#they tried to sterilize earth and leave for a long time in hopes that it would eventually heal

[ultramantr1gger]

wit this original story im making like. splatoon if it was evil

[lieslab]

Will you have me or watch me fall?

꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Chan X gn reader

Summary: You're part of Chan's mafia, but after you lose your leg in a car accident, coping with the grief and pain seems to be nothing short of hell on earth.

Genre: Mafia AU

Word Count: 4.1K

Trigger warning: Descriptions of a car accident, alcohol, a creepy asshole, physical assault, depression, anxiety, grief, mentions of wanting to die, and insecurities.

A/N: I know this isn't a request, but I had an urge to write something mafia related. Also, I've realized that there are a lot of people out there that live with some physical struggles and disabilities that some people really don't think much about and that includes me. So I've created this to shed some light on something that some people have faced and live with daily. It's a shot in the dark, but I hope it makes someone feel seen <3

_ _ _

It was all you had ever known for years. For so long, you forgot what ordinary life was life. A mirage of tangled memories seemed to be there and then they fell. They entirely fell apart within the span of an hour. One moment you were driving and glancing down to switch the radio. The next, you were screaming as you swerved the wheel to avoid the oncoming semi-truck. 

Whether you had changed lanes while switching stations or it crossed into yours, you didn’t know. Life turned into a hazy blur in those few seconds. Time came to a screeching halt as you lost control of your car. Glass shattered, you felt yourself flip, your forehead went flying into the steering wheel, and then your neck snapped back into the headrest. 

When you came back around, red and blue flashing lights mixed with the high-pitched whirring of an ambulance. It smelled like burnt rubber and gasoline. There were faint voices of cops and someone was calling out to you, but you didn’t understand it. 

Your head was trapped in a fog and nothing made sense. There was a tingling sensation in your leg that wouldn’t go away. When you drifted back into the unconscious void, the feeling was still there. It was the last thing you felt before the world went dark. 

When you wake up in the hospital after a major accident, the main task of nurses and doctors is to keep you relaxed. Putting you in distress can cause a delay in healing of your injuries. It’s important to feed you information a little at a time, especially if you’re not fully there. 

It took you three days of fading in and out of consciousness before you found Bang Chan’s voice and it stuck. As the leader of the group, he had been there from the start. In your phone, he was the first emergency contact. When he first got the call and it was reported that you were in an accident, he thought of the worst things possible. 

Maybe you were brain dead and just barely surviving; forced to use a breathing tube to keep your organs alive. Perhaps, you were unrecognizable in that bed. Your body smashed from blunt force trauma and a brain injury that would leave you the shell of who you once were. 

During the whole ride there, all he could do was clutch his steering wheel and begin to pray for your safety. He flew out of the house still in his pajamas. Shirtless in gray sweatpants, he threw on a black hoodie for the sake of the people he’d encounter. His sneakers were barely tied as he booked it to his car and tried to get to you as fast as possible. 

As for you? The pieces of the puzzle came together once Chan rushed through the double doors. The squeaky sterile floors with too bright white lights. A face full of worry and lips pushed tight together in a straight line of fear. He didn’t have the heart to ask the nurse how you were. 

When he saw you hooked up to the heart rate monitor and a bag of pain meds, he nearly burst into tears. The sight of you covered in scrapes and bruises was haunting. The nurse reassured him that they were doing everything they could to take care of you. 

It took three days until you were awake long enough to hear the details from Chan. You went out on an evening drive to clear your head. They didn’t know what exactly happened, but you lost control of the car and you ended up slamming into a fully grown maple tree. 

In the dead of night, overturned maple leaves fluttered above the car like a protective canopy. The scent of petrichor hung in the ozone. The threat of a severe thunderstorm hanging in the balance made the entire scene so much worse. 

Cops, firefighters, and paramedics mingled as they attempted to get you out of the vehicle to the hospital. You knew you were injured, you remembered the pain in your leg before you fell victim to the darkness. You assumed you broke your leg and maybe, if you were unfortunate enough, maybe in multiple places. 

Out of everything you could have imagined, losing your leg wasn’t one of them. Even hearing the words uttered from Chan’s lips, you couldn’t believe it. You refused to believe any of it until you ripped the wool blanket from over your body. To your surprise, the lower half of your leg was missing. Wrapped in multiple bandages and stitched together with stitches, all you could do was stare in horror while your brain attempted to process the missing limb. 

That was months ago. Days blended together between pain medicine, doctor visits, rehabilitation, occupational therapists, and the new normal. Everyone is different when it comes to amputation. Some people receive prosthetics quicker than others. Some deal with infections and some suffer so much mental anguish that living day to day without a limb, it seems unbearable. 

As for you, you hid the truth about your feelings. The mental torture, the realization that you’d never have both legs, and having to rely on others, it was taking a toll and it had been since it happened. 

You lived your life on your own terms. You always had and you always planned to. Yeah, you were part of the gang, but you were independent as hell. Nobody could tell you what to do unless it was Chan. That was just how it was and how you lived your life. 

Relearning and coping with the new normal, it left you with sleepless nights. On the nights you struggled with phantom limb pain, the feeling of pain where your leg was no longer attached, you kept your crying sessions silent. Through every tingle, cramp, and ache, you kept it to yourself. To the guys, you were a trooper, but in your own head, you were a failure. 

Chan forced you to stay out of missions while you healed. One night, you had enough. On the shiny metal prosthetic, you slammed the door open to the meeting room while Chan was explaining the next mission. 

Your sudden appearance was a shock to everyone, including him. “I want in,” you finally uttered. “I want in this mission and you don’t get to tell me no. If I have to stay here while you all go somewhere again, I’ll lose it.” 

The guys all exchanged glances. Chan’s eyes looked down at the clipboard he was holding. He didn’t look thrilled about it, but he couldn’t say no to you. After a few moments of silence, he finally gestured you to the empty seat that used to be yours. You walked over, sat down, and he began reassigning parts again. 

That was last month and ever since, you were still struggling to cope. Losing a limb is never easy. From the tip of a pinkie being slammed in a car door, a hand being crushed in a factory, to an arm being ripped off via a combine, or a crushed leg in a car accident; no matter how small, they weren’t easy. 

From self-doubt, to shame and embarrassment, the emotional exhaustion when it comes to retelling the story over and over and over again to everyone who asks; losing a limb is hard. The phantom pain that lingers from hours to days, the physical exhaustion from trying to heal, and the mental toll it takes on everyone around you, it’s not always easy to get through. 

Tonight’s mission, you found yourself on the dance floor of some random club. Most members were spread throughout the area with ear-pieces in their ears and you were no different. You found yourself on the dance floor. 

Spinning under dazzling light and feeling the bass blast through you beneath your sturdy feet, you finally felt free. Across the way, Chan and Minho kept an eye on you from a table. To blend in, the two of them had drinks that they seemed to be nursing. 

The rest of the guys were scattered throughout the club. Someone at the front entrance and another at the back. Someone lazily leaned over the balcony above and a few more blended between the lively crowds of drunk and tipsy people. From where you moved around on the dance floor, you knew exactly who you were looking for. Chan had drilled the guy’s appearance into everyone’s brains. Apparently, he crossed Chan and that was unforgivable in Chan’s eyes. 

Whether it was unpaid dues, straight up fuckery, or making threats that’d never be carried out, crossing Chan was like crossing God. The difference between Chan and God was that you could pray and God would forgive you. You could get on your knees and plead for your life in front of Chan, but a dead man was a dead man. 

At a small table, Chan sucked in a deep breath as his nostrils flared. Minho glanced over at Chan and realized he was looking over at you. “You know that they’re fine, right? They’re taking care of themselves pretty well.” 

“I don’t appreciate how many people are approaching them. I don’t like any of it. I should have had them skip this mission.” 

“You can’t keep them from these things forever.” 

“Well, I can fucking try!” He snapped angrily. He stood up and slammed his chair beneath the table. Minho rolled his eyes while Chan’s half-empty glass of whisky spilled outside of the cup. He reached over to clean it up and Chan headed in your direction. 

There was pulsing energy looping around the place, but he couldn’t focus on it. Ever since you lost your leg, he’d been worried about you, they all had. Warm bodies were pressed up against one another. The air inside the bar smelled like cigarette smoke, a faint whiff of alcohol, and the overpowering stench of sweat. 

The alcohol made everyone too warm. The tipsy and swaying dance floor, the beat of the drums, the way the dancers shifted throughout the place and snaked around men like snakes, he hated it. He hated that this was the only place he thought they’d be able to capture the target. 

A hand slithered across his shoulder and he shoved it off. One of the dancers wore a sheer lilac bodysuit. Pale skin shone through the sheerness and he wanted to roll his eyes, but he held it back. Usually, he wouldn’t have cared, but he wanted his attention to focus on you. 

“What’s a hot guy like you doing out here all by yourself? What’s got your dick in a twist? Hmm?” 

“Save it,” he grumbled as he kept walking. 

“I could fix your problems with a private dance.” 

“Not interested.” 

“They’re on sale tonight for-” 

“I said I’m not interested! Get lost!” Too irritated and annoyed, the next group of drunk people he came up to and wouldn’t move, he shoved through them. Not caring that they stumbled and almost fell, his eyes were still set on you. 

On the dance floor, you had been stopped by some middle aged guy. His hand found your hip and when it did, you jerked away instantly. “Don’t do that, I’m not interested.” 

“Aw, come on!” He called out to you. He stepped closer to you and grinned. “A pretty person like you could use a bit o-” 

“I meant what I said.” 

He laughed, not quite believing you. His hand cupped your torso and slid down and that’s when you snapped. Your hands shot out and you shoved the guy back. He stumbled and just barely managed to catch himself. “Hey! What the hell was that for?” 

“Don’t touch me!” 

“What are you going to do about it?” His dark eyebrows furrowed. He stepped closer, nearly pressing his chest right against yours. A feeling of disgust crept up your throat, so you took a step back. 

Upset and feeling frustrated, you spun around to go back to the guys. You wanted to be near people you felt comfortable with. Besides, your prosthetic was starting to irritate your leg anyway. You were used to walking with it and sometimes jumping and running, but you hadn’t used it much to dance. 

When you didn’t put up a fight, the guy saw red. He had been watching you for a while and all he wanted was a dance. Walking away from him hurt his ego. With an angry huff, he jerked his foot out. With a loud clunk, it slammed into the back of your prosthetic leg hard. 

Chan’s eyes widened and he rushed through the crowd to get to you. On the dark floor, a choir of gasps and murmurs echoed around you. A lump built up in your throat at the pain surrounding your stump, but you refused to let tears fall. 

Instead, your shaky fingers reached towards the disconnected limb. The force from the guy and the way you fell, it knocked it right off. You blinked rapidly and fiddled with the velcro strap to tighten it. 

Sweat soaked the end of the stub. The darkness and the glossiness from tears made it difficult to see. You sniffled and just when you thought you might be slowly getting somewhere, Chan dropped to the ground beside you. 

“Hey, are you okay?”

You faintly nodded, but your eyes didn’t meet his. You couldn’t bear to have him see you so weak. In front of this many people, you were already embarrassed. Shame filled you and flooded your system. 

A wave of anger swept over Chan, but he forced it down. He wanted to go after the guy and knock his lights out, but his attention was focused on you. His fingers swept against yours and pulled them away from the fake limb. “I’ve got it, let me.” 

You didn’t fight him because you were exhausted. You were so tired and drained. You wanted to go home and curl beneath the covers. You wanted to cry until it was impossible to cry anymore. You wanted to drown in your tears and self-misery. 

“Did he hurt you?” 

You shook your head. He stood up and reached out for your hands. You let him tug you to your feet and you placed all your weight on your good foot. When his hands move to your hips to steady you, he noticed the shift instantly. A frown filled his face and he scanned you up and down. “Why did you do that?” 

You shrugged, but he wasn’t buying it. He moved your body, so you were forced to evenly distribute your weight. The moment you put weight on your prosthetic, pain shot through your leg. A yelp escaped your mouth and you jerked your weight back to the good leg. 

His eyes went back to your prosthetic and he frowned. His eyes scanned your face, hoping you’d admit the truth. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing,” you weakly managed to get out. 

He stared at you and a stern look came across his face. “You don’t have to lie to me. I know something is wrong, so just tell me what it is. I want to help you, so please, what’s wrong?” One of his hands reached up to cup your cheek and that’s when your heart free fell. 

You blinked rapidly again, more tears began to well in your eyes. “Not here.” 

A soft sigh escaped his parted lips and he slowly scooped you into his arms. You didn’t fight it as he fought the crowd and managed to get you into the bathroom. He locked the door behind you and walked you over to the porcelain sink. 

It probably wasn’t the best place, but it was the only place for now. You sat along the edge and your legs dangled towards the tiled ground. “What happened?” He tried again as his fingers began to undo your limb. 

“A guy kicked the back of it.” 

“I saw.” 

“It hurt when I fell. The plastic section dug into my stump. There’s scarred tissue and it’s still tender sometimes. It just hurt, that’s all. It’s not a big deal.” 

“I’m going to kill him,” Chan muttered beneath his breath. His fingers worked quickly to remove the limb and the silicone slip that covered your stump. The compression sock that you wore for support beneath it came off next. 

Gentle fingers tenderly worked their way around the amputated leg. Shame filled you once more and your eyes found the ground. This wasn’t the first time that something like this happened and it probably wouldn’t be the last. 

Ever since your leg had been amputated, everything was different. About a month after you were comfortable walking around on your new leg, Chan made everyone learn how to put it on you and take it off. You were so used to being independent, but this had been a major setback. You were forced to rely on people while your leg healed. 

When his fingers slipped across a red inkling marking the side of your leg, you winced. He frowned and his eyes went to meet yours, but you still refused to look at him. 

His voice came out softly when he spoke again. “Why aren’t you looking at me?” You didn’t respond, but he knew. He could see it in the way the glassiness in your eyes built up. Your bottom lip quivered and he knew you were close to cracking. 

“Look at me.” 

When you didn’t, he reached out and gently took your chin. He tilted your head towards him. “I don’t believe you. How bad does it hurt?” 

“Like a rug burn.” 

He shook his head. “No. There’s no way it’s just like that. If you fell and the sides cut into your skin, you have to be hurting a lot. How much does it hurt?” 

“Why does it matter?” 

“Because I care about you.”

“Who cares about a bruised ego?” Your voice was hoarse as the tears finally silently fell down your cheeks. Chan’s heart dropped straight to the pit of his stomach. You reached up and quickly wiped away the falling tears.

“You don’t have to do that, you know. You don’t have to do that thing where you pretend to be strong in front of me. It’s okay if you fall apart. There’s nothing wrong with having a moment to-” 

“I don’t want to have a moment!” You cut him off with a shrill voice. “Who gives a shit about a bruised ego? So what? Life goes on. Whatever.” 

“I give a shit.” 

“I-I wish,” tears slid down your cheeks faster, “I wish I would have died in the car accident. I should have died and I-” 

Out of all the things he had heard you say since the accident, it was never anything like that. His fingers were still cupped around your chin. His fingers tightened their grip and he shook his head. “Don’t say that, you don’t mean that. You don’t mean that you-” 

“I do! I mean it with everything! I mean every fucking word!” 

The limbo he was stuck in at the hospital came rushing back to him. The way he felt like he was suffocating while he waited for you to wake up. The aimless walks around the barren hospital while he waited for your eyes to flutter open, so he could see them again. 

Everyone was holding their breaths and assuming the worst. The group chat kept blowing up, but you never responded. As Chan texted the guys, they didn’t want to believe it. The prayers, the worry, the fear that they’d never see you alive again. 

“You don’t mean it,” he whispered. “Don’t say that, you don’t understand.” 

“It would have been better than-” 

“It wouldn’t have been better for anyone! You’re part of our family!” His voice came out exasperated. “You don’t know what it was like to wonder if you were ever going to wake up again! Do you have any idea how much you even mean to us? Stop saying that!” 

“Don’t tell me what to do!” 

“Stop being so stubborn! Stop acting like it’d have been better if you died! Stop acting like you don’t care! I never want to hear you say anything like that ever again!” 

“You don’t get it!” Your voice grew louder. “You have no fucking clue what it’s like!” You slapped his hand away and watched his face fall with shock. 

 “I don’t know what it’s like?” He scoffed and shook his head. “I don’t know what it’s like? Bullshit! Do you know what it’s like when someone you love is on the brink of death?” 

“Stop making this about you! It’s not and it never has been!” The tears were hot rolling down your cheeks. It was a pool of lava around your heart bubbling and now it was exploding. “You’re not the one missing a leg! It’s not about you, it’s about me! You don’t have to wake up feeling useless every fucking morning!” 

“Don’t say that, you’re not useless. No matter how many limbs you have, you’re not useless.” 

“Every time we go out on missions, I’m not trusted anymore. I’m constantly being watched by everyone. The attention is on me and not on the surroundings. If something happens one day and someone gets hurt because I-” Your voice cut off. 

“That’s not going to happen,” he tried to reason with you. 

“You don’t know that. I-I don’t need to be watched all the time. I don’t need to be treated like a kid.” 

You were killing him. It was killing him internally to see you so broken and so vulnerable. You were always so independent and so fierce that he never considered how much their actions could be hurting you. 

His hands gently cupped your cheeks and he wiped your eyes. “We just want you to be safe. We’re worried about you and we almost lost you once. We can’t bear to nearly lose you again.” 

“I can’t even cook without being supervised. I can’t go shopping at the mall alone. I can’t go get coffee like I used to without someone tagging along. I can’t even go on a simple walk around the block. I have to be followed by someone and practically walked around like a dog.” 

“I-” 

“Save it! I-I’m grown and I know I almost died, but I-” You were practically choking back sobs. You could feel the warmth of his hand cupping your cheek, but you couldn’t see the worry and guilt in his eyes through your tears. 

You couldn’t see how much your words were physically killing him and causing him pain. He wanted you to be able to do things yourself, but he was terrified. He was so afraid of losing you that it was easier to capture you in a metaphorical cage than let you go free. 

At least, if you were with the guys, he knew you’d be safe. If you fell, they’d be there to help you. If your prosthetic hurt your leg, they could carry you to safety. They’d go to the ends of the earth to protect you, but along the way, he had forgotten what it must have been like for you. 

To constantly have someone hanging and looming over your shoulder in the background. No wonder you were so upset to the point that you were breaking down in front of him. He was so worried about you, he forgot the amount of stress and guilt that was eating you up too. 

Instead of speaking, he pulled you tight into his chest. You sobbed as your head curled protectively into his neck. In his arms, the outside world couldn’t get to you. The weight of the world wasn’t yours anymore, it was pulled away and lingered above. You could finally breathe for a few moments. 

The steady pulse of Chan’s heartbeat thrummed against your cheek. A hand gently came back to your back to soothe you and the gesture caused you to cry harder. You were so mentally exhausted and tired. Everything seemed to be a nightmare and it never stopped. 

Life without a limb was hard for everyone involved. From family and friends to the potential love of your life, it was difficult. New challenges were faced and fears were unlocked. As Chan soothed you, he forced himself to calm down. 

As much as it scared him and frightened him, he had to let go of all those fears. It wasn’t fair to keep you held captive. You deserved to feel like you had your independence back and he hated how weak he had accidentally made you feel. 

The only place he wanted to keep you captive was just like this; in his arms, right where you belonged to begin with. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

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[hyperfixating-rn-brb]

good omens season 3.

Aziraphale is now the Supreme archangel. He hates it. He just sits alone at his desk, browsing the earth observation files for every glimpse he can get of a certain man shaped being with red hair and dark glasses. Nothing has worked out the way he had hoped.

Everything was just one enormous misunderstanding, as it often was. He was just trying to make heaven safe for Crowley, make it so they could be truly free without always needing a backup plan, a side door open for them to run. All he wanted was to stay with Crowley, being an us. a team. a group of the two of them, as Crowley had put it. But they could never be together with this constant threat of Heaven and Hell looming over them. Yes, he convinced himself. He had no choice, coming here was the last thing he'd wanted but the only option he'd truly had. He still despised it.

As days wore into weeks and months, the Supreme archangel stopped caring about anything other than the glimpses of Crowley in the files. His hair grew long, a scruffy curly beard came in. He had given up on maintaining the standards he'd kept for so long on Earth; they had only ever really been for Crowley. It was al he could do to keep from constant tears as he watched the former demon through scattered photographs. Once the pictures stopped appearing, he snapped. There was no way to know if he'd been merely discorporated or entirely destroyed. He certainly wouldn't have returned to Hell willingly, and he most definitely wasn't in Heaven.

* * *

Crowley was done. He'd tried and tried and tried and he'd poured his heart out and offered it up on a silver platter. And Aziraphale had thrown it all away. For heaven. That toxic, sterile floor where every ounce of softness would be squeezed out of him until he was as cruel as the other archangels.

He didn't do much these days but drink. He refused to let himself sleep. He didn't need to, but denying himself that escape from his thoughts kept him in a state of such perfect agony, reminding him over and over how he wasn't good enough, and never could be unless he was an angel. Nina and Maggie kept trying to help, to talk, but he cut them off every time they tried to speak. Some days he drove, going no where in particular.

Somehow he always ended up somewhere though. The Globe. Edinburgh. The Ritz. Even a few times in Paris. The Bentley just started going wherever it wished now, pulling Crowley along inside it.

Eventually he decided there wasn't anything else he could do. Call Hell. Accept their offer of Grand Duke of Hell. The position was still open from Beelzebub's leaving with Gabriel.

Aziraphale had always praised him whenever he did something remotely kind. Thinking about that hurt too much now. Maybe this could be easier. If the angel would never love him, why waste energy doing the thing that made him lovable? Yes, he'd embrace Hell. reluctantly at first. Well, he convinced himself. This would be the only way to make sure Hell doesn't go after the new archangel. It hurt to think of him, but he couldn't help himself. 6000 years where the most of his brain was consumed by the blonde bookseller, 6000 of sheltering him, rescuing him and promptly offering lunch together. Old habits die hard, he would never stop trying to protect his angel.

[incoherent-brainrot]

C4 [Briar Rose]

Rose pulls the silk sheets over the crown prince. The young man blushes when Rose pulls close. Puberty has not been gentle on the crown prince: his face and chest are pockmarked with acne scars, and his body is awkwardly lanky. The crown prince has pronounced dark circles; his latest round of illness has left him unable to sleep for more than a few hours each night. Rose gently wraps the blankets around him, careful not to upset any of the fever blisters on his arms.

“You did great eating the fire-shoot congee. Just a few more meals of it, and you’ll be healthy again.” Rose coos, adjusting the crown prince’s pillows so that he can sleep comfortably. The crown prince, however, looks a little dejected. Rose touches his sallow, sunken cheeks with her cool, soft hands. “What is it, little one?”

The crown prince looks around, before motioning for Rose to come close. Rose tilts her ear towards him, and tries not to react when the crown prince rests his hands on her sides. “I dreamed of seeing a sky-woman.”

Rose stiffens. She places a finger on the crown prince’s pouty lips. “Little one, you don’t even know what a sky-woman looks like to dream of her. No one has seen sky-folk since the second Calamity ” Rose tucks a piece of the prince’s rust-colored hair behind his ear.

The crown prince grabs Rose’s hands and his eyes go wide, tears welling up in them. “Please. I know what I saw! She was tall, and her fur was soft like a snow hare. She walked on rabbit’s feet like a human, and her wings were made of clouds. Her antlers looked like the tree of life. Flowers were blooming from the muscles in her back and birds sang in the branches of her antlers.” The prince’s spiritual energy starts to flux, straining his weak body. His nose and eyes start to bleed.

“Prince Auguro, your health!” Rose uses her robe sleeves to staunch his bleeding nose, but he continues to speak. Blood starts to spill from his mouth as he talks. This always happens when the prince discusses his clairvoyant visions, no matter how healthy or sickly he is at the time. Rose feels her hair stand on end as blood soaks into her robe sleeves.

“Miss Rose, do you not believe my vision? That sky-folk could have returned to this earth, to this island! Would it not be a blessing? We could have a second chance—“

Rose pricks the major nerve endings along the prince’s chest with her long nails. The nerve freeze, rendering the prince immobile but still able to speak. He continues to cry. “Miss Rose!”

“I’m sorry. But you were making yourself bleed from your seven apertures. You’re so sick already as it is!” Rose fights back tears, hoping the prince mistakes them as empathy for his condition rather than tears of panic. “When you’re better, we can call in the State Preceptor and talk about your vision, okay? I promise.”

Rose leans in and kisses the crown prince’s forehead, her rouge leaving a small stain on his snowy-white skin. This is always her tease to him; she’s well aware of the crush the prince has had on her since she began working at the palace, of the way he stares at her thighs when he thinks she won’t notice.

“Miss Rose! Don’t go, please.” The crown prince is powerless to stop Rose from leaving, but she can’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for him. Rose is probably the person the crown prince sees the most because of his weak immune system, and her warm voice and soft body are surely comforting in this otherwise silent and sterile room. Rose presses her forehead against the crown prince’s, almost as if about to kiss him. Their noses touch briefly, her button nose against his straight one. Rose smirks in satisfaction as she senses his fever finally breaking; his forehead is cool to the touch, and the sheen of fever sweat is gone.

“You’ll be well soon. I’ll be back at dinner to feed you more fire-shoot congee. Okay? One step at a time.” Rose stays pressed close to the crown prince. She can smell his longing for her, a scent like maple leaves in the fall breeze. Another pang of sympathy clanks against her heart. “Once you’re better, I’ll ask Sage to take us foraging for forest pearls, okay?”

Rose pulls back to see the crown prince’s reaction. In the soft light of the morning that filters in through the window, Rose can see the handsome man the prince will eventually grow into. He blushes when she meets his eyes, and Rose smiles at him even as that scent of maple leaves threatens to overwhelm her senses. A pulsing migraine starts to root above Rose’s left eye. Rose swallows back the bile that burns in her throat and forces herself to kiss the crown prince’s forehead again. “I’ll take your stunned silence as a yes.”

Rose doesn’t bother waiting for the crown prince to speak. She walks quickly out of the room. The migraine starts to pound in the space just behind her optic nerve, making her vision split. Rose covers her eye with one hand as she walks as quickly as she can out of the inner palace.

“Miss Rose, are you alright?” A guard tries to grab her arm, and it takes every ounce of Rose’s self-control not to spear him with ice right there. Rose can feel the eyelashes under her hand turning to frost: she needs to make it outside the palace, fast.

“I’m fine. Just exhausted from the latest medical emergency with the crown prince. But I’ve got that figured out. Please let the Emperor know I’ll be back later, but until sunset I’m not to be sought out or disturbed.” Rose forces a smile, pretending to be rubbing her aching eye as if fighting off sleep. A nasty, iron-hard part of her imagines an ice spear forming up through the earth and skewering the guard for daring to grab her; Rose works even harder to make her smile as saccharine as possible.

“Yes, Miss Rose.” The guard bows to her, lowering his gaze. “Enjoy your rest.”

Rose practically sprints away. By the time she’s at the outer palace gate, she’s at a full run. She holds her aching head, trying not to groan aloud. Of all the times to lose control of her form, directly into view of palace sentries was not the best one. Rose keeps running along the winding deer trails until she finds her secret hideaway: a sweetwater lake hidden in the folds of the mountain. Rose doesn’t even bother looking around before disrobing, shedding every irritating ounce of fabric on her plush, soft body.

No sooner have her robes crumpled to the ground, a dark pool at her feet, than the seams holding her human form together pop open. Rose’s human form melts away; she grows tall, taller than most men. Her hips flare out, her waist thickens, and her body ripples with muscle. Stark white fur, as soft and bright as freshly fallen snow, sprouts on the extremities of her body and the high points of her face, collarbone, and hips. A tail coils around her to protect her modesty, the point of the tail a brilliant powderpuff of white like a dandelion. Rose groans as her antlers unfurl, straight up and endlessly branched like the tree of life. Rose massages her indicine ears, overstimulated from the rush of new sounds flooding into her mind. Rose stretches out her weary and overworked body, sighing softly as she pushes spiritual energy through each of her nerves and muscles fibers.

Rose flexes her rabbit-like feet and dives into the water, curling up and letting herself sink to the clay bottom of the lake. Only the tops of her antlers stick out from the lake: any passing human would simply think a deer was swimming. Rose holds out her hands to passing fish, who are dazzled by the shining ivory of her claws. Rose sighs out a symphony of bubbles into the water, the cold sweetwater soothing her aching body but doing nothing to balm the panic in her heart.

<<What am I supposed to do now that the crown prince has had a vision of me? Could he have seen me somehow? There’s no way he could’ve seen another sky-folk without me noticing.>> Rose growls softly, her fangs flashing in the water. She didn’t actually know which was worse; if the prince had somehow seen her human form slipping, or if he had seen a different sky-folk and Rose had failed to notice the incursion on her territory. Rose spent her hours away from the palace patrolling the Emperor’s domain, and so far on this whole island, she had not seen or smelled another sky-folk. The next nearest island was more developed, and most certainly had sky-folk living among humans, but Rose would’ve sensed the spiritual energy or smelled the signature of any sky-folk who dared cross the East China Sea.

Rose flexes her wings under the water, the spiritual energy crackling like lightning as the cloud-like organs move against her back. Rose dreaded having to fly again and find a new place to live. Okinawa had been a perfect island for her, a verdant little place to hide from other sky-folk. Falling in with the Emperor after two centuries of watching his family’s dynasty putz around had initially been a flight of fancy, but ten years of being fed on glutinous rice, honey, and all the salmon she wanted—all in exchange for the barest of medical and medicinal knowledge—had been a dream come true. Going back to the days of survival foraging, of making a cave den, of having to suffer to survive: the idea made Rose’s stomach turn in on itself.

<<You knew you couldn’t stay their medicine-woman forever. The timetable has simply advanced considerably.>> The rational part of Rose’s mind starts to yap, and she finds it hard to listen to the voice. Somehow, her heart keeps conjuring up images of Sage, of how his face looked when she tipped the drinking chocolate down his throat, the way her skin had broken out in goose flesh when he had grabbed her waist. Rose tries to push the thoughts away and think about her next move, but somehow all she can remember is how it had felt when Sage had picked her up and moved her to the well, the easy flex of his strength to pick up her plush body, and how his skin had smelled like cedar leaves and sandalwood. <<What the fuck is wrong with me? Why am I thinking about this?>>Rose pinches her belly, trying to focus.

A wave of pain washes over Rose’s belly. Rose jolts up and stands in the water with a yelp, scaring every bird and mammal for a four mile radius. Rose doubles over in immense discomfort, trying not to scream. She can see her reflection in the water: all blinding white fur, opalescent antlers, doe eyes and plush lips. Pain is written into stark ridges on her round face. It has been ages since Rose had last felt this pain, and she feels her heart sink.

“I’m going to snap off my own antlers if I’m going into heat right now. There’s no way. I haven’t been around any male sky-folk. There’s no fucking way I’m having a heat right now.” Rose tries to convince herself that the pain like porcupine spines in her guts isn’t her body getting ready to be pregnant.

She walks over to the far end of the lake to her little basket of soaps and sea sponges, all of them expensive gifts given to her by the crown prince in secret. Rose knows the weak rut-scent given off by human men like the prince aren’t strong enough to trigger her heat, so her little teasing of the prince earlier isn’t why her uterus is currently strangling her other internal organs. But what could actually be happening that’s making her body react? Even worse—how is she supposed to hide her heat from everyone in the palace? Even if Rose can hide her blushing face and body, nothing will be able to cover up the scent.

“Whatever. It’s fine. I’m not in heat. I drink cohosh tea each month and there are no male sky-folk here. I’m just tired after a long and really irritating day! That’s all this is!” Rose can hear how shrill her voice is as she scrubs herself with a rose-scented soap. But as she washes her antlers, she can feel the soft tickle of velvet starting to sprout.

Rose’s broad ears flatten against her cheeks and her tail lashes back and forth in anxiety. She reaches a trembling hand down to the delicate bloom between her legs, her hands passing over the star-shaped scar on her belly on the way down. Rose closes her eyes and tries to steel herself. She bites back tears as her own touch reminds her of her first heat, of being pushed down to the earth, the cold press of a knife at the base of her left antler, of—

“Stop. It’s been eight hundred years since you lost your baby coat. This is different.” Rose doesn’t really know who she is trying to convince with this; certainly not herself. Rose had taken blue cohosh and separated herself from other sky-folk as a way to suppress her heats ever since her first disastrous heat. The idea that she now has to deal with a strong heat during her prime, that sky-folk and humans alike will be driven rabid in attempts to seek out her scent, makes her want to snap off her own antlers.

Rose brings her hand back up. The glowing white fur of her long-fingered and delicate hand is stained with blood. Rose feels her stomach drop. Or maybe that’s just the feeling of the eggs traveling down her Fallopian tubes. Rose finally allows herself to cry, the tears running down her immaculate face and turning into diamonds as they hit the water.

For the first time in hundreds of years, Briar Rose the sky-woman is in the full bloom of heat.

[castilium]

Camazotz (I:L)

Please don't leave me behind Tiamat once said.

She pleaded gently, in a void of white isolation, far from the Earth and humanity she loved. A solitary realm where she wailed and wept alone, grieving those departed, her children who strayed, who grew wings and flew towards the skies beyond. Watching, unable to do more than see them off as proud mother would, though plagued with the heartache of her partings. Left alone. Left behind.

In the house, the same emptiness haunted Mashu. Two rooms had been decorated and once occupied life, left hollow with memories that had faded away. A family broken apart and scattered into the winds. All trace of those people had been erased, only the agonising void left in their place, the sterile whites of walls along the hallway. For months, she had been warned, she was coached in bracing for a parting that brought with it possibility of shattering her heart and blotting out hope. A future she alone would bear witness, and all others no more than stars watching her from afar. Those who should have lived, given all for humanity, a fighting chance.

They always head to places so far away.

One after another they were gone. A family whittled away, like painting over faces, chipping away features of a sculpture. How long would she be alone? The remainder of her human life? 100 years? 3,000? 6,000,000? When all were sacrificed to salvage the world what... would there be left? Would Chaldea remain empty other than herself? Would humanity... exist? Would she be Mashu Kyrielite anymore? The people she loved so dearly, would they...

I want to be at their side forever.

Forever, she understood was unreasonable. But for the length of their fleeting lives — was that too selfish? She fluctuated often, arriving at acceptance for what was to come, to resisting it should be assumed the end, to pleading for any miracle. A turbulent endless cycle of grief from which she'd failed to break countless time. The human desire to hold dear those beloved bonds, squeeze harder when one's hand might dare to slip away. A desperation that had led to error, to her shield failing, her heart breaking — to straddle the line of hypocrisy and follow her brother when he tried repeatedly keep her on the straight and narrow.

Is my love... mistaken?

Love was... a factor of her journey had been to discover what it was. And the answers as numerous as the flowers in a newly-blossomed meadow. Beautiful, warm, courageous, gentle, empowering, lasting, imperfect, misunderstood, dangerous, volatile, destructive. It burned. It touched everything inside of her and scorched with heat absent from the Welsh forest flames, lighting only half of Oberon's smile as he warned her.

The people she had forgotten. The Master who had to have been by her side all this time. Perhaps they really had... Fists pressed against her screaming heart, her frame shrinking into little more than a ball balanced on her toes as hot tears ran. In the white space, her silent cries would be seen and heard by none, she need not hide it. Because there was no-one left.

"Don't leave me alone. Please... don't leave me behind".

Today, she would mourn. Tomorrow, she might cope. She might recall the dedication to carry their journey as a triumph — a monumental venture across time and space like no other. Not to betray what they, everyone, gave their all for, and hold it as treasure. Pride in a Master who fought back against the impossible more times than one could count on their fingers, and won. A gift from them to humanity, to a girl who could only ever watch from inside her white world, far from humanity. But never would it change, the anguish of hearing those words, of receiving them as they turned and walked, casting their parting smile. Or to utter them herself left only the light so far travelled as their hand slipped away one final time.

Goodbye... and thank you.

[mio-parasite]

❤️ Monsters in Latin America ❤️

Hello very good dear community of monsters lovers how are you? I hope you do well and if not I hope that your day will improve so that everything goes well.

I want to introduce you to some (not all as there are too many) lovely monsters of Latin America, I want to spread a little about my own culture and expand the repertoire of monsters to love, care for... Etc, I hope you like this bit Latin American story any questions you have about these creatures can contact me.

And I want to apologize if my English is very bad

Well without further ado, I introduce you to these lovely monsters from Latin America.

El Athrathrao o Basilisco

It is born in a henhouse, from a small round egg of coarse and rough cascara, of grayish white color, called lloilloy egg or lloe egg, which according to legend is believed to be laid and incubated by a rooster. If this egg is not removed, within a few weeks it will become a basilisco.

In the daytime, the basilisk chilote hides under the house of the owner of the henhouse, and at night he would come out of his hiding place while all the people sleep. At that time he would emit a hypnotic chant similar to cockcrow, which would cause people to stay asleep. After singing, he would go into the rooms to be able to feed himself, absorbing the breath and sucking the saliva of those who sleep. The affected person would lose the desire to eat, so he or she would get thinner and thinner, and his or her face would become pale. With the passage of time, a strong and persistent cough would appear and his breathing becomes more and more difficult, and finally he dies. The same thing happens with every one of the inhabitants of the house.

La Pincoya

She is a mermaid of extraordinary beauty (with a slightly tanned white complexion and blond hair), whose job is to protect the sea, sow it and rescue the castaways.

When the pincoya dances facing the ocean, it is warning that there will be an abundance of fish and shellfish. And when you do it looking toward the coast, there will be shortages.

To be favored by it, one must be content; That is why the fishermen are accompanied by happy friends.

It is also said that if you fish or shellfish a lot in one place, the pincoya gets angry and leaves that area, which then becomes sterile. The pincoya is sometimes accompanied by her husband, the pincoya.

The mermaid lived in a huge cave and used to swim in the lagoon and the puchanquin river. From the rocks, with a whistle, he made emerge from the bottom of the waters a solid trunk of gold, which he climbed to comb his golden hair. Sometimes, during the night, he would sing haunted love songs, which no one could resist.

In addition, many people sought the woman for favors, until she disappeared from the place. It is believed that it was called cuada from the huelde lagoon to bring prosperity and abundance to distant beaches.

Since then, the waters took on the dark color they have today, and although many have tried to imitate the siren's whistle, the golden trunk is still submerged waiting for its owner.

El Muqui / Muki

The muki, or anchancho, is a goblin in the mythology of the central andes in Bolivia, Peru, Ecuador, and Colombia; Which is characterized by being a miner and, as such, its existence is limited to the underground space: the muqui lives inside the mine.

Its name comes from the quechua "murik" (" he who asphyxiates "). However, 'muki' also means' humidity ', so it is said to also appear in places where there is water. From puno to cajamarca, passing through pasco and Arequipa, the descriptions of this creature are always the same: it is of small stature, does not exceed half a meter. Their favorite victims are unbaptized children, whom they hide in FIG and banana trees to make one of them.

Piuchén

Piwicheñ is a Mapuche voice that means "to dry people", this mythological creature is better known as Pihuchén, Piuchén or Piguchen.

It generally has the appearance of a flying snake, emitting high-pitched whistles. But also its changing appearance has something of a human, snake, bird, fish, quadruped, frog and bat. It is usually covered with grass, bushes and twisted cylinders, like hooked horns. It produces a substance so irritating that when it is transmitted through the air or water, it causes skin eruptions very similar to scabies.

It has incredible longevity, its wings grow when it has reached its mature age, in old age it transforms into a bird the size of a rooster or a young turkey, equally bloodthirsty. It has such a powerful force that it can topple large trees and raise gigantic waves that wreck ships.

He is used to living in lakes and rivers, where his presence causes panic, those who have the misfortune to contemplate him will soon die. At other times, he petrifies his victims with his intense gaze, and then sucks their blood.

Trentren Vilu y Caicai Vilu

Trentren vilu (terrestrial snake) and caicai vilu (sea snake) are two colossal and powerful snakes that have the ability to cause earthquakes and volcanic eruptions (trentren) and tsunamis and floods (caicai).

Legend has it that one day caicai awoke from his sleep and, seeing how ungrateful men were to the sea that gave them so much resources, unleashed his fury and used his tail to cause tsunamis and flood the earth as punishment. Trentrain, however, came to the aid of the terrestrial creatures and saved those he could on his back to put in the hills, those he could not save he turned into birds, fish and Marine mammals and drowned in sumpall. Caicai, for his part, did not stop and raised the waters even higher, to which he responded by raising the hills even higher.

Seeing this challenge, caicai attacked trentrum, thus beginning a Titanic battle that lasted for a long time until they finally ran out of strength.

By the end of the battle, the geography had changed, resulting in the numerous islands and canals of southern Chile.

Exhausted and defeated, caicai returned to sleep, leaving millalobo as ruler of the seas. For his part, trentrum also went to sleep.

However, with the passage of time, the men became ungrateful again, also causing the displeasure of trentin, who from time to time moves in his sleep causing earthquakes and eruptions, while caicai by moving his tail causes tsunamis.

Yaguareté-Abá

Tiger man or leopard-man, this being is a character known in northeastern Argentina and the great chaco, this arises from the great adoration of a sorcerer towards these animals and is based on the metamorphosis from human to beast, or the reverse.

The transformation of the sorcerer begins with the use of a jaguar leather and a sauma with hen's feathers. And that because of these they were given the power to shed their skins and transform into a creature half jaguar and half human. Later, they go hunting and after eating their prey they return to their human form performing the same procedure.

He is extremely aggressive and only eats human flesh, from mule or cow, he liked to loot ranches and he liked to force young women to clean it. The only way to escape from his escape is to manage to remove his hide and spit in his face because they are blind and vulnerable to attack, after death they return to their human form. This must be accompanied by bullets or machetes that are blessed but this is not all - you must behead him after killing him to make sure he does not come back to life.

La Fiura

She has the appearance of a disgusting woman, with large breasts and tiny stature (40 to 50 cm) and long black hair. Her face has hideous features, with sparkling eyes that are almost hidden behind her huge nose. Her limbs are thin and hooked, and she has the ability to lengthen and twist them in all directions by nervously moving the misshapen fingers of her huge hands. She wears red clothes, and uses to adopt strange postures and hideous grimaces with her face.

It is said that he wanders in the woods and sneaks through the bushes, in search of the fruit of the thorny chauras, which he eats gluttonously; and people can tell that the Fiura has passed through a place by observing the depositions it leaves on the protruding roots of large trees. It is also said that taking great care, it can be observed when she carefully combs her hair with a highly polished crystal or silver comb that shines in the sun's rays, while bathing in small lakes. After bathing, she sits on the moss, and remains naked for hours or goes to dance on the scraps. It is characterized by possessing superhuman strength and by the ability to make use of the stench of its breath to twist or break the limbs of animals or people who observe it; her power being such that she can have her effects at a distance.

Millalobo

The millalobo (golden Wolf) is a creature resembling a newt, with the upper part of a man and the lower part of a sea Wolf. The millalobo was born from the union between a woman and a sea Wolf which saved her from drowning during the mythical battle between trentrain vilu and caicai vilu.

Millalobo is the most powerful being of the seas after caicai, who chose him to rule the seas on his behalf.

According to chilota legend it is said that upon seeing him, caicai decided that he was a creature of his liking and chose him to delegate his power and rest after his battle with trentrain.

Millalobo lives on the seabed and rules with his family, his wife huenchula and their three children; The pincoya, the pincoy, and the mermaid chilota. Various mythological sea creatures are under his command and help him in his tasks, which range from planting and caring for the development of shellfish and fish, to managing the Marine climate; In addition to guiding and caring for the dead produced by the sea.

Millalobo is said to be the creator of the caleuche and the evil creatures of the seas also pay him respect.

[mostlycompetentwriter]

Booster

Pairing: Fem!Reader x Han and Fem!Reader x Bang Chan

Warnings: language, explicit smut, cheating, indecent affairs, very rich Bang Chan who can be exceedingly arrogant, mentions of alcohol and smoking; aged up characters (especially Chan)

Word Count: 11K

Genre: Marriage AU; Romance AU; Indecent Proposal AU

Summary: You love your husband more than anything else in the world, but the two of you have been arguing lately about your struggling financial situation. Things seem bleak until one night when your husband’s new boss makes you both an offer that you can’t afford to refuse.

A/N: If you’ve seen the movie “Indecent Proposal,” then you know how this goes, but I put my own little spin on the classic! Please enjoy!!

“Are you happy, Y/N?”

It was a deceiving question, basic in its premise and expectation, but you couldn’t help but falter at the unexpected doubt coloring your vision.

“I guess,” you said.

But why shouldn’t you be? You were in your prime, employed as a freelance writer, and married to your high school sweetheart,

Oh, wait...How could you forget?

You were also preparing to turn thirty-years-old in less than a week, your job wasn’t delivering stable work, and you and your husband had been arguing about the single-digit amount of savings in your join account since last year.

“That’s good to hear,” your therapist said, and you nodded even though it felt misplaced.

You both knew that it was bullshit, but since this was the last session you could afford together, your therapist was clearly trying to use up the rest of your time to her advantage. Maybe it was for the best since you hated seeing her face every Sunday afternoon. 

“Jisung and I are going to Vegas with his company,” you said, startling yourself with the unexpected confession.

“That’s interesting,” your therapist said, leaving the “considering how bad off the two of you are” to fill the empty silence. “I hope you have fun. Take some time to reconnect with him.”

Because surely she had heard enough of you complaining about how your husband could turn into the world’s biggest asshole sometimes when things weren’t going his way. Or when the easy parts of your personal life were feeling far too stressful to be considered healthy. “It’s nice to get away,” you decided to say in place of anything less amiable.

“Feel free to reach out if you ever need me,” your therapist continued, offering you her business card.

“Thanks,” you said, taking it from her with a sigh. “I guess that’s it then.”

“For now,” your therapist agreed, and you left the sterile-white building feeling more burdened than when you had arrived.

It was late when you got home, and you were even more exhausted than usual, laying next to Jisung in bed as soon as you had changed into comfortable night clothes.

“Do you want to fuck?” Jisung asked later on, taking off his reading glasses to look over at you as you concentrated hard on balancing next month’s budget, including all the money you had put aside for Jisung’s company retreat.

“Not right now,” you said.

“Whatever,” Jisung grumbled, and you ignored the pain in your heart as he turned around to face away from you, turning off his lamp to bathe half of the room in darkness.

“This is too important,” you tried to argue, but Jisung wasn’t listening, and it didn’t take long for him to start snoring.

But he never understood.

“Asshole,” you whispered, gathering your things to settle down in the living room instead. Where you continued working through the night, eyes glossing over from focusing on the numbers for too long, and you were drained the next morning, barely even comprehending Jisung leaving the house for work until you heard the car’s ignition from outside.

It was somewhat of a routine at this point, and you could feel the strain in your marriage, the distance between you and Jisung increasing the longer things continued to grow worse.

Your therapist would tell you to talk things out with him, but you really didn’t feel like arguing with your husband anymore. Instead, you pushed him out of your head and slept for a few more hours before getting up to start your freelance projects. It wasn’t anything difficult, and you finished most of the work by noon, leaving you to clean the house and wait by the phone in case a potential client called you with an assignment.

But the problem was the phone never rang, and you were hardly getting any work to support your shared household income.

It was a frequent point of contention, and Jisung had been begging you to take on a full-time position for months.

Maybe you should. 

Maybe it would make him happier.

But why did it feel like his happiness was always prioritized over your own?

Damn, you were starting to sound just like your former therapist.

“I made dinner,” you told him when he got home that evening, and even though it was obvious that he was wore-out, Jisung met you in the kitchen with a forced smile.

“It smells good,” he said, and there was a longing in his eyes, one that you also shared but could never fulfill.

And no amount of sex ever made it any better, but that sure as hell didn’t stop the two of you from trying to use it as an excuse to pretend that the problem didn’t exist elsewhere. “Shit, Sungie,” you gasped, nails digging into the smooth skin of his back as he fucked you on top of the counter, legs spread wide around his waist as he pummeled his hips into yours.

“Yes!” Jisung moaned, eyes rolling into the back of his head as your tight walls constricted around his length - pure, velvet warmth. “God, you’re perfect.”

“Harder!” you cried, trying to meet each of his thrusts, but finding it impossible to touch his animalistic pace, brutally stretching your pussy around him. The good kind of stretch that left you gaping long after you both came, lingering throughout the night and well into the morning as you limped around the house.

It ached and hurt, persistent and demanding, but there was always a desire for more, even when it was impossible to fulfill those empty places. But that didn’t stop you from trying, winding your fingers through Jisung’s hair to pull him closer, smashing your mouths together for a brutal kiss that only served to stoke the flames of passion sparking between the two of you. Something hot and raunchy, delicious in the exchanges of precious oxygen and the thin cord of saliva that remained when Jisung pulled back to look at you. “You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen,” he said, parting your thighs around his hips as he studied the place where he was driving his cock between the delicate folds of your swollen labia. “Look at how well you take me.”

“Please,” you whimpered, unsure as to what you wanted from him, but it was always too much and never enough. 

“I want you to come first,” Jisung said, sucking the pad of his thumb into his mouth before bringing it down against your clit. 

“Oh!” you gasped because the secondary stimulation was proving to be the necessary catalyst to unwind you from the inside, and you could feel your orgasm growing stronger by the second. 

“That’s it, baby,” Jisung groaned, throwing back his head as he worked on moving his hips faster, thrusting his erection with as much power as he could manage while focusing on digging harsh circles against the tight little bud between your legs.

“Coming!” you cried, closing your eyes against the first wave of pleasure, moaning when Jisung lifted your legs higher around his waist, slamming his cock between your pulsating walls. 

It was a divine high, the kind that left a deep impression, riding the euphoria of your orgasm until you could feel your heart practically vibrating against your chest, leaving you breathless and throbbing in the place where Jisung continued to grind his cock. “I’m close,” he said, grunting as his hips stuttered in place, and you watched him fall over you as a familiar warmth escaped from where his cock was softening.

“S’ good,” you managed around a deep breath, trying to bring yourself back to Earth.

“You’re always so good for me,” Jisung said, eyes glossy with lust as he parted your lips around his fingers.

You puckered your lips, sucking hard and leaving him groaning. “I’m glad you’re here with me.”

“I know, Y/N, and I love you,” Jisung said, holding himself up while panting over you, eyes dark and devoted.

“I love you too,” you replied on instinct, keeping him close while the two of you basked in the afterglow of your passionate lovemaking.

One Week Later

It was raining at the airport, but you were in a good mood while following Jisung through the crowded terminal. “Are you excited?” he asked you once you stood in line to board the plane.

“Of course,” you replied, accepting his gentle kiss before he held out your tickets for the flight attendant.

But why shouldn’t you be? You had never been to Vegas before, and you were beyond excited for the trip, even if it had been painful to budget with your lousy combined incomes. 

“I’m gonna treat you so good, baby,” Jisung whispered to you on the plane, finalizing his promise with another heart-stopping kiss.

“I love you,” you said, smiling when you heard the words in return.

It was always a promise that you could both keep, no matter how hard things got in your lives, and you could always rely on Jisung even when your own mind turned against you. Sure, it would be nice to have more financial stability, but the two of you would eventually achieve that goal, just as long as you kept working hard.

The idea of being happy all the time seemed impossible, and you were grateful for what you had, holding tightly to Jisung’s hand as he hailed down a taxi cab to take you to your hotel upon your arrival in Vegas.

“A couple’s retreat?” the driver asked when you were both settled inside.

“Something like that,” Jisung agreed, and it was half-way true, even if Jisung’s company was the main reason you were both enjoying the unfamiliar sights of the Vegas strip - blinding lights, crowded streets, and loud music. Everything was organized chaos, and you could see why so many people loved it.

“It’s beautiful,” you said to Jisung when your taxi cab arrived at your hotel.

“What do you want to do first?” Jisung asked, taking both of your suitcases as you led the way to check-in.

“Do you have to meet with your co-workers?” you asked, reminding yourself that this trip had a larger reason behind it.

“Not until the morning,” Jisung laughed, and he signed the copy of the room notice before dragging you to the elevators. “It’s you and me tonight, baby. Wanna check out the poker tables?”

You rolled your eyes because you both knew that Jisung had no idea how to play cards. “Looking around sounds nice.”

“Whatever you want,” Jisung promised, and after your things were settled in your lavish suite, he made good on escorting you around the impressive gambling floor - nothing but slot machines with bright color sequences and a vast expanse of tables with every kind of game you could want. 

It was almost too much to look at, and you were grateful to focus on one thing when Jisung paused next to the craps table. “Do you want to try?” you asked, smirking at the curious look in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said, giving you a quick kiss before exchanging a twenty for some chips. “I’ll put it all on Pass.”

“Pass!” the dealer said, dragging Jisung’s chips closer. “Your roll.”

Jisung grabbed the dice from the table, bringing them closer to you with a smirk. “Kiss for good luck?”

You rolled your eyes, but entertained his request, brushing your lips against his knuckles before pulling back and watching him flick his wrist as the dice bounced across the table. “Seven!” the dealer announced, and you and Jisung were both surprised to win, watching as two piles of chips were pushed in your direction. 

“Holy shit!” you gasped, and Jisung nodded his agreement, taking all the chips before bidding the dealer a good night. “Did you see that?” you asked, unable to stop yourself from giggling as Jisung pocketed the chips. 

“I guess I have enough to treat you to a drink,” he said, and you followed him to the bar where he ordered you both something strong.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” you asked him, feeling far more jubilant than before as you downed most of the contents, wincing at the sting.

“You need to loosen up,” Jisung said. “I know you’ve been planning for the trip, so I want you to enjoy yourself.”

“Cheers to that!” you said, tapping your glass against Jisung’s and enjoying the rest of your drink.

And for a while, you actually found yourself letting go of all the worries leading up to the vacation, drinking and laughing with your husband as you played on some of the slot machines and observed some of the more serious poker games. 

The alcohol sat pleasantly on your stomach, and you were losing yourself to the buzz dulling most of your anxieties. “Jisung,” you said at one point, leaning closer to him as you sat together outside by the pool. “You look really good tonight.”

Jisung smiled, bringing you in for a kiss that turned heated despite the people surrounding you. “Slow down, baby,” Jisung said, breaking your exchange and ignoring your pout.

“Let’s go to the room,” you said, lowering your tone as you trailed one finger down his toned arm.

“Maybe later,” Jisung said, but he dangled the key in front of you. “If you want, then you can go upstairs.”

“You don’t want to come?” you asked with a pout.

“I’ve been watching,” Jisung admitted with a shrug. “I know we’ve been having a lot of problems with money, but I think I can take what we brought and turn it into enough to end most of our debt.”

“Jisung,” you said, sobering up in an instant. “What if you lose?”

“Don’t worry,” he said, and you could tell that he had already made up his mind. “I know when to stop.”

“Okay,” you agreed, but it was a reluctant acquiescence because you wanted nothing more than to have him in your arms. “I’ll see you later.”

“Have fun, baby,” Jisung said, and you frowned when he slid you his credit card. “Call room service and take care of yourself.”

“Sure,” you agreed, pocketing the card since you had no intention of using it. “Call me if you need anything.”

Jisung nodded, waving you off as he rose from his chair, and you watched with an overhanging sense of dread as he rejoined the crowded gambling room.

You waited for as long as you could, but midnight trickled by with no sign of your husband returning to the room.

Eventually, you must’ve fallen asleep from the excitement, and you only woke-up again the next morning when you attempted to reach out for Jisung in bed next to you, only to discover empty space.

“Sungie?” you said, filling the empty room with your voice.

But you could’ve sworn you had heard the door open at one point, so you dressed yourself and ventured out of the bedroom.

Your Vegas suite was fairly large, and the bedroom was connected to the main room by a narrow hallway with another room on the opposite end. Maybe Jisung had slept in the wrong room on accident?

It seemed plausible, until you heard the sound of someone moving around in the kitchen, and you quickly followed the noises to find your husband bent over the counter, head hanging low.

“Jisung, what’s wrong?” you asked, approaching your husband to soothe a hand down his back.

But you were completely unprepared for the way he began to lash out.

“I lost it, okay?” he snapped, jerking himself into an upright stance. “All the money we brought, I blew it on the slot machines.”

“Jisung-”

“Fuck, I can’t believe it!” Jisung shouted, interrupting your attempt to speak. “I was doing so well, and I didn’t even realize things were going bad until I almost used our bank card to pull out more money.”

You exhaled harshly, realizing that if Jisung had spent all of your money, then he also accessed some of your savings since you had brought extra cash in case of an emergency. “Oh my god.”

You stumbled back against the wall, holding your chest because you could feel the start of a panic attack taking root. But how else were you supposed to react to Jisung’s confession? He had spent all the money you would both need to pay rent and buy important necessities.

“This is so screwed up,” Jisung growled, rubbing a rough hand across his disheveled face. 

“That was everything,” you said, swallowing hard as your detail-oriented brain attempted to come up with an alternative, but you saw no light on the other end.

“Y/N,” Jisung said, and his voice was calmer as he looked at you. “I’m so sorry. I thought I could make things better.”

“But you made them worse,” you said, closing your eyes against an onslaught of tears, feeling as if your entire world was crashing down around you.

“Baby, no,” Jisung said, hurrying over to catch you before your body crumbled to the floor. “We’ll be okay, you know? I can always take out a loan.”

“To pay for the other loans?” you asked in a much harsher tone that you usually reserved for your husband.

“I promise I’ll make it better,” Jisung said, and he groaned when his phone started ringing. “It’s my boss again. He wanted to meet me in his room this morning.”

Jisung silenced the call, holding your face between his hands. “I promise nothing bad will happen to us, and maybe I can ask my boss for an advance on my next paycheck to help cover expenses.”

Your brain knew better than that, understanding that one paycheck wouldn’t cover those lost savings, but this was Jisung. Your sweet and kind husband, and you didn’t feel like arguing. “Okay,” you said, accepting the gentle kisses he pecked along your wet lashes.

“We’ll figure this out,” Jisung said. “But let’s not worry about it until we get back home. Can you put some clothes on for me, baby? I want you to come meet my boss with me.”

“Yeah,” you said, nodding your head as you allowed Jisung to lead you both back into the bedroom.

“Everything will be fine,” Jisung said, and you allowed him to delude your mind even though nothing could be further from the truth.

Jisung’s boss was a powerful man named Mr. Bang, and his net-worth made Jeff Bezos and Elon Musk pale in comparison.

You were nervous to meet him, and it didn’t help that you were still upset from earlier.

“Deep breaths,” Jisung instructed you when he knocked on Mr. Bang’s door. “Don’t worry about anything.”

It was easy for him to say since everything was his fault, but you swallowed down your anger and pasted on your best smile when the door opened - revealing an older gentleman with dark brown hair and eyes, wrinkles edging some of the corners of his features, exposing the effects of age.

But he was still undeniably handsome, and his eyes took a long moment to gloss over you. “Mr. Han,” Mr. Bang said, finally looking away from you. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Of course, sir,” Jisung said, placing his hand on your lower back as you were both invited inside. “It’s been a rough morning.”

“Oh?” Mr. Bang questioned, following you both into the main room. “Why is that?”

You held your breath when Jisung hesitated. “Just some money stuff.”

“Ah,” Mr. Bang acknowledged. “It’s personal.”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” Jisung insisted, and Mr. Bang shrugged off his coat as he accepted the reassurance, reaching for a pack of cigars.

“Well, I’m excited to talk with you this morning. Would you both like to join me in the other room? I heard that Jisung enjoys playing pool.”

“Absolutely,” Jisung agreed with a smile - one that managed to disguise all the horrible realities that existed outside of this impeccable suite.

You took another deep breath, fixing a smile in place when Mr. Bang turned to look at you. “This must be your wife.”

“Y/N,” you said, holding out your hand for him, and trying not to feel disconcerted by the obvious interest in his gaze.

“Y/N,” he repeated, looking back ahead of himself as he brought you both into a far simpler room - sparsely furnished with the exception of the pool table in the middle of the area. “Do either of you mind if I smoke? It’s a bad habit.”

He chuckled at the end, waiting for your combined approval before lighting one of the cigars and bringing it to his lips.

“You’re welcome to go first,” Mr. Bang said, selecting one of the pool sticks against the wall. “I’d love to be informal with you.”

“That sounds great,” Jisung said, and you watched him bend over the table as he broke the balls at the center, sending them flying in all directions. “I was really honored to receive your invitation.”

“Were you?” Mr. Bang asked with a smile. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“You’re a bit of an enigma around the office, Mr. Bang,” Jisung said, and his boss chuckled in response.

“Please, call me Chan,” he continued, taking his turn at the table after Jisung missed his shot, cigar dangling from his lips. “How are you both enjoying Vegas?”

“I think we’re having a lot of fun,” Jisung said, and the response irritated you a little as you cleared your throat, nose wrinkling as some of the cigar smoke reached you.

“It’s quite beautiful,” you said, and Chan found your eyes after landing his first shot.

“Yes, it is,” he agreed. “You know, Jisung, you talk about me being an enigma around the office. Why is that?”

You flinched at the sound of the balls smashing together, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear as you focused on your husband. “Well,” Jisung shrugged. “I think it’s because you have so much more than the rest of us. Not that it’s a bad thing.” 

“Really?” Chan asked, standing up straight as he shot you a knowing look. “You do have something that I don’t have.”

You found yourself blushing at the comment, and Jisung studied his boss with narrowed eyes. “I guess there’s a limit to what money can buy.”

“Not mine,” Chan said, putting out the cigar with a satisfied smirk. “I can afford anything.”

You didn’t like his attitude, finding yourself jumping into the conversation without being provoked. “Some things aren’t for sale,” you said, watching as Chan bent over the pool table once again.

“Like what?” he asked.

“Well, you can’t buy people,” you said, and he stood tall again with a sigh.

“That’s naïve of you, Y/N,” he said. “I buy people everyday.”

“I don’t mean in business,” you argued. “I meant something more like...when your emotions are involved.”

“So, you can’t buy someone’s love?” Chan questioned, and you didn’t like the way he was laughing. “Jisung, I hope you don’t feel the same way.”

“Of course,” Jisung said, shaking his head. “I agree with Y/N.”

“Really?” Chan smiled. “Then, maybe we should put that to the test.”

“What do you mean?” Jisung asked, and he exchanged a quick look with you - one filled with uncertainty.

“How much?” Mr. Bang asked.

“How much?” Jisung repeated, and he studied his boss with a confused expression. “What do you mean?”

Mr. Bang chuckled, and you frowned at the obvious condescension. “I mean, how much for one night with your wife?”

“Oh...” Jisung trailed off, and the room quickly filled with silence - awkward and heavy.

“Why so tense?” Chan eventually asked, and you shook your head because he knew exactly why the two of you were suddenly less than enthusiastic.

“You can’t be serious,” Jisung eventually said, reaction surprisingly neutral.

“I’m completely serious,” Chan continued, never breaking a sweat as he continued to take his turn at the pool table. “I’ll give you $1,000,000 dollars,” Chan said. “That would be enough to keep you in a life of luxury.”

“Sir,” Jisung said, and you could tell that he was caught off-guard, trying to find the right words to prevent offense to his boss, but you didn’t have to extend the same courtesy.

“No,” you said, keeping your tone firm. “He would tell you to go to hell.”

“I didn’t hear that from him,” Chan said, and you fixed Jisung with the sternest glare you could manage.

“Yeah,” Jisung said. “I’d tell you to go to hell.”

Chan sighed, pocketing the coveted eight ball with a quick motion. “I guess that proves me wrong, then,” Chan said. “But I’ll at least say this: $1,000,000 dollars is a lifetime of security. Think about it, talk it over first, and then you can forget all about this conversation.”

It should’ve been over after that without any further consideration, but you were disappointed to see that Jisung was still distracted as you sat together in your room later that night - long after leaving Chan’s suite.

“You’re still thinking about it,” you said, drawing his attention.

“Of course not, baby,” he said, but it wasn’t convincing.

“Would you seriously be okay with me spending the night with some pompous billionaire? you huffed. “He would obviously want to fuck me.”

“Well, I can’t say I blame him,” Jisung tried to joke, but the situation was far too serious.

“Sungie...”

“Look, I get it, Y/N. Marriage is sacred, and I respect you for that, but we both can’t ignore how much this would change our lives! It’s a million fucking dollars.”

“He’s an old perv,” you growled. “Would you seriously sell me out?”

“That’s not what this is,” Jisung argued. “I’m not selling you out.”

“Sleeping with a stranger for a million dollars is selling me out,” you said. “I don’t even like him...”

“It’s fine,” Jisung interrupted. “It was just a made-up scenario, and I would never force you to do anything.”

“Good,” you said, turning on your side to switch off the lamp. “He can’t just expect that from someone. It’s crazy!”

“I know, baby,” Jisung whispered quietly to you, and you knew that you were both exhausted from the chaos of your day together.

Sleep was what you needed, but it wasn’t coming. 

Instead, you were loathe to admit that your mind had returned to that indecent proposal from Jisung’s boss, thinking about the last thing he said.

One lifetime of security.

You would never have to worry about money again...but what about your relationship? Would it suffer because of such an illicit affair?

You tossed and turned all night, feeling Jisung do the same thing.

Think about it.

God, that’s all you were doing, and when the sun was starting to rise again from the coverage of your blinds, you rolled over to look at Jisung, unsurprised to see him wide-awake. “If we do this,” you said, “it wouldn’t mean anything.”

“Of course not,” Jisung said. “It would still be the two of us against the rest of the world.”

You nodded, studying the gentle brown of Jisung’s eyes. The weight of such a consequential decision hung over both of your heads, and you sucked up every last ounce of pride you had when you came to a conclusion: “Call him,” you said, and Jisung’s eyes widened. “Tell him we’ll take the money.”

“Y/N, are you sure?” Jisung asked, and he was cautiously reaching out for his cellphone.

“I’m sure,” you said, although you didn’t feel as confident as you would like, turning onto your back to study the ceiling overhead.

The date and time were arranged for the following evening, and you could barely meet Chan’s gaze when he met you outside his suite.

“Just relax,” he whispered to you, inviting you outside onto the extended balcony attached to his penthouse where he proceeded to pour two glasses of champagne.

The cold air of the night hit you in the face like a firm slap, forcing you from the haze you had surrendered to when you first walked into the room. A wake-up call that this was happening, and the man next to you was not your husband.

You nearly drained your first glass of champagne, feeling the alcohol give you some much-needed courage. “Y/N,” Chan said, standing next to you in a suit that likely cost more than your and Jisung’s last paychecks combined. “I want to ask you what your expectations are of this evening.”

You shrugged, staring out over the bannister. “I thought we were just gonna fuck,” you replied, even if the words were a little crude.

Chan laughed at your comment. “Is that so?”

“I don’t see what’s funny,” you said. “You’re the one who has to buy women.”

“You think I have to buy women?” Chan asked. “Because that couldn’t be further from the truth.”

You hesitated, sensing him growing closer. “Why me, then?”

“I bought you because you said you couldn’t be bought,” Chan replied, stepping closer to drop his hand on top of yours.

“I can’t be bought,” you argued, even though everything leading up to this moment was proving the contrary.

“Really?” he asked, and you begrudgingly shook your head.

“I don’t know why I’m doing this.”

“You might enjoy yourself,” Chan said with a seductive smirk. “This isn’t meant to be a punishment.”

“I know that,” you said, holding your breath when his lips touched the shell of your ear.

“Damn, you’re unbelievably gorgeous,” Chan said, and his free hand was trailing down your spine. “Come with me into the bedroom.”

You gave him a shaky nod, following him back inside while taking in several deep breaths as you greeted the darkness of the room, discarding your champagne on the side table. “What now?”

“Take off your dress,” Chan said, and you squinted your eyes to see him falling down into one of the chairs.

Despite the cold air of the night, everything inside was heating up again.

“Okay,” you whispered, reaching back for your zipper, and holding it between trembling fingers as you unhitched the material, allowing it to fall down your body like an avalanche of blue as it pooled around your ankles.

You heard Chan’s sharp intake of breath, feeling his eyes trail over every inch of your lingerie-clad form. “Get on the bed,” he said, and you obeyed at once, trying to make yourself comfortable on top of the mattress.

But it was hard when you noticed Chan approaching the bedside, removing his jacket and shirt to reveal a lean, muscular torso - one that had undoubtedly been built after long hours in the gym. “This is my favorite part,” Chan said, shoving down his jeans and boxers without shame, and his cock sprang up against his abdomen with an impressive girth. “I like to see the way a woman’s eyes look at me. How their breath hitches when I touch them for the first time.”

He followed through on his promise, sliding his fingers down the smooth skin of your stomach with a feather-like touch before they paused at the waistband of your panties. “Take these off,” he said, and you did your best to wrangle off the flimsy fabric, pushing it aside with your toes as Chan’s eyes zeroed in on your delicate mound. “When I fuck a woman, I make sure she comes...several times.”

You shivered at that, hearing his tone grow huskier as he instructed you to open your thighs, giving himself enough room to crawl on the bed and settle down between your open legs. It was already so revealing, and you couldn’t believe you were in this position, exposing everything to him. “Do you use protection?” he asked, and you nodded. “I’d like to fuck you raw, but only with your consent.”

You nodded again, gasping when his long, thin fingers started to carefully penetrate you, scissoring around your entrance - teasing curls that did nothing but trigger your body’s instinctual arousal. Especially as the room around you continued to grow warmer, almost as hot as Chan’s lips as they scalded your skin, lifting one of your legs higher against his arm.

“You deserve to be worshipped,” Chan whispered against your thigh. “If I had a woman like you, I’d do my best to make you happy.”

“Fuck,” you couldn’t help but curse, feeling him use his other hand to start moving his fingers even faster, gliding them against the greedy walls of your pussy as your body demanded you for more of the sweet addiction.

There was already a light sheen of sweat forming on your skin, and your heart was beating faster and faster, matching the pace of his fingers. Eventually, he leaned down to take your clit between his lips, dropping your thigh back onto the mattress before sucking hard and swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud. 

You gasped, hips arching without your approval, grinding closer to the source of that immeasurable pleasure. It was wet and sensual, creating the gentlest of sensations that traveled all the way to your toes.

You could feel Chan smirking, lips barely touching your clit before he properly opened his mouth wide to lave his tongue across the throbbing area. It felt so good, and you were practically humping his face to gain more of his delicious mouth.

He was learning your signs, hands holding your waist as he listened to every hitch of your breath, knowing when to speed up and slow down. It was like a well-rehearsed dance, swipes of his tongue across your folds, pressing firmly against your clit when he returned to the delicate organ. 

It felt like pure heaven, bringing you higher and higher to a much-needed release, and it had been a long time since a man had made you experience such white hot lust from just his tongue.

“Cum for me,” Chan whispered, and he nipped at your clit, and the tinge of pain was enough to send you spiraling into your first orgasm of the night.

“Oh!” you groaned, grabbing his hair to pull him back when his sucking was starting to feel too painful right after coming so hard.

“What a good girl,” Chan said, looking down at you with a sheen of arousal coating his lips. 

It was obscene, forcing you to close your eyes against the image, but you cried out when he pinched one of your nipples, causing you to open them again. 

“Do me a favor and look at me while I’m fucking you, Y/N,” Chan murmured, hooded gaze meeting your struggling one - trying not to succumb to his advances, even though he was making it incredibly hard, wrist almost imperceptible with the way he was stretching you open again, pussy gaping as you felt yourself leaking uncontrollably.

“I’ll try,” you whispered, heart thundering against your chest as Chan removed his fingers only to align his cock with your entrance, dipping just the tip into your eager heat.

“Moan for me as much as you want,” Chan said, and he was bottoming out without hesitation, moving slow to prevent any pain while you got used to the stretch.

It was different from how Jisung fucked you, thrusting into you impossibly fast from the very first moment he impaled you on his cock. 

There was something caring about it, and you adjusted quickly to Chan’s girth, grinding your hips subtly just to feel very inch of his generous erection. “Good girl,” Chan cooed, and he brought his cock to a deeper roll, moving back to leave only the head before forcing himself inside once again, picking up speed as your moans continued to grow louder in volume, signaling your approach to a second release.

It was beyond amazing, and you swallowed down your embarrassment from the noises he was punching from your lungs, opening your eyes as he started to move even faster, thrusting his cock between your legs at a rhythmic pace.

He was hitting your g-spot on every deep penetration, granulating in and out at a steady pace that was so unbelievably fulfilling.

You never expected it feel this good, slick from your pussy gushing at an embarrassing rate, creating an even smoother slide. But the squelching sounds were incredibly loud, filling your ears just like his cock was filling your cunt...the best kind of fullness.

You were being stroked just right, moaning when Chan shifted his hips to thrust into you at a new angle, holding your legs over his shoulders as he practically bent you in half.

His lips were warm when they connected with yours, and there was a strange desire to sink into the kiss and lose yourself there forever. But your pussy was throbbing with need - an impossible want for the man reaching all the way to your cervix.

It felt amazing when his fingers brushed across your sensitive clit, rubbing generous circles against the tight nub. He started snapping his hips at a faster rate, slapping against your hips with every thrust, holding onto your hips with a bruising grip that would leave reminders of him for days. 

But maybe that was his intention.

Chan growled, plunging into your sore cunt time and time again. He was practically pounding you with how hard he was going, like he was trying to prove a point, and maybe he wanted to since nothing could have ever prepared you for how euphoric his cock was making you feel.

“Are you gonna cum again?” Chan whispered, gazing so fondly into your eyes.

You couldn’t speak, only managing a nod when he started to rub even faster at your clit, and you let out the loudest moan of the night when you were unraveling yet again, sinking into a third orgasm that left you drained.

It was a rollercoaster of overstimulation, and Chan realized this and gave a few stuttered kicks of his hips before he was filling you up with his cum, groaning and grunting as he leaned over you.

Your legs were numb from being spread wide for so long, and you weren’t sure that you would ever catch your breath, listening to the sound of Chan whispering sweet endearments from next to you as you realized that nothing would ever be same after this.

The next morning, you woke-up alone, but there was a note waiting for you on the nightstand.

Y/N,

Join us in the kitchen when you’re ready.

- Chan

“Us?” you repeated aloud, feeling a sense of dread as you stumbled on weak legs to gather your clothes.

You were incredibly sore between your legs, a reminder that last night actually happened, and you had slept with your husband’s boss for a big paycheck.

“It’s worth it,” you tried to reassure yourself, walking from the bedroom and into the kitchen with a subtle limp. “Nothing will change.”

But hindsight is 20/20, and you can’t predict the future. Still, your first sign should’ve been the strange image of Chan and Jisung sitting together in the kitchen, like they were having a casual breakfast together,

“There you are!” Chan greeted you upon your arrival, but you barely paid him any attention, eyes immediately finding Jisung’s.

Your husband was sitting next to Chan at the table, and there was a buffet of food displayed on elegant kitchenware. “What’s going on?”

“Breakfast,” Chan said, indicating towards the empty chair next to Jisung. “Please join us.”

You nodded, finally breaking your intense stare-down with Jisung to carefully sit down next to him.

Suddenly, it was difficult to acknowledge his presence, memories of last night resurfacing and causing you to blush at the obscene images. “I hope you slept well,” Chan said, and his plate was completely covered as he ate without a single care in the world. “Last night...it was amazing, Y/N.”

You could feel Jisung shift from next to you, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to look at him. “Chan-”

“As promised,” Chan interrupted as he reached into the pocket of his expensive suite jacket, producing a thin slip of paper, and he slid the check in Jisung’s direction. “Thank you both for everything.”

“Sure,” Jisung said, and his tone was short as he grabbed the check and immediately stood from the table. “We should get going.”

“So soon?” Chan questioned, mouth stuffed impossibly full. “You’re more than welcome to anything you want.”

“We’re fine,” Jisung insisted, and he took your hand with a firm grip. “I know you’ll understand, Mr. Bang.”

“Ah!” Chan grinned. “Formalities again?”

But Jisung ignored him, turning to look at you with a gleam in his eyes that you couldn’t decipher. “Let’s go home,” Jisung said, and he tried for a smile which you couldn’t match as he led the two of you as far from Bang Chan as you could manage.

Tragically, your return home was nothing triumphant, and it should’ve felt so good to finally pay off so many bills and debts.

But it didn’t.

Everything felt hollow inside.

You also couldn’t help but notice that it was becoming increasingly difficult to talk to Jisung. Because every time you looked into his eyes, you were reminded of your impassioned affair in Vegas. It wasn’t fair to either of you, but you had no idea how to fix your relationship.

How could this be fair? You no longer had money problems forcing that divide between the two of you? In fact, you had no problems at all, and you were both entertaining the idea of moving into a bigger place and quitting your jobs.

So, what was missing? What was wrong with the way things were now that your joint account was filled to the maximum?

The answer was obvious, but you both refused to talk about it, and every second spent in each other’s company only served to carve an even deeper rift. Something so painful that you could barely share the same bed as your husband.

You couldn’t believe that things were so bad, even a month after your night with Chan, and nothing was going right. But what could you do? There was no easy solution, and it certainly didn’t help when you received a phone call from an unknown number one morning, accepting it with hesitation, only to be greeted with a strikingly familiar tone: “Hello, Y/N,” Chan said from the other end, and you immediately sat down on the edge of your bed.

“Chan?”

“How are you?” Chan asked with a pleasant tone. “I thought I might check in on my favorite couple.”

You frowned at his mocking tone. “Thanks, but we’re fine.”

“I’m glad to hear that! And I hope the money goes a long way for you and Jisung,” Chan said, and you clenched the phone tighter between your hands.

“It’s been helpful,” you said, even though the words didn’t seem to match the life you were currently living.

“Well, I’m in town for lunch this afternoon,” Chan continued. “I thought it might be nice just to catch up with you. Would you care to join me?”

You hesitated, looking around your empty bedroom with desperate eyes. “I don’t know if that’s the best idea...”

“Oh, please it’s just one lunch,” Chan said, and it was almost impossible to resist him. But that must be why he was such a good businessman. “One lunch.”

You sighed, already feeling yourself giving in to him. “One lunch,” you agreed, parroting back the response because it felt like your body was moving on auto-pilot, having lost the familiar spark ever since you came back from Vegas.

Chan’s chosen location was a gorgeous downtown restaurant that had more Michelin stars than the places you sometimes watched on TV.

It was beyond elegant, and you found Chan waiting for you at the door after having a car bring you to him. “Good morning,” he said with a cheeky tone, meeting you halfway as he offered his arm to you - the perfect gentleman.

“This was unexpected,” you said, allowing him to escort you inside, greeting the man at the front who seemed to instantly recognize Chan, leading you both to a private room away from the others.

“I wanted to do this,” Chan said. “I thought we could talk a little.”

“Is that it?” you asked, taking the menu and gaping at the immense prices.

Chan seemed to notice, smiling at your awed expression. “Have anything you want,” Chan said. “I’m buying.”

“Oh, I can’t possibly let you do that...” you said because then it would feel like a date, and that was as far from what you wanted as possible.

“Don’t concern yourself,” Chan said. “Everything is good here, and you deserve it.”

You weren’t sure that you liked the sound of that, but you didn’t complain as you requested that he order something for both of you instead of trying to interpret the gauche-sounding entrees. 

“Now,” Chan said once your waiter left the room. “Let’s talk about you.”

“Me?” you questioned, sipping gingerly at your water glass. “What about me?”

“I want to know everything,” Chan said. “All of it.”

“Everything?” you repeated, shrugging as you blushed. “There’s not much to tell.”

“I can hardly believe that,” Chan said. “What about your job?”

“I’m a freelance writer,” you said, nodding when you realized that he was genuine. “Kinda hard in the city though.”

“But you’re doing what you love?” Chan asked, and he grinned at your confirmation. “Then that’s all that matters.”

Could it be so simple? you wondered, remembering all the countless arguments you and Jisung had shared because, according to him, your job was hardly considered career-worthy. “I love writing.”

“Then you must be a big reader,” Chan remarked. “All the best writers are.”

You swooned at his smooth conversation. “I have shelves full of the classics.”

“What’s your favorite?” Chan asked.

“Jane Eyre,” you admitted, and Chan raised a brow.

“I like that about you,” he said. “It fits: the idea of a bright young woman falling in love with the enigmatic billionaire.”

You met his gaze, recalling how Jisung had aligned the term “enigmatic” with Chan on the night you made your unholy deal. Was there a deeper meaning, then? “I love the prose,” you replied instead, thinking the subject might return to Chan. 

But it never did. In fact, Chan kept all the questions about you, engaging you in a way that you had never experienced with another man. Like he cared so much about the person underneath, and his probing gaze was seeing past the outside in a way that spoke to your very soul.

And you couldn’t help but compare him to Jisung: a very dangerous thing to do.

“That was nice,” you said after you had both eaten. “It was good to see you again.”

“I agree,” Chan said, ever the businessman as his hand fell low around your waist, taking you back outside the restaurant. “Should we make plans for tomorrow?”

You almost laughed, until you read his expression and realized that he was serious. “What?”

“Y/N,” Chan said, and his tone was intense. “I can’t stop thinking about Vegas.”

“Chan,” you whined, trying to pull away, but his hold was firm. 

“If you were with me,” Chan purred, and it was a lethal sound that was as smooth as the hand traveling up and down your back. “I could give you everything you wanted and more.”

“I can’t,” you insisted, and there was an image of Jisung in your head when you managed to escape him. “That was only one time.”

“I think you and I both know that it meant more than that,” Chan said, and you could deny it all you wanted, but there was an insistent throbbing at the back of your skull.

“I don’t know what you mean,” you lied, ignoring the scoff that escaped him while calling for the valet to bring the car Chan had organized for you.

“At least take my business card,” Chan said, and he was holding the small piece of printed paper out for you, but you knew that going down that path would only make things worse.

“I can’t accept it,” you said, returning your attention to the valet as he opened the back door.

“That’s a shame,” Chan said, but he was as persistent as ever, leaning close to press a kiss across your cheek. “You can always call me. If you ever need anything.”

You nodded, feeling somewhat disoriented as you sat down against the leather seat, swallowing hard when you could still see Chan from the rearview mirror.

By the time you returned home, it was already late, and you were glad to see Jisung when you sat your purse down onto the counter. “Hey,” you said, and Jisung glanced up from where he was reading the newspaper.

“Hey,” he replied. “How was lunch?”

You swallowed hard because you hadn’t told Jisung who you ate lunch with. “It was good.”

He nodded - a short dismissal, and it you decided to freshen up in the bathroom, taking a quick shower just to wash off the lingering traces of Chan.

But maybe it was foolish to think that water could wash away everything that had happened - those traces would never simply vanish.

When you walked back out into the main room, you were stunned to see Jisung putting on his coat. “Jisung,” you said, watching your husband rush around the living room. “Are you busy?”

“Just gong to meet some friends,” Jisung replied. 

Distracted. Uninterested in you.

“Oh,” you said. “I thought we could spend some time together?”

“Yeah?” Jisung snorted, and you were shocked to hear him sound so abrasive...at least until he marched up to you waving around a business card. “And what the fuck is this, huh? I found it in your bag.”

He flung the card at you, and you sighed when you saw Chan’s name at the top - he must’ve snuck the card into your purse when you weren’t looking. “It’s nothing,” you said, but Jisung only laughed - a sound devoid of all humor. “Why the fuck are you going through my things?”

“Does it matter?” he huffed. “You can’t get enough of him, can you?” he asked, and you were like a tea kettle that had been sitting on the burner for way too long - practically erupting from the top.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“What do you think?” Jisung smarted back. “You’re obviously still seeing him, spreading your legs for his cock like a bitch in heat. I guess one night wasn’t enough for you.”

“How dare you!” you yelled, getting right in Jisung’s face. “You want to know what happened? He slipped the card into my purse when I met him for lunch today, but I had never even spoken to him until then.”

“You expect me to believe that?” Jisung spat, narrowing his eyes. “You’re a fucking whore, Y/N. Throwing yourself at a rich man like Bang Chan just because he can buy you nice stuff.”

“What’s money got to do with anything?”

“It obviously means everything!” Jisung shouted. “It’s what got us into this fucking mess into the first place.”

“You mean, the mess you made when you gambled all our money away?” 

“Are you really going to throw that back in my face?” Jisung seethed. “I was trying to make things better for us!”

“Good job,” you snickered. “Since we’re so fucking happy together.”

“What do you want from me?” Jisung asked, throwing up his arms. “I’m obviously the biggest asshole in the world.”

“I’m glad you can admit it,” you said. “Did you ever stop to think that all that I’ve done up to this point has been for you?”

Jisung paused, opening his mouth to retaliate, but then wisely deciding to let you continue. “Did I want to go to Vegas?” you asked. “No, but I went because you wanted to impress your company, and I know you wanted to do things right, but we should’ve both known better than to bet against the house. We lost everything, and in that moment of desperation, you pressured me into sleeping with another man, and I can’t think about anything else but him whenever I look at you.”

Jisung was stunned at the admission, all traces of anger gone from his expression. “Y/N,” he said. “I had no idea.”

“Yeah?” you said, voice quivering as you wiped away your tears. “Well, now you do.”

Jisung bowed his head, and you decided that you were done waiting for something to change, marching into your bedroom to grab your phone and dialing the first number you remembered.

“Chan,” you whispered when he greeted you on the other end. “Can I come over?”

There was only a split second of silence before Chan’s voice was soothing the raging storm inside of you. “I’ll send a car.”

It was almost midnight when your driver pulled up outside of a lavish home in the suburbs: huge, towering columns and Greco-Roman architecture making the place seem more like a mausoleum.

But it wasn’t the home itself that brought you comfort; rather, the people living within it who always made things seem safe and welcoming, and Chan was sure to greet you at the door, opening his arms wide to accept your embrace. “Was it a bad fight?” he asked, and you nodded while wondering how he could’ve possibly picked up on the fact that you and Jisung had been arguing again.

Maybe he just had good intuition when it came to you, and you appreciated the understanding, allowing him to bring you into an enormous den, settling you against the couch next to him while a fire blazed in the background. “I made tea,” Chan said, reaching for the two cups waiting on the ornamental table filling the empty space at the center of the room.

“Thanks,” you said, finding your eyes drawn to the neat stack of papers that had been sitting next to the cups.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Chan asked, relaxing one arm around your shoulders, bringing you against his much-needed warmth.

“We just don’t get along anymore,” you said. “I thought having money would fix things, but everything is worse.”

“Really?” Chan asked, and he seemed to consider your words. “It might seem like a good thing, and from the standpoint of a businessman, money is a very powerful motivator.” He smiled, looking down at you with eyes glowing from the flames. “But money isn’t the solution when it comes to the people you love.”

“Yeah,” you agreed, but you had also started picking up on that yourself. “Were you busy with something?”

Chan followed your gaze, reaching out for the papers that had drawn your attention from the very first moment you sat down. “These?” Chan chuckled, and he slid them to the edge, allowing you to read the fine print across the cover. “Divorces are complicated, aren’t they?” Chan asked, and you hesitated when you realized what he was implying. “But if you have enough money, then anything is possible.”

“Chan...” you trailed off, vision blurring at the edges and making the letters bleed together - a cacophony of meaningless jargon. “What are you trying to say?”

“You’re unhappy,” Chan said, and it was an observation that wasn’t difficult to make after all that had happened. “I guess I just don’t want you to be associated with the person causing that unhappiness.”

“You want me to leave Jisung?” you said, breathing in and out because it wasn’t a simple decision that one could make on the spot - not after years of living with someone who had become a central part of your existence.

It was too much to bear, and Chan’s presence was almost suffocating, breaths heavy against the side of your neck as he whispered in your ear. “Why should you stay with him? With or without money, he can’t seem to make you smile.”

You trembled at his closeness, choking around a sob even though the atmosphere between the two of you was suddenly charged with something electric. “And then what?”

“Well, after Jisung signs them,” Chan said, and his tongue traced the lobe of your ear. “I’d love to have you for myself.”

“O-oh,” you stuttered, closing your eyes as he took you into his arms, doing nothing more than holding you, but the feelings bubbling below the surface of your skin told you more than actions or words ever could.

The next morning, Chan had his driver take you back to the apartment you shared with Jisung.

The apartment was strangely quiet, and you left the divorce papers on the table in the kitchen while you went to shower, wanting nothing more than the scalding water to provide a temporary numbness to the confusion you felt in every fiber of your being.

It was a much-needed reprieve, and when you walked back into the kitchen, you were surprised to see your husband at the table, eyes downcast. “Come sit with me, Y/N.”

You swallowed hard when you realized he was searching through the divorce papers, but you weren’t met with his anger; instead, Jisung just seemed really sad, and that was much worse. “You weren’t supposed to see that,” you said, but your husband just smiled and shook his head. 

“I knew you wouldn’t come back home for nothing,” he said, sliding out the chair next to him as an invitation. “Why should you? I treated you like shit the other night.”

“We both said some really cruel things,” you said, joining him with a sigh. “Things spiraled out of control.”

“I can see that,” Jisung said, tapping his fingers against the papers. “Let’s talk about what happened.”

You shivered at the thought. “I don’t think we should-”

“No,” Jisung interrupted, but it was a gentle chide. “It’s important, so hear me out.”

It would be so hard, but you still agreed. “Okay.”

“The whole mistake in Vegas wasn’t the money,” Jisung said. “No, money might’ve caused our problems, but the mistake wasn’t wanting something to make our lives better. The real mistake was me thinking that I could just forget about it after we left. That I could easily forgive us both...What’s that old saying? What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas?” Jisung laughed, but it was bitter sounding. “Bullshit, right?”

“Yeah,” you agreed. “Bullshit.”

Jisung smiled. “People in love stay with each other, not because they try to forget the wrong parts, but because they’re capable of forgiving the bad. And I couldn’t do that because I thought you would want Chan after that night...that you would be right to want him. He’s so much better in every way, the better man for someone wonderful like you. But by the time I realized that it wasn’t true, that he was only better because he had more money, everything had spiraled.”

He was quiet after his confession, struggling to hold back his tears as he clicked open one of our pens and brought the papers closer. “If you really want the divorce, then I’ll give it to you,” Jisung said. “I just want you to be happy.”

Why should you stay with him? With or without money, he can’t seem to make you smile.

“Jisung...” you trailed off, unsure if there was anything you could do to change the look in his eyes.

“I’ll always love you,” Jisung said, and it was the same promise as always, but you watched with a heavy heart as he signed his name in cursive as the bottom of the form.

The divorce papers felt like an added weight in your bag as you marched into the office building of SKZ Enterprises.

It was ridiculous, really. They were just papers, made in a factory and mass-produced to be sold in stores.

But it was the symbolism they carried, the significance of Jisung’s name scribbled at the bottom of the final page that had you faltering.

Your heart was hurting, and you forced a smile when you greeted Chan’s secretary at the corner next to his big, corporate office. “I’m here to see, Mr. Bang,” you told the secretary. “Tell him my name is Y/N.”

“Of course,” she said, and you watched her disappear into the office, giving you a few critical moments to collect your thoughts.

Until you heard his voice again:

“Y/N?” 

You startled at the sound of Chan’s voice, seeing him standing in front of you with a million-dollar smile on his weathered face. “Come inside?”

“Yes,” you agreed, following him into the office with the door shutting firmly behind you.

“This is a pleasant surprise,” Chan said, grabbing you hand and pressing a kiss to your lips. “Is something wrong?”

“We need to talk,” you said, and Chan’s smile disappeared.

“That doesn’t sound good,” he said, chuckling as he invited you to sit down in one of the expensive chairs next to his desk. “Do you need anything? I can call for some tea.”

“No,” you said, deciding it was better to get straight to the point as you reached into your bag to bring out the divorce papers stapled together.

“This could either be good or bad,” Chan remarked, accepting them from you and quickly turning to the last page, expression falling. “I see.”

“I can’t sign them,” you said, and there was something powerful in your tone that had even Chan admitting defeat.

“Damn,” Chan sighed, eyes boring a hole into the pages. “This is the worst news I’ve gotten.”

“I talked to Jisung,” you explained. “Just looking at him and entertaining the idea of leaving forever...I couldn’t do it.”

Chan finally tore his gaze from the papers, meeting yours with disappointment. “I take it he said something to change your mind.”

“I don’t know if he changed my mind,” you admitted. “Rather, I think his love and forgiveness made me see reason with what I was doing.”

“Ah,” Chan said. “I think we’ve come full circle, Y/N.”

“What do you mean?”

“When you told me that all the money in the world couldn’t buy your love,” Chan said, and there was something that resembled respect reflected in his eyes. “You were right all along.”

You ducked your head, unable to maintain such intensity. “I’d like to give you that money back, Mr. Bang. My husband and I can manage on our own.”

“Oh, please, I’d be insulted if you did that,” Chan said, and he held out his hand for you to shake. “You know I’m a good businessman, so consider this an opportune long-term investment in something I’m supporting.”

You were full of gratitude, swallowing back tears as you nodded. “Thank you.”

“”There’s no need for that,” he said. “I’ll always be here for you.” The sentiment was matched by the gentle brushing of his lips across your cheek, and you could feel the last reminder of Chan even after leaving his office for the first and final time.

You were carrying takeout up the stairs, feeling lighter on your feet than you had in months.

The weight of your burdensome worries was gone, and you knocked with a little too much enthusiasm on the front door to your apartment.

“Y/N?” Jisung questioned, and there was an obvious look of surprise on his face when he opened the door. “What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” you reminded him with a cheeky smile. “I brought food.”

Jisung’s eyes moved to the bag in your hand, nodding once before allowing you inside. “I thought you were going to see Chan.”

“I did,” you said, leading him into the kitchen. “There were some things to discuss.”

“I see,” Jisung said, watching you with a wary expression as you presented him with his favorite Italian special.

The suspense was killing you, and you desperately wanted to see the frown leave his lips. “I didn’t sign the papers,” you said, sitting down at the table with a wearied sigh. “I couldn’t.”

“Really?” Jisung asked, clearing his throat at the hitch in his voice, but you were just trying to hide your smile at his boyish charms.

“Have I told you that I love you recently?” you asked, looking at him with way too much fondness.

Jisung paused, chopsticks poised in hand. “You do?”

“Always,” you affirmed, and you were unprepared for the first of Jisung’s tears to fall, endearing him even more to you if that was possible. “I’m happiest with you,” you told him, reaching out to wipe away those rebellious tears.

“I’ve always felt that way,” Jisung said, getting himself back under control as he pushed away his food and patted his lap. “Come here.”

You were more than happy to oblige, climbing into his lap to wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the ends of his hair while searing your lips together in a kiss that promised so much more from the one true love of your life.

[stevesharrlngtons]

amore mio aiutami.

roman godfrey x reader

word count: 5.5k

summary: once more, he took your hand and gave you the permission to mend him.  

a/n: long time so see! at least in the realm of one shots. this came out of aboutle nowhere and is probably super similar to my other stories but guess what? idc  ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯ so, i hope you enjoy (: 

“Darling, tell me what you need?” 

“(Y/N).” 

So, as much as Olivia detested you, she did as her weeping son asked and found you. 

You hadn’t seen Roman since the scene at the hospital. After he disappeared after Pryce and Peter had fled the waiting room in a hysteric flurry, you were left alone. You felt as sterile as your surroundings. You felt utterly still and useless. While both boys had crumbled into a fit of emotions, you had remained motionless when the news of Letha’s death had been so crassly and unceremoniously announced over the intercom system. It was like your brain had begun to malfunction, and instead of grief-stricken screams and body quaking sobs, it chose to retain its energy and stay dormant. The news was so blind siding, so heartbreaking, so earth shattering, that it was impossible for you to comprehend. Impossible for you to react correctly. 

So, you had sat for what seemed like hours, all alone, staring into space. Because Letha and her baby were dead. And there was absolutely nothing you could do about it. There was no going back. This morning you had held her hand as hospital staff had wheeled her back into the OR, matching smiles on your faces as she called you ‘auntie’ and you called her ‘mama’. You should have been holding a small little human right now. You should have been looking up at your best friend, palling from excursion but looking upon you with love as you held her bundle of joy. 

Instead, you had been abandoned and left stagnant in The White Tower, unable to function. You could still taste the smoke on your tongue from when Roman had cheerfully pressed his cigar to your lips and told you to inhale. You could still taste copper on your tongue from where you had unknowingly gnawed a gash into your cheek with your teeth. 

A page came over the intercom once more, and for some reason, it was enough to snap you out of your stupor. One minute your eyes were fogged and glassy, and the next, you had been thrust back into reality. The reality of being alone in the waiting room, your nails creasing into your palms uncomfortably, and pending a current decision. 

After a moment of blinking away the dryness in your eyes and swallowing any sick remnant from your chewing incident, you slowly looked down the small hallway to the door Roman had disappeared through. You knew it was best to find him, for both of you, to find him immediately. His gut wrenching sobs still rung in your ears. 

With timid strides, you made your way toward the door and pushed it open. It was likely placebo, but you swore the stench of death hit you like a wall of heat when you passed the threshold. Your eyes began to water from the weight of the smell, but you trekked on. You needed to find Roman. You needed to know he was ok. You needed him to be ok.

You aimlessly wandered the vacant halls, the sound of your own footsteps echoing menacingly around you. You debated calling out his name, but you already knew your voice was out of order for the evening. Possibly forever. 

You rounded a corner, and something in your stomach knew. The cosmic tether that still bound you to your best friend whispered in your ear and twinged in your belly, and told you that she had been there. 

Turn to your right and see what’s left.

And that’s where you found the room Letha had been in. A collection of monitors haloed a hospital bed, that lay behind a puddle of blood. Thick, dark, crimson blood dripped from the stark white hospital sheets and pittered into the puddle below, filling itself out so it could inch toward your feet. 

You knew from that moment on, that that puddle of blood would haunt you forever. Whenever you would start to feel good, or whenever you would see someone with a cut or whenever you would hear her name, this puddle is what would come to mind. This sentient puddle that seemed to be growing larger by the second, and the smell of her freshly dead corpse somewhere in the building. 

You didn’t find Roman. But Norman found you. 

“(Y/N),” his voice called, “You can’t, don’t, look at it…” 

“I should have done something,” your voice croaked, “I should have insisted on coming back here. I should have been here.” 

You should have held her hand while she pushed. You should have wiped the sweat from her brow. You should have cheered her on while she pushed. You should have been there to fucking cut the cord. You should have been there to watch her die. 

“You can’t start. You can’t start that,” you distantly felt him place a hand on your shoulder, “you can’t play a game of what if’s and should have been’s.” 

You managed to tear your gaze away from the growing puddle to look at Norman. Norman, whose face was splotchy and streaked with tears. Norman, whose lip was trembling as he blinked away another onset of sobs. Norman, who still jumped to action to help you when bile flooded your throat and suddenly burst from your mouth. 

Norman, who did his best to console you as you heaved up swilly vomit and choked back tears. 

When you opened your eyes all you could think of was the puddles mixing. Your insides mixing with Letha’s. 

You began to shake uncontrollably then, sobs finally erupting from your chest. Norman wrapped you in his arms, you were sure to console you, but also himself. Maybe he was pretending you were Letha as he held you. 

It was then that Roman finally found you both. 

“I’m leaving,” he said flatly, any emotion he had previously had had been stripped away. 

“You can’t drive like this, Roman. Not after everything,” Norman said from over his shoulder, while he still held you tight. 

“And like you can?” he bit out. 

“Then we’ll all take a cab.” 

And so Roman called a cab for the three of you without another word. 

You tried to look at him. You tried to touch him, talk to him, but it seemed Roman had an aversion to all things in that moment, especially you. You had reached out a weak hand to grab a hold of his jacket as Normal held you to his chest, in a desperate search for his comfort, in a desperate search to comfort him. But, at the feeling of your stretching fingers, he quickly shrugged off your touch and turned his back to you. 

So, you stayed in the arms of your best friend’s father. You tried to ignore the hurt you felt when you all piled into the cab and Roman lifelessly rattled off your address first, making it clear that you were to go home alone, without him. He chose to sit in the front seat, while you and Norman sat in the back. Roman looked out the window the entire way, he didn’t even acknowledge you as you got out of the car and turned to face the yellow vehicle, waiting for a reaction. But you got nothing, just the vision of Roman framed by the widow, lips pursed and eyes cast down. 

The cab soon drove away and you stood in the middle of your front lawn, watching it’s taillights disappear. The street lights were on and you could hear the distant sound of your neighbors sprinkler. You fell to your knees, then to your side, curling up on the grass in the hopes that nature could heal you. Maybe grow around you and help you blossom new in the spring, happy and void of this pain in your chest. 

But your mother found you before then, hours later and brought your inside. Your fists full of blades of grass. 

You slept for twenty one hours after, without a call or text from your boyfriend. You sent him a few stray messages but never heard anything back. You thought it best to give him space, but you were yearning for him so completely. 

And then Olivia showed up. 

You had just sat down for dinner when the doorbell rang. Your father, while long dead, had always had a rule about never answering the door or phone calls while sitting down for a meal. Even though he was gone and it was just your mother and yourself, the rule had stuck, even though neither of you cared that much about if it was disrespectful, like he had. 

You had both looked up from your pot roast when the bell rang, but exchanged a look that you always did in times like this. We’ll deal with it later. But the bell continued, quite consistently and obnoxiously.

“I’ll get it,” you said with a smile in a search to soothe your mother (who took it as an offense when someone wronged a rule from her deceased husband). 

With sock feet, you went to the front door with every intention of politely asking them to leave or come back later, when you were met with Olivia. To say you were surprised was an understatement. 

“Olivia?” you blurted out, because you simply couldn't help it. Her appearance was so unexpected, her name just dropped from your lips. 

“Good evening, I hope I haven't disturbed something,” her elegant voice said as she clasped her hands in front of her. 

“We just sat down to dinner,” you responded, voice sounding as skeptical as you felt. 

“Oh, well, I am sorry to interrupt your supper,” she said with a deep sigh as a period, “but I’m afraid I require your immediate assistance.” 

Which made sense, she had never been this polite to you in the past. 

“With?” 

“My son, I’m afraid.” 

You didn’t need to hear anything else she had to say. You rounded up a pair of shoes and jacket and kissed your mother’s cheek, then fled your home for Olivia’s truck without a second thought. 

She didn’t wait for you to buckle in before she started to drive. She smoked with all the windows up except for a small crack in the driver’s side. The radio hummed an old country ballad and your leg bounced restlessly against the floor mats. 

“How have you been faring?” she asked as you were stopped at a light. 

You didn’t feel like bearing your bleeding heart to her or engaging in any small talk, but you answered anyway. 

“Dreadfully.” 

Olivia hummed as the light turned green. 

“I’m sorry, truly. If it is half as bad as how my son is grieving, I know you are going through something so hideous... going through feelings that humans are not equipped for.” 

You nodded at her lukewarm attempt to console you and watched the world pass through the window. 

“I know what you think of me, your distaste for me. You are less than subtle about it. But then, I suppose so am I.” 

This drew your attention back to her. 

“Just because I don’t, well, enjoy your presence, that doesn’t mean I don’t see what you do for my son’s happiness. It doesn’t mean I don’t see how well you treat him, even when he bloody well doesn’t deserve it. You’re good to him, for him. I see it all,” she continued, eyes briefly leaving the road to look at you, “As his mother, I have always wanted to protect him, to be the only woman he loves with such feriousty. And I know that is a reason why I hold such a contempt and resentment toward you. Misplaced, possibly, but I can’t help it. He is my only son and I would do anything for him. Which entails me… weeding out the riff raff. But here you still stay, ready and willing to take me on to love my son. Not an easy feet, but an admirable one.” 

As she was finishing, you came up to the Godfrey mansion. 

“I do accept you, you know? I do, in my own way. And I hope through the thunder and the rain you will accept him too,” she turned off the engine but made no move to exit the car, “it is such a pity that things couldn’t have been different. That you couldn’t have been the one to bear the weight of all of this, isn’t it?”

Olivia then reached out and ran the back of her hand gently over the apple of your cheek, examining you in the way you would a prized pig at auction.

“But, I know that you will play a part in this before it is all over.” 

She carefully took a single stand of your hair between her finger tips and slowly ran them down to the end. Her beauty had always been intimidating, but in this moment with the lowlight of the moon, her face was frightening. Like someone had pulled back her mask to reveal her ghastly, maleficent exterior. The hair stood up on the back of your neck as she surveyed you, and you had never felt like you had ever been in more immediate danger as you were in that moment. While you couldn’t see your expression, you could feel it was confused and slightly horrified. But Olivia could, and so she sighed. 

“You better get in there now. The attic. He’s expecting you.” 

She returned to her cigarette and looked out the windshield like she had been alone the entire time. Like she hadn’t been looking at you like the last gulp of water in the desert. You didn’t need any more prompting to flee the vehicle.

You found him in Shelley’s room, that was now bare of any signs of life. If you hadn’t been in this room just last week, you would have never known that it had been someone’s residence. You would have likely ruminated on the gross action on Olivia’s part for gutting her missing daughter’s room if it hadn’t been for Roman. Your sweet, broken Roman. 

He sat with his knees to his chest and his arms wrapped around his middle. He wore an old flannel shirt and the most pitiful look on his face. His lower lip quivered and his doe eyes widened with grief and need. 

“(Y/N)...” he choked out your name, half question half relief. 

“Oh, my love,” you simpered before you ran to him and fell to his feet. 

Once your knees hit the hardwood, Roman burst into tears, his long arms reaching for you. You went to him easily, effortlessly; you wormed your way between his legs and shuffled forward until you met his chest. Roman wound himself around you like a snake devouring its prey: with no way of you getting out of his hold. He clutched onto you like a lifeline as he sobbed into the crook of your neck, spouting apologies on an endless loop. 

I should have called. I’m sorry. I missed you. I needed you. I wanted you. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please, please, please.

What? Please, what? 

Make this pain go away. 

And you wanted to tell him that if you knew how, you would have remedied yourself days ago. But that wasn’t helpful, that wasn’t what he wanted to hear or what you wanted to say. So, all you said was: 

“Ok.” 

You sat with him on the floor until his tears ran dry. Your back throbbed in discomfort and your knees ached from your position on the hardwood, but you didn’t move a muscle. What was going to help you get through this, was to help Roman get through this. You would save the one Godfrey you could. 

You had luck with suggesting you move to his bedroom after his body stilled from it’s cries. Roman nodded against you, and when you pulled away he left gritty tear tracks and dried snot smears on your skin. He wiped his eyes childlike, with the back of his hand, before he seemed well enough to let you stand from his hold. He let his tired hand skirt its way down your back as you stood and then promptly took a hold of your hand.You stuck your other out for him to take, which he did gratefully and you pulled him to his feet. 

On the way to the elevator, you bore most of Roman’s weight. His arm was around your shoulders and both of yours were around his waist, keeping him upright. He momentarily wrapped his other arm around you as the elevator lurched down to his floor, before returning it to his side once the doors opened again. 

You led him to his bedroom and felt a pang in your chest when you saw the state he had been living in. Discarded clothing and food wrappers covered the floor, empty cups and beer bottles held purchase over every surface they could, ashtrays overflowing with cigarette butts and whatever he was smoking were scattered about. 

“Let’s sit, baby,” you said, moving Roman to his unmade bed and placing him on the corner, “do you wanna change into something?” 

He shook his head swiftly and reached his hands out to tug on the hem of your t-shirt, “Just take it off.” 

And you understood. 

You helped him strip first, down to nothing at all, then did your own clothing. Adding both sets to the sea of laundry on the floor. 

You stood in front of Roman in a position that would usually lead to a night of passion, but now was going to lead to a night of reassuring intimacy. Roman skated his fingers along your skin, cataloging every part of you with his fingertips and green gaze. Like he was proving to himself that you existed. He ran his thumbs under the flesh of your breast and moved in clean vertical lines to touch your nipples. He kept his thumbs in place as palms and remaining fingers came to cup you delicately. Roman met your eyes for a brief moment before he bowed his head against your sternum and deflated with a sigh. 

Tears stung your eyes as your hands, that had been laying listlessly at your sides as he examined you, came to weave into his disheveled hair. Tugging periodically at his roots in a reminder of your everlasting presence.  

You felt his chapped lips place soft, barely there kisses against your chest intermediate with his strained breathing. He nuzzled his face against your skin like he was trying to tunnel his way inside you for safe keeping, and when his efforts failed, he had to settle for the small kisses to taste you after your short separation. 

“I need you. I needed you. Stay,” he whimpered to your body, gripping your breasts tighter as you did the same to his locks. 

“Ok, yes. I’m here. I’m here now.” 

He nodded, before you gently pulled him away so you could look at his beautiful face. That was still as stunning as the day you met him, even with the profound sadness in his expression. 

“Let’s get some sleep, alright? I think that would do you some good,” you didn’t know for a fact, but the circles under his eyes told the story of his insomnia. 

He sniffled, but nodded once more. He let you go to scoot back on his bed and rummage around for the corners of his blankets so you both could slip underneath. He collected the haphazard covers the best he could, then draped them open. Roman looked to you with a soft, frighteningly innocent expression for your boyfriend, and patted the spot next to him. 

You crawled over to the spot and laid down. When Roman covered you both up and under his bedding, you could smell the wafting smell of smoke, body odor and beer coming from the sheets. Roman settled next to you and wrapped you back into his arms, he pulled you so suddenly to his chest you couldn’t help the tiny gasp from your lips upon the impact. He mumbled an apology as he got comfortable around you. His arm around your waist, his nose buried into the crown of your head, his leg thrown over your own. Roman created you a human cocoon, one that left you no option for escaping from.

Though, you really had no interest in leaving. You had missed this man with your entire being and to be near him again, made your heart swell with love and drain a fraction of the sadness in your chest. Roman’s embrace could cure a lot, but unfortunately not this agony. But, it was a start, and he was a salve you would never turn down. Roman always made everything better for you (even if in the moment, it felt like he was making it worse). 

You pressed your lips to his knuckles and let out an encompassing sigh and let your eyes shut. You ran the tip of your tongue over the cracks in his skin and he hummed sweetly behind you, like a cat’s purr. You hoped that when you woke, you would feel better and Roman would be healed, even if you knew that was impossible. It was impossible, but you were allowed to dream as much as you wanted. 

Forty five minutes later, you woke with a thin sheen of sweat heavy on your skin. Following your marathon sleep session after your mother found you on the lawn, you hadn’t slept more than two hours at a time. You had hoped Roman’s presence would help, but it seemed it was something in your body that would just have to run its course. You thought about seeing a shrink as you ran your nose along Roman’s radial bone. It could help you… but maybe Letha’s death was still too fresh to be searching for help. You’d give it a month, maybe six. Maybe then it would be easier to talk about. 

Your whole life seemed to be composed of maybe’s lately. 

Maybe things would get better. Maybe Letha would still be alive if you were in the room with her. Maybe Roman will call. Maybe he would hold you together when you broke apart. Maybe taking care of him would fix you both. 

You just had to hope you figured it all out soon, because you didn’t know how much uncertainty you could take. 

The longer you laid in Roman’s arms, no matter how much you had missed his embrace, you became restless. The room seemed to be closing in on you, the clutter unavoidable and ignorable. The mess was so awful that you couldn’t shake it from your mind. Some of the beer bottles had gained mold and there was a fly buzzing around an old fast food bag in the corner, not to mention the hills of dirty clothes that barricaded you from his en suite. The maternal, coddling feeling you felt in the attic to protect and fix Roman flared in your stomach and seeped into your blood stream until all you could think about was cleaning up the grieving mess he’d made. 

So you did. 

You gingerly extracted yourself from Roman’s hold, which had thankfully loosened from the depths of his slumber. You tiptoed over to where you had discarded his flannel from earlier and buttoned it up on your body. The last thing you wanted was to be caught going in and out of Roman’s room stark naked by one of the staff or God forbid Olivia. At that chilling thought, you slipped on your panties as well. 

You left Roman’s room, leaving the door cracked so you didn’t have a chance to wake him. Then, you scurried down to the kitchen and gathered a box of trash bags and a pair of rubber gloves from the side of the sink. On your way back upstairs, you found Annalisa and told her there would be a few trash bags to collect from outside Roman’s room. You whispered, even though you were separated from Roman by two floors. 

Back in Roman’s room, you crept around on light feet as you stuffed pizza boxes, rotting receptacles and overflowing ashtray contents into each white bag until they were full. You tried to pad the beer bottles with layers of other trash so they wouldn’t make as much noise, but that didn’t mean that you didn’t look over at the bed with baited breath each time they clinked together. You managed to fill four garbage bags without waking him, and set them outside his room for Annalisa to retrieve. When the trash was handled and the shapes of his living space were appearing again, you moved onto the laundry. You had planned on taking arm fulls down the hallway to the laundry shoot, then take the elevator to the basement to do as many loads as you could before Roman woke. Unfortunately on your third trip down the hall, you heard Roman’s throat crackling wail of your name. 

You raced to Roman’s room and burst through the ajar door to find Roman, blankets pooling at his waist and tears in his eyes. 

“Where did you go? You were gone!” he shrieked at you in anger as he battled off his cries.

“I was just trying to clean up a bit, Ro,” you replied, rushing to his side and sitting side-saddle on the bed.

“You said you wouldn’t leave,” he said through gritted teeth. 

“I was just down the hall, honey. I never left.” 

“You can’t leave me, you can’t leave my side. You can’t leave too,” he voice wavered at the end of his sentence. 

Roman’s face soured and a scream erupted through his teeth and his face fell into his hands. He was furious he still felt so broken. 

“Roman, baby, no. No, I’m not gonna leave. I’m here, I’m here, always. Always, always, always…” you said as you rested your chin on his shoulder and wrapped your arms around him, “I have you, Roman. I’m not leaving.” 

You rocked him gently and cooed to him sweetly. You ran your hands over his skin and kissed the curve of his jaw until his breathing slowed once more and excess tension seemed to dissipate from his body. 

“Do you wanna go back to sleep?” you asked, placing your cheek where your chin had been, so you could look at him, “I won’t get up this time.”

Roman shook his head, almost petulantly. 

“Do you wanna shower? No offense Ro, but you smell kinda ripe,” you played. 

“I haven’t had the energy,” he snapped. 

He tried weakly to pull away from you, but your arms held strong. 

“What about a bath? It’s low energy? I could take it with you if you want?” you proposed, not letting his bitter response deter you. 

“You probably wouldn’t want to...because I smell like shit and all,” he pouted indignantly. 

“Ro, I would bathe with you even if you actually smelled like shit. I’d do absolutely anything to take a nice bath with you, baby.”

You looked up at his profile and laid a series of pillowy kisses to his shoulder and trap muscle, before Roman sighed. 

“Ok, we can take a bath.” 

You smiled, “I’ll go get it started.” 

You stood and walked to the bathroom (that you had made accessible) and started the water for the tub, and ran your fingers under the tap until it was Roman’s desired temperature. When you turned back to Roman, he had craned his neck to watch all your movements, his face full of worry. He didn’t trust the universe enough to take his eyes off you, again. 

As you went toward him and Roman’s gaze never left yours. Not as you approached the bed, not as you walked across its surface on your knees, and not as you took his face in your hands. 

“My beautiful boy,” you hummed quietly as you studied his face. 

His creamy silk skin, his cherry stained lips, his fluttering eyelashes that framed perfect emerald eyes. You ran your thumbs over the expanse of his cheek bones, around the hollow of his eyes and followed the bridge of his nose to trace the arch of his eyebrows. 

“My sweet boy,” you moved closer to his lips and Roman let out a distinctive mewl and you reveled in the pleasure of knowing you were making him happy. 

You placed a soft kiss to his plump mouth and poured as much love and affection into it as possible. You nudge your nose against his and Roman sighed peacefully at the feeling. 

The kisses shared were simple, chaste, but earnest. Your hands stayed clasp on his cheeks and Roman’s lay lax on his lap. You hadn’t kissed so soft or so innocently since you had first started seeing each other. While it was a change of pace for the two of you, it was well appreciated and savored.

When you pulled away from Roman’s mouth, he followed yours until you held his head study. 

“I think the bath should be about ready by now.” 

You got off his bed and held your hand out from him like you had in the attic, your way of asking him to let you usher him into comfort. Once more, he took your hand and gave you the permission to mend him. 

You walked together to the en suite and you turned off the tap and shed yourself of Roman’s flannel and your underwear. You carefully stepped over the lip of the clawfoot tub and tried not to hiss at the obscene temperature he preferred and delicately lowered yourself into the steaming water, as Roman watched. Once you were submerged you looked up at him in question. 

“Get in, honey,” you encouraged, shrinking back against the porcelain to give him room. 

“I always hold you in the bath. That’s how this works.” 

“Not this time. Now, get in.” 

Roman looked on at you with a scowl.

“The water is getting cold, Ro. You either waste this lovely bath or you get in and just let me hold you.” 

He looked over his shoulder, like a stranger may burst in and revoke his masculinity card if he let you be the big spoon. You wanted to poke fun at the action, but kept your mouth shut. He was unbelievably fragile at this moment, and all he needed was your kindness and protection. 

“I’m supposed to take care of you,” he carped, “I’m supposed to protect you, y'know? Not the other way around.” 

“I’m not allowed to take care of you?” 

“No, it’s just,” Roman frowned, “I’m supposed to be the one who fixes. I’m supposed to take care of you.” 

“And you do. But right now, I am taking care of you. And I always will, whenever I can and whenever you need it. It’s just a part of the deal.” 

“Why?” he asked, his voice suddenly null of all angry testosterone, and full of vulnerability. 

“Because I love you, Roman. I am hopelessly and utterly in love with you,” you shrugged lightly, “and that just means that I will always take care of you.”

You said this to him so frankly and so decisively that it left so room for him to argue or pout. You had told him a resounding fact and it was clear you wouldn’t hear otherwise. 

After an uncomfortable thirty seconds of shifting his weight between his heels as he stood on the cold tile, Roman stepped into the water and settled against your chest. 

You rounded your arms into the water and to hold him around his middle and hooked your feet over his shins. 

Roman’s height, even now, dwarfed your own. He could easily and comfortably recline his head over your shoulder and against the tub. You hummed with peaceful satisfaction and slowly felt Roman relax against you. His tight muscles unraveled from their persistent tension, and he let his body be molded by the soothing water into his usually relaxed stature. 

For a while, you both sat in content silence. The only sound in the room was the gentle slosh of the water and your matching even breaths. You stroked the skin of his stomach with nimble fingers, rounding his belly button and going through the hair above his groin. You ran your thumbs over the hollow of his ribs and over his protruding hip bones.

“(Y/N)?” 

“Yeah?” 

Roman twisted against you to be able to look you in the eye, “I love you, too.” 

“I know, honey,” you placed a kiss to his nose and he smiled softly. 

Though, his lips slowly flattened again and he looked at you earnestly, “I don’t want you to worry about protecting me. It really is my job.” 

You weren’t going to argue gender roles and Roman’s twisted ideas of honor and rights then, so you just nodded. 

“Ok, baby. You can protect me again tomorrow.” 

And that seemed to satiate whatever macho part of his was blazing in his chest to turn back around and snuggle into you. 

Surrounded by tempted water and all things Roman, your pain was briefly smothered by love, which really, was the best you could do. And that was more than ok for now. 

is it strikingly similar to my other one shots? ya. do i care? meh, not really. do i still hope you liked it? yes!!! 

feedback is greatly appreciated, so if you did enjoy this, lemme know (:

@girlinthecorner​

[my-writings-and-musings]

MTMTE Headcannon Prompt

Enemy forces hack the Lost Light and deactivate the atmospheric controls, leading to a slow loss of oxygen in the hopes the damage to the ship's "pet" will give them an edge. While the rest of the crew struggles to fight off their attackers and restore these critical systems, the bot(s) you've come to love stays by your side as a guard while begging you to remain conscious, growing ever more panicked as you begin to fade... Until you're saved just in time, and then they're left grappling with the fact they nearly lost you.

(A lot more dramatic than my first prompt certainly, and way more involved so I can only do two bots per post... But I'll get to them all!)

Part One: You're Here!

Part Two: Here!

Part Three: Here!

Part Four: Here!

Part Five: Here!

Part Six: Here!

Part Seven: Here!

Part Eight: Here!

Part Nine: Here!

Part Ten: Here!

Part Eleven: Here!

Part Twelve: Here!

Rodimus

·You're chilling on the mess of blankets he uses as extra insulation in the berth, debating which movie you'll watch with him when he returns, when the ship gives a rumble. At the lack of emergency signals that follow, you assume something has just bumped against the shields, which happens so frequently you only shrug.

·Elsewhere on the bridge, Rodimus receives a taunting message from the enemy ambush, bragging about how impossibly easy it was to crash key programs on the Lost Light, like the air filtration system... which will make things awfully difficult for his pet as oxygen has started to leak. He goes from aggressive bantering to obvious horror, putting the pieces together just as a loud series of distant rumblings marks the deactivation of the filters providing the oxygen you need to survive.

·For once his commanding officers all know what to expect in unison, allowing them to take over the bridge when he abandons it in a desperate rush to your location, his pounding pedes leaving tire marks in his wake as he stumbles into a frantic transformation to cross the distance as fast possible.

·Unable to reach you on any channel, he loses all focus of his surroundings before skidding to a tumbling halt before your shared quarters, calling out your name and activating his scanner as he registers dangerously low and still dropping oxygen levels across the ship.

·You're unaware of anything amiss as you continue to relax, but that's mostly due to a growing fog of confusion settling over your thoughts and senses. It's so dense that it has already made you incapable of noticing that the air is unusually stale, and your befuddlement only grows when he barges in like the place is burning down, moreso than usual.

·Scooping you into his arms, his relief at seeing you alive and conscious turns to terror when he realizes you've already begun to suffer the effects, as your bleary smile and dizzy demeanor make clear. He doesn't need to be a human doctor to know you're already in a bad way.

·Just as he is halfway through an explanation you barely understand, he receives a communication through restored channels from the other commanding officers warning that the ship has been boarded by enemy forces, at which point he resolutely declares that nothing will reach you so long as his spark has so much as a flicker left. In your inability to grasp the danger his steadfast vigilance is heartwarming.

·A defensive unit is posted outside for your safety, but as the battle rages through the ship and oxygen levels continue to fall, he stops focusing on the invasion. Instead he cradles you and encourages you to be still and quiet while he tries to keep up a one sided conversation to keep you distracted, knowing that what oxygen remains must be rationed.

·For the first time in his life he can't fake a smile no matter how badly he tries, the sight of your increasingly strained breaths and fading eyes drawing tears to his optics and eventually forcing him to his knees as his meandering words turn to soft pleading, his voice cracking as he alternates between begging you to stay with him and apologizing for being unable to save you.

·As you hover over a warm blackness you're far too disoriented to be as afraid as you should be, and instead you offer comfort at the sight of the bot you've come to adore so readily, murmuring your love even as he gently shushes you and tears begin to fall down his face without reservation.

·Though the battle turns in favor of the crew and the room you're in is spared attack, the atmospheric systems remain inoperable for what he knows is too long, and the ticking seconds match the fluttering of your eyes as they try not to shut.

·You know he wants you awake, but you're so incredibly tired and he's so impossibly comfortable, why can't he just let you have a nap? It's not like you won't be able to see each other after, so why does he look so sad? You wish you could tell him not to be sad.

·When you inevitably slip into unconsciousness he's beside himself, panicking but doing everything he can to gently wake you up, tenderly rubbing his thumb over your cheek to encourage you to stir. The crushing grief just beginning to take hold is so great he actually doesn't notice he has a message until it forces itself through.

·He's barely able to recollect the conversation he has with Ratchet, save the order to get you to the medical bay, where they've restored just enough functionality to produce oxygen on a one human scale. The bots who saw him running afterwards said there was little more visible than a fiery blur with you in his arms.

·Cybertronian engineering combined with carefully studied earth medicine provides you with the air you need just in time, dredging you up slowly from deep unconsciousness to the sterile taste of a ventilation mask over your face. Your discomfort mattered precious little when you behold Rodimus at your side, servo cupping your body as his face still shines with tears.

·It takes moments for him to break when you're left alone together, his shoulders shaking as the helplessness continues to haunt him, and his apologies blend together in an endless tangle of self depreciation.

·As you've come to do when he's overwhelmed, you encourage him to come closer, hugging his helm to your smaller body as if he's laying it in your lap. The oxygen mask limits you, but you don't let it stop your quiet shushes as you stroke his crests. ·Without delay you slow his tears, reassuring him that everything is well until exhaustion claims him and he falls asleep at your bedside.

·The experience doesn't leave him for some time. Both in public and in private you catch him paying close attention to you, and you know he's double checking your breathing, still worrying that such a simple thing could steal you away so quickly.

· Finally, you take him aside and pull his hand to your chest, indicating the rythym of your body and how you know it better than anyone. If he can't trust the world, then he should at least trust you, and with that newfound perspective he starts to heal as well. Because he trusts you more than anything.

Magnus/Minimus

·You're in the berthroom the two of you share, distracted by preparations for what you hope will be a simple but relaxing night in. In the well protected room it's impossible to hear much going on outside, especially with you focused so intently on making everything just the way he likes it.

·He's in his office and armor completely focused on some important paperwork when he receives an urgent warning; they're being boarded, and the attackers have already managed to offline several key atmospheric regulators and security systems. The thought initially only spurs him to begin defensive measures, but the moment he sees that oxygen levels are starting to drop, protocol ceases to exist.

·In battle he's always been a foe to be reckoned with, but now he's like a force of nature barreling through the ship, and the single unit of enemies that tries to confront him becomes little more than scattered body parts before they can let off a single shot. His fury is so overwhelming even his allies flinch when he tears past them to reach your shared quarters. He can't contact you by communicator, and he's uncertain if it's due to downed channels, or something he can't bring himself to consider.

·The door stands little hope when he tears it open in rage that's quickly evolving into panic, shouting your name as a flood of terrifying possibilities torture him with all the ways you could already be suffering. He has no idea how much or how little oxygen you need, and for all he knows the deprivation is already killing you, making you suffer...

·It takes all of his incredible self control not to embrace you when you stumble into view, dizzy and weak as well as quite confused, and he realizes things are far from okay when you lean on his offered hand to prevent yourself from falling. You actually laugh thanks to the delirium, finding it adorable to see the big tough bot diving to catch you.

·He can't bring himself to be mad at you not taking this seriously, but he's certainly frustrated at himself for being absolutely helpless to assist you, even if there's nothing he can do in the midst of the chaos with no communication options in working order.

·Ever the tactician, he barricades the two of you as effectively as he can, knowing that you're vulnerable enough now that moving you through combat could be fatal. The entire time he's multitasking on a million fronts; trying to keep you still on the berth to conserve energy, working to reestablish communication with anyone, and internally punishing himself for not having prepared some kind of protocol for this situation.

·Due to his personality you're quite accustomed to seeing him worry, but you're hardly comfortable with it, and on reflex you keep trying to comfort and reassure him despite your weakening state. His insistence you stay resting makes as little sense as his explanations, all you know is he needs help.

·Every minute drags by like an eternity, yet his skill at spotting details makes it impossible for him to miss the toll each one takes in real time. Your breaths are growing more strained, your body is settling down onto the berth with less resistance, and your eyes are meeting his with increasing dullness.

·When you can't even sit up a part of him simply... snaps. All but throwing off his armor, he brings you into his arms in his base form, not admitting but knowing that if he can't save you, he wants this to be the last way you see him.

·In a pleasant haze of fading consciousness, you initially smile at the sight, having always preferred to see him as his true self as often as possible. You'd playfully pointed out how he still towered over you in this form so many times...

·With no traces of battle growing close, or of help arriving before it's too late, he can't help but lose sight of the world around him in its entirety. What does the universe matter if you won't be in it? What good are his abilities if he can't save you from something so apparently benign?

·Never before has he cried in the presence of anyone, so to see tears in those beautiful red optics gives you considerable pause, even as your vision grows dark around you. Something must have been terribly wrong for him to cry, but you care far more about comforting him than finding out what.

·Despite the weight in your limbs, you reach up as he holds you close to weakly cup his face, shushing him with a promise he'll be okay before slipping into darkness.

·It's a stroke of fortune that Ratchet arrives when he does, catching the smaller mech holding your limp form tight as his shoulders shake in silent sobs, as the broken bot would have never allowed your loss to go unpunished. He's bordering on incoherent himself when the medic explains that the attack has been stopped, and that while communications are still down, he was able to isolate a portable supply of oxygen for you.

·It's almost too much for him to believe when the mask is laid over your face and life returns to your peaceful form. The medic confirms you'll survive, and while there will be a road to recovery, you shouldn't suffer any ill effects from the close call. He's torn between relief and still further worry.

·Had you not been saved, he's certain he would have donned his armor and annihilated each attacker personally, with little intention of living to fight another day... But as you recover in the aftermath, he instead throws himself into crafting regulations, trying to come up with a series of safeguards and rules to ensure this can't happen again. He drafts it all at your bedside.

·When you wake up he's effusive in his apologies. How could he not have predicted this? It's such an obvious possibility! He takes your tiny hand in his as he alternates between admonishing his tactical failure and begging forgiveness, forcing you to interrupt and quiet him down before he can say anything else against himself.

·You remind him that it's not his purpose in life to protect you, as he should know better than anyone your size doesn't mean you need constant protection. All you need is for him to be there, just as he is, which is what he's done.

·Only a few tears fall this time, and you're eternally grateful to confirm that they're from blissful relief. He doesn't know how you manage to always remove the weight of the world from his shoulders, but you do, and he'll treasure that more completely from now on.

[justthehiddleswrites]

Anesthesia | Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Reader

Summary:  Tom suffers a serious car accident and the reader is the nurse on duty in the ER. Tom and anesthesia don't mix and Tom acts very out of character. Can Tom regain his composure or will he continue to shamelessly flirt with the reader? And is Benedict going to work all of this to his advantage?

Warnings: Car Accidents, Hospitals, Anesthesia Makes people act crazy, Tom quoting Shakespeare

-

“Tom?”

Tom’s eyes fluttered, and he blinked several times, adjusting to the bright white light.

“Nurse! He is waking up!”

Nurse? Waking up? Tom reached out and cold metal hit his hands. Safety rails. The air was cool, dry, and sterile. As he attempted to sit up, he felt a cold air hit his bare back.

“Hey buddy, lie back down. You gave us quite a scare,” the familiar voice reassured him as he lowered himself back down to the bed.

Tom turned his head to the sound and once he saw Benedict’s face he smiled. Ben smiled back.

“Welcome back to Earth, Tom.”

“Thanks, what happened?”

The last thing Tom remembered was climbing into the stunt car to rehearse the big action shot. After that, it was just flashes of fire, screams and sirens.

“The brakes failed and the stunt coordinator doesn’t know what happened. But the important thing is you got out alive.”

Tom attempted to sit up again and felt winces of pain throughout his body.

“What was the damage?”

Benedict looked down.

“To you or the car?”

“The car… of course me! I feel as though a Mack truck hit me.”

“You are not far off. You broke your clavicle, wrist, and a few ribs. Um… lacerations everywhere and a… a ruptured spleen.”

Tom twisted to see his friend’s face better and felt the stitches and bandages strain. He winced at the sharp pain on his left side. Benedict hit the call button and in minutes, the nurse arrived.

She smiled as she approached the bed.

“Feeling pain?”

Tom nodded.

She looked at your chart before adding some pain meds to Tom’s IV.

“That should do. I would suggest lying down and the doctor should be in about twenty minutes.”

Tom thanked her and couldn’t help but notice her gazing over her shoulder as she left the room. Her smile barely contained her giggles. Tom’s eyes widened.

“Do they know who I am?”

Benedict averted his eyes and rose from the chair, feigning interest in the generic artwork on the wall. Tom narrowed his eyes at the clear avoidance of the question.

“What are you not telling me?”

“Oh boy, you don’t remember anything when you got here, do you?”

Tom shook his head.

“No, what happened?”

“You were in a lot of pain. Tell me have you ever been under anesthesia before?”

“Maybe, once or twice…” Tom questioned, but then he stared his friend down for answers.

“What did I say, Ben?”

“You don’t want to know.”

“Yes, I do. Sit down and tell me, and I will decide if you live or die.”

Dejected, Ben returned to the chair and let a sigh out.

“I’m sorry, Tom.”

Four Hours Earlier

The gurney burst through the ER doors just fifteen minutes after you started your shift. Emergency room shifts are never boring but physically and emotionally draining. You put down your cup of coffee and headed in to assess the patient.

A man lied, groaning on the gurney. His face covered in scrapes and blood staining his ginger whiskers. His left wrist sat at an unnatural angle and his shirt cut away by the paramedics to administer help.

“Car accident,” the EMT relayed, “stunt gone wrong.”

A specific hazard unique to Los Angeles. They wheeled him to the examination room and put him onto the bed with care. He wore a C-collar, but the jostling stirred the man. His eyelids fluttered open and his blue eyes work to focus on his surroundings.

“Hey…” you looked down at his chart, “Tom. How are you doing?”

“Pain.”

“I know you are in pain, but where?”

Tom gestured to the left side of his abdomen.

“Okay.” You grabbed some morphine and added it to his IV. “Any allergies?”

He shook his head.

“Anyone come with you?”

As if on cue, Benedict pulled back the curtain.

“I did.”

You recognized the man standing before you. Benedict Cumberbatch was quite the movie star.

“Really?” You attempted to keep your cool. This was no time for fan girling.

Within minutes, Benedict could communicate the information about not only the accident but Tom’s medical history as well. It had all been on file with the production company.

The doctor came in and did a quick examination.

“We need to get a CT scan and X-rays. Looks like there may be internal injuries.”

You nodded as you prepared to wheel Tom down the hall.

“Ready to go for a ride?” you asked.

Tom nodded and gave a goofy smile.

“What’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“Y/N, Y/N. That’s a beautiful name. My name is Tom Fucking Hiddleston.”

The drugs were doing their job.

“Nice to meet you, Tom. We will take you for some tests.”

“But I didn’t study!” he sounded dismayed.

You could not suppress your laugh.

“I think you will be fine.”

Tom grabbed your hand and looked up at you, tears in his eyes.

“Will you help me study?” he asked with a serious tone.

“Of course.”

Tom continued to babble on for the rest of the trip to imaging. He spoke about how nice you smelled and how pretty your eyes look. The full court press of flirting. As you reached the room, you and the other nurse lifted Tom onto the machine.

“Here you go.”

Tom grabbed your hand once again.

“Please don’t leave. I’m scared of the dark.”

While his words spoke of her fear, his eyes and smile said something else.

“Are you flirting with me, Mr. Hiddleston?”

His smile only grew.

“Is it working?”

You leaned in to his ear to whisper, “No, but the drugs are.”

Tom pouted.

“Not fair.”

“But you are cute.”

His face lit up once again.

“I came, saw and overcame.” Tom was being dramatic.

At that point, the other nurse started up the machine, and you walked away to let the rest of nurses to care for his needs. After his scans, you headed back to the waiting area. You found Benedict pacing the floor in anticipation. His long fingers alternating between steepling in front of his face and raking through his hair. As you approached, you cleared your throat.

“Yes?” his voice shared a tone of concern and hopefulness.

“A few broken bones but the big thing is that his spleen has ruptured. He needs surgery right away.”

Ben’s face fell.

“Will he be okay?”

You nodded.

“He will make a full recovery. Would you like to see him before they send him in to operating?”

You led Ben back to where they were prepping Tom for surgery. The anesthesiologist added drugs to the IV and Tom was now in a full hospital gown. His tattered rags of clothes in the garbage.

“No fair!” Tom bellowed as you entered with Ben throwing the thin sheet over his legs. The two of you shared a knowing look, “You have seen me naked but I have not had the chance to see you naked.”

You leaned into Benedict.

“It would seem that the medicine does not agree with your friend,” you smirked.

“Oh, I don’t know, I rather like him like this, so not proper. So not Tom Hiddleston.”

You smiled as you looked upon Tom who, in vain, tried to cover his body. Even loopy on drugs, he charmed and warmed your heart.

“I will leave you to it.”

As you turned to leave, Tom shouted at you.

“I love thee, Y/N. By which honor I dare not swear thou lovest me, yet my blood begins to flatter me that thou dost, not withstanding the poor and untempering effect of visage. And therefore tell me, most fair Y/N, will you have me?”

You suppressed a small giggle.

“I will see you later,” you let them both know as you shut the door.

As soon as the door latched, Tom grabbed Benedict’s arm and pulled him down close.

“Ben! Ben! Have you met my wife?”

Benedict screwed his face up with confusion.

“The nurse? That is just the drugs talking, Tom. You barely know her.”

“Nonsense. She will be my wife and you shall be my best man.”

Benedict looked at Tom with an exasperated face but Tom’s only contained earnest. With a chuckle, Benedict conceded.

“Very well, Tom. I will be your best man.”

Tom slapped Benedict’s shoulder.

“That’s the spirit. As my best man, I require you to acquire my future bride’s number.”

Benedict could not resist at this point to play along with his friend’s drug-addled fantasy.

“I will, on one condition.”

“Name your price.”

“Name your firstborn after me.”

“Consider it done.”

“Then consider the number yours.”

Tom’s face beamed and as if on cue, the nurses came to wheel Tom into surgery.

***

“Oh dear, God. I quoted Shakespeare.”

Tom hung his head and his face and neck turned a bright shade of red.

“Yep. The Henry the Fifth wooing speech too. Honestly, it was one of your better performances. Might I suggest doing all your roles drugged from now on.”

Tom shot Benedict a withering look.

“Ha ha. Very funny. I can’t show my face to her again.”

At that moment, the door opened, and you entered. The color drained from Tom’s face, while the smile grew on Benedict’s.

“Y/N!” Benedict cooed, “We were just talking about you. So nice of you to stop in.”

Your shift ended half an hour ago, but you wanted to check in on Tom before going home. Today was not the first time a patient hit on you, although they are usually not an award-winning actor with a penchant for quoting Shakespeare. But, you would remain ever the professional. You checked the chart before wishing the two men well.

As you turned to exit, Benedict walked you out.

“Thank you, Y/N for attending to Tom.”

“My pleasure. Even under the influence, he is quite charming.”

Benedict took this opportunity.

“Speaking about that…”

3 years later

“Tom!”

You yelled down the hall of your London home, beckoning your husband. At six months pregnant, getting up and down was no easy task. Tom rushed to your side. He gave you his arm and with a rocking start; you extracted yourself from the chair.

“Thanks, darling.”

“I am at your beck and call.”

You rubbed your swollen belly as you waddled your way down the hall. Tom followed you to the kitchen.

“Now about names for this little young man here.”

Tom grew ashen. He thought he could avoid this conversation, but it seems his luck had run out.

“Yeah, I have I mentioned today that I love you.”

Tom kissed your lips, and you looked at him with distrust.

“What have you done?”

Tom smiled and rubbed his neck, a nervous habit.

“I may have promised to name the child after Benedict.”

Tom flinched.

“You what? Why on earth would you do that?”

“It was for a good cause.”

“Which was?”

“Your phone number.”

With that, Tom took off down the hallway. You smiled as you walked with much effort behind him.

“We are NOT naming our child after breakfast food!”

You heard Tom’s laughter fill the house.

[tsarisfanfiction]

Hey :) I might sound greedy asking you again but I’ve spun the fluff wheel and this is what I got:

‘Person A and Person B unable to sleep after watching a horror film but neither will admit the film scared them.’

The Things

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Gen Genre: Family Characters: John, Alan

Not greedy at all! I like my inbox nice and full so I can play with prompts when my muses can't otherwise settle! It might take me a while to answer sometimes, but I do flick through the collection regularly.

This one's had me stumped for a while, and I considered a couple of different bro combinations before I stumbled across the perfect one tonight. It's not a combo I write very much, but hopefully it works!

Fluffy Prompt Generator (edit: linked the wrong one whoops!)

“Hey, John?” His brother’s voice was quiet. Tentative. Scared. “Are you awake?”

“You should be asleep, Alan,” he replied, allowing the holographic visage of his youngest brother to flicker into existence in front of him. “It’s three in the morning.” The teenager liked his sleep entirely too much to stay up late without good reason, and John shuffled his own thoughts around in his head until his focus was on his brother and not the reason he was still awake despite handing monitor duty over to EOS for the night an hour earlier.

Alan was rigid, shoulders hunched and blanket pulled up to his nose. The cause was immediately obvious, and John supressed a wry, humourless smile of his own. Just one more thing he had in common with the teenager.

“No reason,” Alan mumbled, pulling the blanket tighter against him. His bright blue eyes stood out starkly against the red of the material. “I just… couldn’t sleep. That’s all.”

It never ceased to amaze John that his brothers thought they could lie to him and he wouldn’t realise. Living in space did not mean he was out of touch, nor did it mean he couldn’t see their tells. In this case, however, he was more than willing to humour Alan.

Alan wasn’t the only one still awake despite being in bed, after all.

“Do you want me to wake Scott?” he offered. He’d never go to Scott for himself over this, but for Alan was another matter entirely. Any other time, he’d wonder why Alan hadn’t wandered into the room next door already, but tonight?

Tonight, the dark was the unknown, and the unknown held Things, writhing and creepy and hands snatching at ankles from holes in the wall that hadn’t been there before they’d blinked. Thunderbird Five was well-lit, no dimming of the lights while he tried to sleep tonight. Alan didn’t have that same luxury, so the security of the blanket on his bed was the best he could do.

It was a little pathetic, really. They could face the deadly void of space without flinching, they could battle aliens and zombies in a fully immersive gaming system as blood and guts and all manner of grotesque things rained down upon them.

But one measly movie, and suddenly the bogeyman was real again.

It hadn’t even been a good movie. The plot had been terrible, and John had spent most of it listening to Scott and Gordon tearing it apart. Virgil, clearly the most sensible member of the family, had opted to linger on the mezzanine floor with his paintings rather than watch the movie with the rest of them.

The entire budget, and the creativity of the screenwriters, had gone into the Things. They weren’t ghosts, which were admittedly something that creeped John out if he considered them for too long – the ‘haunted’ Eden hadn’t helped with that – so he hadn’t expected to find anything particularly taxing about the movie.

He’d been mistaken, and apparently he wasn’t the only brother that had underestimated how terrifying the Things from the movie would be.

Alan shook his head. “He’s asleep.” The words were muffled, and sounded a lot like an excuse rather than a reason, but John couldn’t really argue with the logic. Their big brother didn’t get enough sleep as it was; disturbing him over movie-induced paranoia really wasn’t worth it.

Still, the blond clearly needed a big brother to chase away the Things, and John mentally ran through the options. Virgil would help with no hesitation, although he had gone to bed an hour earlier so that would involve getting him back out of bed and dealing with a sleep-deprived Virgil in the morning. Gordon was more of a wildcard, and when it came to something irrational like this, there was no real telling how he’d react.

…If he was honest, John wouldn’t mind some real company tonight, either.

“Okay,” he said, finding his way to his feet. “I’ll be down in fifteen.”

“You’re coming down?” Blue eyes widened further, a cross between concern and delight. “Why?”

“Well, I’m already awake,” John shrugged. “I’ll keep the line open.”

Admittedly, once he was out of the well-lit hangar and in the dark of the villa in the middle of the night, the ongoing whispered conversation held a selfish connotation. Just as Alan clearly didn’t want to leave the bed and brave the darkness, John found his own pulse accelerating a little as he padded through the familiar hallways that were somehow off despite the number of times he’d come down in the middle of the night before until he reached his little brother’s room and let himself in.

If he didn’t know Scott would fly into a blind panic, he would have grabbed Alan and whisked him back up to the brightly-lit and sterile safety of Thunderbird Five. Unfortunately, their big brother would discover that Alan wasn’t on the island and freak out before thinking to contact John and ask for a location.

No, John would have to stay down on Earth tonight, and pretend that the intermittent shivers were from leaving his nice, temperate-controlled, space station for the whims of Mother Nature, and not from a ridiculous irrational fear brought on by family movie night.

“Is there room for me?” he asked quietly, and Alan obediently shuffled over. The fact that he was in his bed at all was unusual, but considering the circumstances John declined to comment on it. Instead, he slid into the space his brother made for him, well aware that he was still in his spacesuit barring the bulky baldric. He slept in it all the time in space; one night down on Earth wouldn’t be a problem.

As soon as he was settled, Alan migrated towards him, close enough that his hair tickled his chin. John didn’t pull away.

“Think you can sleep now?” he asked instead. Alan made a non-committal noise.

“Maybe,” he admitted dubiously after a moment. Considering everything, John would take that.

“Then, night, Alan,” he said. “I’m gonna get some sleep.”

“Night, John,” his brother mumbled. More hair tickled his cheek, and then his nose, as Alan got comfortable against him. It helped John’s own heart calm back down from his scurried adventure through the dark villa.

Silence reigned, and John had just begun to wonder if Alan had succumbed to sleep when his brother spoke, curiosity lacing his voice.

“Say, John… Why were you still awake?”

There was absolutely no way John was answering that. He feigned sleep and hoped Alan was too tired to put the facts together.

“…Oh. You too, huh?”

Apparently Alan was not too tired to put the facts together, but John didn’t give up on his pretence of sleep. He had some big brother clout to try and preserve, after all.

[eleanore-delphinium]

Reciprocate II (2021 version)

DISCLAIMER: Repost with additional details and edits from same title piece found in DAMIRAE ENTRIES.

But this particular one didn’t really change much as compared to the 2021 version of part 1.

Finale: Reciprocate III: The After

Reciprocate II: Damian

 In a sterile white room devoid of any color and of any indication of ownership or personalization, laid a single figure on top of a white medical bed, white sheets tucked over her sternum. The room felt bright because of the color, it was also rather lonely and rather very empty—except for the pale woman with long purple hair that laid on the bed. An empty chair on her right side and bedside tables with nothing on top, on either side of her bed. Her hands laid on her sides and her eyes closed. There was no indication of movement except for her quiet breathing.

The door opened to reveal Damian Wayne in a white button up shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, black slacks and black dress shoes. Despite his neat outfit, his hair was a mess and his eyes were bloodshot with eyebags underneath. He looked as though he had not slept well at all—which was likely the case.

Afterall, he had not slept well since the day Raven got stabbed. There were good days and bad, now—today was a better day. He walked to the empty chair beside Raven’s right hand, his back facing the door. He sat on the chair and gazed longingly at the figure on the bed.

And he recalled what had transpired that night—the night that caused Raven’s current medical condition.

Raven had fallen and her eyes slowly fluttered close. He could tell that she was trying not to lose consciousness. Raven lifted a hand towards Damian and Garfield’s general direction making Damian wonder if she was trying to reach out to him or Garfield.

‘It had to be Garfield.’, He thought because it would not make sense if Raven was trying to reach out to him. Damian couldn’t help but feel very bitter inside. She would never choose him. She would unlikely want to hold him with her dying breath. 

At this moment the creature was distracted by Tim who was on the other side, seeing this—Damian took the opportunity to run to Raven. He took note of the footsteps that followed behind him, Garfield was right behind him as they ran toward Raven.

Her raised hand was faltering and Damian felt as though his heart was about to jump out of his throat-- out of fear.

No. You cannot close your eyes. I will not allow it! 

Damian ran faster towards Raven and as her hand fell to the ground, he finally reached her side. But her eyes had also closed, and Damian held his breath as he-- so very gently, held her in his arms.

“Raven! Raven!” He called to her frantically. “No. No. No. Don’t close your eyes, please come back, stay conscious!” His breathing was ragged, his heart beating loudly in his ears. Damian bit his lip and held his breath in a conscious manner, as he tried to calm himself, and think. He had to think.

“Raven! Oh god no.” Garfield stood hovering above Raven, and the next second he was reaching out to Raven. But Damian pulled her closer to him and gave Garfield the darkest and cruelest glare Garfield had ever seen. And Garfield froze, he took a deep breath and gulped down his fear.

“Gar…” Terra came running towards Garfield, and her eyes laid on Raven. “No, if-if she didn’t try to protect me—” Damian gave Terra the same glare Garfield received, making her unable to finish her thought. She froze in fear too.

“We have to stop her bleeding.” Damian absent-mindedly said, his voice cold, and as he scanned Raven’s wound, his eye twitched. Raven had a gaping hole on her chest, Damian did not want to think about it—but the situation was truly grim.

“How are you going to—” Garfield received another glare from Damian.

Damian was not asking or seeking their help to stop Raven’s bleeding, he had said what he had said to inform them only. He will deal with Raven’s injury, no one else is suitable.

Damian reached for something in his utility belt, and he pulled out three silver balls. His facial expression seemingly frozen in a cold and uncaring manner as he placed the one-inch sized ball strategically on her gaping wound. He placed one on top and two at the bottom, forming a triangle. It beeped and glowed a faint blue and from it came out a purple like foam.

Damian’s right eye twitched, his lips pressed together so much that his lips became pale and his brows drawn so closely together, that he looked like he would punch the next person who would touch him.

He had no choice. This was the only way to ‘plug’ Raven’s gaping hole. She was losing too much blood because of it.

Damian clenched his teeth even more, if that was even possible. He leaned Raven on his right arm as his hands clenched tightly. If he had not had gloves on, then anyone would be able to see how white his fist had become. His brows still tightly knit together, it looked painful to watch his brows like that.

And to Garfield and Terra, he looked like the scariest man on earth. They seemed to fear Damian more than the unbeatable monster that had stabbed Raven into this state.

Damian hated what he had to do. He hated that he had to plug Raven like this. He hated that he knew he had to put her down now. Now.

There was a moment of hesitance, but Damian bit his lip till it bled to keep his focus.

“We need to put Raven in a safe spot,” He said in a clipped manner as he picked Raven up in his arms in a princess carry, “Distract that thing and keep him far away from her.” He continued absent-mindedly as his eyes quickly analyzed the best spot to hide her away.

And at the same time, he recalled her injury. There were no organs that were damaged, that at least is a good thing. And he hoped and prayed-- at that same moment-- that Raven can survive this.

With Damian standing on his full length, Garfield snapped out from his frozen state and had begun to reach out for Raven once again.

“Don’t you dare touch her!” Damian snarled in such an unsightly manner that Garfield remembered the initial fear Damian gave him. Terra did not feel the fear again because she was looking at Garfield with worry and realization. Terra missed to see Damian’s expression and his words did not register in her mind because she knew at that moment while looking at Garfield—that Raven and Garfield will always have history.

Of course, she knew of Raven and Garfield’s relationship and didn’t mind it. Raven was simply his past. Garfield told her that he loves her, and that he would never go back to Raven—if that was something Terra worried about. And he must have kept his word. But the years Raven and him shared was something that could never be erased. And emotions built up throughout those years was something that couldn’t be replaced so easily. To realize such a thing now of all places—

Damian had accidentally hit Terra as he started moving, cutting Terra’s thoughts. For a second her eyes laid on the boy wonder—and to her, she did not see a hero protecting or saving someone. She saw a man holding someone in a way that showed he was too afraid to hold any tighter in fear of losing her. A man refusing to blink, too afraid that it would be his last sight of her and that she would turn into dust any moment now. He held her in such a cautious manner—that it hurt to see him so forlorn like that.

That was something she thought she would never see in Damian Wayne. His body—every cell seemed to radiate a want to not let go of the woman in his arms. A conflict of holding her so tightly so he can remember how it feels to hold her and yet—still, he was a man of responsibility. Despite his desire to just be with her—he knew where he stands—the monster was still there.

Terra quickly turned, refusing to see Garfield’s expression—it was something she did not want to see right now.

“I will cover for you, Damian.” She told him firmly not waiting for a response and simply initiated her suggestion.

Damian sighed loudly in the white room, his forehead resting on his hands that was propped up on the bed beside Raven’s right hand. When they finally got to neutralize the enemy, the first thing Damian did was run to where Raven was. He was so afraid that when he got there, she would be cold and blue.

But she held on.

She held on.

He sighed again, as he turned his head that was resting on his right hand towards Raven.

He begged his father to help him keep her alive, and the first few months—God those were awful. When they arrived to have her healed, nothing was working. Whatever that creature was and what he did, messed with her. He begged his father to do anything—anything. Somehow, they found a way to stabilize her and close the gaping hole in her chest—of course every step was a struggle.

Seeing her with so many tubes and monitors, some advanced tech and some actual alien tech, hurt Damian in a way that a bullet shot could not compare. And he felt so helpless. It was probably the helplessness that hit him even worse than a bullet wound. 

Damian Wayne—son of Batman, son of Bruce Wayne, a robin—a boy wonder—an assassin at some point, still a man seen as the heir of the Demon’s Head—felt so powerless despite all the titles and honor and glory those titles held. He still felt powerless.

He held the woman he had loved for years in his arms, and had to leave her in her injured state to defend the world of the very same creature that injured her in the first place. He left her all alone in a corner—not even knowing if she would be alive when he returned. He knew that having someone guard her would be a waste of manpower. He had to think of the bigger picture—because it is his responsibility, he couldn’t put her over that. And a small part of him hates himself for it.

He had seen her struggle to survive day after day, and night after night since then. The rejection her body faced—and his selfishness, thinking—hoping that she would survive it.

And she did.

She survived everything. And most of the tubes and monitors were finally taken away. Of course, she still had an IV drip and a monitor checking her vitals, just in case. Still, it was fifteen less tubes and monitors—and doctors and scientists.

Damian reached out for Raven’s right hand with his left, his palm resting on the back of her hand. He had gotten so used to all the tubes and monitors, that the first week without them was so unfamiliar to him.

Every time he visited her, he expected the tubes and monitors to multiply and revert back to when they couldn’t seem to cure her. Up until just a few weeks ago, he expected that they would return because she would become unstable again. But it never happened. He was so thankful it never happened. He slipped his right hand under hers, his worries just seemed like paranoia.

“Raven, won’t you wake up already?” He muttered as he had gotten used to talking to himself whenever he visited her.

“I still planned to confess to you,” He chuckled emptily “Won’t you at least let me do that?” He brought her hand to his forehead. “Let me be selfish…”

 ~.~.~.~.~

 The door to Raven’s personal room opened, revealing Damian in his robin uniform, his mask off. He walked to her in a slightly slump manner and he took her hands on his and sighed.

“I’m sorry Raven, it appears that I can’t visit you for the unforeseeable future. Something came up.” He looked at her sleeping face sadly.

“Don’t be angry, I try to visit you every day after all, even if it’s just for a couple of minutes, but I never missed a day since you got injured.” He paused a vacant look on his face. “If you ask me, I’m pretty sure they were lenient on my lack of participation in missions recently because I looked as if I had lost a lover.” He laughed in a broken manner.

“It’s funny-- how I am reacting as if I had lost a lover—when we never really got to be together. It would be nice if you wake up—at least let me confess to you clearly. And you can put a rest to my pining.” He didn’t know why, but he felt that he had to rearrange her hair before he left and so he did.

“I will come back, I promise you.” He said as he reluctantly let go of her hand. He refused to look back as he left the room, and took his mask from his utility belt and puts it on.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 The door opened gently again as Damian Wayne in an all-black outfit walked in. He was in his signature black turtleneck. He had on a thin black framed eyeglass on his nose and held a book on his left hand. He had gotten used to opening the door slowly and gently, out of the fear that when he opened the door she wouldn’t be there anymore.

At first, he thought that it was an unreasonable fear, but clearly it was not. He was afraid that the time he wasn’t with her, she would have long been gone. And when he comes to visit, he would be greeted with an empty bed. And he would not be able to even say his farewells.

He closed the door even more gently—because when the door is closed this time was theirs—well his. Because she was still unconscious—still very unaware of his presence.

“Hey Raven, I brought the book I last read to you—I have enough time today to read to you just a few chapters.” He said as he walked to his position beside her. He took a seat on the chair and held her right hand with his right hand. “It would be nice if you woke up soon.” He smiled grimly, the words have started becoming something he said out of habit.

Damian gave her a little recap of what he had read to her before as he held her hand. After that, he continued where he left off, holding her hand when he wasn’t flipping through pages. He read in a slow manner; his mind more aware of the fact that her hand felt so very right against his, instead of the words he was saying aloud.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 Raven was still lying unconscious in the white room, on her white bed. Everything was quiet inside.

“Damian it’s been almost eight months!” Came a voice from outside the room.

“So, what Grayson!” Yelled back the voice of Damian Wayne. He was in an argument right outside of Raven’s room with Dick Grayson, his adopted brother—also known as Nightwing.

“Are you serious Dami?” A pause. “At least let others see her!”

“By others you mean Garfield, right?” A loud bang was heard from inside the room.

“Well—shit, yes! Why won’t you let Gar see her? He has been asking about her or where she is.”

“Don’t you dare bring Garfield to see her—don’t you dare!” A furious reply from Damian as shuffling footsteps were heard.

“Look man, I get it. I really do. But Damian, you can’t just hide her away from her teammates.” Dick said in a tone of anxiousness.

“You see her too.” Was Damian’s quiet response. 

“You know that’s not what I mean.” A louder bang entered Raven’s room ending Dick’s words.

“She planned to leave anyway.” Damian said defensively. There was silence for a few seconds and a frustrated humph could be heard from outside the room.

“I—I didn’t think anyone would be able to deal with seeing her in that way—I” Damian paused. “I don’t think they’d want to see her in a coma—I thought it was for the best. I—I’m sorry Grayson, I will let them see her—but—just not Garfield, Grayson. That is all I am asking from you, just not him. He caused her enough pain.” And the door to Raven’s room opened. She still laid there asleep. Damian did not wait for Dick’s reply and he slowly closed the door behind him.

He was in a black button up polo shirt tucked into his black slacks, that was held into place by a black belt with a silver metal piece and he wore his black leather shoes. He looked tired but there was no hint of anger from what had transpired outside Raven’s bedroom.

“You must have heard our little argument, huh?” He said approaching the familiar chair he always sat on when visiting her. “I’m sorry to have disturbed your sleep.” He continued as he sat down on the chair and took her hand in his again. “Of course, I didn’t disturb your sleep, after all you're still unconscious.” A hollow chuckle soon followed.

Damian placed the back of Raven’s hand against his forehead. “You can wake up now. Scold me for being so selfish. For not allowing Garfield to visit you. In fact, for not letting anyone else visit you aside from a select few. But—mostly Garfield. I will not allow him in here too— in this space-- so why don’t you wake up and just tell me how selfish I am.” He tilted his head to look at Raven while her hand was still pressed on the temple of his head.

But as usual there was no response, he was so used to talking to himself by now. At this point, Damian was very convinced that Raven had tried to reach out for Garfield, one last time, before she fainted. And the thought was something that caused him bitterness.

Even in her near-death, Garfield was the last in her mind.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 Damian was sitting on the same chair holding Raven’s hand. Three months have passed since Damian and Dick’s heated argument outside of Raven’s bedroom. He wore a red hoodie with black pants and black shoes. This time around, for the first time, he looked less tired since this whole ordeal happened.

“It looks like you had a lot of visitors this month too.” He glanced at the flowers on both bedside tables, pictures in frames of Raven with the team and other things. Now the room seemed to have a little bit of a personality.

“I think it’s great that you have some visitors. Though I admit, I think that eventually they will come to visit less and less, so I think you should wake up soon. Everyone misses you a lot. I think the longer you stay asleep people would forget about you. Everyone you know is a hero Raven, and even though you stay asleep—we still have to defend the people. Everyone’s priorities will shift and they would have less time to see you. And because they have started settling with your absence, for sure the visits will lessen. But I promise, I will visit you every day until you wake up.” Damian placed a gentle kiss on the back of her hand and he froze.

His lips hovering over her hand. He wiped the spot he kissed her at, with his thumb.

“I’m sorry, I should be asking permission. I didn’t—” He stared at the back of her hand. “I’m sorry I don’t know since when I started doing that, but I’m sorry. I overstepped.” He gently placed her hand back on the bed and stood up. “Let’s see what’s in the drawers, shall we?” He muttered to himself and surveyed every nook and cranny and objects in her room, keeping a mental inventory.

“We will be starting a new book soon. I no longer keep track of the books we’ve read.” He said after finishing his inspection of the room and went to sit back on the chair and crossed his arms across his chest.

“Well—I mean I keep track of the titles but no longer itemize them…” He added quietly, he used to count them but stopped at around the fifth book because it seemed like the list would continue to grow. And seeing the number rise would just be another reminder of the fact that the days waiting for Raven to wake was stretching to impossibility.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 It was a little over a year since Raven has been in her comatose state. The room felt heavy and she stirred because of it. Her breathing a little louder—a little labored. Her eyes fluttered open—her vision a blur. She saw two figures at the foot of her bed. The taller one looking at the shorter man. The shorter one was looking at her startled—he seemed to have an odd skin color. She could almost swear it was green. Raven’s eyes started to roll back to unconsciousness.

“Dick, she’s awake!” It was a familiar voice; Raven couldn’t help but think.

“What?” Dick turned to look at Raven, her eyelids slowly closing, her labored breathing slowly quieting down.

“I saw her eyes open; I swear it!” She recognized the voice as Garfield, but knowing who it was did not give her any extra motivation to fight her sleepiness.

“What the fuck is going on here!” Another familiar voice furiously entered Raven’s faltering consciousness. She wanted to wake up—to fight the tiredness she was feeling. But it was simply too late now.

The door had banged open when Damian entered. Damian was still wearing his black outer coat, his shoes dirty as he had just arrived from outside. He had no time to freshen up to visit Raven because he found out what Dick was up to.

When his eyes laid on Garfield who was looking at Raven, he wanted to rip Garfield’s head off. Damian Wayne looked like he was going to pop a vein on his neck. He glared at Dick with such open hostility that Dick was taken aback, and Garfield beside him recalled the fear Damian instilled in him that night Raven got injured.

“Her eyes opened; I saw it!” Garfield said frantically, hoping that would ease Damian’s anger. Damian stole a glance at Raven—but she was at the same state he had last seen her in.

Comatose.

“I asked you one thing, Grayson!” He growled as he slowly stomped his way to Dick whose hands were up in a ‘I surrender’ way. Damian grabbed Dick’s coat collar and pulled him close. “One thing Grayson!” He shoved Dick and pointed at Garfield.

“Look—you can’t continue denying someone who wants to visit a friend.” Dick tried to calm his brother down as he straightened his coat.

“Friend?” Damian snorted in response.

“Look, Damian I begged Dick to bring me to her.” Garfield said and he received Damian’s angry glare.

“Get. Out.” Damian simply said, he looked as though he would kill either of them any second now. For some weird reason Garfield got a little more courage at that moment, he began to open his mouth. Dick seeing Garfield’s lips open—quickly intercepted by pulling Garfield by the arm and pulling him towards the door.

“I’m sorry little D, we will talk about it outside.” Dick said as he draggedGarfield out, giving Garfield a stern look to ensure Garfield’s silence. Garfield wasn’t happy but he understood that Dick was looking out for him.

Damian stood where he was, glaring at Raven as he waited for the door to close behind Dick and Garfield. He was stiff in his spot and his fists clenched so tightly. He was still very much angry. He stood like that for five more minutes before he tried to calm himself down. His fist unclenched and his brows unfurrow.

“So—well, stop pretending then—he's gone now—so wake up.” He demanded in a low voice as he hovered beside Raven near the chair. She did not move. And Damian laughed brokenly as he fell on his knees. He reached out for her right hand absentmindedly and rested his nose on the back of her palm.

“So, it turns out you just needed him to visit you to wake up?” Damian whispered as tears fell on her hand. “So why aren’t you awake already?” He sobbed.

It was never him—she never chose him.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 It had been four months since Garfield had been regularly visiting Raven, and at times he would also bring Terra with him. Damian had conceded Garfield's wish to allow him visitation rights to see Raven. Damian could not stay angry at Dick for over two weeks, and the pair reconciled, despite Dick undermining Damian’s wishes. Damian understood that Dick was looking out for him.

Damian’s family was very much worried over him since Raven’s fall. He acted more detached and unapproachable. He wasn’t sleeping well and every second he could spare he was always hovering over Raven. In fact, he slept well hunched by Raven’s bedside with Raven’s hand against his hands and forehead. Damian was even unwilling to celebrate his twenty-second birthday with Raven still unconscious. And they could see the toll it was taking on Damian.

His family knew he needed a little push to try and let Raven’s state go and pushing Damian to allow Garfield entry was the way to do it. Damian needed to move on.

But here he was again, in the white room he specifically prepared for her. Her accommodations are all arranged by him, and his visits are always a constant. But the past four months were difficult, as he was also actively avoiding having to meet Garfield when Garfield was visiting Raven.

When Damian was able to take a step back from his anger at what Dick did—he knew that his family did it to distract Damian—to keep him away from lurking around Raven. He understood it was made of good intentions. Damian reached out for Raven’s hand, a habit he has come to develop long ago.

He wore a plain white shirt with jeans. His hair was not as neat as it usually was, and there were eyebags under his eyes yet again.

“But I guess I am a man who will only love one person in their lifetime.” He muttered, placing Raven’s hand against his right cheek. “I’ve come to wonder sometimes if I am unfortunate to be such a man—or to fall for you—” he studied her face; he has memorized every detail about her. How could he not when he was here, beside her so frequently.

“I’ve come to learn that loving you is not something to be regretful about. In fact, I am rather thankful for it. But you really got me pining over you, Raven.” He sighed, his eyes not capturing even the smallest of movement from Raven. “I love you.” He whispered and brushed his lips against the skin on the back of her hand.

A week and a half after, Damian paced at the foot of Raven’s bed, very much frustrated. He paused and glared at Raven, running his hands through his head, a sign of his developing anger. He stomped towards his spot as he glared at Raven again.

His hair was a mess, his eyebags had gotten darker. His clothes that was a plain black shirt with jeans had creases, very uncharacteristic of him.

“I don’t get it!” He said, containing most of his anger. “You obviously woke up the first time Garfield visited you! Tsk, as it turns out, all you need was for him to visit you-- for you to wake up. So why did you go back to sleep!” His tone louder now and he sighed to try and dispel a little of his anger. His hand at his side clenched into balls.

Damian was seething in anger, and he exhaled and inhaled in air as if he was palpitating. Finally, the anger he had dissipated. But it was replaced by raw hopelessness, anyone who would see him in such a state, would feel their hearts knot.

“You really—really got me pining over you.” Damian said as he knelt on the floor with a hunched back as he took her right hand in between his palms. “It’s funny how you pined over someone else as I pined over you—it seems that you're making me pine over you just as long as you pined over him.”

The chair he usually sat on was across the room, toppled down. A droplet of water falls in front of Damian’s right knee.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 Two months passed just like that. Raven’s friends had long since stopped visiting her as frequently as they did the first three months. Asking them to take so much time off of their busy hero life was too much to ask for. But Damian always made time for her, and at almost a year and a half the toll of doing so had fully manifested.

He looked so tired, his eye bags are in the darkest shade it had been since the accident. He looked thinner, not scarily thin, but it was obvious he had lost some weight. His clothes were as neat as it could be. His white button up shirt crisp and so is his black slacks. His black leather shoes are very shiny. He placed a lot of effort in his appearance because even he could tell that his health has waned, and he was compensating with his clothes.

When Raven was in ICU for the first three months, he was in such a bad state. When she finally got relatively cured but was in comatose, he looked better-- more relaxed. Then a little after, he had to continue with his responsibilities, particularly as a hero and somehow, he managed. The weight he had initially lost, he had regained and now he had shed perhaps even more than he did at that time.

But now at almost a year and a half of juggling hero life, personal and family life. Being with Raven almost every day since the night she got hurt. To actively avoid Garfield while Garfield was visiting and arranging his own visits to go around Garfield’s visitation, but also keeping to his schedule and preference of seeing Raven on a very regular basis. And Raven still not waking up—Damian was quite spent.

He was sitting on his chair facing Raven’s right hand. His head propped onto his hands which were propped up on his knees. He was looking at Raven’s face blankly, dark circles under his eyes. He didn’t know how much longer he could do this.

Raven’s state was always at the forefront of his mind. And when he was on a mission, he tried to put it as a lesser priority. But when he is near to death his first thought is: If I die who will look after Raven? And so, he fights with every screaming fiber he had, even when he was in such excruciating pain. After all, he still had to see her wake up.

One would think a year and a half wasn’t really a long time—but it did not feel like it has been just over a year for Damian—it felt like he has been waiting for her to wake up for five years.

He had just realized quite recently, just exactly how much stress he had gotten due to all this. And it was taking a major toll on him. He now completely understood why his family was worried about it—about him. Hindsight after all is 20/20 and he now clearly saw exactly how concerning his state was.

There was only one solution. His eyes flickered to Raven—he had not noticed that his gaze had drifted off of her and was surprised when his eyes laid on her again. He sighed and suddenly stood up, and picked up a lock of her hair.

“Raven, your hair has grown quite a bit—it's already at waist length. I thought of having it cut—but I think that should be your decision.” He placed it back down. “If you don’t wake up any time soon—I’m afraid I would have to let you go.” He mumbled to himself as he turned around to lean on the bed and gaze at the ceiling blankly.

Two weeks after, Damian was back in her room, looking even worse. This time he was just standing beside Raven with a very empty gaze. He had been standing there in his black slacks, black dress shoes and a green button up polo shirt for fifteen minutes already.

“I give up Rae.” He looked down on the ground. His words were so soft because he was very much afraid of the implications himself. He knew he had to let her go.

“I—I don’t think I can visit you like this.” He fought the tears as he said his words a little louder. And there was nothing left to say, he just softly touched her hand for a second and pulled away and then looked at her blankly.

A month after Damian’s decision to let Raven go, he realized getting to the conclusion and acknowledging what had to be done and executing his decisions were two completely different things. He was still visiting her in the same consistency that he always had. And he knew he had to fight to break the habit that he had already formed. Seeing her was second nature to him, and he simply had to break it.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 Two months after, Damian was finally able to decrease his visits. And had even met Garfield a few times and actually didn’t mind it. His visit reduction was not really significant but the fact he was able to decrease it at all, was a win for him.

He was in jeans and a red shirt, looking very casual and he looked more unbothered and not so tired. His hands in his pockets as he just stood. For the first time, he looked genuinely relaxed. His gaze at her was soft and the eyebags he had been sporting in different shades, for almost two years, were significantly less dark this time.

“I know I don’t visit often anymore—and you probably can’t tell—aside from the obvious,” A small twinkle in his eyes at the little joke. The fact that he could make a joke like that, spoke volumes of how far he had come. “You really made me pine over you for the duration you pined over Garfield. Nine years—you really made this whole thing come into full circle. You pined for him for nine years and decided to move on completely—but this happens.” He gestured at her generally.

“Now I have pined for you for the same duration, and I have decided to move on too.” He said grimly and the hint of playfulness he had prior was gone. “It really came full circle.”

He just stood to her right with a small smile. He tried his best not to stay so long to visit her nowadays. Damian found that standing was the best option in order for him not to stay longer than he intended.

Damian puts his hand atop Raven’s, he has also avoided holding her hand properly or else he’d find himself sitting on his spot and just holding her hand. He would then talk to her and the intended short visit would become like his regular visits from before.

“I have decided. I am moving on—I am letting you go.” And he pulled his hand away a little too quickly, afraid of the temptation that was the familiarity of her hand against his—or maybe it was his hand against hers. After all, it was always him holding onto her.

His head had looked away to look at the flowers on her bedside tables. He has been talking to her about visiting her less, and letting her go for a few months now. At first it was just a passing thought. But the last two months, it seemed Damian had to tell her every time he visited. He was unaware of how frequent he was telling her that. But in retrospect, he could tell now that he had been dropping hints.

It started from hints, to telling her absentmindedly, to repeatedly telling her every time he visits—until finally he was able to visit less. And because Damian turned his head, he missed the small twitch of Raven’s hand when he pulled his hand away, to look at her bedside tables.

There was silence, as he looked down and closed his eyes. He squeezed his eyes for a moment then sighed as he looked at Raven, a faint smile on his lips. He took a step back, feeling as though he was leaving his heart on this spot. He then turned feeling lonely yet strong and regretful at the same time.

When he was gone, Raven’s eyebrow twitched.

The next day when Damian decided to check on Raven’s condition, he was frozen in fear to see the scientist and doctors hovering over Raven who was attached to so many monitors and tubes.

It was like he had stepped into the time she was brought in to close up her wound. He was unfrozen when she saw her spasming. He ran towards her, as her chest lifted and she was choking, black almost slime like blood came out from her mouth and spilled from her oxygen mask.

“Sir—we need you out of the way.” A doctor pulled Damian away. “Who let this one in!” The doctor added and a nurse took Damian away, trying to console him.

“This is odd—there seems to be no traces of the compound we found last time. But her body is rejecting something.” Damian heard the doctor say, at that moment Raven’s eyes opened and her line of sight fell on Damian’s instantly. Her hand lifted slowly to his direction; her eyes wet as her face slowly turned red from the lack of oxygen. A doctor had already punctured her lungs to assist her in breathing, but black blood was oozing out from it.

“Let me, the fuck go!” Damian yelled as he strongly shoved the nurse off of him. He was normally someone who didn’t do this, but seeing Raven’s face slowly contort to fear and resignation, he actually went against the nurse. He remembered when she was in ICU for the first few months he observed quietly from the distance, but he couldn’t now.

“Raven!” He called out as he knelt on the floor and held her right hand that she had stretched out. “I promise, I will not leave you. So, you have to fight this!”

She squeezed his hand in hers as best as she could as her eyes closed and a tear slipped from her eye.

“Sir—I’m sorry but you are being a distraction.” A bulky man approached Damian, giving him no choice but to let go of Raven’s hand and put his hands up as he slowly left the room.

“She’s—I heard the subject has powers—” A person in a lab gown said, perhaps a scientist.

“Patient.” A doctor cuts off the scientist.

Before Damian was shoved out of the room, he stole a glance of Raven, her hand was glowing a faint purple black hue. And it seemed that she could breathe.

“Sir—there seems to be something appearing—” And that was the last thing Damian heard before the door was shut close in front of him.

Two weeks later Raven was finally stable but still in a coma. They were fighting with her condition for those two weeks—cross referencing and analyzing data, finding and testing out new information. And everything has now calmed down. He was only allowed entry today after the stunt that he pulled.

Damian was sitting on his chair, holding her hand. He wore a white t-shirt with many creases. His hair is a slightly better case compared to his shirt. And the outfit was complete with a plain pair of jeans and casual shoes. And to top it all off, his eyebags had become darker again.

”You really scared me. God, I forgot how afraid I was of losing you recently—you really know how to make someone remember, huh?” He muttered as he put her hand against his forehead, he was shaking a bit, as he fought his tears. And he felt her hand twitch against his—and he choked as he looked at her face.

Her eyes were still close but for the first time, he actually felt her react. In two years, she finally moved. He smiled tightly and nodded his head. He brought her hand against his lips and softly kissed her hand.

“You reached out to me that night, didn’t you?” He put her hand against his cheek as he turned his head towards her again. “You have to wake up and clarify that to me.” And he heard her loudly inhale.

For the first time in months, he finally had hope that she would wake up. “I promise you; I will wait for you to wake up. This time, I will not break this promise.”

 ~.~.~.~.~

 The door suddenly opened with a panic stricken Damian. He was unable to take off his outer coat and change into cleaner shoes because he heard a crash from generally where Raven’s room was located, on the second floor, when he had just entered the building. 

“Raven!” He called out his fear practically at the base of his throat.

When he heard the loud crash, he feared for the worst. His eyes at first saw an empty bed, and his heart almost jumped out of his chest. The vase on her right bedside table with flowers had shattered on the floor. He quickly searched for Raven, and exhaled deeply when he spotted her at the foot of her bed. She was holding onto her bed with great difficulty. Her eyes observed Damian wearily.

He approached her, thinking that maybe this was a dream.

“Raven.” He whispered when he was two feet away, her violet eyes did not show any recognition at seeing Damian. He picked her up and carried her in his arms, and despite not recognizing him at first, she wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Damian.” She whispered and he squeezed him back. She rested her forehead on his shoulder, as he carried her back to her bed. He set her down gently as he pulled away, she grabbed his right hand.

“It feels so perfect.” She gently told him, and Damian was startled by her words. A smile slowly formed and he found himself chuckling.

“I’ve been here almost every day, holding your hand. Maybe your hand molded into mine—” He shook his head. "Or maybe the other way around.”

“I—my memory is kind of fuzzy,” Raven said as she laid back in bed. “But I know you, I remember you. I heard you so often. It became scary when you weren’t there.” Her eyes started to flutter, she seemed a little bit too tired. But she continued to hold his hand until she fully fell into slumber, to which her grip loosened.

Damian took the opportunity to call the doctors and scientist to inform them of her condition.

When she awoke again the doctors, scientists and Damian were talking.

  ~.~.~.~.~

 A month after, Raven was already walking by herself inside her room. She started walking around the villa quite recently. But she has not been able to walk outside yet. She found that once the door to go outside the villa was opened, her knees would buckle. So, for the past month she was mostly roaming indoors.

She had found out that this was one of Bruce Wayne’s properties, and Damian had asked for the property. Damian was someone who would never ask anything of anyone if he could do it himself, so it was surprising to everyone that Damian had asked for this villa. And because of that Bruce granted Damian the property, if not for that, in the very least to give Damian some peace of mind. At least then Damian would know Raven had a place to stay and would not be kicked out if he so much as vanished.

She also found out that Damian did not spare any expense in her recuperation and that her situation was quite odd. The creature’s origin could not be quite narrowed down, thus its effects on her were up on the air. But that was where the doctors and scientists and all the tech was for, alien tech included. With the collective resources provided, they were able to make something to assist Raven’s condition.

“Raven, I think you should really try to get out.” Damian said as he walked in. He looked so happy seeing her, just standing by the window gazing out. She turned her head to smile at him.

He looked better—in fact the happiest and relaxed he had ever been in two years. His clothes were pressed well, it was a casual attire, and he had no hint of any kind of weariness. No more eyebags, and his eyes no longer looked so dead.

“If you go with me, I can try.” She responded, she had not seen him in two weeks due to his busy schedule, with the team and talking to her doctors and scientists. Him learning and relearning everything about her condition since she got attacked, and he also had family matters, he didn’t really have time to be with Raven recently and she understood.

She kept herself busy by building her physical strength through walking within the walls of Damian’s villa. She also used the time to comb through her thoughts.

“Okay.” He agreed as he offered her his right hand and she accepted it with both her hands. Until now he couldn’t believe that she was awake.

“I really thought I was dreaming when you woke up a month ago.” He confessed again as he sighed and led her to the door.

“I’m here. Everything is still a bit fuzzy. But I know you—I trust you. Your Damian.” Raven responded unhurriedly as she placed a hand on his arm.

Fifteen minutes later, Damian came in with Raven in his arms weeping.

“I—I can’t… it—it…” And she wept.

“I’m sorry, we will take it step by step. I will be here if you ever want to try and go outside.” He comforted her as he placed her on her bed. She nodded as he wiped away her tears.

“I thought I was going to die—” She sobbed. “There was something I wanted to do… I don’t—” Another sob, “I don’t recall what.”

He held her hands and then she suddenly froze on the spot. She looked at him in the eyes, and she blinked as the tears fell. “I didn’t want to leave you.”

And this time it was his time to freeze on the spot. Raven pulled her hands away from his, and she placed her fingertips on either side of his face.

“I was afraid that I didn’t have enough time with you. I wanted to know you more.” Her vision seemed to go back to that night. “I wanted to be with you.” She absent-mindedly brushed her lips against his. And when the pressure registered in her brain, she pulled away, an apology at the tip of her tongue.

Raven was surprised to feel an even heavier pressure against her lips. And she returned the kiss as well as deepened it. She noted how she was reacting very naturally over the situation, and how inexperienced Damian was. And she pulled away.

“Is this your first kiss?” She asked him. And he looked away with a small blush on his face.

“It’s—I’m very inexperienced with dating…” He admitted, and she observed him as she wiped her tears.

“I’m assuming, I have dated before.” She replied impartially. 

“Yes, Garfield.” He responded blankly, and when the name came off Damian’s mouth, he saw her expression soften. His eye twitched as he looked away. He suddenly felt her hands against his, making him turn to look at her again.

“Gar… field…” She muttered, his hand clenching at the way she called his name. “Was he the only one I dated?” Damian nodded in response.

“I see…” She said with furrowed brows. “My head is aching a bit. I think I should rest…” Raven lets go of Damian’s hands.

“Can we try going outside again tomorrow?” Damian was pulled out from his reverie with the inquiry, surprise in his eyes.

“Of course, I would love that.” She smiled at his response.

“Can you—” She looked at him hesitatingly. “Can you hold my hand when we do?”

He was even more shocked to hear those words, and he smiled as he placed a hand on her cheek. “Of course, Raven.”

“I would like to date you, Damian.” Raven stared at Damian, who just pulled his hand away from her cheek and straightened his posture as he looked away.

“Your memory isn’t like what it was Raven, I think it’s too early to say that.” His response wasn’t something she enjoyed but Raven pressed her lips together and did not push him.

She didn’t recall her love for Garfield at the moment and assuming she would choose Damian when she does recall, would  be too much of wishful thinking on Damian's part.

~.~.~.~.~

 The sun was setting and the white room was filled with an orange hue from the setting sun outside. Raven and Damian had just arrived from walking outside. This time around she was able to stay outside longer without having flashbacks of the night she got stabbed. It was great progress. But she always held Damian as if he was the only remaining lifeboat in an open, turbulent ocean.

Damian and Raven were continuing a pleasant conversation they had outside in her bedroom, when suddenly the door opened.

“Raven!” Garfield came in with such a relieved look on his face, his eyes expectant as he searched for her. Damian and Raven’s happy conversation grew stale as they turned their head to the door.

“Raven!” He called out again when his eyes landed on her but Raven remained in place. “Of course, you wouldn’t tell me she is awake!” Garfield added with a glare to Damian, whose head was casted down.

“Tsk, Greyson.” He muttered, Greyson right behind Garfield but was hidden from Damian’s line of sight. Despite Damian’s head casted down, he took note of Raven’s reaction.

She was still, she stood in place, but Damian could tell, she was so close to running to Garfield and hugging him. And all Damian could do was squeeze his eyes shut, as he inhaled softly while clenching his fists.

Seeing Garfield, Raven felt like her soul from inside her was vibrating with excitement. And yet, at the same time it felt as though a thin layer of frost blanketed her entire body, and it was enough to render her frozen. Despite her deep desire to hug Garfield, her feet were so heavily planted on the floor, that she didn’t even move an inch. Her breathing was shallow and unhurriedly soft, and she just focused on that.

The days had passed so pleasantly after Raven woke up that Damian had thought that he had a place in her heart. But seeing her like this, he knew—Garfield still outweighs him.

“Get out.” Raven said, to which Damian snapped his head to Raven’s direction, who had simply turned her back and walked to the window. “All of you.”

Damian wanted to say something, his fists curling and uncurling by his sides, but he saw her stiff figure with crossed arms as she stubbornly looked outside. He was the last to leave.

He came back a few hours later, to see Raven sitting by the windowsill looking outside.

“He hasn’t left has he?” She whispered hoarsely not looking at who entered. Damian shook his head as he replied, even though she would not see it.

“His downstairs, hoping you’d at least see him.” He got no response, but she tilted her head.

“I didn’t see him leave.” She muttered vacantly.

“I’m here to convince you to eat dinner.” And Raven turned to look at him, a frown on her face.

“Okay,” She sighed. “But you are eating with me.”

Damian was startled at hearing this, a second passed before the words sunk in.

“Alright.” He blinked at her.

“Here.” She added and he told her that he would be back, as he left for a moment to get them their dinner.

When he arrived with food, they sat on a pub table that was added a little after Raven woke up. It could only sit two people, and it was made of some nice honey brown wood. The cushions of the chair are red and its frame is made of the same wood as the table. It was rather small for two people, but they made do.

Raven was vacantly playing with her food while Damian observed her with a frown. He had not yet scolded her for not eating, as he was giving her just a little more time.

With a sigh she said, “It’s odd, when I saw him, it felt like I just realized the world was a puzzle with missing pieces, and his presence just made all the missing pieces appear on it’s designated places. He was familiar, he was someone I knew—love, maybe even… but something didn’t sit well with me. I didn’t want to approach him. And I didn’t want him to approach me.” Damian just listened as she said her piece. 

The two were enveloped in a tranquility that evidently belonged to them, and them alone. They felt secured in each other’s presence and there was no response needed.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 It took Raven three days to be able to even meet Garfield. The sun was setting, and from Raven’s window, one could see Raven talking with Garfield. They were sitting on a bench facing the sunset, their backs facing the window in Raven’s room.

So, it was a given that the two did not see Damian observing them from the window. He did not look upset nor joyful with the scene he was seeing. But once Garfield placed a hand on Raven’s hand, and she tilted her head a bit towards Garfield, you could see Damian’s face slowly turn into unpleasantness.

When the minutes passed, and Garfield nor Raven had not pulled away from one another, his face contorted to wanting to storm out from Raven’s room to standing still and just holding his breath—just hoping and wishing—that she had not chosen Garfield.

But the minutes continued to pass, and Garfield’s hand continued to rest on Raven’s hand. And Raven glanced at him with a smile forming on her lips. And Damian couldn’t help but think that despite Raven having difficulties in leaving the building with him, if it was Garfield with her—of course it would be easier for her to be outside with him-- with Garfield.

And Raven started closing in on the space between her and Garfield, and Damian did not want to see that. So, he turned around quickly, and he stood with his back against them, as he flexed his fists, and sighed. He had hurried to see her; he had gone through the garage so he was unable to see them in the yard. Once he got into her room, and she wasn’t there, Damian absentmindedly walked to the window. That was when he saw her and Garfield together on a bench, looking like lovers.

He wondered how long he stood by the window looking at them. He closed his eyes and sighed again, by the end of the day it was never him. He walked to the door without looking back.

A few days later, Raven is pacing her room anxiously. She had not seen Damian in days, she worried he saw her and Garfield the other day and that was why he was nowhere to be seen. But she wanted to explain to him what he had seen wasn’t what he thought. She had to tell him.

And she could feel the panic go up onto her throat. She sat on her bed, facing the door. She had refused to step out of her room after she talked to Garfield—not without Damian. She could not find the strength to go out of her room after her chat with Garfield.

Raven buried her hands on her face as the tears started to stream from her eyes. All she could see under her closed eyes, was the time—that night, when she reached out for Damian. The pain when that black spike hit her sternum.

She recalled her desire to be with Damian, but right now she felt it so very intensely that she was afraid. She was so afraid that she had lost that chance. And the door opened, and in an instant she was up on her feet with wide eyes. Seeing that it was Damian, she sobbed as she ran towards Damian and tackled him with a hug.

He was startled and it took a moment for him to realize that she was hugging him so tightly. He gently returned her hug.

“I thought you wouldn’t come back. I was so scared.” She wept on the nook of his shoulder, her feet not even touching the floor.

“I’m sorry for worrying you.” He replied softly, and tightened his hold on her as he set her down a bit so that she could touch the floor. They stood like that for a moment.

Raven eventually pulled away and tried to collect her bearings. She wiped her tears and looked at Damian in the eyes. On the other hand, he was wishing she hadn’t pulled away-- maybe that was the only time he could hold her like that. And she reached for his hands and it felt so right.

“When Gar came, and guided me outside, I couldn’t find the strength to step through the door. All I could think about was that I need you. I need you to hold my hand as I step outside. While that night kept flashing through my mind. But he held my hand—and it felt so familiar. And all my fears just vanished.” She looked down on their feet. “And I found myself outside—with him.” There was guilt in her face and on the tone of her voice. And Damian honestly did not want to hear what she had to say next. But she held his hands tighter, making him decide to just keep quiet. A small smile formed on her lips as tears fell and splatter on the floor.

“I forgot the time I was injured, till the time before he held my hands. It felt like I could breathe again.” Damian’s right eye twitched, he wondered what was her point. She suddenly flicked her head to look at him, and he was startled.

“He will always be someone that matters to me, we will always have history. I have loved him for nine years, we shared so many memories—so many firsts. But I do not want to be with him. I want to be with you. And I know I am asking a lot, but if all these don't bother you—I would love it, if you would date me.” But she was greeted with silence. “I want you. I want to be with you.” She softly added, her confidence fading.

“I don’t mind.” He said so softly, but Raven didn’t hear it.

“If that is an issue for you, then I completely understand.” She continued on.

“I don’t mind.” He repeated.

“I know it’s been two years, and that there must have been someone you became interested in. Or maybe you’ve even dated a bit. I know we don’t talk about it, but I get that—” She squeezed her eyes, her tone ready to break in a sob.

“Raven, I want to be with you.” He cupped her cheek and tilted her head towards him. She looked at him with the slightest hint of distrust. “I’ve always wanted to be with you—I waited for you.” He said, being able to say those words felt like such a relief to Damian. And the tears started falling from Raven’s eyes as the distrust was washed away.

“I almost gave up, I admit that.” He couldn’t bring himself to look at her anymore. She cupped both of his cheeks.

“If I were in your place, even I would waver.” She told him, trying to catch his dodging eyes. When she finally was able to lock her eyes with his, she added. “Garfield will always have some meaning to me—his all I have known for nine years, even before sleeping for two years—my history with him is half of my life. I was afraid. I thought he was the only one who could possibly love someone like me—I was wrong. I was so, so wrong. I want my next memories and moments-- with you. And slowly those memories I had, and my history with him, will just be a fraction of my life. I want you. I want every possible milestone with you, Damian.”

He slowly nodded, and when Raven’s eyes registered the nod, he couldn’t help but smile and chuckle. But she looked like she was going to cry out of happiness and disbelieve. This time she has chosen him.

“I never thought this day would happen.” He leaned in to rest his forehead against hers, and a soft smile formed on her lips. And they shared the moment in silence. After a while, Damian talks.

“I was afraid to ask, or open up about this, especially since you were still recuperating—and your memories are fuzzy. But who would have thought you would catch me by surprise and open up the topic yourself?” Raven took the opportunity to plant a kiss on his lips, and he conservatively kissed back to which she deepened the kiss. And she pulled away recalling Damian’s inexperience last time.

“We will take it step by step. I might still remember more about Garfield, and I might get a little confused. But remind me that I chose you since that night.” She leaned her forehead against his, eyes locked with one another. Damian’s eyes flickered with surprise and the confirmation that she chose him that night, made his eyes soften with the acknowledgement. He caressed her face with his thumb.

“I finally caught up to you.” He whispered, a giggle bubbling up on the base of Raven’s throat.

 ~.~.~.~.~

 A few months later, the white sterile room was no longer white nor empty. Raven had flipped the room with Damian’s help and approval. Its walls were now a soft lilac color. The room’s furniture was either accented with white, glass or silver metals. And the ceiling was littered with little crystals, that once the lights were off, would illuminate like stars in different colors. The medical bed swapped for a king sized bed. Her sheets were navy blue and white.

“Raven, are you ready?” Damian’s voice came from outside her open door. She turned in her white fitted dress with the thinnest spaghetti straps. Her long hair that passed her waist was tied into a fishtail braid.

“Of course!” She replied happily, as she ran towards the door, and tackled Damian with a hug and giggled.

“Excited for our brunch?” He teased.

“Absolutely!” She replied without missing a second.

Later that night they were in her bedroom. Damian sat on her bed and she was kneeling over his lap. Raven’s hair slowly unravelling from its braid. Their lips have been intertwined with one another for minutes now. He had one hand on her waist and the other on her thigh, a bit too afraid to rest it on her bum. While her hands were on his neck and on his chest.

Raven broke off the kiss, and started kissing his neck.

“If we’re going too fast, you can tell me.” She muttered in between kisses. But when she did not hear any response, she pulled away to look at him.

“I know Garfield and I had a lot of firsts together, if that bothers you…” Damian broke away from his dazed state and looked at her questioningly.

“I admit, at first it did,” His eyes followed his hand as it traveled from her thigh to her waist which he caressed. “Thinking of how he knows how to please you…” He looked back at her conflicted eyes. “But that just means I have to learn how to please you my way. You two were together for so long—it would be a given that I’m not your first. That is alright. But you are mine.” He admitted a small blush on his face. And she smiled as she kissed his eye and trailed kisses to his jawline. He was being brought back to his dazed state.

“I feel honored.” She whispered in between her kisses. And she playfully bit his ear after. Damian was startled and grabbed her butt and she gasped.

“Then I will take the lead then.” She whispered alluringly by his ear, as her hands travelled under his shirt. Her braid was completely undone at this point, soft black wavy waist length hair cascading  down her head.

 FIN.

 Bonus Scene:

Garfield and Raven were outside on the yard and they had been talking for hours that the sun had finally begun to set.

“You know, when I woke up, I couldn’t find myself to walk out of my room. Eventually, I was able to overcome it. But I found that it was so difficult to step outside the villa. All I could see was that night and being stabbed, and the last person I saw.” Raven confessed and Garfield placed a hand on hers to comfort her.

“But Damian was there, he guided me and stayed with me as we walked outside.” A small smile on her lips. “I always held him like I was in open water and he was the lifeboat. I was afraid of losing him. I mean, I still am. I still hold him so tightly, because I’m afraid that it would be my last chance with him. I thought I was going to die that night, Gar.”

“But when you offered your hand and held me, after you said you knew of my condition—my fear outside.” She glanced at the open area. “I forgot how afraid I was of going outside. It was like my fears these few months were nothing but a phantom. You were always associated with love and happy memories for me. But you and I both know, Gar, we were imperfect. We were destructive. We had become unhappy together for a very long time.” And she glanced at him fully.

“I want to say goodbye.” She finally said, and Garfield looked at her gently as Raven extended her arms to hug him. “I want to start a new romance—with Damian.” She whispered as they embraced one another.

“I wish you two happiness.” Garfield said as he pulled away.

“Yes, thank you.” She looked back at Damian’s villa. “I was so afraid I would lose him, I still do now, it's why I always hold him tightly whenever we go outside.” She looked back at the sunset that was facing them.

“I held on because of him—I’m sure it was him, I could feel his hand and hear him every now and then, until all I knew was his presence.” She mumbled mostly to herself.

 Alternate (timeline) Ending:

 Damian was asleep on the table, and had woken up with a jolt, all teary eyed.

“Damian, what’s wrong?” Raven said as she approached the table.

“I had a dream, you got injured and you were in a coma.” He replied. And he tells her what happened in his dream.

 Alternate’s Alternate Ending: (Reciprocate timeline)

 “I had a dream, you got injured and you were in a coma.” He replied as Raven sat down beside him. She gently places a hand on his, as she smiles softly.

“Damian, that did happen.” She replied unhurriedly.

[quentinbecks]

11 - heartbeat for my faves Charlie and John? 👀

Your wish is my command, Mika 💕 And I added the angst and fluff you wanted to see me write. This is just a very self-indulgent piece. It’s one of the first times I mixed both together, so please don’t be too harsh.

Prompt: Heartbeat

Words: 1.5 k (I know this was only supposed to be a drabble or a head canon! Sorry!)

Warnings: Mentions of violence, possible death, spoilers for future parts of my fics. This is pre-established relationship/domesticated Charlie x John.

Joseph had always told Charlie that one day she would have to choose; that she couldn’t sit on the sidelines as Sadie and the Seeds waged a war against each other. Today was that day.

She had recently released both her cousin and Hudson from John’s bunker, begging the deputies to leave them alone. But neither the Baptist or her cousin could resist the fight.

Watching two of the people she loved the most dogfight over the skies filled her with dread, a sinking feeling that keeps growing in the pit of her stomach.

You have to make a choice. Joseph’s words reverberate through her head as she watches the planes swoop and dive around each other, aimless shots fired every few seconds.

Charlie sighs. She knows what she has to do. Lifting up her rifle, she climbs onto the top of the Jeep she rode in with her chosen to try to stop John from forcing half of Fall’s End to atone.

The bright yellow plane comes into view of her scope. She can’t help the tears that flow down her cheeks, but she pulls the trigger nevertheless; the force of the shot jerking her back.

The plane swan dives to the ground in a fiery blaze; the boom of the impact causing the earth beneath them to shake. It’s almost beautiful Charlie thinks as she watches the flames take hold.

Hopping off of the roof, the brunette jumps in the backseat. “Go, go, go,” she says with a smack to the arm of the driver.

It takes the chosen less than a minute to reach the field where Affirmation had landed. Unfortunately, both the plane and John took hits, the latter lying in the grass just mere inches away.

Charlie and the others run to the bleeding man, immediately trying to assess the seriousness of the situation.

“We need to take him to Jacob.”

Taking John to the Henbane doesn’t seem like the safest option. As much as Charlie hopes Sadie is alive, she knows she’ll head straight to Faith if she is. And she can’t have the two of them in the same place again, no matter how injured they are.

Charlie cradles a barely conscious John to her chest the entire, long ride to the Whitetails. His pulse fluctuates and she tries her best not to panic. “Please don’t leave me,” she leans forward to whisper just for him to hear. The plea comes out more desperate than she would like, her voice cracking with each word, and she hopes he won’t remember this if he lives.

Jacob meets them outside his armory with a team of what looks to be medics. For the first time since she’s known the man he looks proud of her; proud that she would kill her own blood to protect his.

“Didn’t think you had it in ya,” the ginger says with a clap to her shoulder.

Charlie shrugs, she didn’t think she had it in her either and she’s not sure that she likes knowing exactly what she’s capable of.

“I just-please just don’t let him die.”

She waits with Jacob in the hallway outside the med bay until the nurses leave the room. Charlie doesn’t bother to wait for their approval before shoving her way in the room.

The white lights in the room are almost blinding and the sterile scent of the room makes her feel queasy; the feeling intensifies as she sees John hooked up to an assortment of wires and machines.

Charlie lightly crawls into the bed, trying her best not to unhook anything necessary, before resting her head on her lover’s chest. His heartbeat is slow and steady; a stark contrast to the rapid palpitations in her own chest.

The sobs start quietly at first. Guilt and fear consume her as she clings to the cotton t-shirt the nurses changed John into; certain she’s leaving tear stains all over it. She won’t lose two of the people she loves the most. Not today.

The body underneath her shifts a bit causing Charlie to look up, worried that something may be wrong. She can tell from the way his eyelids flutter that John is trying to wake up. Leaning up, she runs her fingers through the tendrils of hair that have come loose since the attack.

Relief washes over her as she notices the way his chest rises and falls; a clear sign he will be staying Earthside for now. Sniffling, Charlie brings her hand to rest against his clammy cheek; surprise overtaking her when she feels a smile against her palm.

“I knew you loved me.” John’s voice is raspy and slurred due to the painkillers Jacob’s medical staff took the liberty of giving him.

Charlie merely hums. Despite the fact that the two of them have been together for awhile now, she still struggles with expressing her feelings.

“Never thought you would cry like that for me.”

She can feel her freckled cheeks flush from the statement and the way John grins at her in response. If there was ever a better time to be open about the way she feels, now is the moment.

Picking up his wrist, Charlie brings her lips to his pulse point. “Ya know, some might even say I’m in love with you.”

“Is that so?,” John says, wincing as he reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

She nods, hiding the way her lips curve into a smile as she plants another light kiss to his wrist.

John sighs as he closes his eyes, clearly enjoying the feeling, but also struggling with the pain currently hitting him. “You know the resistance will come after you now.”

Charlie leans down again, cautiously curving her body to fit against his. “Let them try,” she says, resting her head in the crook of his neck; the tubes for oxygen tickling her face.

She feels John brush his lips against her hair before pulling back to rest his head on top of hers. “Why did you choose me?”

“With you I have a life I’ve always wanted; stability, a family, a child,” she smiles up at him. “Neither of us deserve to lose that,” Charlie says with a shrug, as if it’s the most obvious answer.

A throat clears near the doorway, forcing the pair to turn towards the figure; one more capable than the other.

“The deputy is alive. There was no sign of her or Nick Rye at the scene of the crash.”

Joseph leans casually against the door, as if he didn’t just deal a heavy blow to Charlie with his news. As if this news just didn’t cause her blood pressure to spike yet again.

“But I’m proud of you, Charlene,” the older man says as he steps closer to the bed, ignoring the shocked silence that fills the room. “You really went out of your way to protect our family.”

The Father gently pats her leg as he smiles down at her. The act seems forced and it causes Charlie to eye him warily. She chalks it up to the events of the day causing her to go on a rollercoaster of emotions.

“You should,” she coughs, shifting around uncomfortably, “put out patrols around the Henbane just to make sure they don’t run to Faith.”

A wave of guilt flashes through her at calling out her cousin’s possible hiding spot, but Charlie can’t stomach the hypocrisy of falling in love and wanting to protect one Seed while wanting to kill the others. If she could contain her utter disdain for Jacob, Sadie could, and should, do the same.

Joseph nods at her and for the first time it seems like he’s actually taking her opinion seriously. Turning his attention to his brother then, the man gets up and walks over towards him. “I’m relieved to see you’re doing well, John,” he says as he rests his forehead against his.

John doesn’t respond, just leans into the touch; grateful for the positive attention. “I should let you rest, though.” The Father pulls back from his brother, straightening his posture yet again. “Jacob and I will be sending some of our best chosen to search the county for the deputy. She will be held responsible and punished for this. I will make sure of it, brother.”

Charlie flinches at the promise, the words making her want to curl into herself. The couple watches as Joseph departs the room with a final nod, closing the door behind him.

Laying back down, Charlie rests her head on John’s shoulder. She can feel the calming beats of his heart from this position; the pulsations matching a similar rhythm to her own. Planting a kiss to his smooth skin, she lets out a deep sigh.

“I don’t think this war is going to end anytime soon.”

[remmushound]

Beyond the bay chapter 8: Home not-quite home

Tags: @brightlotusmoon @scentedcandlecryptid @selfindulgenz @digitl-art-monstr @ilo-artistry

“You’re welcome in our home as long as you need.” 

The lair the Splintersons entered in many ways resembled the one they knew. It was big and open, and as clean as one could possibly hope a sewer to be. It wasn’t as cluttered as the lair Leo knew best, and there certainly seemed to be a lot more room and space to stretch out. Graffiti was plentiful, Michelangelo’s style just as abstract and bold as Mikey’s contributions were on the walls back home. Candles were lit on raised shelves to provide a pleasant scent of lavender and spring into the air. 

“It’s lovely.” Splinter beamed ear-to-ear as he reached out with his senses to take in everything the living space had to offer. “However did you get it so neat?”

“Donnie thinks it used to be an old survival bunker back before dad found it.” Raphael commented.

“Speaking of which, where is your father?” Splinter asked, “I haven’t seen him in ages and I should like to catch up.”

It was like the very air in the room dropped several degrees, all four Hamato’s stiffening. Raphael clenched his jaw and his fists, while Leonardo and Donatello bunched their shoulders in a similarly tense motion. Splinter frowned and looked to the youngest; Michelangelo’s head ducked so low that only his eyes were peeking over the edge of his plastron. 

“He uh…” Raphael started, then immediately stopped when no words that came to mind sounded right.

“He’s taking a nap.” Leonardo assisted, a hand going out to grip Raphael’s; Raphael returned the pressure as he let himself breathe. “He doesn’t like to be disturbed.”

“Of course.” Splinter nodded slowly, tail twitching a sign to his confused sons to not question the situation further. “Us old rats certainly need our rest.”

Splinter laughed. Encouraged by the rats happy noise, Michelangelo slowly peeked his head back out of his shell with a slight giggle and smile. No one seemed to know what to say. The box turtle brothers shouldered their way deeper into the lair to start exploration of the place that would shelter them. Mikey, with Klunk in one arm, went to pluck a lit candle off of a shelf to smell; a sharp rebuttal from Splinter’s tail was all it took to correct and remind him not to touch. He still wanted to stay there to admire the plumes of smoke, but his entourage of older brothers forced him to keep going; not one of them had any plans of leaving their brother to his own devices. Not when his right side was so tight he could hardly move it. That, plus this strange new environment, made the instinct to protect the smallest brother grew to new heights. Slowly, like a herd of lumbering cattle, they made their way deeper into the living room area. Raph couldn’t help but whistle at the sight of the beautiful decor, admiring the fancy couch and neat stitch-work on the hand-made cushions. Donnie was more enraptured by the projection screen than anything else, his eyes like specks of gold in the earth as he approached the machine with eager chirps, only to be met with the same painful reminder from Splinter to not touch.

Raph gave a snort and shook his head before turning his full attention back to his friends, shifting his toothpick to the opposite side of his mouth. Michelangelo remained focused on the small piece of wood, his eyes like pin pricks at the nasty habit. He had figured Raph would eventually grow out of it! Alas, it was not to be, and here Raph was, still chewing on that nasty stick of wood.

“You all really seemed to have eh… buffed up since last we met.” Raph commented, crossing his arms.

“And you got uglier, if that’s possible.” Leonardo snapped back, lips pulling into a devilish grin.

“Leo—” Raphael started to correct, but Raph only laughed a deep, belly laugh.

“You’re just as snappy as ever, I see.” Raph gave Leonardo a smack on the back, which sent the turtle stumbling. Raph winced at his mistake and drew slightly into himself. “Oof. Sorry!”

Leonardo caught himself and laughed it off. Leo shot a glare over to Raph, who only shrugged in a ‘what are you gonna do?’ motion. Leo decided it best not to cause unnecessary conflict, so he shook his head and tried to push the altercation to the back of his mind.

“Come here, little man!” Raph opened an arm and pulled Michelangelo closer, giving him a tight squeeze. He rubbed Michelangelo’s head with his knuckles, almost choking the younger boy as Michelangelo tried to pull himself free of the bicep’s tight grip. Once he had successfully freed himself, Raph crouched down to Michelangelo’s level. “Lemme see ya! You gotten big, kid!”

Michelangelo puffed out his chest and cheeks proudly, putting hands on his hips and glowing under the praise.

“Oh, so he gets to call you little man?” Raphael asked, his voice almost hurt.

“Don’t start a fight, Raphie!” Michelangelo huffed, pointing at Raphael.

“I certainly wouldn’t want to get in a scuff wit’ ya.” Raph commented, and Raphael seemed just as proud of the compliment as Michelangelo had been. “You're as big as my Don now!”

Donnie and Raphael fell back to back with each other, Leonardo and Michelangelo both jumping on the opportunity to judge the height differences. Michelangelo scrambled up Donnie like a jungle gym to get better leverage and a more level view.

“Actually, I think Raph is a little bigger.” Leonardo said, then gave a side glance to Mikey. “What says the jury?”

“I say that’s a very big boi.” Michelangelo nodded and stated matter-a-factly.

“Heh, how’s it feel to be the second tallest, Ding-Don?” Raph smirked, nudging Donnie with his elbow.

Donnie tensed at the elbow to his side, readjusted his glasses, and said, “I don’t know Raph; how’s it feel to be the third tallest?”

Raph blinked. “Shit.”

“Language!” Splinter corrected Raph with a whip of his tail.

“Gee, he really likes doing that.” Leonardo commented, leaning over to whisper to his counterpart.

“You have no idea.” Leo laughed breathlessly, shaking his head.

Michelangelo, meanwhile, had found a new favorite game; Donnie, resigned to being Michelangelo’s plaything, held out his arm so the younger box turtle could swing on it like it was a monkey bar. It didn't cost the tech genius anything more than time, and seeing the little box turtle so happy and laughing made his heart flood with just as much joy. He remembered when Mikey had been like that, so happy to hang on his brothers like they were the most fun game in the lair. Mikey still did it from time to time, but it was different coming from another young box turtle.

Michelangelo swung several more times before he launched himself off of Donnie’s arm, flying through the air and landing perfectly on Leo’s shoulders. Leo flinched at the sudden weight on his shoulders but, when he recognized Michelangelo, he gave a smile and left the turtle to his devices. From there, Michelangelo jumped to Raph, who had been expecting the change and caught the little turtle in one arm. Michelangelo started to climb over Raph like a spidermonkey, giggling the whole time, before he got to Raph’s shoulders and launched himself at Mikey.

Mikey’s immediate instinct was to reach out with his Right arm.

“Mikey, wait—“ Donnie tried to warn.

Mikey caught Michelangelo—and immediately cried out. His arm bulged, veins looking ready to burst at the strain. It took all the focus of his training to not drop Michelangelo outright, instead carefully lowering the younger turtle to the ground before falling against the wall clutching his arm. Klunk scrambled from Mikey’s grip, terrified of the sudden commotion.

“Nnngnnoo, Klunky…”

Donnie was with his brother in seconds, supporting Mikey’s weight while whispering low and urgent to the mutant. Before he realized his feet were moving, Leonardo was there too, helping to calm and stabilize Mikey as the box turtle writhed and cried. He immediately started to guide Mikey and Donnie toward the medbay, and the rest of the mutants followed like lost puppies. They stopped at the threshold of the sterile environment, staring helplessly inside as Leonardo and Donnie guided Mikey to a bed do he could rest.

“Something happened, didn't it?” Leonardo whispered to Donnie, hopefully low enough where Mikey couldn’t hear them.

Donnie gave a weak nod, keeping his voice just as low. “Partial seizure with overall shaking and hypertonic after-effects on his right side.”

“Does your family know?”

Donnie shook his head. “I haven’t told them yet. They know something happened, just not what.”

“Alright.” Leonardo nodded, “What triggered it?”

“I… I don’t know. We've been having a lot more bumps and falls lately. And there was this light…”

“Dudes.” Mikey said finally, his voice weak. “I’m fine. Seriously!”

Leonardo and Donnie exchanged unsure looks before Leonardo turned his attention back to the patient.

“I know you are.” Leonardo said with a bright smile, “But it might help the big softies back there if you let us give you a quick workup.”

Leonardo nodded to the crowd at the doorway, who were all finding their own space to peek in and watch with eyeridges creased in concern. Mikey leaned to get a better view of them, and then fell back into place.

“Okay.” Mikey relented. 

“That’s the spirit.” Leonardo nodded, and then stood up so he could better address his eldest brother. “Raph, maybe you should get everyone situated?”

Raphael took the hint with a gruff growl and started to usher everyone away from the doorway to leave the medics and their patient in peace. 

“Well eh…” It took Raphael a second to think of a new subject, “Sleeping arrangements! I was thinking your Raph and Mikey could take over my room, Leo and Donnie can share Donatello’s room, and you, sensei, can take Leonardo’s room.”

“Oh, we couldn’t!” Splinter tried to dismiss, “Just a couple blankets and pillows should suffice!”

“Nonsense!” Raphael bellowed, “It’s my house, and I’m gonna treat my guests however I want, and I want you all to be comfortable while you’re staying here! Besides, I can’t let an old man sleep on the floor! Leonardo’s bed’s the most comfortable for… your eh… for your back…”

Raphael trailed off, off-put by the sharp, dark eyes of Splinter. Raph and Leo both covered their mouths with a sharp intake of breath, eyes bulging as they quickly divulged away from Splinter.

“I’m not old.” Splinter said in a tone as if he was daring Raphael to contradict. “I’m fifty-seven. Fifty-seven is not old.”

Raphael’s head started to shrink into his shell and his lips pursed in a pouty face. “Am I in trouble…?”

With a kick of his foot, Splinter caught his sandal in a hand and held it out to Raphael with a knowing look. No more words had to be exchanged for the meaning to get across. Splinter replaced his sandal.

“Well… you should still take the bedrooms!” Michelangelo insisted, “That’a way me and my brothers can have a big ol’ sleepover in my room!”

The box turtle struck a happy pose, one leg in the air and his hands clasped together as he beamed. Splinter took one look at him and sighed; he couldn’t say no to that face.

“Thank you for your generosity.” Splinter gave a bow of his head to Raphael, “I promise you we will leave your home in as well of a shape as we found it.”

“Yeah, it’s no sweat.” Raphael said.

“I’ll have Shelldon sanitize and prepare the rooms.” Donatello declared as he typed a message onto his wristband.

“Who?” Raph asked.

As an answer, a force whizzed by his head, with a voice to match. “BOOYAKASHA!”

“What was that?!” Leo gawked, not sure whether or not it was appropriate to grab his swords.

“That was Shelldon.” Donatello said simply, reaching over to close Leo’s mouth for him.

Raph stared after the drone, shaking his head. “Don’s gonna have a geek-gasm…”

~~~

Donnie’s immediate reaction upon seeing the drone was to geek out, and to then try to contain the excitement when he remembered how easy it would be to harm the drone if he wasn’t careful. Instead of actually touching Shelldon, he found his hands hovering over the drone and his breath hard to catch.

“Say hi, Shelldon.” Donatello urged.

“Heyyy!” Shelldon’s voice carried a familiar, robotic tone that one would expect for artificial life, but it also held a sort of ‘surfer-bro’ charm to it. Donnie certainly melted over it.

“Heh. He’s kinda like your drone, but interactive.” Raph pointed out.

“Yeah…” Donnie breathed, and only once he was able to break from the paralyzed state of his body did he flip his goggles down over his eyes. “Hi… I’m Donnie. Oh gods you’re beautiful…”

“He enjoys scritches behind all nine of his ears, located here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here!” Donatello pointed out all of the audio sensors on Shelldon’s body.

“Ohhh…” Donnie finally brought his hands to two of the pointed-out hot spots, carefully massaging along the sensitive sensors. When Shelldon began to purr, Donnie automatically returned the noise. “This is the greatest day of my life…”

Raph crossed his arms. “Aaaaaaand he’s gone”

~~~

Everything was wrong. Everything was dark and wet and it was hard to breathe, the smallest drip quaking him to his core. All he could smell was putrid filth, and all he could see was black, and all he could hear was the water around him. He was up to his waist in water, thick with grime and waste, and the fumes wafted up to suffocate his nose. The air burned his lungs in the worst possible way, but he had to keep going. He had to find his troop and harvest the mutagen. He had to find his commander and he couldn’t stop until he had new orders to follow. For the republic!

[starkerdestroyedmylifee]

Thief

Peter tries not to feel the weight of his backpack as he makes his way up from the lab. He really does. But, it’s heavy. 

‘Well, of course it is.’ 

Peter curses himself, popping up each step and hoping- praying- he doesn’t bump into anyone on the way. It’s still heavy, though. Even with his super-strength; heavy, and metal, and not his, because he really, really shouldn’t have it.

At all.

When the day had begun, Peter’d played the part of ‘devastated mentee’ to a T. His eyes had been puffy, exiting his aunt May’s car, rubbing his runny nose on the cuff of his suit.

No, not his suit.

Some store-bought thrift that didn’t quite fit his shoulders. A black jacket with fabrics frayed at the base, and dress-pants not quite long enough. Pepper had offered paying to get something tailored, but Peter’d declined quickly. It didn’t feel right, taking money from Mr. Stark’s fortune, even beyond the grave. They hadn’t known each other well enough. Which is odd, considering he’s currently attending said man’s funeral.

Peter tries not to linger on the fact that he’s technically (Technically meaning actually) stealing from Mr. Stark, and instead makes his way through the crowded living room. The majority of guests seem to be winding down now, what with Tony’s eulogy all said and done. Only soft, meditated tones, and consoling hands on shoulders, and Ms. Pepper Potts- smiling politely, but dead on her feet- striking up some conversation about sewage. He meets her gaze, and the weight of his backpack is bone-breaking.

She doesn’t walk over to him, thankfully. Of course, he’s just another kid wrapped up in her late husband’s antics. The invitation sent their way had been courteous at best, but worded as something that was supposed to happen, despite being a bit inappropriate. Peter’s a stranger, after all. And, what happens when you invite strangers into your house?

They steal your stuff.

Still, Ms. Potts nods his way. Soft; disinterested. Her gaze quickly slides over him, onto another guest far more deserving of her attention. Despite this, Peter’s back goes rigid for the few seconds spent on him. He holds his breath- freezes- before letting it out in relief.

‘This is horrible.’ Peter thinks to himself. ‘I’m literally going to hell for this.’ 

It doesn’t matter at this point. Not with his mind fogged in an overwhelming cloud of grief, or his eyes still stinging from such a heavy cry, or his throat burning from yet another wave of anguish. ‘No,’ he decides, tapping his aunt’s shoulder. ‘It doesn’t even matter at this point.’

He feigns a stomach ache, by which May thinks he’s playing sick to escape the depressing atmosphere of his idol’s funeral, and drives him home before Happy can so much as woo her to stay at his place.

Up the stairs.

Through the hallway.

Into his bedroom.

He shuts the door. Crumbles to pieces. Because-. Because, he finally starts realizing what he’s just done.

‘Oh, god. Oh god, this is so much worse than I thought it would be. This is- This is literally the worst idea I’ve ever had. Stupid, stupid, stupid!’

Peter can’t help his hands from shaking as he lifts the metal helmet out of his bag. It’s cold against his skin, which only makes his mouth go dry. Mr. Stark used to wear this. He used to wear this, and it’d been cold. Heavy and cold.

“...I really fucked up.” He says out loud, which only seems to solidify it.

Well, he can’t take it back now. Not if Pepper ends up noticing that it is gone. A monument. A goddamn trophy of Mr. Stark’s. One of his earliest models, with the classic red spray and golden faceplate. Christ, if he’d wanted it so badly, why didn’t he just buy a replica?

Because it wasn’t the same.

It isn’t the same.

But, damn it all, it’s also not his. 

Peter had just wanted something to remember Mr. Stark by, and-. God, that helmet had called to him like a siren. 

‘Mr. Stark would want you to have it.’ His brain had supplied.

Which-.

Uh.

No.

No, he would not want a literal child hanging onto his legacy like a fucking baseball card, instead of in a museum, or some well-maintained pedestal, or in a safe to be preserved for the next thousand years. Tony had been over the top like that. He liked to think his work was worth something. It was meant to adore.

The thought of Peter one day throwing it on top of his dirty laundry made him want to cry.

“Oh, god. Oh- Oh, shit. Okay, Peter. This is-. Oh, shit.” He tosses Mr. Stark’s helmet on the bed, and really does almost cry. A High-Tec, revolutionary piece of hardware, worn by Earth’s savior had just been thrown on his rumpled bedsheets, and goddamn fucking shit Peter is definitely- definitely- about to have a panic attack. He throws his arms up.

“That’s it.” Peter rambles sharply. “I’m screwed. I am so screwed, because I-. Oh my god, is it chipped? Of course it’s fucking chipped, Peter. It-. It’s Tony’s. Of course. Oh my god, I’m going to jail.” He peeks out the window, half-expecting to see cop cars at the entrance of his apartment complex. “Why did I do this?”

That’s the big question. Up until this point, Mr. Stark had only ever been an idol. Then a mentor. Then a father figure.

And, then-.

Okay, no. Peter is not going there. He paces around his room, onto his walls, the ceiling, hanging off his fingertips before plopping back onto his bare feet. He sighs, cursing, before making his inevitable journey back to the helmet.

Picking it up, his senses note a slight rise in temperature. It’s still cold, obviously. His room is well-heated though, unlike the lifeless cellar they’d had it cooped up in just hours before. Which makes Peter feel a little better about things- he smiles, tilting it this way and that. ‘Ha! A real home.’- before noticing a patch of crumbs on the helmet’s jaw from when he’d eaten Cheetos on the bed, wiped his fingers against the sheets, and seamlessly forgotten to throw them in the wash.

Peter almost faints.

Luckily, they’re easily wiped away by some bed-side tissues (Peter tries not to remember what he uses said tissues for. He’s already mortified by his poor treatment of it.) He sits on the bed with a huff, settling Mr. Stark’s tech in his lap like a pet. Peter runs his fingers over it apologetically, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Nothing feels like enough. He sighs, lowering his head.

“I bet you think this is pretty funny, huh?” Peter supplies, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Well, it’s not… It’s a little funny, but only because I know you’d probably have some quippy one-liner set up for me.” He falls onto his back, bringing the helmet to rest against his chest. Breathing out through his nose, he raises the metal mask just above him, so he can stare up at it. His bedroom light catches the surface of gleaming red, and Peter feels like a dirty slob just touching this rare treasure.

“Something like…” He pauses, thinking for a moment. “‘Oh, Peter. Looks like you’re a head of the game…’ That was really bad.” He chews his lip. “‘Sorry, kid. I want you to fill my shoes. This is a little much.’ God, no. That doesn’t sound like Mr. Stark at all.” Peter turns onto his side, letting the helmet lay against his pillow. They stare intimately at each other. ‘They’ being Peter and a lifeless curve of metal. He pulls the mask a bit closer.

“‘Woah there, Spiderman. At least buy dinner before you take it to bed.’” Peter turns his face into his pillow, groaning pitifully. 

“Why are helmet jokes so hard?” He pauses, mulling his complaint over. “Okay, that one wasn’t bad.” Like that, Peter angles his face to check on the helmet, and looks to see its reaction. Which creeps him out, of course. Alright, so maybe there are even more implications to stealing his idol’s helmet then the fact he stole it. Maybe it’s just bad to have an inanimate object symbolic of Mr. Stark around him.

‘No shit.’ Peter thinks to himself, drawing a hand down his face.

Still…

He places a finger along the metal mask’s faceplate; feels the cool of its surface, the crisp curve of each indent. It’s nice. Really, really nice. Which is exactly why he has to pull away and face the wall of his room.

‘Nope. No chance. Time out, Peter.’

He closes his eyes, counting back from one hundred. He does it seven times. Eight. It doesn’t matter. Peter turns around to face it again, and does exactly what he’d been doing before. His fingers map out the metal slabs, just imagining what it must’ve been like inside.

‘It probably smells like him.’ Peter’s brain coos.

‘What? Like booze, and sweat, and morning breath? Is that what you’re tempting me with?’

‘Yes.’

It doesn’t smell like Mr. Stark, for the record. It smells sterile and lifeless and unworn, like someone went and purged it of everything Tony. Which, Peter assures himself, is completely, totally fine. It doesn’t bother him a bit.

Not one bit.

Not when he slips a hand inside and feels the strange padding used to cradle Mr. Stark’s head. Or when he pulls it out, not devastated to find the man hadn’t shed any hair. Nope. Not even a little. Because that would be weird, and a little obsessive. A lot obsessive. It’s not like Peter could clone Mr. Stark if he had any kind of DNA. It’s not like Peter wants to.

He checks his alarm clock, the same one still ticking five years after the blip; 10:47.

Not crazy late. On the contrary, it’d be amazingly early for the hyper-active teen to turn in just yet. That’s what he tells himself as he reaches over his night stand, tugging the string of his lamp light. The room goes dark and Peter tries (Read: fails miserably) to fall asleep. Looking his crime in the face anymore than he already has to is punishment enough, at least for today.

He tries to ease his muscles, but they just won’t let up. There’s a weight in his bed that he’s not used to, and it sets all his human nerves on edge, even with his Spidey-senses dormant. Peter should put it in the closet, but he can’t bear the image of allowing it to collect dust. On the contrary, the thought leaves him choked and wanting a glass of water he doesn’t have the energy to grab. The idea of mistreating anything Tony Stark-related has the young vigilante in shambles.

Which is why he soon finds himself rotating around to face the helmet in his bed. Even through darkness, he can make out a sharp outline of lunar beams streaming in through the window. It’s soothing. It’s reprimanding. Peter sniffs, blinking away what feels like an ocean of tears.

“I’m sorry…?” He offers shyly. His tone breaks, shoulders bunched, brow pinched with a grimace only offset by the flush of his cheeks. ‘At least here,’ Peter thinks to himself, ‘I can get some kind of closure.’ 

Which is exactly what leads him to kiss the metal armor.

Soft, across where he’s sure Tony’s lips would be located. It’s quick. Innocent, really. If things weren’t so different in the 21st century, people might mistake it for a platonic peck. Because Tony- brave, wise Tony- was like a father to him, in the only way he understood a father could be. It’d been so tender, after all. With those sweet, thin fingers caressing, not pulling, and palms that cradled, not smooshed. Nothing demanding. Nothing sexual. Just a good ol’ fashion kiss, which lasts no more than a few seconds.

Peter promises himself it isn’t anything else. It’s a platonic kiss on the lips. Which is a thing. It is, but other people might make it out to be something more. Someone like MJ would probably cackle her ass off if she knew he’d given the mask a kiss, as short as it is.

The few that follow after are a bit longer.

By the time Peter finishes, he’s relaxed in the worst way possible. He feels groggy, worn at the lips, and shitty as all hell because that last kiss had definitely been excessive. 

And, okay.

Peter has a massive crush on Mr. Stark.

It’s terribly obvious. And tragic as shit, since the man is dead. Despite reminding himself, he can’t help but cling onto that damn feeling of metal on chapped, teenage lips. He feels sleepy, and he suddenly doesn’t want to be. It feels immensely inappropriate falling asleep next to a helmet he smooched to pieces.

Like sleeping next to Tony in Peter’s perverse, miserable fantasies.

Where Ms. Potts is away on business, and Mr. Stark is oh-so alone, and oh-so desperate for some kind of bodily touch. Where Peter is his sexy young intern, who has the confidence to wear feminine lingerie under his work clothes, and doesn’t mind brushing hips. They could make hot, passionate love in the lab for all he cares, and Mr. Stark would call him Baby, and Peter would call him Daddy, and it would hardly be funny to say in the moment, though he might snort when thinking over it later.

Best of all, Tony likes Peter best in his fantasies.

Parker is his favorite.

It’s only ever fantasy, though. Peter knows better than to indulge it.

In a conflicting fit between putting the helmet away, or pulling a sheet over top, or entertaining the notion of sneaking it back in place before anyone notices it’s gone, Peter decides to give the mask his bed while he sleeps on the floor. He’d much rather give Mr. Stark his best than chance disrespecting the man’s memory in favor of comfort. He obviously can’t be trusted, getting too close to Tony-related objects.

Laying on his bedroom floor twiddling his thumbs, Peter can’t help but wonder: What has my life come to?

[whumpingcrow]

Pt. 1 "First Impressions" (Elias Intro)

CW: foster care mention, tourettes syndrome, ticcing, drug mention, food mention, conversation about abuse, hospital setting, injury mention, discussion of poisoned food, vomit mention (let me know if i missed anything!)

Elias was nothing special, really, not in his eyes. He was taken from his deadbeat parents when he was 11, he was tossed around from foster homes to group homes and back again for an exhausting seven years, he didn’t finish high school. The most interesting thing about him was his tourettes, but even that was embarrassing and shameful, another reason to be ignored. Truth was, he was swept under the rug and forgotten for his whole life, so no one, including himself, thought he would ever amount to much, or thought he was worthy of nice things. People like him didn’t just get nice things, unless they were very lucky, and Elias had found out time after disappointing time that he was not one of the fortunate ones.

But Tyson sure as hell made him feel like he could be.

It was amusing to Elias how they met, even though Tyson claimed he wished it would’ve been more pleasant. Tyson had yet to learn that Elias repelled pleasantries. Elias had been staying with a few people he knew from high school, before he dropped out, in their cramped apartment, working part time at a diner so he could try and move out and be on his own. He was so tired of sharing small spaces with people. He would walk home from work everyday, because of course he couldn’t afford a car or even a bike. On that particular night, it was dark and raining, and Elias was in a particular rush to get to the apartment and change out of his wet clothes. Which is why he tried to rush across the street where there wasn’t a crosswalk, unaware of the fast car turning the corner until he heard the screech of tires next to him.

The man that got out of the car looked just as scared as Elias felt, rushing towards him in a flurry of apologies. “I am so sorry! Are you ok? Are you hurt?” His voice was shaking, and it made Elias uneasy, he didn’t look like he would scare easily, with his strong build and his mature face.

Elias scowled at him, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t drive so fast on this road, dickbag,” he scolded, “you could’ve fucking killed me!”

The man looked surprised, like he wasn’t expecting someone of Elias’s stature to have such a foul mouth. “I...I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t see you crossing and I...Where are you headed? Let me give you a ride.”

“What?” He squeaked in response. Logically, he knew it was his fault anyway, he wasn’t supposed to cross there, it was dark and rainy and not this stranger's fault, he was just quick to anger and too afraid to admit when he was in the wrong. “GIve me a ride?”

“Please, it’s the very least I can do. I feel awful.”

Elias knew that he shouldn’t get into a stranger's car, that it might be dangerous, that this man's kindness could be some sort of sinister facade. But he seemed so genuine, so concerned. So he slowly nodded, ducking into the passengers side door carefully. It was better than walking home in the rain. “My name’s Elias.” He heard himself saying.

“Elias,” the man repeated, “I’m Tyson.”

That was over a month ago, and the two were much more than strangers who almost had a horrible accident, by now. As Tyson was driving him home, they were talking about surface level things to fill the awkward spaces, and Tyson mentioned his ex-boyfriend, at which Elias mentioned his ex-boyfriend, and when they got to his apartment, Tyson asked for his number. They’d gotten much closer since then, Elias even stayed over at Tyson’s apartment a few days a week.

Tyson was so down to earth, so kind and forgiving and patient. He smoked weed, but he never pressured Elias into it, like other people had in the past. He was a nurse at a behavioral health hospital, he only worked nights, so they typically spent all day together. Elias was so enthralled by him and everything he did, often he would sit with Tyson as he drew sloppy, drug hazed sketches, or talk with him about the way the world worked, or things of that nature. The best part about being with Tyson was that he never felt forgotten or ignored, and he rather enjoyed the new attention. He enjoyed feeling cared about, important.

Sometimes Elias would stay at Tyson’s apartment when Tyson went to work, sleeping in his bed and waiting for him to come home in the morning. Tyson came home and crawled under the covers to catch up on sleep he’d missed at work, and after a while of holding each other while they slept, Elias got up to cook breakfast. He wasn’t a great cook, per say, but he could fry an egg alright, and maybe whip up some french toast on a good day. Today was apparently not one of the better ones, and the burnt food ended up in the trash, leaving him with scrambled eggs in the bottom of the pan. It wasn’t spectacular, but it would have to do.

“Good morning,” he called to Tyson as he came into the kitchen, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He always looked so nice upon waking up, his hair messy and how the late morning sun hit his beautiful dark skin as he stretched. “I made eggs. Not sure how safe they are to eat, though.”

Tyson offered a weak smile, but didn’t seem too amused at the joke. Elias wondered if he’d done something wrong, Tyson was usually so light-hearted.

“I need to talk to you about something, Eli.” He grumbled. Elias quite liked that nickname, but not when the rest of the sentence sounded so heavy. “Can we sit for a second?”

Once they were at the table, Elias took a deep breath, ready to put his defenses up, ready to be angry instead of hurt. He found himself thinking over the last few days, had he said something wrong? Was he annoying him? Overstaying his welcome at his apartment? “You’re tired of me, aren’t you?” He asked.

“No! Oh God, Eli, no!” He reached forward to take his hand as he spoke, smiling at him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out. You’re fine, we’re fine. This is about...well, it’s about my ex.”

Elias relaxed a fraction at the reassurance, so he was fine, Tyson wasn’t sick of him. Then he nodded for him to go on, listening carefully. Tyson didn’t talk about him much, but Elias knew that his name was Allen, that he had a lot of issues that were never really discussed in detail.

“You know how I told you that he had a lot going on? That he was sort of...a mess?” He paused, taking a deep breath to organize his thoughts. “Well, a while ago, he got mixed up with these really bad people, it wasn’t his fault, it should’ve never happened, and he got really hurt.” Tyson sounded nervous, and Elias squeezed his hand gently to comfort him. “Anyway, this guy he was with really hurt him, for a really long time. His name is August. I mean, this guy was a monster, he ruined his life.”

“Why are you telling me all this?” Elias asked. The subject seemed to make both of them uneasy, and he stroked his thumb mindlessly against Tyson’s knuckles.

Tyson took a deep breath then, looking like he didn’t want to answer. “Well...He got hurt again, he’s at the hospital. I guess he didn’t want to call his boyfriend so they called me instead. I have to go pick him up. And I wanted you to come with me, if you’re comfortable with that.”

Elias didn’t know why he agreed to it, really, he just knew that within an hour he was walking down the cold, sterile, hallway of a hospital, hand in hand with an obviously nervous Tyson. He wasn’t really sure what to expect, having heard very few things about Allen in the past. Allen didn’t have his shit together, Tyson had told him, so as much as they had tried to work through things, it just wasn’t possible. From what he gathered, Tyson cared a lot about this guy, even if it wasn’t in that way anymore, and he believed him. Allen had someone else anyway, so he didn’t have anything to worry about. At least he hoped he didn’t.

Elias was shocked at how horrible Allen looked, like he was seconds from keeling over right there on the hospital bed. He was bruised up every few inches from head to toe, a sick pallor to him. Tyson wasn’t lying when he’d said that the person, August, had really hurt him.

Tyson rapped gently against the door frame, causing Allen to squint up at them with a pained look on his face. His black hair fell against his jaw and a few strands over his face, like he couldn’t be bothered to push it away from his eyes. He would be very attractive, if not for the splotchy bruises on his face, Elias thought to himself. His features were striking, all sharp angles and piercing eyes, his full lips parted slightly in fear.

“Oh, Allen.” Tyson breathed, his voice disdainful, upset at the state he was in. Recognition finally fell across his face, as if he couldn’t see who it was before he spoke.

“Tyson,” he whimpered, “you ca-came.” Relief coated his words, like he was expecting Tyson to say he didn’t want to come help him. Elias knew Tyson, knew the selfless way he cared for people, and if that’s what Allen was expecting, it was completely unrealistic.

“Of course.” Tyson reached to the side and flipped on one of the lights, which made Allen flinch horribly and squeeze his eyes shut for a moment. Elias was watching on with a pitiful interest, he had never seen someone so hurt, so scared. This August guy must’ve really done a number on him.

Elias followed close behind Tyson as he went to pull up a chair next to the bed, and Allen stared at him apprehensively. As if just remembering he was there, Tyson reached for his hand again as they sat down. “I forgot to introduce you, this is my boyfriend, Elias.” He shot him a fond look, and Elias smiled brightly back. He liked the sound of that, “his boyfriend”.

“Nice to finally meet you,” he spoke softly, trying not to startle him, “I’ve heard quite a bit about you. All good things.”

Allen nodded, dropping his head to look at the blanket and picking at a loose thread there. “Nice t-to meet you, too,” he stammered. “Ty, you didn’t uh...tell Leo, right? That I was here?”

“No,” Tyson assured him. “Did you want me to?” He sounded so comforting, so kind, just like he always did.

“No, I do-don’t think I’m ready to see him.”

They fell into a heavy silence after that, no one knowing what the right thing to say was. Eventually, Allen began to ask questions about their relationship, trying to get them to talk about themselves so he didn’t feel the attention on him. It worked for a while, up until Tyson had to excuse himself to the bathroom, and then Allen looked even more frightened as he realized he would be alone with Elias, a perfect stranger.

Elias ran through ways in his head of how to make Allen know that he meant no harm, that he wasn’t going to hurt him. Before he could think about it, he blurted, “I hope you don’t still like him.” He felt bad as soon as he said it, Allen was sitting in a hospital bed, covered in aches and pains, the last thing he needed was for Elias to interrogate him in his insecurity. He was surprised when Allen let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

“Who, Tyson?” He replied. Elias nodded half-heartedly. “No, I haven’t for awhile. D-don’t worry.”

Elias relaxed, leaning forward in his chair. “Ok, cause I really like him.” He bit his lip, a thoughtful look on his face. “He really cares about you. Maybe not in that way, but he really does. And that’s ok, cause you look like you could use someone who cares about you.”

Allen’s face softened, and he seemed to deflate from his afraid, panicked demeanor, at least a little. “I could. Th-thank you.”

Just then, Tyson walked in, smiling softly at the two of them. “Are you talking about me?” He teased, ruffling Elias’s blond hair as he walked past him to sit down.

“Us? Oh no, we were talking about football.” Elias joked. Tyson laughed, but Allen couldn’t even smile. He seemed glad for the company, but he didn’t look like he was used to being talked to, included in conversation.

“So, if you’re not staying with Leo right now, do you have somewhere to stay?” Tyson asked. Allen didn’t answer, didn’t even look up. He seemed like he was checked out, his thoughts somewhere else, very far from the safety of the hospital room. “Allen?”

Allen flinched at his own name, then looked up at him. “Sorry...what?”

“I said do you have a place to stay?”

Allen looked thoughtful, staring back at the wall. “Oh. Uh...I hadn’t thought about it, really. I g-guess once I start talking to Leo again...if he’ll even want to talk to me again…”

“Maybe you could stay with us,” he interrupted, already seeing where the anxious thought was headed, “Would that be ok, Eli?”

Elias nodded eagerly. He didn’t even realize that they were “us” at that point, as far as living together. It was nice to hear him phrase it that way. And he could tell from looking at Allen that he really needed a safe place to stay, and Tyson could definitely provide that.

Allen thanked them, then went quiet again. After a few moments, he sighed heavily, like simply existing was extremely taxing on his well being. “I always feel so l-lost without him.” He admitted. “I know I shouldn’t, b-but I just feel like I’m doing everything wrong and just d-don’t know.”

Elias assumed he was talking about August, and he felt bad. He couldn’t imagine how shitty it must feel to miss someone who had caused so much pain, damaged him so badly. Elias had been hurt and betrayed by people who were supposed to take care of him plenty of times, but he’d never missed them after, only looking back with resentment and anger.

“Yeah,” Tyson breathed. “I know it’s really rough on you. He really messed up your view of good and bad. But you’re doing great, someone will tell you if something isn’t ok, you’re not gonna be in trouble or anything.”

It was amazing, how Tyson could talk someone out of their panic so easily, how he seemed to know just what to say to assure them. Allen merely shrugged, clearly not as amazed as Elias was. “Leo probably hates me. I’m so afraid to call him.”

“We’ll figure that out when we get back. I’m sure he doesn’t, he’s probably just worried sick. You’ve got a tendency to do that to him.” He smiled softly at him, trying to get him to relax. It didn’t work.

Allen only had to be in the hospital for about an hour and a half after that, and then Tyson drove him and Elias back to his apartment. Elias glanced back at him every now and then, frowning when he saw he had pulled his hood over his eyes and was covering his ears with his hands. He turned the music down, thinking that maybe it was too loud, but Allen stayed tucked away into his little shell the rest of the ride back.

Finally, he was sitting at the kitchen table with his hands folded in front of him obediently as Tyson cooked them lunch. Elias came and sat with him at one point, smiling at him. “I really like your hair,” he said, “really suits your face.” He hoped that if he was nice enough, Allen would stop being so afraid and get comfortable. It was sad to see him looking so worried.

“Thank you.” Allen replied, almost mechanically.

Tyson joined them minutes later, setting a plate in front of Allen, who began staring at it trivially.

“What, you don’t like it?” Tyson teased. Even though he knew he was trying to ask it in a joking way so he wouldn’t freak Allen out, Elias could tell he was genuinely concerned. He hoped Allen knew that too.

Allen only frowned up at him, like he was too afraid to speak. He was so god damn quiet, Elias gathered. He didn’t know how, because Elias had been through his fair share of hard times and they all made him loud and pissed off. He couldn’t think of a single time that someone had treated him like garbage and he decided he would be quiet. He couldn’t tell if that signified that what happened to Allen was more dreadful than he could guess, or if they just handled things differently. He hopped, for Allen’s sake, that it was the ladder.

“N-no..I just uh...just…” he trailed off, picking up his fork with shaking hands. He looked like he was going to be sick, staring at the food. Elias tasted it, out of curiosity, but it was just fine.

“You just what?” Tyson prompted.

Allen had tears in his eyes as he stabbed through the food, staring at it in fear, like it was going to hurt him itself. For a moment, he looked like he was going to try to eat it, but then he dropped the fork to the plate with a clink and covered his face. “I’m s-sorry,” he choked out, “I really am.”

“Hey, it’s ok. Why don't you tell me what’s going on? We’ll figure it out.”

“J-just...last time someone gave me f-food, it was August, and he put something in it th-that made me sick for days... I just can’t stop thinking about that.”

Tyson and Elias exchanged a disgusted frown, not wanting to believe that someone would do that. “What a dick,” Elias remarked, “seriously, who the fuck does that?”

Allen shook his head, wiping at his tears furiously. “No, he only did it because I was doing something wrong. I d-deserved it.”

“Don’t say that. You did nothing wrong, Allen.”

He nodded at that, shutting himself up. Elias suddenly wasn’t hungry. None of them were.

“I think I need to call Leo,” Allen suddenly said, standing from the table. He grabbed his phone, then went outside.

Elias stood up and began helping Tyson clean up the untouched food from the table. He wondered if what he said upset Allen, that’s why he suddenly wanted to leave. It was true though, August was a dick for it, and there was nothing Allen could have done to warrant that kind of treatment. “Did I upset him?” Elias asked Tyson, a worried look on his face. “I didn’t mean to-”

“No, love, it’s not your fault. He’s just fragile right now.” He sighed heavily as he set the plates into the sink, looking rather overwhelmed. “I know this is a lot to handle, thank you for being so cool about it.”

Before he could respond, Allen came back in, tears streaming down his face. “Leo’s coming to g-get me,” he murmured, leaning against the wall as if it was too hard to stand upright on his own, “thank you f-for everything.”

Tyson nodded at him, a look of relief slipping onto his face. “Oh, that’s good. How did talking to him go?”

Allen shrugged uselessly, not wanting to go into depth. He seemed exhausted, and no one could blame him, with what he’d been through. Tyson offered to walk him outside to meet Leo, and Elias sat inside by himself while he waited. He thought about how strange of a circumstance it was, usually when people met their partners ex, things were tense and awkward, but meeting Allen wasn’t like how he’d expect, he wasn’t jealous or insecure, he mainly just felt bad for the guy.

When Tyson came back inside, it was like they were both too afraid to talk about what happened, so they just turned on a movie instead, leaning against each other and pretending there was nothing to talk about.