#I can’t unsee the knee highs now

[ohfugecannada]

I was watching the Rocket & Groot shorts again and just noticed something:

?

??

???

[bonez-and-gutz]

hands tied | sub! bottom! oikawa tooru x gn! dom! reader

once again, not a request but a thing i wrote in english bc my friend told me to 😁

warnings: fuck machine, overstimulation, dacryphilia, bottom oikawa tooru, hand jobs, dom! reader

The whirr of a machine fills the previously silent room, loud squelches accompany it. On the king sized mattress lies Tooru, on his hands and knees. Well, more like his knees and shoulders. His hands lie at the small of his back, bound with silky black rope, hips pressed up in the air, and his face buried in the light grey sheets. 

Behind him, a fuck machine works away, a girthy dildo attached to the end. It pistons in and out of Tooru, hitting his prostate directly. 

“Hnnnnggg,” he whines out, trying to move away from the stimulation. Black matching ropes keep his ankles tied to the bedpost, leaving the brunette unable to squirm away. As the machine thrusts, his erect dick swings under him. A string of pre-cum connects the reddened tip to the small pool of cum left from his previous orgasms. 

“Oh, look at you, Tooru. So pretty for me,” you coo, reaching out to stroke one finger across the shaft of his cock. His hips jolt at the touch as he whimpers.

“Nooooooo, I can’t! S’too much,” he cries out as he turns his face to look at you. You remove your finger from his swollen cock and move it up to his hair. 

“Yes, you can. You can take it real nice for me. Can’t you, baby?” You scratch your fingers through his hair and he relaxes the slightest bit into the touch. 

“Too much,” he responds, his eyes glassy as he looks up at you.

“Good,” you punctuate the phrase by wrapping your fingers into his hair and yanking hard.

“Fuckkk!” Tooru moans out, eyes closing as you lift his head. You hold him there for a few seconds, waiting for his response. 

“Please! No more! I can’t,” he begs, opening his eyes and staring straight into yours. 

“Wrong answer,” you finish. Letting go of his hair, his head flops back onto the bed as you move to turn up the speed of the fuck machine. 

The previously intense setting is upped by a faster one and you add more lube directly onto Tooru’s hole, the cold makes his shiver. With lube now dripping down his ass and the seam of his balls, you sit back and watch. 

The dildo disappears and reappears fast, the silicone made to have a perfect curve designed to hit Tooru’s prostate on every thrust. The sheets under his dick are soiled with cum and more pours out of his cock. The ones under his head are soaked with tears, from both pleasure and overstimulation. The muscle in his arms bulges out as he strains against the ropes that keep him bound, his feet shift and toes curl as his legs struggle with the black rope. His mouth is open wide, drool joining the wet spot by his face as he moans, high pitched and loud.

It’s then that you notice the way his hips twitch, the muscles in his thighs contract. You recognize his body’s behavior: he’s going to cum. 

“Come on baby, you can do it. It’s your last one, you’ve been so good for me,” you coo out, running a hand over the curve of his asscheek. Your hand trails down, lightly tracing his perineum before cupping his balls in your palm and lightly squeezing. His hips thrust into the touch as you finally, finally, move your hand to grip his dick. 

With firm, fast strokes, you jerk him off and he screams.

“Fuuuuck!! Shit! Please, I’m cumming, please, please, please, please,” he pleads, fat tears rolling down his cheeks as he gazes at you with pure need. 

“Let go, baby,” you command with finality, and Tooru listens. Oh, does he listen. 

His back arches in the air as he shoves back onto the dildo, trying to figure out if he wants to grind back into the dildo or fuck into your hand. 

With a full body twitch, he comes beautifully. Back arched, eyes wide and unseeing, face flushed, and cock kicking. 

He cums and cums, spilling out over the bed and your hand for the final time.

It wracks his body to the point that he goes limp from exertion. 

You take your hand off his cock and stroke his hair. 

“Good boy, you did so good for me, Tooru.”

[stolenslumber]

i wanna lock in your love (sjy)

PAIRING: sim jaeyun x gender neutral reader GENRE: best friends to lovers, newly established relationship, fluff WARNINGS: kissing, suggestive content WORD COUNT: 1.1k

“So… what do we do now?” Jake asks. His head tilts quizzically at you from where he hovers at the side of the bed— his own bed, so why does he feel so nervous?

Your hands smooth over his bedsheets robotically, just as nervous. It’s the end of your first date with Jake Sim, who has seen you in diapers and acne and graduation gowns alike; who knows you like a favorite song, played backwards and forwards and over and over again; who looks at you with such sweet adoration that your heart lurches and trembles whenever you catch him staring at you. 

It’s the same look he’s been wearing proudly for the past week, ever since you’d finally gotten on the same page about the way you feel for each other. He’d wear this look for the rest of his life, if you let him. 

And you would. You’d let him do anything he wants; but the words die in your throat, caught somewhere between aching familiarity and wobbly newness. 

He’s the same Jake who raced you around the block under never-ending sunshine in those hazy elementary years, and he’s the same Jake who told you last week that the air you breathe— you, just you— is more precious than anything in the world. 

(He had added that he could confirm this, thanks to everything he knows about the laws of physics, and you had poked his forehead and called him a nerd for that joke, so truly: he’s the same Jake as he has always been.)

But even after all this time, there are still parts of him that you never knew. Like how his mouth moves against yours like he was made for you; fluid, eager, earnest, forming words of devotion in Korean and English, haphazardly alternating between the two after you’d kissed him for the first time after that stupid joke. Like how his face shines in the glow of requited love, his half of which he had been holding tightly against his chest for so long as an unspeakable treasure. Like how his fingers dance across your skin as they did during today’s date, tracing mindless stars and hearts over your arms, raising goosebumps from you and chuckles from him.

So… what do we do now? There’s really only one answer you can give. 

“Whatever you want,” you let out— finally, truthfully, and with a great whoosh of air that you’d been holding in for too long.  

Suddenly, Jake laughs; that high-pitched giggle so dear to you that it automatically makes you smile.

“We’re being dumb,” he declares as he drops himself onto his bed, settling with his back against the headboard. 

“Speak for yourself,” you retort, but there’s hardly any conviction to your voice, what with how distracted you’ve become by the way he has one arm tucked behind his head and his bottom lip caught under his teeth.

He laughs again, but now it’s breathless, because he’s tracking the rise of the flush from your chest to your cheeks. “C’mere, cutie.” He pats the spot next to him and hopes you don’t notice how his hand shakes. 

Of course, that just makes you flush deeper, but you obediently scooch up until you’re hovering over him, up on your knees while he looks at you with that same adoration that scrambles your thoughts once again. 

Slowly, he reaches out and unfurls your fingers from the unconscious fists they had formed. He takes your hands in his and squeezes, once, twice; right in time with your racing heart. 

When he speaks, it’s hushed and sacrosanct. “Will you let me love you?” 

“I always have,” you murmur. And it’s true. Now that you’ve seen it, you can’t unsee it: Jake has looked at you like this for a long, long time. Realizing it was like coming up for air when you hadn’t even known you were drowning. 

He hugs you close, bringing you into his lap. “Then will you kiss me?” 

And when he asks so sweetly, how could you ever say no?

You get lost in kissing him as heat rises all around you just as quickly as it had risen in your cheeks, until it’s almost unbearable and you’re whining something incomprehensible against his mouth. 

He tears himself away from you with a gasp. His chest heaves, and his lips are so shiny and red that it makes you squirm in his lap. His hands tighten around your hips to still your movements even as he asks, “What do you want, angel? I’ll give you whatever you want.” 

Your thoughts ricochet in every direction; there’s too much you want, and the strength of your want is dizzying. One thought bubbles up to the top: “Off. Please take this off.” Your fingers scratch against his stomach through the thin fabric of his white T-shirt. 

He shudders underneath you, and he can’t stop himself from wrenching another whine from your throat when he kisses you again, so deeply that you almost miss it when he attempts to take his shirt off with one hand. Of course, you do notice when he fumbles and gets stuck in the shirt. 

All of a sudden, the almost suffocating tension in the room pops, and you can’t stop laughing when a muffled, “Don’t look at me,” comes from inside his shirt. You’re still laughing when he finally untangles himself and gets out of it. 

“What were you trying to do?” You ask, settling your hands on top of his shoulders. 

“Some trick I learned from the older guys on the team. Heeseung, mostly,” he admits. His fingers fidget with the hem of your shirt. 

“Heeseung can do that?” 

Jake makes a face at you. “Yeah, so what? Are you impressed, or something?”

You burst out laughing again. “No, you idiot, I think you’re all very stupid.”

He nods as his hand splays against your back underneath your shirt, pressing you closer to him. “Okay, but you like me the most, right?”

You roll your eyes even as you lean into his chest. “Obviously. I love you, like, an embarrassing amount.”

He chokes on air. “Sorry, I’m still not used to hearing that. Feels like I’m dreaming, y’know?”

“Me, too. The best dream ever,” you sigh, settling your ear against the steady beat of his heart. The overwhelming heat from before simmers down to comfortable warmth; fervor slips into felicity. 

Unexpectedly, you yawn. You’re halfway to apologizing when Jake shushes you with a kiss. “Sleep,” he urges. “I’ll be here when you wake up. We have all the time in the world, lover of mine. The rest of our lives.” 

And you do. And you do. 

[blacktofade]

Gemtho Fortnight Day 10

Prompt: Hello! Here for the Gemtho prompts! I mainly wanna try and request prompts you probably won't otherwise get. My first prompt is Gem dominating Etho, with a focus on cbt (mainly ballbusting, that's my fav). And for the other prompt, it's... also Gem dominating Etho, -but with a focus on foot fetish instead! There's only one non M/M foot fetish Hermitcraft fic, so why give another to the weirdos like me! Alternatively you could mix both prompts into one! Also I don't mind/care if it's RPF or not!

cw: nsfw

Gem finally realizes it’s not just a bit for Etho when she moves in close and finds he’s already hard. She glances down, smoothing her palm across the front of his pants, and he rolls his hips, like he’s trying to get more.

“Have you been thinking about it all day?” she asks, gently rubbing at him and listening for every catch in his breath.

He nods and she hooks one finger into his waistband and tugs.

“Take these off,” she tells him, “and get on your knees.”

For once, Etho doesn’t try to fight her, in fact, he hurries to obey, kneeling at her feet once he’s bare from the waist down.

He’s so hard, he’s dripping precome, and she’s almost disappointed she can’t get her mouth on him instead.

She sits on the edge of her bed, hands on her knees as she stretches out her legs toward him. He lets out a heavy breath when she rests her feet on his thighs and she digs in her toes, just to see what’ll happen.

His dick flexes, dribbling as he reaches down to cup himself, and she eases her foot higher, resting the ball of it against his hip.

“Move me wherever you want,” she tells him, and he glances up, brows drawn together like it makes him ache to hear her say that.

But he does as she says, fingers curling around her ankle before he moves her down, pressing the arch of her foot against his cock. He shudders, hips rocking, grinding himself against her as he exhales shakily, and Gem can’t believe she gets to see him like this.

“Has anyone ever done this for you?” she asks and Etho shakes his head, eyes tight. “You can ask for this whenever you want, you know that, right?”

She moves her other foot across, gently pressing at his balls with her toes, and the noise he lets out makes her want to press him flat on his back and ride him hard and fast.

He stares down between his legs, starting to set a proper rhythm as he ruts against the sole of her foot. He’s so warm, and she can feel the wetness of his precome as he lets the tip of his cock nudge against the underside of her toes.

“Gem,” he pants and she presses against his balls a little harder, cutting off his breath and turning it into a guttural moan instead.

“You’re not gonna last, are you?”

Etho has a tell — he gets a little divot between his brows when he’s close. She’s started to notice it recently whenever he fucks her, and now she can’t unsee it.

He shakes his head, fingers tightening around her ankle as the movement of his hips turns ragged.

“Gem,” he repeats, and she’s felt him come across the small of her back before, her breasts, her stomach, her face, but across her foot feels completely different.

He’s loud too, gasping and grinding until he finally lets her go, his whole body sagging as though the effort has been too much.

She gives him a second to come down from the high before she lifts her foot and presses it against his collarbone.

“Clean up the mess,” she tells him and he raises his head to stare at her, his spent cock jerking, but he doesn’t even hesitate before he grabs her ankle again and pulls her foot up to his mouth at the same time that he tugs down his mask.

His tongue is hot as it swipes across her, licking up his own come, carefully easing between each of her toes as though not wanting to miss a single inch of skin.

She lets him work at her, lets him take his time, and eventually he seems satisfied with his efforts, pressing his forehead against her instep.

“Better?” she asks and, after a moment, he nods, pressing a final kiss to the top of her foot.

“Thank you,” he murmurs and she smiles, more than happy to help give him whatever he wants.

[cricketnationrise]

5pm, Balmoral, King James, change by Taylor Swift please?

interestingly, this will be my first movie-verse piece. (this is why i love the ficlet fests i always get a huge range of prompts).

I focused more on the first stanza of the song, especially And it's a sad picture, the final blow hits you / Somebody else gets what you wanted again for this ficlet, because the rest of it feels more like Henry than his grandfather to me. I hope you like it, and thank you for all your enthusiastic comments in my inbox, they brighten my day! 💜🦗

want your own ficlet? followers can submit their own here using these guidelines through January 31, 2024.

❤️🤍💙❤️🤍💙

5:00pm, balmoral

The world outside the windows of his private den is dark. 

Not the streetlight-reflected dark of nights at Buckingham, no. Balmoral has always been remote enough to see a bevy of stars on a clear summer night. Tonight though, the Scottish weather seems to be mockingly imitating James’ mood. A violent summer storm had risen up shortly after he’d arrived on the property this morning, dumping rain and harsh winds battering the stone fortress he’d retreated to. Tonight, the stars will be out of sight, and even the moon likely to be hidden away by dark clouds. The howling wind had finally died down a few hours ago, gentling to the occasional rustle of wet leaves.

His den is only lit by the dying fire.

James stares into it, unseeing, and lets his mind race. A log finally gives up its structural integrity, collapsing into embers at the bottom of the grate with a shower of sparks. He’s too lost in his thoughts to stoke the flames up in reaction. The grandfather clock in the corner chimes five in the evening and James finishes the last dregs of his drink with a heavy sigh. The empty bottles on his bar cart mock him just as much as the full ashtray at his side.

The staff will be laying the table for dinner right about now, but James is far past eating, his mind still stuck on yesterday’s events. The news reports play in his head in an unceasing loop; he wishes he had the energy to find another pack of cigarettes, to refill his drink—anything to drown out the echoes.

“The Prince of England’s Hearts embraced his own today…”

“...a revolution for this country…”

“No member of the Royal family has ever been publicly out, but Prince Henry…”

“...Royal glass closet shattered today when His Royal Highness, Prince Henry stepped onto Buckingham’s balcony, hand in hand with First Son, Alexander Claremont-Diaz…”

“...leak that prompted protests in support of Prince Henry all of last week…”

“...Prince Henry’s appearance with the First Son today sparked celebrations in the streets across the whole United Kingdom.”

The voices of the news anchors swirl and layer over each other in his head until he can’t separate individual words any longer. James hunches in his leather chair, elbows on his knees, and grips his forehead between his hands, hard, in a futile attempt to make it stop. The pressure allows the noise to recede to a murmur, like someone listening to the radio in the next room.

It’s enough to let him breathe again, to take stock of himself, but once he starts, he wishes he hadn’t. Because now, all he can think about is the look on Henry’s face when he and the American had come back inside yesterday afternoon, flush from both the sunlight and their joyous reception.

Henry didn’t even look at him full-on, but a glimpse of his profile had been enough to knock the breath from James’ lungs with an agonizing jealousy. He himself had never felt even a fraction of what he’d seen on his grandson’s face:

Pride.  A fundamentally uncaring air for anything other than the boy at his side.  And a blinding, aching, incandescent—

Happiness.

[saintobio]

stop saint now I can’t unsee gojo listening to that one song on tiktok where he’s railing you at the back of the car 👁🫦👁

for my filo readers ig ??

"Did you like how many guys were eye-fucking you back there, huh?" Although there was a playful hint on his tone, the familiar clench on his jaws and his tight grip on your hip signaled otherwise. It didn't even take another second for him to increase the speed of his thrusts, leaving you all sweaty and breathless as you rode his hardened cock. "Answer me."

And you did, despite becoming a whimpering mess at the back of his car. "N-No.” Slam. “Asshole.” Slam. “You know I-I only…” Slam. “Look this good for you—aaah! S-Slow down!"

You could hear his deep chuckle while you kept your arms locked and secured around his broad shoulders, gripping the headrest, his chunk of white hair, and whatever else you could latch onto as Satoru desperately and desirously fucked you into filth, not caring how the car was filled with raunchy skin-slapping noises with a bit of squelching as he continued to fill your moistened cunt with his swollen cock. The smooth glide of every ridge and every vein had your mind in a euphoric state, while him? He, too, was reaching his high. "Fuck. I'm gonna cum."

"Mmm. N-Not inside." You leaned in for a sloppy kiss and ended up rolling your tongue along his before you could feel him wrapping his arms around your waist, keeping you steady while forcefully ramming his shaft into you. "G-Gojou!"

"You're so fucking hot." He giggled once more, cupping your tit with one hand, and sucking your nipple on the other. You could see his cheeks becoming more and more rosy, the tips of his white hair clumping with sweat, but nothing stopped the both of you from humping each other like animals on heat. When was the last time he fucked you this good, anyway? Or maybe, the only reason why you were enjoying this a lot more than the usual sex you've had was because of the simple thrill of being caught in the parking lot. "Baby, can you swallow for me?"

He had already pulled out before you could even respond, pushing you down on your knees until your face was right below his cock, watching as he pumped himself off to the very obscene sight of you on your birthday suit. And like a good girl, you helped him with the 'job' by stroking his length and pressing your tongue flat against his tip. Your mouth accommodated his thick ropes of cum when he shot his warm load down to your throat, throwing his head back, and groaning in a raspy voice as he finally had his release.

Down to the very last drop, you didn't waste any as you swallowed all. "Let's do one more?"

He raked his fingers through his arctic hair while looking down at you with his sleepy blue eyes. "Babe, we literally just finished."

"No," you corrected before climbing on the back seat. "You did, not me."

[bimb0beee]

hi :) i had a dream abt sero & here we are !!!

MDNI ‼️‼️

2.6k !!

sero x y/n

warnings: sero hanta. come eating? very small, sero is kinda mean, one mention of sir, fucking against a window, pet names? angel, princess, sweetheart & puppy. uhhhh idk what else to put 😵‍💫

i hope you like it 😪💕

There is nothing that pisses Sero off like rude reporters. Reporters, who he knows would never be able to do what he does. Most of the time he can keep his temper in control. Not today, though. It's been a very long day. All he wanted to do was get home to you. But his agency made him go to a press conference. The nerve of these people.

There’s blinding lights, flashes, and too many fucking people. He grins and takes it. It's part of the job. It's been a long day. It was almost over with; he was almost scot free. Then, some stupid asshole reporter had to open his mouth.

“Cellophane! Cellophane! So… you’re in the top 10. We all can recognize that. Although, what’s it like knowing you’ll never be at the top?” The nameless reporter has a smug look on his face. Sero is going to fix that.

“Well, um. Sir. It’s funny you have the audacity to ask me such a moronic question; we both know you would never have what it takes to be here, in my spot. I’m not doing this to be the top hero. I'm doing this because I care about my country. Why do I need to be at the top to do that? I can obviously tell you’re just envious you’ll never be at the top. Fucking beautiful women, miles above the city. A real pity it is to be you, isn’t it?”

Sero laughs hysterically off the stage and makes his way home to you.

You were watching Sero’s press conference biting your lip anxiously. You know how rough his day was and how bad he just wanted to come home. You knew the second that idiot opened his mouth, Sero was gonna stop caring about saving face. You were so embarrassed when Sero talking about fucking women; you knew he was implying you. One of his favorite things to do in his penthouse high above the city was fuck you against the large window. It was scary. It was exhilarating. He loved knowing he could ruin you and none of the little ants below would ever realize what he was doing. He fucking loved it.

You were more bashful about it, but he knows how much you liked the adrenaline of looking down while he abuses your cunt on his cock.

Your body is tingling with anticipation. You’re getting everything all tidy for him. You want to do whatever you can to make his mood lift, even if it is a little bit. His dinner is warm for him and get him a nice, cold beer in hopes it’ll wind him down.

You hear him grumbling when he stomps through the front door and he looks so angry, so irritated. Then he sees you, standing by the table with a nervous smile on your face and all that anger melts away.

He smiles and makes his way over to you, “Hi, sweetheart. Did you miss me?”

you lean up to kiss him and whisper into the kiss, “I always do, Hanta.”

He kisses you a few more times before he tickles your neck with his mouth and you can’t really help the elated giggles you let out.

“Go shower, Hanta. You smell like you’re covered in sweat. Your dinner and I will be waiting for you to come back!”

“Of course I smell like sweat. I am covered in sweat.”

He stalks off grumbling. All he wants to do is hold you and kiss you. He supposes a quick rinse won’t hurt. After all, making you pleased is one of his favorite things to do.

You’re fussing with your phone when he comes out, a cute little furrow on your brow. He hates it. He wants to get rid of it. He wraps his big arms around you and grunts in your ear, “What are you doing that has you so worked up, princess?”

You yelped and threw your phone when you felt his arms encircle you.

“N-nothing, Hanta. It's nothing…”

He quirks a perfectly sculpted brow at you. “Yeah? Then why did you throw your phone? Are you being… naughty, puppy?

Your insides are vibrating in anticipation. “No, no. Of course not, Hanta. Someone just sent me an article about that asshole at the press conference and I didn't want you to see…”

He tchs at you. “Enough of that shit, princess. I don't want to deal with any of that bullshit for the rest of the night. Alright? I’ll deal with the consequences tomorrow, at the agency. Right now the only thing I want is…”

He's attacking your neck with such an intense vigor you can’t help but moan out.

“B-but, Hanta… your food is getting cold!”

He licks a stripe up your neck before nipping at it; making you squeal in response.

“Actually, I have everything I need in my arms right now.

He manhandles you so your ass is directly on top of his hard cock, “This is the only thing I need tonight, puppy. Are you going to be good for me?”

“Yes, yes sir. I'll be whatever you want me to be, Hanta.”

He groans at how good you are to him and presses your body down so he can watch himself rub his cock against your sweet, little ass.

“You look so good bent over like this for me, don’t you, princess?”

“Gimme more, Hanta. Please, missed you so much all day…”

He releases you from his hold and you're about to whine out for him to come back.

“Shut up. Go in the room and strip for me, yeah? Gonna make you feel so good, angel. Promise.”

You're dashing away from him before he can blink and he laughs loudly at your eagerness. You've always been such a good girl for him. It makes your heart beat faster hearing how happy you can make him just by listening to his instructions.

Sero waits a bit, smashes a bottle of water in the hopes it'll give you enough time to be stripped and waiting for him. He doesn't want to punish you tonight. Sometimes he enjoys it. But tonight, he just wants you to be his sweet, obedient little puppy. His cock throbs at the thought of you taking him like the good little bitch you are.

He slowly makes his trek to your shared bedroom, salivating at imagining what you look like waiting for him. It's even better than he could have hoped for. You're on your knees, in the middle of your bed wearing absolutely nothing with a sweet smile on your precious face.

“Baby… don’t you just look so pretty for me?”

“Yes, sir.”

God, he loves when you're like this. So sweet; so willing to please. To do whatever debauched thing he wants you to do.

“Come here, angel.”

You slowly remove yourself from the bed and walk so slowly over to him. Basking in the way his eyes trail all over your body.

He smirks devilishly down at you, “This all for me, puppy?”

You look away from his eyes with a sweet blush adoring your cheeks, “Of course, Hanta. It's only ever for you.”

“Place your hands against the window, sweetheart.”

You can’t do anything but obey. You're absolutely quivering in excitement. Sex with Sero is always such an exerience. He's always so good to you.

He drops to his knees and spreads your cheeks so he can see your cunt tighten around nothing.

“Wow, puppy. You're dripping. You're a nasty little thing, aren't you?”

There is no time for you to reply when you feel his face so close to your cunt. And he inhales. Fuck. its so embarassing but it always makes you so fucking wet.

He moves you up a little bit so you can feel his warm tongue on your clit.

He flicks his tongue on it before he's shoving it inside as far as he can get it. Just because he likes to feel you clench on it. He takes one of his fingers and starts softly rubbing your clit and the reaction is instant. You're clenching down so hard he thinks you're gonna trap his tongue inside you forever.

“M-more, Hanta. Give me more…”

Who is he to deny you when you're asking him so sweetly? He starts to rub figure 8’s onto your clit, putting only the slightest bit of extra pressure on it. It’s driving you insane. You want more.

“More, Hanta! Before I-”

And then he stops. Tears stream down your face when he moves away and you look down at him when you see the look on his face.

“What was that, puppy? Was that a threat? You're supposed to be my good girl, and here you are acting like a fucking brat. I was ready to devour your sweet cunt just the way you like it, but I guess I can't even do that. Such a shame.”

“W-wait, Hanta. I’m s-”

“Ah, ah, ah. Too late for apologies, sweetheart. I wanted to take my time, but I guess I'll just have to take what I want instead.”

Now, sometimes. You love when Hanta takes his time. When he builds you up, up, and up. And the other times, you love when he just takes what he wants with you. Does he make you come? Sure. but he makes himself come first. There is something so utterly, so undeniably sexy about your sweet, precious hero using you like a cock sleeve.

Youre dripping down your thighs, it’s a nasty mess and sero fucking loves it. He strips down to nothing and forces your body around so you're facing him. You look so cute and fucked out waiting for him to shove his fat cock in your pussy. You're biting your lip, looking at him up and down. Staring so longingly at his cock.

“What are you staring at my dick for? Acting like you don’t know I'm about to shove this whole thing inside you, huh, sweetheart?”

“You’re just so pretty, Hanta… I can't help myself sometimes.”

He chuckles at how cute you can be. Even when he's about to wreck your cunt.

Sero makes his way over to you; lightly grazing his hard cock around your soaking pussy lips.

“F-fuck, Hanta, you feel so good…”

“Yeah? Of course I do. It’s not about you right now though, is it, puppy?”

You blink up at him, unseeing. All you can think about is how nice his cock feels gliding against your pussy lips. He grabs one of your legs and puts it over his arm. You look so happy, so eager to please him it makes his tip drip with pre.

With no warning at all he slides his dick inside you as slowly as possible. You want him to shove it in rough, all at once. He knows this. Which is why he takes his sweet time. Watching your face twist in pleasure.

“Hanta, you're so big, please…”

“Can you shut up? For once?”

He grabs your other leg to go over his other arm and presses your back against the cold glass.

He’s unmoving. Feeling your cunt clench around him. Knowing how bad you want him to move. He doesn't give two fucks.

“I’m going to ruin you right here. Against this window. Above the world. This is my cunt, you know? I don't care how fast or hard you want me to go. I'm going to use you however I see fit. And there's absolutely nothing you can do about it, puppy.”

You clench down on him so tight he can’t help but let out a loud moan.

“You're disgusting, you know that? What kind of bitch gets off on the fact that she's about to be used like the whore she is. From a hero no less. You're nasty. Filthy.”

You whisper just loud enough for him to hear, “Of course I'm getting off to the fact that my hero wants to use my cunt.”

He slowly moves his hips, feeling the slick of your cunt. It glides so nicely around him he can’t help but fall in love with how good it feels.

“Such a nasty whore, taking my cock raw. You love it don’t you? Can you feel me, puppy? Can you feel me deep inside your guts?”

You can't think, you can't see. All you can do is focus on the feeling of him stretching you out to your limits. It feels so fucking good you might pass out.

You're drooling and he laughs at how fucked you look.

“I havent even done anything and youre dumb and drooling for it already? You're sick, puppy.”

He moves a little faster, and he can’t understand why it feels so good. Why does your cunt feel like heaven wrapped around him? He wants to obliterate your insides.

He walks you over to the bed without ever removing his cock from inside you. The way he is so strong that lifting you is nothing for him.

He throws you on the bed and you look up at him in confusion, wondering why his cock isnt nestled inside you.

He grabs you by the legs and yanks you over to him and enters you in one thrust.

He places your ankles on his shoulders and starts pounding you into the mattress.

He's moving in and out with such a brutal pace you're sure you're seeing stars.

“You love this don’t you? Love when I abuse your little cunt like nothing else matters? Love when I hit you so deep you can feel it in your throat.”

“Yes, yes, yes, Hanta. Love it so much, love your cock..”

“Yeah, puppy? Love when I fill you to the brim with my come, don't you? Want to be my little breeding bitch, don’t you princess?”

“Fuck, god, yes Hanta, please. Love feeling you come so deep inside me I cant even fucking reach it..”

“Yeah, princess? You love feeling it seep out of you, don’t you, angel?

You're sure you're trying to speak. It's coming out in garbled noise. He's hitting you so deep you're sure he's bruising your insides. It feels so good, his cock hits every spot it can. He's hitting your g spot with expert precision. You're clenching around him so tightly he’s sure he's going to burst at the seams.

He leans back to spit on your clit and starts rubbing it furiously.

“You gonna come for me, huh? Come on my cock like the good little bitch you are?”

You're about to moan out a yes, Hanta when he presses down just a little too hard on your clit and your eyes flash white. He keeps rubbing your it, keeps absolutely demolishing your cunt, extending your orgasm for as long as he can. He keeps going even after you're done, even after there are tears in your eyes telling him, “it’s too much, Hanta, too much” and he doesnt stop until he fills your cunt to the absolute brim with his come.

He collapses on top of you, completely exhausted from the day and his orgasm.

“Hanta,” you’re whining and smnacking him, “you’re heavy, get the fuck off before you kill me!”

He laughs at your indignant whining and slowly pulls out of you. He watches as you try to stop his come from seeping onto the bedsheets.

“Here, let me.”

And he pushes it all back inside you and grins wolfishly at the moan you let out.

“Hanta, please… let's go take a bath?”

He takes his fingers out of you and quirks an eyebrow at you waiting for you to open your mouth.

You do it obediently; sucking his come off of his fingers, making sure they're nice and clean like the good girl you are.

“Yeah, princess. We can do whatever you want.”

You smile so brightly at him, he's sure it rivals the stars.

“I love you, Hanta.”

“I love you more, princess.”

[blossom-hwa]

Inception - SEONGHWA

Don’t ask me why I did this to him because I still don’t know the answer either

and yet somehow this is one of my two favorite chapters

Pairing: Seonghwa x gender neutral!reader

Genre: angst, rebel!au

Triggers: mentions of death, cursing

Reminder: later chapters in this series have spoilers!! If you haven’t read the chapters before (THANXX, Wonderland, Treasure) please do so if you don’t want anything spoiled!!

Word Count: 2.1k

In the wake of tragedy, you learn to cope.

Sword and Shield | Ateez Masterlist

Run.

Your feet pound on the pavement, concrete burning beneath the thin soles of your shoes.

Faster.

Your lungs gasp for air, aching in your chest, but you force your legs to move faster, faster, faster – maybe this time, if you’re fast enough, Seonghwa will still be warm and alive, not the cold corpse that the message promised.

Stop!

Concrete turns to wilted grass and you skid to a halt, eyes searching for a familiar body, familiar eyes and a familiar smile – well, maybe not a smile, he’s obviously been injured – but an expression, at least, an expression you can remember –

There.

Gray and pink light washes over a lump in the grass nearby. Your feet take you closer, closer to a white shirt and black tie, a pale face and dark hair, all smudged with dirt and something red that has to be –

Blood.

No.

The chest, covered in white cloth stiff with dried blood, doesn’t rise and fall. Not a breath passes the cracked lips. The eyes are closed and when you fall to your knees on dry, dusty grass to open them gently, only the cold glass of death stares back.

No.

“Take Y/N back,” someone says, voice muffled in your ears. “Get them back, someone else help me with the body.”

No!

Strong hands pull you up by the arm, dragging you away from Seonghwa’s cold corpse. Screams sound and only when another hand slaps over your mouth do you realize they were yours. Your throat aches and your body feels too heavy and this person is dragging you, literally dragging you because your legs refuse to cooperate –

All you can see is the body on the ground, dust caked on pale skin and in open wounds, eyes that used to be so warm flipped open under your fingertips, cold, unseeing.

Seonghwa.

You shoot up in bed with a gasp, cheeks stained with tears. Dark night stares back, eyes void, mocking the empty space you used to share with him even though you both couldn’t easily fit on your sheets.

He’s still dead. As he has been. For weeks.

Your legs kick off the twisted blankets, letting them land in a heap further away on the floor. One toe hits something soft as you try to stand – shit, you hope you didn’t wake anyone up – and then you leave as fast as you can before too many tears fall, almost tripping over several sleeping bodies on your way out of the crowded room.

Once the door clicks quietly shut, you slide down against the cold concrete wall, head in your hands. The tears have stopped flowing but your eyes still burn. You take a deep, shuddering breath – in, out, in, out – and then another. Another. And another.

Five weeks later and the grief still hasn’t gone.

Some part of your brain reminds you that crying here won’t help. If anything, it’ll attract more attention if someone inside hears. Unsteady legs heed the reminder and carry you, shaking, up one flight of stairs, then two. You can’t go up to the rooftop – there’s too much risk of a safety official picking you out in the moonlight and then there’ll be your dead body to find at sunrise – but the third floor is high enough. Just barely.

It was never the third floor when he was alive. It was the second, or even just the first. On sleepless nights one of you would help the other out of bed and out of the room, and once you two settled on the floor, out of sight of the windows but close enough to see the city outside, you’d talk until the sun rose, words whispered and cries muffled and laughs hushed.

There’s no one to talk to anymore, not on the first floor or the second. They hold too many memories now, anyway. So the empty third floor it is. No memories there. Just a lot of old equipment that doesn’t work anymore.

And, apparently, Hongjoong.

He turns around just as you ease the door open. Your heart jumps but your body stays still, too tired to react. “Sorry,” you mumble, going to close the door. “I’ll –”

“No, you can stay.” His dark silhouette pats the empty floor next to him. “Come on.”

Hongjoong’s voice is soft, light in the air. It barely shifts the dust on the floor and equipment, not nearly as much as you do when you carefully sit down next to him. Old boxes almost cover the one window in the room, but a sliver of pale moonlight just shines through into a small pool on the ground.

“Why’re you up?” Hongjoong asks.

You stare at the floor. “Take a guess.”

Silence falls, long and heavy. Then Hongjoong speaks.

“Dreams.” No uncertainty shades his tone. “About him.”

You laugh, a choked noise that sounds more like a sob than a snort. “I keep hoping he’ll be alive when I find him, but he’s always dead and then I get dragged away and I wake up.”

Hongjoong winces. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes, head lowering. “I really didn’t mean to be so harsh, to have Jongho pull you away just like that –”

You wave it away. “It’s fine. I understand.” Really, you do – Hongjoong is one rebel leader of an entire city district. There should be two, but then his partner disappeared, and Seonghwa died just months after he took their place, and even though Yunho has experience, he’s still new. Hongjoong has so much to deal with, managing everything tactical and technical along with his own grief – you can’t blame him for a single curt sentence, a mere papercut on your skin compared to the gaping wound in your chest that came with Seonghwa’s death.

“Don’t diminish your own pain.”

You blink. “What?”

“You don’t have to understand. You don’t have to push it away.” Hongjoong stares at the little pool of moonlight on the floor. “I mean, you can. But it’s okay to grieve and cry. Maybe punch a few people in the process.”

Tears start to build up in the corners of your eyes. You wipe them away. “Punch?”

“Yunho, once. It was almost an accident.” The ghost of a smile flutters on Hongjoong’s lips. “You know when you just can’t keep listening to people talk, you need to get out of there or you’re going to do something you regret?”

You nod.

“Yeah, well. I couldn’t get out in time. Yunho tried to stop me and I punched him.” He almost laughs. “Not my finest moment.”

The corners of your lips twitch. It’s probably the closest you’ll get to a smile at all.

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Hongjoong says quietly. “You will need to process it, at some point. Doesn’t have to be now. I know it still hurts. Someday, you’ll have to accept what happened, but even when that time comes, we’ll be here for you. All of us.”

“Even the ones who are gone?”

Hongjoong doesn’t hesitate. “They’re still with us from beyond.”

From beyond. You stare at the tiny stars in the sky, glittering behind a pane of reinforced glass. Mingi, his partner, Jihyo, Hongjoong’s partner… so many people. So many names.

And now Seonghwa is one of them, too.

The dam breaks with the first tear that falls. “I just… I used to think he’d never die, you know?” You grind the heels of your palms into your eyes, trying to stem the flow and failing. “He was so good at just… staying hidden. People didn’t see him.”

“You did.”

You stare at the floor. “So did they.”

“Not the way you did.”

“It doesn’t matter, does it?”

“Y/N.”

He wants you to look at him, even though he has to know you don’t want to. Reluctantly, you meet his eyes.

Gods above, you hate crying.

“They were looking for a spy,” Hongjoong says lowly. “They were looking for clues, signs of someone underground, someone who wasn’t one of them. They were looking for an object that fit a few signs. You were always looking for him. For Seonghwa, the person. Not a spy.”

“What difference does it make?” you snap.

His gaze bores into yours. “To him, it made all the difference in the world.”

You look away.

“Most people only ever looked at Seonghwa with a purpose in mind,” Hongjoong says. “Pretty face, comforting presence, good actor, possible spy. Stuff like that. I did too, sometimes, even if he was a friend – I was the one who recruited him into this, right? But you – you saw him for who he was. A person. Someone who had value just by being alive and being himself.” His voice sounds a little thick. You keep your eyes averted in case you start crying again too.

“He talked to me about you sometimes.” Hongjoong’s eyes don’t drill holes into your soul anymore – they’ve turned somewhere else. Probably the window. Or maybe the floor. “He told me you were one of the first people who really made him feel seen, you know. You made him feel real. Alive.”

There is no way you can swallow the lump in your throat. You try anyway. A choked sound releases itself from your lips along with several tears from your eyes.

“He said –” Hell, Hongjoong’s crying for real now, you’re not going to be able to hold back the flood much longer. “He said he had to be the luckiest person in the world for being able to find you in this shitty world of ours. He said you were the best thing that ever happened to him, and that he’d never let you go.”

“He did let me go,” you manage between dry, heaving sobs. “He let me fucking go, Hongjoong –”

“He didn’t want to,” Hongjoong interrupts. His voice wobbles. “He tried to stay alive. He never would’ve left you, if it were up to him.”

Seonghwa’s body, dressed in white and black like a government employee. Seonghwa’s body, splashed in red, clothes stiff and cracked with dried blood. Seonghwa’s body, bullet holes riddled in his chest and slashes ripped into his limbs, face bruised with black and blue. He couldn’t have lived even if he wanted to.

The rope burn on his wrists and the blood on his knuckles tells you that he did.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out, wiping away your tears. “I’m sorry. I probably sound like such a fucking asshole, at least we had a body to bury and I know what happened –”

“Don’t diminish your own pain,” Hongjoong cuts in again. Out of the corner of your eye, his fists clench, then unclench as tension bleeds out of his shoulders. “Just because our experiences are different doesn’t mean one has less value than the other. You’re not an asshole for feeling grief.” He takes a deep breath, shuddering in and out. “You’re human.”

Human. The way you made Seonghwa feel.

The way he made – makes – you feel, too.

Sleep doesn’t come that night. You push it away in favor of silence with another on the third floor, shuddering breaths turning to quiet sobs into each other’s shoulders – two friends faced with loss, too much loss, so much loss that only one body cannot handle it all. But two can share the pain and even lace it with a little comfort as well, the comfort of someone who cares, who knows, who understands.

And maybe there’s another warmth, too, a blanket wrapped around two shoulders by a star in the sky who wanted to stay, who fought to stay, but in the end was forced to give in to blood and bullets and the pain of death.

You shift a little into Hongjoong’s shoulder, red eyes staring at the tiny stars sparkling just outside the window. He’s there, Hongjoong had whispered into your ear, if you want to believe it.

Maybe someday you won’t believe it any longer, won’t take comfort in the phantom warmth of someone who no longer exists in the plane on which you walk. Maybe someday the hope will fully dash itself from your chest and you’ll remain a cynic for the rest of time. Tonight, though, you stare at the stars and focus on the softness curled around your shoulders that must be from him.

And you believe.  

Seonghwa, are you listening? I miss you.

The blanket shifts, drawing itself warm against your skin. You can almost hear his breath in your ear, his lips curved in that tiny, sad smile ghosting against your skin.

I know.

I miss you too.

If you enjoyed, please don’t forget to reblog and leave a comment to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and have a lovely day <3

(1 reblog = 1 prayer for a soul in the heavens </3)

[bi-demon-ium]

86

86: Blind/Deaf/Sensory Deprivation - Mr. Benedict & Milligan, ft. Curtain

(Ao3.)

“And just like that,” his brother said, something cold and cruel in his smile, something like satisfaction glittering in his eyes, “I can turn off your vision.”

Blink. The world was black. Nicholas couldn’t see at all.

He couldn’t help the gasp that left his lips, or the way he stumbled.

He heard his brother laughing, cruel and cold and performative, the magician on his stage.

“Maybe it’ll wear off,” he said, light and almost playful, “Maybe it won’t…”

Nicholas lurched towards the direction his voice was coming from, and missed.

“Oh, I don’t think so,” Nathaniel said, sharper, now, almost angry. “How about we turn off that pesky hearing, t—?”

And he cut off mid-word, and the world was silent.

Nicholas froze. His hands were shaking, fingers spread and trembling as if to make sure there was nothing in front of him, even though his arms were barely held out at all.

He had no idea if Curtain had continued his monologue or not. He was alone in the dark.

“Why?” he said, voice breaking, “Why are you doing this, Nath—”

And then—a hard shove, and he was colliding with something cold and hard and flat (the wall? the floor? he was too disoriented to tell) and he tried to reach out, tried to push himself up, but there was nothing but the cold hard surface.

His brother was gone, no doubt—although it itched and stung like a too small sweater, not knowing if he was truly gone, or if he was just watching as Nicholas helplessly tried to regain his bearings.

He simply had no way of knowing, and it was terrifying.

(And humiliating, the thought of Nathaniel just watching, laughing, as Nicholas groped in the dark like a lost child, and he couldn’t hide the sharp, cold terror he was feeling, and he wondered if Nathaniel was so far gone that he enjoyed it.)  

Eventually he gave up on standing—it was disorienting, and when he’d finally felt his way to the door, he’d found it locked.

He had to hope they would come for him. He had to hope no one else found him first.

.

When Milligan burst in, the knight in shining armor as always, he expected to see his friend planning, or humming to himself and doing puzzles in his head, or perhaps already having escaped. He didn’t tend to sit still and do nothing, preferring to keep his hands and mind busy the best he could.

But he isn’t doing any of that. He’s curled up, knees to his chest.

Nicholas’s eyes are wide and tearful, but aimless. Blank. Unseeing.

He’s sitting slumped against the wall, curls a mess like he’s been running his hands through them, staring at nothing.

“…Mr. Benedict?” Milligan says slowly, and he doesn’t react.

He steps closer, and still Nicholas doesn’t move, doesn’t so much as flinch.

He’s clearly within his line of vision, but he doesn’t so much as blink or tilt his head, like he can’t see Milligan at all.

He’s breathing, and he’s upright enough it’s clear he’s awake, but—it’s almost as if—

He’s blind.

“Mr. Benedict,” he says again, and still he remains motionless.

He can’t hear, either, Milligan realizes with dawning horror. No wonder he’s curled up so defensively.

He steps forward slowly, sinking to his knees in front of him, making his movements slow as if Nicholas could see them coming.

He gently touches Nicholas’s shoulder and he flinches violently, pressing himself against the wall to get away.

“Who’s there?” he says, voice high and scared, and Milligan—hating that he’s scaring him but knowing this is necessary—puts his hands over Nicholas’s.

“Get away,” Nicholas says, voice trembling and hands pulling away, but Milligan—as gently as he can—squeezes tighter, and then pulls them up to cup his face.

Nicholas stills, palms on Milligan’s cheeks, unseeing eyes staring straight ahead, gathering tears.

“M…Milligan?” he asks, almost choked, and Milligan nods, giving Nicholas’s hands a little squeeze.

“I’m here,” he says softly, even though he knows Nicholas can’t hear him. “I’ve got you, Nicholas.”

Nicholas makes a pained little noise, tiny and desperate and relieved, and before he can even crumple forward Milligan’s wrapping his arms around him and pulling him in for a hug.

He goes limp, slumped in Milligan’s arms, and when he wakes up—he’s tense for a moment, terrified, before abruptly relaxing, remembering who he’s with.

Milligan strokes his hair, fingers running through tangled curls, and feels him relax.

“I’ll get you out of here, love,” he says quietly, perhaps only because he knows Nicholas can’t hear, and then gently taps his hand.

He—again, slowly, this time trying to project his movements with touch alone—guides Nicholas to his feet.

“Do you think you can wa—” He abruptly remembers that Nicholas cannot, in fact, hear him.

“Fuck,” he says, because he can, and no one can hear but himself.

(His hand is still gently rubbing Nicholas’s shoulder, and Nicholas, despite himself, is relaxing.)

After a moment, Nicholas reaches up—shakily—and touches his hand.

Milligan stills, surprised, and then—

Oh. Oh, he was clever.

He taps out a quick message—M-O-R-S-E?

And then aloud, voice still small, “Do you remember?”

Y-E-S, taps Milligan. W-A-L-K?

Nicholas shakes his head. “If—we need to get out of here fast, yes?”

Y-E-S, agrees Milligan.

“Then—blind, prone to falling asleep, in a maze of a facility while possibly being pursued—it might be easier if. Um.”

He looks a little flushed at even making the suggestion, although they’d done it before.

C-A-R-R-Y.

“Yes,” says Nicholas, wincing. “I apologize.”

(He’s already attempting to regain his composure, even though Milligan can feel how hard he was shaking. And he wouldn’t soon forget that terrified, blank look, or how he’d flinched…)

N-O-W, Milligan taps in warning, then waits a beat before scooping him up.

Nicholas still makes a sort of yelping noise, startled and no doubt disoriented, but adjusts quickly.

A-L-L G-O-O-D?

“Fine,” says Nicholas, breath coming a little quick. “Just—aha, uh. Just a little… disoriented.”

He’s quickly relaxing, though, although not all the way.

He continues, lightly: “But it’s alright, it’s. I trust you.”

“I trust you, too,” says Milligan out loud, softly. “But we should be going, love.”

Nicholas hums, deaf to his words, and Milligan makes his way back to where he came, his blinded friend safely in his arms.

.

(It had been so deeply terrifying, being alone in the dark. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, had no way of knowing—anything, really. All he knew was he was leaning against a cold wall, and—he thought he was alone, but he couldn’t be sure.

The first touch scared him, even though it was light and non-invasive.

Then, large, warm hands on his—but it could be anyone—and then—

He knew that face.

The relief had been overpowering enough he’d collapsed into Milligan’s arms, having no idea if he was saying anything, only that Nicholas was safe.

Milligan was warm, his presence reassuring, and—it would be alright. They’d get out of here together.)

.

(It takes days for the effect to wear off. Nicholas adjusts fairly quickly, although he misses his books dearly.

He knew the house well, so he was able to navigate on his own for the most part, albeit slower than usual.

Still, though, relying on gentle taps on his shoulder, his hands, to communicate, never knowing when they might come—it’s disorienting, to say the least, and…

Well, he could have learned to live with it, could have gotten braille books and perhaps a cane, could have simply kept moving forward as he always has. Eventually the terror would fade, and even if he’d hate being even more vulnerable than before, even easier to use against the others, he knew that he’d be as safe as he could be, especially with them around to help.

But a few days later, he hears the faintest of murmuring, and he turns his head towards the sound.

After that it’s fast, in hours he can hear all of them again, and in another day his vision is almost entirely back. It’s a relief, a crushing relief, and this time when Milligan hugs him again he can see it, can hear Milligan murmur I’m glad you’re okay.)

.

(Still, though, the idea of facing his brother again is terrifying in a way it wasn’t before.

It had always been somewhat scary and nerve-wracking, the prospect of seeing him again wrapped up in guilt and anger and sadness, combined with knowing just how dangerous he was—

But now, seeing—feeling—how gleeful he’d been, how he’d delighted in making him helpless… it frightened him, in a way it hadn’t before.

Especially because while in many ways he didn’t recognize the man who’d stolen his sight with a cruel laugh, in many ways he did, too. He’d grown twisted, perhaps, but Nicholas could remember the seeds that had always been in the boy he’d known.

What would their twelve-year old selves think of them now, he wondered? Would they think they were both blind?)

(send me number(s) from this list for whump/angst snippets.)

[searidings]

Kara moving in with her best bud Lena for Reasons (maybe her apartment is temporarily fucked up?) and now Lena has to watch her exercise/weight-lift/do yoga in a sports bra in her apartment

It’s already been a capital D type of Day, full of misogynistic potential investors and minor workplace explosions, when Lena opens her front door to the sight of Kara Danvers in a perfect-form downward facing dog on her living room floor.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” she mutters, dropping her keys noisily onto the kitchen counter and making a beeline for the booze cupboard.

“Did you say something?” Kara asks angelically, transitioning smoothly into a cobra that very delightfully and extremely unhelpfully causes her biceps to flex like a Greek goddess. Her eyes, bluer than ever against the vast expanses of smooth golden skin on display above the sinfully tight cerulean sports bra she’s wearing, flutter angelically. She beams beatifically up at Lena from her yoga mat as if there’s any possibility her superhearing didn’t pick up on Lena’s words. As if she isn’t just trying to make Lena repeat herself for her own amusement.

“What are you even doing?” Lena asks a little more sharply than she intends, jaw clenched as she wills herself not to so much as glance in the direction of Kara’s exposed abs. She treats herself to a heavy pour of scotch, pauses to consider, then adds some more. “It’s not like you need to exercise. Like, at all.”

“Surely I get to indulge in whichever recreational activities I choose in my own home,” Kara replies cheerily, avoiding Lena’s carried-home-after-a-shitty-day snark with practiced ease.

“You gave up that privilege when you moved into my home instead,” Lena deadpans, Kara’s irrepressible affability in the face of her own bad moods beginning to chip away at her steely CEO armour. “That’s what you get for letting a flea-infested mongrel into your apartment—”

“Hey, Toto couldn’t help having fleas—”

“And not only that, letting it all over your couch, your bed—”

“He was cold! He just wanted to snuggle—”

Lena shudders. “You snuggled with that monstrous thing? I hope to god you burned the clothes you were wearing. And maybe the whole couch too.”

“Toto was not a thing, he fit perfectly on my—”

“And isn’t Toto usually the name of a small dog?” Lena asks incredulously, throwing back the scotch in one smooth swallow and pouring herself another. “That beast was almost taller than you!”

“Being a lap dog isn’t about size, Lena. It’s a state of mind.”

“A state of mind that’s meant your entire apartment has had to be fumigated. Twice.”

“And I’d do it again,” Kara says resolutely, pushing up into a high plank and inadvertently flexing her shoulders in a way that has Lena’s fingers slipping around the tumbler in her grasp. “Toto was homeless. He needed someone to take him in and love him, and I did.”

She drops to her knees and pushes back into child’s pose, tilting her chin up to gaze at Lena from between her extended arms. “Just like you’ve done with me.”

And Lena curses Kara and every one of her ancestors right back to the dawn of time for how endearing she is in this moment. For how physiologically incapable Lena is of maintaining her façade of annoyance in the face of those earnest eyes. God, when had she gotten so fucking soft?

But any thoughts of the blonde as cute or adorable evaporate into thin air as Kara pushes back up into downward dog, lifting one leg straight above her in a graceful arch. Her forearms flex as long fingers grip into the soft mat and Lena chokes a little on her next sip of scotch, eyes unfortunately, deliciously glued to the jut of Kara’s hipbone through her yoga pants and the toned lines of her tightened thighs.

“Seriously though,” Lena manages, turning away from the sight and congratulating herself on the fact that her voice is only slightly higher than normal. “Why do you even bother? It’s not going to tone you up any. Not that you need it,” she mutters into her scotch glass, tipping out the dregs of the bottle and reaching into the cupboard for a fresh one.

When she turns back to face the living room Kara’s cheeks are flushed, almost as if she’s blushing. Or maybe all the blood is just rushing to her stupid, unfairly attractive head.

“Yoga is about more than just muscle tone, Lena,” the blonde says disapprovingly, her gaze fixed on her mat. “It’s a mind-body connection. Mindfulness. Inner peace. It’s doing wonderful things for my stress levels.”

“It’s doing terrible things for mine,” Lena mutters, knowing Kara will hear her but finding herself increasingly uncaring as the scotch warming her throat begins to course hot through her veins.

“Then maybe you should get down here and join me,” Kara murmurs, voice low as she switches legs.

The blonde’s tone is practically a purr and Lena chokes for real this time, spluttering out the scotch attempting to find its forever home inside her lungs. Kara is behind her in a second, hand hot through the thin material of Lena’s blouse as she rubs gentle circles between her shoulder blades.

The offending appendage doesn’t withdraw, however, even once Lena’s regained full use of her airways and is wiping the tears from her eyes. In fact, it’s joined by a friend, and both of Kara’s hands slip up and over her shoulders quite without Lena’s permission, fingers kneading into the tight muscle.

“Wow, you are tense,” Kara murmurs, thumbs doing something absolutely sinful to the knots in Lena’s neck. The blonde steps closer, bracketing Lena against the cool marble of the kitchen island with her hips and it takes every single shred of self-control Lena possesses not to sag back into the hot body hovering against the length of her own.

Lena shuts her eyes and bites down on her lower lip, hard. Anything to keep from focusing on the warmth radiating off Kara’s oh God partially clothed body like a furnace.

Long dextrous fingers dig delicious into the tense set of Lena’s shoulders and she barely manages to hold back the breathy sounds of pleasure she’s fairly certain she should not be making at her best friend’s touch. Kara, if anything, seems spurred on by Lena’s restraint, fingers slipping inside the collar of Lena’s blouse to press firmly against her bare skin and oh God Lena is not going to survive this.

In fact, she can actively feel herself giving in to the pull, to Kara’s ineffable magnetism. She sways backwards just slightly, and Lena swears she’s not the only one who sucks in a sharp breath when their bodies fully connect. The frame pressed to her back is warm and firm and God, Kara is solid against her in a way that has all the blood in Lena’s body migrating south with pinpoint precision.

“Are you sure you don’t want to join me?” Kara whispers, her breath ghosting the shell of Lena’s ear and making her shiver. “I could walk you through some asanas. Might help loosen you up.”

Jesus fuck.

“Nope!” Lena squeaks, cheeks aflame, pushing away from Kara and snagging the bottle of scotch on the way to her bedroom. “I’m gonna go take a shower. Enjoy your practice.”

The quiet sounds of Kara’s chuckles follow her all the way down the hall.

Lena spends the first five minutes of her shower staring unseeing at the tiled wall, mind blank but for the image of Kara’s washboard abs over the waistband of her yoga pants, the firm press of her body against Lena’s back.

The second five minutes is spent in intense silent conversation with herself, administering an internal pep talk worthy of a high school spirit rally and trying to convince her racing heart to resume its regular rhythm.

The third interval consists of Lena shampooing her hair in mounting despair, trying desperately to foresee a way of surviving the next three days of cohabitation until Kara’s apartment is deemed safe and fume-free if the blonde is going to insist on doing distracting activities and wearing distracting sports bras and just generally being distracting the whole time.

It’s only by minute sixteen of Lena’s long indulgent shower that a plan begins to form in her mind. She steps out onto the bathmat, appraising the various towels slung over the heated rail until she finds one fit for purpose. Tucks it snug round her body and pulls her dripping curls over one shoulder before making her way back out to the living room.

She can pinpoint the exact moment the blonde notices her entrance because the quiet room is suddenly filled with a rubbery tearing sound as Kara, on her hands and knees for a spine stretch, rips the mat beneath her hands clean in two.

Lena bites her lip to hold back a smirk, watching as blue eyes track slowly up the expanse of her bare legs, unimpeded by the towel that only barely reaches to mid-thigh, and then up to follow the droplets of water tracking their way down Lena’s chest until they disappear into the soft fabric.

Kara’s mouth is hanging open, arms and legs splayed wide where they rest on either side of the torn mat, and Lena relishes the thrill of victory that zips up her spine like a firecracker. Two can play at this game, that’s for sure.

“I was going to ask if you were ready to order takeout for dinner,” Lena says, letting her own voice drop low as she quirks an eyebrow. Her gaze falls pointedly to the sad remains of Kara’s yoga mat and this time she can’t hold back her smirk. “But it seems your mind-body connection might still need some work. I’ll leave you to it.”

Satisfied, she turns on her heel and saunters back to the bedroom, Kara’s eyes glued to her swinging hips like a physical weight on her body.

Cheeks pink, heart pounding, she drops onto her bedspread as a heady combination of relief and pleasure courses through her veins. Lena hasn’t had a roommate since boarding school but maybe this cohabitation – temporary as it may be – will end up having a few unanticipated perks.

[polaroid15]

Guy in the Chair

Summary: Having a superhero for a best friend isn’t easy. But with the help of Mr. Stark, Ned things he might just be able to swing it.

Or, 5 times Ned was there for Peter and 1 time they were there for each other.

Read on Ao3 here.

-----

Ned hates funerals.

But mostly he hates seeing Peter in so much pain.

He sits beside his friend now, silent and relieved to be hearing him breathe evenly. The service for Ben had ended less than an hour ago. Overwhelmed, Peter had let Ned guide him away from the grave. They’re close enough to see May kneeling beside the freshly upturned dirt, her head in her hands, but far enough away that Peter no longer hyperventilates.

The cement bench they sit on is freezing. Snow comes up to their ankles. Both are shivering but too numb to move.

“Peter?”

Nothing.

Expecting it, Ned looks to his friend. Peter is curled in on himself, eyes open with frozen tear tracks running all the way down to his chin. He doesn’t give off any external cues that he’s heard Ned’s prompt, his sight unseeing.

“Peter?” he tries again, and when it still doesn’t elicit a response, he reaches out cold fingers to rest on Peter’s arm. Lightly, carefully, like he’s touching something fragile. “Hey man. You with me?”

Eyebrows creasing, Ned watches as a glimmer of coherence returns to Peter’s eyes. And with it, pain. Sharp and raw. Peter sucks in a long breath that rattles in his chest- like it’s the first real breath he’s taken in hours. It blows out in a puff of air that obscures the grave ahead of them.

“Peter.”

With some confusion, Peter swivels his head. He reaches a trembling hand to his face and uses his fingertips to feel the ice on his skin. “N-Ned?” he stammers. “I- when did we... I don’t remember coming over here.”

“It’s okay man. We came after the service.”

“May?”

“Over there. She’s okay.”

Breathing deep again, Peter’s eyes shine with new moisture. He buries his head deep into his elbow and leaves it there, his knuckles white where they clutch at his coat. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “God, I’m going crazy.”

Ned’s stomach hollows out. “Don’t be sorry.”

“I am,” Peter sniffs. “It’s cold.”

“It’s not that cold.”

Peter lifts his head and offers Ned a weak smile, though it falls fast. He hopes it isn’t permanent. “I just- I can’t believe he’s really gone.”

Ned bites his lip. He hadn’t known Peter when his parents had died, but he knows well enough from their sleepovers that he wakes up in cold sweats. He also knows that Peter has a tendency to blame himself for things that aren’t his fault, that he walks as if the world is on his shoulders.

And Peter had been there. In the alley. He had tried to keep Ben alive as he bled out.

And it didn't work. God, why couldn’t it have worked?

“Me either.”

Peter chokes on his next breath. Holds it. “What- what are we going to do without him?”

“Peter-”

“May can’t…I can’t-” Peter breaks off, gasping. “He can’t be gone.”

Words are impossible. Ned reaches deep within himself and whispers, “I’m sorry Peter. I’m so sorry.”

Peter’s lip wobbles. His eyes fill until there’s nowhere for the tears to go but out. At the same time they reach for each other, and Ned holds onto Peter as if it’s his sole purpose in this life. “It’s my fault Ned,” Peter sobs into his shoulder. “I couldn’t save him. It was me. He’s d-dead because of me.”

“That’s not true and you know it.”

“We had a fight,” Peter continues, delirious in his grief. “We had a fight and he died and I should’ve been able to save him.”

“It’s not your fault, man. What happened to Ben was terrible, but it wasn’t your fault, okay? He wouldn’t have wanted you to blame yourself. You know that.”

Peter tries to speak but is crying too hard for Ned to make out the words. So instead he pats Peter’s back and hugs him as hard as he can. He holds on. He whispers ‘he loved you’ and ‘it’s not your fault’ in between Peter’s sobs. He’s not sure how long it goes on for. He feels like a skipping record, his condolences an endless loop.

Eventually, Peter’s head lolls against Ned’s cheek. He stops crying. Stops everything. “I’m sorry,” he says. Then, more sure, “you’re a good friend, Ned. Thanks- thanks for being here with me. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Always,” Ned says. It’s a promise, a vow. “No matter what.”

And with every nerve in his body, he means it.

------

Peter is Spider-Man.

In a way, Ned still feels the aftershocks of the surprise. It hits him over and over again whenever he sees Peter with a limp or a bruise, or a cut that he can tell from it’s scar Peter had stitched himself.

But it’s nothing in comparison to Homecoming.

What’s supposed to be a fun night turns into a full out adrenaline high with life or death stakes. Instead of dancing, he fires Peter’s web shooters and works tirelessly in the computer lab. Being the guy in the chair.

And then there’s silence. An awful, consuming silence.

Ned expects Peter to come back to the party, and when he doesn’t, he tries calling. All thirteen calls go straight to voicemail.

He tries again now.

“Hey, it’s Peter. I promise I’m not ignoring you. Uh, leave a message. Thanks.”

Failing to ignore his worry, Ned drags his aching feet home. His mom is working a late shift at the hospital so he unlocks the door to his apartment and flicks on the lights, rubbing at his face in exhaustion.

He barely makes it two steps before he hears it.

A thud, like something heavy hitting hardwood.

Ned grabs the item closest to him, an umbrella propped up in the corner by the door and walks with caution towards his bedroom where the noise came from. Not for the first time that night, his heart beats viciously in his chest. Did Liz’s dad figure out he was helping Peter? Did the guy from the bus lot follow him home?

“Hello?” he calls, wincing when his voice shakes. He holds the umbrella a little tighter, the thin metal sticks digging into his palm. “Who- who’s there?”

When there’s no answer he pauses outside his door and cranes for clues. Hearing nothing, he braces himself before kicking open the door. The first thing he sees is his open window, and then-

“Oh my God! Peter!”

His friend is slumped under the glass, pale and covered in sweat and blood. Though his eyes are half lidded, he smiles at Ned when he sees him. “Why’re you holding an umbrella?” he slurs.

Ned dips his head to look at the makeshift weapon before tossing it to the side. His hands are shaking horribly. “I thought- I thought someone broke in!”

“Well technically,” Peter coughs, wincing, “I did break in.”

“It’s different,” Ned says, his legs like jelly as he stumbles forward. He kneels beside Peter and holds his hands out gingerly, sure whatever part of Peter he touches will shatter. “What the hell happened to you?”

Peter frowns. There’s too much blood. “I crashed Mr. Stark’s plane,” he says.

“What?”

“Liz’s dad was trying to steal it. I stopped him though.”

“You’re hurt.”

“I get hurt all the time.”

“Not like this,” Ned argues, and Peter’s eyes darken.

“I’m okay,” he whispers.

Grinding his nails into his knees, Ned shakes his head. Peter hasn’t moved since he found him, his arms curled tightly around his chest. “Why’d you come here?”

Gaping, Peter pales further. “Oh. I didn’t... I’m sorry-”

“No,” Ned says quickly. “Not like that. I mean, isn’t Mr. Stark supposed to help you with stuff like this?”

Peter closes his eyes, his face shadowed. “Mr. Stark doesn’t want to see me anymore. He ended things, remember?”

“But if he knew you were hurt-”

“Ned.”

“You’re bleeding really bad. I don’t know how to help you.”

Peter smiles again, but it’s sad. Broken, like the day of Ben’s funeral. It makes Ned feel sick. “Can I use your shower?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Definitely. I’m covered in sand and ash and concrete-” Peter shudders, eyes becoming distant for a moment. “Please?”

“Right. Of course, man. Whatever you need.”

“Thanks.”

Peter tries to stand but needs Ned’s help in the end. They limp to the bathroom together and Ned helps Peter pull the top half of his suit off because Peter can’t lift his arms above his head. Peter is quiet during the process, but Ned doesn’t miss the way he sways and bites his lip.

When the suit is finally stripped away, Ned is sure he’ll have nightmares of for the rest of his life. Impossibly dark bruising covers nearly every inch of his friend’s skin, puncture marks still leaking blood and surrounded by countless smaller cuts and scrapes. He notices that Peter doesn’t look in the mirror. He doesn’t even look down, his hands shaking as he stares in determination at the opposite wall.

It’s only now that Ned truly understands the weight of what Peter is taking on. That having superpowers comes with a cost.

I just wanted to be like you, Peter had told Mr. Stark.

And I want you to be safe, thinks Ned, aching.

“Peter,” he whispers. He feels strangely detached from his body, as if he’s viewing the massacre through someone else’s eyes. “This- this is really bad. Like, hospital bad.”

Peter doesn’t argue, which Ned knows is a bad sign. Instead, his eyes glisten as if he’s about to cry. “I heal fast.”

“But-”

“I’m going to shower now.”

“Peter.”

“Ned please. I know you mean well, but- but I can’t think about it right now, okay? I just need to shower and then I’ll be okay.”

Ned stills. Swallows. Then, with great reluctance, he nods. “Okay.”

Looking weak with relief, Peter gives him a watery smile. When he speaks, his voice cracks. “Thanks man. I- I really owe you one.”

“It’s nothing. Guy in the chair, remember?”

“Thanks Ned.”

After their handshake, Ned leaves. It takes a minute of standing by the bathroom door and breathing intently through his nose to get his heart to calm. When it does, his pocket vibrates. He pulls out his phone, expecting it to be his mom.

Instead, it’s an unknown number.

With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Ned answers, making sure to move away from the bathroom. “Hello?”

There’s staticy silence. Then, heavy breathing. “Is this Peter’s friend?”

“Who’s this?”

“I’ll take that as a yes. This is Happy Hogan. You called me earlier.”

An unexpected surge of anger makes his ears hot. Hand tightening around the phone, Ned doesn’t try to keep the annoyance from his voice. “What do you want?”

Happy sighs. “Peter. Have you seen him?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Now. He’s at my apartment.”

More silence. Ned paces.

“How is he?” Happy asks finally.

“Why do you care?” Ned snaps. His heart is beating fast again. He can hear it in the base of his eardrums. “I tried to warn you earlier and you hung up on me.”

“Kid, listen-”

“He’s not okay,” Ned interrupts. “He’s hurt really bad. And he wouldn’t be if you had just listened.”

Ned expects deflection, but Happy’s words surprise him with their concern. “Wait. Peter’s hurt?”

It leaches his anger. “Yeah.”

“Can I talk to him?”

Ned opens his mouth to respond but pauses at the sound of a muffled conversation on the other end of the line. There’s a short struggle and then a new voice fills his ears. One that he’s more than familiar with.

“Ted, right?” Tony Stark asks. “Put Peter on the phone. Pronto. ASAP.”

“I- I-”

“He’s with you, isn’t he?” the man urges.

“I- yes.”

“Well then?”

Ned, despite how freaking cool it is to be talking to Iron Man, can’t help but feel a streak of protectiveness for his friend. “He didn’t call you for a reason.”

Tony is quiet, which Ned doesn’t expect. He plows on. “He thinks you don’t care. And maybe you don’t. But you can’t just choose when you want to help him. He’s here and he’s hurt, and I’m just about the least qualified person to be helping him. There’s blood on my floor and my mom is going to freak out-”

“Take a breath kid,” Tony interjects, his voice pinched. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Just let me talk to him.”

“He’s in the shower.”

“We’ll come pick him up, then. What’s your address?”

Ned closes his eyes, feeling two seconds away from a breakdown. He should be excited, but instead he just feels hollow. How did this become my life?

He rattles off his address and hangs up before Tony can respond. Then he sits on his floor beside Peter’s blood and cries silently into his hands.

-------

Ned tries to talk to Peter about Homecoming, but his friend just defects. Ned tries not to let it bother him.

But it does.

Physically, Peter recovers quickly. The ugly cuts and bruises disappear after the weekend, but the weariness that accompanies them never really leaves. The dark circles under Peter’s eyes get worse everyday and it’s harder to get a genuine smile out of his friend.

It all comes to a head on Wednesday.

They’re in the hall grabbing textbooks from their lockers between classes. Peter has been especially quiet today and Ned has done his best not to say anything about it. He’s reaching for his physics binder when it happens.

A loud crash, the sound of metal hitting the floor. Heart jumping, Ned spins to see a table flipped on its side beside a group of snickering kids. He exhales, shaking his head. “Man, that scared me.” He turns to Peter to laugh it off and freezes, insides turning to ice.

“Peter?”

His friend has lost all the color in his face, his eyes wide, unblinking, and staring out at nothing. When he doesn’t respond Ned takes a step forward to nudge his arm and Peter flinches back as if burned, hitting one of their classmates who scowls and pushes him off.

Peter barely manages to catch himself, his chest heaving like he’s just finished running a marathon. More careful this time, Ned grabs Peter’s elbow and steers him away from the hall and towards the bathroom. When they get there Peter detaches himself from Ned’s grip and stumbles until he hits the wall, sliding down to curl into a ball on the dirty tile. Now that it’s quieter, Ned can hear just how strained his breathing is.

“Peter?” he asks softly, squatting down to his level. “You’re scaring me man. What’s going on?”

Peter looks up at him helplessly, clutching at his chest as he pales further. “S-sorry. Just- ah. Gimme a minute.”

Ned opens his mouth to argue but closes it decidedly. The door to the bathroom swings open behind them and Ned shoos the freshman who appears away with his hands.

Peter’s upbeat ringtone cuts through the tension. Obviously not coordinated enough to answer, Ned helps Peter pull it out of his pocket and stills at the contact.

“It’s Mr. Stark,” Ned says in awe. “What- what do I do?”

“Don’ answer it-”

But his thumb is already on the green. He gives Peter a panicked look of apology before yanking the device up to his ear. “Hello?”

“Ted? Why do you have Peter’s phone?”

“It’s Ned. And he- he can’t really talk right now.”

Tony curses. “Is he with you? His watch sent me a spike in his vitals. Don’t tell me he’s actively bleeding out.”

Peter must hear what he’s saying because he groans, his breathing becoming increasingly laboured. He sticks his head between his knees and digs his knuckles into the tile until tiny cracks appear under the pressure.

“He’s not bleeding out,” Ned assures. “He’s- well, I don’t really know what’s happening. He said he can’t breathe.”

“Damn it. Damn it. Okay. He’s having a panic attack. Put me on speaker.”

“But-”

“Now, Ned!”

Gulping, Ned obliges. He holds out the phone between himself and Peter like some sort of offering and feels some distant part of him relax as Tony takes control.

“Pete?” Tony asks, his voice sharp and clear. “Focus on my voice kiddo. Alright? Imagine that I’m there with you.”

“Mr. St-Stark-’

“Shh, kiddo. It’s okay. I’m going to help you breathe. I need you to tell me five things you can see. Can you do that?”

Eyes gaining some clarity, Ned watches them wander. “Uh, Ned. The phone. The- the sinks. A mirror. And- and, uh. Paper towel.”

“Bathroom. Classy. Alright, now four things you can touch.”

“Ground. Wall. C-clothes. Backpack.”

“Good, kiddo. You’re doing so well. Keep breathing. Three things you can hear?”

“You. Ned. Kids outside.”

With every answer, the tension in Tony’s own voice seems to ease. For some reason, it softens some of the resentment Ned’s been holding against the man ever since the ferry incident. He continues with urgency. “Two things you can smell?”

“Soap. Sweat.”

“Good. And one thing you can taste?”

Peter exhales, long and slow. He closes his eyes. “Spearmint.”

“That’s great,” Tony encourages. “Feeling any better?”

At this, Peter’s face scrunches up as if he’s about to start crying. Instead, he relaxes more fully against the wall and reaches up to wipe his eyes. “Yeah, Mr. Stark. That’s better. I’m really sorry-”

“Nope,” Tony interrupts. “Gonna stop you right there kid. We’ll talk in person. I can be there in twenty.”

“What?” Peter stalls, eyebrows drawing together. “I have class.”

“Not anymore. See you soon. Ned, can I talk to you real quick?”

Another shot of adrenaline spiking through him, Ned fumbles with the phone until it’s off speaker and pushes it up against his face, though he knows full well Peter will still be able to hear. “Yeah Mr. Stark?”

A short pause. “Has this happened before?”

“Not at school.”

“And not at school?”

Peter looks down at his shoes. Ned frowns. “I don’t know.”

Tony sighs. “Thanks for watching out for him. Do you know what triggered it?”

“Um. A table got flipped over. It was really loud.”

“Yeah, that’ll do it. Damn it. Can you stay with him until I get there? Give him water and make sure he doesn’t fall asleep. You got that?”

“Yeah. Yes. Of course.”

He doesn’t get a response, the line going dead. He pulls it away in disbelief and sets it on the floor. Peter smirks weakly at him from where he’s slumped against the wall. “It’s okay,” he mumbles. “He hangs up on everyone.”

------

For a while, it gets better.

“Ned! Oh my God- MJ said yes! I’m freaking out man!”

Stomach dropping with excitement, Ned spins a full 360 in his room, hands reaching up to his hair. “No freaking way! I told you!��

Peter’s excited rambling continues through his phone. It makes Ned’s heart soar. “What do I do? Where do I take her? The movies? The park?”

“Swinging through New York,” Ned offers with a smile, and Peter laughs.

“No, seriously. It needs to be perfect.”

“Laser tag?”

“Don’t forget that I’m broke, man.”

“How about the Pride Parade? That’s happening this weekend. Seems like her kind of thing.”

Peter pauses, warmth filling the other end of the line. “That’s perfect! God, you’re a genius. Thanks man!”

“You owe me,” he teases.

“I so do. We still on for the death star 2.0 tonight?”

“Wise is Yoda the most?”

Peter laughs again. It’s nice. “Right. See you soon.”

“See you.”

When Ned hangs up, tears bite at his eyes.

He doesn’t remember the last time he’s heard Peter so happy.

--------

Of course, it doesn’t last long.

Ned gets the text during band practice.

It’s from Peter and the empty seat next to him feels more pronounced. He almost ignores it, feeling, despite reason, a deep bitterness for his loneliness. But the message is short.

Help.

Ned nearly tilts out of his chair, his mouth adopting a strange metallic quality and his stomach dropping down to his toes. Before he can even get his shaking hands to cooperate another message lights his screen.

Bleachers.

Ned stands before he can process how strange it must look. His teacher, Miss Gregerson, raises her pencil thin eyebrows. “Ned? What is it?”

“Bathroom,” he blurts, and parts the music stands blocking his exit before she can say another word. He hears laughter follow him but can’t find it within himself to care, his heart beating loud in his ears as he jogs through the empty hallways. Peter needs you. Something is wrong.

He had thought having a best friend for a superhero would be cool. But the longer the time stretches, the more Ned realizes how much sleep he’s been losing over his friend’s safety.

Please don’t be dying.

Ned bursts through the back doors and trips his way down the hill to the track. The yard is empty, filtered with pink and orange light from the sinking sun. It’s warm and the air is still, but the deep sense of foreboding doesn’t leave him.

“Peter?” he calls, even though the bleachers are distant and his throat is closing with fear. He walks faster and it’s only when his feet hit the red dirt of the track that he sees Peter’s hunched form. He’s sitting on the lowest step of the bleacher, his face pinched and the edges of his suit showing from his open backpack. He’s pale and covered in sweat, and when he sees Ned, he sags, his eyes fluttering with what can only be a mixture of relief and exhaustion.

“Peter,” Ned repeats, skidding to his friend’s side. His hands hover, unsure again what to do or how to help. Assess the problem, his mind supplies. Find out what’s hurt.

It doesn’t take long. He follows Peter’s tense posture to his hand, which is clamped down hard over his side. His skin is painted red underneath, the material of his dark shirt shining in the fading light. There’s a cut on his temple that bleeds too, and Ned notices how hard Peter is trying to concentrate on his form, his eyes seeming incapable of adjusting.

“Hey man,” he croaks.

“Oh my God,” Ned breathes. His whole body is shaking now. Weak. Because he’s not equipped for this. “What happened?”

Peter struggles to process his question, blinking heavy and biting hard on his bottom lip. Then he swallows, sways, and musters a weak smile. “Stabbed. Long knife.”

When Peter falls to the side, Ned has to lunge to catch him, supporting his entire weight against his body. The new position allows him to see the blood that’s been pooling on the metal where Peter’s been sitting. A distant part of his brain wonders if the stain it’ll leave will be permanent.

“You need to go to a hospital,” Ned says. Peter’s head is pressed hard into his rib cage. They’re both shaking, their breaths uneven and loud.

“No,” Peter says. “You can help.”

“I can’t.”

“Please.”

It’s desperate. More desperate than Ned’s ever heard his friend. Even after Homecoming. “Peter-” he starts, but there’s no words to convey the weight in his chest.

“We can fix this,” Peter says. “We can fix it.”

“You’re bleeding too much.”

“I just need some help.” Peter lifts himself away with Ned with trembling arms. He’s even more pale, his skin close to translucent. He struggles with the side pocket on his backpack before revealing a small sewing kit. He transfers it into Ned’s palm where it leaves a thick smudge of red. He stares at it for a long time and won’t realize until much later that he’s in shock.

“What?” he stutters, transfixed by how much blood is on the sewing kit.

“My hands... my hands are shaking too much to thread the needle.”

Ned stares. He’s numb.

“Ned?” Peter prompts. He reaches out a hand and bracelets Ned’s wrist in his blood. “Can you- can you thread the needle for me?” he pauses, and almost sheepishly, he smiles. “I need my guy in the chair.”

It’s like a damn breaking. Ned snaps back into awareness, sad, angry, and unable to fully comprehend why. Guy in the chair.

“I’ll help you,” he says, “but not in the way you want.”

Before Peter can protest, Ned pulls out his phone. He dials in the number and tries to ignore the way Peter’s chest falls, or how a tear cuts a line through the grime on his face.

“Mr. Stark?” he asks when the line connects. “I need your help.”

In the background, Ned can already hear the mechanical thrum of what can only be a suit being activated. Mr. Stark doesn’t question it. He doesn’t waste time. “I’ll be there in three minutes,” he says, and then the line disconnects.

Peter blinks slow. His lip trembles. “I wish you didn’t do that,” he says.

And then he collapses.

Ned cries out as he catches him. His shirt will be ruined. Peter’s head lolls sickeningly against his neck, his arms going limp at his sides. Acting on instinct alone, Ned reaches to put pressure over the still bleeding wound in Peter’s side. It’s warm and he gags. His eyes burn with tears.

“P-Peter?” he cries, but Peter remains still against him. He wonders if this is how Peter had felt when Ben had died, and for the first time understands the guilt Peter had pinned on himself. “Wake up, man. Mr. Stark is coming. He’s going to- he’s going to help.”

But Peter doesn’t wake up. He doesn’t even twitch until Mr. Stark hits the dirt hard beside them, his suit retracting from his face to reveal a look of complete terror. It catches Ned off guard, but not as much as the way Mr. Stark gently maneuvers Peter out of Ned’s arms and into his own lap.

“Hey Underoos,” Mr. Stark says. His voice is soft but urgent. He taps on Peter’s face and brushes back his hair. “This isn’t a good look, kiddo.”

Ned is frozen. Stuck. He feels the tacky wetness of blood on his hands and is unable to look at them.

“Pete,” Mr. Stark continues, louder this time. “Wake up. That’s an order.”

Ned holds his breath as Peter’s eyes open to slits. They’re hazy, confused, but his lips manage to quirk up into a smile that betrays the pain in his eyes. “Tony,” he whispers.

Mr. Stark sags and Ned can practically see the relief leak out of him. He plays with Peter’s hair, his free hand pressed down hard against the worst of the bleeding. “You never do things halfway, do you kid?” he asks with a smile that even Ned can tell is for Peter’s benefit alone. “If it weren’t for Ned, you’d be six feet under right about now.”

Peter’s eyes drift to find Ned. His smile widens when they connect. “He’s my guy in the chair,” he slurs.

Tony hugs Peter tighter and Ned is struck just how paternal the hero is acting. Like Peter is the most important thing in the world. A lot has changed since Homecoming, he realizes. “Let’s get you some help, buddy. You up for a flight?”

But Peter doesn’t seem to hear. His eyes are still glued to Ned. He doesn’t speak, but Ned understands anyway.

Tony stands, bringing Peter up with him, and Peter goes limp once more. Ned doesn’t miss the way Tony’s breath hitches or the urgency in his movements. He stops before he takes off, regarding Ned with a look of gratitude. “Happy is on his way to pick you up. Wait here for him, okay?”

Ned can only nod, and when they both disappear into the air, he sinks to the ground. It takes hours for the blood on his hands to wash off, and when he finally makes it to Peter’s room in medbay, he finds Tony Stark with his head pillowed on Peter’s thigh. They’re both sleeping, their arms linked.

And for the first time, it all makes sense.

------

It’s been two weeks since the blip’s reversal.

They’re back at school. Ned shuffles awkwardly at his locker, uncomfortable, like his skin is on too tight. Graduation pictures of his classmates hang on the wall.

Five years.

A deep, unrelenting sadness pulls at his heart. He should be happy to be back, but he’s not. Not really. His little sister, who what seems like yesterday was half his height, now reaches his chin. The calendar in his room is useless.

So much time.

Across the hall, he sees Peter. It calms the sharp edges of his anxiety and as if mirroring his own relief, he sees his friend’s shoulders lose their tension. Ned begins walking towards him and Peter drifts too. It’s slow, cautious, like everything will vaporize in a moment if they move too fast.

But at last, they meet. And in the middle of the hall, surrounded by faces Ned no longer recognizes, they hug. Peter’s grip is strong. Almost bruising. It reminds Ned of Ben’s funeral and the heaviness in his chest doubles.

Peter sniffs. He trembles like he’s cold.

“Are you okay?” Ned whispers in his ear.

Peter is quiet. Ned can hear his measured breathing, an exercise taught to him by Mr. Stark shortly after the incident in the school bathroom.

Mr. Stark, who had died to save them all.

“Not yet,” Peter says after some time. They still haven’t pulled apart. “I just- I really miss him, Ned.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Peter’s fingers curl into his hoodie. People are staring at them, and for the first time in his life, Ned can’t bring himself to care.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” Peter says, and Ned feels his eyes sting.

Five long years.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you either.”

Finally, Peter pulls away. He wipes his sleeve across his cheekbones and takes in a rattling breath. “Wanna help me with my web shooters after school? May’s making lasagna. Pepper and Morgan are coming over, too.”

Ned smiles. Because after all the injuries he’s seen Peter sustain over the years, he’s seen them all heal too.

He’ll heal.

They both will.

“That sounds great, man.”

After a particularly sloppy handshakes, they walk to class with their shoulders bumping.

And though it may just be a trick of the light, Ned swears he sees Mr. Stark standing in the crowd of students, a wide smile on his face as he looks at them.

And just like Ben, Ned knows that Peter has Tony forever.

[ad1thi]

underrated stevetony fics rec list (P2)

this is ridiculously late and im so sorry, but here’s part 2 of this list!!

//

sweet lips on my lips (kiss like real people do).: @nethandrake

Frankly, if anyone told Tony that he’d be carried out of a burning building, well, he would’ve laughed in their faces. And if they were being extra mean about it, he probably would’ve even thrown them across the Atlantic.

After all, he’s Tony Stark. And Tony Stark always makes sure he has a safety net installed in his armor for emergencies, so it wouldn’t be out of commission before the building decided to collapse onto itself.

And yet, here he is, his armor out of commission, and being carried out of a burning building.

Carried out of a burning building by Steven Grant Rogers.

(In which Tony's from Civil War and Steve's from Infinity War. It's a problem.)

Rising: @withstarryeyes

Heat is licking up his sides and he groans, feeling his knees turn wobbly, and fumbles his way to the wall of the elevator. The metal is blessedly cool on his forehead and he sighs, eyes burning when he closes them. It’s still dark outside and every fiber of Tony’s being is telling him to go back to bed but he has work to do and plans to make and a blueprint open on his desk in the lab, Fury approved, and he can’t not do his job. So he musters all his strength and pushes off the wall when the elevator lands, ignoring his wet hacking as he moves.

He falls before he makes it to the bench, his top coated in sweat, and his eyes shutting to the whirling sensation that takes his breath away and leaves him panting in nauseated gasps. His hand shakes from where it’s planted on the ground, keeping him up.

the square root of infinity: @firebrands

steve and tony have their first fight. tony doesn't handle it well.

A Social Engagement: @finduilasclln

Written for the prompt: “This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.”

Steve agrees to something without fully comprehending what it means. Modern times are confusing.

Wounds Without A Bandage: @gotthesilver

Tony burrows deeper in his blankets, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to forget the last year. Taking control of Stark Industries was one thing, even if it had been a shock to Obie and the rest of the board when Tony came of age and started dispensing of all his dad’s old cronies, but SI’s exploration team actually finding Steve? Tony deciding Steve should come live with him? Tony has regrets.

Well.

He has regrets this morning.

Before last night, the most Tony regretted in relation to Steve was not jumping him the moment it became clear all his faculties were intact and that Tony hadn’t defrosted a brain dead Captain America.

Love Like A Hunger: @gotthesilver

Pushing the door open to the bedroom, Steve pauses at what he sees. “Tony? I—”

“Surprise?”

“I—” Steve swallows, taking in the sight of Tony, blood instantly going to his cock as he looks him up and down. “You look—wow.”

Tony’s got on a damn Princess Leia outfit, gold curling around his chest and hips, with red fabric skimming over his crotch, and Steve’s brain feels like it’s shut down.

The Night Shift: @weethreequarter

Welcome to the Emergency Department of San Antonio General where Dr. Tony Stark joins the team fresh from his most recent tour in Afghanistan and - much to the consternation of the other staff - strikes up an instant rapport with Nurse Steve Rogers. Meanwhile, new resident Bruce Banner refuses to give up on his patient, and Dr. Sharon Carter learns something from her own patients. Throw in a pissed off hospital administrator, Clint using the coffee pot as a mug again, and a major car crash and you have, well, just another night shift.

the james braincell: @starklysteve

“Right. How do we get them to admit they love each other?”

In front of him, Bucky brings out a metal flask and takes a swig out of it. “Hell if I know. You’re the genius who went to MIT.”

“I studied aerospace engineering,” Rhodey rolls his eyes, “not how to get two idiots to kiss.”

-------

Or, Bucky and Rhodey are the braincells.

In a desperate last ditch attempt, they set Steve and Tony up for a blind date.

Steve and Tony don't know that their date is each other. But they might have a braincell of their own. Might.

the good place (is next to you): @starklysteve

“I mean,” Tony tries his best shot at breaking the tension, “if you’re stuck with the wrong guy, at least I’m sexier than your real deal?”

Tony died and got sent to some sort of heaven, with Captain America as his soulmate. Except, they got the wrong Anthony Stark, and to stay in the Good Place, Tony must convince Steve to teach him how to be good.

-x-

(watching The Good Place is not necessary to understand this AU, but will help)

president captain america: @livingtheobsessedlife

He’s supposed to be campaigning to be elected as president of the United States, not pining over some billionaire he met at one of his campaign events. And yet, Steve can’t seem to get genius, philanthropist (and his newest big-time donor) Tony Stark out of his head.

come build a home out of me: @maguna-stxrk

Steve clears his throat.

“What if I went with you?” he asks nonchalantly, like his heart isn’t threatening to beat out of his ribcage.

Tony blinks a few times, looking at Steve, his mouth ajar. “As a— As my date?”

“Yeah.” Steve nods, feeling a little breathless.

“You don’t mind?” Tony furrows his eyebrows.

“I don’t. In fact, you can just tell them I’m your boyfriend. I’m sure they’ll back off, wouldn’t they?”

What.

“I— Huh?” Tony stares at him, brown eyes blown wide open.

What. What. What.

“Huh? Uh, I mean— You know, that way people will see that you have definitely moved on. Monica will see that you have moved on. Right?” Steve smiles, hoping that it masks his inner panic, because what?

Steve Rogers, what have you done?

Between Two Infinities: @/anonymous

The Titanic, 1946. Steven Grant Rogers did not think that going to war would end up with him being three times his normal size with superstrength and agility to boot, and... rich...but hey, he wasn’t complaining. Steve also didn’t expect to fall out of love- if it was even love in the first place- with the woman he was explicitly told to propose to, and instead fall for a formerly rich, formerly a playboy, still a genius, Tony Stark. Especially because, you know, it was a little tiny bit illegal, and he was supposed to be “America’s Golden Boy”, as Bucky put it.

All Tony expected out of the trip was to escape Europe with his best friend thanks to a lucky game of blackjack. He didn’t think he’d find himself having sex in the back of a car located in the cargo hold of the Titanic, or almost jumping off said ship. But that was just the life of a rogue Stark child, wasn’t it? At least Peggy was nice. Her dad, not so much.

A Thief Like Tony Stark: @dontholdthiswarinside

Tony is a high ranking criminal, known for his talent to disappear. Steve is a disillusioned soldier who needs some cash.

And some people will always be heroes, no matter what they do for a living.

The Things We Can’t Unsee: @/orphan-account

The mission was simple: get in, gather information, get out. Of course, Steve never really expected the enemy to follow this plan. One way or the other, something was bound to happen. They were the Avengers, after all. Nothing ever went easy for them.

What Steve didn’t expect was it going as far as it did; he didn’t expect having to make a decision that nobody should have to make.

Now Bucky’s lying there, bloody and dying all because of him, and Natasha’s poisonous words keep ringing in his head. Thinking about the ring he carries with him every day, Steve knows she’s right.

He’d never be able to make that call if it were Tony.

The Last Barman Poet: @nativemossy

Tony wasn't expecting anything more than dealing with a tequila-drunk Clint and a slightly wrinkled suit on this trip to Mexico. He got plenty more than he bargained for when he catches the eye of a handsome vacationer at the swim-up bar. Tipsy shenanigans ensue.

[danielxricciardo]

Prompts

1. "Hi, my ex just walked in. Would you hold my hand please?"

2. "I didn't expect to see you here."

3. "Have you seen this dog?"

4. “That mouth of yours, does it ever stop making noise”

5. “Seven minutes in heaven is for virgin teenagers”

6. “Slam that door one more time and I’ll shove my foot straight up your cute ass”

7. “Jesus! Knock next time would you”

8. “You have money go and get yourself a hoodie that’s not mine”

9. "I hate roses, I thought you knew"

10. "Do you think I am an angel? Ha"

11. "I wanted to sleep but someone decided to die"

12. "I can kill you right now, what are you talking about?"

13. "Hi, I am lost, can you come after me?"

14. "When I first saw you I wanted to date your best friend"

15. "I am so funny and you are just jealous"

16. "If I have to choose... no"

17. "Stop breathing like that!"

18. "I just did my nails"

19. "I'm the best driver în the world"

20. "Will you marry me?" "No"

21. "I think I broke my arm" "So?"

22. "I think I love you" "Thanks"

23. "My arms are lonely, don't you think?"

24. "Apparently we are dating"

25. “Well it’s kind of hard to move when you’re sitting on my lap”

26. "Those things you said yesterday, did you mean them?"

27. "If we elope, you think they'll kill us?"

28. "This is yours"

29. "You can’t just kiss me, laugh and then walk away."

30. "Are you using ass as a pillow?"

31." I find your lack of faith disturbing."

32. "And I took it personally"

33. "In here I am the boss"

34. "Oh, bite me!" "Where?"

35. "What will you do if we break up?"

36. "Where is my T-shit?"

37. "This is no time for sarcastic comments."  "There is always time for sarcastic comments."

38. "I’ll keep quiet, you won’t even know I’m here."

39. "The way you flirt is just awful"

40. "Don’t be fooled. I’m the epitome of mess."

41. " If you are on TV should I congratulate you?"

42. "And this, is why we can’t have nice things."

43. "That's what he said"

44. "I am scared of your boss"

45. "You should know, a lot of girls have a crush on me"

46. "Everyone is afraid of you"

47. "If I'm watching that movie one more time I'll lose my fucking mind!"

48. "I thought being on vacation will be stress free"

49. "My parents don't trust you"

50. "I don't think I should give my last name so easily"

51. “I really wish I could unsee that.”

52. “Who would’ve guessed we’d be sharing a room.”

53. “I feel like you have an unhealthy obsession with me.”

54. “Nah he’s fine, it’s the other one you really got to watch out for.”

55. “I have a suggestion.” “I’m not taking my clothes off so forget it.”

56. “You’re the genius, why don’t you tell me?”

57. “Have I ever told you your accent makes me swoon?” “Really?” “No.” He/she smiles. “ that’s why I’ve never told you.”

58. “I’m alive? How am I still alive?”

59. “You’re crazy! I love it!”

60. “Never have I ever is about to get a lot more interesting.”

61. “What did they do?” “Dude. They did the do.”

62. "You can’t keep pretending it didn’t happen, cause guess what? It did!"

63. "Well this is awkward."

64. "Im too sober for this."

65. "Im pregnant." "Wall done, Virgin Mary!"

66. " I want to protect you."

67. "Kill that spider and maybe I'll forgive you"

68. "I have no one to go to the wedding"

69. "Don’t you dare touch _______!"

70. "I thought you were dead!"

71. "This is, without a doubt, the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in."

72. "Take care of you, please"

73. "If your best friend single?"

74. "Just remember, if we get caught, you’re deaf and I don’t speak English."

75. "Why does everyone assume we're a couple?"

76. "Im craving something sweet" "Are you pregnant or something?"

77. " What is the magic word?" "I'll kill you în your sleep"

78. "When I see you my knees get weak"

79. "Finally you're single. Can I take you on a date?"

80. " So, I guess you don’t do after hours?"

81. "I know what I'm doing, I've watched two whole seasons of Grey's Anatomy."

82. "I can't believe I'm stuck here with you right now."

83. "Okay, this did not go as I planned it in the shower."

84. "I'm not going to sit around and watch you destroy yourself."

85. "You were my best friend"

86. "You did what?"

87. "Can you just pretend to love me for a second!"

88. "You are enough"

89. "Take the shirt off"

90. "Your nickname is bitch"

91. "What do you want to watch?" "You"

92. "How could you ask me that?"

93. "Your mouth does this thing and I can't resist it"

94. "Are you allowed to drink?"

95. "I said Im done, leave me alone!"

96. "Don’t raise your fucking voice at me”

97. “Yeah, I remember the drill”

98. “Tell me again, slowly this time, why that dog is in my bed.”

99. “Gave you so much, but it wasn’t enough.”

100. “You and me, we were destined to fall apart.”

101. “No, you don’t know who you are until somebody breaks your heart.”

102. “I want to tell you everything. The words I never got to say the first time around.”

103. “It’s better to feel pain, than nothing at all.”

Song lyrics prompts

1. “It’s the little things about us, that I love so much.”

2. “Last night I told you I loved you // woke up blamed it on the vodka”

3. “It’s a better place since you came along”

4. “You make me love the things I hate  “

5. Just a paper sheet and half a cigarette are left in my hand

6. Your faith walks on broken glass

7. "And can you teach me how to dance real slow?"

8. "I'll throw away my faith, babe, just to keep you safe"

9. "One night, you won't forget the rest of your life"

10. "We only said goodbye with words"

11. "I'll try to give you love until the day you drop"

12. "I like the pretty boys with the bow tie"

13. "Lets get drunk forget what we did"

14. Your kisses lift me higher

15. When you're ready we can share the wine

16. "And if you don't love me now you will never love me again"

17. "Why'd you have to go and make things so complicated?"

18. "When there's nothing to lose and there's nothing to prove"

19. She's the kind of girl who only asks you over when its raining, just to make you lie there catching water dripping from the ceiling.

20. Now I understand, you're a human, and you got to lie, you're a man

21. The good and the bad times: we've been through them all.

22. Now I ain't educated but I sure ain't stupid

23. I grew up in the shoes they told me I could fill

24. It's hard to say that I'd rather stay awake when I'm asleep

25. A lover would just complicate my plans

26. And in the morning, i’ll be with you, but it will be a different kind

27. My heart is yours, it’s you that i hold on to

28. And with one kiss, you inspired a fire of devotion that lasts for twenty years

29. I let go of my claim on you, it’s a free world

30. I’m in my bed, and you’re not here and there’s no one to blame, but the drink in my wandering hands

31. Cause you gave me peace and i wasted it, I’m here to admit that you were my medicine

32. Oh, dear diary, i met a boy, he made my doll heart light up with joy. Oh, dear diary, we fell apart, welcome to the life of electra heart

33. For you, I would cross the line, I would waste my time, I would lose my mind

34. Is it really me you're missing?

35. Remember that night?

36. How many times can I break till I shatter?

37. As long as I breathe, I’ll call you my home

38. "You wouldn't know love if it crushed your fucking chest."

39. "When we scream our lips don't make a sound."

40. "Please don't let me sink, wrap your arms around me and carry me home."

41. "This hasn't torn us apart so nothing ever will."

42. "A long time ago we believed that we were united."

43. "I miss the person that you were but I don't miss you."

44. "If home is where the heart is, why do I feel so fucking heartless?"

45. "I can't live, I can't breathe with or without you just go away."

46. "I'm not afraid to die, I'm afraid I'll survive and have to watch you suffer."

47. "I wanna hold you high and steal your pain away."

48. "I'm not like you I just fuck up."

49. "All because of you I believe in angels, not the kind with wings, no not the kind with halos. The kind that bring you home when home becomes a strange place."

50. "I just want to go to sleep and never wake up again."

51. “I wish people liked me more.”

52. “How could I ever love someone else?”

53. “I guess you’re getting everything you want.”

54. “She probably gives you butterflies.”

55. “I hope that you’re okay.”

56. “I defended you to all my friends.”

57. “I never cared about what they say, only care about me and you” 

58. “Either way i’m gonna lose, so i’m just gonna keep on loving you”

59. “You know i’m bad at communication, it’s the hardest thing for me to do”

60. “Iwas your lover, i was your friend, now I’m only just someone you call when it’s late enough to forget”

61. “It’s fucked up but it’s true that i love you like i do”

62. “Well we both had nights waking up in strangers beds but i don’t wanna, don't wanna, i don’t wanna give up yet”

63. “Tell me I’ve got it wrong somehow.”

64. “I’m begging for you to take my hand.”

65. “I can’t make it go away by making you the villain.”

66. “He feels like home.”

67. “I’d be breaking all my rules to see you.”

68. “But I know you’re not scared of anything at all.”

69. “When can I come back?”

70. “I’m ready to owe you anything”

71. “I’ll always look best in your head”

72. “I know you know it’s wrong, but I’m ready”

73. “All I ever want is breaking me apart.”

74. “Let's talk sweetly like all our love is false.”

75. “You put a fire in my heart, painted blood on my stars, gave me faith.”

76. “I wanna meet your girlfriend, she sounds nice.”

77. “How is kissing me so wrong?“

78. “Can’t you see that I’m already yours?”

79. “I’ve been losing track of the romantic sh*t I’m tryna say but basically I love you"

80. “I don’t wanna be your friend, I wanna kiss your lips, I wanna kiss you until I lose my breath”

81. “I apologize for all your tears, I wish I could be different but I’m still growing up into the one you can call your love” 

82. “I’m out of my head, of my heart, of my mind cause you can run but you can’t hide, I’m gonna make you mine”

83. "I never loved someone the way that I love you"

84. "It's the way that you know what I thought I knew, it's the beat that my heart skips when I'm with you"

85. "I hope she gettin' better sex, hope she ain't fakin' it like I did, babe"

86. “I know we’re young and people change and we may never feel the same”

87. “I can’t change the world, but maybe I’ll change your mind”

88. "You don't own me. Don't tie me down 'cause I'd never stay."

89. "Leave everything that is worth a single cent and just take me instead."

90. "And then I got you off your knees, put you right back on your feet, just so you can take advantage of me."

91. "Hey, I can't let you go with nobody. Cause I love you, baby."

92. "Tell me that it wasn't my fault and that I was enough for you."

93. "We were good at faking forever, I get it, whatever."

94. "Cause you had your chance and you blew it. Yeah, you ripped it up and you chewed it."

95. "Well, I'm too busy for your business. Go find a girl who wants to listen."

96. "Stop looking at me with those eyes, like I could disappear and you wouldn't care why."

97. "Oh, we could do whatever you want, but boy, don't go falling in love, you can't stay with me, all you'll ever have is one day with me"

98. "I pray the medication slow me down, but that shit doesn't work when you're around"

99. "Told her that I loved her once and now she'd kill for me"

100. "What the tell were we? Tell me we weren't just friends"

Who I write for

Formula 1

Daniel Ricciardo

Lewis Hamilton

Max Verstappen

Charles Leclerc

Esteban Ocon

Carlos Sainz

Lando Norris

Lance Stroll

Sebastian Vettel

Mick Schumacher

Pierre Gasly

George Russel

Football

Erling Haaland

Jadon Sancho

Giovanni Reyna

Jude Bellingham

Julian Brandt

Marco Reus

Roman Bürki

Emre Can

Mats Hummels

Leon Goretzka

Joshua Kimmich

Kai Havertz

Mason Mount

Christian Pulisici

Ben Chilwell

Gerard Pique 

João Félix

Ianis Hagi

Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain

Trent Alexander-Arnold

Virgil van Dijk

Jens Petter Hauge

Martin Ødegaard

Alexander Sørloth

[miss-choco-chips]

Bird Watchers

It was something like an open secret in Gotham, that even though all it’s heroes were open to help no matter the situation, each one of them had a special affinity to certain matters.

For example, children from all districts knew to yell for Nightwing if they found themselves lost and scared. Small business owners often painted little Oracle symbols on their doorsteps, to warn away possible thieves with the knowledge that Gotham’s cryptic hacker had their eye on them. Working girls would send a quick prayer to the Red Hood before seeing their seediest clients; and as such, knew who to call for if things took a turn for the worst.

And Red Robin… well. His was a very specific bunch.

---.---

Warnings: depression, suicide attempts, overdose comic-typical violence (discussed, not explicit). Hurt-comfort all the way, baby. There’s also one scene, with the redhead, that I copied from the comics.

(it’s almost 2 am, I wrote half of this in one go, don’t @ me for mistakes. I’ll edit tomorrow. Maybe.)

---.---

The first time he stopped a suicide, he had just turned thirteen. The suit still felt wrong, too loose in all the places where Jason’s bigger presence would have been a better fit. Too small, too brainy, not brash enough, not good enough.

He would never think himself worthy, but he was all Batman had. There were no other candidates, not ones he could have thrown the job at without risking Bruce’s identity, so he’d have to make do.

But even so, he had been gaining a little confidence over the past few months. His training with Shiva, and Dick’s and Bruce’s focus on making him as ready for the streets as humanly possible, had ensured he never encountered a situation where he couldn’t handle himself, or get back up in time to avoid any casualties.

Except for right now.

“Hey! Don’t do it, please!”

Yeah, maybe yelling at the man precariously balanced on the edge of a how many feet tall building wasn’t his wisest moment. He’d berate himself later. Now was freak out time.

Said man stumbled for a second before regaining his footing and turning to look at Tim. He couldn’t be more than forty, with a bit of an overgrown beard and tired eyes. He had something clutched in one hand, tanned and calloused from work, the other over his chest, probably due to the scare of having a bat suddenly appearing behind him.

“R-Robin…”, he gasped, shook out of whatever reverie he was going through for a second. “W-what… I mean, why are you…?”

‘Okay, Tim, breath. Can’t call B, he’ll notice, get startled and jump. Can I catch him if he does? My grappling hook is made to withstand more than my weight, but if I can’t handle the strain of swinging us both to safety…’

He couldn't risk it.

“Good evening, Mr…?”

Surprise and good manners made the man automatically answer, “Ed. Ed Harrinson.”

Encouraged, Tim took a tiny teeny step forward. Ed’s entire body shock and he leaned backwards. Tim froze, fear keeping his breathing and heartbeat hostages for the time being, stopping the first and kick starting the second.

“Mr Harrinson, I’d like to ask you to step away from the edge? I’ll call an ambulance for you, and…”

“No!”, the man screamed, suddenly over his surprise, a look of determination trying to masquerade his obvious exhaustion. “If you call an’one, I’ll jump.”

Tim wisely kept the ‘you were gonna do it anyway’ to himself. He nodded slowly, hands emerging from the confines of his cape to show Mr Harrinson the lack of a communication device.

“I won’t, then, but may I come closer? Please?”

It was on the last word, high pitched and wavering, that the man cracked. With wary demeanor, he waved him over, pointing to a patch of rooftop a little far but close enough for Tim to feel comfortable- or as comfortable as he’d get, in these circumstances.

As he approached, he could feel the man analyzing him. The little gasp when he stood by his side didn’t go unnoticed.

“You are… smaller than I imag’ned. Too small for a bat. My boy’s taller than you” he mused, likely to himself, but Tim grasped onto that bit of information and clutched at it with both hands, desperately.

“I’m short compared to my peers, so maybe I’m the same age as your son. How old is he?”, he asked, in his most conversational tone. Fear still had a grasp over both his lungs and heart.

Something in the man’s face shifted.

“He… he just turned fifteen.” Older than Tim, then. Ed continued, “He’s… ”, in a second, the sadness was replaced by pride, “he’s grown up p’tty well, if I say so m’self. A fine young man, that kid. He’ll go places.”

For a beat, Tim tried to imagine his own dad here. As much as he’d hate to see Jack in Mr Harrinson’s place, he couldn't help but wonder if he’d be talking about him the same way Ed spoke about his son.

He… didn’t think so. If on the verge of death, thoughts about his son would probably be the farthest from his dad’s mind.

“You sound like you love him very much. He’s a lucky guy” he said sincerely, a tendril of hopefulness still twisted around his stomach. His hands weren’t shaking any longer, finding solace in the fact that the man in front of him didn’t look like he was about to jump right that second.

Mr Harrinson’s face fell.

“Got served an’ unlucky hand, with an old man like me”, his eyes went back to the abyss, to the empty, poor litten streets below them. “Go ‘way, kid. Leave m’ be. Notta business what I do. Gotta do this f’r my kid.”

Fear came back, full force.

“I- Sorry, but I can’t help but think about your son”, he blurted out, the only bit of information he had about the man was his only tendril of hope. “Someone who loves his child as much as you seem to must be a good father. A father that… would be missed dearly, if lost so young.”

Mr Harrinson looked even more devastated. Tim was doing this all wrong, wasn’t he?

“There’s no other way t’ keep’im safe!'' he yelled, and for a minute Tim thought he had decided to jump then and there. Instead, he dropped to his knees, hands to his head, paper still clutched in one fist. “They’ll get to him if I don’t! Once I’m dead, they’ll just leave’im alone!”

Tim crouched next to him, tentative.

“Who is ‘they’, sir? Maybe I could help…”

Ed was already shaking his head.

“Nay, they said not to go to the bats. Kill my boy, they will, if I do. Seen them offing others for less, so I believe them.”

“Ah, but I’m too short to be a bat, am I not?” he smiled, wobbly at best but sincere. “Besides, who’s gonna tell them you spoke to me? I”, he gestured to his mask, “know how to keep a secret.”

He considered for a beat, before tired shoulders fell, defeated. He offered the slip of paper towards him, unseeing eyes on the street below.

Robin read the note carefully, noting the sloppy penmanship and cheap paper as well as the message itself.

“Mr Harrinson…”

“I know”, he whispered, “I know working for the Black Mask wasn’t my best idea. But m’boy needed to eat, and the landlord was gettin’ impatient. And now, for whatever reason, boss wants me dead. And if I make ‘im dirty his own hands, he’ll dirty ‘em twice and send me with my son for company to the other side. Felix is too young, and he’s good. Can’t let ‘im pay f’ his old man m’stakes, ya hear me?”

Tim thought his words over carefully.

“Mr Harrinson… I don’t think this comes from Black Mask himself”, for one, Blackie wasn’t one to avoid blood on his gloves, nor to send such a shitty note. The man lived for the drama, like most A-listers did, and he’d never forgo the aesthetic of an expensive peachment and beautifully worded threat. Also, if he wanted this man gone, he would have put a bullet in his head the second he clocked in; and if it were revenge he was after, he wouldn't have gotten a warning note but his son’s head sent to him instead.

He folded the paper and put it into one of his multiple pockets, free hand going to the man’s shoulder.

“I know Black Mask’s M.O, mister, and this is not it”, no need to spook him further by describing what it was, though. “Probably just a colleague who wanted your position, or has a grudge for whatever reason. And that, I can help you with. If you work with me on this one, we can both make sure Felix has his Dad making breakfast for him tomorrow morning, and all the days after that. After all”, he smiled, no longer uncertain now that he had firm ground to work with, “your son is going places, and he’ll have to be well fed to reach them, right?”

Mr Harrinson’s smile must have had magical properties, Tim thought. There was no other explanation for the way it returned his breath back to his body.

---.----

The next time he saw a jumper, a few months later, he was slightly more ready for it. Bruce had congratulated him on his work with Mr Harrinson, and the subsequent raid they could make on one of Black Mask’s warehouses thanks to the man’s information, but Tim hadn’t been satisfied until he had read every single mission report on the batcomputer about attempted suicides. And succeed ones, too. Need to know what went well and what didn’t, after all.

So when he saw the fifty-something woman crying on top of a tower in City Hall District, he didn’t almost-crash in his attempt to get there in time. He landed softly, making just enough noise to let her know she wasn’t alone, but careful to not startle her.

“It’s a little cold up here, Lady. If you’d like, I can walk you home?”, he tries for cheeky, despite the cold fear nesting in his stomach like a grumpy, spiteful bird.

The woman, sitting by the edge, turned her head to look at him. The movement called attention to her long, strawberry blonde hair, neatly braided, and her pretty diamond earrings. The face under her perfect make up was gaunt and pale, tear tracks cleaning paths of skin to his trained eye.

Despite him interrupting what probably were very private thoughts, she smiled at his approach, kind and polite. It didn’t reach her eyes, but the intent to put him at ease was generous enough.

“I may be a lady, but any adult worth their salt would insist on walking the young child home, instead of the opposite. Besides”, she patted the rooftop under her,” I live here, so it’s not a long walk at all.”

Tim stepped closer, carefully.

“May I sit?”

“I could use the company for a bit”, she accepted, head turning back to the city below.

They sat there for a few minutes in silence, before Tim’s soft voice broke it again.

“Is there anything I can do to help convince you not to do it? Please?”

The lady smiled. “You are a very sweet boy.”

“That’s… not an answer. Can I at least know why?”

“Won’t it torment you, in the future, if we speak now?”, she asked a question of her own, turning to face him again. Despite her words, there was nothing but kindness in those deep green eyes. “If you don’t know me, I’m just another one who jumped. If we talk, I’m afraid I might stay with you long after I’m gone. You are too young for that kind of weight.”

Tim swallowed. 

“That’s easily solved, Miss;”, Dick’s rule of thumb; if unsure, always call a lady Miss before Mrs “don’t do it.”

She spared him a long, meaningful look, and he slumped over.

“Not my best, I know, but I’m kinda freaking out now?” She wasn’t like Mr Harrinson, no motive he could see, no strand to pull and unravel her pain. “Please, just… why?”

She patted one of the hands gripping his own knee. His other hand rushed over hers, sandwiching her cold, slim fingers between his gloved palms.

“There’s nothing left for me. I have a nice job, live in a pretty side of town, have friends, and still… it feels so empty. So… Meaningless. Why even bother?”

Tim chewed on her words silently. He was way out of his depth. A tangible, physical problem? He could solve those, no biggie.

Depression, though… that was a different giant to tackle. Was he even prepared enough to?

A strong gust of wind made the lady with braided hair shiver. Without thought, Tim unclasped his cape and draped it over her slim shoulders.

“Aren’t you cold?” she asked, head tilted like a curious woodland animal. Tim felt strongly protective of her, of this kind, sweet lady, who said she had it all, except the one thing that mattered to her.

“I’m used to it”, he shrugged. “This suit is very warm, but cold air often trickles down from the neckline and… well. Gigs of the job and all that.”

The lady tutted, frowning for the first time since Tim arrived.

“That won’t do, young man. You need a scarf. The nights will only get colder from now on.”

He shrugged again.

“I just… don’t have the time to buy one. And I had one, but… There’s these kids who often hang out by the park, and they were so cold, I just couldn't swing by and ignore them. So I gave them my scarf to share between them. I’m just kinda bummed that I don’t have more to make sure they all stay warm.”

The braided haired lady hummed for a second.

“Well… I knit”, she started, carefully. “I don’t have children or grandchildren to give my final products to, so they’ll go to waste after I’m gone. If you’d take them out of my hands, you’ll do me a favor.” 

Tim wanted to say no, unwilling to make this any easier for her, but the chance of getting her away from the edge was enough to quell his voice.

She went and came back within minutes, a big cardboard box balanced over her shaky arms. He rose to help her, meeting the woman halfway through the roof, a good distance away from the abyss.

“This red one would look good with your suit… oh, and the green one, to keep with the theme! Or maybe the yellow one… Shame pink would be such a bad fit for your colors, because that wool is the best I worked with…”

Tim’s hand carefully took said carf out and looked it over. There were about six others in the box.

“I could take this to those kids I mentioned before… It’d still not be enough for all, but more to share between them means less cold.”

She hummed again, looking at the unfinished projects on the bottom of the box.

“If… If you give me a few days…” she muttered. “I mean, I’m in no rush”, a hand vaguely gestured towards the rooftop’s edge. “I could spare a few days finishing those, and you could take them to these kids you spoke about… and maybe, I can help make a few children less cold with this silly hobby of mine.”

Elated beyond words, Tim nodded vigorously, waxing poetry about her work and about just how excited little Ellie would be with this soft, pretty pink scarf.

His patrol route could use a few detours, after all, if that meant keeping Braided Hair Lady away from her roof.

---.----

He was just returning from a late supply run when he bumped into The Cats.

It was in an alleyway, a block off from Mrs Eloise Denvarow (formerly known as Braided Hair Lady). The older woman had caved after three months knowing each other, of Tim passing by her apartment once every other night to pick up her baked goods or knitted masterpieces, to distribute between street kids and working girls, and told him her name. It was said in passing (“Stop with that ‘Lady’ thing, honey. It’s Eloise”), as if lacking importance, when in reality it meant the world to him. Sure, he’d already known, having run a background check on her the minute he came back to the cave after stopping her from jumping, but there was that implicit vow between them, that she wouldn't tell him her name and jump, wouldn’t make him carry its weight on his shoulders forever, so it was… it was a promise, on her end, a reassurance, and Tim wasn’t even embarrassed that he cried in her arms like a baby for ten minutes.

So here he was, a month after that, still riding that high, when the desperate call from below caught his attention.

There were two teens on the dirty ground, nested among cracked bottles and old newspapers. The girl was lying in the boy’s arms, with him screaming for help.

“Robin! Thank fuck!”, he almost sobs, arms visibly tightening around the girl. Tim wants to ask how he knew to call for him, and if the proximity to Mrs Denvarow’s place was luck or not.

But it wasn’t the time to ask.

The girl was pale, which only highlighted the bruises on her face. Someone with a big fist punched her. It doesn't seem likely, considering just how distraught the other kid is, but he checks his hands just in case; fortunately, too small for that kind of damage.

She’s also breathing erratically and, when he puts a gloved hand to her neck, he realizes just how crazy her pulse is. 

Fear Toxin? Except Scarecrow is still in Arkham as far as he knows, and even if he had gotten away recently, he needs time to develop his precious chemicals. Joker’s Venom and Mad’s Hatter drugs don’t have quite this results, and Ivy doesn’t usually attack street girls just for kicks; they are also too far from her usual turf for her to be a viable suspect.

So, that leaves very few choices.

“Overdose?”, he ventures a guess, hand already fumbling through the pockets on his belt.

The other boy sobs harder, nodding while looking down at the girl in his arms. Tim gently takes the girl from him to position her straighter, to help her down the vial he finally found in his belt. It was supposed to help flush out any chemical in a few minutes, tops; they usually used it when a new type of Crazy Criminal Drug made its way to the streets and they didn’t have the time to properly prepare an antidote. It was strong, and vicious in its path to devoid the body of any and all external agents, which was why it wasn’t a preferred method; who’s to say the civilian in need of a flush isn’t in some important medicine? The Big Flush, as Dick calls it, lacked any kind of finesse or discrimination.

But it was their best shot right now, so there goes nothing. 

There’s silence while they watch the girl’s progress. He doesn’t bother asking if he called for an ambulance; they are obviously minors, probably homeless, and even if the Wayne Foundation takes care of children’s hospital fees, they’d avoid it to keep themselves out of the foster system.

But then, the kid kept talking.

“I… I found her near Grant Park. I… I didn’t know what to do, so I dragged her here. She/” and then he breaks again, hands grasping one of hers, as if letting go meant he was giving up on her and he couldn't bear it.

“Grant Park is only five blocks away,” Tim thinks out loud, mind already a mile away “and Moench’s Row illicit night clinic is about the same distance from there as this place. Why did you bring her here?”

“She… Alley… Oh, her name’s Allison, by the way. And I’m Thomas. Tom.” Introductions, miraculously, seem to do the trick here and calm him down. “Nice to meetcha.”

Tim’s not deterred by his toothy grin, but he has to admit he’s kinda cute. Like, stray cat cute.

Huh. Alley, Tom, cat… Yeah, that checks.

“What happened with Allison?” he presses softly, one arm still keeping Alley up and against his chest, the other hand on her pulse point, taking note of the way the heartbeat seems to be stabilizing. The puking fest was gonna start soon.

“She… It was on purpose.” Tom confesses, eyes going clouded for a while. “She tries to not be home, yknow? I met her in kindergarten, and even then she’d try to hide behind the teacher’s desk in hopes they’d forget about her and close the building with her inside. Anyway, we pretty much live on the streets these days, and Alley… she’s very depressed. I convinced her to see someone a while ago, even stol/ I mean, earned the money for it myself”, he’s quick to correct, eyes glancing up to see if he was smooth enough to cover it; which he wasn’t, but Tim was in favor of letting that small one go, “and they gave her a prescription for antidepressants. She’s been kicking it down the road, but she’s gotten a lot worse and I wouldn't lay off her case about it, so she sneaked back home to get some money from her folks to pay for it.”

By the way the kid looks at her bruised face with unmeasurable guilt, Tim knows she didn’t go unnoticed.

“And… I don’t know. We were supposed to meet up by the Commerce Street Highway, but she was late, so I walked around for a bit and… I saw her there, on a bench. She was/ she was still conscious then, and she told me… she said ‘these aren’t what the doc gave me, but they took the pain away all the same’.” Again, Tom chokes on his own emotions. If he had any free hands, he’d try to put one on his shoulder for comfort. “I don’t even know what she took, or where did she get it from!”

Tim has heard whispers of loan sharks and drug dealres camping toghter by the Fashion Distric, just north of Grant Park, so he can make an informed guess as to how that happened. Also, he now knows what he’ll do the rest of the night, once these kids are safe.

When Tom has gotten a grasp of himself, he pushes again.

“So, why did you bring her here?”

He shrugs, a bit abashed.

“Well… I mean, everyone knows about how Mrs Denvarow is the one giving clothes and food away, and that you help her distribute it. Well, not everyone, but… you know, the street kids. We flagged her building with a yellow skull and everything.”

A yellow skull grafitti, Tim’s mind translates, is the street equivalent of a ‘don’t fuck with this place’ sing. A sort of protective sigil. He wonders how he missed it.

“And… This is kind of your thing, right? So I figured you’d be better prepared to deal with it than some overworked clinic that might even not have enough free equipment to help us. Good think I did, too” he gestures at his friend, whose face is now looking flushed; a sign both of growing health, and of the upcoming puke. Tim’s quick to turn her so her back is to his chest, head tilted down just in case.

As if rehearsed, Alley chose that exact second to empty the contents of her now flushed stomach. Tim would need a sample of that, to catch the responsible dealer.

Tom held her hair away from her face while Tim kept her steady, and she blinked bearily at them after it was done, still not completely lucid but a world away from the girl she was ten minutes ago.

“She’ll still need a hospital.'' Tim informs Tom sternly. The boy had taken his friend in his arms again, softly rubbing her back to help with the uncomfortable ache leftover after puking your guts out. “The Moench’s Row clinic should be able to help with any side effect, but she’s safe for now.”

He nods, thanks Tim again and again and politely refuses his help to take her to the clinic. They part ways, both parties probably thinking this would be the last time they saw each other.

Still, their situation sticks with Tim during the rest of his patrol, and he decides to stop by the clinic, just to check on them. His knuckles still ache from the absolute beating he delivered to the ones who gave Alley the money and sold her the drugs, so he’s in better spirits and hopes to spread it to the kids.

Alley is awake when he visits, and her shy, little smile is enough for the rage inside of Tim to die down. The bad guys dealt with, the civilians safe, everything in its proper place.

He sleeps a bit better that night.

---.----

He almost doesn’t see him. 

Actually, he probably wouldn't have, deeply lost into his own head, had the guy been anything other than a redhead. That exact shade of  orangy-brown auburn, that he would have to pick up from his workbench at Titan’s tower after Bart had decided to ‘keep him company’ during his all-nighters. 

It was ironic, how now he would give anything in the world to have those same strands of hair fucking up his experiments, if only for the impish, ‘please-don’t-kill-me-I’m-an-angel’ smile he would receive in exchange.

“Hey”, he greets, landing softly at the man’s right, sitting a few feet away from him, too tired to even stand up on common ground. “What’s happening?”

He shouldn’t be doing this. He really, really shouldn’t. His own mental health was less than stellar, and even thinking about it made him feel worse. He didn’t deserve to feel bad, not when civilians were in the hospital after his latest fuck up, Cass was missing, Cassie barely hanging in there, the family a mess with Damian’s lovely introduction, and… well. Every other person he knew…

Point being, there must be someone else, in a better inner place, that could speak to this guy. But since no one seemed to be patrolling this route, Tim could only hope to stall him long enough for a more capable vigilante to show up.

The guy looks startled, then angry. He has green eyes, he notices, under the glasses. Not sure why that sticks to him.

“What are you doing here? You’re not going to try to stop me, are you? You’re not going to swing down and catch me in mid air or something, are you?”

He seems defensive, but Tim notices a bit of hesitancy. He has worked with less.

(He wishes he had more energy to do more with what little he has)

“No. If I did, what’s to stop you from doing it again later, or tomorrow? I can’t be with you every second.  If you want to do this, you are going to, no matter how much I don’t want you to. And I don’t want you to, just so we are clear.”

The guy still looks suspicious, but he hasn’t taken that last step forward, so… a win?

“I just needed to sit down for a minute. ‘been thinking about all the ways I’ve screwed up lately, and…”

Auburn-hair deflates a little, turning away from Tim to examine the night sky. “Well, that makes two of us.”

The bat signal lights up the night. His newfound companion looks at it, then him. “Do you need to get that?”

“Nah. Batman will, and if he needs help he’ll call me.” Tim shrugs. He needs a coffee-power-up. He needs to sleep. He needs for his loved ones to not be dead.

He needs to see if there’s anything he can do for this guy.

“So, do you want to tell me why you’re doing this? So someone can go to your family and friends to let them know?”

After all, if it was him who did it (and… wasn’t that food for thought?), he’d like Bruce and Dick to know why. To not… to not blame themselves.

Redhead looks annoyed again. Uh. A short fuse, this one.

“Don’t try any psychology, or try to make me feel guilty about hurting anyone… this isn't about anyone but me.”

He shouldn’t say it, but… “That’s pretty naive,  but whatever. Tell me anyway.” He smirks a bit, then “Unless you’re in a hurry or something.”

He hears the guy (he really should ask his name) as he tells his story. A cold, clinical part of his mind recognizes the symptoms described almost unconsciously by the guy as depression. He would know, after all. The other part of him, the part that made him Robin, that made him human, discarded the label; there was much more to this guy than his illness, and he would treat him like it.

“So here I am,” he finishes, now sitting side by side with Tim, both their legs hanging above the bustling city. “Now’s when you tell me how stupid this is. That other people have much bigger problems, there’s hunger and war, and I’m weak because my problems are nothing next to stuff like that.”

Tim thinks of a father, desperately thinking his death would save his son’s life, when in fact it would have only made it worse. He thinks of a woman, so full of love and warmth, looking into the abyss and feeling empty inside. He thinks of a couple of kids, one hanging to life with nails and teeth, the other hanging to her just as fiercely.

He thinks about himself. About looking at a future version of himself, hating what he sees, and deciding to drown the bud before it can even flower. He thinks of sickly green water, of cloning equipment in a laboratory, of a phone falling to the ground after delivering him with more bad news.

He’s still in a bad place, still probably not the most capable person to be doing this, but a part of him is sure this is the right answer. The only answer.

“No. Your problems are worse than anyone else’s, because they are yours. I’ve... felt bad like you have, and some pretty bad things have happened to me.”

Red hair looks as tired as Tim feels, so it’s a surprise that he has enough energy to glance at him worriedly, hand stretching a bit in his direction in a half-formed attempt to comfort.

“You guys make it look so easy, swinging around, having fun… Things get bad for you, too?”

Tim looks down, and smiles. It’s a sad, bitter thing. He thinks about parents lost before ever connecting to them, about a girlfriend going away, a sister lost to the madness of their lives, about two best friends gone, one even dying in his arms. 

He gives no details. Doesn’t talk about it all, just shares a little bit of himself. It’s only fair, after hearing about this guy’s demons. Misery loves company, doesn’t it?

“So what do you do? How do you deal with it?” the guy asks when he’s done, looking at Tim by the corner of his not-very-dry eyes.

Tim forces himself to remember. “One of the things I’ve learned is that it gets bad for everyone sometimes, Superman, Batman… everyone. I remember that I’m not alone, that things do get better. Sometimes on their own, most times when you work at them. And when I have trouble remembering those things, I find people to talk to.”

Most of those were dead, but Tim is hit with the epiphany that not all of them are. He still has people. He still…

“And you’ve got people like that? That you can talk to?” asks the guy, tone both worried and hopeful. Tim stands up, does his best to look calm.

“Yeah. Your folks, and old friend, even a trained counselor you’ve never met before… someone who has a totally different perspective because they’re not as close to your problems as you are. Maybe they give you advice, and that’s great… or maybe they just listen. Sometimes, that’s all you need. Anyway, that’s how I deal with it when things suck. And it works. Want to come down from there and give it a try?”

The guy gets back to his feet, as Tim watches from behind. Having been in this situation before, the fear grabbing a hold of him isn’t new, but it's different. He thinks he's too worn down. It takes the edge off of any emotion. 

Except hope. Hope still hurts like a sharp knife when it’s snatched away. He prays it won’t be, right now.

Green eyes (Jason- that’s who they reminded him of) look down, deep in thought. Then he turns, smiles at Tim. There’s hope in him too.

“Yeah, why not?”

They get down together. He gives him a few numbers and they have breakfast together. The guy promises to call his English teacher, at least. Tim promises himself to call his brother.

At least, he still has Dick.

---.----

He’s been putting off doing his rounds since he came back, he knows. But…

It changed him, a bit. Going around the world, dealing with his grief while staying on his toes, ready to break down one second and having to field off attacks from all sides the next, with the Demon’s honeyed whispers echoing in his ear and mind. 

He’ll never tell anyone, just how tempting it had been. How much he had wanted to reach for that offered hand. To lay his head on someone’s shoulder and let the responsibility bleed from his.

Tim will never tell anyone, but he’ll always know. And it’ll always make him hate himself a little bit more.

So, he’s different now. And he’s scared- that the people he gave hope to, that he talked with, that he could never stop thinking about, even halfway across the world- that they won’t like this new, worn down him.

That Mr Harrinson the Good Father, Braided Hair Lady and her sweaters, the inseparable Stray Cats, the girl with the bright yellow cardigan, the kid with the scarred wrists, the woman with beautiful star-like freckles that she’ll hopefully pass on to her baby, the gentle giant man with calloused hands, the petite but fierce young teen with defiant eyes and dead name, the soft spoken girl with the loudest laugh, auburn-haired boy and his hopeful and sympathetic green eyes… and so, so many more. They all knew him, maybe not at his best, but certainly better than now. The boy that kept them from jumping had been a bright, magical Robin. The teen that came back to their city was dark, weary Red Robin. It felt kinda like he had cheated them, returning this broken version of himself to their doorsteps.

But he had to go check on all of them. Even if Cass (and it was such a relief, that even after he lost everything else, the return of his sister could at least be a speck of light in the mist of misery surrounding him) had promised to do so, there were so many of them… and she couldn't possibly remember everyone, all the time. And if anyone had fallen through the gaps… if anyone had stood on a rooftop, waiting for their Robin to save them, only to think ‘nobody cares’ as he didn’t show up…

Tim gets sick only thinking about it. If it did happen, then he needs to know. He has to carry their names with him, that’s the least he can do for failing them.

So he’ll go check on them… anytime now. Soon. The moment he gathers enough energy to climb back to his feet and get his grapple hook out.

...The city looks full of life, beneath him. Like it feels the return of its Knight. The end of the internal quarrel among it’s vigilantes, that almost tore it all apart. The relief in Nightwing, the hesitant peace in Red Hood, the mellowing of Robin.

(He was feeling poetic tonight, in the worst ways)

Maybe it also feels Red Robin’s emptiness. Maybe that’s why it's so lively down there, like the ground is calling to him, just as it did when Ra’s broke the window with his body.

He thinks... he won’t have to check on anyone, if he jumps. And that way, there will be no name to carry with him to his grave.

“Robin!”

“Stop!”

“Don’t do it, please!”

He startles. Hadn’t even noticed when he got to his feet, nor that one of them was hanging over the abyss. The fact that he wasn’t alone on that rooftop any longer hadn’t even breached his usually perfect spatial awareness.

They didn’t call for him, but the voices sounded distraught, they were close, and he was a former Robin, so he turned around, tired, but with obedience and service too ingrained in him to consider denying help to whoever it was.

It turned out, he wouldn't need to go make his rounds any longer. His rounds had come to him.

There were… too many people on this roof. It was way too crowded.

“Robin!”

It was one voice now, not a mixture of them, so he could identify the one yelling his former alias. Allison broke from the mob of people (and there were more still, filling in from the open rooftop door, like a never-ending stream…) to run to him, looking like she might have just jumped into his arms, if not for Tom clutching her hoodie to stop her a few feet from him. Good move, considering he was still balancing precariously on the edge.

“Alleycat?” he whispered, a little blown. She looked so different (magenta looked amazing on the tips of her hair, and she totally pulled off that lip piercing), but he’d recognize those eyes anywhere. He’d been so relieved, when she first opened them after that dangerous overdose.

“We were so fucking worried, dude”, came from Tomcat just behind her, still gripping her hoodie (still keeping her safe; some things never change).

“I…”

“Where were you?” Maddie, not longer yellow but still wearing a cute cardigan, stepped up too.

“I’m… I’m not Robin”, he blurts out. They… knew it was him?  It… like, obviously there was a new Robin, Damian was (still, but probably not for much longer) smaller than him, but to immediately know that he was…

“Yeah, no shit. I’d know that long hair and noodle limbs of yours anywhere, kid. Known you too long to be fooled. And the new kid’s really trigger happy with that lon’nife of his... You’re still the Robin I prefer, and fuck if I understand the name passing you heroes do” Mr Harrinson spoke from the back of the crowd, one hand clutching his kid’s shoulder, the other arm around…

“Braided Hair Lady?”

Eloise smiles at him, soft and warm as ever, a little shy when his eyes go to the arm hugging her close and back to her. He recognizes some of her handmade scarfs around the necks of plenty of people on the roof. 

“I… wasn’t aware you all knew each other.”

A petite young teen steps forward, walking until they were shoulder-to-shoulder with the Strays.

“Most of us met through the app, and then introduced the others. There’s more, of course, but not everyone could meet here. Samantha’s baby was born just two months ago, so she chose to stay home, but we promised her pictures, so you’ll have to say cheese soon birdboy. Also, I found my name. I’m Cal.”

Allison’s smile broadened and she sneaked an arm around Cal’s waist.

“They are the new Straycat. Calico cat’s are the cutest shit ever, aren’t they?”

Well… Having someone as badass as Cal watching Tom and Alley’s back would sure make Tim feel a lot better about both kids being out in the streets. 

Were they still on the streets? He’d need to find out and fix that, soon.

Then it hit him. “What app?”

Auburn-hair smiled from his place, at the front of the crowd just behind the Cats.

“Felix over there,” he pointed over his shoulder at Mr Harrinson’s son, who smiled shyly at Tim, eyes shining in gratitude and admiration like they always did when Tim did his rounds and checked on his dad, “defended you in a GothamHeroes forum once. Some bratty douchebag was complaining about you landing over his car or something and this kid went for his fucking troath.”

“I was in that chat too,” spoke Tom, smiling a little too savagely for a kid that sweet. “He tore the idiot to shreds, speaking about how you saved his dad’s life and took it upon yourself to make sure he was still okay even weeks after you met. I mentioned how you saved Alley and Mrs Denvarow, we exchanged numbers… then we met Cal during one of our rounds handing out Mrs D’s scarfs and food. They were weary of everyone else, but trusted us because they heard you talk about the clothes and baked goods... And Cal’s friend Gina worked with Samantha on the streets and told them about her story...”

“Soon, it seemed like people personally saved by you were just… popping out of the snow like daisies” Blair laughed, and it was still the loudest, brightest noise. The night seemed a little clearer, the air a little fresher for it. “Felix made his own private chat and added us, and we added everyone else we knew… The word went around about it, and more and more people joined in…”

“It’s really a wonder how you had any time to fight crime, seeing how often you were apparently comforting jumpers on the roofs” Ailbert, still as gigantic and gentle as always, raised a hand from the middle of the group. He had a little girl on his shoulders, probably the baby niece he had taken in after his sister’s death. 

“Then the new kid appeared and Gotham went to hell on a basket, and no one saw you around any longer”, Elijah, wrists no more scarred than the last time he saw him, his arm tangled with Maddie’s, went on. “We were… well, we were a bit confused.”

“Speak for yourself, Cal jumped Red Hood one night, held him at knife point and demanded to know what the fuck happened to our Robin. We were like, zero chill.”

“Sorry, they did what?” Tim was definitely in the twilight zone now. 

“No thoughts, head empty, only murder”

...Tim needed to give Jason a quick call. Also sign Cal up for anger management. And probably, judging by the way both Alley and Tom were looking at them, get one of the adults to give them the talk.

Mrs Eloise smiled at him, and like always it served to calm his nerves. That woman was a different kind of magic than Alfred, but magic indeed. “Anyway, dear, what matters is that we were worried about you. And then this incredible young man, Aaron,” she waved at him, and he winked one of his green eyes in response, “suggested we kept in closer contact with one another, so anyone who spotted you could inform the others.”

Aaron shrugged, his auburn mane of hair bobbing with the movement. “It just seemed like it’d be easier to have an alarm set up, since messaging everyone would take so long… and then someone suggested making a map of Gotham so we could have clearer routes for the kids handing out Mrs Denvarow’s stuff… and someone wanted a shared blackboard to write theories on where the fuck you were with others… and a few demanded a space to share photos, possible sightings or old selfies with you… It kinda spiralled and I thought it’d be less of a chaotic mess if I made an app that could do all of that, instead of all of us using multiple apps for the different fixtures everyone asked for… Since this is Gotham, we also added some Rouge Alarm for whenever a criminal was set loose. It helped keep us safe, and if we knew when crime was happening, we could pay attention to which heroes answered the call…”

“And then, you fought that firefly guy the other day”, Felix said, still by his dad’s side, still looking as awed as ever when looking at tim. “I was in the crowd, and I recognized you within a minute.”

“I don’t really understand technology that well, and the group chat was such a mess that day” Ailbert lamented, but he was still smiling. They all were.

That hit Tim then, hard. 

They all looked so happy to see him. To have him back. They had been waiting for him to be back, banded together to make sure they’d all know when he did.

“You looked so sad the last time we saw you” Blair added softly, sadly. “And… when you saved Aaron, you told him about such sad things…”

Elijah winced “And I heard the Midnighter fell from Wayne Tower a few weeks ago, but then he was never seen around again, and your suit looks kinda similar, so that was probably really you… and, that fall…”

“We were very worried” repeated Eloise, but her eyes didn’t lose their warmth. “But you’re back now, and we can keep track of you and each other now, so it’s all good. It’s wonderful to have you back, love.”

This was an out of body experience.

Something must have shown on his face, because Cal snorted.

“We adore you, you dumbass. You are our hero.”

Alley smiled. “You are our Robin.”

Tim fell into her arms, and away from the roof’s edge. The rest of the crowd was upon them in seconds, all eager to pat his back or joke about the cowl hiding his hair from their hands.

He met eyes with Aaron, over Alley’s shoulder. He looked like the hope Tim had helped plant in his heart all those months ago had flowered, and the petals filled his heart.

(He was feeling poetic tonight, in the best ways)

“You should download the app too, so you always have someone to talk to. Look it up. It’s called BirdWatchers, because we’ll always look up and out for you. Because when we wanted to jump, you lended us your wings to fly instead.”

It was like this fucker wanted Tim to cry.

“Welcome home, Red Robin.”

[dirt-cup-draco]

Harry Potter x Reader- To Love

@lordduckass kisses and back hugs with harry?

A/N: Harry Potter is soft thank you for coming to my Egg Talk

You never thought you’d be here, curled up against Harry Potter in the Room of Requirement. You never thought you’d be so confused, tears in your eyes and your heart pounding fiercely as you tried to make sense of the pain in your chest and the butterflies in your stomach. Yet, you knew it had be to felt and it had to be acknowledged. 

Harry was a key piece in the upcoming war no matter how many times you voiced that it was unfair. Why should a child be chosen to fight a war that started long before they were born? Why should that child be your best friend of five years? Why, why, why? You asked yourself, being unable to hold back a sob.

“Y/N...” Harry sighed gently, lips brushing against your temple with every syllable. “I hate seeing you so miserable, love,” 

At this, his forefinger and thumb found your chin as he guided you to look at him. Yet before your eyes could meet his you cast them down to your knees. You didn’t think you could bear looking into those lovely eyes knowing that if he wasn’t careful you could very well find him with the life drained of him; those gorgeous eyes glassy and unseeing. 

You shuddered at the thought. 

“Look at me,” He demanded, voice stern but covered in honey to soothe. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. I love you. More than I ever thought possible. Not because you aren’t worthy of it but because I didnt’ know someone could take up more and more of my heart with each passing day. Your happiness is mine and lets face it darling, I haven’t seen you smile in weeks,” 

“Harry,” You choked out, bottom lip wobbling. Your hands tightened into fists and your nails pressed uncomfortably against the skin of your palm. You knew what was coming and just like before you wouldn’t stand for it. “It’s not your-” 

“I know,” He cooed, hands trailing from your cheeks to your shoulders, down your arms and to your clenched fists. You sighed and opened them to him. Your heart leapt when he pressed his lips fondly against each palm. “We can’t control what’s happening now. Voldemort is coming and I’ve got to be the one to end it. A-and you, my sweet girl, have got to get as far away from it-or me- as you can,” 

Harry’s stomach churned much like yours at the thought of losing you. He woke up drenched in sweat most nights, Voldemort standing on a pile of bodies. Bodies of the people he loved. His parents body’s rotten. The Weasley family stacked high, Mcgonagall under the Dark Lord’s pale feet, Dumbeldore’s face frozen with an apparent scream for eternity. So many faces all flashing before his eyes. And then you, his serenity, his heart. 

There was something cruel about the position you two were put in. Neither of you wanted to be without the other but the best way to accomplish that seemed to be time spent apart. 

“I’m not running, Potter,” You sniffled but tried to crack a smile, lips brushing against the corner of his mouth as you got settled in between his legs; craning your head up so that you could kiss him. His arms wrapped around your waist immediately and it eased the panic that crept in steadily every time you two spoke of what was to come. Every time he said you needed to leave him. Every time he pulled you closer. 

“I’m not asking you to not fight. It wouldn’t make you a coward if you didn't,” He clarified, your safety his priority. If it wouldn’t make him a monster to lock you away until the fighting was done, he would do it. But Harry would never be so single minded as to assume that you wouldn’t be one of the best assets on the battlefield. “But I’m asking you to... to think about running from me. Just this once. Just until it’s all over.” 

You frowned despite knowing that the words were coming. Your tears had dried up some time ago but that didn’t stop the burn that came with the rush of emotions you felt. “Harry Potter you are daft if you think that ever crossed my mind-” 

“But if I die Y/N-” 

“Then I’ll stay with you until the end!” You raised your voice without meaning to, his eyes went wide and you sit up a bit straighter, turning just enough to see him. “I love you Harry and love is looking into the eye of uncertainty and know that it is still worth it and will be worth it for as long as that love remains.”

“ And let me tell you,” you said sternly, rising to your knees before placing your thighs on either side of his legs and nose pressed against his so that you could make sure he knew without a doubt every word you spoke was a truth that would ring out into the universe for all your time and beyond that. “I plan on loving you until my final breath,” 

Harry’s eyes grew as warm as molten iron but stayed as vibrant as a meadow flecked with golden sunlight. He shook his head with resignation, hands cupping your cheeks as he peppered your face with kisses. Your cupid’s bow, forehead, nose, chin, eyelids. Anywhere he could, he did. It wasn’t often he was without words but you had left him speechless and he had no other way to show that he heard you and he was more grateful than he’d ever be able to express. 

However, there was one thing he couldn’t get out of his mind. “You’ve been so unhappy and I-”

Now it was your turn to pour honey over gravel.

“Are thinking too much,” You responded, lips soft against his jaw before you pulled him against you in a warm embrace. “I haven’t been unhappy per se. It’s hard to go day to day with this oppressive air in the castle. It’s hard to know that you can’t avoid this fight even if you want to. It’s hard to know that my own worries are bringing you down.... I can’t help what I’m feeling Harry but I can promise that when I’m with you none of it matters. I am on top of the world when I am by your side, got it?” 

And with that, Harry pulled you into a desperate kiss that told you everything you needed to know. 

I got it. Me too. We’ll win this war together.

To love Harry Potter was to look uncertainty in the eye and deciding that yes, it would always be worth it. 

[fanfic-collection]

Loki x Reader: Apocalypse ch 6

Thanks for reading, please oh please like/comment/reblog

-

You tilted your head as you saw the defeated look on Loki’s face. “Oh, did I say something wrong?”

Loki looked away, “No, you’re fine, just.” He trailed off.

You leaned forward, spur of the moment and hugged him. “It’s so good to see you.”

“What?” Loki stiffened at the contact.

“I never thought I’d see you again after Tony’s, and the compound and just. You seemed better than what they made you out to be. You made a heroic sacrifice.”

For a moment Loki relaxed into your touch. “Oh.” His bloodied red eyes flickered in your direction. “I would say the same but.” He stopped.

You bit your lip, a shiver running through you at the cold. Slowly you nodded, your eyes scanning over the strange contraption on his neck. You were silent, wanting to reach out and touch it. Unbidden, your hand reached for it, sliding over the icy cold metal. It burned to touch through your gloves.

Loki pulled back, “Don’t.”

“What is it?”

“It’s best not to talk where wandering ears can hear.”

“Good point, let’s get to somewhere safe. Besides, it’s getting colder and later in the day. I can’t risk being out at dark, and you shouldn’t either. Without the sun, we’ll freeze to death in minutes.”

Loki chuckled, “I can assure you, I’ll be fine, but I appreciate the concern.”

You fought the urge to blurt out if it had something to do with his strange eyes, but you figured that was just some weird magic. Instead, you nodded and stood up, offering your hand to him.

Loki, touched the ground timidly, feeling for painful shards before pushing himself up.

You reached out and grabbed his arm, helping steady him. There was a brief moment where he scowled in your direction before he sighed and accepted your proffered hand. “Thank you.” Loki mumbled.

Nodding, you started to guide him slowly through the store and back the way you had come. You made sure to collect Loki’s daggers. One you gave to him, knowing he was more lethal with it than you, even without his sight and the other you kept in your hand. You watched for signs of the blue beasts as you trudged up the street. Somehow Loki seemed to float atop the snow, not sinking into it.

As you walked, you couldn’t help but toss admiring glances over your shoulder at Loki. Even with his hair mussed up from the fight, his body bent slightly in pain, and the bloodied face, he was as stunning as you remembered.

“You really don’t have to do this.” Loki muttered, breaking the eerie silence. Today there was no wind, just bitter cold.

“I know. I want to.”

“Why?”

“You made a great sacrifice for the people of Earth before the blip, you tried to save a lot of people. And the Avengers trusted you, Tony trusted you.” Your voice was muffled by your scarves.

Loki nodded, painfully, “I did. Why does it matter what Stark thinks?”

“Uh, did I mention he’s my, like, second cousin?”

Loki’s eyebrows rose, then he hissed in pain. “No, I don’t believe so. Is that why you were at the compound and his home?”

“Yea.”

“That doesn’t explain why you were so keen to be around me though.”

“I just wanted to get to know you. Is that so bad?”

“No one wants to know me without an ulterior motive.”

You blinked, nearly stumbling to a halt and causing Loki to walk into you. “What?”

Loki grunted, stumbling and righting himself as he gripped your coat. “What?”

“People don’t just, be your friend?”

“Can we move on? And will you stop staring it’s disconcerting.”

“I’m not staring.” You felt your cheeks heat up, “I’m just making sure you’re still nearby.”

“I’m sure you could tell by the fact that I’m holding your arm.” Loki smirked.

You jerked your chin, “Over there, that’s my building.”

Loki nodded, panting heavily. “Good. This body is weak.”

“You say that like it’s not your own.”

Loki clenched his jaw and with his free hand grabbed at the device on his neck. It only served to dig into his pale skin further.

“Please don’t, it looks like that hurts you.” You mumbled, glancing back again as you guided him nearer the building.

Opening and closing the door, behind the two of you, you stepped inside. The two of you made your way to your room and you stepped within, turning the heat up as high as you could, before looking around with a smile.

“Tah-dah!” You said, stretching your arms out happily.

Loki gazed blindly around the room, “It seems adequate.”

“Probably not what you’re used to.”

He shrugged, “It will suffice.”

“Here,” You guided him over to the bed and had him sit down. The sun was hitting the horizon outside and you were thankful you had made it into the safety of your home in time.

Slowly you stripped your outer layers of clothes, hanging them in the corner to let the gathered snow melt and dry for the next day’s excursion.

Loki sat stock still on the bed, back ramrod straight and you found yourself wondering what he was thinking. You ended up in a thick sweater and sweatpants with woolen socks, though you found you did not need your gloves today. It seemed the added person in the room was contributing enough heat to make you a bit warmer.

“Hey, do you have anything you want to change into…?” You trailed off realizing how dumb that sounded. Loki didn’t have a bag with him. Then again he was a sorcerer, maybe he could just magic some clothes.

Loki shut his eyes bitterly and dug his fingers into his knees. “All I have is this.”

“Well, my neighbor across the hall was your height, maybe we can scrounge up something from him. Let me go look.”

-

Moments’ later you were back, shivering, with a pile of the warmest clothes you could find in a hurry. As well as any necessities you thought a man Loki’s size and apparent age might appreciate, the creature comforts he might want. You dumped them on the bed.

“Did realize he was an ER tech. Or something with medicine. No wonder he was always coming home at weird hours.”

Loki lifted up a thick sweatshirt and soft black sweat pants. He shook his head irritably, “These are not fit for…” the words caught in his throat.

You sat down next to him and couldn’t stop the instinctive action of placing your hand on his thigh.

Loki stiffened at the contact.

You quickly pulled your hand away. “Sorry.” You squeaked.

Loki coughed, standing up and removing his cape. Then slowly he stripped his shirt.

You told yourself you were going to look away, you were going to give him privacy. But he just took his shirt off right in front of you.

For a moment you ogled his toned back muscles, hardened from years of dedication to his craft.

Then the moment was lost and you noticed the injuries.

“Loki.” You whispered, standing up and reaching out to touch his skin gently. A rare pale place that seemed free of bruises, cuts, scars, or other maladies.

Loki’s muscles rippled beneath your hand as he stiffened at your touch, a visible shiver running through him. Spinning around, Loki looked at you warily. “What?”

“These are fresh. Why didn’t you say the blue creature had injured you so? I didn’t know it was able to do that much damage to a god.”

“I’m not a god.” Loki spat bitterly, “I’m mortal.”

You had reached out to touch another cut still bleeding on his chest, causing Loki to hiss.

“Woman, do you always touch painful injuries, or do you make an exception for me?” He asked irritably.

You felt your cheeks flush, “Sorry.” Turning you reached for the first aid supplies your ER neighbor had kept at home. “Here, let me help.” There was anti bruising cream, sutures, and plenty of gauze. You cleaned each of the wounds as best you could, finding occasional shards of glass, rocks, or plaster in some of the deeper cuts and used tweezers to dig it out. Loki would wince from time to time at the deepest and largest pieces, but otherwise he remained mostly silent.

When you finally got to his face and his eyes, you poured warm water around them, cleaning the dried blood. “I wish I knew how to treat them.” You glanced down at the contraption on his neck, “and that thing.” You tugged on it gently.

Loki grunted, “Don’t, you’ll just dig it in worse.”

“What put that on you?”

“The Allfather, king of the nine realms.”

“Isn’t that… isn’t that your uh dad?”

“Adopted. But yes. Dear old dad.”

“That’s barbaric, you’re bleeding from it!”

Loki smiled sadly. “Indeed.”

You wrapped the gauze around his head, covering his eyes and figured it would soak up the last of the blood until it stopped, then you could remove it once again. After that, well you didn’t know what you’d do about him being unable to see. Given that Odin was part of the reason Loki was in such a predicament, you figured he wouldn’t kill you for letting his son go blind.

“Well, here.” You said after a quiet moment, helping Loki pull the hoodie on.

Loki’s red eyes stared in your direction forlornly when the hoodie was on and your hands had pulled away from him. Almost instinctually he had pulled toward you. But now, with the hoodie separating you, he shifted away once more.

“Loki?”

“Hm?” Loki hummed in response, shoulders hunched and placed his hands between his legs as he sat staring unseeing into the distance.

You wanted to ask him the last time he’d been touched, hugged, held, instead you asked, “When is the last time you slept?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Humans can’t go very long without sleep.”

“Neither can Asgardians, and yet I have often done so.”

You tilted your head curiously. “That’s not very healthy.”

“No, I suppose not.”

Throwing caution to the wind, you reached up and rubbed his shoulder blades, knowing that was one of the lesser injured places. At first he stiffened at your touch, but slowly he seemed to relax, warily. “What are you doing?” He finally asked after a few moments.

“It calms me.” You admitted truthfully. How long had you been by yourself? You were lonely, scared, on edge. The rhythmic circles lulled you. It would be better if he had done so to you, but you knew he needed them more.

Loki looked slightly to the side of you suspiciously. “Very well.”

“Remember at the tower?”

“It has been some time.”

“You’d be in your recovery bed resting. I’d bring whatever books I could find and read to you.”

Loki smiled fondly at the memory. “You had some peculiar choices.”

“I’m not the most well read person, I’ll be honest. But you did enjoy Shakespeare.”

Loki chuckled. Round and round your hand smoothed over the soft texture of the hoodie. “Yes, he could compete with the bards of Asgard.”

“You kept telling me I should try reading a real book. I wanted to flick your nose so bad, but you weren’t so bad, you just needed someone to listen to you.”

Loki chuckled, “Not so bad.” He stifled a yawn.

“And then I discovered you could do magic. Real, powerful magic. Dr. Strange could do magic, but he was only just learning, and without the Eye of Agammoto to cheat, he was stuck learning at a human pace and now, he was pathetically behind. He didn’t know what real power was.”

“Now you’re just flattering me.”

“It’s true! You could tell me what real magic looked like, tell me what a real sorcerer was capable of.”

Loki held out his hand and then sighed, a strangled cracking sound in his throat as he clenched his teeth.

“Loki, I didn’t mean it that way, I just. I wanted you to tell me about you. What fascinates you, what was the first book you read, when did you first ride a horse, fight a monster…?” Kiss someone… woah now where did that thought come from?

You pulled your turtleneck up to cover your cheeks.

Loki turned towards you. “You really want to know those things?”

You had stopped rubbing his back, “Yea. They sound interesting. Why not? You’re fascinating.”

“We spoke of this earlier, what do you gain?”

“Well, I hoped we were friends at the time, and I wouldn’t mind being friends now, if not allies, we’re both living in a dangerous world. I take it if you’re mortal, you’re not in Odin’s good graces and you could use someone to watch your back. I… I could do that.” You offered sheepishly.

You quailed under Loki’s blind gaze. He couldn’t physically see you, yet he could see into your soul now.

“Allies, friends?” Loki asked slowly.

You smiled at him. “Yes. And hey, maybe we can brainstorm ideas to get that nasty neck thing off you, in the morning though. I’m beat, I need to sleep.”

“Oh, right.” Loki stood up.

“Where are you going?”

“To give you privacy.”

“The bed is big enough for two, besides, it’ll be warmer if we’re both in it.” You couldn’t believe you were suggesting that.

Loki turned his head down at you. “Very well.” Sitting down, he slowly removed his boots and began to fumble with his trousers.

Your eyes widened as you realized he was going to change into the sweatpants you had procured for him. You dove under the covers on your side and scrunched your eyes shut. Breathing heavily as you tried not to picture what he might look like.

The bed indented on the other side as Loki climbed in next to you.

“Pet, are you hiding?” He asked curiously. You could hear the amusement in his voice.

“No. No.” You stammered, trying to strengthen your voice and keep the pitch from being so nervous.

“Very well. Sleep well then.” Loki grunted at the contraption as he rolled over and then lay still.

You lay on your back for hours, staring up at the ceiling. It was true the bed felt much warmer with him nearby, though you weren’t sure that was actually the shared body heat so much as…

You swallowed and risked a glance towards Loki’s sleeping form. His chest rose in deep even breaths. Watching it rise and fall you began to count, slowly, steadily, you too were lulled to sleep.