft of his cock. "Thank you," You pant around his length, words mumbled and drooly, "Thank you, Jake."

"Good manners," He praises you with a cocky glance towards the camera, "Showing off for the audience?"

You give your hips a wiggle for the camera, and your ass jiggles with the movement. Jake groans, fisting a hand in your hair once more, "Come on baby, don't tease."

He tugs you further onto his cock with the hand he's tangled in your hair, and your throat constricts without warning, an involuntary gag. You choke, spluttering and coughing as he barely lets up, hand not only pulling your head forwards but pushing it down, too, fully taking your mouth with his hard length.

You run your tongue against the underside of his cock and curl it up around the tip. It's difficult to do with how deep he's buried inside your mouth, but you rear back against his hold and take a gulp of fresh air with the motion of your tongue. When your wet muscle flicks through his slit he hisses, hand nearly ripping your hair out.

"God," He gasps, this time using his grip on your hair to pull you off of his cock, grunting and groaning as you chase after him with your mouth, "Ease up, darlin'. Easy, I- I've gotta get inside you."

The only way you'll let him take his cock out of your mouth if is he puts it inside of you. You go limp, knees already tired and arms even worse. But nothing deters you from the excitement of being fucked from behind by Jake.

When you feel his large, rough fingers tug at the strap of your panties, you expect them to ghost over your ass. But they plunge for your cunt instead, prodding at the end of your slit.

"Ah!' You seize up, stiff as you try getting a glimpse of him, "Jake, I-"

"I don't have the patience to work you open," Jake apologizes, thumbing gently over your tight asshole, "Your cunt's already wet, darlin', just- god," His fingers hit a gush of slick and slip easily into your pussy, "I need to be inside you now."

"Okay," You nod, panting as Jake's fingers nudge roughly at your clit, "Oh, god, Jake, just- fuck me!"

"Don't make me spank you again," He grumbles, one hand guiding his dick towards the end of your slick slit, "I am, brat."

"Yeah?" You wriggle your hips, egging him on, "Can't feel you yet. Maybe you don't have as big of a dick as I thought, cowboy."

Jake chooses to show, not tell. In a quick second, his cock is rammed so far into your cunt, you see stars. Your only warning had been the soft stretch of his thick fingers, but this, this is rough, aggressive, demanding.

"Feel it now?" Jake spits, leaning over your back to sneer against your ear, "'S rippin' your pretty little cunt open, darlin'. Still think it ain't that big?"

"Use it," You grunt, gritting your teeth so that you don't moan. You don't want him to have the satisfaction of getting to you, "Move. Fuck. Me."

You're not the only one good at following orders. Maybe it's the navy training in him, but he's obedient, but he rears his hips back, his thick cock dragging deliciously along the walls of your wet, hot cunt.

He sets a merciless pace, jackhammering his hips into your own hard enough to split right through your cunt and jam his dick up through your throat. His balls slap against your thighs, and the speed at which he rams into you shakes the bed, his headboard slamming repeatedly against the wall.

"There," He grits, breath hot against your shoulder "You happy? You're pretty demanding for a bitch on her hands and knees."

"Harder," You beg, finally letting a strangled moan slip through your lips, "Harder, Jake, I need more!"

"Gonna fuck you through the wall if I go harder," Jake scoffs, nipping at your earlobe. He reaches up to pinch your clit between two rough fingers, twisting and teasing the oversensitive bud, "What about that, baby? That better?"

"Ah! Yes," You gush, drilling your hips backwards as Jake's pinch turns to circles over your clit, "More, Jake, I need- I need more!"

"More," He mimics you, bumping his lips into the side of your temple so that you turn and raise your head to try and meet him. It's killer on your neck, but it's the only way you can mouth desperately at his lips.

"So damn greedy. Is that what you were moanin' into that shirt of mine, darlin'? Beggin' for more, for the real thing?"

"Yes," You pant, lips pressing desperately to his own, over and over again from that awkward sideways angle you're barely able to reach, "Yes, Jake, I- I need you!"

"Tell them," Jake urges, parting from the sloppy side kiss he'd attempted and grabbing your face in his free hand. One is still circling your clit, but that means that his weight is on you, and you're barely able to hold yourself up with him on top. He yanks your head to the side, putting your drool-covered chin and fucked-out face on display. He's wearing a cocky smirk. but you can't see it, and only when your face is in position does he plant his hand back on the mattress and take his weight back.

"I need you, Jake," You moan, pathetic and desperate to the camera. You feel Jake's dick twitch inside of you, and his fingers circle faster at your clit. It sends a surge of arousal so powerful rolling under your belly that you nearly cum right then and there, but it fizzles out to wait for another wave.

"Ah! I need you," You repeat, babbling with a half-open mouth now, "I need you, I need you, I need you so bad, Jake!"

"Agh," He grunts, teeth biting and nipping at your bare shoulder as his hips jerk forwards even faster, a near-impossible pace, "Yeah? Yeah, oh fuck, scream for me, baby, come on."

His cock is rock hard, leaking, twitching, and slamming into your most sensitive spot. You let a steady flow of whimpers and moans fall from your lips, but as Jake's dick pistons harder in and out of you, they turn to screams.

Jake's cum floods your cunt. There's no other word for it than flood, it gushes from his tip and gets slammed into your cunt, having nowhere to go but out. You feel it ooze around his shaft, and it's sticky and hot against the walls of your cunt as he chases his high. He does fuck like a rabbit, hard and fast, and the feeling of him milking his dick in your pussy sends you over the edge with another rolling surge of pleasure.

"Ah!" Your mouth hangs open, eyes squeezed shut and thighs trembling with both the force of your orgasm and the effort of holding yourself up. Your climax makes your cunt spasm, and Jake feels the way your cunt squeezes his cock, clenching relentlessly and sporadically as you get fucked through your own high.

"Oh," He pants against your back, lips pressing to your dewy skin, "Oh- Oh my god,"

"Fuck," You hiss, finally slumping forwards where you'd been arching your hips backwards to get more of Jake's length in your cunt, "Oh, fuck! Jake," You breathe, "I- God, that was good."

"Mhm," He hums, dick still nestled snugly inside your cum-filled cunt as he takes a moment to breathe. His hand falls from your clit, and his forehead presses to your back before he breathes, straightening up and alleviating the pressure of his weight against you.

You have no problem collapsing your elbows and letting yourself slump to Jake's mattress. You're drained, and you can barely remember to keep your face turned towards the camera as Jake pulls out of your cunt. Once he's out, you let your knees straighten, your hips falling to the sheets below.

"Jesus," Jake huffs, thumbing at the puffy lips of your cunt and smearing some of his cum against your ass, "I made a real mess of you, darlin'."

"S'okay," You grunt, too spent to care about any clean-up, "Just- turn off the camera and come lay with me."

You do hear the click of the camera, and a few stray keyboard strokes. But your eyes drift shut, and they only reopen when you feel something warm and wet against your cunt.

You almost wish it was Jake's tongue, but it's not. You're too tired for that now, you think, but it's a suggestion for a later date.

It's a washcloth, and you must have been too hazy to hear the sink water running from the bathroom. Jake cleans up your puffy, stiff entrance, placating you with a warm hand on your thigh when you squirm and hiss at the sensitivity.

"I know," He croons, wiping away the last smear of his cum against your ass, "I know, darlin'. It's over now, you can sleep."

"No," You whine, reaching blindly for him, "You too, cowboy."

"Alright," He chuckles, soft and tired, "C'mere."

He tugs you to one side of his bed, and crawls over you to the other. He gathers you in his arms and you let him, limbs going limp as he tucks you against his chest.

"We made a ton of money," He informs you, lips dotting against the tip of your nose. He rubs his large hands over your back, a soothing gesture that helps you slip further towards sleep, "Come back any time, baby. Camera or no camera."

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

[fanficfanattic]

Just watched the Wembley confrontation approximately 30 times so I could write down the exact dialogue. And to get more of the body language and gestures down. The scene lasts for precisely two minutes. (37:07-39:07)

James pokes his head into the room asking, “Are you decent?” Laughs as he crosses the doorway.

James walks past the security guard to enter the room, puts his thumb to his nose, before saying to the guard, “I told ya” and then to himself, “prick.” Laughs.

James is only a bit into the room before he says to the room, “Oh, gentlemen, gentlemen.” He throws his arms wide and mockingly groans before laughing again.

James is now fully into the center of the room and turns a bit to try and address all of the team. Says “Hey, it’s a tough one lads. It’s a tough one, but no shame to it.”

“Cause, you know, we only ever” pretends to tap his temple like he’s trying to remember something: “beat,” does a few feet bounces and fake little punches, “uh, everybody we play.” Laughs again.

James turns to Lasso who does the quickest fake Midwestern polite smile while Roy stands next to him stiff and angry. Will is looking over his shoulder, between the two coaches, stocking or taking out bottles from a mini fridge maybe?

“So you pups had no chance,” while once again spreading his arms. He finally looks right at Jamie and lets out a fake gasp before saying “Oh.” As though he is disappointed to see Jamie is actually standing there.

He points double finger guns at him while adding, “And there he is, my son.”

Says “My own flesh and blood” with mock grief in his voice. He stares at Jamie from half a room away, and bounces on his feet again.

“Poor Jamie, my son.”

He rocks his hips loose even as he brings his pointer finger to his nose. Does an exaggerated sniff. Then he goes back to addressing the room at large. Faces one way as he starts to talk.

“Now,” and he gestures with his right hand, then turns to take in the other side, “maybe I’m thinking his heart’s still in Manchester” and he gestures with both hands slightly towards his own chest “and that’s why he missed that sitter in the first half.” He points a finger into the air like he’s having a eureka moment.

Chuckles. Does another of his fake sympathetic groans.

“Oh ho ho.” And then lets out a little “Whew!”

Then starts tiny jogging towards Jamie while sing songing “You absolutely bottled* it.” He stops to throw his head back, arms wide, and then straightens up to slow walk closer. He laughs while saying, “You bottled it!”

Then he’s only a few steps away from Jamie and starts pantomiming some boxing moves. Ducks just a bit, has his hands in fists doing small jabs. “What were you thinking?”

Then he is right at Jamie and continues to do the small jabs, not hard, but landing like small pokes right against Jamie’s stomach. Jamie ever so slightly steps back. James pauses for half a second and then does an extra jab pushing Jamie another half step back.

James lets out a teasing “Ah ah ah.” Then “I’m only kidding, hey.” Before laughing again with a bit of a cough in the middle.

Ted does not look impressed and Roy has titled his head back a bit to squint at the man. Will is focusing on the mini fridge until James starts talking again. This time more quietly and just to Jamie.

“Hey, look, uhh…do us a favor…” and he comes back on screen as he moves his hand from his face, while sniffing, but like he’d just gestured Jamie closer or perhaps had gestured to his ear to indicate Jamie should listen to him. He continues “and get Denbo and Bug past security.”

James moves his right arm to indicate the stadium on the other side of the wall. “They wanna go on the pitch-” then he mimes raising a camera and clicking it. Jamie’s mouth turns down into a frown while his head gives the smallest shake. “-take a few snaps and all that, yeah?” Before licking his lips, letting out another sniff, and bouncing on his feet 2-3 times.

Jamie finally says something, which is to answer his dad with “I’d rather ‘em not.” He stares a hair over his father’s shoulder, not making eye contact with anyone.

James looks a bit to the side, not in embarrassment nor seemingly worried what people were thinking about his son turning his request down. More like he didn’t actually need to look at Jamie anymore.

“Yeah, they only want to look around.” And he looks back to Jamie again but it’s because he’s miming a guy jab with his left hand while saying “It’ll only take a second.” Then mimes punching him right in the jaw with a weird sound effect noise. “Doosh(?).”

James mouth drops open into a wide grin and chuckle.

Jamie repeats himself word for word, “I’d rather ‘em not.” But he is slightly louder this time and looks right at his father. He nods his head ever so slightly.

Offscreen James responds with, “What?” Then focuses on his face returning to mockery.

“What, you’re not gonna all go moody little bitch” while looking Jamie up and down, continuing, “just cause you got your arse served to you on a plate, are ya?”

Jamie is quieter again when he responds with “Don’t speak to me like that.” Jamie is back to not meeting his dad’s eye even as James starts bouncing on the balls of his feet again.

Then he pushes a little closer in to Jamie, face seemingly open to hearing what Jamie has to say, before going “ahuh?”

Jamie repeats himself word for word for the second time. “Don’t speak to me like that.”

James repeats his “Huh?” while pressing closer again, head tilted as though to hear him better. Jamie tries to repeat himself for a third time but his dad interrupts with his own third “huh?”

When Jamie finishes, his dad says “Huh?” a fourth time and then pulls back a minuscule amount to look Jamie in the eye.

James says to him “Okay, well,” and James lifts his right hand to flick up in the air. “-let’s see if you can hear this, hmm?”

Beard is shown in the background seething. James is still right in Jamie’s face, where he sniffs again, before leaning a bit closer as though to whisper.

“You know that ‘ickle tv show’ you made?” And makes broad gestured quotation marks even. “You just made it easier for Manchester City” He flicks the first finger of his left hand up like he’s about to count off things but instead uses it to point at Jamie while adding “to kick you to the curb!”

Then he leans back with a grin to continue mocking Jamie. He even adds a tongue waggle of his own.

“And look where you are now.” He laughs in his face. “Twaddling about with a bunch of…”

He spreads his arms wide and spins 180° to address the whole room. “…amateurs! No offense, no offense.”

No one responds to him, so he gives more of a belly laugh, and scratches the side of his nose with his right forefinger. Then turns around, leading with that finger pointing at Jamie. Who is not only not looking his father in the eye, he’s truly looking downwards for the first time.

Then he flattens his mouth and starts to turn away with his dad going “Huh?”

James grabs Jamie’s left bicep with his own left hand, to swing him back to face him yelling “Don’t turn your back on me” then pushing Jamie while finishing with “you pussy.”

Jamie pushes off from the foot he’d stepped back from his dad with to throw his punch.

James hits the floor, palms stopping his fall, with a groan. He pushes half up onto his hip and puts the back of his hand to his face.

Jamie’s face is in a pained grimace.

He pants out “Jesus god” while glaring venomously up at his son. Which must be when he notices that Jamie is wild eyed and terrified. The grimace is gone and instead he looks stunned.

James laughs before pushing himself up to standing, Jamie’s mouth parts while his dad is saying “Oh, yeah. Okay.”

Once standing, James says “You can have that one for free.” And gets one bounce in while readying his own fist.

Which is when Beard grabs him and says “Time to go.”

While being dragged towards the door, James is still trying to fight Jamie. “You wanna go, big time. Hey? Let’s have it, Jamie!”

Beard almost has him to the door when James screams “Don’t you forget where you came from!” Then Beard gives his “watch the door” warning while pushing James’ head against the door.

Edit 2: @kaph123 asked if James said “balled it” (what cc says and I originally posted despite some questions) or “bottled it” (a more common expression). I did a relisten and it sounded like balled BUT also like the accent might be in play. @itsjustpoopeh listened with better headphones and revealed there was a bit of a stutter which indicates its most likely Mancunian consonant dropping and should be bottled. I changed it above!

Edited to add the comfort we all needed at the reminder of our tender human hearts from @thetarttfuldickhead 🤣

[xbadgerbearx]

chapter 2: taxi

word count: 2.8k

Sonata in Darkness: [1] ... [3]

“Anni? Baby!?”

Selina marched through the apartment and quickly left you to search the rooms. The entire apartment was destroyed: furniture was flipped over, glass littered the floor, and the cats swarmed you as you entered. Unbelievable. Your friend’s muffled voice was calling out for her lover and growing ever more desperate. Staring ahead in mute shock, you pet the nearest cat numbly as Batman shuffled through some papers. 

“Jesus, what’re they gonna do to her? She didn’t do nothin’.” Selina sighed as she took her place beside you. “Shit, they took my phone…”

“-the killer posted the following message on social media. We should warn you, the video is very disturbing.” Focusing your attention to the TV that was left on, it cut to a self recorded video with heavy breathing.

“Hello, people of Gotham,” the video started. “This is the Riddler speaking. On Halloween night, I killed your mayor because he was not who he pretended to be.” Batman was transfixed. “But I am not done… heeeree is another-” The camera flipped around to reveal a bound, naked man with a rat-cage contraption imprisoning his head. “-who will soon be losing face. I will kill again, and again, and again… until our Day of Judgment, when the truth of our city will FINALLY be unmasked.” The Riddler gleefully said goodbye as the news reporters started talking again. “Commissioner Savage served a distinguished 30 year career-“

“Holy shit, I seen that guy too,” Selina shakily said.

“Yeah,” you noted, “At the club.”

“The Iceberg Lounge?”

“44 Below,” you corrected Batman.

“What’s that?”

Selina rolled her eyes. “The club within the club—the real club… It’s a mob hangout.”

“Is that where you work?” Batman inquired.

She paused for a brief moment. “No, I just work the bar upstairs so I see ‘em come in, but she,” gesturing to you, “works below.” 

The man glanced at you before prodding Selina. “Who?”

“Everybody. Lotta guys who shouldn’t be there, I can tell you that. Your basic, upstanding citizen types.”

“You’re going to help me on this,” he demanded, glancing back and forth between the two of you. “For your friend.” You and Selina shared a look. 

“You got a lot of cats,” commented the man after your lack of replies. 

“I have a thing about strays,” your feline roommate confessed.

Batman turned to leave, “You’re not safe here,” he concluded, giving you one last look before stepping out of the broken door.

Selina called after him, “We can take care of ourselves.”

“Can we?” you whispered.

“Of course. Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“-with two public figures now dead in just the last two nights, and only days before the election, police and city officials are left searching for a killer, and hoping to find him before he kills again…”

————————————————————————————————

“Ow—I don’t know about these things.”

“I need to see in there, this hunting ground,” Batman mumbled to Selina, too engrossed in setting up his equipment in an abandoned diner. Putting in the contacts he had given wasn’t much of a challenge, nor too painful. Squeezing your eyes tight, you made sure that they slid comfortably into position. 

Selina looked bothered as she picked lint at her trench coat. You both were wearing your typical club uniforms, although you had on a full length faux mink coat over yours. “Why am I starting to feel like a fish on a hook? I’m just looking for Annika-“

“That’s why you’re staying upstairs,” Batman interrupted, only sparing a glance in her direction, “and she’s going down.” He pointed at you but didn’t take his eyes off his surveillance equipment.

“It’ll be just like a normal night, Cat,” you reassured. “Can’t be too different from what we already do. You remember the plan?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she waved off. “I stay upstairs and look out for trouble while you go downstairs and scurry around like a rat. Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome here will, uh, do whatever it is he’s gonna do.”

Done setting up his tech, Batman turned around with his attention directed to Selina. “Look at me,” he ordered. She faced him and he inspected the lenses very closely, checking for any imperfections. He nodded his head slightly. “Looks good.” He took a step in your direction, “Now you. Look at me.” Facing him, you looked into his eyes, trying to find anything. His hand cupped your jaw as he scanned them, although judging by the length of time it took compared to Selina’s, something had to have been wrong. 

“Everything okay?” you wondered. 

He tilted your head side to side before answering, “Perfect.” He took a few more seconds before finally looking away and reached into his pocket. Earpieces. You and Selina each took one and made your way to the building. 

“He better find Annika,” Selina growled. 

“I’m sure we’ll find her,” you replied. “We just have to get through this tonight.”

She sighed, “ Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Making your way into the club, you both strutted in silence until Selina broke it in the dressing room. “Rat?”

“Yeah?”

“Be safe, please,” she muttered, taking a hold of your hand and squeezing it. “I can’t lose both of you.”

“Oh, Selin—of course I’ll try. Stay safe too,” you soothed before taking a turn to the 44 Below entrance, leaving Selina. 

The bouncer, Kenzie, smiled at you, “Long time no see, baby, how’sit goin’?”

“That’s one of the guys I got into it with the other night.”

Hearing Batman’s voice in your ear made you jump a little, you forgot he was there.

“Oh, I’m sorry honey, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“Looks like I broke his nose.”

You played it off with a short laugh, “It’s alright, I was just spacing out. I’m here for my shift.”

“Kenzie, Williams. He’s an off duty cop.”    

“Yeah, I figured,” he smiled politely. “Have a good night tonight. Drain those men of their tips, am I right?” Sharing a laugh, he let you into the elevator that takes you underground. The doors shut.

“Friend of yours?”

“No. He works here most nights so I see him often.”

“Hm.”

The doors opened up to reveal the party; it had a relaxing vibe with the techno music and dim lights. Unfortunately, you had to pass by a valley of men who sized you up like meat.

“Don’t look away,” Batman ordered when your gaze lowered. “I need time to make I.D.s—“

“Great,” you huffed. Lifting your head, you walked slowly and smoothly while trying to analyze all their faces.

“These guys have a little trouble with eye contact, don’t they?” You noted the irritation in his voice. 

“What? You don’t like men lookin’ at you like candy?” He said nothing back. You strolled around the area a bit, not picking much up, before heading to a more secluded part. It was lined with booth tables and small lamps. 

Pausing to lean on a wall for a break, a man nearby called out, “Excuse me?” Following the sound led you to a tall, average man with glasses that sat at a booth. You’ve only seen him a couple times before–a quiet type–but you strolled on over. “I was, uh, wondering where the bathrooms were?” He played with his hands nervously; he looked as if this was his first time talking to a girl before. It was a little cute. 

“Parker, Patrick. A nobody. Leave him”

Ignoring the man in your ear, you smiled sweetly. It was literally your job, after all. “Of course, sugar, it’s down that hallway, second door on the left.”

He bashfully looked away, “Do you mind showing me? I went that way earlier but couldn’t find it.”

You gave it a quick thought. I mean, he didn’t look like a drop head—why not?  “Sure thing,” you volunteered. He rose from his seat and waited to follow you patiently. Hooking arms with him, you led him away. His face went a deep red.

The man pulled out $10 and tried handing it to you, but you gave him a weird look. “Oh, am I not supposed to tip you?”

“For showing you the bathroom?”

“Er, yeah?”

You laughed, genuinely. Poor baby must not get out much. “No, hon, you don’t need to do that. Keep your money.”

The man’s smile faltered before his awkward demeanor came back. Playing with his hands, he asked, “Would you mind keeping me company for a while? I don’t really know anyone.”

You entertained the idea before Batman intervened, “He’s wasting your time. Leave him now.” 

“I’m sorry, but I have to go. I’ll make sure to look for you throughout the night, though,” you apologized. He was already starting to grow on you.

His face went a bit pink before responding, “O-oh, that’s alright. I’ll keep an eye out as well. Have a goodnight.” He slipped behind the door and into the bathroom before you could say anything else. Sighing, you made your way back towards the booths and perused the aisle, continuing to I.D. people. A man, mid-drop, looked at you starstruck so you quickly avoided eye contact.

“Wait. Who was that—?” 

“I got plenty a good look—“

“—Look back—“

“If I do that, It’s not gonna—

“I need to see his face—“

Sighing with an eye roll, you stop in your tracks and peered over your shoulder. The man took it as an invitation to stumble over. 

“That’s the D.A.… Gil Colson.”

“God, happy? He’s comin’ over.”

“Talk to him.”

“Hey, how you doin’? I’m Gil,” Colson said with a dopey grin.

Throwing on a plastic smile, you fawned, “Oh my— aren’t you the D.A.?”

“Yeah—!”

“—wow! I’ve seen you on TV!” 

“Is that right? I’ve seen you work here a couple times when I come in. It’s nice to see a familiar face ‘cause people are a little on edge.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I live on the edge.”

“That so? I like that,” he chuckled. “Do you want to come over?”

“Sure,” you purred. He led you to a group sitting at the table and offered a seat.

“This is Travis, Ritchie, Glen,” he started. 

“That’s half the D.A.'s office.”

“And you know Carla here, right? That’s Cheri—don’t mind her, she’s taking a break.” She had drops in her hand. “We’re just here to drown our sorrow,” he concluded before offering you some drugs.

“Oh, no thank you—but don’t mind me, sweetie, you go ahead and enjoy.”

“Thanks. I got a lot on my shoulders with that psycho running around.”

“He’s wasted.”

“No shit,” you blurted out in response. 

Gil Colson looked at you for a second before chuckling, “I like this girl.” He thought you were responding to him. You giggled. “I mean, this Riddler, he’s—he’s going after the most powerful people in the city. He knows so much—“

“He doesn’t know shit, man,” his buddy hissed.

“What’re you talking about? Yeah he does! What about that rat—“

“Hey, hey, Gil, come on. Think you maybe had a little too much. Slow down,” a different buddy chimed in.

“The rat. Ask him about the rat.”

Looking through your lashes, you placed a hand on his thigh and caressed it with your thumb. “Hey, you got a vermin problem? What’s goin’ on, honey,” you said, voice sultry.

He dragged a hand down his face before taking a deep breath, “I mean, there was a rat. We had an informant—we had big time information on Salvatore Maroni. That’s how we got him out of the drops business.”

“He’s talking about the Maroni case.”

“But if this guy knows, it’s gonna come out. And when it does, this whole city is gonna come apart.”

“Okay, I don’t want to hear this,” a girl said beside Gil. “This is the kind of pillow talk that got that Russian girl disappeared.”

“Hey, what do you know about that,” you demanded, your demeanor changing instantly.

“Keep him talking.”

“Does anybody want a drink,” the girl asked as she stood to leave. You stood too, about to follow her, when—

“Stay put. I’m informing Selina right now.”

You seated yourself and smiled politely back at Gil. He took another drop; you started to feel uncomfortable. Just as you thought it wouldn’t end, a nerd in shining glasses appeared.

“It’s you again,” he exclaimed. He seemed less jumpy and a little more relaxed—confident, even. ‘Maybe he had a drink to calm his nerves?’

“Hi! Did you need somethin’, hon?”

“Uh, yeah, can you help me with something over here for a second?” He led you away from the D.A. and back to his original table. You both took a seat.

“What’d you need?”

“Oh, nothing,” he confessed. He went a bit pink again before continuing, “I was keeping an eye out and saw how uncomfortable he was making you.”

You gushed; how sweet was that? “Aww, honey, I appreciate that,” you thanked. “Been a while since someone decent showed up around here.”

Batman returned in your ear, “What happened? Where’s the D.A.?” He sounded frustrated, but something told you it had more to do with Selina than you leaving Gil.

“Men these days don’t know how to treat a lady right anymore,” the man in glasses sighed. He extended his arm in greeting, “I’m Eddie.” You accepted his hand. “I can’t wait ‘til this city finally undergoes real change.” 

“Oh, you talkin’ about Bella Reál?”

“Even bigger than that. I’m waiting for some real, powerful, and lasting change—something that’ll really open the water gate. All the powerful people in Gotham just lie and deceit people. Aren’t you tired of that?”

“You’re wasting time with this clown. Go ahead and leave.”

“No.”

“No? You like corruption?”

“What?” You realized that you had responded to Batman instead of Eddie. “No—I mean—Yes, the amount of criminals out here are crazy. There’s almost more in office than there is on the street,” you scoffed with a grin.

Eddie mirrored your grin, “Exactly! Man, is it refreshing to find someone so like-minded. Say, what did you say your name was?”

You didn’t give him your name earlier, and you were about to when—

“Times up. Leave or I’ll come get you myself.”

Huffing, you smiled back at Eddie. “I’m sorry, sugar, I’m gonna have to call it a night. My feet are killing me.”

“Oh, did you need help walking back to your-“

“No thank you! I got it. You enjoy the rest of your evening,” you excused yourself with a wink as you left the table. Halfway to the exit you see Oz and Falcone.

“Hiya, baby.”

“Hey, Oz.”

“Hey…” Falcone crooned. “Been a while since I’ve seen you, gorgeous. How’ve ya been?” He reached out and caressed your chin with his thumb.

“I’ve-I’ve been okay… I was just, um, I was just finishing my shift.”

Falcone smirked, “Well… don’t be a stranger.” You left for the bathrooms after he walked away.

“You know Carmine Falcone?”

“I work at the mob spot, of course I know him.”

“You didn’t tell me you had a relationship with him.” He sounded angry.

“I don’t have a relationship with him. Never did. What’s your problem?”

“Well, that’s not what it looked like.”

“You don’t believe me? You really gonna be an asshole about this?” Your reflection stared back at a very pissed off self. 

“Are you going to tell me the truth? You seeing another one of these mobsters? Some loser nobody?”

“Okay, I’ve had enough,” you hissed. “I’m risking my neck down here—I’ve done everything you’ve said, and now you're turning on me?” You pulled out the contact case and reached for your eyes. “What’s it matter to you if I’m seeing some ‘loser’ anyway?”

“Wait—what are you—?

“I’ve had enough of your bullshi—“ Batman’s camera immediately cut out as you took out the contact lenses. Taking a long, deep breath, you calmed yourself and pocketed the contact case. He could hear you mumbling curses, up until you remember you had the bud in your ear and took it out. Surprisingly, by the time you left the club you found Selina waiting and leaning against a wall.

“He piss you off too?”

“You could say that,” you mumbled. Linking arms with her, you set off to find a taxi. Before you could, the door behind you slammed open. It was the D.A.

“Hey! Lost you in there.”

“Yeah, I gotta go.”

“Oh. You—you need a ride? I’m right there,” Colson pointed to his car just off to the side.

“No, thank you, we’re good,” Selina barged. “Taxi!”

“Will I see you ‘round?” You glanced at him before rushing into the taxi cab that pulled over. The driver set off, leaving him in the dust.

Inside his car, however, was a very angry man in glasses. “You just don’t know how to treat a lady right, do you?”

================================================

[flimflamfandom]

Roll 'Em!

A sad story about a phone call

Content warning: Medical trauma (No gore, but mentions of things like cancer, etc.)

-

Sometime in June, 1936. A sound stage.

"Lights."

The lights were turned back on.

"Camera."

The cameras pointed at our stars - Henry Johnson, and Ivy McMurray, both posed dramatically. Ivy was leaning on a cafe table, and looking all manner the well-to-do snob. Her nose turned up at her tea, and her eyes looked down at Johnson.

"QUIET!" The director shouted.

Johnson stared, in his thin work shirt, and knit cap, smiling up at Ivy.

"ROLL 'EM!"

The snap of the slate brought the tableau to life. Ivy sipped her tea. Johnson stood. "Oh, but really, Miss Harper, you can't deny you're at least a little-"

A phone rang.

The director, in the booth, went into ballistics. He'd been trying to get this shot all damn day. The actors? Fine. The effects? Swell. The sound?

Good lord, the sound. It had been the source of all of today's headaches. And now, the ONE phone NOT insulated from the stage goes off.

The director rushed out of the booth. "CUT!" He yelped, as he walked over. "Dinsmore." He wore a face of extreme disdain...then...shock. He looked over at Ivy. "What would you be calling her for-...private. Oh." He nodded, and looked over. "Ivy. It, uhm...it's the doctor."

"Oh!" Ivy nodded, and hurried over. She picked up the receiver. "Hello? Yes....oh. Oh, uhm...right...right, no, I understand. Is he going...is he gonna be back at the house? I'll need to find a nanny or something if-...oh. Alright. Thank you doctor. Is he there?" She nodded, and waited. "Calvin..." She held up a finger to the director, gesturing that she would be a moment. She stepped through a door, only closing it a tad to talk to her husband.

everyone knew what this was about.

Calvin didn't write this film, but roughly the same crew had worked on his last one. He'd mentioned tail stiffness, dizziness, fatigue - he'd said something about a lump. Everyone was pretty certain what it was.

It wasn't any good.

Ivy walked back into the soundstage. "I love you too, alright? Hug baby Finn for me, we might be here a while longer. Whatever happens. I love you, Calvin."

She hung up the phone. She took in a deep breath, and collected herself. She sighed it out, and walked towards the cafe table again. "...Phil, I'm okay to keep going for the moment."

"What was the call ab-"

"I'm ready for the moment." She said, nodding swiftly, gesturing him to hurry things along. He nodded.

-

An hour passed. Ivy, adroit and slightly smiling, sat back in her chair. She sipped her tea once more. "Well...I suppose there could be...an arrangement." The words dripped from her like melting wax. The entire crew sighed with relief. Phil got up from his chair, exited the booth, and raised his hands in victory. "Folks, that was the last one we needed." The crew cheered - the other actors did, too. Ivy sighed with relief, and stood. She walked over to Phil, and shook his hand.

"Say hi to Cal, for me, will ya?"

"I will." She nodded slowly, and walked towards her locker, towards her car, towards home.

She opened the door, and saw him there, on the couch, holding their son.

"...Ivy." He smiled faintly up at her. She leapt into him, and held on for dear life.

"...I missed you, too." He said.

[shiftgear-engineer]

Update. It was me. I don't know why this is happening.

[Video attached]

[Axyl is sitting on top of what looks like some kind of box, an uneasy expression on their face. A few Driftveil miners are standing around in the background and off to the sides. They face someone just off screen.]

"Do we seriously need to do this? I don't think experimenting with...whatever this is...should be our priority right now. Clay needs to-"

"O' course we need to! You said it yourself this weird shit doesn't happen whenever the old man's around! You really think if you told him all this he'd believe you without some kind of evidence?" [The offscreen voice has a thick Galarian accent]

"I...ehm...no...guess not,"

[A young women steps into frame trailed by a Lairon. Instead of the usual uniform worn by Axyl and the others, she's wearing faded overalls and a cap commonly seen in the Galar region. Her blond hair is tied in two pigtails.] [She leans against the crate as well, then waves to someone off screen.]

"Bring it over, mate! Turn it on, then set it down near 'em,"

[An older man holding an old fashion portable radio enters the frame. His back is to the camera, but a bit of greying hair is visible from under the helmet.]

"If this breaks my radio you're paying for it. Can't find these that easily anymore,"

"Don't worry, I will! You can have a cut of my paycheck to cover it! Just set it down."

[The radio is switched on and set down between Axyl and the girl in overalls. It begins to emit a low static that nearly drowns out what sounds like some kind of talk show.]

"Ok now Axyl, try touching it,"

"...are you sure I should-"

"Go on! You need good proof, aye?"

[They hesitate for a moment, then reach out and place their hand carefully on top of the radio. The static suddenly gets extremely loud, accompanied by a feedback whine. There's a murmur amidst the other miners and some are pointing and gesturing. A few laugh.]

"Ohhh that's freaky! It's like that-"

[An extremely loud sound emits from the radio and the surrounding work lights flicker, almost going out completely. Axyl recoils their hand, visibly frightened, and the static fades again as the lights flicker for a brief moment longer before stopping. A muffled voice says something quietly through the radio, then it switches off completely on its own.] [There's a moment of uneasy silence. The woman removes her cap and wipes her forehead.]

"Bloody hell...that was..."

"I don't want to do this anymore,"

"Hey, are you alright? You look like you're about to faint-"

"I need to go above ground! I can't be down here! I'm not doing this!" [A visibly distressed Axyl suddenly stands up and rushes away.]

"Wait! Just sit down for a minute! You're shaking!" [The woman follows them.]

[The older miner and a younger one approach the radio. The older man tests the radio, which turns on as if nothing happened.]

"Would you look at that..."

"Weird, isn't it? You know they touched Tavarius' radio and it made that same noise earlier today. It's so bizarre..."

"They aren't a ghost type specialist?"

"No! The only ghost type they've got is a Rotom and Rotom don't do this,"

"...you know...this may be unrelated but...there's something else I've noticed..."

"What is it, Tibor?"

"...in all twenty or so years I've worked here...I've never seen this place completely empty of Drilbur...but today, I haven't seen a single one,"

"...shit...you're right...I haven't seen any today either-"

[There's a low battery alert, then the video ends.]

[dongiovannaswife]

reborn and rebuilt

Collab with @softlimefluff @sunshine-shitposts 💕💕

I'm so happy to have reached this point on this arc and see how every arc from past years has culminated on this!!

Arc's Masterlist.

CW: medical stuff, suggestive content (one scene), unreality, mentions of death.

***

Fugo’s bored: it's not like he wants something to happen because if it did he'd be the first responsible for such an incident. Maybe it's just the lack of change in his surroundings that's tiring him out… Unlike the others, he doesn't want to leave his spot and have someone else monitor the cameras, too caught up wanting to do his best for the Giovanna's.  

Leaning on his elbow, his hand moves every now and then, making him lose sight of the multiple cameras —however, he stops once Kishibe Rohan comes in sight, Akashi before him: judging by the way Akashi’s gesturing, he can tell he’s going on detail about one of his stories. 

How could he forget the time he confessed his… Bizarre life before being a stand user: He still couldn’t believe he used to be one of Oda Nobunaga’s men. 

Sighing and leaning back on his chair, he takes one long sip from his coffee, looking around until he spots Paolo and Abel by the front doors. Rome’s Capo doesn’t look so well, leaning against the wall clutching a mug—their conversation comes through the earpiece, making him stop and listen, even if it goes against his morals. 

“The thing is, have you noticed how many, if not all, cultures and religions mention the number twelve?” gesturing vaguely, Paolo counts down every example with his fingers, “Twelve apostles, twelve months, twelve constellations, the twelve labors of Hercules, the twelve Greek gods. Twelve. This started in October…” 

Abel nods, finishing Paolo’s sentence. “...Twelve.” 

Sighing, Fugo speaks up. “Abel, you should take a break. You too, Paolo. I’ll get West and Pietro there in a second.” 

*** 

Akashi has been ranting for a while now, drifting from anecdotes to actual gossip—and suddenly, as if reminding himself of his initial motives, the short, pink-haired man looks back into Rohan's eyes. “So, Kishibe-sensei, you know I'm a stand user, right?” 

Hands stuffed into his pockets, Rohan nods, brow furrowed, almost as if he feels insulted by the question. Pondering his reply for a second, the mangaka nods: “I assume everyone in this mansion is one. Giovanna wants powerful people around to protect his family.” 

Akashi scoffs, resting a hand against his katana and nodding. “That's right, man's crazy. Don't tell him I said that though!!” Walking a few steps further, Akashi looks back at Kishibe-sensei with a smile. “By the way, let me tell you something.” 

Rohan's brow furrows further —and though he's suddenly reminded of Josuke's comment on how he looks like The Grinch when he frowns, he still brushes it off, letting the swordsman carry on.

“First off,” Akashi starts, a soft and relaxed sway on his walk down the hall, like he's dancing and walking at once. “Have you ever heard of Oda Nobunaga?”

Rohan scoffs. “Of course. One of the three unifiers of Japan.”

Akashi laughs, wholeheartedly. “Then you're gonna shit yourself, man!!!” His expression turns serious, pausing in the hallway a moment. “I was one of his soldiers. My stand, No Plan B, has the ability to not let me die no matter what happens to me.” After letting the information sink in, Akashi’s grin soon returns. “Like the song says: I will survive, I will survive!~” 

“You’d need that ability with everything that happened back then…” Rohan muses thoughtfully, glancing at the bedroom door, so close, yet so far away.

“Right?!? You wouldn’t even believe the kind of scrapes I got into back then… I’d be glad to tell you more stories if you want, sensei! Maybe you can use 'em as material for your manga, y’know??” 

Holding in a breath, Rohan attempted to calm down. Even if Akashi would be a valuable asset, he didn’t like being told what to do by a stranger. “Perhaps some other–”

“So there we were, the whole field and mountains before us, only horses, our katanas, and–”

Standing there listening, Rohan knew it was going to be a while longer before he could make the few step walk into their guest room. He narrowed his eyes slightly, thinking of some semi-polite way to escape. Just as he was ready to interrupt, Akashi's phone rang, Fugo on the other side. 

“You gonna be done any time soon, killer queen?? We still have assignments, you know.”

“Oh damn, what time is it??”

“Too long… Kishibe-sensei has been glancing at the door for the past 10 minutes, dude.”

Eyes widening, Akashi hangs up and bows low, uttering apologies and backing away slowly, then running out of the hallway. Shaking his head, Rohan finally gets to the door, walking inside and very quietly shutting the door again.

Breaking into a smile, he walks over, finding Ellie asleep in a mini bed and Ari napping on the couch. Just like at home. Pulling out his phone camera, he snaps a few pics of Ellie to remember the moment and walks over to Ari, kneeling and petting her head softly.

“Ari, baby??”

She wrinkles her nose gently, letting out a soft whine, and opens her eyes slightly, groggy and still sleepy. “Mmmmmgh???”

Rohan chuckles, laying his palm on her cheek. “Go back to sleep, just wanted you to know I’m here.”

“Mmmm.” Nodding slowly, Ari closes her eyes again, one hand still holding onto his. Kissing her knuckles softly, Rohan pulls his hand away and drapes Ari’s blanket back over her. They all had a long flight and none of them slept particularly well, so he didn’t blame her for needing more rest. 

Brushing a thumb over her cheek, he stands, going to make sure Ellie is okay, watching over her quietly as he checks his email.

Spam. Spam. Interview request. Fanmail. Spam. Izumi–

He opens that one, reading over her latest editorial notes:

Rohan-sensei,

In reading the new chapters you sent me, I think the concept is good, but perhaps you could make the reasons for Myo’s quest more obvious? While we all love a mystery, I believe he needs more evident drive for exploring the Coralius Library. His character, while somewhat curious, should have a better reason for being there. Pulling plot points out of thin air is possible, but not the complex and expertly planned storytelling your readers have come to expect. Please revise and turn in new storyboards (at least for the next chapter) within a week. 

-Kyoka Izumi

Swearing under his breath and rolling his eyes, Rohan sits down hard on the bed, flopping back onto the covers and racking his mind for ideas. 

What more reason does Myo need than pure curiosity??? 

Looking over at the console table, he spies a fruit basket, left there by the Giovannas. 

Of course. Food. Basic sustenance. Even if they’re in the underwater city, Myo and Sana still need to eat. Perhaps there’s a cafe inside or a cultural center… A tower with many vendors like one of the areas in Shibuya… What was it, sharelounge?

Sitting up once again, Rohan opens a new note on his phone and quickly types out the new scene ideas, setting, and pacing, noting that he’ll try to make time for sketches later in the evening or the next morning. Heaven’s Door pops out, reading over Rohan’s shoulder and already forming ideas, discussing the changes with him, then claps his hands over his mouth when the noise wakes Ellie and lowers his voice to a whisper.

“I’m so sorry, master, I forgot Ellie can see and hear stands.”

Rohan waves his hand, dismissing Heaven, and walks over to the small bed, leaning down to find Ellie’s chimera-san and bring it closer to her. She grabs it with a pout and sniffles, letting out little cries once again, still upset about being in an unfamiliar place.

“Heyyy.” Rohan smiles a little, reaching to soothe Ellie. “I know it’s a little scary, but you’re okay, Ellie. You’re safe.” Petting her hair gently, Rohan sings a quiet melody to her, getting her to settle a bit before she sits up, leaning up against the bars of the crib.

“Papa?”

“Hm??”

“Up?”

Sighing and looking over at Ari, he reaches down and pulls Eliana up and out of bed, whispering, “We have to be quiet because mama is sleeping.”

She nods in his arms, clutching her toy by its snake tail. “Quiet.”

Peering into the dim light of the room, Rohan whispers “Hearts on Fire?” and is immediately greeted by Ari’s stand, who recognizes Rohan’s call. 

“Rohan? What can I do for you?”

“Can you make sure Ari knows we went for a walk if she wakes up? I don’t want her to worry about Ellie.”

Hearts nods, giving Rohan a gentle smile. “Thank you for thinking of us. I’ll make sure she knows.” Giving Ellie a gentle forehead kiss, Hearts returns to her user, leaving the dull hum of energy behind her, like the static on a CRT TV after it gets turned off.

“Diaper check first, kiddo.” Making sure she doesn’t need changed, Rohan grabs their jackets and shoes, setting Ellie on the edge of the bed to get her little boots on through wiggles and tiny giggles. 

When she hops down with his support, Ellie grabs chimera-san with one hand, then holds Rohan’s hand with the other, hanging on tight as they walk out of the room and shut the door gently. Looking down the hallway, Rohan walks slowly to the door leading to outside, making sure Ellie has enough time to walk without tripping. 

“Outside?” Ellie looks through the glass of the door, smushing her face onto the pane to get a better look. Rohan chuckles, nodding. ‘Yeah, outside. It’s later in the season, but there’s a nice garden back here. I think the boys have a play area too.”

“Boys?”

“Mhm. Dante and Jovi. Dan and JoJo. They’re your friends, but they’re not feeling well right now. As soon as they’re better you can all play together.” 

Ellie nods solemnly, holding tighter to her dad’s hand as they open the door. An electronic alarm goes off for a second, before Fugo’s voice sounds from the nearby intercom. 

“Go ahead, Kishibe. We’ve got you covered. If you need anything let us know.”

Pressing the button, Rohan responds. “Thank you, Fugo, was it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’re going to tour the gardens and play a bit. Ellie was getting restless.”

“Understood. I’ll let Don Giovanna know where you are if he needs you.”

“My thanks again.”

The area is fenced off for everyone’s protection, so Rohan lets go of Ellie’s hand, letting her run a bit while he watches carefully, picking up her toy and tucking it inside his jacket when she drops it in her excitement over the gardens. The flowers are mostly gone, except for a patch of drooping sunflowers. Walking up to it and tilting her head, Ellie reaches out and plucks a few bright yellow petals before gasping.

“Papa???? Papa!!!!”

Walking over, Rohan looks down. “Something wrong???”

Ellie’s eyes are welling with tears. “Put back.”

“Put what back??”

“Flower!!! Put back…”

Rohan notices she’s trying to put the petals back where they came from to no avail, and kneels down, opening his hands and taking the petals from her. “When we pluck petals off of flowers, they don’t go back, Eliana.”

“Why??” Ellie frowns, not yet understanding.

Rohan considers the complicated version, of root structures and leaves and biology, but settles on, “when you pull them off, they get separated from the base. Once they’ve left, they can’t return. There’s nothing to hold them there anymore.”

Ellie looks at the petals in her papa’s hand and at the sunflower once more. Leaning forward, she kisses the other leaves that are still intact. “I'm sorry.”

Melting, Rohan takes out his phone and snaps a few pictures, even getting when Ellie finds a ladybug on the sunflower leaf, screaming happily as she points it out and lets it crawl over her hand. 

When he gets a good shot, he texts it to a few people–Tomoko, Lena, Sunnie, and to his mom and Ari’s. Everyone loved getting Ellie updates; it was the one thing he could count on quelling family drama. 

As soon as he slips his phone into his pocket, he feels a tug on his jacket, and sees Ellie pointing to a play area.

Scooping her up and letting Heaven help lift her onto his shoulders, Rohan walks to the play area, still covered with layers of crunchy leaves from fall weather.

“Down!!!” Ellie demands, kicking the backs of her boots onto Rohan’s jacket. 

“Okay! Hang on, hang on!” 

As soon as her boots meet ground, she’s running around and screaming, carefully climbing to the top of the slide. “Papa!!! Catchme!!” Flinging herself down the slide, giggling the whole way down, Rohan runs to wait at the bottom, grabbing her up as she comes to the end, laughing and giving her tummy raspberries as she squeals.

“Again!!!!” 

Rohan sets her down and she repeats the process, sliding into his arms and giggling as he swings her around. Staying in his arms this time, she puts both her tiny palms on Rohan’s face, squishing his cheeks and singing “totoooorooo totorooo.” Joining in, Rohan sings the theme from My Neighbor Totoro as they walk around, looking at all the play equipment, until they find the swingset. 

Slipping into the seat safe for smaller kids, Ellie grabs onto the chains, watching carefully as Rohan starts to swing her. Keeping it at a slower speed so she doesn’t fall out, Rohan watches as she looks down and investigates the new experience. She’s never been on a swing set yet and has huge eyes, hanging on tight as she goes swinging midair. 

“I thought I’d find you back here~~”

“Mama!!!!” Ellie yells, seeing Ari walk towards them with a grin. 

“I got a text from my mom about the picture and woke up. Hearts let me know you were here.”

Rohan smiles apologetically. “I didn’t mean to wake you… Er, text your mom and have her wake you?”

“Nah, it’s okay. I got some rest, I feel better. Besides, I’d rather be here with you two.”

Pulling Rohan into a kiss, Ari grins, holding his jacket collars. “Daisuki.”

“Dai–”

The world changes. For an instant, the matter around them bends and warps, distorting and blending in colors and lights —the ground underneath them feels like melting ice, almost like it dissolves into nothingness. 

Rohan’s instincts kick in —reaching out, his arm quickly wraps around Ari’s shoulders as his hand reaches forward for Ellie, bringing her close too. 

As everything around them keeps changing and matter stops looking like itself, Kishibe holds onto his family, faintly hearing their breathings and hearts: like his senses have been momentarily enhanced, adding to the intensity of the moment. 

In the blink of an eye it stops. Suddenly he’s back in the Giovanna’s yard, his wife and daughter held in his arms tightly as they look around startled, small pants and furrowed brows. Unable to let go yet, his eyes make quick work around them, trying to identify anything that might mean harm: the smallest, tiny, most insignificant thing that might put them in danger.

And when he’s unable to find anything but the security cameras and the swings and slides around them, he looks down, feeling his own sweat clinging to his forehead and the way he can almost hear the air blowing softly around them. 

Questions fill his mind as silence comes in, settling down between them as he pulls Ellie from the swing and lowers her to the ground.

“Sorry ‘bout that.” A deep voice cuts in, startling all of them and making Ellie hide behind her dad’s legs, tiny hands holding onto his pants and big eyes full of fear.

By the glass door stands Don Giovanna, lips tightly pressed in a line and a coffee mug held in his hand, his expression one of strange calm, like he’s trying to keep it together for the sake of everyone. To know how he got there, or how long he had been there when Rohan looked around was the last of his worries.

Clearing his throat, Rohan slowly lets go of Ari, making sure to stay closer to her as he picks Ellie up, cradling her head close to his chest through trembling hands —words seem foreign, a mix of curses and senseless, interrogative pronouns circling in his head until his lips part but nothing comes out. Like he’s lost his ability to speak. 

Ari’s hand finds his arm and he relaxes, turning to her: her lips part and for a second he’s afraid of being unable to hear her voice one more time before the sweet melody of her voice reaches his ears and his brain interprets it as sound and language: 

“What’s going on?” 

Giorno sighs, forgetting about his coffee for a second as he holds the cup by the lid, turns around and gestures to them back in. Following him in silence, the Kishibe’s come inside, hearing the door lock back again. 

“Are you okay?” someone asks, and Rohan barely recognizes the voice as Lena’s. As he sits on the couch with Ellie in his lap playing with chimera-san, Ari reaches out for his hand, rubbing a gentle, soothing thumb over the back of his hand, replying after taking a big breath in. “I guess so?” 

Coming to join them, Giorno sits by his wife’s side, setting his mug on the coffee table before him with a small ‘clink’ sound. Leaning his elbows on his thighs, he leans over, green eyes scanning the family before him with ease, almost like he’s looking for something specific: stopping on Rohan, he stands up, reaches out and taps the mangaka’s cheek with his palm until he blinks and frowns, leaning back with a scowl. “Stop that.” 

Sitting down, Giorno chuckles, shoulders tense. “Now that you’re back with us, Kishibe. Let me explain.'' As his eyes take on a darker shade and his voice a serious tone, Rohan leans back, rubbing Ellie’s back, who’s suddenly too busy toying around with Ares, who purrs and stays by Rohan’s feet, looking at the infant. 

Putting Ellie down to let her bond with the maine coon, Rohan and Ari look back at the couple before them, though their eyes and attention remain mostly on Giorno. 

“Stands can modify time and space during their awakening phase, but you already know that, don’t you?” 

Both nod, slowly, and after sharing a look, their attention lays back on Passione’s boss. 

“Dr. Louis thinks that, since we’re both born stand users and one of us has had a requiem stand for years now,” he makes a pause to gesture at himself, “The boys have a higher predisposition to stronger stands. Which means the stand fever should be more aggressive.” 

“Which makes the whole reality collapse worse.” Lena adds softly, a hand rubbing over her belly as the other toys nervously with her ring, eyes drifting between Rohan and Ariel while she and her husband await a response. 

Rohan frowns, hands reaching up to fix his headband even though it remains perfect —taking it off, his hair falls over his eyes for a second, messy green locks slicked back with a shaking hand as he lets the fabric rest around his neck. “Let me get this straight,” he says, pulling the headband up to rest around his forehead like it usually does, then fixing his hair up and into its usual hairstyle, “You’re saying Dante and Jovi… Their stands, I mean, are messing with the whole of reality? Isn’t that dangerous?”

“Of course it is.” Lena says, low and calm, despite the fear buried in her eyes. “But… We have someone who has reassured us it won't cause any real, permanent damage.”

“Han,” Ari speaks up now, much gentler and calmer. “If they know nothing will happen, then we just need to be extra careful.” she looks on through kind eyes, expecting them to say anything else, though it never comes.

Silence settles in. Unnerving, full of anxiety: Lena’s wandering eyes and Giorno’s dark eyes give off a strange aura, almost like there was something left unsolved between them. Not an argument, that was evident, but something… 

Sighing, Rohan leans in, imitating Giorno’s position. “Alright, Giovanna, Speak up. You two are thinking, no; you’re worried about something.” 

Chuckling, Giorno shakes his head, looking down at his shoes like they’re the most interesting thing out of nowhere: there he confesses, question shaped and broken hearted: afraid. “Does ‘soul extraction’ ring any bells?” 

Quieting down, Rohan looks down at the coffee table, staring into the mug for a second —there he notes the mug is full, like they had just come here before the incident happened and Giorno decided to check on them— before he looks back, this time in Lena’s direction. “Wire requiem.” 

Ari gasps now, eyes falling on the baby bump. “Wire AND Gold Experience requiem.” 

Nodding, Lena speaks up now, raspy and slow, full of fear. “If what she said is true, which is most likely, then Esme…” 

Giorno finishes her sentence through gritted teeth, voice raspy and full of something that he can't name nor drown out. “She will be in so much pain when the time comes.” 

Rohan hums, trying to say anything that might soothe them. “But that means she’ll be extraordinarily strong, doesn’t it?”

Giorno looks back, tense: his tone one of defeat. “If I can’t stand seeing the twins like this then I don’t know how it will feel when she’s the one in bed.” His eyes soften, pained. “Seeing your kid in pain feels like your heart’s been ripped out of your chest without you being able to do something to help them, because this sh—” taking a deep breath, he tries to finish his sentence. “This thing, the stand fever… It’s up to their system to survive or not.” 

A sob breaks through, and Giorno looks back to Lena, who’s now hiding her face with both of her shaking hands. Leaning back, he wraps his arm around her shoulders, bringing her closer in an attempt to soothe her. 

Looking up from her spot in the carpet by Ares' side, Ellie stands up and runs up to Lena's lap, where her small hands carefully lay and her big eyes look up to her with innocent worry. “Auntie Lena…” She holds up her toy, pushing it into Lena’s arms. “Here.”

Hugging onto Lena’s leg, Ellie lays her face on her Aunt’s thigh, holding on tight to comfort her. Lena looks down, eyes welling with tears at the little one’s kindness, petting her hair softly and holding the toy.

“S’okay to cry.” Ellie pats Lena’s leg once more and closes her eyes, laying there for another minute until everyone has calmed down. 

“Why don’t we watch some Spy x Family and relax for a few minutes?” Rohan suggests, gesturing to the TV, trying to break the tension.

Lena nods, holding the toy back out to Ellie. “You’ll need this if we watch Miss Anya, right?”

Smiling, Ellie grabs the toy and takes Lena’s hand. “Come watch!!!” Tugging gently, she drags her Aunt to the couch, waiting for someone to put an episode on, kicking her legs over the edge of the couch and bouncing slightly.

“Is Anya your favorite?” Giorno asks, smiling over at Eliana and picking up the remote. She immediately lights up and nods over and over, giggling. “Anya!!! Anya!!!” She can say it better than the first time they watched together and Ari beams, remembering her “Ah-Ah.”

Leaning into Rohan and watching from the side, Ari tears up a little, whispering, “Rohan, she’s getting so big. When did she grow up so fast?”

He smiles and kisses Ari’s forehead, lingering there as the opening theme starts. “We’re lucky… So lucky… And she’s gonna be a stand user some day. But she’s strong. She’s already so curious and learning fast… I know she’ll make it through.” 

Squeezing Ari’s hand, he pulls her close, watching as Ellie sits between Giorno and Lena, happily holding onto chimera-san and giggling as Loid puts on his bondman mask and competes to save “Princess Anya.” The room’s mood has completely changed, and while an air of uncertainty still lingers, the feeling is warmer now, worries forgotten for a few moments together.

As time flows, and a few episodes later, the tension in the room has dispersed completely, blending back into more logical thoughts and possible solutions, like Dr. Louis’ words about a way to slow down the awakening process, extra checkups and higher vitamins intake. Outside the weather pairs up, as the sun shines weakly between gray clouds and the wind toys and messes with the leaves of the trees in the yard. 

The first to stand up is Giorno, who turns to Ari and Rohan with a small smile —one that shows just how grateful he is to have them around— and, laying his coat over Lena's sleeping form, the Don gestures upstairs, trying to say he's gonna check on the twins. 

Walking around the couch, he pets Ellie's head, carefully not to hurt or distract her from the TV. Then, as he walks by Ari and Han, he leans over, whispering: “Giuseppe should be in the kitchen. Feel free to ask for anything.” Without waiting for a response, he keeps going, though a bit faster. Rushed. 

Exchanging a puzzled look, Rohan mumbles out, “Do you think…?”

Looking back at the stairs, where Giorno's just disappeared, Ariel hums thoughtfully. “Dunno, maybe he just thought of something?” 

Looking on, Rohan presses his lips together for a moment, focusing on the characters in the scene, “He seemed uncomfortable.” 

Sighing, Ari imitates her husband without realizing, deep in thought for a second. “Whatever it is, I'm sure he'll talk about it later. There's a lot happening… He must be exhausted.” 

“Right.”

***

Giorno's not sure how or why. But back there he could feel something —the arrow restlessly moving around like it did back when Wire Requiem awakened: paired up with that, the skin of his shoulder and scapula started to sting, the feeling reminiscent of that of a tattoo healing process. 

But he's sure he doesn't have tattoos on his back. At least not for now. 

Coming into their shared bedroom, his hands quickly reach back, grabbing the fabric at the back of his neck and pulling off his shirt, letting the fabric hang from one of the sleeves around his wrist, using a hand to hold the shirt close to his torso. Walking up to the bathroom, he stands before the mirror, taking a look at the tattoo on his chest. It looks fine —lines perfectly healed and the ink intact. Green eyes trail over his arm, skin clear and intact, too. 

The itch comes back, stronger: it makes him turn sideways, peeking over his shoulder to take a look in the mirror. 

His eyes land on the star-shaped birthmark between the top of his scapula and his shoulder. The color is the same, he notes, and as he runs a gentle fingertip over it, the sting becomes unbearable, makes him hiss through gritted teeth: despite that, he still touches again, making sure the texture hasn't changed, trying to see if there's something around it—tissue or rash—though nothing seems to have changed, except for the fact that it stings like hell. 

Stopping to think for a second, his mind runs over the possible, momentarily, solution. Tapping it like he usually would do with an itchy tattoo is not an option: fabric doesn't exactly hurt. However, his skin feels hot, almost like it's upset. 

Tapping on the faucet in the sink before him, his palm forms a cup, where he waits until a bit of water pools. Then, using his palm, he makes sure to tap gently in the zone, feeling the sting calm down for a bit until it disappears, leaving back the faint sensation of pain. 

Should I tell Lena? She's gonna find out sooner or later… But lately she's been so sensitive. Maybe not. Maybe Rohan or Ariel could help, or… maybe Bocelli? He's a doctor, if anything he should be the first to know and let me know if there's something wrong with me. But right now doesn't feel like the right time. I want to see Dan and Jojo healthy again.

Sighing and reaching out, he makes quick work to dry his hand and wait until the few drops of water dry so he can put his shirt back on, and finally, leave towards the twins' bedroom. 

Knocking on the door and coming in without expecting an answer, Giorno stands in the doorway, eyes overlooking the scenario before him. 

Dr. Bocelli stands up from the desk, where he had been writing notes. “Son, we have great news.”  

“Oh?” Eyes lighting up, he comes into the room, closing the door behind him. Once he's standing before the three doctors —Bocelli, Rebecca and Joshua— his hands entwine behind his back, waiting for them to speak up in a mix of excitement and anxiety. 

Dr. Rebecca Louis takes a seat by Bocelli's side, a small and professional smile lifting the corners of her lips. “We're starting to notice improvement on the treatment. The fever is finally coming down.” 

Before Giorno can reply, Dr. Joshua López speaks up, relaxed now that his dear friend is there with him (after being told the Don was not going to hurt him). “If we keep going like this then we think they should be conscious and alert by evening.”

Nodding, Gio takes a quick look at the clock in the wall behind the team of medical professionals: 2:21 PM. 

Looking back, he makes eye contact with every single one of them, “Six hours, then?" 

Dr. Bocelli replies now, calmer —his voice tired, barely hiding the relief behind his words. “It's only a supposition. See,” gesturing at the sleeping boys, the old man keeps going, “Their expression has softened and they're actually sleeping and resting now. When fever is that high, the body works only to protect itself, especially the brain. Now that we've managed to get a hold on it, they should be able to adapt after their cells have mutated and settled down.” 

Sighing, Giorno's lips slowly but surely turn up into a smile, the green of his eyes softening to a teal shade and his shoulders relaxing. “Thank you.”

Bocelli gestures vaguely, a grin spreading through his features. Warm, like a father would smile and comfort a pained son. “It's our duty, Giogio. Go tell your wife and friends, they must be so worried and exhausted.”

“I think I’ll call down and see if everyone can join us up here.” 

Pulling out his phone, Giorno calls Rohan, inviting everyone up to the twins’ room for a status update. In a few minutes, everyone has gathered and Giorno repeats the same information told to him, while Ellie holds Ari’s hand and stares at the twins. 

Walking towards them slowly, Ellie hops up onto the bed, crawling between Dante and Jovi and grabbing one hand from each of them. Leaning over, Ellie presses a gentle kiss to Jovi’s face, then Dante, and lays down, squeezing their hands. “S’ ok.” 

Closing her eyes, Ellie rests quietly, still holding the twins’ hands and starts to fall asleep, comfortable between them.

The monitors that had been keeping track of the twins’ heart rate (which had been slightly elevated during the entire stand fever), finally even out and slow. Dr. Louis, who had been observing carefully, walks to the twins and feels their forehead, noting that their temperature has decreased even more. 

In a whisper, she smiles up at Rohan and Ari and says, “We need to keep an eye on Ellie’s stand powers. I have a feeling she inherited a bit of both her parents’ skills.”

Lena raises an eyebrow, walking over as well. “She’s not…?”

“No.” Dr. Louis shakes her head. “Only early stages, but there’s faint traces of stand energy.” 

Standing, she walks to the Kishibe’s. “Perhaps we can get a hold of a pendant for Eliana. We’ve been researching how to slow the stand awakening ever since my own daughter’s experience. There’s a special type of meteorite that seems to affect the body’s energy fields on the same wavelength as the stand virus. It’s not a permanent fix, but it would keep her from awakening too early.”

Rohan looks over at Ellie, sleeping next to the twins. “Please. We would be grateful.”

Ari speaks up next, “Our friend Sunnie at the Dallas SPW branch has a special interest in minerals and rocks. I’m sure she could help us find the right stone if you give us the information.”

“I’ll send it to you right now.”

Walking over to the desk, Dr. Louis boots up her laptop and searches her files before taking a screenshot and texting it to Ari’s cell phone. “There. Let me know what Sunnie finds.”

“Han, come with me?? Ellie will be safe up here with everyone watching her…”

Reluctantly, he leaves the room with her, going to join the call with Sunnie and Dio.

***

“Here.” Stopping before Giorno's studio, Akashi holds the door open. “The bosses gave me orders to stay in with you, if you don't mind.” 

Shrugging, Rohan steps aside, letting Ari walk in first before he follows, taking a look around the studio: it's big and spacious, with the proper lighting and white walls barely noticeable due to the bookshelves all around. Taking a quick look, one can realize the books there go from history and economics to anatomy and philosophy. Almost like there's a bit of everything in there. The desk is clean, only a Justitia statue on the right. 

Coming in last, Akashi hums, closing the door behind him. Hands inside his pockets, the swordsman sways from side to side as he walks, leaning beside the window on the left. “I take it you don't mind, then. Go on, I won't interrupt.” 

“Thank you.” Sitting on the couch, Ari pulls her phone out, checking her connection and battery first as Rohan roams around, stopping once the manga collection comes into sight —a few Bleach volumes, followed by the Jujutsu Kaisen volumes up to the most recent… And there it was: Pink Dark Boy.  

Reaching out, his fingers ghost over the first volume, nostalgia bringing back memories from those days when Pink Dark Boy was just starting to be a thing… Back when the idea of a family wasn't there yet, let alone a wife. Now his life had changed for the better and he couldn't be happier: if there was truly a benevolent god, then— 

“Ah, yes.” Akashi's voice cuts through his inner monologue, making him snap from his daydream. “Don Giovanna's truly a fan of your work. Every time there's a new chapter he stops everything to read it and comments on it with the Donna.” Chuckling, the short pink-haired swordsman gestures around the manga collection Rohan's standing before. “They've been waiting for a fanbook, too.” 

Opening his mouth to reply, Rohan stops and his smile stays there as Akashi keeps talking so fast he almost can't grasp everything he's saying; 

“Which makes me think of that one anime movie that got lost in the 80's, ever heard of that? Man, it was so good, such a shame it didn't make it to the public!” hands on his hips, Akashi tilts his head aside, “I can't remember what it was called, but then again I've been through a lot of places and met a lot of people. That makes me think of the time I met Stan Lee and didn't even realize: so I was roaming through the streets, okay? Fresh out of a shower, and this man was waiting to cross the street—Wait, why don't you just read me, Kishibe-sensei?” 

“Read you?” Frowning, Rohan takes a step forward, cautious. “How do you know about my stand?” 

Akashi shrugs, his tone so natural it almost sounds like a weather forecast. “The Intelligence division makes us read a report before every mission: and if there are updates, we read about them too.” 

Raising a finger, he stops Rohan from talking. 

“No, Non, Nein: it's not me you should get mad at, that should be Fugo's fault. Actually, that should be Giovanna's fault, 'cause he's the boss and all that. Uhm, I think…” raising a finger to his lips, he taps against it twice, mumbling to himself. “I shouldn't have said that, if he finds out he's gonna kill me: but it's not like I'll stay dead so…” Letting his arms fall at each side of his body, Akashi finally shrugs, finishing his rant. “Yeah, man's crazy and I'm just doing my job… And I'm bored.” 

Before Rohan can react or say anything else, Akashi's Cheshire cat smile disappears, replaced with pursed lips and dull eyes as his chin tilts up forward. “Your call's starting, Kishibe-sensei.” 

“How…?”

Ari motions Rohan over, waiting as he pulls over the nearby ottoman and stares at the screen. Sunnie’s number is already in, the call ringing a few times before finally picking up, revealing a very pregnant Sunnie in the arms of her lover, Dio.

“Hi!!! Ari! Rohan-sensei!!!”

“Hello!” Ari waves, giving her a grin. “Sorry, did we wake you??”

Sunnie shook her head. “Nah, just lazy morning snuggles with D… Pretty sleepy this many months along with the kid.”

“Of course…” Ari smiles, watching them for a minute, then remembering the purpose of the call. “So we’re in Naples here with the Giovanna’s right now because the twins are going through the stand fever…”

Dio’s eyes go wide, staring intently at the screen. “Are they alright???”

Rohan leans over, nodding. “They will be. They’re doing much better than this morning.”

Reaching his arm back to rub over his Joestar birthmark, Dio winces, feeling the familiar sting that has been radiating off the mark since this morning. He hadn’t made any connection to the current situation until now. 

“How… How is Giorno holding up?”

Ari seems surprised for a second, then purses her lips, holding Rohan’s hand tighter. “He’s doing his best. Trying to be strong for his family. But it’s… It’s hard for everyone, seeing the twins so sick.”

Dio nods, reaching for his wife’s hand as well. “I know it may not mean much yet, but. Please tell GioGio and Helena that we are thinking of them.”

Both Ari and Rohan nod, giving a small smile to the camera. “We will.”

Chuckling, Sunnie leans into Dio, closing her eyes as she holds the bump. “I assume this wasn’t just a social call? What’s up?”

Ari pulls up her phone, tapping into her and Sunnie’s messages. “I actually have something I need your help with. A rare mineral. I’m sending you the stats now.”

“Oooooh!!!” Sunnie bolts up at the mention of rocks and dives for her phone, eagerly poring over the image and documentation Ari had gotten from Dr. Louis.

“Whoa whoa whoa, it looks like cosmic honeycomb!!!” Sunnie shows the picture to Dio, then zooms in on the specifications. “Does this relate to the stand fever at all??”

Ari nods, closing her phone. “We need a pendant of some form for Eliana. Dr. Louis says that the structure and materials interact with the same wavelength as the stand virus. Because the stand virus comes from a rare meteorite, they’ve experimented with other meteorites’ influence on it. This particular one acts as a safety net, masking the stand user’s energy signature and slowing down the manifestation process.”

“That’s cool as fuck!!” Sunnie grins, setting her phone down on the bump and listening as Ari finishes.

“Yeah! It won’t stop the process completely, not that we’d want to, but it makes the stand awakening a bit easier. Dante and Jovi’s came on so suddenly that we didn’t have any warning. We don’t want that to happen to Ellie, if possible…”

“I’ll hunt around with some local collectors and see if they know where to get something like that. Imma text you when I know more… Anything else before we go?”

“Nah, that’s about it. You doing okay?”

Sunnie laughs, holding onto her stomach. “Yeah. I’m okay. This watermelon of a baby is wearing me out though, and we still have another month or more to go…”

“We’ve been there.” Ari smiles, wiggling her fingers at the screen. “Get lots of rest and snacks and fresh air.”

Dio points towards the table, puffing out his chest. “I always have snacks covered, you need not worry about that.”

“You do, D.” Sunnie pats his arm reassuringly, kissing his cheek. “I can always count on you.”

“Do you…” Ari hesitates, grabbing the edge of her sweater. “Do you think you two and Giorno will get to meet sometime soon? I know the SPW Dallas incident was too soon to meet, but… Getting it over with might calm some of the tension for both parties. I hate to see both of you so anxious whenever the other is mentioned…”

“When the time is right.” Dio nods, tapping a clawed-finger on his thigh. “Perhaps after the child has arrived, we can make plans.”

“I understand.” Ari bites her lip this time, reaching a pinkie finger out for Rohan to hold. “I can promise Don Giovanna and his wife are amazing. They’re some of our closest friends, and even though the Don seems intimidating, especially when his stand is so powerful, they’re unlike anyone else on the planet. I think you would be really proud of your alternate universe’s son.”

Choking back emotion, Dio nods solemnly, pressing a hand to Sunnie’s stomach. “I do not doubt that, but I would like to welcome my own progeny into the world first, then make amends with the son fate has given me. One step at a time.”

Rohan sighs, looking up at Akashi. “I think we have to go soon, but thank you for sharing your time with us. And Ari means no harm or prying, I know. We all would be grateful if the various Speedwagon Foundations can work together.”

“Do not worry.” Dio lets out a small fanged grin. “I have more experience dealing with human emotions than in the past. Sunnie has been letting me view a show called ‘Bluey,’ and I have found the family dynamics and discussions most helpful.”

Rohan chuckles, shaking his head. “We haven’t watched that one yet, do you think Ellie would like it?”

Sunnie’s face immediately fills the tablet screen, leaning in, excited. “SHE WOULD LOVE IT, YOU HAVE TO WATCH BLUEY!!!!!”

“I’ll add it to our list!” Ari smiles, waving at the screen. “We’ll talk again soon, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah!!! I’ll get on the pendant right away.”

“Thank you. We really appreciate your hard work.” 

“Nah. It’s fun for me. I love this kinda stuff.” Sunnie wiggles on the couch, excited to get hunting.

“Still, thanks…” A moment of silence passes, and Ari laughs, leaning forward. “Okay, we should probably hang up.”

“Probably. Who’s gonna say goodbye?” Sunnie laughs too, used to the neurodivergent urge to keep talking and never end the conversation.

“You first.”

“No, you.”

“Oh, wait! I have a post I need to send you, hang on!!” Ari grabs for her phone, scrolling through her dashboard.

“Okay, well, send it in a minute, I’m hanging up!!”

“OKAY, BYE, I LOVE YOU!!” Ari grins as the screen blinks out, returning to the home screen. Petting her hair gently, Rohan leans over and plants a kiss on Ari’s forehead. She hums, standing and pulling him up next to her. “Glad to see they’re doing okay.”

He nods, slipping an arm around her waist then glancing over at their chaperone. “Akashi?”

The pink-haired man glances up, his hand on the doorknob. “Yes?”

“Can you go update the Giovanna’s with the conversation? Ari and I are going back to the room for a bit.”

“Do you need an escort?”

Rohan shakes his head no, pulling out Heaven’s Door. “I have backup in case of emergencies.”

“Right, of course. I’ll go now and make sure they know the gist of everything.”

Ari walks forward, clasping one hand over the other, addressing Akashi. “Don’t hesitate to let us know if Ellie wakes up and needs something. We don’t want her to be too scared, even though she knows everyone pretty well.”

“Yes, Mrs. Kishibe. We’ll let you know.” Giving a small bow, Akashi slips out of the room, communicating with Fugo on his way back to the Giovannas’ room. 

Ari and Rohan, meanwhile, step into the hall, navigating the mansion maze until they find their way back. Slipping into their room, the couple lays on the bed together, staring up at the ceiling fan as the cool air washes over them and Ari shivers.

“Rohan... Where do we even start from today?”

Rolling over, Rohan quietly sits up and puts one leg over his wife, straddling her hips and laying down onto her chest, his face gently smooshed onto her breasts and talking with a slightly muffled voice. 

“There’s a lot to untangle… The new stand powers and just. The unknowns. The future.” 

Rohan closes his eyes, planting himself face first into her chest until he needs air, then tilting his head back out with a gasp. Ari chuckles, petting his hair quietly and whispering to him. 

“I think it’s worse sitting with this anxiety. Knowing we’ll pretty much be powerless over the process.”

Nodding, Rohan finds Ari’s hand and laces his fingers between hers. “If we both fought through the stand virus, then we know we’ve given Eliana her best chance. Hopefully we’ve transferred some genetic ability to adapt to the stand mutation when the time comes. She may be sensitive, just like her parents, but she’s also strong.”

Rohan leans up, making eye contact with Ari. “Neither of us would be here right now with manifested stands if we didn’t have some fighting spirit.”

Smiling gently, Ari pushes Rohan’s headband up and kisses his forehead, wrapping her arms around him and sighing deeply. “We can help guide her and make sure she’s healthy, but we can’t manifest a stand for her. That’s part of her own story to write.”

Scooting up a little, Rohan puts a hand on either side of Ari, as her hands still drape around his neck. “It’ll all work out.” He leans down, pulling a soft kiss from her, then kissing across her face–one cheek, then the other, and over her nose and eyes, taking his time. “We have all the time in the world right now…”

Smiling up at her husband, Ari pulls him closer, finding his lips again and slipping a hand into the back of his hair, dragging her nails though his undercut, making him break the kiss and inhale sharply. 

“Ari–” Rohan’s voice comes out in a warning whisper, frozen in the moment.

“Yes?~” She has a mischievous glint in her gaze, teasing and toying with him, even after their serious moment.

Rohan sighs, giving in easily. “Just try to keep quiet~” 

***

He’s been alive for a long, long time. He’s been and seen too much, has felt too much pain, both emotional and physical: his whole existence has consisted of traveling around the world, bored and alone, seeking something to cure his loneliness and the strange, bone-chilling question that keeps plaguing his mind. 

Akashi does not remember his full name at all. He isn’t sure if his last name is actually Akashi, or if it had been one random name he had picked along the way. For decades, he had been roaming the world, learning and watching, lost until that day he had finally had enough and decided to lay down in Rome’s streets, where Abel had met him. 

Abel Agreste, Rome’s Capo, had reassured him his boredom could be solved by Don Giovanna and his Passione, and though that was true, there was still an ounce of the feeling remaining, like he had become addicted to boredom like one would turn sadness into a necessity. 

To him, emotions and vulnerability did not come easily, both from his backstory in the war and the culture and period he was born in and now from his reputation: but even then, a few persons knew about his doubts and worries: one of them, perhaps the most compassive and pure man he had ever met before, had always been open to listen to him: Bocelli Enzo, the man who had killed his son’s assassins and had gave up on his medical ethics, turned Passione’s doctor and probably the boss’ most closest thing to a father. 

Bocelli had said his brain was damaged, both from the constant fights —where he didn’t care about hurting himself— and the psychological trauma his stand kept causing with the constant death and coming back to life loop to the point of causing something he had called dissociative amnesia. 

To him, his only hope was Kishibe Rohan: ever since he had read about his abilities on that report, his hopes of finally knowing his identity had resurrected, though it seemed nothing he said about his past experiences arised the mangaka’s curiosity.

Then again, the situation wasn’t the best backdrop for getting his wish fulfilled. Maybe someday he could ask for a favor…

Knocking on the door to the twins’ bedroom, Akashi clears his throat up as he twists the doorknob, standing awkwardly on the doorframe for a second. 

“Akashi?” Giorno calls from his spot on the couch by Jojo’s bed, “What’s wrong?” 

Blinking twice, his smile comes back and though he notices Giorno’s knowing look, he still plays along, “First off, just saw Dio Brando and for fucks sake, you’re a carbon copy of him, but like, with green eyes,” walking forward, he takes his hands out his pockets, gesturing around vaguely as he starts to explain. “So, it seems like little Ellie will get a nice pendant to keep the stand fever controlled, or that’s what I understood from all that: keywords are meteorite and pendant. And again, boss,” taking a seat by Lena’s side, Akashi finishes with a: “You and Dio Brando look almost the same. But like, your sons look like you so that must be a family thing. Oh, and he sent his well wishes for the twins’ recovery.” 

Nodding, Giorno brushes off the comments about his father, not knowing exactly how to reply or feel about them and, as he looks at the twins, his frown softens and he replies. “Got it, thank you.” 

Taken aback by his response, Akashi slowly looks back at Lena, eyebrow arched and mouth agape.

“Be patient with him, ‘Kashi.” Lena whispers, leaning a bit to meet him. “That’s not something he can talk about yet.”

Nodding, Akashi brings his right hand up, imitating a zipper over his mouth as he closes it, leaning back into the couch. 

Silence settles in, strange: the calm it brings feels unsettling, but still, the brief moment doesn’t last long before Giorno speaks up, soft and calm: 

“We should probably get one for Esmeralda too, Lena.” 

Rubbing at the bump, Lena nods, feeling a foot meet her touch —a warm smile spreads through her features, much calmer and at ease than before. “Agreed. We’ll talk about that once she’s born.” 

“Well, my hunger was born first,” Standing up, Akashi swiftly cuts off the conversation, “I'm gonna go and ask Giuseppe for something, maybe some paella.” turning around and extending a hand out to Lena, he asks, “Want something, boss?” 

Chuckling, Giorno gestures forward when Lena looks at him, his words warm and calm. “Go on, honey, you need to eat.” 

Taking Akashi’s hand to stand up, Lena grins, returning the gesture. “I’ll go, but after I’m done you’ll have something too.” 

“Okay, deal. Akashi, take care of her.” 

Guiding her to the door, Akashi nods, “Yeah, yeah, I will!” 

***

Coming into the kitchen, a high-pitched voice with a bit of an accent welcomes Akashi and Lena. “Good afternoon! How can I help you?” 

Giuseppe De Niro, the occasional chef for the Giovanna family, a middle aged man with big brown eyes and dark hair kept up into a hair net grins from the other side of the kitchen as he covers a bowl with cling film, hands in his hips and a patient look as he waits. 

“Giuseppe, Giuseppe, oh Giuseppe~” faking a pout, Akashi comes closer, retrieving a chair from the bar and holding a hand out for Lena to sit down. Then, as she makes herself comfortable and he's sitting before the chef, his hands rub at his stomach. “I really want some paella, think you can do it?” 

“Of course,” nodding, Giuseppe turns to Lena, a much gentler look thrown her way. “What about you, Donna? Is there something you're craving specifically or…?” 

“Mhm,” leaning her chin on the palm of her hand, she tilts her head aside, thinking for a second: “I'll have the same.” 

“Sure. It should be ready in twenty, if that's okay?” 

“No worries,” gesturing with her free hand, Lena gives him a warm smile, watching him turn around and start working. By her side Akashi has quietened, eyes glued to the granite bar. 

Passing an arm behind him, her palm rubs at his back in circles, whispering; “What is it?” 

“Uh?” Looking back, his pink orbs drift between her eyes frantically before his shoulders slump down and he sighs heavily, smacking his head against the countertop, voice muffled when he speaks up. “I wanted to ask, I really did, but… I don't think this is the right time.” 

Rubbing at his back again, she looks forward, watching Giuseppe work for a while. Her lips part, and by the time she looks back, Akashi's already sitting straight with the skin of his forehead red and his eyes wide open, like a wild cat. 

“Akashi,” she starts, “Wire can read the memories of your soul, but only when you've passed away, which is something you can't do… But, uhm, what I'm trying to say is I would help if I could. But I can't.” 

Sighing, Akashi rubs at his eyes. “I know, that's why Kishibe's the only option. But in this situation, with reality collapsing and all that, it's dangerous to try. Even I know that.” 

Looking forward and accepting the glass of water Giuseppe offers to each of them, Lena replies. “But this won't be the last time you'll see him. Besides, your problem was caused by your stand: the Foundation would gladly help. I'm sure I can make a request for the Morioh branch.” 

Setting his empty glass down, Akashi looks back with eyes full of hope and his usual smile back: “Okay, but promise I won't be an experiment like that time when—” 

“Yep.” she cuts him off, gesturing for him to stop, “That's not happening again.” 

“Eureka!” throwing his arms up, Akashi grins, pointing at Giuseppe, who's just turning around to set both dishes before them. “Giuseppe, celebrate with me!” 

“Uhm,” imitating him, Giuseppe mirrors his words and movements, though much less enthusiastic, since he didn't understand the context. “Eureka?” 

“Yeah!” taking a napkin and turning to Lena, Akashi nods twice, excited. “Thank you, boss! And Giuseppe,” turning to him, he bows, taking the first bite of his food and talking with his mouth full. “This better be good.”

Laughing, Giuseppe nods, turning back to start with another recipe, “I can assure you it will. Anything else I can do?” 

“Yeah,” Lena replies now, “Could you send some food to Fugo and the rest?” 

“Sure!” turning to her again, Giuseppe leans on the bar, setting his chin on his hand. “Any special menu?”

Humming, she toys with the fork in her hand, “Lasagna and gelato? Everyone's working hard so… They deserve it.” 

Nodding, Giuseppe takes a pen and a small notebook from his apron, quickly writing down. Then, he looks back, eyebrows arched. “What about the Don?” 

Cheeks warming up, she lights up considerably at the mention of her husband. “He'll come after we're done, he's with the boys.” 

“Is that so?” leaning back and leaving the notebook aside, Giuseppe twirls the pen with the fingers of his right hand, “I'm looking at him right now, though.” 

Immediately looking back and finding Giorno under the doorway, Akashi gasps and gulps down, hitting his chest so the feeling of food restricting his airway goes away —hand reaching out to Lena, then pointing at Giorno dramatically. 

Turning around, she gasps, cheeks turning a deep shade of red as he walks into the kitchen and looking at Giuseppe, he says: “I'll have spaghetti alla carbonara,” then, as he comes closer, his hand cups her face, thumb rubbing over her cheek before he sits down by her side, draping an arm around her shoulders. 

“Who's with the kids?” she asks, setting her fork down.

Accepting the glass of water that Giuseppe sets before him, Gio takes a small sip. “The medical team and Vivianne. Ellie's still asleep and the twins' heart rate has come back to normal.” 

Sighing relieved, Lena nods, finally calm enough to start eating. By her side Akashi leans over the bar, looking at Giorno. 

“So, Giogio. I know I said it before, but Brando really seemed… Interested, worried, or just… With the intention to be present in your life, when Mrs. Kishibe mentioned the boys' fever. I think he means well.” 

Eyes softening and shoulders relaxing, Giorno meets Akashi's eyes. “I know. But, as much as I want to meet him… It seems like the time will not come soon.”

Shaking his head, the pink-haired swordsman presses his lips into a fine line and when he speaks up, his voice has a certain nostalgic tone, “The time will come when it has to. Don't rush it. Just wanted to let you know that this Dio… Is much different than the one described in reports and anecdotes.” 

Giorno's mind drifts to Jotaro Kujo —the troubled and uncomfortable relationship with him, tense and always weird. He could only wonder if he knew about the Dallas Board from the start. No, he could wonder if they got along or if they were still trying to fight. But again, it looked like there was someone keeping him from doing all the things Prime Dio would. 

And that was probably Sunnie. 

“Earth calling Giorno, earth calling Giorno!”

Blinking, he looks on, eyes landing on both Akashi and Lena's worried looks as the swordsman sways his arm from side to side, grinning when he finally seems conscious. 

“Your food's ready, boss! Eat before you pass out, I'll go back to Abel.” standing from his chair, Akashi bows in Giuseppe's direction as he leaves, hand resting atop his katana handle.

“Thank you, 'Kashi!” Lena shouts, watching him go. Turning to her husband, she chuckles, noticing the sauce left on the corner of his lips. Taking a napkin, she wipes his lips carefully while he chuckles, letting her help. 

“I got you, baby.” 

Food goes by between sweet conversations and bright smiles. Soon, both go back to the twins' room, making sure everyone's eating. 

As they sit down, Giorno's eyes drift to the clock in the wall: 6:16 PM. Hopeful, he looks on, knowing the wait is almost over. 

A faint whimper makes him look back, eyes immediately noticing Eliana rolling to the side and slowly, her small aqua green eyes open up, finding the world before her. 

Brushing her hand across his arm, Lena stands up before he can, approaching Ellie with a warm smile and slow steps, “Hey, baby. Are you hungry?” 

Sitting up, Ellie looks around her and, unable to find her parents, her eyes fill with tears and she whimpers, looking back at her aunt her voice comes out tiny and heavy with sleep. “Mama? Papa?” 

“Hey, 's okay.” Sitting down on the bed, Lena reaches out for Ellie, helping her sit with her. “They're here.” a gentle hand combs through her hair, trying to make it look somehow better and letting Ellie grasp her hand. 

“Where?” the little girl asks, looking around the room frantically, still coming out of her sleepy state and disoriented. As someone stands up from one of the couches, Ellie looks at them intently until he comes near and his face seems familiar. 

“Hey,” Westwood whispers, kneeling before her. “I heard there's a princess waiting to be taken back to her castle?” 

Ellie looks back, finally recognizing Lena and the rest of the team, tears still there, though her fears long forgotten. “Auntie!” 

“Yeah!” Grinning, Lena turns to West, then back at Ellie, “He's here to take you to mama and papa! Like a knight!” 

Intrigued, Ellie scoots off the bed and hops down, slowly approaching West. “Knight?”

Following along, Westwood takes his mask off, bowing down with an exaggerated gesture of his hand. “Princess Kishibe, if I may take you to King Kishibe's castle?”

Ellie finally plays along, jumping excitedly and bowing too. Westwood stands up, offering his hand to her, and exchanges one last look with Giorno and Lena, making sure to shield Ellie with his stand, then guide her out of the room.

“Princess Kishibe, the road ahead holds multiple dangers, may I carry you there?”

“Mhm! Up!" Extending her arms out, chimera-san still in tow, Westwood's chest swells with happiness as he takes her into his arms, fixing her hair and outfit the best he can and, as he walks down the hall, he makes sure to wipe her tears and improve her mood to the best.

Stopping before the Kishibe’s door, he knocks twice, feeling his face warm up as soon as Rohan swings the door open, headband around his neck and hair disheveled.

“Ellie!” he says, surprised. Reaching out, Ellie quickly reaches back to him, leaning forward and jumping into her father’s arms.

“King Kishibe,” Westwood starts, ignoring Rohan's confused look, “Now that I've brought the princess back, I'll keep working.” Turning around, he almost runs back, hearing Ellie's laughter.

Closing the door behind him, Rohan grins, setting her down. “Well then, princess? The queen must be waiting for you.”

Already sitting up in bed, Ari reaches out, helping Ellie climb up onto the covers. “Princess, huh?~”

“Yes!! Knight helped!”

“Well then,” joining them, Rohan shares a knowing look with Ari, “We should make sure to properly thank him later.”

8:18 PM. Giovanna household.

“This is not a drill, everyone who has an earpiece must take it off and turn the volume up in ten seconds. Ten, nine, eight.—” The sudden message startles those with an earpiece: la unità and la squadra’s members freeze in their spots, doing as told right after: there, Fugo’s voice comes up after the robotical voice from before, his tone neutral despite the scary message.

“We’re experiencing an unknown threat.” He stops, as if trying to find a logical explanation to his words. “Time has stopped. Please seek immediate shelter. The Kishibe’s must be protected. All Capos close to the twins’ room must arrive and follow Don Giovanna’s instructions. Do not leave the property before we know what’s happening.”

The message ends there, leaving behind confused looks and pursed lips: trembling hands and fear creeping up spines and nervous systems.

“How does he even know?” Paolo mumbles, standing up from the grass in the yard, “If time really stops then we wouldn’t even be able to do anything. Hell,” taking his mask from his pocket, the scientist toys with the fabric, “Motion wouldn’t even be possible.” putting it on, he fixes the fabric around his mouth and nose until he’s sure it’s perfect. “But it’s not like stands care that much about physics.”

Coming into the mansion, the first thing Paolo sees is pure chaos —Vivianne and the other members of la unita rushing upstairs, Fugo coming out of his office with his laptop, Abel and Akashi preparing their weapons in the corner and last, Vittorio at the top of the stairs, hands behind his back.

The latter, as soon as he notices Paolo, points to his right. “Paolo, with the Kishibes. Someone will join you soon. You know our orders, right?”

Jogging upstairs (having to take it slower or straight out stop to prevent accidents) Paolo finally reaches Vittorio's side, stopping only to reply in a whisper. “No one can ignore the magnitude of this event, Vittorio. It's bizarre.”

Watching him turn down the hall, Vittorio looks forward, mumbling to himself. “That's the perfect word to describe the situation.” Giving one last look to his team and husband, he leaves to take his position outside of Giorno’s studio.

Soon, some of the members from la unità and la squadra stand around the twins' room, some around the mansion and others in the halls —Fugo has moved to Giorno's studio, Abel and Akashi stand by the main doors, katana and gun in hand ready to attack, defend… Or die.

In the room, nothing has changed, the medical team running around the room performing tests and monitoring the boys as their vitals even out to normal. By the toddlers' sides, both their parents sit, waiting and hoping.

Someone speaks up and the sound only has a few of them turning, anxious:

“Donna, shouldn't we keep you company somewhere else? What if…” Rubbing his hands together, Pietro looks down at them, staring at his wedding ring. “If something happens and we have to fight… Then we should prioritize you, because I suppose you shouldn't fight in your—”

“Mommy?”

Giorno's look makes everyone quiet down as the tension grows and the mystery remains unsolved. Still, Lena looks back at Jovi, melting at the sight of his grabby hands and reaching out to help him stand up, her eyes follow every movement as the boy holds onto her shoulders —soft pink cheeks and sleepy green eyes, hair (that had lost its curls months before, remaining as wavy strands now) disheveled and skin finally back to its fair tone.

“What's wrong, baby?” Mumbling her question, Lena keeps her hand on Jovi's back, watching through calm and loving eyes as the toddler fiddles with one of her curls, shy and tired still, seeming to struggle to find the proper words.

The boy looks back, letting go of her hair and instead, he blinks slowly, mumbling his question: “Cuddles, mommy?”

With a hum, Lena makes him turn sideways and sit on her lap, wrapping an arm around his back and using the other to keep his IV attached to the back of his hand, passing the IV tubing above her shoulder. Cradling his head close to her chest, she starts humming a tone, slowly rocking back and forth, feeling his tiny hands hold on the fabric of her dress.

Pressing a kiss to his forehead and using the momentum to look around the room, Lena nods in Giorno's direction. His tense shoulders relax and he stands up slowly, hands shaking but still he walks up closer, sitting before his wife and younger son. His left hand reaches out and his fingers run through his hair. The boy sighs deeply, the kind of sigh that shows just how comfortable and warm he is –safe in his mother's arms with his father watching over him and his brother.

Sighing, Gio stands up, turning to Dante and, taking him in his arms, he makes sure to cradle his head close to his chest —a habit both had ever since the first time he held them. Almost like they always sought his heart in order to sleep peacefully. As Bocelli makes sure the IV remains in its place, Dante stirs awake, blinking up at Giorno and, through his exhaustion, he smiles.

The action makes Giorno chuckle, caressing the toddler’s cheek with the back of his hand, “Hey, buddy. Missed you too.”

Dante hums, hand unconsciously grabbing into Giorno’s coat: voice tiny and sleepy eyes, he asks: “Daddy?”

“Hmm?” Sitting besides Lena, Gio exchanges a quick look with her, then looks back at Dante, who’s observing his twin intently, as if trying to make him look back.

Dante looks back into Giorno’s eyes, his own full of hope and innocence, the kind only a child could ever show and then he asks: “Piano man?”

Jovi stirs awake too, almost as if he hadn’t been asleep and blinking to try and get the tiredness off his eyes, he still tries to join the conversation, eyes lighting up upon the mention of the song that has become his and Dante’s favorite ever since they heard it on his father’s office while Giorno was signing a few documents.

Surprised, it takes a moment for Giorno to react —looking back at Lena, she’s still looking between them, worried and scared, maybe thinking the worst, the possibilities of any kind of brain damage during the long episode of fever seem to come to her mind. Still, he retrieves his phone from his pocket, finally catching her attention. There, and even if his hands shake and everyone’s looking at them, he opens the app music. Scrolling through his library, his mouth runs dry and he can hear his heartbeat in his ears. Every now and then, the boys look around the room, slowly waking up and recognizing those around them.

Sighing, the realization that he could just browse through artist, album or song title strikes him and, feeling his cheeks burn, he taps on the search bar icon atop the app menu, typing the first letters of the song title until it pops up, displaying song name, album, artist and year.

Piano Man. Piano Man. Billy Joel. 1973.

Taking a deep breath, he taps on it and soon, the first piano notes start, followed by a soft harmonica that seems to reply to the piano, syncing into a peaceful and melancholic melody. The boys sway from side to side, warm smiles and tired eyes closing for a bit as the song starts and Billy starts to sing.

Looking up, Giorno smiles, finding Lena’s eyes filled with tears and grinning as the twins relax in their arms, not quite understanding the depressing undertone behind the song, that was probably inspired by Billy Joel’s attempt to get out of a bad record deal —not realizing the people mentioned there are all real people he played for as the piano man, whom everyone relied on to get over their daily life sadness and problems.

Dante leans forward and Giorno uses his arm to prevent him from falling, allowing him to lean closer to his twin. Reaching out, Dante finally touches Jovi’s arm, catching his attention. Jovi, conscious, smiles back at his twin, holding his hand like they’ve always done.

Right as their hands meet the room spins, lights flicker and then it stops.

There, everything happens in a flash: the twins' hands slowly pull apart until there's a space in between them. In the middle of that space, green, blue and golden sparks spin around an invisible core, slowly absorbing into it and forming a small black mass —slowly, the mass starts to shift, becoming much larger and white, displaying a black dot at the top that slowly grows and takes its own shape. By the time it stops growing, the shape remains as a rectangular, long piece of wood with one single black line in the middle. Though there’s no mechanism, the object still clicks and then it’s back between the boys’ hands, held by them and connecting them, too.

Giorno blinks confused, unable to name the recent event, move or even think.

Frowning, and still as shocked as her husband, Lena takes the object from them, making sure they’re still listening to the song, detached from the object that has just… Materialized.

“A piano key?” turning it around, she frowns, then looks back at Giorno, giving it to him.

Inspecting it closer, Giorno hums, finally out of shock. Slowly lowering his hand, he ponders his words for a second, finding it impossible to keep holding his supposition for longer. “I think… This might be their stands. Remember the prophecy?”

She frowns, the prophecy coming to her mind right there: almost like she had learned it word by word, until there's something that does not match the situation: looking into her husband's eyes, she frowns, lips parting until Fugo speaks up through Pietro’s earpiece:

“Time has resumed. I repeat, time has resumed. It's ten o'clock. Everyone please get back to your previous positions until the twins—”

Reaching out, Giorno takes the earpiece from Pietro and taps on the side of the small device: the action activates the mic and Giorno replies, out of breath even if he’s sitting. “Fugo, I want Paolo here. Now. The time thing was related to their stands.”

“What?”

Giorno’s jaw tenses and he mumbles his answer through gritted teeth, “Aren’t you looking at the cameras?” He takes a quick look at the twins, watching them still enjoying the last part of the song then at Lena, who’s turned paler and hasn’t stopped looking at him: like she's terrified.

Walking up to them, Bocelli reaches out for Jovi, noticing Lena’s expression. “Donna,” he says, taking the boy from her. “We need to make sure they’re okay. It seems they’re completely out of danger, but still, we need to run some more tests.”

“Ah, yeah. Sure.” Standing up, she still gives Jovi a smile while Bocelli sets him down. Imitating her, Giorno stands and turns around, letting Dr. Louis take Dante in her arms and set him down beside his twin. Soon, both professionals start a quick physical examination as the conversation between Fugo and Giorno still goes on.

“Giorno,” Fugo says, “The cameras stopped working when time stopped. I was trying to monitor you through your earpieces. I didn’t see anything.”

Clenching his jaw, Giorno tenses, then sighs heavily. “Got it. Then, come here and bring Paolo with you… But make sure the Kishibes are okay.”

“Sure.” The communication ends and Giorno sighs, returning the earpiece to Pietro, who stands there awkwardly for a moment, then puts it on and walks out, Vivianne and the others behind him, rushing back to their previous positions despite the plethora of questions and longing looks thrown their kids’ way.

Closing his laptop, Fugo stands up from the desk, walking in big strides to the door and next down the hall in the Kishibe’s room direction —he’s sure he almost (if not) damaged the hinges from the sheer strength he used to open the door: his confidence drops for a second as he makes eye contact with Paolo and the Kishibe family, mouth agape for a second.

“Kishibe-sensei, is everything okay over here?”

Rohan’s frown does not go unnoticed, nor does his curiosity and worry when he asks back. “Is everything okay over there?”

Sighing, Paolo turns, patting Rohan’s back and pulling back as soon as Rohan steps aside to avoid his touch. “Rohan-sensei,” the scientist starts, walking over to the door in short steps, hands behind his back, entwined, “Don Giovanna will let you know soon. As you can probably sense, things might be back to normal, but I’m positive this hasn’t ended.”

Stopping by the doorway by Fugo’s side, Paolo turns around, facing the family. “Please stay here, it’s just logical to stay safe after the magnitude of the event we just witnessed.”

Closing the door, Paolo turns to Fugo, as if knowing what’s going on —though it was just his guessing. Fugo nods, leading the way: “When time resumed, it looks like something happened with the twins’ stands.”

“Oh?” Paolo lights up, his attention completely on Fugo now. “What happened?”

Stopping before the door, Fugo’s hand stops as soon as he takes the doorknob, turning to Paolo with stern eyes. “That’s exactly what we don’t know.”

***

The room’s calm, with the medical team still observing Dante and Jovi, who are now sitting on the carpet surrounded by their favorite toys and their cat. By the left, sitting before them and watching over them, their parents —while Lena’s eyes seem lost somewhere along her sons, Giorno remains standing, arms crossed and lips pressed tight.

“So,” Coming into the room, Paolo stands beside Giorno, arms behind his back and a playful sway to his body as he speaks up. “What happened, boss?”

Giorno barely looks back as he shows the piano key, holding it between two fingers. “This happened.”

Eyes drifting between the key and his boss, Paolo grins; “I’m afraid I’m not talented enough to play piano, boss. That should be Fugo, he played in a bar for some month—”

“Paolo,” Lena calls, voice soft but still stern. “That… That thing came from them.”

“Oh?” taking the piano key from Giorno, Paolo turns it around, examining it cautiously: “What exactly do you mean, Donna? By ‘came from them’ we could think of many things. In order to give you a hypothesis, I need to know everything.”

Lena sighs, reminiscing the event: “Jovi woke up first and asked for cuddles. Then, Gio took Dante with him: he was more, uh, responsive? Active?” her hands toy with the fabric of her dress, trying to find the proper words to describe the situation, “I don't know, he just asked for their favorite song and Jovi immediately woke up. Then Gio started playing it. Dante … He reached out to Jovi and when they held hands something happened.”

“Oh? You say Dante reached out to Jovi?”

“Yeah.”

Paolo chuckles, amused, a knowing look hidden behind calm eyes —and as he speaks, his laughter only grows: “Chrono, Chrono, Chrono!” he laughs fully and carelessly, voice dropping a few octaves: tone accusing. “Prophets…”

“Yeah…” Giorno nods, still looking at the boys. “What we need to know is if we're right.”

“It depends,” Paolo says, “What's your theory, Giogio?”

Finally looking back, Giorno's chin points at Lena. “It's hers —she thinks Chrono lied.”

“Well,” the scientist crosses his arms above his chest, toying with the piano key before him. “Let's see, why a piano key, of all the things? Is there something you are not remembering? Everything has a reason.”

Both fall silent, and while they're still looking on deep in thought Paolo hums to himself, sitting with the boys. “Don't worry, I have plenty of time.”

Lena's the first to talk, slowly turning to look at him. “It's a piano key, because their favorite song features a piano. Now, I don't think that's what we should be thinking about. Remember the prophecy?”

Paolo hums, leaning his elbow on his thigh and his chin on his closed hand, eyes drifting between Passione’s bosses. “I understand you might be worried and confused. But it is important, at least for me: everything has a reason when it comes to these things. It’s science. Now,” looking back at Jovi, then at Dante, he starts explaining his hypothesis.

“I think the song acted as a trigger —have they ever seen a piano before?”

Fugo speaks for the first time since he got there, voice calm but still holding an ounce of anxiety behind. “I’ve played for them. So, yeah.”

“Good,” Paolo nods, “Then, that means they’ve seen and are familiar with piano keys. They might not know how they work or the material they are made of but one thing is for sure: they know that’s a piano key and that’s the thing that can play their favorite song.” Looking up, he meets Lena’s eyes, then Giorno’s: “Now let’s take a quick look at the prophecy, hm? I’m pretty sure both of you learned it by heart just so you could be sure everything happened like Chrono said.”

The couple nods, and he gestures at them to go on.

Giorno takes a deep breath: “Reborn and Rebuilt. Reborn for Dante and Rebuilt for Jovi.”

Paolo nods, raising a finger to interject with a question. “Who touched who and happens to be the one that creates matter?”

This time, Lena replies, voice tiny. “Dante’s Reborn.”

Paolo hums, “Then that means Dante was the first to react, and Jovi’s Rebuilt just responded to its counterpart —which means…”

Giorno sighs, sitting on the couch beside Fugo. “Chrono said both stands would awaken in October or November, but wouldn’t be active until they turned seven.”

Silent, Paolo nods, fully knowing what this means —the rage of those two. Cold, scary and explosive, held back by stern eyes and calm faces.

The thing that comes, however, is something completely different: while Giorno’s still looking down at the floor Lena speaks up, softly: “Thank you, Paolo, Fugo.”

Fugo stands up, as if knowing he’s dismissed without having to be told: Paolo follows and as they leave, Dr. Bocelli’s words react their ears:

“They’re out of danger, boss.”

As the door closes and the medical team leaves for a break before packing everything, the family in the room remains in silence as the twins drift back t o sleep, tired but no longer ill; safe and healthy.

“Helena.” Giorno mumbles, reaching out for her hand as he sits by her side, his eyes clouded by the strands of wild hair that fall on his eyes and the shadow that forms due to the low lighting in the room. “Are we on the same page?”

It takes a moment for her to reply, but when she does he’s sure he’s never seen her so angry yet so calm and collected —like she’s holding it all in for later, when the time comes to unleash. “We are, babe. I think we should ask Ari and Rohan to watch over them for a bit.”

“Hm?”

Lena looks back at him, brown eyes darkened and lips in a straight line: though her brow remains relaxed, the tension in her voice is enough for him to know her true feelings, the turmoil of negative emotions she’s holding in. “We’re paying a visit to our favorite prophet.”

The smile that curls his lips up screams danger —the kind of smile only his enemies have seen: wicked and horrifying. “Oh, I’d love that.”

***

“I’m serious, Don Giovanna!” standing in the living room with his phone clutched in his hand and a deep blush across his cheeks, Dr. Joshua López plants himself before the much taller mafia boss, “I can’t accept this! It’s too much!”

Giorno looks back —and down— at the man, a much calmer expression now that he and his wife have talked and planned out their next move, and giving a small smile to the man before him, his hand comes up to rest on Dr. López’ shoulder. “It’s never enough when it comes to my family’s well being.” Looking up and in Dr. Louis’ direction, he makes sure to look her in the eye as he finishes with a: “We will be forever grateful with you. If you ever need something, I’m positive we can help.”

Dr. Bocelli speaks up from the couch, his cane between his legs and a cup of tea in his hands. “Please accept the money, Joshua, Rebecca: they're really grateful for your help: for traveling all the way here to see the boys. Right, son?”

Giorno chuckles, dropping his hands at each side of his body and shrugging, he nods: “He’s right. That’s the least we can do, but I’m serious —if you have a problem, we can help.”

Walking over, Dr. Louis sets her hand on Dr. López’ shoulder, a reassuring tone to her voice as she speaks to her friend. “Just take it, Josh.”

“Agh,” sighing, Joshua nods, looking at Giorno in the eye, then at Lena —who has been sitting by Bocelli’s side— and hums. “Thank you, it was a pleasure to work with you.”

This time Lena replies, “Of course, Dr. López. Please let Director Arroyo I’m forever grateful for his help.”

“Of course, Donna.” Bowing one last time, Dr. Louis and Dr. López leave the mansion with Vittorio and Abel behind to escort them all the way to the airport: there, another group of Passione’s soldatos would keep track of them until both arrive at their homes.

As the door closes behind Abel’s back and Akashi stands aside, Paolo walks downstairs with Rohan. The latter seems tense, maybe angry as he comes to stand before Giorno with both hands tightly curled into fists and his jaw in a straight angle.

“Mind telling me what’s going on, Giovanna?”

His question doesn't bring anything new to Giorno —sighing, the Don turns around and walks back to his wife’s side, sitting down in the couch armrest. Gesturing upstairs, he says: “Bring your wife and daughter, then. Ari needs to hear this, too.”

Ari speaks from the upstairs, carefully walking down: the absence of Ellie has Rohan frowning before she explains, “Ellie fell asleep for the night. I have the monitor with me.”

Reaching the living room and walking up to the couch, Ari’s hand finds Rohan's, gently coaxing him to sit down and listen to whatever Giorno and Helena have to say.

Crossing his arms under his chest, Giorno sighs: “Well, I guess Paolo should start with the theory.”

Clapping and standing before both couples, Paolo grins: almost like the words about to be pronounced don’t mean too much. “Turns out little Giorno number one and Giorno number two have, uh, really fucking strong and dangerous stands! I’m sure you two heard time stopped, right?”

Rohan nods, slowly, and Ariel hums.

Paolo keeps going, “So. Time stopped because while we were trying to figure out what the hell was happening, Reborn and Rebuilt were ready and functional. Do you understand what I mean?”

“Quit it,” Giorno shots back, “Just say it.”

“Right,” looking back at the Kishibes, Paolo blurts out: “Chrono lied with the prophecy. Dante and Jovi’s stands are exactly what it said, but… It never said they would be active since the awakening and active phase. We were told they would use them once they got a little bit older.”

Before anyone can say anything else, Giorno stands up, retrieving the piano key from the pocket of his jeans. “This is what they made. As you can see, it’s a nonfunctional piano key —they know this little thing can play their favorite song. To me,” he sets the piano key on the coffee table before Rohan and Ari, standing before them. “It means the more knowledge they have, the better their creations will be. Knowledge and experience will directly mean they will be dangerous… The thing is they’re still kids, barely starting to live. This is not something we considered before.”

The prophecy shared with them months ago comes to mind and, as Rohan looks down at the piano key and reluctantly reaches out to it, Ari looks back. “Do you mean Chrono was right with the matter creation thing?”

Giorno nods, lips pressed in a tight line. “Yes.”

Rohan sighs and speaks up now. “If Chrono lied… And you didn’t expect this, you must be angry.”

A dark chuckle leaves Giorno’s throat, rumbling through his chest and making Rohan look back through big eyes and tense shoulders: by his side Ari reaches out for his hand, unconsciously gripping at it.

“You have no idea,” he says, leaning back and passing a hand through his hair, then goes back to his previous posture, expression back to normal. “We’re planning a visit tomorrow.”

“So we were wondering if you could stay and watch over Dan and Jojo while we’re gone.” Lena speaks now from her spot on the couch, taking the cup of tea Akashi offers. “We understand you’re still tired from the flight and a lot of weird stuff happened today, but we’d leave in the afternoon. Just so we can rest, you know.”

Ari nods, still holding onto Rohan’s hand. “I know Dan and JoJo are still resting a lot, but we’ll make sure to keep them company. Is there any worry about them using their stands now that they’re active? Should Rohan use Heaven’s Door to temporarily disable their stands until we know more?”

Glancing down at Ari, Rohan raises an eyebrow. “Is that something that’s on the table?” He looks over at the Don and Donna next, waiting for a response.

The weight and weariness of the past few days is evident on the couple’s faces, but Giorno remains steady, thinking the request over. “As is often repeated in the community, stand users attract other stand users. With the boys’ stands manifesting this early, they would undoubtedly be in more danger. I am willing to let you seal them, Rohan, but we need to carefully consider the phrasing and how much we limit or allow.”

Rohan nods, pulling a small sketchbook from his pocket. “We can modify the language of it as much as we need before I write it in them.”

“Let’s work on it tonight so we don’t have to worry about it tomorrow. We don’t know if the new stands have any auto-defense mechanisms or not, so we’ll have the whole team on standby if necessary.”

Ari raises her hand and pulls Hearts out, saying, “I can use my lights to calm them down too, if you need it.”

“Giogio and I can each hold a twin too, to keep them more calm.” Lena adds, holding her stomach.

Looking over, Giorno gives her a sad look, holding a hand to her stomach. “Helena. I know you want to be there. But if anything does happen, I prefer to keep you and our future baby safe. I know it’s not in your nature to sit things out, but would you want to watch over Eliana along with Akashi?”

Eyes filling with tears momentarily, Lena nods. “I’ll do whatever we need to keep everyone safe.”

Ari walks over, wrapping her arms around Lena’s shoulders from behind and holding tight. “Why don’t we all get some food together and work on the phrase? I got Ellie some applesauce and waffles and yogurt earlier, but I don’t think anyone else has eaten much since lunch.”

Giorno looks up, finally smiling a little. “We could do pizza tonight.”

Rohan nods, standing. “I know Tonio’s recipe for a good mozzarella tomato salad too, if you’d like any help.”

***

It's late —past two in the morning, dark clouds visible through the curtains as chilly air blows past and into the Giovanna's mansion living room. The moonlight and the sounds of the night work as a natural melody for the two men hunched over the coffee table between mugs and energy drinks.

“Master,” Heaven's Door calls, hand carefully set on top of his user's shoulder, where his thumb rubs gentle motions over the tense muscles as he overlooks the men.

“Hm?” blinking slowly, Rohan leans back, wincing as his back cracks and the pain is momentarily relieved: green eyes heavy with sleep but still holding determination.

“I believe we're ready.” The stand says, pointing at the messy words written in the paper before them, then at Giorno —who's not in a better condition, purple bags under his bloodshot eyes, lips dry and hair slicked back after hours of thinking and working on the correct, most effective phrasing.

Looking back at Giorno, Rohan hums, reading over the orders once more and then back at Giorno with an arched eyebrow. Sighing, he reaches up for his headband, slipping it down and letting the fabric hang around his neck, words mumbled out in a quiet, exhausted tone. “If you agree, Giovanna, I'll go get Ari.”

Giorno hums —deeper, like the stress has finally worn him out. Reaching out, he pulls the paper sheet to him, reading over one, two, three times before he nods to himself, looks back at Rohan and Heaven's Door and nods firmly. “Yeah. But. I was thinking… Maybe Gold Experience Requiem can, you know, help.”

“I don't think I get it—” frowning, Rohan's fingers massage his temples, a funny small undertone to his words. “Justify your answer.”

“Mhm,” Leaning back, Giorno winces as a short sensation of numbness sets on his lower back and disappears almost immediately —and still he replies, slowly as he thinks about his words and the proper way to phrase his reasoning. “Goldie can…” he looks up into the ceiling, almost like it has the answer: after a moment, he looks back, eyes drifting between stand and user: “He can disband other stands, to put it simply —it's far more complicated than that. But I think it can work. Make everyone's work easier.”

Tapping his pen against the table, Rohan and Heaven's Door fall silent for a moment before Heaven looks back, golden eyes shining under the artificial light. “But Hearts can help calm them down.”

Standing up, Giorno smiles, turning and walking up to the closest window: “Figured you'd say that. The thing is you'd keep them calm, yes, but we don't know how aggressive, responsive and alert Reborn and Rebuilt can be. Let's remember we're just seeing them. Anything can happen.” turning his back to then, Giorno keeps talking, hands entwined behind his back and voice low, barely audible for Rohan:

“I'd hate to see anyone hurt.”

Sighing, Rohan smiles, pretending to not have heard Giorno but knowing his words will let the Don know he did. “Okay then, Mr. Protect Everyone. I'll get her.”

As he leaves the living room, Giorno's voice reaches his ears:

“Go, Romeo, go.~”

Chuckling and shaking his head as he leaves and walks down the hall, Rohan turns on the corner, stopping on his tracks as he comes face to face with Westwood and Ari. The frown that reaches his features tears a small chuckle from West, who stands aside and gestures to Ari, voice a gentle warm tone: “She couldn't sleep so I offered to take her here, Kishibe-sensei.”

Nodding as a 'thank you' Rohan steps closer, hand reaching out to Ari's shoulder as Westwood leaves down the hall (probably going to check on Giorno), leaving them alone.

“Hey,” he calls gently, tilting her chin up with the pad of his index from his free hand, “What's wrong?”

“'s nothing,” Ari mumbles, wrapping a warm hand around his arm, “Just worried.”

Rohan's features relax and his lips curl up into a calming, soft smile: “Everything's gonna work out. We made sure to think of everything.”

“I know. Just anxiety…”

Taking her hand and guiding her forward, Rohan's eyes soften as he looks back at his wife. “Fear and anxiety makes us human. It's natural to feel it.”

Wiping a stray tear, Ari nods, looking back with a soft, tired smile, “You're right.”

As they reach the doorway, Giorno's sitting in the couch with his head between his palms —and as soon as the sound of their footsteps alerts him of their presence he straightens up, playing it off with a quick look at Ari and a: “You don't have to do this, Ariel.”

Walking in, she shakes her head no, sitting before the Don with determination shining behind her eyes. “I want to.”

Giorno smiles, dimples slightly standing out: “A warrior, huh? Well,” standing up, he walks up to the door, stopping only to say: “I'll go get the boys. This room is far away from the others so if something goes wrong, my team will have more space to move around and protect you and act. Please prepare.”

Sharing a look, the Kishibes nod, watching the Don leave with Westwood following him —the flicker of his shadow and the sound of air blowing outside leave behind a mysterious, scary silence.

“So,” Westwood starts once they’re in the hall, hands inside his pockets and eyes glued to the ground. “Are you really ready to show your stand, boss?”

The answer comes after a long silence, right as they reach the stairs: “What are you trying to say, West?”

Chuckling, Westwood shakes his head: “You shouldn’t answer a question with another question… I guess I’m just wondering if this is really the right moment.”

Giorno hums, thoughtful, “Rohan and Ariel know little to nothing about my stand, but… If it’s about the boys, then it’s the right time. Besides, everyone I trust has seen my stand and knows about his powers: I believe our situation calls for it, too.”

Reaching the top, Gio stops and turns around to face his friend and bodyguard and only there when Westwood stops before Giorno does he notice the exhaustion on his features, not masked anymore.

“West,” Giorno says, eyes dull, “Trust is not a bad thing.” His hand reaches out, landing on Hysteria's user shoulder and applying minimum pressure, as if trying to comfort him. “I know you don't always know who to trust, but I can assure you Kishibe Rohan and his family do deserve our trust and protection.”

Chuckling, Westwood nods, raising a hand to pat Giorno on the shoulder with a quiet: “Got it, got it.”

As Giorno turns around and keeps walking, Westwood speaks up again, though this time quieter. “You're showing your stand as a thank you, then.”

Grabbing the doorknob to the twins bedroom, Giorno nods. “Yeah. But Rohan and Heaven have been curious about Goldie for a while now —you can call it a demonstration.”

Stifling a laugh, Westwood shakes his head, mumbling one last “So you're just getting cheeky~” as they come into the room, coming face to face with Abel and Akashi.

“Shhhh,” Akashi starts as soon as he spots them, raising a finger to his lips: “They're asleep.”

Nodding, Abel steps in, blocking the light coming from the hall from reaching the sleeping toddlers, “Is everything ready?”

Sitting by Jovi's bed, Giorno mumbles out: “Yes.” then reaches down, taking the boy in his arms, lifting him up carefully until he's cradling his sleeping son against his chest. Standing up, he turns to Carvelli. “Could you take Dante?”

Doing as told, Westwood imitates Giorno and as they're standing ready, Abel comes closer with two small blankets, draping each over their shoulders and into the kids to keep the light from hurting their eyes and waking them up.

“There you go,” he says, forcing himself to smile even if he's anxious, “Don't want the Donna to hear them cry, right?”

Giorno nods, though the mention of his wife brings a short sensation of pain to his chest —to think of her crying and worrying as she watches over Ellie brings uneasiness and sadness to him. But still, he nods, imitating Abel with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes nor makes his dimples stand out. “Right. Could you two go and stay with her?”

“Of course, Giogio.” Clapping, Akashi runs out between giggles, waiting outside for Abel.

***

Paolo Aparigi is a scientist. He believes exclusively in evidence and science —anything else, like religious dogma and superstitions must prove themselves.

Stands are science, he knows: because their existence is related to medicine and said discipline is science and biology coded. His own stand demands his understanding and attention on scientific matters, but even with his years of sitting behind a desk reading, writing and his vast experience dealing with other stands and stand users, nothing could compare to the physical pressure requiem stands could inflict.

He could only describe it as funny: the amount of ridiculously oppressive pressure a requiem stand could inflict was nothing to joke about.

A quick look around the room and he's sure everyone's just as affected as him—shaking hands, dizziness, tiredness and probably more than he can see.

Gold Experience Requiem has been standing in the corner of the room, big pink eyes staring from his spot as Giorno and Westwood stand in the middle holding the twins who are still asleep, with the rest of La Squadra and Unità around them: the process had just started and though he is the closest to the door, he still can't bring himself to leave even if Giorno did say anyone could leave if they couldn't take it.

The voice coming from the corner, of that being close to a god, makes him stand straight and look forward when he speaks:

“Kishibe Ariel, use your stand, please. I will not attack or affect your powers.” His hand rises up forming a fist and the pressure in the environment decreases like he willingly dropped —or overturned— his abilities like some kind of electromagnetic field to allow her unrestricted movement and space.

Through shaking hands, Ari leaves her husband's side, approaching Giorno first: Hearts on Fire pops out after a moment, almost like her user struggled to call her. Reaching a hand out, Heart's hand rests gently on top of Jovi's head, combing his blond wavy strands back. A blue aura soon emits from Hearts’ forehead and stomach eyes, glowing through her crystal heart as well and surrounding the stand and the boy, who sighs in his sleep and sinks further in his father's arms.

Gold Experience Requiem turns to Rohan, eyes boring into his soul and a hand gesturing forward with a “Go ahead, Kishibe Rohan.”

Standing up from the couch, Rohan curses under his breath as dizziness kicks in for a second, then makes his way over. With Heaven's Door peeking over his shoulder in Goldie's direction, both stands share a look before Heaven turns back to Jovi, raising his hand, swiping open at his forehead and stops to look back at Giorno.

The Don's eyes show his pain and exhaustion: the hurt from seeing this. Still, he nods, lips tightly pressed into a line and eyes dull, from their usual tone to a darker one.

“Sorry, Giovanna.” Rohan whispers, right hand shaking as he holds the pen and writes down the command:

‘Reborn and Rebuilt will not work, passive or actively, unless my life or my brother's are in danger and we are unprotected.’

Nodding, Rohan makes sure to deactivate his stand on Jovi, reading over the command and letting his skin turn back to normal when he's satisfied with the result. Then, he moves on, now before Westwood and Dante. Quietly, he watches Ari repeat the same process: using the blue light and letting it sit for a moment before he's allowed to come closer.

And repeating his own actions, he still mumbles his apologies to Giorno, hands shaking by the time he's done.

The room stays the same for a second —the sounds of crickets outside suddenly disappear and Paolo tenses, noticing the two silhouettes barely forming behind Giorno and West.

“Don't move.” Gold Experience Requiem says, pink eyes staring right into the two beings: there, he watches over both. The one coming from Dante, a completely white humanoid being with a clear hose down his arms, connected to a core in the middle of its chest —the other, the one behind Jovi, has the same humanoid form and white skin with only one clear hose in its left arm, connected to his back and ending at the top of his right shoulder. Both vibrate, with the one coming from Dante producing something that circulates inside the hoses relentlessly.

As both their hands materialize and reach out to the other, Ari's stand reaches out again, setting her hands atop the twins' heads and, as the first wave of blue light comes out in waves, both stands disappear and the edges of the pages in their foreheads disappear.

Finally deactivating his powers, Goldie overlooks the room: everyone's panting and sweating, completely exhausted. And so he says: “We're done, Master.”

“Thank you, Goldie." He says, leaning back.

Before he disappears, Goldie bows, leaving behind the faint smell of honey and flowers.

Sitting up straight, Giorno looks back at the Kishibe's, blinking slowly –like a cat, though his action comes from his exhaustion. “Thank you.”

Helping Ari sit down as La Squadra and Unità slowly take their seats in the couches, Rohan nods, taking slightly longer to reply as he sits on the floor between Ari's legs, leaning his head on one of her thighs. “Yeah, 's okay. Jus' make sure they're okay.”

***

As they stop before the door, Akashi and Abel tense. With the latter still offering his arm for Lena to hold on, the Capo and soldato look back at their boss: she's quiet, brown eyes bloodshot from all the crying and tiredness. Her hand rubs over the baby bump and the other grips Akashi's arm, staring straight into the door. Anxious and tired.

The door opens suddenly and Giorno's there by the other side, a towel draped over his shoulders, damp hair and pajamas on. Taking a step out, he offers a hand out to his wife, talking to his men with a small, reassuring smile:

“Thank you, Abel, Akashi. Go get some sleep.”

Letting go of Akashi's arm, Lena remains silent as she takes Giorno's hand and both men leave.

In silence, both come into their bedroom.

Guiding her to the bed, Gio's silent as she sits down, eyes welling up with tears as she looks over the sleeping twins in the middle of the bed, surrounded by blankets and pillows in an attempt to keep them from falling down.

“Hey,” he calls, setting a warm hand on top of her cold ones, leaning down in order to do so, “We succeeded. Their stands are sealed: they won't be used unless there's no one to protect them.”

A sob cuts off the silence —reaching out, Lena holds both of his hands between her shaking ones, quietly crying and trying her best to hide her face from his view. With a “Hey,” Giorno moves, kneeling before her, trying his best to warm her hands with his. “It's okay. They're healthy.”

Another sob and she reaches out, arms open and face red and swollen: the image breaks his heart. Coming closer, he wraps both arms around her, rubbing her back as she holds onto him, mumbling her answer against the crown of his head:

“I'm just glad it's over,” wiping her tears with the pads of her fingers, her smile slowly brings a small pink blush to her cheeks, “Knowing they'll be playing soon. Running around the house, asking about their sister. I'm so happy…”

Pulling back, Gio grins —relieved and calmer— looking up at her. “I'm sure they will keep going like nothing happened. We will talk to them if they ask, but I think we should keep this information from them until they're older and mature enough to understand.” his hand reaches out, cupping her face gently, tone shifting to one quieter and warmer. “I was just going to fill the tub for you, do you want to take a bath or leave it for tomorrow?”

Leaning into his touch, Lena hums, rubbing a hand over his arm. “I don't think I have the energy for a bath, maybe just a quick shower. Creating a baby is hard, you know.”

Laughing, Giorno pulls back to untie her shoes, tossing them aside and standing back again, a warm, tired smile her way as he walks into the closet to retrieve clean clothes.

Looking back, Lena reaches out to Dante, then at Jovi, tracing their faces with the pad of her finger. For a second, as the sounds of Giorno walking in the other room and the quiet night surround her, her attention remains only on her sons, studying their faces and making sure they're safe: counting down their fingers, making sure their freckles are still there —even running her hand over their hair and checking the color of it. The same type and color as their father's.

“Okay, I got you my hoodie and clean panties —” stopping before her after coming back from the bathroom, Gio goes silent, waiting until she looks back, sighing in relief when he notices her calm expression, keeping on. “Do you need help showering?”

Shaking her head no, she stands up, slowly and only after looking back at the boys, Lena walks over to Gio, taking the towels from him and pulling him in for a short kiss. “Be right back, babe.”

***

The bathroom door opens slowly. Blinking the sleep away, Gio looks up into the direction he knows the door is: there stands his wife, wearing his hoodie and putting a wild curl behind her ear.

“Hey,” she whispers, slowly walking up to bed. “Sorry it took so long, I needed to dry my hair first.”

Nodding, Giorno stands up, quickly circling the bed and offering a hand to help her up into the bed. As she makes herself comfortable, he pulls the comforter up around her hips. Then, he retrieves another comforter from the top of his side of the bed, mumbling:

“Guess we won't share the comforter today. Gotta keep them safe.”

She hums, watching him climb on his side and lay down, propping himself up into his elbow.

Both of them look down at the sleeping twins —deep asleep, like nothing happened and it had just been a long day playing and running around the house.

Slowly looking back, Lena's mouth opens slowly to ask in a whisper: “Where…?”

Looking back, Giorno blinks slowly, understanding her real question almost immediately:

Where did he write the command?

Raising a hand, his finger comes closer, almost touching Dante's forehead, right where Rohan had written the command: “Here.”

She nods, thoughtful. Perhaps calmer than before. Then, she slowly settles down, mumbling: “And I guess Ari helped too?”

“She did.”

Sighing, a soft smile lifts her lips up. “They're so good to us.”

He follows her eyes, watches her blink slowly, staring at the spot he signaled earlier. Her question does not come out, though he knows she really wants to ask: like she's afraid of even mentioning the topic.

Slowly opening his mouth, Giorno's warm hand reaches out, gently coming to rest against her hip with a whisper intended to reply to her unspoken question:

“Goldie saw their stands. Not completely, but I know he could see some small details.”

She looks back, lips pressed into a line and a quiet hum. If she wants to talk more, he's sure the topic will come up again tomorrow, when both have rested and calmed down.

He watches her eyes close and her hand reach out, holding Jovi's hand and, before he gets the chance to say goodnight, he knows she's already asleep.

Sighing, his own eyes start to close as his mind runs quickly over the recent events: before reaching a conclusion, sleep begins to overcome him.

At least now, compared to around thirteen years before, he's surrounded by everything he's ever wanted but didn't know he needed: a family and friends.

[peter-morales]

ea libidine | peter parker

summary — peter's broke. really broke. he'd do anything to get a job at your dad's newspaper, The Daily Bugle.

pairing — peter parker x jameson!reader (female)

note — face claim is tom holland. if you don't know who jameson is, watch tobey's spider-man movies or read the comics. i don't know how anyone could survive with that man as your dad, but just pretend he's tolerable. enjoy :)

warnings — explicit smut

“Hey! Don’t fucking move, bro.”

You feel exceedingly stupid, holding out a pen in your trembling hands in front of you like a sword at the figure who’s just jumped into the dark office through the window.

The form startles—a man’s, you notice, with a racing heart—and throws his arms up in surrender, oddly analogous to the way Spider-Man does when he’s confronted by the NYPD.

“Hey, I…uh,” he starts, and you can’t help your eyebrows from shooting up at the unnaturally high voice.

He moves forward in slow steps, tentatively, until the moonlight falls on his face, half illuminating it, but enough for you to discern.

“Chill out,” he speaks again, although this time your guard is down, and you can’t find anything to say because now you can look at his face. And despite the absurdity of it all, you can only think one thing as your eyes rake all over his frame—fuck, he’s pretty.

Still, you blurt out, lowering your hands from their hopeless defense position, “Who are you? What are you doing here?”

His arms lower down when he sees you do the same, a small, sheepish smile gracing his features.

“‘M Peter. Parker.” he puts his hand out for you to shake, awkwardly twiddling his fingers when you don’t reciprocate. You’re still eyeing him warily, squinting your eyes for effect until he elaborates, “Uh, I came here t’day morning to get a job. I just, um…forgot my camera lenses, so I came back to get ‘em.”

He gestures towards the camera that hangs from his neck, moving to hook his hands under the backpack straps, rocking back and forth on his heels.

There’s a moment of silence while you survey him and come to the positive conclusion that he isn’t hostile. You nod your head once, slowly, then twice and thrice, quickly and in an assuaging way.

He grins at you again, soft and calculated, before moving around the large wooden table to search for the transparent lenses on the side cabinet. Your eyes never once leave him, sometimes running over the wild curls on the back of his head to his chiseled jawline.

You’re drawn out of your musing when he goes “ah!”, signaling that he’s found what he’s looking for.

Before he can turn around and catch you looking at him, you say, “Did you get it?”

He spins on his feet, waving the lens in his hand and nodding.

“No, the job.” you clarify, “Did you get the job?”

His mouth twists bashfully, and when he looks down, you can ascertain a healthy flush that coats his cute little cheeks.

“Uhm…I- no.” he glances up at you and immediately back down again, “I didn’t. That Jameson dude, he’s- hm, how do I- he’s a bit…volatile? I guess, that’s how you put it.”

His lips curl up when he hears you snigger, eyes twinkling in the veiled moonlight.

“Yeah, dad can be like that every so often.” you murmur, closely observing him because there’s no way you’re going to miss the look on his face when he catches up.

“Yeah, man. He’s like—” he stops abruptly, biting his tongue when he does catch up. His eyes widen comically, mouth opening and closing like a fish, “he’s your- you’re his- oh! Heh, I- I’m sorry, I didn’t—”

“That’s okay.” you shrug, tightening your shoulders because you’re trying so hard not to laugh right now, “I think he can be…volatile too, sometimes.” you grin, using the uncannily felicitous term that he’d coined.

The room lapses into silence again, and you notice his hand move to scratch the back of his neck fumblingly. Although, when he does that, your eyes are magnetised to the bulge of his biceps, and you can begin to feel that your panties are damp.

You cut to the chase.

“How bad did you want the job?” you enquire, moving around the table yourself, and leaning back slightly onto it.

“Hmph,” he puffs out a defeated laugh, “pretty badly, yeah. I…uh, got evicted too, today, so.”

Your eyebrows raise up in genuine concern. “Pretty shitty day, huh?”

He’s got his hands stuffed in his pockets, and he lifts his shoulders up and down in a stiff shrug, pursing his lips, “What’s new?”

“Listen, Peter,” you move forward towards him, not missing the way the blush returns to his face when he hears his name, “I can help you get the job–”

But there you go, cutting your offer short with a yelp, tripping and stumbling over because your shoelaces are always, always untied. As you bend over, hands out in front of you to brace yourself against the floor, there’s a pair of arms that clutch your waist, steadying you.

“Woah, careful!” he breathes, emitting a small squeak when your palms land on his shoulders, using his firm body to stand up straight again.

You’re close now, so close, torsos only separated by the length of his camera. You’re staring at him, mouth slightly agape, because holy shit, those reflexes!

He’s looking back at you, just as dazed, subconsciously tightening his grip on you to pull you closer. He gulps visibly, “You were saying…?”

You don’t answer. You’re staring at his pretty pink lips, mouth flooding with saliva just as your pussy trickles arousal.

You want to consume him.

You dig your nails into his skin, using the deathly grasp to lurch him forward and ram his mouth against yours. He howls gingerly, tilting his head to the side to use more force.

You respond with a whine, mostly out of pain because his camera knocks into you, pushing against your stomach uncomfortably.

“Shit, ow!” you curse, and he pulls back at that, taking it off and throwing it carelessly onto the table before latching onto your lips again.

You can taste sandwiches on him.

It should be gross that you can taste his dinner on his mouth, but the fact that you recognise the sandwich is so fucking libidinous.

“Delmar’s?” you moan into his mouth, throwing your head back as he moves to lick your jaw.

“Best sandwich in Queens.” he whispers, nipping at the smooth skin of your neck.

“What’s your usual?” you bring his face back to yours, biting his tongue, then sucking on the pink muscle to relish it.

“Number five, with pickles,” he molds his body into yours, “smushed down real flat.”

“Fuck!” you’d never thought a sandwich order could make you this wet, but you’re dripping. You’ve absolutely ruined your panties because that’s the exact same thing you get at Delmar’s. Every single time.

You’re not even kissing anymore, just letting out lewd sounds and panting dirtily into each others’ spit-soaked lips. You need more, desperately. You just hope he’s good.

You shove him away from your body, leaning back against the table and pushing your heaving chest out for him to admire. He’s licking his lips, eyes blown wide and darting from your seductive eyes and your breasts.

You throw out all inhibitions (as if you had any in the first place) and in the most alluring way you can manage, you purr, “On your knees, boy.”

He obeys in an instant.

There’s a pleasurable tug in your lower belly that spreads out into a pang, igniting all of the cells in your body. Seeing him so at your mercy.

You only get a moment’s glance at his face looking up at you submissively—it’s enough to have it branded in your mind—before his head disappears under your skirt, pressing an experimental kiss on the wet spot on the underside of your panties. Your response is a hot breath expelled from your mouth, one of your hands flying down to hold the hair on the back of his head.

He moves back out again, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your panties before gradually dragging them down your legs. All while searching your eyes for any sort of sign that you want to stop.

He doesn’t find any.

By the time he’s done taking it off of your legs and flinging it to some corner of the office, you can swear you feel the wetness sticking on your thighs with how esurient his gaze is.

He doesn’t get on with it straight away, much to your annoyance. He begins at your knees, pressing small kisses to the skin as he travels upward heavily, trickling his fingers on the back of your calves.

He does finally reach your pussy, but he still doesn’t give you what you’re coveting for. You roll your eyes in vexation when you feel him softly kissing the outer lips.

You’ve had enough.

“Get on with it, boy,” you snarl, “or are you so fucking dumb you don’t know where the clit is?”

He pulls back again in an instant, glaring at you as if you’d made a hollow assumption. Although, when you tilt your head to the side, simpering, his eyes soften to haze over with something unchaste, and he stutters out a meek, “No- I…yes, I know. I can—”

You cut him off with a narky tut. “No more talking, then.”

And oh, boy, is he good.

He starts off by proving your premise wrong—wrapping his lips around your achy clit and sucking on it so hard your legs threaten to give out already.

“Oh….” you drag out the exclamation, eyes rolling (this time because of how fucking good it feels) to the back of your head, “yes!”

He’s sucking and licking and biting on your bundle of nerves ceaselessly, so much so that your toes twitch and your fingernails dig into the wood of the table and abrade it. It’s not even been a full minute since he’s put his mouth on you, but you’re already grinding against his mouth, feeling the hot knot in your stomach twist pleasurably.

You thought you’d be able to have some authority over the man on his knees for you, but he’s too adept in his work. All you can do is drop your lower jaw so that your mouth forms a wobbly oval, whine his name in pure desperation, and nuzzle his face further into your cunt.

He’s left your clit to throb, now moving to your pillowy entrance to lap up the arousal that oozes out of it. And then, unexpectedly, shoves the entire length of his tongue inside you as far as he can go.

The feeling is absolutely intoxicating.

It muddles up all coherent thoughts, replacing them by pure ecstasy as white spots dance in your eyesight. He’s moaning, you’re moaning, and the both of you are acting unequivocally unhinged at 12 a.m. in your dad’s office.

You’re clenching around the broad muscle that fucks your pussy, gritting your teeth at the unwavering pleasure he’s bringing you. Your head lolls back and around your shoulders, while you cry out his name as an encouragement for him to make you come.

He can hear you—he can hear your beautiful moans so clearly, but he can’t see you because your skirt covers his face. It’s driving him insane—, because he knows that your lips would look so fucking pretty stumbling over the syllables of his name. He growls in frustration, and he’s unable to stop his own hands as they move from their position around to your thighs to the front of your skirt, ripping it in half before bundling it up to hurl it to a corner of the office.

He can see your face now, but it’s not what he expected it to be—contorted in pleasure. Rather, you’re staring at him, eyes practically bugging out in shock and anger. He slows down his actions, kitten-licking your clit while looking up at you with innocent, wide brown eyes.

“What the fuck! You fucking asshole—” he bites your clit at the rude comment, immediately moving to press his nose against it to go back and fuck your cunt with his tongue, “unhh, uh, oh fuck, don’t stop, boy, don’t you fucking stop…”

And there you go, forgetting about your favorite skirt, succumbing to the fiery exaltation that he’s giving you.

It’s getting too much now, your throat turning huskily numb from all the whines, and your body falling weaker and weaker, just trying to get that blissful high. He’s not even moving now, just kneeling there, eyes flicking from your face to your swelling chest. His glorious tongue juts out of his mouth as far as he can manage, and he’s watching you intently ride the little bumps and ridges on his pink muscle.

You’re beginning to get the telltale feeling of warmness crawling up your legs from your toes, and once it reaches your knees, it’s too intense that you buckle and lose control of your feet. But he’s there for you—he grabs both of your asscheeks tightly, setting you comfortably on his tongue so that your legs are dangling.

You’re literally sitting on his face.

It amazes you to no end—how the fuck he’s that strong. He ripped your skirt—okay, his biceps surely showed you potential. But this? Supporting your entire body weight using just his tongue and his neck? It’s raving mad.

Your mind wanders—if he’s this fit, then surely his stamina…

And just the mental image of Peter fucking you has you spiralling into climax, your body writhing and pussy contracting frenziedly and then slowing down until you feel utterly satiated. With sweat running down your temples and chest still panting heavily, you’re a hundred percent sure you’re never going to forget this exceptionally wild orgasm.

He sets you down gently on wobbly legs, standing back up to his full height while keeping you steady by clutching your waist. You’re still calming down, staring at him as if in some sort of trance when he licks up all of your juices from his lips and around his mouth.

“So,” he starts with a rasp, clearing his throat, “about that job…”

You flutter your eyes at him, smiling sweetly, because you’ve caught the glimmer of hope that dangles from his unfinished sentence.

You pretend to give it a bit of thought, even though you know you’re not going to bend to his will this easily. With your core still quivering and the sight of the (very big) tent in his pants, you’ve already decided that you’re going to have some fun.

The night’s still young.

“Depends,” you breathe, licking a fat stripe of his skin starting from the corner of his mouth till his ear, then spitting filthily, “can you make me come again?”

[powpowpunchout]

Ritz in the Ring!

Octave hated Don Flamenco.

He hated his stupid, uptight attitude.

He hated his smug, punchable face.

He hated everything about him.

The way Don talked? The way he constantly spoke in that ‘I’m so above you’ tone, ending every sentence with a little hum as he raised his head into the air, acting like what he just said was the greatest thing ever? Octave despised it.

The way he moved? The way he’d constantly run in place as the curled tip of his toupee bounced against his forehead, all while gesturing during his fights? It drove Octave crazy.

And the sounds he made? The way he sung to himself? The way his feet slid across the mat? The way he smelled his roses? He hated it. Octave hated it.

It didn’t matter where Octave was. In the ring, among the audience, in the locker room, it didn’t matter. Octave could hear that ear grating sniff from a mile away.

Even thinking about that sound made Octave want to tear his ears off.

Oh, how Octave hated him.

But you know what Octave loved about Don Flamenco?

You want to know what he absolutely loved?

Beating him.

The thought of hitting Don over and over again, interrupting every little sound he’ll make thrilled Octave.

It’ll especially feel great after Don had ratted him out about the origami to Macho Man.

Octave gripped onto his black boxing gloves tighter as he marched through the hall, getting closer and closer to the ring walk.

He stared at the metal doors ahead. The voices of hundreds of fans and photographers filled his ears, getting louder and louder with each step. He grinned.

He wanted to ruin Don Flamenco.

He wanted to bust his lips and make ‘em bleed. He wanted to make his eyes so swollen and purple not even his mascara could hide it. He wanted to knock his head so far back his toupee would fly off.

Octave could feel it.

Today was the day Don was going down.

He had been training for weeks, he won his last fight, and heck, Great Tiger had wished him luck earlier today. Even he knew Octave was gonna win.

When Octave approached the set of doors, he threw them open. Cold air and the screams of people blasted him in the face.

His grin only grew wider as he took in the world around him.

The dark blue stadium filled to the brim with hundreds of people. Colorful, blinding lights flashing. Giant speakers blaring music loud enough to shake the world. And every single stage light pointed to the ring.

To Don Flamenco.

Octave grit his teeth, that crooked smile still on his face as he started marching over to the ring, pushing aside any fans, photographers, and reporters in his way.

Nearby cameras clicked and flashed. Audience members cheered and hissed. Paparazzi hollered and questioned. Yet he ignored them.

He could hear machines he passed by whirr and pop as white and blue smoke came out of them. Spotlights shone in his face. But he never took his eyes off the stage. Off his opponent.

Look at Mr.Pretty-Boy over there in his tacky boxing attire, smilin’ with a rose in his mouth, posing as if he’s already won.

The two boxers locked eyes.

Don grabbed his rose and spat a thorn out. He brought it close to his face and made sure to do a long, drawn out sniff. Even with all this noise, Octave could hear it.

Octave climbed onto the stage and stepped over the ropes. A loud voice boomed from the speakers, announcing both his and Don’s presence. The crowd roared.

As Octave started shoving his bandaged hands into his gloves, Don started tapping his feet. Octave grumbled and turned away. He checked to make sure the white buttons on his gloves were secure before facing Don again.

The referee entered the ring. He adjusted his black bowtie before motioning for the two boxers to come to the center.

The men were face to face. The referee started going over the rules.

They ignored him.

They’ve already heard this junk before.

All they did was glare at each other as the geezer went off.

Don confidently raised a brow. Octave scowled.

The referee was starting to wrap up.

Don raised his head high.

Octave brushed his hair down with his gloves. He kept going until his vision was nearly obscured. Until all he could see were slivers of light and Don Flamenco.

Octave listened and waited. Waited for the referee to finish talking. Waited for him to shout that glorious, glorious word–

“FIGHT!”    

As soon as that left his lips, Octave threw the first punch.

~ ~ ~

Piston Hondo entered the locker room, he held onto the strap of his red gym bag as he kept repeating his plan for the day in his head.

He wanted to spend as little time here as possible. He just needs to drop off his belongings, grab his bandage wraps, and catch up on training.

Usually he’d work out at home, but recently he’s been catching himself slacking. Even when he’d push himself for hours on end, even when he refused to take breaks so he wouldn’t waste a single second, it still felt like it wasn’t enough.  

Hondo thought that perhaps the environment of WVBA’s training room could help him focus more. No homely feelings to waver his determination, no tea tempting him away, no distractions. Nothing. He’ll have no excuses to slack off.

As Hondo walked past rows of lockers, he shuddered as he remembered he’ll most likely have to wipe down any of the gym equipment he wanted to use beforehand. He’s seen how vile and soiled some boxers have left it before, and it made his stomach churn. That was the only downside to the training room. Some animals couldn’t bother spending a mere few minutes cleaning after themselves. Was it honestly so hard to–to…

Hondo slowed.

He took a few steps back and looked at the set of lockers behind him.

Were one of those… Ticking?

Hondo carefully approached the lockers. He listened, following the sound until he was standing right in front of Super Macho Man’s locker.

He tilted his head. Why in the world was a sound like that coming from there?

He took another step forward, hoping to peer through the slits and see what could be inside–but his foot hit something. He looked down to see a bunch of women’s phone numbers scattered about and surrounding a small, diamond-shaped sign with Aran Ryan’s face in the middle. There was a giant red X over it, and words below it reading ‘ARAN DO NOT TOUCH’. The sign looked like it had been ripped off. It looked like it had been crushed too, as Aran’s face appeared rather compressed, and were those… Bite marks?

A hand suddenly grabbed onto Hondo’s shoulder.

“Don’t go near that.”

Hondo spun around and raised his fists, ready to strike, but stopped when he saw a startled Bear Hugger.

Hondo breathed in and quickly fixed his composure, “I apologize.”

“What? No, don’t be! I’m th’one who scared ya.” Bear swatted at the air.

Hondo nodded before glancing at the glistening locker again, “Do you know what’s inside?”

“No idea.” Bear shrugged, “Few days ago, I saw Aran leavin’ th’locker room, right? ‘N he had this weird smile on his face, so I thought he’d done somethin’, ‘n sure enough when I came inside, Macho’s door was all crooked!”

Hondo’s brows lowered. The door seemed fine to him–then he narrowed his eyes.

Barely, just barely, he could make out fingerprints on the otherwise spotless locker. Macho Man would never let such ‘stains’ slide. He kept his locker so spotless, so polished that you could see your reflection in it.

“Course, I couldn’t just stand around with his door lookin’ like that, so I popped it back into place. Then I heard that tickin’...”

The two stared at the locker, the ticking filled the silence between them.

“I tried to get them cleanin’ staff members to check it out, but uhm,” Bear chuckled, “I forgot Macho has one of ‘em personal cleanin’ crews, so nothin’ can be done till he comes back.”

Hondo frowned.

Macho Man and his ridiculous standards.

He still recalled the day he had overheard a conversation Macho Man had with a WVBA staff member. ‘I don’t want no middle class mitts on my stuff, got it?’ The memory of his attitude formed a sour pit in Hondo’s stomach.

Heaven forbid anyone not up to Macho Man’s standards help him.

Hondo could only hope Macho paid his personal staff well. Those people cleaned the outside of his locker so well, it looked and shone like silver. They even polish his ridiculous number plate; the numbers were made of gold and on each side there were mini biceps. The biceps sparkled a little too brightly, and Hondo despised the fact he could see them. He despised the fact they existed in the first place.

Macho Man’s decoration used to be much worse. He used to ‘bedazzle’ his locker with golden chains, jewelry wrapped all around, and money. Actual money. Real, crisp, $100 bills that were held up by clothespins and hung from string as if they were family photos. But Macho Man had to eventually stop, as every time he’d put something up it’d go missing a few days later.

When Macho Man eventually caught Aran stealing red handed, he tore everything down and put up that Anti-Aran sign.

What Macho Man didn’t know was that Popinski also stole from him. He’s drunkenly bragged about how he’s sold that fancy jewelry and other treasures to pawn shops for drinking money. No one’s brought it up to Macho Man, though. Not yet. And they probably never will. If Popinski caught wind that someone ratted him out, who knows what that horrifying, large man would do to them.

Perhaps, just like the stolen jewels, Macho Man deserved to have the inside of his locker tampered with. If he’s so adamant on prohibiting ‘lower class’ people from cleaning his locker–from doing their job–then he only has himself to blame for what will happen. Much like he only has himself to blame for leaving such precious goods out in the open.

Does Hondo support thievery? Of course not.

But he doesn’t support Macho Man’s behavior either.

“I believe I saw his car while I was heading inside.” Hondo finally said. It was kinda hard not to see his car. Who could ignore a white and gold limo taking over fifteen parking spaces?

“Alright. That’s good t’know.” Bear folded his arms, “Hopefully he’ll come in sooner than later so I can give ‘em a heads up.”

They lingered at the locker for a moment longer.

“Welp! We can’t spend all day ‘ere. Unless ya wanna try yer luck with one o’the misses.” Bear gave Hondo a playful nudge and a wink as he motioned towards the littered phone numbers.

Hondo lightly rolled his eyes, “No. We can go.”

Bear started heading back to his locker. Hondo readjusted the straps of his bag and followed behind, but then he noticed something… Off about his friend’s hands.

~ ~ ~

Octave wound his arm up and struck Don in the face. Then he struck him again.

And again.

And again.

He didn’t give Don the chance to react. He didn’t want to.

Each grunt that left Don’s mouth motivated Octave to keep going.

Octave kept throwing hit after hit.

Don stumbled back. He shifted from side to side as he tried to regain balance. He then shook his head and dug his feet into the ground with a huff.

Octave peaked through his hair and grinned at what he saw.

Don’s mascara smeared. It left a ridiculous, black streak across his face. How is he still trying to act all serious when he looks like that?

Oh, Octave wished his gloves weren’t black just for this one moment. He’d love to see if any of Pretty boy’s makeup got on them.  

Don raised his gloves into the air. Octave shook the hair back in his face.

“Come on, come on!” He heard Don shout.

Octave ran forward and swung his arm across. He felt his fist collide with Don’s jaw.

Don hissed before shouting: “Toro!”

Right on cue, Octave dodged.

Air rushed past his face as Don’s fist flew by.  

Octave backed away. Through the roars of the crowd, he could hear Don’s boots slap against the mat. They were getting closer and closer–

Octave quickly stepped aside, feeling another gust of wind from another missed hit.

Through the strands of his hair, he could just barely see Don’s tacky, bright, red and yellow shorts.

He clenched his fist, fingers digging into the leather of his glove before swinging again.

His fist rammed into Don’s gut.

A pained gasp was heard. Then a thud.

Octave let out a laugh. He didn’t even see the scene yet–he didn’t need to. He recognized that wonderful sound from anywhere. And when he moved the hair out of his eyes? When he saw Don Flamenco sprawled out, face-down on the mat? He could only laugh more.

“Yeah, stay down ya schmuck!” Octave hollered, putting his hands on his hips.

The referee got between them. He raised his hand in the air as he kept his eyes on Don.

“ONE!” The ref shouted, throwing his hand down before raising it again.

Octave kept bouncing in place.

“TWO!”

He kept punching the air.

“THREE!”

His heart was racing. It felt like it could explode out of his chest at any moment.

“FOUR!”

How could anyone rest now? How could anyone stay still with the life of the stadium surrounding them?

“FIVE!”  

Just looking at Don’s body sent a surge of energy through him.

“SIX!”

Don groaned. His fingers twitched before he pushed himself up. The bruises on his stomach were growing darker. Poor Don.

Poor, poor Don.

Those bruises looked so gross and out of place. His hair was an absolute wreck. The only thing left unscathed was his darling face.

Octave would be more than happy to change that.

But just seconds after Don got back on his feet, after the referee had shouted ‘Fight!’, the bell rang again, and the two had to go back to their corners.

~ ~ ~ ~

Hondo’s eyes kept darting from Bear’s hands to the back of Bear’s head. He wanted to study his friend’s hands–to see what was so off about them–but a part of him worried Bear would suddenly turn around and catch him staring.

Granted, it wasn’t like Hondo was judging Bear or anything of the sort, but he couldn’t help and feel he was being invasive.

Bear started to fix the straps of his overalls, and that’s when Hondo got a good look. That’s when he saw it.

Bandaids.

Bear’s hands were covered in bandaids.

They were so small and so close to the color of Bear’s skin that it made them so easy to miss.  

“Bear,” Hondo said, “are you alright?”

Bear spun around, puzzled. He started patting himself down, “I think so. Why ya askin’?”

“Your hands.”

“Oh! That.” Bear chuckled as he raised them, showing off the many bandaids that curled around his fingers and covered the front and back of his palms, “Well, ya see I was–I was with my uh, my l’il buddies, right? And they were bein’ a real hassle this week...”

As Hondo listened to his friend’s rambles, he kept studying the bandages. He could tell many of them were slapped on without a second thought. Some were uneven, some overlapped each other, some had bumps, and some were starting to peel, revealing the injuries they were meant to cover.

“... And ya know how they can get. I was tryna give ‘em some treats th’other day and they started stealin’ from each other…”

The injuries themselves didn’t look too bad; they were tiny scratches that looked like the quick marks of a red pen.

Hondo wondered what in the world Bear was doing to garner so many of these–

A word rang through Hondo’s head.

‘Papercuts.’

Those were papercuts.

Hondo’s grip on his gym bag tightened. The strap dug into his skin while Bear kept talking.

Hondo knew about Bear’s origami, he wasn’t supposed to, but he did.

Was it worth mentioning paper in this conversation? Bear had already told his lie, so why bring it up? Why risk pressuring Bear into confessing the surprise he had planned for him and  the other Major Circuit boxers? The surprise he must’ve been working so hard on behind the scenes. The surprise he cared about so much that he’d let himself get injured in hundreds of little ways all for the sake of his friends.

Was it even a surprise anymore?

Both he and Don Flamenco knew of Bear’s origami. The only one who wasn’t aware was Great Tiger. That’s nearly half of the circuit.

Hondo’s eyes traveled back to Bear’s face. He was still smiling. Still talking.

Hondo thought back to Bear’s reaction when he found the purple, paper crane at the foot of his locker a few days ago. The same paper crane Octave tried to steal. The delight in Bear’s voice as he said: ‘Well now! How’d ya end up out here, li’l fella?’ Speaking to the craft as if it were alive did put a smile on Hondo’s face.

Another question came across Hondo’s mind.

Did he and Don truly know what Bear’s surprise was?

All they did know was that origami would be a part of it, but even then that can’t be said with 100% certainty.

Hondo and Don didn’t know what Bear would be doing with the origami, what the end results would look like, nothing.

It’ll still be a surprise.

Hondo sighed with relief. He relaxed his shoulders, not realizing how stiff they’ve been, before tuning back to Bear’s words.

“--but I can’t stay mad at ‘em. They get a bit rowdy, sure, but I love ‘em all th’same.” Bear said with a chuckle as he ruffled his beard.

Hondo gave him a grin, “Of course. However, you will need to keep your hands in one piece if you plan to keep boxing. Promise me you’ll be careful?”

“Awh, psh!” Bear swatted at the air, “Gonna take a lot more than a couple’a tiny claws to mess these hands up! But I’ll be safe, pinky promise.” He raised a bandaged pinky in the air.

Hondo gave him a look before finally reaching out and locking pinkies with Bear–

“YEE-OUCH!” Bear cried out. Hondo quickly pulled away, about to apologize, but Bear gave him another light nudge, “Jus’ kiddin’.”

“Hilarious.” Hondo said as he rubbed his temples, trying to hide the grin that was on his face. Bear chuckled at his joke–and at Hondo’s reaction–before the two split off and went to their lockers.  

~ ~ ~

Octave kept throwing punches in the air.

He was ready to go, he was ready to fight, but Don was taking his sweet, precious time.

He was doing it on purpose. Octave knew it. And that fact alone made Octave swing harder.

Each second Don wasted fixing his hair, spraying on perfume, or wiping his stupid face with a towel felt like an eternity.

Why didn’t he just hurry it up. Why spend all that time prettying himself up when he’s gonna get beaten anyway?

Waste of time. It’s all nothing but a waste of time.

Every moment Octave wasn’t punching Don’s face was a moment wasted.

Octave looked at Don from across the ring. He was holding a ridiculous, expensive looking bottle of floral perfume that he’s been dousing himself with.

Don saw Octave staring and locked eyes with him. He raised the bottle just a bit higher and sprayed himself again. He lifted his nose into the air and made another loud, obnoxious sniff.

Don then leaned against the ropes, plucking one as if it were an instrument before slipping the bottle between them. A man nearby reached out and held onto it.

The referee approached Don and said something to him. Don nodded then finally stepped out of his corner.

It was about time.

Octave marched over, not taking his eyes off Flamenco. Off his disgusting, bruised body.

When the two men met in the middle, Octave didn’t cover his eyes again.

Oh no.

Not this time.

Not when Don was so close to losing.

Octave was ready to put up with every agonizing sound and motion. Every foot tap, every clap, everything if it meant he could watch Don’s delicious defeat.

The referee raised his hand in the air.

“FIGHT!”

Before the man could step away, Octave threw the first punch.

Don dodged it.

Octave went to throw another. And another. Don dodged again and again.

What a coward.

Octave kept trying to land a hit on Don, but that dolt did nothing but dodge.

What a quitter.

When Octave did manage to get a few hits in, Don’s tempo only picked up.

Octave was practically chasing him around the ring now.

“What is this, some sorta dance lesson, Donny!?” Octave shouted.

He tried to strike Don from the side, but Don spun around and avoided it.

“Oh, I apologize. Am I too swift for a slow-witted man like you?”

Right as Don took another step back, Octave punched him in the face, but he only managed to get his nose.

His dumb, long nose.

That wasn’t enough.

Octave wanted to hear that thing crack. He wanted to feel Don’s skull against his glove.

But Don.

Kept.

Moving.

Away.

He was stalling. That’s what.

Nothing but dodges and running.

Octave wouldn’t be surprised if he planned on doing this until the round came to an end.

What a mouse.

All that talk about being so great, about being the top of the Major Circuit, but now that his precious title was at stake, now that Octave was so close to winning, he was fleeing.

Whatever.

It doesn’t matter.

Who cares?

Octave kept chasing him.

He knew the moment he’d manage to corner Don, the moment he’d get his hands on him, Don would be done for.

Finished.

Over—

DING-DING.

The bell rang.

Don was already back in his corner.

Octave stood there and stared.

He should’ve won that round.

He knew it. Don knew it.

But no.

Donny just hated the idea of anyone else coming on top.

Octave huffed and stormed back to his corner. He couldn’t wait to get the third round done and over with.

~ ~ ~

Hondo spun the combination to his locker, going over his schedule for the day again. Refill his bottle, wrap his hands, stretch, wipe down the punching bags, train until the stadium’s closing hours…

Right as Hondo grabbed the locker’s handle, he stopped.

He slowly raised his head and tilted it ever so slightly. He could’ve sworn he had heard something.

“Y’heard that too?” He heard Bear Hugger ask. Hondo nodded, not like Bear could see.

Then they heard it again.

A holler? Someone shouting?

Whoever was talking sounded far from the locker room–

They heard the shouting again.

Another voice followed.

Then another. And another.

Before they knew it, what sounded like tens of hundreds of voices were growing closer and closer to the door. They all collided and clashed with one another, it was impossible to make out what was being said. The clicks and flashes of cameras could also be heard, their bright lights able to be seen through the cracks of the door, and then the footsteps. So, so many feet running about you could’ve mistaken their ruckus for rain.

Why were so many people in the hall? How did they get there?

This was for boxers and staff members only. Who in their right mind would be reckless enough to—

Hondo heard the door swing open and hit the wall.

“Sorry folks, The Macho’s gotta get ready!”

Of course.

Why wouldn’t it be Macho Man?

Piston’s brow twitched. He could already feel a headache forming and Macho Man hadn’t even stepped into the room yet.

Several fans whined in response, photographers begged for one last photo.

“No can do. Ya think I can just give handouts like that?” Even with Macho Man hidden behind the lockers, Hondo could perfectly envision the way he shook his head and stuck his nose up.

A few more wails could be heard.

“Alright, alright, fine. But this is the last one. YAH!”

The fact Hondo could practically hear the ridiculous pose Macho struck was painful both physically and mentally. Bashing his head against the lockers would be far more tolerable than being in close proximity to Macho.

The fans cheered, cameras flashed, a woman squealed, and Hondo’s grip on the handle only grew stronger.

The door slammed shut. Macho Man’s shoes squeaked across the floor, followed by the sound of a lock being spun.

Bear Hugger made his way over to the World Circuit boxer.

Hondo was tempted to stop him. To grab him by the arm and ask if Macho Man was truly worth the kindness, but Hondo knew his friend all too well. Once he saw someone who needed help, there was nothing in this world that could stop him.

“ ‘Scuse me, Macho Man? I wouldn’t open that if I were ya.”

Macho Man stopped. He turned and leaned against his locker, he wrapped his thumb around the light blue slash of his robe and tipped his purple shades down. He scanned Bear Hugger from head to toe.

“Is that supposed to be a threat?” Macho Man asked.

Bear Hugger stared at him.

Was that a joke?

It didn’t sound like a joke. Macho Man certainly wasn’t smiling.

What–

How in the world did that sound like a threat? Did Bear Hugger say it too aggressively? Even Hondo had to peek past the lockers to make sure he heard correctly.

“No, no, I was just, er—y’see, I think Aran busted in earlier and did somethin’, ya know?”

~ ~ ~

Octave leaned against the corner post. Only one thought filled his mind.

He was exhausted.

And as much as he hated that feeling, if he was tired, that meant Don was tired.

The final bell rang. Octave pushed himself off the post.

He can last for another minute.

He can last for the rest of the round. He knows he can.

The two men stood before each other again.

Don held his head high. Octave glared.

“FIGHT!”

Octave threw his arm back, but Don swiftly socked him in the face.

Octave staggered back, but before he could ready himself for Don’s next move, he was struck again on the side.

“Toro!”

Octave dodged the hit.

As Don prepared another punch, he started to tap his feet.

Octave couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Tap, tap, tap.

That’s all he could focus on. That’s all Don did.

Tap, tap, tap.

It didn’t matter where Octave looked. That stupid, stupid motion could still be seen from the corner of his eye.

He hated it. He hated it. He didn’t care if Don’s fist was flying towards him again. He wanted that ruckus to stop.

Even with all this noise, even with the audience, the screaming fans, Octave could hear it.

Tap, tap, tap.

Oh, it drove him insane.

It made him wanna scratch his ears off, it made him want to–

Don jabbed Octave in the stomach. Then another hit came. And another and another.

Octave couldn’t tell if he was gonna get sick from the injuries or from that horrible motion.

Octave tried to throw a punch himself, but it was like swinging through molasses.

Don slid across the ring, creating a piercing, painful squeak.

“Oh, you almost got me!” Don said as he covered his mouth with his glove.

Octave wanted to tear Don’s legs off. He wanted to break them.

He wanted to keep hitting them over and over until the bones snapped and jutted out of skin. He wanted to twist Don’s ankles until they–

Don threw several more punches.

Octave hardly had the chance to dodge and took most of the hits.

Everything was starting to slow for him, yet Don kept getting faster and faster. His feet were going faster and faster.

And if Octave wasn’t distracted by his shoes, then he’d be distracted by the tip of Don’s toupee.

It kept bouncing off his forehead like a thread hanging off a shirt. Octave wanted to pull it.

He wanted to rip it off.

He wanted to yank it back and take Don’s head with it.

And if the toupee wasn’t annoying him, the audience members slamming their hands against the ring’s sides were.

And if it wasn’t that, it was the whistling of fans.

Or the obnoxious clicking of the cameras.

Or the buzzing of the lights.

Or the ticking of the clock.

It was everything.

Every.

Little.

Thing.

Octave’s head kept darting around, leaping from one terrible sound to the next.

He wanted to snap at the crowd. He wanted to bash his head against the lights to stop the buzzing. He wanted to–he needed to–

Octave tore his eyes away from the audience just in time to see Don wound his arm back.

Don’s fist flew forward and Octave flew back.

Octave thought he’d have a little time to prepare for the next attack, but he was wrong.

Soon another hit came, then another, and another, again and again.

Every part of him that wasn’t shielded got struck.

Every twist and turn Octave’s body took to try and avoid the attacks was only met with more hits.

And when Don stopped, Octave cracked an eye open.

Don raised his fist high into the air and flicked his wrist. He smirked and gave Overload a wink.

Octave braced himself, but Don took these last moments to gracefully twirl in place before punching Octave in the face.

Octave fell onto the disgusting, cold, sweaty floor.

His body ached. His head was pounding.

He heaved as he turned onto his stomach. Every movement sent a surge of pain through him.

As Octave tried to push himself up, the referee walked over.

“ONE!”

“Please! I paid good money to keep animals like Aran outta my stuff.” Macho Man smiled confidently, giving his locker a hard knock.

“TWO!”

“Yeah, but he—he still got in.” Bear said. Piston Hondo joined his side, glaring at Macho Man.

“THREE!”

“Obviously not. My locker’s still closed, ain’t it?” Macho Man said as if the two were blind. As if he wasn’t the one completely glossing over the ruined Aran sign.

“FOUR!”

“It’s alright, Bear.” Hondo put a hand on his friend’s arm, “Your efforts are appreciated, but if Macho Man wishes to open his locker, so be it.”

“FIVE!”

“Exactly. Why don’tcha listen to Pesto over there.” Macho Man turned back to his locker, “I gotta photoshoot I need’a get ready for, and I don’t need more time wasted by th’likes of you.”

“SIX!”

Bear Hugger was about to ask what was wrong with people like them, but Hondo shook his head.

“SEVEN!”

Macho Man spun his locker’s combination. Hondo and Bear Hugger watched.

“EIGHT!”

When the lock clicked, the two stepped back.

“NINE!”

Macho Man opened his locker then stopped. Hondo and Bear peered past him to see what was inside. It looked like a thin, small machinery crudely made out of scrap metal. Then it made a loud CLACK.

“TEN!”

“What the—“ Before Macho Man could finish, the machine started to sputter wildly. Ink started shooting out from its metal tip. Bear Hugger quickly stood in front of Hondo, shielding him as ink sprayed everywhere. Macho Man cursed and reached inside. He grabbed the device and crushed it, causing the remaining ink to burst out and douse him entirely. All Macho could do now was stand in a puddle of ink. Broken machine still in his hand. In utter shock.

“KNOCKOUT!”

[ragingbookdragon]

Batsis Meet The Batboys

Batsis x Batfamily One-Shot

Word Count: 4.1K Warnings: Explicit Language, Angst

Author's Note: Y'all, I am slowly but surely making good on that promise to get all my stories reposted--also editing them so they're nice and neat! Enjoy! -Thorne

Dick:

She hummed in amusement as her father grunted and begrudgingly passed over another five into the man’s hand. “You know…it’s good to know that my perfect father actually sucks at something.” She turned and popped a piece of cotton candy into her mouth. “And it’s carnival games.”

He grunted again when he missed the balloon, and he handed her the darts. “Why don’t you try it, sweetheart?”

She handed him the cotton candy with a grin and took the darts, holding one up and making the repeated motion of throwing it. She couldn’t help but feel a little cocky as she asked, “Dad, if I get this, what toy do you want?”

She nodded to the bat in the corner. “I was thinking about the stuffed bat. Eh, dad?” He glared at her, but she laughed as she tossed the weighted dart, watching as it hit center and she pointed to the bat. “I’ll take that one.”

The man handed it to her, and they walked off; she held it up to her father. “Here. A bat for Batman,” she quipped, and he grunted at her.

“That isn’t funny, (Y/N).”

She shrugged and retorted, “It’s a little funny. You just have no sense of humor because you’re a stick in the mud.” (Y/N) shoved the stuffed animal in her backpack before reaching up and taking her father’s hand; she glanced down at her wristwatch on the opposite hand and said, “The performances don’t start for another twenty minutes. Want to go look at something else? I saw one of those spinning car rides. We could do that.”

When he didn’t give her response, she looked back up at him to see him staring off into the distance, his eyes set on the Wayne Enterprises tower. “Dad? You okay?”

He blinked as if startled from his thoughts and he directed his gaze down at her and after a few moments, he nodded. “Just thinking.”

“Penny for your thoughts.”

“I haven’t spent a lot of time with you.” He frowned and squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry, (Y/N). I haven’t been a good—”

She cut him off with a ‘pfft’. “Dad, it’s alright. I’m not angry.” (Y/N) squeezed his hand in return. “I might be young, but I’m not an idiot. I know being a dad is new for you, especially since you didn’t get to watch me grow up the first decade of my life. But what matters is that you’re here now, and you’re doing the best you can. And that’s all I ask of you.”

At her little speech, he was stunned, and after a moment he knelt down and hugged her. “I love you, sweetheart.”

(Y/N) returned the hug, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, though they were so big and broad that she couldn’t meet her hands around his back. “I love you too, dad.”

Happening to glance over his shoulder, she immediately gasped. “Dad!”

He let her go, immediately moving to protect her. “What? What is it?”

(Y/N) pointed towards a costumed family walking and greeting the people. “It’s the Flying Grayson’s!” She grabbed his hand and tugged him along in their direction. “Let’s get a picture with them!” She could hear her father chuckle behind her, but he followed, and they stepped up to the family.

(Y/N) waved at them. “Hi Mister and Missus Grayson! Can we get a picture with you?”

The man and woman smiled at them and nodded, and a boy a couple years younger than her stepped up.

He stuck out his hand. “Hi, I’m Richard Grayson. But you can call me Dick.”

(Y/N) took his hand and shook it. “(Y/N) Wayne. Nice to meet you, Dick.” She gestured to her father. “This is my dad, Bruce Wayne.”

Her father smiled and tipped his head towards the boy before handing the camera to someone and stepping beside her. She and Dick had become friends instantaneously as they slung their arms around each other’s necks, their grins cheesy and wide.

The camera flashed and the man handed Bruce the camera, and (Y/N) nodded to the family. “Thank you for taking a picture with us.” They started to walk away, but she stopped them, motioning to her dad. “Can my dad take a picture of the three of you? I know it seems a little weird, but it’d be cool to have a picture of you guys, and one with you.” They nodded at her request and she gestured to her father, watching him take the photo of the family. “Thank you!”

They waved and walked off, leaving them, and she turned to Bruce. “Wanna go find seats?” He nodded, and they began moving in the direction of the tent.

***

Time seemed to grind to a halt as (Y/N)’s heart stopped in her chest as she watched them slam into the ground. Chaos filled the tent in mere seconds, people screaming, children crying, and her father grabbed her arm. “(Y/N)—”

She nodded and pulled her arm away, already starting to make her way from her seat. “I’ve got him. Go.” She didn’t wait for his reply, hopping the seats until her feet hit the dirt ground and she broke into a sprint towards the sobbing boy in the center.

She twisted her feet and slid on the ground next to him, her heart tightened when he gazed up at her, sky blue eyes wide in agony. (Y/N) reached out, wrapping her arms around him. “I’ve got you Dick. I’ve got you kid.”

She felt his arms come around her middle as his head burrowed in her shoulder; his entire body shook with every heart-wrenching sob, and (Y/N) raised one of her hands, running it through his hair as she whispered repeatedly, “I’ve got you.”

(Y/N) heard GCPD officers shouting, and she looked up, seeing her father standing beside them. “Batman,” she whispered softly.

He glanced at her before kneeling beside them and blocking the way of the fallen couple. “You two shouldn’t look at this anymore.”

She nodded and squeezed the boy on the shoulder. “Dick. We need to get away from here.”

“I can’t…leave them.” He pulled back, tears streaming down his cheeks. “I’m…all alone.”

(Y/N) shook her head, and placed a hand on his cheek. “I’m here, Dick. You’re not alone.” His face pinched as a new round of tears sprouted in his eyes and he lowered his head, the sobs wracking his body, and she gazed up at her father’s face, knowing the agony behind the white slits. “You’re not alone.”

Jason:

She walked alongside her father, tugging at the collar of her suit. “Can’t we make a suit that doesn’t choke me as much as this collar does? I feel like I’ve got one of Ivy’s vines wrapped around my throat.” He didn’t say anything and she rolled her eyes. “Fine. Fine. Ignore me. I see how it is.”

“You’re the one who designed your suit, Batgirl. I told you to choose breathable fabric but you refused and said you wanted adequate protection like mine.”

She blinked and glared at him. “Do you get some sick pleasure from repeating my apparent failures?” He chuckled lightly, and she looked around. “Whatever…I still think you shouldn’t have parked in Crime Alley. You know there’s always trouble here.”

“The Batmobile is fine,” he said, voice tired as if he’d answered the question a hundred times before—he had.

(Y/N) hummed, nodding to the car a few feet ahead of them and quipped, “Oh, so the kid jacking the tires off it is completely normal?”

Her father looked at her split second before turning to see it, his eyes widening in disbelief as he muttered, “I don’t believe what I’m seeing.” He moved soundlessly towards the boy, her following.

“Got to give it to him. It takes some big balls to jack the Batman’s ride,” she admired and he grunted, though she knew he was in agreement, and they walked up on the oblivious boy.

She watched her father pull his ‘Put-The-Fear-Of-Batman-Into-‘Em’ stance and he cleared his throat with an exaggerated, ‘ahem’. (Y/N) snorted at the way the boy jerked, twisting to see them staring at him; she swore he’d shit himself the way the fear bled into his eyes.

Her father glared at the kid. “You do realize that’s the Batmobile, right?”

The boy’s face pinched, and he tipped his head up, his voice haughty. “Duh. You do realize you parked your car in Crime Alley, right?” (Y/N) barked a laugh, but quickly coughed when her father turned his glower to her, and he turned back to the boy just in time to see him swinging the tire iron.

“Bad move, hotshot.” Her words fell on deaf ears as she watched her father catch the tool and grip the boy by the front of his hoodie, picking him up off the ground a few feet.

He squirmed, legs kicking out for few seconds before spitting, “You want to beat up on a kid, go enlist in the GCPD like every other bully in this city.”

(Y/N) saw the gears turning in her father’s head as he leaned in, his face inches apart from the boys as he demanded, “I’m only going to ask you this once…So give some serious thought to your answer.”

The boy craned his neck, eyes narrowed as he asked, “What it is?”

Her father gave him a smirk. “Are you hungry?” The boy’s brows furrowed in suspicion, and within the next ten minutes, they were sitting on the hood of the Batmobile eating burgers and fries and sipping on milkshakes.

At one point, she’d reached over and grabbed the boy’s hands; he looked up at her and she nodded to his burger. “Slow down, Jason. You’ll eat your hand at this rate.”

He snorted but nodded, eating a little slower than before as he said, “Sorry. This is the closest thing to a home-cooked meal since I’ve had a home.” He paused and looked out at the city. “It’s funny…I was here once, looking for Wayne Manor.” He looked between them. “I was trying to case the place, but I got lost.”

Bruce looked down at the boy and questioned, “Why do you think it’s okay to steal from people?”

Jason scoffed at his question. “Are you kidding me? Look at this view.” He motioned to the buildings in the distance. “Freaking ‘Billionaire Playboy’ thinks he’s the king of the world. Pfft.”

(Y/N) elbowed him in the ribs and quipped, “Oh honey, he doesn’t think he is. He knows he is.”

The two of them cackled, but the solemn look from her father made their laughter fall short and he said, “Sometimes you just have to give people a chance Jason…they’ll usually surprise you.”

Her father’s words made Jason pause, and she saw him sink into deep thought. After a few moments, she leaned across Jason and nudged her father.

He looked at her and she tipped her head to Jason. “Does this mean he’s coming home with us?” Her father looked at him and back to her, then nodded and she shifted her arm, grinning as she wrapped it around Jason’s neck. “Well then, welcome to the family…little brother.”

Tim:

She could sense the boy following her, and after a few moments, she realized he wasn’t giving up. It wasn’t just some coincidence that they were on the same path—he wanted something from her. She glanced over her shoulder before ducking into the shadows of an alley, waiting for him to follow.

Sure enough, he stepped into the opening of the alley, looking for her, then he shook his head and stamped his foot on the ground. “No-no-no. I was so close to finding her.” He sighed and his shoulders fell in defeat as he visibly deflated.

She stepped behind him and gripped his shoulder in an steel-tight grasp, inquiring, “Why are you following me, kid?”

The kid gasped like he’d been shot as his knees collapsed beneath him, falling from her grip and to the ground. He rolled and gazed up at her with a mixture of shock and wonder as he breathed, “Batgirl.”

She glared down at him and demanded, “Answer my question before I call GCPD for you being out past curfew. Why. Are. You. Following. Me.”

He swallowed thickly before nodding rapidly. “Right. You see, I’ve been looking for you, Batgirl.”

“Yeah, I got that from the tailing. What I wanna know is, why?”

“I need to talk to you about Batman.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion at the mention of her father. “What’s a scrawny-ass kid like you, need to talk about Batman with me for?”

His mouth opened, then it snapped shut and he seemed to think on his answer for a moment. He looked at his hands and whispered, “It’s about your brother…Jason Todd.”

Hearing her deceased brother’s name knocked the air from her lungs and she barely managed to get the word ‘what?’ out without sucking in a breath.

He glanced up at her. “I know who you are Miss Way—”

(Y/N)’s hand shot out and she slapped it over his mouth before shaking her head. “Don’t say my name. You don’t know who’s listening.” He went silent as she removed her hand and held it out for him. “C’mon. If you know who I am then that means you know everyone’s identity.”

He nodded mutely and she clicked a button on her wrist; A few moments later, her bike pulled in front of the alley. “Get up. We need to go have a chat.” He took her hand, letting her haul him to his feet, and they walked over to the bike. (Y/N) climbed on before nodding to him. “Get on and hold on.” He followed her order, sitting in front of her, and she took off.

***

A few minutes later, they were stepping into one of the safe houses her dad set up around the city. She closed the door and flicked on the light, pulling the cowl off before gesturing to the table. “Sit.” He obeyed and she opened the refrigerator, pulling out two sodas. (Y/N) turned, taking the seat across from him and sliding his drink over. “Now. Who are you and how do you know about all this?”

He nodded and pulled out a giant book, placing it on the table. “My name is Timothy Jackson Drake, I’m thirteen, and I’ve been following the exploits of Batman, Batgirl, and Robin since I was two.”

(Y/N) cocked a brow at that. “Two’s a little young to be able to remember us.”

Tim looked at the book and nodded. “I know…but I have a photographic memory, and I remember the first time I saw Batman.”

“And that was?”

He paused and his voice quiet. “The night Dick Grayson’s parents were murdered.” (Y/N)’s eyes went wide, and he drew his eyes to hers. “I remember Dick swinging to the ground as his parents climbed the ladder. His mom went first, and his dad followed. Then…the rope snapped, and…they fell.”

Tim quieted considerably and she had to strain to hear him as he recounted, “I got scared, and I looked away. I couldn’t watch…then I heard the crash and Dick sobbing. And I saw you run down and hug him.” He met her gaze. “Then I saw this giant, dark shape falling towards you, and I thought it was going to hurt you two. But then I realized Batman wasn’t trying to hurt you…he was trying to help you both. And he went from being a monster…to becoming some great Dark Knight.”

Tim looked at her. “From them on, I’ve been having the same dream, over and over. I—”

(Y/N) raised a hand, stopping him. “When did you find out who we were?”

He nodded. “When I was nine, I was watching TV and I saw you and Dick, well, Robin and Batgirl. You—”

“Batgirl and Robin. In that order.” She pointed to herself with a face that could only be something akin to the ‘first-child-syndrome’. “I was first.”

A smile grew across Tim’s face and he nodded. “Right, Batgirl and Robin. Anyway, I saw you two on TV, and I watched Dick perform a quadruple somersault.” He grinned rather proudly of himself and declared, “I knew that somersault like I knew my own name. About six months later, Robin made his first appearance. And if Dick Grayson was Robin and Bruce Wayne’s ward, then Bruce Wayne was Batman, and you were Batgirl.” (Y/N) stared at Tim in shock, too stunned to even form words.

He shifted nervously under her gaze. “Um…Miss (Y/N)? Batgirl? Are you alright?”

(Y/N) blinked and shook her head as she muttered, “Holy shit, kid. What are you?”

“I—I’m sorry?”

She huffed a laugh and grinned at him. “You’ve got some damn good detective skills to have figured all that out.” Tim smiled sheepishly under the praise, then (Y/N) stood up from the table, stretching her arms over her head until she heard her joints pop, then she stared at him. “You got a place to sleep tonight?”

“I…no. Not at the moment.”

(Y/N) placed her hands on her hips and hummed. “And why’s that?”

“Well, in the course of looking for you, I’ve also been looking for Dick. But I can’t find him. He’s good at disappearing.”

She nodded and pointed to a room. “I know where Dick is. Go sleep in the guest room, and tomorrow we can go find him.”

As she walked past him, heading for her room, he questioned dubiously, “You’d do that for me?”

(Y/N) stopped and glanced over her shoulder. “Isn’t that what family does?”

Tim’s jaw went slack and he gaped at her as she stepped into her room and closed the door behind her.

Damian:

She shut the door behind her and locked it, though there really wasn’t any reason to considering the fact that no one could get into the manor, let alone across the front lawn without anyone inside knowing.

Hauling the bag up and over her shoulder, she found it odd that no one had greeted her yet and her oddity turned into unsettling when she didn’t hear anything.

She dropped her keys in the silver bowl on the side table and looked around the foyer. “Hello? Dad? Alfred? Timmy?” She stuck her head in the kitchen door. “Anyone home?”

There was no response and she hummed questioningly, knowing that on a Sunday, everyone was home relaxing. She made her way to the study and shifted the clock hands, watching as the entrance appeared, then she descended the steps into the cave. It was even quieter than usual, and she felt the hairs stand up on the back on her neck as she made her way to the Batcomputer.

She pushed a button on the keyboard, watching as the screen came to life and said, “Give me the most recent update.”

“Confirmation?” It replied.

“(Y/N) Wayne, Batgirl.”

The computer beeped for a moment. “(Y/N) Wayne. Batgirl. Access level high.” It paused. “Access granted. Welcome Batgirl.”

“Give me the most recent update.”

“Requested.” It processed the request then told her, “Talia al Ghul entered Gotham Bay approximately two days ago, leaving behind Damian al Ghul in Batman’s custody.”

Damian al Ghul? Who the hell is that? (Y/N) raised an eyebrow as she pushed another button. “Who is Damian al Ghul.”

“Damian al Ghul is the biological son of Bruce Wayne and Talia al Ghul. Conceived…month and day unknown…year was two-thousand-three.”

(Y/N) stared at the screen, not sure if she should feel shock that her dad had a second biological kid, or disgust that he slept with Talia to get one. All the sudden, her training kicked in and she felt someone behind her. She spun around, catching the blade of a sword coming at her. She looked down at a young child, no older than ten, glaring up at her. She’d seen pictures of her father when he was a child, and though he had Talia’s emerald green eyes and olive complexion, there was no mistaking the resemblance between him and her father.

Her eyes narrowed into slits as she shoved him away. “The hell are you doing?”

He raised the sword again and said, “Testing you.”

(Y/N) crossed her arms, her gaze curious. “For what purpose?”

He ran at her waving the sword. “To see if you are really father’s daughter.”

She chuckled at that and dodged each attempt to cut her. “Trust me short-stack, I’m Bruce Wayne’s kid.”

Her insult seemed to set him off and he swung the sword wildly. “I am not short!”

(Y/N) grunted as the blade grazed her arm, and she clenched her jaw. “Alright. I’m done entertaining you.”

She let him come to her, then she twisted, wrenching the sword from his grip before tossing it away and coming back around. She gripped him by the collar and used the momentum to slam him to the ground before pulling his arms behind him and putting her knee in his back.

It all happened within seconds, and he didn’t know how to respond other than to cry out in anger. “Let go!”

She pulled his arms tighter until he stopped squirming and she leaned down. “Take a chill pill, runt.” He still cried out in rage at the name, and she heard someone grunt a few feet from her.

“Let him up, (Y/N).”

She looked up to see her father and Alfred walking towards her. She obeyed, rolling away from the boy and to her feet. “I was wondering where you were.”

Bruce nodded to Damian, who was pulling himself off the floor in a rather heated fashion. “We were trying to find out where Damian had gone.”

(Y/N) eyed him for a moment before murmuring, “So, he really is your kid?”

Damian cut Bruce off, spitting, “Are you jealous?”

She looked at Damian and snorted. “Not even an ounce short-cake.” (Y/N) laughed at the way his face pinched in rage, and she turned to Bruce. “You just can’t help collecting them, can you?” He glared at her and she laughed, walking over and nudging him. “Smile a little, Scrooge. Your face will get stuck like that if you don’t.”

He sighed, and muttered, “I don’t know what to do with him.”

(Y/N) glanced at the boy who was picking up his sword. “Too angry?”

“Belligerent is more like it.”

She chuckled and patted his back. “Don’t worry. I’ve got him.”

“(Y/N) I don’t think—”

“Relax, dad. I handled Dick’s anger, didn’t I?”

“Damian’s got Dick beat by a longshot. I don’t think he knows any demeanor other than attack.”

(Y/N) waved as she walked towards Damian. “No one’s able to beat Dick’s anger. No one in a million years could reach the level of pissed off Dick Grayson stays at.” Bruce grinned as he watched (Y/N) take the sword and move Damian towards the stairs. “C’mon pint-sized. We’re going to explore Gotham.”

“I do not want to go.” He retorted, pulling away from her.

She grasped the back of his neck like a puppy and held him firmly as they walked and she quipped, “I don’t really give a fuck whether you want to or not. You’ve been raised by homicidal psychopaths since you were born.” She looked down at him. “You need to see the real world.”

“My grandfather and mother aren’t psychopaths!”

“Oh really? So killing people for money or because honor demands it, isn’t psychopathic traits? What about when Ra’s kills people because they disrespect him?”

“That is different!”

“I mean you don’t see me poppin’ caps in people’s asses when they call me a whore, do you?”

Bruce watched the two of them climb the stairs, arguing, and he sighed, sensing Alfred walk next to him.

“Almost reminds you of Master Dick and Miss (Y/N), doesn’t it Master Bruce?”

He looked at Alfred, then smiled and nodded. “In every way, shape, and form.”

Alfred smiled. “It is such a good thing that Miss (Y/N) is the oldest. The boys have needed her.”

“She’s their protector.”

Alfred paused, resting a hand on his shoulder; Bruce met his gaze and saw such a solemnity in them as he said, “She is everyone’s protector, Master Bruce. Even yours.” Alfred walked away, then Bruce turned and looked at the photo resting on the desk. It was the first photo he and (Y/N) had taken in their suits.

He smiled at it and nodded. “That she is.”

[mountainofgoats]

Back in the Saddle

Midvale, a few weeks post-Phantom Zone. In an attempt to remaster the powers Kara spent months without, she and her two most important people make a road trip home to test her flight.

Or, I just want Kara to be able to fly for the joy of it the way Clark did in Man of Steel.

Read with “Flight” by Hans Zimmer playing. You won’t regret it.

/////

Lena knows the moment Kara emerges from the house up on the ridge. Alex’s eyes flick up, back down, then up again in quick succession. An entirely smug grin alights her face before she pointedly looks back down at her tablet.

“We’re going to have to have a talk about your affinity for making my sister new suits at some point, Luthor,” she says.

Lena feels her face heat up. “No idea what you mean.”

“Sure you don’t.”

Lena scoffs. “She needed a new one,” she hisses at the smirking elder Danvers. “The one she had was wrecked and there was no fixing it.”

“Agreed,” Alex allows, smile growing. “But this is what? The fourth one you’ve made for her?”

“One other! With upgrades!”

“Mmhmm.” Alex types a few more things into the tablet. Pulls out a USB and plugs it into the side. “Sure.”

Lena feels her face go hot. “What are you insinuating, Alex?”

Alex shrugs. “Not insinuating anything,” she says. She glances back up and smiles some more. “Just thinking you’re making a habit of making suits for Kara and I kind of appreciate it.”

At Lena’s questioning look, Alex elaborates. “Winn made her first one,” she says. “And yeah, it did the job, but it was-“ she waves her hand in a so-so gesture, wincing- “not the best. Prone to wardrobe malfunctions.”

Lena snorts. “Patriarchy.”

“Fuck ‘em,” Alex agrees with a playful two finger salute.

After a shared grin with Lena, her eyes travel back to where Kara must have made it down to the beach. “They’ve all protected her, the suits you’ve made,” Alex says. Her voice has gone quiet. Gone is the light teasing. She holds Lena’s eyes for a moment. “And I... can’t tell you how much that means to me.”

Lena’s eyes suddenly mist over, and her throat works against the lump that forms there.

Alex looks pointedly back down at her tablet, where she pulls up a video feed from one of the comm pieces resting on the boulder she’s made her impromptu HQ desk. She clears her throat. “I’ve never made sure you knew that. So. Now I’m telling you.”

Lena absolutely refuses to cry, but fuck if it doesn’t take a Herculean effort. She wrestles with the hot gratitude and affection boiling in her chest as Alex fiddles with the settings on the camera feed.

Alex glances up again, and her smile turns warm in a way Lena knows is reserved only for her sister. “Looking good, sis,” she calls. “Little weird without the cape, though.”

“Thanks! Lena made it!” Kara chirps from behind Lena. “Even has pockets! And yeah, I was going to ask you about that. Is there no cape, Lena?”

She barely dares to turn, but Alex is giving her one hell of a challenging look, and she’s still a Luthor.

And Luthors never back down from a challenge.

She turns her face just enough to look over her shoulder and immediately curses that particular Luthor trait.

Sure, she made the suit. But that in no way prepares her for what it looks like when it’s wrapped around Kara. The dark blue, almost black throws her golden hair, shimmering in the late sun, in sharp relief. The smooth material sweeps over the dips and curves of her shoulders and biceps, the dip in the high collar exposing slightly below the hollow of her throat. She approaches silently on the sand, the soft and supple deep maroon boots smooth and soundless. Lena had left the pants a little loose, a little more comfortable, but that did nothing to hide the muscle that bunches and releases rhythmically as Kara walks across the sand.

And she’s looking quizzically at Lena. Head slightly titled, blue eyes somehow even bluer against the darkness of her suit, the blue and red accents, and the reddish tint of the setting sun.

Lena rips her eyes away from the subtle dips in Kara’s abs and desperately wracks her brain to remember what question was asked of her.

“Cape, Lena?” Alex prompts with a shit eating grin.

“Right,” Lena coughs. She turns fully to meet Kara, hand already pointing to the belt slung diagonally across Kara’s chest. “I figured, since you’re not wanting to be in the limelight just yet, I should make it a bit more understated,” Lena explains. “Did you see the crest on your left shoulder?”

“Yeah,” Kara nods. “I like that it’s so small.”

“Press it.”

Kara’s eyes dance with curiosity, not leaving Lena’s, as she reaches up to press on the tiny S affixed to the dark brown leather.

At the press of Kara’s fingers, the nanites immediately begin to crawl across the suit, gathering and extending down her back and around her chest in a long, deep maroon cloak. Kara lets out a startled sound of delight, swishing the thick material and stroking at it with near reverence.

“More nanites?” Alex smirks.

Lena shrugs, tossing the elder Danvers a smirk of her own. “I mean, I do have an MO at this point. No sense in ditching it.”

“It’s great!” Kara exclaims. She swishes the cloak again, grinning happily. “I can put it away if I want! This would have saved me so many headaches years ago!”

She bounces over to Lena and wraps her up in a warm hug. “Thank you,” she says quietly. Only for Lena. “I love it.”

Lena squeezes her around the back, hands fisting in the material of the cloak, feeling herself flush with happiness. “I’m glad,” she whispers.

“That’s actually a pretty good idea, Lena,” Alex says as they break apart. She’s back at the tablet, tapping and looking over some sort of read out. “She was always complaining how the cape got in the way.”

Lena arches an eyebrow at Kara. “What about your cape tricks?”

Kara grimaces. “Much less useful than I was led to believe.”

Alex snorts. “Understatement of the century,” she mutters. “Okay,” she strides over to a Kara and gently fits a comm around her ear. “That has a GPS and camera built in. We’ll be able to see what you see, know where you are, monitor vitals-“

Kara makes a face. “Wait, if you can track me, couldn’t someone else?”

Lena shakes her head. “The crest has signals built in to interfere with radar. Any signal that’s not Alex’s will get scrambled to cloak you.”

Kara surges forward for another hug, and over her shoulder Lena sees Alex smile with an exasperated shake of her head.

“Always protecting,” she mutters.

“What, Alex?” Kara asks as she lets Lena go and takes a step back.

“Nothing,” Alex says. She inputs a few more commands on the tablet, then looks up at Kara. “So. You ready?”

Lena glances over to Kara for what she thinks will be a quick confirmation.

But in those brief seconds, Kara’s easy smile and eager brightness had darkened.

In the red glow of the sun, she stands with her face tilted upward. She gazes at the sky with unfiltered longing, but her hands are trembling. Her whole being quivers, wound tight like a spring, as if she wants nothing more than to hurl herself up to the clouds. But there’s a tightness in her eyes, something there that just... won’t let her. She just stands there, shaking, looking up with haunted eyes.

Alex reaches out, rests a hand on Kara’s forearm. “Hey,” she murmurs. “You don’t have to do anything crazy. Whatever you’re ready for is all you have to do. The rest will follow.”

Kara nods, but still she hesitates. “But what if- what happens if I can’t- I mean-“

“I caught you floating in your sleep two nights ago,” Lena says gently and Kara’s eyes - desperate, scared eyes - whip to hers. “You can do this. But only if you’re ready to. Okay?”

The near manic desperation in Kara’s eyes cools as they hold each other’s gaze. She squeezes Alex’s hand, takes a breath, and nods resolutely.

“Yeah, yeah,” she mutters, giving her shoulders a shake. “I’m good. I’m okay.”

Alex squeezes her arm, then lets go. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Kara has her eyes on the sky again, gives her shoulders one more fortifying shake. She flexes her hands, rubs them on her pants once. She glances over at Lena and seems to brighten at the reassuring smile Lena gives her.

“Okay,” she breathes. “Here goes nothing.”

She stills, closes her eyes. Breathes in deep, then lets it out slow.

She breathes once more, the tense lines of her face relaxing.

Silently, her feet leave the sand.

Alex reaches over for Lena’s arm and grasps it tightly.

Eyes still closed, Kara rises higher in the air, straight up. She turns in gentle circles as she ascends, up and above the ridge.

Alex is looking over the read-outs on the tablet, eyes darting back and forth with near frantic energy. “Looking good so far, Kara,” she says distractedly. “Vitals are good. You’re at a hundred feet now.”

“Feels good,” comes Kara’s voice through the comms. “I’m not even trying.”

Alex’s smile is so proud Lena wants to cry. “That’s good, kid. That’s so good. Two hundred feet now.”

Alex is still gripping Lena’s arm painfully tight, but she’s rocking up on her toes happily, shooting Lena fervent looks of pure joy.

“Knew you could do it, Kara,” Lena says into her own comms, taking Alex’s hand away from her arm but keeping ahold of it. She squeezes as tight as her own bubbling pride allows.

Kara’s finally in the air. She’s flying. It’s one more step closer to conquering the giant mountain they’ve been climbing since she got back.

“How high now, Alex? I’m not looking.”

Alex glances at the screen, then up towards where Kara is becoming a dark dot among the clouds. “A thousand feet. Still feeling good?”

“Yeah. Really good, actually.”

“Have you opened your eyes yet?” Alex’s voice is teasing.

“No. What if I’m suddenly afraid of heights?” Her voice is childishly whiny, drawing a chuckle out of Alex and Lena.

Lena glances down at the video feed from Kara’s earpiece and has to stop herself from gasping.

“Kara, I think you should open your eyes,” she says slightly breathlessly.

“I’m gonna fall if I do,” comes Kara’s tight reply.

Alex is also staring at the camera feed, watching as the view of the water recedes farther toward the bottom of the screen as Kara rises higher and higher. “Kara, you want to see it,” she says. “Trust us.”

Lena knows the exact moment Kara opens her eyes. There’s a tiny gasp through the comms, and the camera arrests in place. Locked on to the brilliance of the shimmering water, the watercolor of the clouds in the light of the setting sun.

For a moment, Kara hangs motionless in the air.

Alex is anxiously tightening and loosening her grip on Lena’s hand. Looking up to where Kara is barely a speck in the sky, back to the camera, then back up again.

“Kara?” she says, a small break in her voice. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” comes Kara’s breathless voice. “Yeah, no, I’m good.”

There’s another moment of silence, then “It’s breathtaking. I... I’d almost forgotten-“ her voice cracks, and she clears her throat -“How beautiful this planet is.”

Alex squeezes Lena’s hand so tight it hurts, and Lena brings her free hand to grip at Alex’s forearm.

Alex sniffles, swipes her eyes against her shoulder. “It has its moments,” she rasps.

For a few long moments, they three stay silent. Lena and Alex on the ground, clutching at hands and arms in barely restrained joy with the waves lapping nearby.

And Kara, so high they can’t even see her, hanging in midair. Silent save for her gentle, easy breathing and the wind whistling around her.

And then, so suddenly both Lena and Alex flinch, she huffs a breath.

“Wanna see how fast I can get around the world?”

Alex barks a laugh, exchanging a fond and relieved look with Lena. “Your record is what? Thirty four seconds?”

“I can beat that,” comes the cocky reply.

And god, she sounds so happy.

Alex scoffs. “If you say so.”

Lena pulls out her phone and sets up a stopwatch. “On my mark, then?” she says.

“Don’t break anything, Kara,” Alex warns, though there’s no bite in her voice.

“And don’t break that suit,” Lena chimes in.

Kara’s voice has a tiny edge of Supergirl - the first since the Phantom Zone - when she replies. “Nothing’s getting broken here except the sound barrier.”

A shiver shoots down Lena’s spine. She does her best to ignore why.

“In three, two, one-“ she taps her phone- “Go.”

BOOM!

The noise vibrates through Lena’s chest. High above, the sky seems to part for Kara as she rockets towards the sun, leaving a trail in her wake.

Lena and Alex crowd the screen, watching wide-eyed as the ocean zips by far below, clouds whipping past, the camera quivering with the breakneck speed.

“Oh my god,” Lena murmurs almost by accident.

On the screen, a dark line of land rapidly approaches on the horizon as Kara hurtles toward it.

“That’ll be Japan,” Alex mumbles. She checks the read-outs and nods to herself. “Vitals are still good. Heart rate’s a little elevated, but considering-“ she gestures to the screen with a wry smile.

Lena nods, barely holding back happy tears.

On screen, Kara slows just enough for the sound to come back. Air whistles through the comms, her breathing slightly labored, and she ducks her head to watch the cities blink far below.

She won’t break her record by slowing like this, but Lena doesn’t mention that. And neither does Alex. They just watch as Kara picks up speed again, camera angling strangely as she dives.

She shoots west, weaving in huge slalom turns. The camera angles and tilts as she looks across the water, across the trees and grasslands and mountains as she passes them. Cities and towns flash past like street lights on a highway.

On the screen, her GPS tracks her through the rest of Asia, across India and into Africa. It’s a far cry from the speed she’d shot off at, but she doesn’t seem to mind as she dips and rolls through the clouds, hand outstretched as if to catch the swirling vapors.

Once she reaches the distant coast, Kara dips so low her hand reaches out to skim the water. She sails over the waves, fingers dragging, until she finds a pod of dolphins playing in the white water. For a moment, she flies just above the waves with them as they leap and dance.

The camera jerks toward the sky, and Kara gives a loud, delighted whoop as she shoots upwards. Spinning and spinning so fast the camera is blurring with the speed.

And through it all, Kara is laughing. Huge, joyous belly laughs, arms outstretched and head thrown back as she sails back into the clouds.

At 40,000 feet, she slows her ascent. Like a ball tossed in the air, she hovers at a stop for a split second before she starts to plummet. She turns, belly down and arms outstretched as the ocean rushes to meet her.

Still laughing with outrageous joy.

“God I missed that,” Alex murmurs. Her voice quivers and breaks.

Lena doesn’t take her eyes away from the screen. She doesn’t want to miss a single moment of this. But she does give Alex’s hand a squeeze in agreement.

Because hearing that laugh, being here and watching as Kara rolls and dives through the air, is healing pieces of Lena’s heart that she didn’t think would ever even scab over.

Kara’s joy is infectious, like it had always been. And Lena finds that she’s soaking it in like a woman parched.

On screen, Kara shoots off with another mighty BOOM. Her GPS shows her hurtling across the US at breakneck speed.

“Not even close to her record,” Alex laughs wetly. “Guess we’ll have to try again later.”

Lena swipes her hand under her eyes with a chuckle, catching tears that neither of them really acknowledge.

And seconds later, Kara lands with a muffled thump. Sand flies under her feet, and the ground trembles.

But her face is flushed, smile radiant, eyes glistening with tears.

Alex takes a step toward her, but pauses. “You okay?”

Kara gives a sobbing laugh, gestures helplessly with her hands. But her smile is wondrous.

Alex surges forward and wraps her in a tight hug. Kara clutches back, hands buried in her sister’s jacket and face pressed against her shoulder.

After a moment, one hand reaches out, fingers wiggling invitingly.

Lena takes that hand in both of hers and holds on tight. Over Alex’s shoulder, Kara’s eyes crinkle with her smile, sparkling and overwhelmed. She squeezes Lena’s hand, then tucks her eyes against her sister’s shoulder with a huge breath.

In a way, Lena feels as if they’re all breathing that same breath of relief.

“I wanna go again.” Kara’s voice is muffled adorably against Alex’s jacket.

Alex chuckles and rocks Kara back and forth happily. “We can stay out here as long as you want.”

Kara nods. “’Kay,” she says. But she holds on to Alex tighter, fingers digging into her jacket. “But in a minute, okay?”

Alex nods. Presses a kiss to the side of Kara’s head. “In a minute.”

And that seems to suit all three of them just fine. No one’s quite ready to let go yet.

/////

I'm a sucker for the angst just as much as the next nerd but I needed them to just... be happy and together. Just for a moment.

[angelatmidnight1]

ahh great tysm! could i request a lee!octane x ler!reader where octane is blasting loud music from his room and won’t turn it down so the reader tickles him to get him to shut it off, and it ends up in a whole tickle fight between the two? thanks!!

Turn Down For What!

You are a new support Legend to join the Apex Games and are scheduled for a variety of lessons with the veterans of the game. Combat training was difficult enough, but you managed to get through it to Bangalore’s satisfaction. Now, it was time for another important lesson: picking your teammates up when they fall. Lifeline shows you the proper technique for reviving squadmates, but the lesson is interrupted by loud, blaring music coming from Octane’s room. You’d only met the speedster once or twice; he never sat still long enough to have a full conversation. You offer to go to his room to ask him to turn the music down, but not before Ajay sees you off with an interesting tidbit about him.

“Ajay…”

You cast an uncertain look at the combat medic beside you, holding the resuscitation syringe in a shaky hand. The MRVN was knelt down in front of you, animating the bleeding out effect, which only made your hands that much shakier. “I can’t...they’re gonna die…”

Lifeline shook her head and put a firm, yet comforting hand on your shoulder. “They won’t if yuh help ‘em. Remember what I told yuh to do?”

You frowned and met her eyes again, but she wasn’t backing off. So, you didn’t have a choice but to get close to the robot and help them onto their back. That was the first step. Then, you made sure that their arms were extended out by their sides to jab them with the serum. You hesitated; wouldn’t that hurt them?

Probably less than dying would. You thought, flinching a little bit when the combat medic squeezed your shoulder, urging you on. You pursed your lips and brought your hand down in one swift motion to inject the serum. At first, the MRVN flinched and reeled forward, but then they were able to grab your hand and stand up. Once they were on their feet, MRVN’s monitor flashed a smiley face, and you allowed yourself to breathe.

Lifeline smiled and nudged your arm. “See, what’d I tell ya, (y/n)? Yuh a natural doctor yuhself.” She complimented. She handed the MRVN her healing drone and a shield battery. Then, she looked at you again, her gaze serious. “I ain’t gonna lie to ya, ya gonna see a lot of bumps and scrapes once ya in the games. Even hesitatin’ for a second can determine whether ya get ya squad up or not.” She said, standing in front of you with her hands on her hips. “So you gotta get used to lookin’ at it.”

You sighed, shoulders slouching. “I know,” You admitted while rubbing the back of your neck. “I’ll get better at this.”

Lifeline scoffed. “‘Course ya are,” She answered matter-of-factly, making you arch a brow. When looked up, she was already handing you another syringe. “We gon’ keep practicing until ya feel comfortable.”

And that’s what you did. Ajay stayed by your side while you practiced reviving MRVNS. Over time, you felt more confident and got the robots to their feet more quickly. You gave the medic a huge smile, making her chuckle, but then she gestured to the robot in front of you. You looked at the MRVN, holding the syringe in a better grip, and moved to jab their arm. Well, that was until a loud guitar rift startled you, making you stick the syringe into the robot’s optic instead. The MRVN’s monitor flashed an exclamation point and you yelped, trying to correct the mistake.

“Ah, sorry! I didn’t mean to--”

Lifeline held up her hand and shook her head, sending her D.O.C. over to revive the robot instead. Then she sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“I swear, one of these days, Silva…”

You looked at her curiously and cocked your head to the side. “Who?” You asked. Although you had an inkling about who she was talking about, you’d never learned the Legend’s real name. He wasn’t an easy man to get a hold of.

“Octavio Silva. But ya might know him better as Octane,” Ajay explained, having to raise her voice over the music. “Boy’s gon lose his hearin’, playin’ music that loud.”

The MRVN handed the syringe back to you, and you gave it back to the medic. You had to admit, the music was really loud. You wouldn’t be surprised if the entirety of the Outlands could hear it. “I can ask him to turn it down,” You offered, putting your hands in your pockets. “That way we can continue with the lesson.”

Lifeline chuckled and shook her head. “O’s as stubborn as it gets, but if ya want to try, go ahead.” She said, nodding in the direction of his room. An idea came to her just before you could leave the medbay, and she called your name, making you turn around. “(Y/N), in case he refuses to turn it down, there’s somethin’ ya can do…”

What Ajay told you made you grin, and that grin stuck even as you approached the speedster’s door. Who knew that the fastest, most daring Legend in the Apex Games was ticklish? Welp, you did, now! You knocked on the door, not really expecting a response, but you thought it’d be polite to do it anyway. Octavio never came, most likely from not hearing it, so you let yourself in. You flinched, the sounds hitting you like tidal waves, which made you cover up your ears. In the center of the room, the adrenaline junkie was hopping from jump pad to jump pad, practicing trick shots in time with the music. You cleared your throat and called out to him.

“Octavio? Octavio!”

No luck. You rolled your eyes and walked towards him. That mischievous grin tugged at the corner of your lips as you got close, but you’d need to wait for him to land before you could get him. After another bounce, he landed back on the floor, which gave you the opportunity to tweak his side. Octane cried out and jumped away from the sudden touch. He whirled around and faced you, holding his arm against his side.

“Uh...hola? You need something?”

Since he wasn’t wearing his mask, you could read his lips, but you’d prefer to hear him. You pointed to your ears and shook your head. Octane obliged by turning his speakers’ volume down a tiny bit.

“Make it quick, I gotta get these clips uploaded so I can edit them.” Octane urged. He turned off the camera on his desk and turned to you again. His eyebrows rose. “Wait, we’ve met before. You’re new around here, right?”

You nodded, raising your voice a bit since the music was still loud. “Yeah, I’m (Y/N). We spoke a few times on the dropship.”

“Right! Well, I’m kinda in the middle of something, so we’ll have to hang out later.” Octavio chuckled, cranking his speakers back up to full volume. You flinched and hurried beside him to turn it back down.

His head snapped over to you and he grabbed the speaker. “What’re you doing?” He exclaimed, holding it just out of your reach. You huffed and tried to take it back from him. Octane, however, was much taller than you.

“It’s too loud, Octavio! Can’t you just turn it down a little--”

“Psh, no! I’m listening to this.”

You groaned and hopped up towards the speaker, missing it by inches. “Half of the ship is listening to it! Just turn it down, please?” You insisted. Instead of complying, Octane put the speaker on a shelf that was far out of your reach, and you weren’t skilled on using his jump pads yet. You narrowed your eyes and poked his side again, making him gasp.

“I’ll turn it down in a sehehecond!” He snapped, making a poor attempt at stifling his chuckles. You poked him again, making him yelp and make a grab for your hands, which you dodged by jabbing him in the stomach instead. “Stohop! Why ahare you poking me?”

You smiled and held out your hands, wiggling your fingers tauntingly. “Because Ajay told me that you weren’t gonna turn it down, and that I can tickle you if you refuse!” You chirped. Your smile turned into a cheeky grin when the speedster wrapped an arm against his torso, which only encouraged you to get closer. “So let me ask you again, Octavio, will you turn the music down?” You arched an expectant brow at him and managed to back him into a corner. The speedster shook his head, poised to defend himself.

“NooOOOO---”

That’s all you needed to hear to lunge at him. He managed to catch you and hold you by the arms before you could knock him over. You, however, had combat training with Anita earlier in the day, and you put that training to good use. You stuck your leg out and hooked it around his, pulling it towards you. This made him lose his balance and fall like a sack of potatoes. You cheered victoriously, shaking his hands off, and worked to get his arms pinned down.

Octavio grunted and pushed your shoulders, unknowingly freeing up the sweet spot that Lifeline mentioned. “Stop! Seriously, I have things to doOOOOHOHOHOHOHO! NO! GEHEHET OHOHOHFF!”

You’d buried your hands underneath his arms and wiggled your nails along his armpits. He slammed his arms against his sides and burst out laughing. Now, you weren’t sure which was louder: him, or the music.

“I know you have stuff to do!” You laughed, drilling your nails into the center of the armpits. He responded by arching his back and letting out another scream of laughter. “At the top of your list should be turning down the music...right?”

“I’M NOHOHOHT TUHUHURNING IHIHT DOHOHOHWN!” The speedster fired back. He hugged his arms even tighter against his sides when you tickled at an even faster pace. He even made the attempt to buck you off, but you were straddling his waist, and just had to lean forward to counter his weight. You narrowed your eyes and opened your mouth to respond, but were interrupted by something thumping at your waist. You looked down at your belt and beamed; you still had some medical tape on you, courtesy of Lifeline. Your hands were trapped by his arms though, and you only had one way to free them.

In one swift motion, you ducked down and blew a raspberry into Octavio’s exposed stomach. He writhed against the floor, laughing even harder, but he still didn’t loosen his hold on your hands.

“AAAH! STAAHAHAHAHAHAP! DOHOHOHOHN’T TIHIHICKLE MEHEHEHE!” He demanded through his fits of laughter. He squealed when you blew another one, just above his belly button, and bucked his hips repeatedly. “DOHOHOHOHOHN’T!”

“Huh?” You glanced up at him and cocked your head to the side. He panted heavily, a grin still etched onto his face, which only made you smirk. “Sorry, I missed what you said. What don’t you want me to do?”

The speedster was still plagued by giggles and had to reel them in before answering you. “I sahahaid stohohop tihihickling mEEEEE--”

Instead of letting him finish, you took a deep breath and blew a huge raspberry over his belly button. Octane bucked violently and shrieked, the wild laughter immediately following suit.

“NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!”

His laughter was contagious and you found yourself laughing along with him. “Oh, were you still talking?” You teased, wiggling your trapped fingers back against his armpits. He cried out with laughter and kicked his metal legs against the floor, prompting you to tickle even faster. Finally, he released your hands during another attempt to push you away. Then, like clockwork, you seized his wrists with one hand and held them above his head. He yelped and squirmed, protesting the entire time, but his fate was sealed...literally. You’d managed to tape his wrists down on the floor and clapped your hands together.

“There, that’s better!” You smiled, putting your hands out in front of you. You wiggled your fingers again and snickered when he paled. “Now, where were we?”

For someone used to moving at trailblazing speeds, everything happened so fast for Octavio. One minute, he’s vibing with his music and jump pads, and now he’s pinned on the floor, laughing his head off? You’d already confirmed that all of this was basically Lifeline’s doing, and she was well overdue for some good ole revenge.

Hermana, you are so dead. He seethed, snapping out of his thoughts when your hands lowered towards his armpits. He panicked; now wasn’t the time for plotting. He had to get away!

“No, no, no! Wait, (Y/N)! Dohohon’t tickle my armpits, plehehease!” He pleaded, preemptively giggling and trying to curl in on himself. You grinned and held your hands so that they were just touching his armpits, sending ticklish jolts up and down his arms. “I juhst wahahant to listen tohoho my music!”

“I never said you couldn’t! I just need you to turn it down.” You repeated, pressing your fingertips into the exposed pits. He squealed and arched his back as high as he could, making you laugh again. “You gonna do it or what?”

Octavio blabbered out something, attempting to bargain with you, but that’s not what you were there for. You tsked and gently scritched circles around each armpit. As much as you wanted to dig into them, you wanted to drag this out as long as possible. The speedster snorted, giggling uncontrollably, and uselessly pulled against the tape.

“Ahahahahaha! Nohohoho, por fahahavor!” He yelped, bucking his hips when you poked at the center of the armpits. You squealed, almost losing your balance, but then you sat back on his waist and continued the gentle scratching. “Lehehet mehehe lihihisten to my music!”

“Will you turn it down?”

Octane’s head snapped up to you; you were stubborn. If he wasn’t giggling up a storm, he’d tease you about Ajay rubbing off on you already. He shook his head and yelped again when you grabbed his sides. You pinched them, making the poor man yip and snicker, and earned a bark of laughter when you stroked along his rib cage.

“Iiii—heheheheh--nohohoho I wohohon’t!”

“Wrong answer~.” You sang, swiping your nails against each sensitive rib. He arched his back, swearing in Spanish, only to fall back down and continue giggling.

“Stahahahahahahap!” He whined, tossing his torso from one side to the other, which didn’t do anything to stop you. You ignored the plea and scratched up higher, teasing his center most ribs, which made him gasp and kick. “AH! Noohohoho nohohoho, nohohot thehehere!”

“Not where?” You asked innocently, opting to poke at the ribs on either side. You alternated the pokes to keep him guessing and giggled at his high pitched squeaks.

“THEHEHERE!” He yelled when you suddenly honed in on his ribs and scribbled along them like there was no tomorrow. He tried to flip onto his side, buck you off, anything to get you to stop tickling. But you easily kept up with all of those fruitless attempts. “AHAHAHAH!”

You smirked, pressing your fingertips into the spot. You drew little circles into his skin, laughing when he threw his head back. “Here?” You repeated, fluttering the tickles from one side of his rib cage to the other. He nodded frantically, drowning in desperate giggles, but you pressed on.

“Oh,” You continued, still smirking. “Cause I was sure you meant here…”

You walked your fingers up towards his armpits at a slow, slooow, pace. Octavio jolted and squirmed violently, his protests lost in his laughter, and his wrists straining against the tape’s hold. He was basically cackling by the time you got to where his armpits started, but you didn’t attack yet. You just held your hands there, snickering at the panicked laughter pouring out of him already.

“What’re you laughing for?” You grinned, flexing your fingers, but still not moving. Octavio screamed, arching his back, only to fall victim to another fit of giggles.

“Plehehehehease…” He begged. He held his arms rigidly and met your eyes, which just made you smile more.

“Please what? I’m not doing anything, Octavio.”

He groaned and opened his mouth to respond, but you didn’t let him. Instead of attacking both armpits, you only attacked his right one, while your free hand scratched at his sensitive stomach. Octavio’s eyes bugged out and his desperate giggles spiked to loud, hard laughter.

“NOO--AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! OKAHAHAHAHAHAY!”

You perked up while dragging a finger around his belly button. He screamed again and thumped his head against the ground, wildly shaking his head. “Okay?” You repeated, dipping your finger inside his belly button and scratching around. The wail of laughter initially startled you, but you kept on scratching anyway. “Okay what?”

“I’LL TUHUHUHRN IT DOHOHOHWN! STAHAHAHAHAHAP!” He yelled. He sucked in his stomach and drummed his legs back against the floor the more you kept scratching. You grinned, feeling triumphant...but you were having too much fun to stop!

“Yeah? You promise?” You chuckled, jabbing a finger into his right armpit while you continued to tickle his belly button. He flinched and nodded over and over, finally falling into hysterics, and then silent laughter when you dug into both armpits. You slowed down the tickling to give him the opportunity to breathe.

“Y-Yehehehes...I prohohohmise…” He panted. You didn’t notice that the tape holding his wrists down was coming undone, so you felt perfectly comfortable in pushing your luck. You took your hands off of him and brought a hand up to your chin, pretending to think.

“Hmm, alright, Octavio. I guess that’s good enough,” You began, putting your hands down at either side of him. Octane breathed a sigh of relief, believing that you were about to climb off of his waist, but you pinched his hip bones instead. He gasped and reeled to the side, but then you did it again, and again, and again, until he was snickering all over again.

“Hehehehehy! Whyhyhy ahahahre yohuhuh--” The speedster yelped when you used all ten fingers to tickle his belly. He cackled, but hadn’t fully recovered yet, so he didn’t have as much energy to squirm. “WHYHYHYHY TIHIHIHCKLE MEHEHE AGAHAHAIN?!”

“Because it’s fun!” You laughed, ducking down to blow another raspberry over his belly button. Octavio howled and laughed even harder. “Haha, Ajay was right. You are way too ticklish for your own good.”

Now he had two people to get revenge on. And, through a stroke of luck, he was about to serve you your just desserts. Why?

Because when he arched his back to try to get you off of his stomach, the tape split with a resounding riiiiip. You froze, looking up towards the sound, and gasped loudly.

“Oh shit--”

Octavio having his hands freed gave him a burst of energy, and he used that energy to take you down. He sat up and grabbed your arms, making you swear again, and you pushed your shoulder into his chest.

“No! No no, truce! AHHH--!”

Octane far outmatched you in terms of strength, and he easily wrestled you to the ground. He pinned your arms underneath his legs and immediately went for your sides.

“Oho, not funny anymore, is it?” The speedster ridiculed, his wiggling fingers a blur as he scratched up and down your sides. You let out a screaming laugh and tried to sit up, but he was too heavy.

“NOHOHOHOHO!” You hollered, arching your back when he reached under your shirt and scritched at your bare stomach. “AHAHAHA! STOHOHP! I WAHAHAHS KIHIHIHIHDDING!”

Octavio scoffed and used one of his hands to dig into your left hip, continuing to tickle your belly. “Well, I’m not! I’ll show you what happens when you tickle me, amigo/a!” He quipped, snickering when you threw your torso against the ground. He kept switching spots at an alarmingly fast pace: your stomach, hips, sides, even knees. It didn’t give you a chance to resist the sensation and kept you guessing as to where he’d strike next...which proved to be pretty difficult.

“OCTAHAHAHAVIO!” You shouted, the panic dropping on you when he honed in on two of your worst spots: your knees and your stomach. You shrieked and kicked your legs against the floor, which was annoying him, so he opted for laying over your legs to hold them down. “PLEHEHEHEASE STAHAHAP! I’M SOHOHOHOHOHRRY!”

“Stop? Me?” The speedster snorted and alternated the squeezing along your knees. You howled with laughter and desperately pulled at your trapped wrists, but he wouldn’t budge. “Haven’t you heard, (Y/N)? There’s no breaks on the Octrain!”

When he reached under your knees to tickle the skin there, your laughter was louder than anything coming out of the stereo. Since your left knee seemed more sensitive than the right, he focused on that one exclusively, and reached behind him to poke at your stomach. It tickled so bad, and he wasn’t showing any signs of slowing down. So, as a last resort, you decided to cry out for your mentor.

“AJAHAHAHAHY!” You shrieked, jerking to the side when he pinched at the top of your knees. “I NEHEHEED HEHEHEHLP!”

Octane cringed and stopped tickling you, glancing at the door. He half expected the doctor to be standing there, waiting to pounce, but she wasn’t. You breathed heavily and laid your head back on the ground, grateful for the distraction. While he wasn’t paying attention to you, you tested the grip he had on your arms, and were surprised to find that you could move them slightly. You took a breath and managed to pull one of them free before the speedster turned back to you. Without a second thought, you squeezed his side, making him yelp and topple over.

“AH! Noohohoho yohuhu dohohohn’t!” He laughed and gripped the free arm, forgetting about the other one until you pulled it free. You poked his ribs and hopped back on him, drawing out the tickle fight that much longer. Ajay could hear the commotion from the medbay, but all she did was smile and prepare for your next lesson.

I hope this was to your liking anon! This was my first reader insert fic. Please let me know with you think. If you don't like it, I can try to rewrite it.

[muffindaddystyles]

After all, Moon is just a rock without Sun.

Trigger warning: Mentions of failed attempt suicide, blood and hospital, Angst.

It’s a chirpy day. Though, there are grey murky clouds in Y/N's apartment and she doesn’t know from where all of it came from, but this is the end.

She badly wants this to be an end.

She stares the brown envelope sitting at her nightstand and all of it comes crashing upon her tiny head and drowning her into depths and sorrows and guilt and agony of her past and present, reminiscing the cracks of happiness she got here and there.

Her breath shudders. The excitement of valentines day glittery outside and she smiles, happy for everyone out there getting to be loved and cherished and pampered.

She gets all of that too – with Harry she gets to pool into all of the giddiness but —- there always buts with Harry because she isn’t his person, she never was.

He’s always gonna be her true bezzy as he describes in true Harry fashion.

She’s grateful for that.

But, she thinks it’s enough for her. She has reached where everyone human wants to – getting to feel loved after many hardships and now when she has enjoyed it and got to know what it feels like to have it all -- she thinks it’s time for her to go.

To get rid of the loneliness that resides inside her, she was never able to overcome and she pinches the blade in between her fingertips and bunches Harry’s hoodie towards her nose smelling it and it warms her heart, it warms every part of her and she really really thinks that the apology in that letter will be enough for him to move on.

She whimpers. Staring blankly as the blade inches into the thin skin of her wrist slowly and painfully and to make it less painfully she tears her delicate skin apart in one swipe and bites down a cry, putting the blood coated life taking thing on the couch and stands up a bit wobbly letting the thick dark droplets fall on the carpet.

She walks towards her bed and flumps into white sheets. Eyelids fluttering and lips parted shallow and they snap open upon the beep of her notifications and when she looks at it – a sad sob tugs out of her lungs.

She lays on her side not focusing the way blood seeps into white sheets and spreads like roots, making a horrific past of her tragedy. Instead, she keeps on watching the video Harry sent to her with hooded tired eyes and a beautiful peaceful smile.

Snuggles into sheets that smells like sunnies and peonies and the cinnamon musk he wears.

His skin soft and curls bouncy and everywhere, his gorgeous face on display and his dimples coveting adorably as he tries to hover the camera at the tray of red velvet cupcakes just as she likes, “Look ducky made cupcakes f'you – two batch in total —--,” She really wants to know for whom the other batch is for but she just shakes her head and giggles wetly, letting her tear tickle her nose when he pouts and shows her the frosting, “Ruined the tops – tried to make frogs on it —-- remember you asked me to? I still’ve some naked ones we could try some froggies on it later —---- .....” His words spins soothingly in her brain and her blurry gaze fills with panicked tears; because she just realised that this isn’t what she wants.

What did she do?

Oh my goodness what did I do?

It’s late and I can’t go back and I’m really gonna miss Sparkly and he'll be so sad to see me like this, but it’s too late Y/N – her heart thumped and it jumps when something pounded loudly and it’s her head maybe.

Harry waits at the door. His grin big and gleeful. He jumps on his toes a bit and he couldn’t believe he's about to do it today, but no matter what happens he’s gonna confess to her and he frowns a tad when no response comes from inside – not even the hum of her sweetness and the prattle of her steps --- there's eerie silence and Harry doesn’t like that.

He waits and ponders over. Then sighs and was about to retreat back but he knows that he’s too lazy to walk all the way back and come back again, so he shimmies her door's key from under her lavender pot.

When he stumbles inside he grins seeing his sleepy head –-- snoring in broad daylight, his ears perking at his own voice echoing through the speaker of her phone and it makes his heart flutter and he has this evil plan to bounce on her mattress and annoy the shit out of her.

But.

When he comes to stand over her and his eyes falls over the bloody sheets and her wrist cut open, her body limp and lifeless – her cheeks soaked with tears and her mouth gasping for oxygen his grin falls drastically into a frown as he went blank for a moment.

Nothing.

Just pitch darkness.

His heartbeat drops.

His breath getting sucked out of his lungs and he feels like fainting.

The white noise that stings his ears and the heart that stopped working a second ago revives back and he wished it didn’t – the tray falls from his trembling hand onto the floor and he’s turning her over and his tears are falling from his throat down to her skin and he’s tripping on his knees and cradling her face trying to jostle her unconscious body.

“Baby ---.. wake up please ....” He weeps and tries to shake her with all the frailness he was left with and he's despising how her usual glowy skin is getting paler by every moment.

She isn’t his Y/N. She'd never do it without giving a second thought for him because she cares about him and he screams hoarsely trying to lift her up and into his chest to hug her – but everything has got so heavy for him.

He's feeling so small.

So helpless and vulnerable.

“Baby!!! I said wake up, pet --- s'not fair ---... y’ve to —- y've t'.... brought – brought you yer favourites .. now don’t be mean and open yer eyes, I know you’re teasin’ me.” He has officially lost it. He thinks he’s going crazy and hallucinating things – trying to avoid the reality.

He cries patting her cheek and his breath hitches in his throat when he plants his ear to her chest and there’s feeble thump of her heart.

He’s lunging quick and picking her up in his arms and squeezing her protectively to himself, slipping outside through her door in rush and panic – her head bobs and her wrist dangles from his forearm as he doesn’t wait for elevator and flies down the stairs with shouts for people to fuck themselves away and breaking every speed limit to reach hospital.

His grip on her hoodie loosens with each step they take towards the ER and he pleads them to let him in but the doctors pushes him out of the flapping doors and he’s tumbling back and onto the tiled floor, almost straining his ankle in attempt.

They told him she’s okay. But, needs a good rest since she lost alot of blood and visitors aren’t allowed –-- before five hours so he waits – he waits alone and with dire pain just to get a single glimpse of her and asking the doctors again and again if she’s okay.

Next he knows the sun is leaving him and he’s left in company of darkness before his friends are surrounding him – comforting and consoling him.

He doesn’t need it. Because, he isn’t feeling anything. He’s numb to his stomach and when they look down at him in sympathy – everything comes churning in his throat and he’s pushing everyone away and tumbling towards the washroom sliding against the floor knees first and throwing inside the bidet with loud groany noises.

He feels like all of his organs will come out and spurt infront of him at this point.

He tries to grab onto something and almost falls back, walks on his wobbly legs towards the sink and splashes water harshly on his face that it hurts.

His eyes struck at himself in the mirror and he can’t recognize himself ... his eyes hollow and his skin crumbled and his flimsy shirt sticking to his chest from dried blood and he doesn’t give a fuck unless his baby is alright and he’s griping the edges of the sink hunching forward as more cries squelches out of him.

He doesn’t wipe the tears away and when walks outside Sarah is rushing to help him but he’s gesturing her to stop and falling on the bench. Throwing his head against the wall and his chest heaves as he mutters gaining everyone's attention, “She almost died ...”

“She’s okay now, H.” Luna tells him but he kisses his teeth and grunts angrily.

“No. No, you don't get it!! She. Is. Not.” He pushes the heels of his palms against his sockets and rubs them in frustration, “I was the only one she got ‘n –-- I wanted to make her feel loved not — fuck, I failed her. I failed the only person that matters to me, ‘course I lacked somethin’ s'why she didn’t tell me what was goin' on with her.” Fresh tears brims at his lashes and Sarah squeezes his shoulder.

“When I saw her all blue ‘n bloody, was so scared to even touch her ---... thought I died at that mo' ‘s worse than dyin' Sarah ... watchin' ye’loved one slip from yer life ‘n – ‘n that you’ll never have ‘em again —--...” He stutters and runs his palms down his face.

“I’m in so much pain watchin' her suffer on that ventilator ...” His bottom lip wobbles and he rocks back and forth on the bench, hair falling in his eyes but he doesn’t do anything to push them back.

Luna doesn’t have a heart to give him that letter. Not knowing how he’ll take it considering he’s already broken to pieces and dust, lingering on bit of a hope.

But, when the nurse comes and tells them their time is over and only one person could stay with Y/N, Luna's handing the letter to Harry leaving him confused and frowning.

Though, he’s glad when they let him inside the room and a shiver runs down his spine upon seeing thick tubes pricking and poking the delicate skin of his ducky.

Her unconscious body looks peaceful and halo like and it’s scary.

He doesn’t make a noise. Tries to be as quite as possible and bites down at his lip to avoid from tearing up but he ends up so, caressing her flushed cheek and kisses her temple feeling her light breath hit his neck.

“’M so sorry, ducklin'. I’m baby. Fo' being late in everythin’ ....---” He sniffles. Wiping at his nose and sits beside her as close as he could – feathering his finger pads at her knuckles and flinches back when the finger she has a heart rate monitor on twitches and he’s afraid that he hurt her.

He keeps on watching her not blinking an eye and when he couldn’t sleep he takes a look at the letter sitting in his lap.

He shakes his head and ignores it. Then his trembly fingers are opening it and raising it infront of his eyes and he recognizes the writing right away and it makes him whimper pathetically.

He recites the words. Not able to feel the moisture ticking down his throat, the pet name she used to call him rattling in his brain and he remember the night they met – he can never forget that night.

Dear Sparkly, I know you’ll be very grumpy and angry with me when you’ll get this letter -- but, it’s okay. Yeah? I’ll be looking at you from above don’t worry —-- so you better not be silly with yourself.

And he could imagine her sweet eyes getting all big and concerned.

I just wanted to let you know that I love you. I’ve loved you .... since that night when you were sitting at those steel stairs opposite to the rooftop of the vacant building I was sitting at and you eyed me peculiarly when I stood at the edge waving at you – just because you had your earphones plugged but you weren't wearing them --- it was cute because you were too engulfed, staring at the moon.

He’s baffled that she remembers the smallest detail. Harry wasn’t feeling very well and came to that empty rooftop to relax, only to get interrupted by a cute girl.

She trailed behind him like a ducklin' after that -- as if she got the cute orange beak to chatter his anxiousness away.

I want you to be careless and free and never feel like you’re struck inside your own body and I want you to love -– to make sure you feel loved.

I hope that you’ll have someone with whom you could gaze at moon for hours, listening to Beatles together sharing one headphone (I hated them by the way) and when they sit beside you, it feels like they’re the moon -– like they glimmer your insides, when you touch them it’s all heavenly and pretty and it makes you feel loved and jittery.

His heart clenches into fist and clots at that and he bites the inside of his cheek.

Heartbroken.

Sad.

Terribly sick.

He isn’t liking it reading it. He’s hating it infact. He was about to stop. Tear it in pieces and dump it in trash. But, then again he couldn’t.

Because Harry. I’m not your moon. I’m the sun. That’d irritate you and you’d never be able to look at it with full heart eyes –-- I’m too hot for you, pun right there. My touch will burn you instead of filling you with jitteriness. You’d wait for me to go and yearn for the moon to come back --- Always on your toes because everything becomes too much of a heat for you and I don’t want that –- I love you but that doesn’t mean I’ll take you down with me.

I’m not that selfish, Harry.

I love you and I was too embarrassed to tell you this in person.

I hope you forgive me.

Yours Sun.

He’s cornered up and sobbing into his elbow, as the paper written with her whole soul hangs from the tips of his fingers and he takes a look at her with cloudy eyes and digs his nails into his knees.

He hiccups jumping forward and towering her when she stirs with a whine and Harry’s cupping her cheeks, “Oh my ...,” He’s pressing the button to call the nurses and doctors and gives her an eskimo kiss before pulling away and examining her closely.

Her eyes are pink floods of tears and humiliation. Even though they’re unaware of her presence and exhausted.

Her lips chapped as she rolls her tongue to mumble some words, “’m sorry ...” She whimpers as her arm shoots with pain and Harry’s shaking his head, pressing his forehead against hers.

“Shhh. Shh. Baby ducky, ‘s okay. Tell me you’re okay, please tell me you’re not leavin’ me again.” She slip shuts her eyes and nods. She’s weak and frail. Even if the doctors checked her and made her drink some fluids she’s still not able to move without Harry’s assistance.

She has her eyes closed. Head sunk into pillow and they flutter when Harry speaks, in the most softest voice and draws circles on her knee while doing so.

“I love you.” He croaks out. Gulping down the bulk choking him alive and she stares him, her heart pausing for a bit and his eyes widen seeing the monitor going weird and it makes her cheeks heat up.

Embarrassed she looks away and Harry takes her chin between his fingers and gazes her with profound intensity and fondness.

“You’re my sun. You’re. I bask in yer warmth and y’make me feel warm everywhere, it oozes from me every pore in adoration and love. Even when you don’t appear I feel your presence and the clouds could never be pink without ye' ‘n my skies would never be cherubic if it’s not you my darling —... I gaze moon only for Sun to peek from the hues and I always wait fo’ ye’ —-- always gonna be there on that rooftop counting the seconds you shine up my world.” His fingers shaky as he slips it between her palms lingering to get relief from her touch and she sniffs, blinking the tears away accepting him and kissing the inside of his palm.

“After all, Moon is just a rock without Sun.” He whispers and that was enough for her to close the distance between them and place her cold lips against his and he embraces her tenderly -- pecking her upper lip twice then kissing her whole mouth to whisk out all his love into it and her fingers brushes over his jaw muttering against his taffy lips.

“I love you. Even when I was dying all I could think about was ye'sparkly -- but it was too late and I was aware of how much pain you were in but it felt like I was struck inside a cage —---...” She rambles. Coughing when it hurts her throat and Harry shushes her kissing her hair gently and mutters against them – smoothing his palm down her back to calm her down.

“You’re ‘ere. In me arms is what matters.” He keeps her face tucked under his chin and keeps on pecking her skin.

“’M g'na take care of you, baby.”

[cjsinkythoughts]

FATWS One Shot #5 - Reminiscing

Word Count: 1195

Warnings: Mention of The Fall, Cursing, Teasing, Fluff, Not Much Else

Setting/Characters: Takes place before they moved to D.C., so before Stars, Stripes, and Bubbles and CA:TWS; In New York City; Reader, Steve Rogers

A/N: I didn’t post any writing today so I whipped this up because I wanted to at least put a dent in the One Shot list. I know it’s a bit out of order, but I got this request and I wanted to make it separate from the movie scenes because I felt like Steve would’ve told her this before. They also hadn’t visited the museum yet, obviously, or else she’d know about him already. It’s just a cute little thing about the good ole days. It’s a bit shorter, but there wasn’t much more to add and I like it the way it is.

I’ll try posting more this week; I’m babysitting my little cousin tomorrow and Tuesday, but I’m off work Wednesday, so I’ll be able to write more then. The next One Shot is already being worked on; it’s back in order so it’s gonna take place during TWS. I have to update the One Shot list to accommodate the ideas brainstormed between myself, a couple friends, and you lovely readers.

This isn’t beta’d, as usual, so please excuse any mistakes! Be kind to yourselves and others! Enjoy this one, thank you for reading, and stay tuned!

FATWS Masterlist

cjsinkythoughts Masterlist

You let out a wolf whistle, leaning on the back of Steve’s chair. “Who is that? He’s pretty cute. You know, for someone from a hundred years ago.”

Steve scoffed and rolled his eyes at you with a smile on his lips. It fell when he looked back down at the black and white picture that was fraying at the ends and had a tint to it from the time it’s spent on the earth. The young man you were pointing at, probably mid-20s if you had to guess, was grinning at the camera, looking sharp in an Army uniform, hat tilted on his head.

“That’s…Bucky.”

“Bucky?” You snickered, but then you caught sight of the far off look in Steve’s eye and found yourself frowning. “Who was he?”

“He was…” Steve sighed, leaning back into the chair, his head falling back onto your forearm. “He was my best friend.”

You set your chin on his shoulder, looking at another picture, yellowing with time. He was in that one too, over to the side with a cigarette in his mouth, his arm around two other soldiers, dark hair slicked back. You had heard about the Howling Commandos, who you were guessing were the other guys in the photo. Everyone learned about them in history class in grade school. Captain America and his Commandos fighting against HYDRA, beating the Nazis and saving the day. “Did you meet in Italy?”

“No.” Steve shook his head, carefully setting down the beat up picture. “We…we met when we were kids. We grew up together. In Brooklyn.”

Humming, you studied him, noting the tightened jaw and the crease in his brow, you looked down and tilted your head, spotting another picture of the two of them smiling. Tracing it gently, you tenderly inquired, “he meant a lot to you?”

“He was my brother. He was always there for me. At my lowest, he held me up. I never was truly alone. I always had him.”

You could hear the grief in his voice as he spoke in adoration about the man, frozen in time with a smile on his face in a frame to protect him from fading. “What happened?” You asked softly, running your fingers through Steve’s gold locks that were falling in his eyes.

Steve gave a heavy sigh, closing his eyes. “A mission went sideways. To catch Zola?” He looked up at you to see if you had read about that particular operation of theirs in a file somewhere. You nodded, remembering vaguely the mission he was talking about.

“A train in the Alps, right? I thought you caught him, though.”

The man nodded, sad eyes avoiding your gaze. “We did. But…we were ambushed. Bucky…Bucky and I were separated. I tried to get to him…I couldn’t-” He stopped talking, closing his eyes to compose himself. “He fell and I couldn’t reach him in time.”

“Steve…” you shook your head, scratching that spot at the nape of his neck you knew helped him relax. “It wasn’t your fault, bubs.” He opened his mouth to argue, but decided against it and nodded. “May I?”

He nodded again when you gestured to the box he had on the desk in front of him, letting you look through the other pictures he had. “Tell me about him.”

The blonde gave a little chuckle, smiling fondly at the memories spinning around in his brain. “He was a jerk. He always tried to keep my outta trouble. We met after some kids tried stealing my lunch money. I-I kinda tried fighting them. He beat ‘em up for me.”

“You never did like bullies.”

He grinned at you. “No…no I didn’t. There was this one time…”

You leaned your cheek against his shoulder and watched his face light up as he told you stories about him and Bucky being boys. Playing in the mud, racing through Central Park, going to Coney Island, eating ice cream, sitting on the fire escape. 

“He used to read to me. A lot. When I got sick and stuff. He liked reading. He told me it was his way of taking me somewhere without getting outta bed. I used to draw him scenes from his favorite books while listening. It gave me something to do with my hands. That’s why I picked it up. I could do it from bed.”

“Did he draw too?”

“Hell no! Pal could barely draw a stick figure! I made him take this art class with me and all he did was mope about it because it was the only class he had trouble in. But it was our agreement; he could take me to the gym he went to if he came with me to class.”

You giggled at the image of scrawny little Steve in a gym. “You went to a gym?”

He gave you a bemused look. “You’re not funny. Yes I went to a gym. I didn’t do much. Bucky trained a lot though. He was the YMCA welterweight champion three years in a row.”

“No kidding.” You picked up a picture of Bucky sitting on a couple steps, a t-shirt tucked into pants being held up by suspenders. “Look at those arms.”

“Shuddup!” Steve laughed, pushing you playfully. 

You sniggered. “I’m just saying. I bet he got all the ladies.”

“Are you kidding? Dames lined up at the door to dance with him. You would’ve too,” he poked your side. “If you lived back then.”

You shook your head, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. “He’s cute, but I’d much rather watch you draw.”

Steve snorted. “Trust me. You’d be singing a different tune if you met him. You would’ve liked him. He would’ve liked you.” He went quiet, his expression morphing into one of contemplation.

“Well anyone willing to stand up and hang out with that stubborn kid from Brooklyn has my vote.” You joked, ruffling his locks.

Steve didn’t say anything. He just looked at you for a minute, before turning back to the pictures and starting to clear them away. “I’m gonna put these away and we can go for that run, alright?”

You nodded, getting off of him and stretching. “Alright. But you can’t lap me again!” He chortled at that, smirking not so innocently. “I’m so serious, Rogers! That was mean! I feel so out of shape when you do that!”

“Alright, alright. I won’t honey. I promise.” He grabbed your hand and placed a kiss to your knuckles. “And you’re beautiful no matter what, okay?”

“Sure, bubba.”

“I mean it!”

You smiled at his insistence, his eyebrow knit together in seriousness. “Okay. Meet me outside when you’re done.”

“Yes ma’am!” He nodded, spinning back to his keepsakes and adding as an afterthought, “wanna go see a moving picture?”

You gave him an amused look, trying not to laugh. “Yeah, Stevie. I’d love to go see a movie with you.”

He blushed, the tips of his ears turning bright red. “Movies. Right.”

“Don’t worry about it, Steve. It’s endearing.” You winked at him as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Now hurry up. I wanna get out there before it gets too hot.”

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

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All Works Taglist (Open):

@happygoreading​ @bibliophilewednesday​ @breadqueen95​ @marvelettesassemble​ @w-wolfhxrd​

[jelly-drabble]

Secret Admirer pt2

Continuation of Secret Admirer Synopsis: It’s time you and your gentleman caller take it a step further Warnings: NSFW; rough sex, creampie Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28436301

The fact that until now, your brain hadn’t stopped and decided this was going too far, was more unsettling to you than the situation you found yourself in. The only thing separating you two was a thin sheet of glass and a wire screen. If he really wanted to put a rock through it, he could. You just stare at each other for a while though. Even this close, you can’t see the eyes behind the mask, but you can feel them boring into you. The initial shock of it all had caused you to let your hand fall slack at your side, but the crackling of a voice on the other end was calling you back.

“Hello?? Is everything okay?”

You clear your throat, eyes still locked on the plastic mask. It’s cheap looking, you can imagine exactly what it smells like.

“Yeah-... Yeah, sorry. I think it was an animal getting into the trash. I’m alright.”

The pause on the other end comes off as irritated. The superficially sweet tone that returns adds to this.

“Alright, honey. I’m gonna get some sleep, call me if you need anything else.”

“Goodnight,” you want this call to end just as badly as she does.

The line dies and you drop your phone on your bed. The figure hasn’t left. Or moved at all. You imagine he heard your conversation to some extent. A gloved hand gestures to his left.

Stupid. So fucking stupid.

Yet you find yourself walking to the back door. Possessed by… who knows. A high sex drive you suppose.

The back door is wide open by the time you reach it, grounding you instantly. What the fuck were you thinking? You had the chance to call for help and you just threw it away.

Without thinking, you close the door, and immediately your attention is drawn down the hall again. A door slammed shut behind you. Unarmed, and apparently out of your mind, you take a few drawn-out steps down the hallway.

Correction. Your door had slammed shut. You could see it clearly now. You could hear your phone ringing from inside.

Well. He’d suggested taking things a step further. Though, at the time you’d assumed it was just dirty talk. The thought of him fucking you himself was just a way to help you get off.

The swirling mix of excitement and fear is enough to make you dizzy, and it’s the driving force that makes you twist the doorknob with an albeit shaky hand.

There isn’t a mask waiting for you on the other side, which is what you’d expected. There isn’t much of anything, except your still-buzzing phone sitting in the middle of your bed.

From where you’re standing, you can’t see the caller ID, and you allow yourself to take the bait. You made it all the way to the bed before the call stopped, and as you lean onto the bed, one knee up, the flash of a camera alerts you to his position. You whip around, eyes wide, only to be met with another blinding flash of light.

“Strip,” he says plainly, muffled by the mask.

You’re dumbfounded, but you don’t test his patience. First, you start to pull your shirt over your head.

“Slowly,” he hisses, but you’re already halfway out of the shirt.

You try to make more of a show out of taking off your pajama bottoms, having turned around to face the bed while you do it. Another flash.

“Stop there. Get on the bed.”

He seems a lot pushier this time around. Not that you mind. You crawl onto the bed, settling on your knees and resting your hands a little too politely in your lap. In all honesty, you’re not sure what to do with them. Or yourself for that matter.

“Spread ‘em.”

You part your knees, running your hands down either thigh.

Two flashes.

“Take those off, and-“

He cuts himself short as you turn around and promptly get into what you assume is his favorite position (face down into the mattress), making an agonizingly slow spectacle of pulling down your underwear.

The camera clicks a few times but when the room falls silent again, you turn to ask for further instructions.

A leather-clad hand pushes your face back down into the comforter. The other lightly grazes it’s fingertips over the bare skin of your lower back and over to your hip before gripping it roughly. You wince and squirm, and you’re almost certain you can hear a soft sigh.

Both of his shins pin down your calves.

“You’re already wet.”

There was a change in his tone. It was slight, like he was fighting hard not to let it show, but it was there. He was getting excited.

This is the exact image you’d been playing over in your head for a few weeks now, you could only imagine he’d been daydreaming about it too.

The sound of his zipper makes your heart start to pound in your chest. Just like he promised the first time you’d spoken over the phone, he presses his shaft flat against your ass. There isn’t much preparation beyond that though, he’s eager to press the head against your entrance, and even more so to completely sheath himself inside of you.

There’s a long grumblr in his chest, you can feel it as he leans down against you. It seems like it’s taking all his energy to take it as slowly as he is, which isn’t saying much.

He doesn’t offer you the courtesy of asking if you’re ready, once you’re totally filled up, he pulls almost all the way out before thrusting back into you. His pace is relentless right from the rip. His palm moves from your face and yanks you back by your hair.

Now without a buffer, your moans cut through the previously still house. Every so often he tugs at your hair to get you to yelp, but you find yourself getting pushed a little closer every time.

Your scalp burned as he suddenly yanked you back against him, his hips slapping against your ass. The cold plastic of the mask startled you as it touched your neck.

“I want you to cum all over my cock,” he whispers, his grip on your hair making you cringe, but his voice made your cunt twitch.

Who were you to deny him that request? Only after a few more pumps the spark shot down through your body, causing you to tense up before shuddering and spitting out obscenities. The show you put on must have helped him reach that mental peak too, because before you’d even stopped spasming his hips jerked up against you one final time and he let out a guttural, shaky moan.

You could feel the cum dripping down your thighs already, his cock was still twitching inside of you. Finally he let go of your hair, and you collapse onto the bed in front of him. You couldn’t even find the energy left in you to raise any questions, not even about his decision to finish inside of you. He doesn't seem quite as drained, as he zips his pants back up and collects his camera.

“I’ll call you,” he assures you on his way out.

You can’t help but snort, but it’s probably safe to assume that he isn’t joking.

[skellebonez]

(kicks door down) INVERTED AU WITH PROMPT 72, SPECIFICALLY WITH MK

I’m not going to write out the ENTIRE TikTok so just. Watch an enjoy the madness that is B Dylan Hollis. It will make this fill so much more entertaining.

Don’t you dare.

Had it not been even a few weeks ago things would be almost completely on their normal “regular day with no special plans” schedule. Wake up, work, hang out with Pigsy and Tang, get Mei to have some fun, run off to Mount Huaguo for training with Sun Wukong, make sure the immortal Monkey King is taking care of himself, go home and sleep (a few gaps between each in case he needed to chuck a water bottle or granola bar at any of his friends and make sure they weren’t overworking themselves and if he came across anyone who needed his special brand of, as Macaque once called it, “aggressive self care affection”).

But no. Oh no. This was not a few weeks ago.

This was now, not even a month after the Lunar New Year Festival. Not even a month after he was finally introduced to the rest of Spider Queen’s family- plus one not so accidental addition who had decided it would be a fantastic idea to experiment on himself for funsies and “oops all spiders”.

Said addition stood, or rather half stood and half reclined on the mechnical legs protruding from his back, diligently typing away at his computer. The same computer he hadn’t stepped away from except to take a shower earlier in the day.

17 hours ago.

“Syntax,” MK said with the most gentle warning tone he could muster... which, to anyone unfamiliar with MK would sound like he spoke the human turned spider demon’s name like a threat. “Please tell me you have eaten more than a single calorie bar today.”

“I have eaten more than a single calorie bar today,” the scientist assured with a barely thrown over his shoulder smile in the younger man’s direction.

“Ok g-”

“I ate 2.”

The proud look on Syntax's face, as if he had figured out the loophole to end all loopholes, was a stark contrast to MK's expression of angry horror.

"You can't just eat TWO CALORIE BARS, Syntax!" He shouted, grabbing the scientist by his lab coat sleeve before starting to drag him out of the laboratory. If anyone was there to witness this they would find this feat impressive given how Syntax dug his mechanical legs into the floor in protest.

"I have survived on these so far and I will conti-"

"Survived, yeah, as a human," MK noted as he realized the other was simply allowing him to lead him along without a fight in the least. "But you're a spider demon... cyborg... guy now, you need more sustenance than that. And you needed more before!"

"3 bars?"

"NO MORE OF THE FUCKING BARS!"

The moment Syntax shrunk back in reaction to MK’s yelling the Monkie Kid took his chance and gripped the scientist’s sides and tossed the man over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes before breaking out into a sprint down the halls of Spider Queen’s lair.

“Don’t you dare!” Syntax yelped, attempting to free his arms or move his spider legs but gave up on the later and instead retracted them out of fear he might accidentally harm his captor. “I have work to finish, young man!”

“You can’t finish if you die of malnutrition, I’m teaching you how to cook!”

As they ran toward the entrance they passed Spider Queen who, upon realizing what was happening, gave them a calm wave and a smile.

“Make sure to have him back in time for you to get home before dark, MK!”

“EVEN MY QUEEN IS BETRAYING ME!”

~

Syntax eventually gave in. After all, despite his new enhancements he was still no match for the sheer strength of the Monkey King himself in the hands of a very determined young man with a hard line stance on self care.

And somehow this man decided he should be deposited in... his kitchen.

In front of a phone set up like... a camera.

Huh.

“Uh-”

“Hold that thought!” MK said, positioning Syntax just out of sight as he grabbed a cook book and hit record. “A bean PIE from the 1920s! Today we’re doing something different-” he reached over and grabbed Syntax’s arm, pulling him into frame without even a single change in his expression. “Today I have an assistant because SOMEONE doesn’t know how to EAT NUTRITION and needs more Vitamin B.”

As he let go of the scientist’s arm he turned to him, face as serious as a miscalculated formula when a project was due in 1 hour.

“OK, you’re the science dude. Let me tell you something from experience,” MK grabbed the cook book, holding it up. “Cooking IS science. And this science insists that BEANS can be made into a PIE which I think is bullshit and I am going to prove on camera. Until you learn how to eat things that aren’t instant bars, you are going to join me on my cooking science experiments. Understood?”

Truth me told, Syntax didn’t see the appeal in cooking. It was far too much hassle for something as basic as nutritional supplements you could acquire from far easier means that did not involve making a mess you had to clean up later... but...

The idea that cooking could be a science... that he had never considered before. And MK seemed to be pretty well convinced that he was correct in this assertion. This was part of why Syntax had, for a while now, considered reaching out to him with an offer of becoming his assistant. His tenacity and determination was something that was a great asset in the field of scientific discovery after all! And well...

If making a weird pie could get him into the young man’s good graces...

“Where do we start?”

~

MK held up a bowl of beans to the camera. “Now these took a long bath last night-” he turned to Syntax. “-I’ll splice in some footage from earlier here later-TIME TO COOK EM!”

~

“The pot,” Syntax noted, pointing to the pot on MK’s stove that had begun to over boil.

“AAGH!” MK yelped, sliding over from where he was grabbing his mixer. “BEAN REBELLION!”

~

“Eggie,” MK chuckled out, cracking an egg into the mixing bowl with the rest of the ingredients.

“How many eggs does it call for?” Syntax asked, trying to make sense out of the madness he was being witness to.

“How many? I don’t know, it just says EGGS.” MK gestured to the cookbook before them as if it has just insulted Pigsy himself to MK’s face.

~

“FORE!” MK yelled, closing his eyes and turning on the blender as Syntax held a frying pan in front of himself in preparation for disaster.

And disaster came... just not in the way either expected, as the blender sputtered and just.... stopped.

“... did you just kill my blender?” MK turned the knob on it, shaking it and tapping it gently. “HELLO?”

He shook it harder, twisting and turning the knob on the front wildly before he broke down into laughter. “THE BEANS KILLED MY BLENDER.” MK crossed his arms on the counter, laying his head down on them as he devolved into equally amused and annoyed cackles. “This has never happened before, how the hell!?”

“Well...” Syntax looked around, finding an induction blender sitting half buried on the opposite side of the counter. “Will this work?”

~

Finally. After waiting for the pie to bake. It was done.

A piece sat on a plate before both men, looking both intimidating and somehow delectable at the same time. But both were well away this concoction was primarily sugar, cinnamon, and BEANS. They looked at each other for a moment before nodding, each taking a fork full of the pit before shoving it into their mouths expecting the worst.

MK looked at Syntax as they chewed. Then the camera. Then he started to laugh through his bite as Syntax’s face went on a journey from “this tastes good” to “HOW THE FUCK DOES THIS TASTE GOOD”.

“Nothing makes sense anymore,” he moaned, gesturing to the pie slice before him as he began to laugh in disbelief.

“WHY ARE YOU GOOD?” Syntax asked, shaking his plate slightly. “You have a bag of BEANS in you!”

MK laughed harder, needing to put his plate on the counter as he needed to hold his sides from the pain of trying not to laugh louder than he was.

“This is like if tomato soup made a cake that tasted like chocolate!”

“I-It!” MK wheezed, holding up one hand to get the scientist’s attention. “It has!”

“I’M SORRY- WHAT!?”

~

“Yes? Oh, that’s fine dear! Yes, as long as he has somewhere to sleep and I know where he is- ... yes, we would love to try some when you escort him home tomorrow! Thank you, take care now,” Spider Queen said, smiling as she hung up the cell phone that Pigsy and Tang had no kindly helped her acquire.

“So, uh...” Huntsman asked, rubbing the back of his neck in concern and confusion. “What’s up?”

“Syntax will be spending the evening with MK!” She announced, smiling wide. “He’s taken up an interest in baking, apparently. Something about needing to unlock the secrets of tomato soup and beans.”