#I live oddly in a city now and it hurts my ears

[hawkzeyes]

Me seeing Macon, GA called a small town after having lived in Clyo, GA (and multiple other actual small towns) for years

[rotworld]

16: Vital Signs

(previous)

jamie tries to help you. desperate times call for desperate measures.

->sexually suggestive. contains gore, body horror, parasites, mind control, religious content, dubcon/noncon.

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You can smell Jamie’s fear. It’s tart; harsh and citrus. You wonder if you could taste it on their tongue. Fear is a tempting morsel but you want to lick it away and make room for the cool, liquid calm of love and acceptance. But how? You study their clenched jaw and anxious eyes. There’s already something else inside of them.

“Then take it,” comes the voice of Heaven. “Open them. Take what hardens their heart.”

You can’t. That might kill them. You understand—you are shown, are made to know—that you would be divinely inspired, your hands guided, if you wished to carve space within them. It has been done before. But it’s not the opening that gives you pause. It’s the taking, the unlacing of the fluke from flesh that can no longer live without it. Godflesh is strong and repairing, but the holes in Jamie’s head are not wounds anymore. They are a scaffold, the latticework through which a delicate companion weaves. Neither would survive the separation. 

“Have you no faith in me, angel?”

You apologize. You are newly winged. Warmth pours across your soul like fingers of light, the gentlest, soothing touches of reassurance. You are known. You are forgiven. It’s not that you doubt the miracle. But some things are too precious to risk. Jamie is like you—even still, even with new flesh taking root. 

“Are we, too, not kin of the same sort?”

You are. You treasure that connection. It’s what makes you an angel. You understand what is expected of you, and what you must do. 

Even still, the thought makes you hesitate. 

Jamie, too, speaks to something inside. The words are choppy fragments and half-thoughts, slivers of conversation that is perhaps only spoken by accident. “Road hospital,” they mutter. “It’s—no, we can’t, can’t risk that. And it’s too far to—right. So that’s why—yeah.” They look over at you, their expression pained. “If you hurt them,” they say. “I swear to god, if I find out you’re perforating organs or laying eggs or doing anything, anything like that at all, I will pry you out of them with my bare hands and I will make you regret being born.”

You try to reassure them with a smile but that makes the fear-scent sharper, coarsened with earthy tones of anger and determination.

[NOW PLAYING ON THE RADIO: ESCAPE BY ENRIQUE IGLESIAS]

There is, by some miracle, a hospital along the road. You’ve seen signs for them a handful of times, oddly-shaped clinics knocked out of their cities, just stabilized enough to skitter around the Drift intact. This will be your first time visiting one. Jamie has some trouble navigating the parking lot, following contradictory, half-melted signs in search of the emergency room.

“You can take your time,” you say. Jamie looks at you worriedly. “You don’t have to rush. I’m okay.” 

They take a deep breath, clutching the steering wheel. “Courier. If you’re listening, I want to apologize in advance if I say anything harsh. It’s not aimed at you, okay?” 

You frown. You’re not getting anywhere. Jamie is too upset to listen. There’s a rawness to your divinity as you adjust to it and it to you. You don’t draw Jamie’s gaze but repel it. Your eyes unnerve them. This would be easier back home with your friends and family; with Malachi. But the time wasn’t right. You had to be led into the faith gently, one step at a time, and you’re sure Jamie will be the same way. That’s why you’re here now, to lead those uneasy steps in the right direction, so your next trip to Nelton will be their homecoming.

“Look within.” The voice is honey in your ear, a larger, stronger hand wrapped around yours. “Look deeply. There are two of them, and they are equally fearful.” You feel a nudge of love and guidance, a gently pressure in your mind urging you to relinquish control, to give yourself over completely. Something unfurls within you in ways you struggle to understand. You are reaching without moving your hands, speaking without moving your mouth. You are nestled against the cold stone of Jamie’s fears, running your fingers over its hard, unyielding surface. You are whispering promises of a better future into scarred tunnels of gray matter—

Something shrieks. You feel its rage like a storm of daggers and you are thrown out of Jamie’s mind, coming back to yourself pained and groggy, your visions swimming. The uncomfortably familiar sensations of suffocation make you panic. Jamie is choking you. Watching dispassionately as you flail and claw weakly at their wrists. Their eyes are half-lidded and cold, their gaze one of detached, impersonal annoyance.

“How irritating,” they mutter, something off about their tone and cadence. “Such great aspirations for little more than the tip of a finger. You are apex in the depths of your hive, but here, you are merely a nuisance. You will not shame me again.” 

Then they gasp, flinching like they just snapped out of a nightmare, and they quickly let you go. You wheeze, gently touching your bruised skin. “I’m sorry,” Jamie says quietly, sounding shaken. They clutch their own hands against their chest as though unable to trust them. Tendrils of comfort thread through your thoughts, your savior reassuring you that this was not your fault.

The ER waiting room is quiet and sparsely populated, a handful of oozing wounds, hastily bandaged head injuries and twisted limbs. Car accidents are common in the Drift due to poor visibility. You’ve had some near-misses yourself over the years. The sight of Jamie walking briskly inside and you ambling after them gives the nurse behind the desk pause. She can tell there’s nothing wrong with you. But Jamie mutters something, shows their University ID and gestures to you several times, and the nurse suddenly looks ill. 

The next thing you know, you’re being hurriedly ushered down a maze of white hallways, directed from one room to another by stony-faced specialists, many of whom keep their distance. You give a blood and saliva sample. You step into an unfamiliar machine that hums faintly. You are shown to an empty bed and given a hospital gown. You get an IV in your arm, staring at the clear liquid in the bag in confusion. Whatever it is, it makes you tired, your limbs feeling like jelly. 

Jamie pulls up a small metal chair from the corner of the room and holds your hand when a doctor comes in. They know each other, you notice. The doctor used to work at the University clinic. Everyone looks so miserable. You wish they would look at you but they’re careful to avoid your eyes.

“It’s not one I’m familiar with,” Jamie murmurs, their thumb smoothing over your knuckles. “Point of entry was the mouth, I’m fairly certain. There was some irritation around the lips and they were spitting up blood for a while. Motor skills and speech haven’t been affected but there’s obviously something…wrong. The other hosts were extremely well coordinated. It might be a colonial organism.” 

The doctor checks the dilation of your pupils, your reflexes, your vision. “I haven’t seen this one before, either,” the doctor admits. “There are signs of internal trauma consistent with several types of parasitic infections. The width suggests a fairly large organism, but it’s not showing up on scans at all. The good news is I see no indication that it’s migrated into the brain.” 

“But their eyes…” Jamie is pointedly not looking at you. The doctor glances at you and you try again desperately to smile, to look happy and eager to explain, but he looks away quickly. 

“That does concern me. We might have some more answers once the lab work comes back. In the meantime, the anti-parasitic should keep it docile.” 

Anti-parasitic? Your savior soothes you. Neither of you are in any danger. They have no idea what’s inside you. They’ll never find it, no matter how hard they look. This is a good opportunity. You and Jamie are alone again. They get up and pace, speaking in harsh whispers. Just one step. That’s all you need them to take. One bridge of understanding. You’re not hurt or sick. You’re better than you’ve ever been and you can make them better, too. 

“Jamie?” you say. “Can you come here for a second?” 

They flinch. There’s a moment of silence before they turn around, studying your relaxed posture, but your enthusiasm falters when you see their vacant gaze, the smile that doesn’t reach their eyes. “Of course, courier,” they say smoothly. They reach back without looking and lock the door. Jamie’s confident stride becomes a slow, predatory saunter. Their palm rests on the edge of the bed and then the other, the flimsy mattress dipping beneath their weight as they straddle your waist. You’re drawn into a kiss by a firm hand on your chin. Jamie’s lips move insistently, hungrily, against yours. They’re voracious, nipping and licking and eager to twine their tongue with yours.

Something sharp pricks the inside of your mouth. You whimper and jerk back. Jamie licks your blood from their lips. A sharp, insectoid limb darts out at the corner of their mouth before vanishing again. 

“You’re not Jamie,” you say nervously.

“Oh? I’m not?” they murmur. You try to sit up and they shove you back down, flicking their thumb over your windpipe briefly in warning, hard enough to hurt. “Humans are the sum of their parts, are they not? I am a scar in the brain and the repairing enzymes that prevented further atrophy. I am the neural tissue in which memory is encoded. I am half the sky in our starmap of consciousness. You could not possibly draw a line between us. You, on the other hand…” They smile coldly, their grip on your neck shifting. You shiver at the slow, sensual way they stroke the sides, digging their fingertips into the sensitive patches beneath your skin. 

There’s a war in your head. The words of the divine warn that this is dangerous, that you are made weak and vulnerable by this sort of touch, but your instincts are purring for more. 

“It’s relatively common to treat behavior-altering Drift parasites by overwhelming the host,” Jamie says. “At the University, we might induce laughter, or frustration, or pain. The more agitated your host becomes, the more energy you expend trying to maintain control.” They’re not slow or gentle. They squeeze mercilessly, pressing hard against the sides of your neck and keeping you trapped between pain and pleasure. It’s good. It hurts. It makes you buck your hips and whimper beneath their palm. 

You hear yourself begging—for more, for it to stop. Your cheeks are wet with tears. Jamie keeps a hand on your shoulder and that’s enough to keep you pinned when you’re shivering and indecisive. When they kiss you, you can feel the cruel smirk on their lips. You don’t know which part of this they’re enjoying; your squirming, your cries and your hoarse, rasping whimpers of their name, the heat of apprehension under your skin as something retreats further inward, deeper into you.

Jamie—this side of Jamie, the fluke, however you want to think of it—doesn’t kiss the same way they did in the tunnel. This is harsh and biting yet coolly detached, closely observing your reactions. They nip and nibble, tugging at your lip with their teeth. They cup your jaw and force it open wider and you feel even more heated and obscene like this, saliva flowing easily from the clumsy dance of your tongue with theirs. 

That stinging pain is back again, deeper in your mouth. This time, it doesn’t stop. Jamie doesn’t let you pull away. It feels like there are thorns pushing their way in, a dozen barbed appendages poking and prodding mercilessly at the soft tissue in your throat. Every time you whimper and choke, they caress your neck, fondling and squeezing until you start to relax again. It’s too much. The invasive sensation is like a centipede crawling down your throat, teething at everything it can reach. The pain becomes stronger than the pleasure and a sob tears from your throat. 

You lash out blindly, the heel of your palm striking Jamie’s face. It’s not hard enough to do any real damage but it makes them freeze. They blink, their hands settling on your shoulders. The miserable, sandpaper drag of something hard and sharp slowly rising out of your throat almost makes you gag. You glimpse it only briefly—dark, saliva-slick carapace, dozens of long, hair-like appendages still wiggling—before it slithers back into Jamie’s mouth.

Tears stream down their cheeks. They try to steady themselves with a breath and sob instead. “I’m sorry,” they croak. “We…I thought I could find it and get it out, but I just hurt you and scared you and I couldn’t reach it. I keep messing up and doing the wrong thing. I’m just…I’m so scared. I don’t want to lose you.” They stroke your cheek, guiltily rubbing their thumb over the irritated chafing at the corner of your lips where something sharp was rubbing. “There’s going to be another shift tonight. I thought I could get you back to the University by tomorrow, even if we went the long way around and avoided Anchor. I’d have help. More resources. I don’t know what we’re going to do now.”

You place your hand over Jamie’s, nuzzling into the warmth of their palm. “We’ll figure it out,” you say hoarsely. 

Jamie lets out a breath. “That sounds like you,” they say. “The real you, not that thing. Maybe I did something right after all, or the IV’s kicking in.” 

You lie back. The voice in your head has gone quiet. Retreated for now, you think, hesitant to show itself. There’s just faint whispers at the edge of your awareness, easy to ignore. “I want to leave in the morning,” you say.

Jamie shakes their head, climbing off of you and settling back into the chair beside the bed. They clasp one of your hands between both of theirs. “We need to stay, courier. We’re not going to know where the University is.”

“I don’t care. I want to keep moving. I don’t feel right sitting still.” 

“That’s really not a good idea. We still have to get your blood work results so we know what this thing is. Maybe try another scan—”

“They’re not going to find it,” you say. “It’s human tissue. It won’t look any different.” 

Jamie’s confusion shifts to horrified realization. “It’s a child of the road, isn’t it?” 

It told you in its own strange way, parables and foggy imagery. That’s why it wanted you so badly. That’s why it made you an “angel.” You’re closer to it than anyone else in Nelton. The thought makes your heart ache. “It doesn’t seem right,” you say quietly. “There’s so many more of us than I ever realized, but we’re all so lonely.” 

Jamie brings your hand to their lips, gently kissing the back. They squeeze it gently. They’re quiet for a long time, tense with sadness and guilt. “I guess we are, aren’t we?”

(next)

[sekhisadventures]

Radiant Song

Deep under the Isle of Dorn

A tunnel lead deeper from the Ringing Deeps into the caverns below the island, and through it walked several people.

At the lead was Dareley Steelhammer, the paladin striding with a strength and confidence he hadn’t felt in decades. True being an earthen came with it’s own problems and concerns, but it had quite literally saved him from certain death and given him the strength to save his friends from Xal’atath’s minions.

Following him was Nelen Fullmoon, the magus having heard rumors about a tribe of humanity living under the isle. When he and the other survivors of Dalaran arrived, many of the earthen asked if they were ‘Arathi.’ This had rather surprised Nelen because as far as he knew the Arathi were gone in the Eastern Kingdoms. Their lands had been ravaged by the past wars of Azeroth and existed as a bare shadow of their former glory.

Along with them were Samantha Montebank, who was curious as to what awaited them as well, along with Laurelgosa who would be needed to scout ahead if they ran into a potentially dangerous situation as she could fly.

Lastly was Sekhi, the vulpera shamaness’s ears twitching as they went further below. She could hear something ahead of them, but she couldn’t quite make it out yet.

“So, th’ earthen o’ Dornogal told me that this be th’ path ta a place called ‘Hallowfall,’ where these ‘Arathi’ types live. It got sealed off durin’ all th’ troubles with th’ High Speaker, but Brinthe ordered th’ path reopened once she took over.” explained the Paladin.

“I wonder what these Arathi are like… I can’t imagine that Trollbane sent any of his people here. The man has his hands full just holding whats left of the Kingdom of Arathor together these days.” mused Nelen as they walked along, the tunnel slowly getting brighter. It wasn’t unexpected, they had encountered quite a bit of light sources down underground. Glowing crystals, bioluminescent fungus, even just holes in the ceiling of the caves letting sunlight in.

Sam looked up and cocked her head as they got further along. The light ahead was brighter now, but… almost too bright. “Guys… is it just me or does that almost look like sunlight?” she asked.

Laurelgosa, still in her visage form of Laura Brightflame for now, nodded. “It… does yes. How odd… we must be several dozen miles below the surface by now… That should not be possible…”

The group picked up the pace, Sekhi rushing along after them as she shifted into her spirit vulpin form to keep up, and then they rounded the corner and stopped dead, staring ahead of them.

It was as if they’d returned to the surface somehow. A huge expanse stretched out before them of verdant grasslands and tall strange flower-like plants, the fields below dotted with cities. Human cities judging by the constructions. Through the air above soared several zeppelins, and there were tall towers glowing with light at each town.

But what gave them all pause was above. Hanging from the cavern’s ceiling, with clouds drifting lazily around it, was a gigantic crystalline object that shined with an inner radiance so bright it was akin to the sun itself!

“By th’ light…” whispered Dareley, “I’ve never seen anythin’ like it… even deep under Ironforge… even in bloody Deepholme!”

Samantha shaded her eyes, “It… looks like there’s markings on it… but I can’t make them out. Its too bright.” she frowned, the light making her oddly uncomfortable. Not hurting her, but it felt like being out on a very very sunny day, too sunny to the point that one risked sunburn.

Nelen made a gesture with his hand, his fingers trailing motes of light. “Its… radiating power of some sort… but I don’t think its arcane. I can’t tap it whatever it is… it… it almost looks like a massive chunk of Azerite!”

“I confess Nelen, I am at a loss…” agreed Laura. “It is unlike anything I have ever learned of in my training as a dracthyr. If Neltharion ever knew of such a thing, he did not tell us.”

Nelen looked back, “Sekhi, what do you think? Do you hear anything coming from it?” he asked.

Sekhi did not reply, the vulpera standing there staring at the crystal, her eyes wide and her mouth slightly open.

“Sekhi?” he asked again, walking towards her. “Er… are you alright?” he added as the other three turned to look at her.

Sekhi didn’t move, she didn’t even blink.

Nelen frowned, then crouched down and waved a hand infront of her face, then snapped his fingers a few times. “Sekhi? Sekhi!” he called out, then took her shoulder and gave it a firm shake.

She didn’t even flinch.

“Blast…” he frowned, then got out his gemstone and drew Nitika’s rune on it. When her face appeared he began to explain the situation, but Sekhi heard none of it at all, or saw it, or even knew he was doing it. The moment she saw the glowing object, she was gone.

Somewhere Else…

“YIP!” gasped Sekhi, looking around frantically, then whimpering and looking around for somewhere to hide!

She was somewhere else now, somewhere dark and foreboding, and all around her were nerubians! It was a massive city of the arachnid people, tall spires reaching to the cave’s ceiling where strange purple glowing fungus grew to light the area. Occasionally a swarm of nerubian flyers would soar overhead, visible against the glow.

After a moment, however, she realized something. None of the nerubians were paying attention to her or looking at her at all. She looked down at herself and gasped. Her body was transparent… rather, her body wasn’t there at all! She was there in spirit, quite literally.

She looked around, her ears flicking, then yipped as she heard a song in the distance. She couldn’t pick up any of the nerubians around her (which she was confused by but not necessarily upset about) but she heard something further in…

She scurred away through the throngs of arachnids, following it. None of the spider-folk even noticed. She went along the path, up some stairs, through the buildings, and then… she saw it.

A huge building stood before her, and carts were going into the entrance. Each cart was laden with sturdy glass and metal spheres, and each one was filled with a viscous crimson liquid… and from it, she could hear the song.

Sekhi whined, her ears folding back as her teeth went on edge. The song was horrible! It was an echoing aria speaking of a thirst for power, for control, a desire to consume and conquer… and the worst part… she recognized it.

She’d heard it in the distance as she and her friends had fled Dalaran’s destruction.

“T-th’ harbinger…” she whined, staring at the orbs, “That’s Xal’atath’s song! But… w-what are those?! Why’s it comin’ from ‘em?!” she whimpered, moving closer to the entrance… and then a woman emerged, floating a few inches off the ground. She was an elven woman, but with runes tattooed on her skin and eyes like black holes.

Sekhi froze, then slowly started walking back as the woman paused.

“Hm?” she murmured, raising her head a bit… and then she slowly glanced towards Sekhi’s direction.

Suddenly, the shamaness felt as if something was pulling on her, and with a surprised yip she disappeared into the ground below.

“… hm… odd. Oh well.” shrugged Xal’atath as she floated away into the city, having finished her observation of the work the nerubians were doing with what was inside the orbs.

Sekhi however, was falling… falling down and down, further and further… going through the dirt and ground as if it wasn’t even there… until finally her descent slowed, then stopped… and she saw below her a massive glowing light.

She winced as the glow filled her vision, so bright it almost hurt to look at… and then…

She gasped, looking around in shock.

A battlefield, a war between the nerubians and some human-like people deep underground, and all around her on the ground were trails of the disturbing substance from the orbs, trailing towards a building in the distance, next to the crystal she’d seen before… except now it was a deep shade of violet, and felt downright menacing to her.

Then, she heard the voice again… the one that she had heard so many times in the past.

HEAR ME.

“Azeroth!” she called out, “I hear ya! What are ya tryin’ ta tell me?!” she asked.

Azeroth’s voice echoed in the vulpera’s mind and Sekhi's eyes went wide. Suddenly, she just knew.

Eons ago, before the vulpera even existed, before any of the modern races of Azeroth ever set foot upon its surface… she saw the war between the Titans and the Old Gods. The fall of the Black Empire, their destruction at the hands of the titan keepers, Y’shaarj’s demise at Aman’thul’s hand that had almost killed Azeroth when the titan ripped the old god from her surface, leaving a crater in his wake.

Y’sharrj’s blood, the blood of all the aquir that were slain by the forces of the titans; the Mogu, the Tol’vir, the Earthen, the Mechagnomes, and the Vyrkul. Each one of the aquir they killed spilled it’s blood onto Azeroth’s surface, and down it seeped into the world. Down deep into the dark places, into the caverns, where it stayed hidden away. Deep pockets of the blood of the nightmarish monsters created by the Old Gods to serve them.

There it had remained for eons, like hidden tumors inside the world… until…

Sekhi cried out and clasped her hands over her ears as a crash so loud that it felt more like a physical blow than a sound ripped through her, and she saw a gigantic flaming sword blast through the roof near her. She had heard tales of it. The massive weapon that had impaled the world through the region known as Sithilus. The sword of Sargeras, fallen lord of the Burning Legion.

As it struck, the pockets of blood ruptured open under the surface, and the blood flowed once more… pooling down into the caves under the world, under Khaz Algar… where the nerubians found it.

The blood warped all that it touched. The plants and land around the blood became twisted and mutated… and the song from it… she whined and pawed at her ears.

“STOPPIT! STOPPIT PLEASE! ITS TOO MUCH!” she cried out, the song of the corrupting blood pounding into her psyche, making her temples throb even outside of her body!

Suddenly, the vision snapped off, and she was floating before the glow once more.

She shivered, “Azeroth… please… what do ya want me to do?”

Hear me…

“I do hear ya! I can’t STOP hearin’ ya! WHAT DO I DO?!” she asked, her tail thrashing behind her.

The glow faded for a moment, then pulsed once more.

… help me…

Sekhi gasped suddenly, jolting upright as Nelen jumped back to avoid the vulpera’s head colliding with his own. Laura was nearby, back in her dracthyr form, as she communed with the Emerald Dream to try to heal her even as Samantha had been insisting that whatever was going on wasn’t physically hurting her. Dareley was kneeling next to her as well, the paladin holding out his hand to her.

“Sekhi… lass… what happened? We thought we’d lost ye fer a minute there…” he asked.

Sekhi looked between them all, then whined, “… I know why Xal’atath is here…” she whispered, “… th’ blood. Under th’ island… its their blood...”

Samantha grimaced as her tentacles twitched in her hair. She and Annulus knew exactly what blood Sekhi was talking about.

The sha were known by another name in old times. ‘The Seven Breaths of Y’shaarj.’ His final gasp when Aman’thul killed him all those years ago when the Black Empire fell. If his breath endured all those centuries… what else might have?

Xal’atath’s goal on the Isle of Dorn. The Blood of the Old Gods and their minions. Under Khaz Algar was a massive well of the void-spawned fluid… and in the hands of a being like the Harbinger it could be an incredibly potent weapon.

Next Story

Previous Story

[randomwriter5000]

The Chimera: Part Six

Pairing: Nicodeme Savoy x OC (Can be read as Nicodeme Savoy x Reader) Warnings: Accuracies and inaccuracies about the 1920s, Use of Google translation, Fluff, Throwing up, and Not subtle flirting Word Count: 3,655

Summary: The California Chimera. Born with a genetic abnormality causing her face to be split down the middle. Not only an oddity, but a source of fear for many as she is a notorious gun for hire across the United States. After a near death experience and the death of most of her family, Chimera now goes to the bustling town of St. Louis on a job. Used to other cats eyes looking at her in disgust and fear a new reaction catches her eye. A pair of cats that look at her with curiosity and wonder. One of them being Nicodeme Savoy. Could she be biting off more than she can chew with the Louisianan?

Part Six: Feliz Cumpleaños

Chapter Summary: After a explosion a sweet treat is sometimes needed.

The skyscrapers of New York lived up to their name. These buildings were filled with cats working or living out their lives. On the top floor of any tall building, a cat could look over the city and admire the bay in the distance. If a cat was fortunate, they could probably see the Statue of Liberty holding the torch. Glen admired the view of the city that was now a city of lights as the moon hung high in the sky.

Sipping his bourbon, he heard his door open. “Sir, you have a call from Chimera. It is urgent.”

The tabby nodded. “Put it through.” He picked up the phone. “Chimera-“

“Dat not me,” A recognizable Louisianian accent hit the cats’ ears. “Yer’ Wraith?”

The dark tabby froze at the voice of the tomcat on the other line. “What did you do to my sister?”

“Nothin’ she is a bit hurt. She hit her head pretty hard after dat explosion,” The knocking sound caused Nico to turn. “Cher-ow!” He laughed as a thud could be heard on the other line.

“Nico, stay outside,” Chimera hissed as the slamming sound of a door radiated through the phone. “Glen, are you there?”

Relief washed over Glen upon hearing the voice of his sister. “Who was that?”

“That’s not important now,” Chimera growled, leaning on the payphone door while her face twisted in pain. “Before I forget, The Red Snake seems to be spreading a photo of what you look like.”

A silence could be felt. “How?”

“He had a photo from when I proved myself a sniper.”

“I guess it was inevitable… Do you know the people who had the photo?”

“The cats' name was Micheal Jones. He owned a hunting business. By the interior, I should have expected there was more than meets the eye,” Chimera sighed, holding back the acid building up in the back of her throat. “He is dead, but who knows how many others know.”

Some scribbling should be heard on the other line. “I’ll take care of it. You focus on getting better.”

“Yes,” Chimera agreed quickly as cold sweat spread across her body. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

Throwing the phone, the payphone door swung open and she let out any contents left in her body. Her body shook as she looked over her shoulders to see the siblings looking concerned. Chimera shook her head as a haze began to take over the cat’s body.

With the morning sun rising above the Grand Maribel Hotel, the beams began to pour into the hotel room. Awakening the hungover cats, reminding others of the money they lost, or even not waking cats as they were sound asleep. One of these cats was Chimera. She slept soundly in the luxurious suites at the top, her body bundled by surrounding blankets. The room was clearly lived in, with clothes on the floor and weapons scattered, but none of her own.

After the sun had officially risen, a groan left the cat as her oddly colored eyes blinked to take in the morning sun. Her eyes darted around, causing her body to jerk up, only to be hit by a sudden pressure in the skull. Holding her head, she felt the stitches behind her lengthy hair, keeping the deep cut closed. She took a breath and looked around the room as quickly as her head would allow. Nothing was recognizable, not even the clothes she was wearing. Which meant two things, she definitely went to a doctor, which she didn’t remember, and she had no weapons.

She swung her legs over the bed with small movements and rushed to the pistol on the dresser. It wasn’t hers, but the revolver was immediately recognizable. Combined with the clothes on the floor that weren’t hers, even her foggy brain could piece together where she was. Taking the pistol, she opened the door slowly.

Taking a step into the hallway, she immediately paused. Looking at the floor, she rubbed her eyes from the sleep lingering and shook her head. Perhaps she was seeing things. Looking back up, there was indeed a chicken in the hallway. “What the hell did they give me?”

Walking down the hallway with the chicken, she carefully scanned the area and the drums along the wall. Small yet bright lights were hung from the ceiling, along with fabric and a giant alligator skull that clicked with the other bones. As she looked at the colorful red peppers on the wall, she made it to the living room. It seemed her nerves were on edge as she saw Nico sleeping on the couch without a care.

Cautiously walking around the couch, she looked around the open living area. The walls were decorated with various skulls, pictures, and masks. The table had cards and a couple of spicy red peppers across it.

“Wat ya doin up cher? Ya should be restin’.” Turning, she watched as Nico smiled up at her, glancing at the revolver in her paw. “Not going out shootin’.”

“Where are my things?” She kept the weapon down.

He motioned to the bag on a decorative vanity. Rushing over, Chimera ripped it open to reveal her weapons, journal, clothes, and even the medication the doctor seems to have prescribed. “Thank you,” A relieved breath left the cat as she put the gun on the coffee table. “Apologies for the hostility. I can never be too careful.”

“Still tink I’m a threat, cher? I’m hurt.” He smirked, only making Chimera roll her eyes despite the sharp pain in the center of her head. “Ya good, cher? Y’gave us quite a scare last night.”

She froze, gripping her knife. “What happened last night?”

“Ya don’t remember?” Chimera shook her head. “Ya’ hit yer’ head pretty hard after dat explosion. After shootin’, the guy y’tried to walk home until you passed out. Me and Seraphine took ya to our doctor. After getting checked out you were desperate for a payphone, so you made a call-“

“-A call?” Chimera immediately turned her eyes widened despite the pain in her head radiating through. “To who?”

“Yer’ brother, I tink. It was a New York number. You smacked me before I could talk to ‘im.”

A sigh left the cat as the memories began to flood back into her mind. “I remember now…” She dragged looking up at the ceiling with its lights and clothes. “I'm sorry for what happened. I told you I’m not good luck.”

Moving his body, Nico motioned for her to sit as she looked down at the painkillers. “I wouldn’t say dat cher.”

“How do you think that?” Her voice was sullen as she took a breath before taking the painkillers down quickly. “There was a massive explosion that split my head open and put you two in the line of fire.”

Nicos’ ear twitches. “They had dat dynamite dere already. The second we broke in, the whole place could have exploded, but due to yer plannin’ we were able to control the situation-“

“Exactly cher. With dat plannin’ and takin’ out dose men tryin’ to run, it could have exploded with us in it,” Seraphine appeared out of nowhere. “Y’were also able to survive dat. I’d tink dats lucky,” She mentioned to the stitches underneath her hair.”

Chuckling, Chimera looked up at Seraphine, whose long, flowing hair framed her face. “You two know how to compliment someone, don’t you?” She smiled, looking up as she put on her coat. She loaded her pockets back up with the weapons.

She sighed, feeling the painkillers begin their job, as she looked at her journal while the siblings spoke amongst themselves. Chimera's eyes widened as she realized what was in her appointments. “Thank you for looking after me, but I have some business to attend to today,” She got up quickly, the pain not worn on her face.

“Ya’ sure, cher?” Seraphine leaned on the couch. “Y’can hang ‘round with us. We can use yer luck and fun for our Fete tonight.”

Chucking Chimera stood up, taking the clothes out of the bag. “I’m sure you two will have enough fun without me. Where I’m going is boring.”

“I doubt that,” Nico smirked. “I bet I can find some entertainment in it.”

Narrowing her eyes, a similar smirk appeared on Chimeras' face. “Then how about you be my chauffeur for the day Mr. Savoy?”

Nico leaned against a light pole along the sidewalk as he brought a cigarette to his lips. Occasionally gave a flirtatious smile to a cat passing by. The sides of the streets were lined with cars as cats went in and out of stores gathering food for the ensuing week. Standing outside a local bait and tackle store, he saw Chimera talking to a Japanese Bobtail through the window. As Chimera went to the cashier, the bobtail glared at the tomcat before returning to the conversation.

He sighed, taking in the cigarette before the bell jingle had him look over to see Chimera walking out of a store with a bag. While the bobtail disappeared into a crowd of other cats. “Find whatcha’ need, cher?” He smiled, pushing himself off the pole.

“Of course,” Chimera hopped into the passenger side.

Putting out his cigarette, Nico smirked as he got into the expensive Ford. Starting up the engine, he began to drive. The crisp chill in the air had Chimera close her eyes in enjoyment as it flowed through her hair and fur. Letting her paw run through the wind, she let it fall once the car came to a stop sign. Looking to her side, Nico smiled as he drove smoothly down the street, enjoying the car. A chuckle left her lips as she stared back at the various shops on the road.

“What were ya’ talkin’ about with her?” He broke the silence. “She was starin’ at me like I’d kill her.”

A small chuckle escaped the oddly colored cat as she contoured to look out to the road. “We were just talking about some properties. Boring stuff,” She sighed, only for Nico to laugh. “What?”

“Dat why she was glarin’ at me? Upset with you runnin' around with a stray from da bayou?”

“That’s kind of how Ryu looks, believe me,” Chimeras’ eyes caught a phone booth. “Stop here. I got a call to make.”

The Ford was pulled off to the side of the road. After gathering her journal, chimera hopped out of the car and walked into the phone booth. Closing the door behind her, she began dialing a New York number. The dial tone was quickly replaced by the bubby voice of a reactionist. “How may I direct you?”

“This is Chimera.”

“One moment.”

Only a couple seconds passed before Glens’ voice made an appearance. “Good to hear you are alive.”

“You know that not much can take down the mighty Chimera.” She chuckled, leaning against the payphone wall. “They are taken care of?”

“Yes, they are,” Glen straightened the paper on his desk. “We were able to take many of the red snake's men right at the border, basically paralyzing him.”

“That’s good.”

“Now that’s settled. How did your talk with Ryu go?”

Chimera chuckled, looking out to her car. “Great, the properties are making quite a bit of money already. Citrus is quite a big business in California,” A proud smile spread across her face. “I think I’m going to see if I can put that boat Dad had to good use for some fishing.”

“That would be a good idea… Ryu is knowledgeable, so she can help you with that,” Chimera’s ears twitched as she sensed the distracted tone in his voice. “Oh, enjoy your birthday. I believe Yaya and Yayo have something for you at the park?”

The cat sighed. “Yeah, walking around the park will help my head.”

“How are you feeling? That cat that called me said you got thrown into a wall by dynamite.”

Chucking, Chimera leaned against the door, rubbing the stitches on her head. “Honestly, I feel a lot better. Nico told me last night I was, meaning I passed the worst.”

“Nico… is that man you're working with? Nicodeme Savoy, from New Orleans, correct?” He spoke as if we were reading off a file.

“Yeah, he is a good guy,” She tried to brush off her brother, huffing as she looked at the tomcat outside the car, looking out to the tall buildings in the distance. “I’m going to take these worms to Yayo if you have nothing else.”

“Alright, give them my love.”

“I will. Love you.”

“Love you too,”

Chimera left the booth after hanging up the phone, only for Nico to turn with an ear twitch. “Didn’t take long?”

“No,” She shook her head, opening her journal and crossing out several names. “Only Forest Park left, Monsieur Chauffeur before this morning adventure ends.”

He laughed as they got into the car. “Not borin’ at tal’ cher.”

“If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you only did this to drive my car.”

“And if I did?”

“I’d ask if it was worth it.”

“Escortin’ around a jolie dame while drivin’ a nice car?” He smirked to himself as he turned down the street. “Yeah, it was.”

“I’m sure it was flirt.” She shoved his shoulder slightly as she opened the compartment in the side of the car.

Before she could grab what she needed, thick Cuban cigars tumbled out. “I didn’t know ya smoke, cher?”

“I don’t…” She looked at the cigars with a sad look. “You want them?”

He smiled and looked at the thick brown rolled-up cigars. “They nice, ya sure?”

“Yeah,” She nodded. “Take it as reimbursement for driving me around.”

A few minutes passed before the pair of cats exited the car. The blue ford sat across from Forest Park. The fresh air blowing through the lush scenery cleared the cat's head. The two walked along the paths and took in the numerous golf areas and museums while police rode around on tall horses. The pair paused once Chimeria spotted an older cat fiddling with a fishing pole. In the shade, an older calico sat on her chair, reading her book peacefully.

Walking up to the elderly cats, Chimera announced herself loudly. “Hola, Yayo and Yaya,” The elderly cat smiled gleefully. “Te compré un cebo,” {1} She leaned over the elderly tabby, who took the bag quickly.

“Gracias mija,” The tomcat smiled, opening the box to see plenty of wriggling worms. However, he quickly paused, and his smile turned into a frown. “Quién es el hombre?” {2}

Looking over her shoulder, Chimera watched Nico happily chatted away with her grandmother. “Ayudándome con el trabajo.” {3}

“Hm…” The older cat grumbled as he reluctantly went back to his pole.

“Feliz Cumpleaños!” {4} Yaya cheerfully held out a cake to Chimera.

“Yaya, you didn’t have to,” She hugged the older cat

“I wanted to,” The cat smiled, looking over at Nico, who smiled. “Go have a little picnic with your friend. I didn’t make you a small cake. Please, young man, have her relax.”

“Will do. Come on, Cher,” Nico smiled, already walking off towards the pathway.

“Hey, wait!” Chimera shouted, jogging after the tomcat.

The older cat smiled, watching her granddaughter talking to the tomcat and smiling. “We need to call Glen when we get home,” The older tomcats’ voice spoke up. “She doesn’t need to be messing around with men.”

“Carlos! Let young love be!” His wife sat back in her chair.

“Who said anything about love?” Carlos gasped.

The two elderly cats' bickering was free entertainment for any cat passing. Chimera and Nico continued down a trail. She noted how there were plenty of cats in the park. Children were playing, and groups of college kids stretched out the weekend as long as possible. No one noticed a Japanese bobtail trailing behind the pair of cats.

“Why didn’t ya tell me it was ya birthday, cher?” Nico laid comfortably on the grass as Chimera admired the Art Museum in the distance. “I could have bought you somethin’ special.”

“You chauffeured me around. That is enough,” Chimera chuckled before finally opening the box.

The distinctive scent of chocolate filled the air, making the Chimeras’ ears perk up in happiness while her tail swished happily. She took the plate and revealed the intricately decorated chocolate cake to Nico. The only item that wasn't a brown color was the candles on top, making her stop and pat her sides.

The sound of a lighter made her look up to see Nico with a lighter in hand. “Need a light cher?”

“Yes, then I’m officially 24.” She set the cake for him to light.

Once the wax candles were lit, Nico sat up with a smile. “Faire un vœu.” {5}

As she looked out to the river, they were near. A smile spread across her face before taking a breath and blowing out the candle. “Whatcha wish for?”

“It won't come true if I tell you,” She countered with a laugh as she began cutting the cake into slices. “You want a taste?”

“Why not cher?” Nico shrugged, taking a plate of cake. “I have to make a good impression on yer’ grandma.”

Despite the chill, the cake and pleasant conversation warmed the cats. The conversation ranged from fishing to weapons to childhoods. Despite the two growing up in different areas of the country and contrasting financial situations, the two could unexpectedly find some common ground... mainly about catching animals.

“I remember when a shark stole my bass and nearly took me overboard because I kept holding the pole,” Nico laughed at the image of a tiny kitten attempting to fight a shark. “I didn’t know I was supposed to let go!”

“I'll top dat,” He countered. “I used to catch snappin’ turtles in da bayou.”

Chimeras' oddly colored eyes widened as she swallowed the cake stuffed into her cheeks. “You would just catch snapping turtles for the heck of it?”

“Yeah, cher! I had to eat somethin’.” He motioned to his prominent muscles. “Dose tings have a lot of meat.”

“I got a better one,” Chimera shook her head, licking the chocolate of her thumb. “There is a desert called the Mojave Desert. Nothing out there, but we would train out there. We would find scorpions the size of dinner plates, and they would chase us. They were mean! Anyways, we would eat those.”

“Yer comparin’ a snappin’ turtle to a tiny scorpion.” He cooed, putting his fingers together in exasperation.

“When you’re twelve and see this thing move faster than you expect, it is jarring,” Chimera argued.

“Why were ya out der?”

Chimera scrapped her fork along the plate to get the last bits of chocolate lingering. “The Brothers of Peril train us in different climates if we are sent to hot areas,” She explained. “How to get water, how working at night is better, how to avoid the wildlife, things like that.”

“Dat sounds like a nice school.”

Her curiosity was peaked. “Did you go to school?”

“Does it look like I did, cher?”

“You’re not an idiot.” Chimeria seemed adamant. “If we are going to nitpick, I never went to conventional school.”

He chuckled. A silence crept up to the pair as Chimeria put the small plate into the box. “I'm still sorry for last night. Despite all that happened, I really shouldn’t have yelled like that. It was not your fault.”

Nico paused. “Then what was last night ‘bout then?”

Chimeria paused, thinking about the information she could give the tomcat. “I can't really tell you everything that is going on, but some cats that I am on bad terms with. Since I've gotten here, it seems they are also after my brother and me.” She took a bite of the rich cake. “Still, I shouldn’t have yelled at you two.”

 “Nah cher,” He took another bite. “We jus’ worried bout ya’”

“That’s still no excuse for how I acted. You two are actually pretty lovely despite your reputation. Then again, I guess you got practice with Mordecai.”

“Dats true,” He chuckled, finishing the cake. “Still, cher, don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“You sure?” Nico nodded. “I really do owe you.”

The tomcat paused and chuckled as he put the plate in the box. “I can think of one thing.”

“What is it? I go on a date with you?”

“Why not?” Chimera paused. Her whole body seemed to freeze as she scanned Nico's face for a joke. Until he laughed. “I already know your answer, cher. Don’t worry.”

She thought, staring out to the art museum before muttering. “Screw it,” She huffed, turning to the tomcat lazily lying on the grass. “Where do you want to go?”

“Ya serious cher?” Nicos’ yellow eyes turned to her. “I thought ya said it takes an act of god?”

“That’s what that cake was,” She teased. “Where do you want to go?”

Nico chuckled, pulling himself up to face her. “Well, dat would depend on when yer’ free, cher.”

“Tomorrow is-“ The sound of the crushing of the underbrush had her ears swivel. “Did you hear that?”

Looking where her head had turned, Nico chuckled. “Ya more paranoid than Mordecai.”

“Unlike Mordecai, I have a lot more reasons for my paranoia,” She said blandly, staring at the tree until a squirrel appeared and ran across some leaves. Only for Nico to chuckle and for her to glare in response. “However, I guess there is a reason why we get along to an extent.”

“Tomorrow cher?”

“That’s good.” Chimeras' eyes were laced with mischievous as her tail swished happily.

Not too far away from the cats was a Japanese bobtail cat whose eyes narrowed in suspicion as she observed the pair of cats talked about a date and time.

{1} I bought you bait {2} Who is the man? {3} Helping me with work {4} Happy Birthday {5} Make a wish

[ratwhowrites]

The Star of the Show

Superhero au

Romero woke up to blinding lights pointed directly at his face, bright neon signs surrounding the area. He stood on a large stage, the audience empty. He could barely make out the words on the large ‘Applause’ sign above him. Everything was slightly blurry and there was the faint sound of static buzzing in the air. Was this a dream? Before he could try to figure out where he was, his thoughts were drowned out by a sudden uproar of applause from an audience that wasn’t previously there. Theme music from somewhere had began playing. It seemed as if it were all around him, the sounds overwhelming his brain.

Someone came up from behind him and gave his shoulders a squeeze in a one armed embrace. The static only increased in intensity with their approach. A woman that slightly resembled the villain Neon smiled at him.

Romero studied her appearance, her outfit was quite bizarre, a neon pink jacket that almost appeared to glow under the lights, and bright teal leggings that are cut off by her odd looking heels.

“Everyone give a big hand to our special guest, the one and only Romero Curtis, also known as our beloved hero, Orion! Give him a hand folks!” When she spoke, her voice somehow overpowered all other sounds. The applause signs lit up, signaling another wave of cheering from the blurry crowd. The host of the show then made a gesture with her hands. Then everything went silent once again, except for the distant buzzing that made Romero’s head tingle.

“I must say it is so nice to finally meet you Romero! Can you tell the audience how you’re feeling?” Romero didn’t know how she knew his name or even what he was feeling, but he felt compelled to answer, smiling at the camera he didn’t realize was there.

“Thank you Michelle, it’s great to be here. I feel a little dizzy but it’s nice to see so many fans.” The audience cheered from his response but another gesture from Michelle and they fell quiet.

“Wonderful, wonderful. How does it feel to be the most successful hero in our city, loved by all?” Romero raised an eyebrow, the odd wording raising his suspicion. That was oddly specific…

“Well I-I guess it’s nice. But how did you know I was-“

“I bet your son Julian is proud to call you his father.” An ‘Aw’ came from the audience, followed by more cheering. The sentence caused the blood to drain from Romero’s face.

“How do you know my so-“

“I bet your wife Cecelia feels bad about divorcing you now. I mean look at you, anyone would consider themselves lucky to be with such a powerful hero. And a very handsome one at that.”

The audience erupted with ‘oohs’ and ‘ahs’, laughing at Michelle’s jokes and the occasional wolf whistle. How did she know his family?

“I bet she feels really stupid. Am I right folks?” The audience was eating up every word, encouraging Michelle to go on. Romero’s panic only increased with the volume of the crowd. The static was louder now, causing his head to hurt. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“Stop it! Stop it! Don’t talk about her like that! She’s not-“

“But are we wrong though? Is the audience ever wrong? Didn’t SHE leave YOU?”

Romero remained quiet. The audience cheered even more, the applause sign was flashing and the laughter increased. It was all too much. Michelle’s smile was too wide for her face as she laughed, a cruel and mocking laugh. He covered his ears but it did no good. The crowd started chanting, the words causing his ears to ache. The static was so loud, it burned. He just wanted the quiet again.

“Romero! Romero! Romero!”

It kept getting louder, and louder…

“Romero! Romero! Wake up!”

Romero jolted up on his seat, looking around frantically. He was back in the living room, but the static still remained. He turned to see the tv was still on, as well as it being the source of the static. Dallas looked worried, his hands firmly held Romero in place. The hero sighed with relief, the adrenaline wearing down and quickly replaced with exhaustion.

“Had a bad dream?” Romero could only nod, still shaken from the memory.

“Hey, you’ve been really on edge lately. Maybe you should take the day off. Me and Flynn will handle the patrol and you can stay home with Julian. Sound good?”

It took a minute for Romero to process his words and just nodded, deciding he needed a break, if only for a day.

[kumeko]

A/N: For the @problemchild-zine! I couldn’t resist adding Eri in, her relationship with Aizawa and Deku is adorable.

…

…

…

…

Izuku had questions. He always had questions, if he were honest—whether he was in class, on patrol, or even just bumping into a professional hero by accident, he wanted to pepper them with queries until he understood literally everything. There was just so much he didn’t know. Every answer just gave him twenty more questions.

It wasn’t any different now. Standing in the middle of Aizawa’s living room, Izuku couldn’t stop the gears in his brain from turning. It was Aizawa’s, Eraserhead’s home, after all! A real pro superhero’s home! He might never get this chance again and he had to make the most of it.

Unfortunately, that meant his very first question was a very unimpressive “Can I borrow paper?”

Aizawa paused as he kneeled at the front door, a hand on Eri’s waist, the other on her foot. Looking over his shoulder, he raised a brow. “Huh?”

“Paper,” Izuku repeated, feeling a little silly. He rubbed his neck sheepishly, his ears burning a bright, embarrassed red. “I didn’t bring my notebook today—I really shouldn’t leave home without it, I know, but I didn’t think I’d need it for a grocery run. Next time, I’ll make sure to take it with me. I won’t leave home without it—actually, I might have to when I go on patrol. My costume doesn’t have pockets yet.”

Eri’s eyes widened as she listened and if it weren’t for Aizawa’s steady hand, she’d have fallen backwards.

His teacher, for his part, just gave Izuku a flat stare. “Don’t touch anything,” Aizawa muttered, before turning back to Eri. Pulling off her shoe, he swapped hand positions and tapped her other leg.

Maybe it was too much to expect paper. Did adults even keep paper? His mom didn’t really use any; mostly notepads for the grocery list and that was it.

“What about a pen?” he asked. Izuku had practiced writing really tiny on his skin for times like these.

Aizawa didn’t even look back this time.

Well, that was just fine. Izuku prided himself for his memorization and fortunately the entirely living room was sparsely furnished. Beyond the basic tv-couch-table set, it was oddly empty, not even a picture frame on the walls. Maybe his teacher just liked things simple.

Or maybe it was a money thing. Izuku bit his cheek. His mother sometimes talked about being in the red, maybe his teacher was? That could explain his clothes, which were really simple, just black slacks with a long-sleeved brown shirt. Their class had made a betting pool on what their teachers’ casual clothes were, and Mina, Minato, and Kaminari owed people money when he got back to school.

“I don’t know what you’re thinking but stop.” Done, Aizawa stood up and gestured at a door further back. “We’ll take care of your leg in the bathroom.”

“My leg.” Izuku blinked for a second before looking down. It had been a warm spring day, the kind where he could get away with wearing shorts. The kind of day where Aizawa, feeling generous, had offered to let him come with them for one of Eri’s field trips to the city, this time to the local park.

None of them had expected a gang of small-time robbers to cut through as they fled a botched heist. Luckily, the scuffle only took a few minutes before Aizawa shut it down. Unfortunately, Izuku had scraped his leg in the mess while protecting Eri. By now, the blood had dried on his leg.

Eri made a beeline for him, her tiny hand tugging on his shirt’s hem as she looked up at him with watery eyes. “Are you okay?” Her lip trembled when she glanced at his leg. “It looks bad.”

Izuku shook his head, gently assuring her as he squeezed her hand. “It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

Which wasn’t a lie. The fact that he was at Aizawa’s apartment had erased any feeling other than excitement.

“Didn’t I say to go to the bathroom?” Aizawa asked gruffly, though his hands were gentle as he tugged Izuku further into the small apartment. Izuku had just enough time to peek at the open doors as they passed, taking in a kitchen and a spare bedroom before entering a small, cozy bathroom.

Letting go of him, Aizawa opened the cupboard beneath the sink, rifling through it until he pulled out a small red first-aid kit. “Alright, hop onto the sink.”

Izuku blinked. “The sink?”

“Yeah.” Aizawa tapped on the counter impatiently. He rolled up his sleeves. “I don’t have all day.”

There was something fairly nostalgic as he pulled himself up. Aizawa sat on the toilet opposite to him, resting the first aid kit on the tub cover as he opened it and pulled out some disinfectant. His mother had done the same when he was younger; playing with Bakugou and the others had left him with all sorts of scrapes and it’d been an almost automatic thing when he came home.

The spray stung and Izuku flinched.

“Oh, so you felt that,” Aizawa muttered, pulling out a small cloth, scraping it against his skin as he wiped the injury clean.

Eri poked her head in nervously. “It hurts?”

“Just a little,” Izuku admitted honestly—cleaning wounds always stung no matter how much he braced himself. “But it’s fine now!” He gave her a thumbs up and she weakly returned the gesture.

“Good, it looks shallow,” Aizawa muttered, pulling out the long, white gauze strips from the box. “Recovery Girl won’t have to fix it.”

Izuku shuddered, thinking of her big, sloppy kisses and the tiring drain after. “That’s…good.”

Aizawa’s lips quirked—was that a smile? Almost a smile?—but before Izuku could do more than notice it, his expression was neutral once more. Wrapping the long bandage around his leg, Aizawa glanced at Eri. “You know where your glass is?”

Eri nodded. “On the rack.”

“Good. Get your stool and fill the glass with water.” Aizawa’s expression barely changed, but Izuku sensed fondness. “Take your time.”

“R-right!” Eri straightened up, nodding quickly, looking as determined as a warrior heading into battle.

“Oh, I don’t need—” Izuku quickly blurted out but it was too late. She spun around and ran down the hall, her little feet thumping on the tiled floor as she ran to the kitchen. “—water.”

“Izuku.” And if Aizawa had been fond before, he sounded stern now. “What happened?”

“Huh?” Izuku blinked, not sure why the mood was so tense all of a sudden. Had he done something wrong? Maybe he’d gawked at the apartment too long? How long could a person stare before it became gawking?

“At the park.” Aizawa tugged the bandage tight and wound it around his leg. “When the robber unleashed his spikes, you protected Eri.”

“Yes.” He racked his brain, trying to figure out what else he should have done. Clearly this was a lecture; he should have realized it before. Aizawa only acted like this when he was trying to teach something.

Aizawa looked up at him, dark eyes unreadable. “And?”

“And…” Izuku bit his cheek, running over the events in his mind. Aizawa had tackled the first robber and bound the second one. Another pro-hero had captured the third. The fourth had a quirk that unleashed spikes and he’d unleashed them in Eri’s direction.

Izuku hadn’t thought before pulling her out of the way, his body responding automatically. A spike had grazed his leg. After setting Eri down, he’d drop-kicked their attacker.

All in all, the whole incident had taken minutes.

Maybe that was minutes too long. Aizawa and the other hero had taken down three of them in seconds, after all. “I should have attacked the robber before he could attack us?” he guessed.

Aizawa gave him a flat look. He tightened the bandage and reached into the kit for a pin. “Try again.”

“Uh…I should have…” Unlike with his other teachers, it was almost impossible to guess what answers Aizawa wanted. Ever since the first day they’d stumbled into his class, he never gave anything away, whether it was his lie about expelling them or the answer to what their class should hold for the cultural festival. “Guessed the attack and moved faster?”

“What do you want to do as a hero?” Aizawa asked, pinning the bandage in place.

“I want to protect everyone’s smiles,” Izuku replied, his skin flushing as he said the words. There was something embarrassing about saying it aloud, though fortunately Aizawa didn’t laugh.

Aizawa pressed. “And did you protect their smiles today?”

“Eri wasn’t hurt.”  Izuku froze, glancing at the door. “She isn’t, right?”

Before he could leap off the counter, Aizawa tapped his leg. “She’s not.”

“Oh. Good.” Izuku sighed with relief.

“But you aren’t just protecting them, you’re protecting their smiles.” Aizawa kept his gaze steady as he explained. “Was Eri smiling?”

Izuku’s eyes widened. The entire time he’d hobbled back to Aizawa’s apartment, she’d pressed close to his side, her expression anxious. He hung his head. “No.”

“You can’t just protect others. You have to protect yourself too.” Aizawa closed the kit with a small click. Getting up, he squeezed Izuku’s shoulders. “That means helping without getting hurt.”

He frowned. “But sometimes—”

“Sometimes you don’t have a choice,” Aizawa cut off. “And you will get hurt. But was today one of those days?”

Izuku flinched, unable to deny the point. If he had been faster or more prepared, he probably wouldn’t have hurt his leg at all. “No…” He mumbled.

“Reckless heroes are dead heroes.” Aizawa pulled open the cupboard and tossed the kit in. “Keep that in mind.”

He nodded. Part of him really wished for paper, so he could write it all down exactly as his teacher had said it. “I’ll be more careful next time. Thanks.”

A soft pitter-patter of feet and they both looked at the door to find Eri slowly, carefully walking in. Both of her hands were wrapped around a plastic cup, water spilling over the rim with every step. Her entire focus was on the cup as she walked. “H-here.”

“Good. I was thirsty.” Aizawa took the glass and gulped it down.

“It wasn’t for me?” Izuku stared, his jaw dropping.

Aizawa raised a brow. “Who said it was?”

[mionemymind]

Chapter 9: The Truth

Fake Memories

Series Summary: After Y/n is caught cheating on Wanda with Carol, Y/n would do just about anything to get Wanda back into her life. But was it even Y/n’s fault that she cheated? Or was it the new enemy set on revenge?

Chapter Summary: The after effects of the attack on New York have changed everything for the Avengers, Wanda, and Y/n. 

A/n: I have managed to write this all within one day. I’m sorry if there are any mistakes but please let me know your thoughts love :) (Not my GIF)

Warnings: Fighting, Hydra, Blood, Mentions of Death, Anxiety, Curse Words

Word Count: 4.9k

Masterlist

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 |

Covered in ash, dirt, and dried-up blood, Steve was a walking disaster as he paced through the hospital waiting room. Well, if you would call it a hospital that is. It’s been less than an hour since the Avengers have controlled the fires in New York but the troubling news of Y/n and Wanda brought them to a halt.

They quickly rushed to the “hospital”, which was just an empty leased building before being revamped into a hospital for this emergency. The walls were made up of light green curtains. You couldn’t even separate the blood-curling screams from down the hall to the one next to you.

“Stop pacing Rogers. You’re making my head hurt,” Tony said as he sat next to his suit. He had managed to borrow one of the hospital’s tablets to see if there were any updates that could remotely be done to the tower. So far, no luck had been made to reboot F.R.I.D.A.Y or power up the building in general. “Don’t tell me what to do,” he bit back.

Before Tony could say anything, Natasha lightly elbowed him in the stomach to keep him hushed. Now was not the time to start fighting especially at a time like this. “Are you any closer to powering up the tower?” She asked. If Natasha was nervous, she sure as hell didn’t show it. While the assassin did have a similar beat-up look like Steve, her composure was almost too relaxed. However, if Steve cared to notice, he could quickly see how big of a lie that was but his mind was only focused on the two youngest Avengers.

On the other side of the building lied Wanda and Y/n. The only thing separating those two was the thin green curtain and the team of tired nurses and doctors that surrounded them. And while the two have been closer before, this was the first time in a while that they both slept peacefully by each other. It didn’t matter the circumstances of how they slept, but rather what they dreamt...and it was of each other.

“What do you think we would have been like if we lived normal lives?” It was a late afternoon on a sunny day in spring. Wanda and Y/n laid down in the grass under a tree that shadowed them from the sun. Today was one of their off days and seeing as the weather was nice, the two felt like it was a perfect time to go to the park.

“Well, we would obviously attend school.” Wanda was lying down on her back with a dandelion in her hand as Y/n laid on her side, using her left hand to support her head. “I can honestly see you as being the popular person or maybe even the President of some type of political club.”

“What makes you say that?” The soft breeze that covered them came once again, which blew the pappis away. The small frown on Wanda’s faced made it hard for Y/n to focus but she still responded, “You just have this powerful aura to you, Wanda. When you talk, people listen. But what you do better is how easy it is for us to believe you. That’s something not a lot of leaders can do.”

“You make it sound like I’ll be the next President of the United States,” Wanda replied jokingly. “I wish.” Wanda pushed Y/n back slightly as she laughed but all Y/n did was smile at the action. “But what about me? What do you think I would be like?”

Putting her finger to her chin, Wanda thought for a moment before saying, “Honestly, without your powers, you are probably a film nerd at heart. Maybe just a nerd in general.”

“Hey! Now you’re just being mean.” Wanda rolled her eyes as she threw away the dandelion stem. She turned her head to face Y/n. There was this adoration in her eyes that quickly made Y/n blush. “Who cares. All I know is if anyone decides to mess with you, they’ll obviously have to go through me.”

“Oh, so you’re telling me the President of the political science club is going to come to my rescue?”

“Duh! I’ll probably yell at them or something. If not, I’m not afraid to get nasty.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“How’d you let them get away?” Fury said as he walked into the hospital that Y/n was at. The man was not in his finest hour. First, the mass destruction of New York city was blasting on the news. Reporters and anchors are not looking in favor for the heroes regardless of the actions they’ve taken to try and minimize the damage. Many were angry at the mere fact that this happened at all.

“Someone on their team had quickly teleported them to safety,” Carol stated. The girl has been feeling nothing but guilt for the past hour. Although she did save Wanda and Y/n, the state she had found them in only did worse for her thoughts. “Even if I did try to catch up to them, the lack of response from Wanda and Y/n meant something. I probably couldn’t have faced them alone if I tried.”

Before Fury could have walked any further into the building, Carol grabbed him by the arm, forcing him to look at her. “Her ears were bleeding Nick...I think they did something to her head again.”

Wanda woke up with a slight headache, the dream vaguely on her mind. As she started to grasp her surroundings, she only grew more confused. “Where am I?” She thought. The loud beeping beside her combined with screams and loud thoughts overwhelmed Wanda. Feeling the need to get out, she quickly started to remove the various wires on her as the recent events caught up to her. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to lay back down,” the nurse asked kindly.

“Where’s Y/n?” Wanda almost lost her balance as she stepped off her bed. She used the nurse in front of her to regain her balance, before walking out of her “room”. “Ma’am, I’m not going to ask again, please lay back down or I will have to get security.”

The threat was the last thing on Wanda’s mind. All she could focus on was finding Y/n. Using her powers, she closed her eyes and tried to sense where Y/n was. Considering the girl was right beside her, it didn’t take long for Wanda to find out.

Quickly walking over to the side of her room, Wanda pushed the curtain to the side but the sight in front of her made everything stop. There was Y/n, battered and bruised. There was drywall dust on her face along with dried-up blood. “Y/n,” Wanda whispered in disbelief. Much to Wanda’s dismay, Y/n didn’t respond. She remained unresponsive on the bed.

Reaching out to try and hold her hand, Wanda was pulled back by the same nurse. “Ma’am, please let the doctors and nurses do their jobs while you go back to your bed.” Wanda shrugged off her hand, her eyes glowing red as she said, “Don’t.”

Wanting to be by Y/n’s side, Wanda tried to walk towards her again but Steve’s voice made her stop. “Wanda.” Turning back around, Wanda first noticed just how beat up Steve was. His helmet was off which made Steve oddly look like a raccoon. If times were different, maybe Wanda would have laughed. Instead, she stormed out of the room, feeling more overwhelmed.

“I’m sorry about her ma’am,” Steve said with a courteous nod.

Wanda sat on the ledge of the roof. The slight breeze of the night was coursing past her as she mindlessly fiddled with her fingers, a nervous habit she developed after her parents’ death. It was during a harsher breeze that Wanda touched her forehead where the slight open injury was at. She had left the floor just moments ago and somehow her feet led her here. Although she knew that she needed someone to look at the injuries she sustained, her mind was focused elsewhere. It was plagued with thoughts about the girl that was still entrapped in a room full of doctors that had no clue how to treat her. Wanda knew it was wrong of her to read their minds, but she hoped that at least one of them at least knew where to start. Panic and anxiety filled the redhead’s body the more she realized that no one knew how to help Y/n. Soon, the room felt as if it was enclosing on her. Before Steve realized she was about to break down, she left to sort out her thoughts and emotions.

Wanda had been so deep in thought that she hadn’t noticed Carol leaning against the entrance of the roof. The blonde was only a couple of feet away from Wanda wearing black sweatpants and a shirt. The girl was wrapping up a mission when she saw the text from Y/n. Carol didn’t know whether the drop in her heart was from the fake feelings Memory Man had created or whether she genuinely cared about the girl’s wellbeing. It didn’t matter though. What mattered was Y/n’s safety.

Carol leaned up against the ledge while surveying the view. They were a foot away from each other but it didn’t take a mind reader to know that both girls were thinking about Y/n. Ironically enough, they each had their separate thoughts about how they failed to protect Y/n. For Wanda, she felt as if she was the sole reason that Y/n got hurt. If she had only conquered her abilities more, Y/n wouldn’t have had to sacrifice herself again just to protect her. Not only that, but Wanda felt beyond frustrated with herself for being so frozen and paralyzed as the enemy hurt Y/n right in front of her eyes. There was nothing holding her back besides herself and that was something that will haunt her for a while. For Carol, she felt that if she were just a bit faster and maybe not a galaxy away, she would have reached them in time to help.

After a couple of minutes of silence, Wanda sidely glanced at Carol. The first thing she noticed was her attire. It didn’t take long for the dots to connect before she realized that it was Y/n’s clothes Carol was wearing. Wanda bit her tongue at the ounce of jealousy and resentment that decided to rise within her. This was no time to start arguments especially with the person that helped Y/n just in the nick of time. So Wanda had opted for a different but just as difficult route. “Thank you.”

Carol heard but decided to remain silent. Clearing her throat, Wanda continued, “I’m not sure what would have happened if you hadn’t found us.” Finally, the two made eye contact as Carol glanced at Wanda. “I’m only here for Y/n,” Carol deadpanned. Wanda choked at her words but still had a serious composure. They both looked back at the city but there was a more tense feeling in the air. Carol hadn’t cared if the words had hurt Wanda. What she cared for was Y/n. But the looming question in the back of her head was always if this was a genuine feeling or if it was forced. However, the way her heart overwhelmingly felt angered at the person beside her, she knew that at this time, the feeling was genuine.

Subconsciously, Wanda felt the emotions that leaked out of the blonde. She didn't need to go in her mind to realize that. It felt like Carol’s guard was down leading her aura to be seen. It had covered the area surrounding the two in such a suffocating manner that Wanda felt like she couldn’t breathe. The two most compelling emotions were the anger she held for her and the love she had for Y/n. As she cracked her knuckles, Carol muttered, “It is quite ridiculous the things Y/n continuously goes through for a team that can barely return the favor.”

“You don’t get to-”

“Now listen here. I don’t quite care much for your team. Frankly, y’all don’t deserve Y/n.” The two faced each other with such intensity that one wrong move could cause a fight with two of the galaxy’s most powerful superheroes. “But if I’m being honest, you don’t deserve Y/n.” Wanda’s fists clenched at Carol’s words. It took everything out of the redhead to not fling Carol out of New York, because how dare she accuse her of such atrocities.

“If I were you, I would stop where you’re at,” Wanda said threateningly. The spiral scarlet glow in her eyes only made Carol chuckle. “You know you’re not the only one with powers.” Carol’s fist glowed with the same intensity as Wanda’s eyes. But the threats were pointless as the two had stopped at the same time.

“You don’t see it but you should feel lucky Wanda.” Cocking her eyebrow, Wanda responded with, “And why is that?” The redhead remained in a defensive stance as she crossed her arms. Carol walked closer to her and placed her hand on Wanda’s shoulder. Wanda was still tense but it slightly faltered when she saw how serious Carol was. “There’s a girl out there that loves you even when her mind and heart tell her otherwise.” And with that, Carol left Wanda to herself.

The burning feeling in his legs shouldn’t have felt familiar but it did. It reminded him of the body that he held through New York’s streets. It reminded him of the blood all over his hands and clothes. It reminded him of that fateful night that he failed.

And as he stormed into the hospital with nobody in his hands, something in the way that the team looked made his blood drain. Before Bucky could ask about Y/n’s whereabouts, Beth had walked in. Seeing her familiar face caused Bucky to be slightly relaxed but still anxious about what she could possibly say.

“I have an update on Y/n’s health.” Carol had walked into the room and her attention immediately landed on Beth. “Tell us, Beth,” Fury said.

“As of right now, she will be fine. The doctors have her hooked up to a solution that is allowing her regeneration abilities to work. But-,” before Beth could finish her update, Tony had stood up and loudly commented, “- Great, now that we know Ms. Hydra is okay, can we get back to the real issue at hand?”

As Carol was about to advance to Tony, it was Beth’s words that made the room quiet. “Of course it would be the self-righteous billionaire that would talk shit.” Tony’s head snapped towards Beth. “Excuse me?!”

Beth glared back at Tony, not daring to back down. Her arms were crossed as she continued, “Don’t act like you can’t hear me, or is your ego too far high for you to actually listen?”

Walking towards Beth, Tony said, “Listen here you son of a-” Before Tony could get any closer to Beth, Bucky had used his arm to stop him. “I wouldn’t if I were you.” Tony forcefully removed Bucky’s hand from his chest. He stepped away from Beth, not wanting to deal with what he thinks of as just some pathetic nurse.

“You know what the real issue is Tony - actually - all of you. It’s the fact that you seriously think of Y/n to be this villain.” Beth had let out a dark chuckle at the irony of the situation. “Or have you forgotten the shit you’ve ALL done? Let’s name them, shall we?”

“Beth-” Beth glared at Bucky. She didn’t care if this wasn’t the time nor the place for this conversation, because God was she so tired of them. “Tony, remember all the weapons that you’ve created for mass destruction and have yet to actually own up to the consequences of them?”

“I would stop there if I were you before-”

“Before what?!” Beth said as she threw her hands up. “Before you sue me?! Before you attack me?! Oh - that’s it, isn’t it? What are you gonna do? Kill me? Like how you did with Y/n?!” The room grew more silent as everyone besides Bucky and Beth digested her words. “It’s honestly sad how a bunch of adults has managed to push a KID to take their life away. All for what?! Because you thought she cheated on Wanda! News fucking flash - she didn’t even fucking cheat.”

“What?” Steve said. The shock of Beth’s words was still affecting him. “It was Memory Man. He had put fake memories in Y/n’s and mine’s heads. That was the whole reason we kissed - wait - did you not know about this?” The team was frozen while Carol and Fury impatiently waited for answers.

Not caring to wait for their pathetic excuses, Beth said, “It’s not like it matters what they have to say. They don’t even care for Y/n but for those that actually do. Right now we have no clue what her mind is going to be like. Memory Man has already given her enough damages before and considering we don’t know the full extent of his powers, we can only wait till she wakes up to see if she will actually be okay. Now if you don’t mind, I have a patient to take care of.”

Before Beth could leave, Bucky grabbed onto her arm. He gave her a look but Beth wasn’t having any of it. Ripping her arm from his grip, she stated, “Don’t Bucky. You know how much your family has hurt her. So don’t just stand there and act like they’re saints especially since you know how much Y/n needed you.”

It’s been a couple of days since the attack in New York and Y/n has since woken up. She has barely spoken to Beth, Bucky, Carol, or Fury. Although Estell’s presence would have been welcomed, Beth has yet to tell the girl the news of Estell’s death. Unfortunately, during the attack, she was shot and killed on sight by Hydra. The only reason Beth knew was from the long list of deaths she read on TV.

“We need to transport Y/n to a different location,” Fury said in a small meeting that consisted of only Bucky and Carol. “I agree. Since Hydra has managed to infiltrate the tower once, who knows when they’ll do it again.”

“That’s why a different country will do her better than here.” Fury sighed at the decision that was laid upon them. New locations will always be hard to adjust to but that wasn’t all of it. “Wanda will remain as Y/n’s guard.”

Abruptly standing from her chair, the loud screeched filled the room. “Are you serious?!” Fury’s expression didn’t change as Carol only grew with rage. “She could hardly take care of herself during the attack. What makes you think she could possibly take care of Y/n?”

“The girl was simply outnumbered. We all were.” Moving to get the file that was beside him, he slid it on the table. Bucky grabbed it and had started to silently read it. “But I need the both of you on the front lines. After what Beth has said, I need you two to make sure that the team is actually doing their job. They were supposed to have found out about Hydra’s plans before the attack, now I’m starting to think they didn’t even try.”

Carol was still angry at Fury’s decision to which he sighed. “You will know of Y/n’s location at all times. I will let her have a remote that when activated should send you a signal. Since you’re back on Earth, you’ll get to her in seconds.” Carol sat back down in her seat. Although she was still mad at Fury’s decision, she felt better knowing that Y/n could signal her for help.

“Now, I need you to say your goodbyes for now. Y/n leaves in an hour.”

Wanda stood in the foyer of the hanger as various agents loaded up the quinjet with materials that she and Y/n would need for the time they were gone. She was informed of the last-minute decision just moments ago by Fury himself.

“Please take care of her.”

The words echoed in her head as it had been the only time she’s seen Fury actually care deeply for somebody else. Before she could ponder more about it, Beth had interrupted Wanda’s thoughts. “Wanda?”

Turning around to the source of the sound, Wanda stood in front of a young blonde woman with intense eyes. “I’m Beth,” she said as she held out her hand. Wanda reluctantly shook it, not quite sure as to who this lady actually was. “I’m Y/n’s friend.”

“Great, another pretty girl I have to worry about,” Wanda thought. “Well, I’m also her nurse but I think she would consider me her friend as well.” Wanda stood awkwardly not really knowing how to respond.

Using this opportunity, Beth handed Wanda a bag full of medicine and vitamins. “I know this will be a lot to ask of you but could you please take care of Y/n?” There was no doubt in Wanda’s mind that this girl in front of her meant well. The nurturing feeling in her aura surrounded Wanda.

“That girl has been through a lot and I would know.” Confused by the intensity of her words, Wanda couldn’t help but ask, “How do you know this?”

“I’ve been her nurse for a while now.” This news only confused Wanda even more. “Was she injured before the attack?”

“What is it with you guys and not knowing a single thing about Y/n?” Beth thought. She started to get irritated at the thought of another Avenger hurting Y/n. She could only hope Wanda was different from the rest. However, Wanda heard Beth’s thoughts and said, “What do you know that I don’t?”

Beth scoffed at the question and replied, “The truth.” The simplicity of her answer made Wanda internally roll her eyes. Whether she admitted it or not, she had started to feel territorial over the fact somebody else knew Y/n better than her.

“Wanda let’s go!” Fury yelled from afar. The two looked over and saw Y/n hug Carol, Fury, and Bucky goodbye. Oddly enough, she looked emotionless when she did it. “Just please don’t fuck up again.” Wanda didn’t answer respond back to Beth because if she did, something bitchy would have probably left her mouth. Instead, she walked over and into the quinjet. She buckled into the seat closest to Y/n but the girl didn’t give any attention to Wanda. She remained silent and focused on her hands for the whole ride while Wanda thought more and more about what Beth meant.

“Now that we’re all here let’s get started.” Fury turned on the projector and the first image the was on the screen was New York on fire during the attack. “So far, we’ve received word that there have been 125 casualties and approximately around 500 critical injuries suffered from the attack.” Click.

“However, we face a bigger number when it comes to those that are currently missing. Estimating from 600 - 1000 people are found to be missing. And since we have efficiently cleared the rumble from the damages, our sources have found out how they’ve gone missing.” Click.

Footage of the event was playing but in the location of the subways. One by one, explosions could be seen in various parts of different train passages. It didn’t take long for Hydra soldiers to infiltrate the train systems but all camera footage cut to black. “Hydra has effectively taken hostages of those that were on the train during that night. They have used bombs to blast any chance of us going after them in these tunnels.”

“Is there a way to locate the subways?” Steve asked. “Since New York hardly invests in their transportation department, they are unable to track any of their subways. More than likely, Hydra has already disposed of them in case they were to be tracked.” Click.

“What we need is to figure out where these people have gone. This many hostages taken is something we cannot allow. And considering we have hardly been able to figure out their plans before the attack, I can only assume the worse when it comes to this.” Fury turned the projector off and continued his speech.

“Bucky and Carol will be removed from their current missions to assist the team with this situation. There will be absolutely no complaints about this. Any signs of lack of cooperation, I will gladly remove you and ban you from missions indefinitely.” Fury looked around the team once more and felt disgusted at the people he has to work with. Giving them no time to reply, he left the room not being able to stand the sight of them anymore.

Since they were dismissed, part of the team left in a hurry until it was down to three people. Tony was about to leave when Steve said, “Are you going to apologize to Y/n?” The question was genuine and serious because ever since that night, Steve had been unable to sleep. All he wished he could do was apologize to Y/n but the girl refused to see him. Unfortunately, he understood why.

“Why should I? It doesn’t change anything.” Steve stood up and slammed the table with his hand. “We killed her Tony.” Tony walked in front of Steve. “I didn’t do anything,” he sneered.

“Steve. Tony. We need to calm down,” Natasha said as she watched the two go at it. “Don’t act so mighty Natasha. I heard you bullied the girl too.” This comment caused Natasha’s jaw to harden. “Aww, did I hit a nerve?” Tony childishly asked. “Oh fuck off Tony. There you go again bringing other people down when you can hardly accept what you’ve done. YOU took away Y/n’s funds. She couldn’t even afford anything.”

“But you watched me do it, Rogers. You could have done something too yet you let it happen. So don’t patronize me. Nothing of what she said changes anything.” Tony quickly left the room as he felt himself explode in anger. This didn’t even surprise Steve anymore. He was tired of keeping the family together when it was clear now that it was meant to be apart.

“Here we are,” Wanda said as she dropped her bags in the living room. Looking at her surroundings, the flat was a decent size. Two bedrooms, one bathroom, a kitchen, living room, and accommodations on the floor below them.

“So what do you-,” Y/n hadn’t responded to Wanda’s question as she zoomed past her and walked into her room. Softly closing the door shut, Wanda sighed at her reaction. It wasn’t a surprise but Wanda still couldn’t help but feel hurt by it all. “I guess I should start unpacking.”

It’s been a couple of weeks since Y/n and Wanda started to live together in the flat located in the small town of Edinburgh. While Wanda mainly kept the place tidy, Y/n remained in her room all the time unless it was to use the bathroom or to eat. The only time she would even dare to be close to Wanda was during dinner. If it was breakfast or lunch, Y/n would take what Wanda cooked for the day into her room.

But Wanda was stubborn. She always left Y/n little notes of her whereabouts anytime she left for an errand but a small compliment would always be at the end of it. Sometimes she would knock on Y/n’s door and ask if she would want to watch a movie with her. Obviously, Y/n never answered but Wanda continued to ask. Other times, Wanda would think of Y/n’s favorite foods and would cook them for dinner that night. And while Y/n had never said it out loud, the empty plate she left in front of her always made Wanda swell with joy.

However, tonight was going to be different. Usually, the two would sit in silence as Wanda would have the tv playing in the background but Wanda needed to hear Y/n’s voice. Not only that, but she was hoping that the truth would come out as well.

Trying to figure out a way to break the silence, it was oddly Y/n that had done it first. “Why don’t you hate me?” At first, Wanda was shocked that Y/n had actually spoken, but the girl regain her composure and said, “Why would I hate you? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

Y/n was silent for a moment until she said, “But I killed your brother.”

Chapter 10

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[ragingbookdragon]

I'm Only A Crack In This Castle Of Glass (Hardly Anything Else I Need To Be) PT. 5

Batfamily x Batsis Story!

Word Count: 2.5K Warnings: Explicit Language, ALL THE ANGST. AND MORE TO COME! Tags!: @itsnottilly @cloudyskylines @starflyer-104 @iwillstaywiththemforever @justine-en @weirdgirlfromtx @notsostraightweeb @candlestudy @edlothia-baby @soul-end @willieoo @willowoo @peterxwade24 @the-atlantic-french-fry @bad-bouquet-of-emotions @vvipgot7be @pure-princess-97 @atomicsoulhumanspy

Author's Note: I have nothing to say for any of the emotions y'all are about to get from this. Enjoy!-Thorne

She wasn’t sure what she expected when she sat down, but the stretching silence growing between her and her estranged family wasn’t it. She tried to look anywhere but them, not because she was ashamed—far from it. But it was more than awkward sitting across from three brothers and a father she’d not spoken to in three years, let alone tell them she was even alive.

Her eyes found Wally’s as he sat down beside her eldest brother and if looks could’ve killed, he’d been dead and buried.

“Glare at me all you want, but I’m not going to apologize,” he shrugged.

Scowling, she turned her attention to the skyline. “Fuck you,” she spat, crossing her arms.

“At least talk to them, (Y/N).”

“And why should I, Wally?” she questioned, glaring at him. “I don’t have anything to say. If I did, I wouldn’t be here in Central.”

“You’re not leaving until you talk to them,” he finalized with a firm look and she growled low in her throat and resigned herself to her fate.

Her eyes darted to her father’s and she couldn’t for the life of her decipher what was in them. “I’ll talk for an hour,” she told him. “I’m not talking about what I’ve been doing in Central City, so don’t ask. I’m not talking about the life I’ve been living, so don’t ask. You’re only allowed to ask me about my departure and that’s it. But after one hour is up, I’m leaving.”

“Who said you get to leave,” Wally questioned, and she shot him the darkest glower she could muster.

“So help me God, Wally West you’ll either take me home or you’ll fix that fucking elevator and I’ll walk myself home. Because if you don’t, I’ll tell the world who every vigilante is at this table.”

For once she managed to stump him because his eyes went wide—so did her family’s but she didn’t care—and he finally nodded.

“Alright. One hour.”

Seemingly satisfied with his answer, she turned back to her family, more specifically her father. “Why are you here? What do you want from me?”

“Maybe for you to come home, (Y/N),” Jason answered, and she glanced to him.

“Not a chance. Next?”

“(Y/N), you don’t have to be hostile. We’re not going to force you here,” Dick said, and she looked at him now, eyes narrowing.

“The manipulation tactic isn’t going to work on me, Dick. I’m not here for to be tricked into coming back. I’m never coming back.” She cocked her leg over the side of the table and reclined, biting out, “Give me your anger. I’d prefer that instead of whatever this pitiful bullshit you’ve got going on.”

In the eighteen years they’d known their sister they’d never heard her say such a callous thing, but her words had practically slapped Dick across the face because hurt etched onto his expression, then immediately turned into anger.

“You want my anger? Fine.” He stood and pointed at her. “What the hell is wrong with you! Why would just up and disappear like you did! Do you have any idea how scared we were for you! How distraught!”

(Y/N) blinked at him. “Knowing how you like to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders because you can’t help but be a hero? Probably a lot.” She made a dramatic show of looking at her watch. “You’ve got forty minutes. Keep it up.”

Her eyes shifted to Bruce’s. “Did you let them read the letter? Or did you just throw it away after you read it?”

Dick, Jason, and Tim all turned to Bruce at that.

“Letter?” Tim repeated. “What letter?”

(Y/N)’s mouth made an ‘o’ shape and then she smiled knowingly. “Oh, you never showed them the letter, did you?” She looked to her brothers. “I wrote dad a letter the night I left to explain why I was leaving. It’s sugarcoated bullshit but it is the truth.”

Dick’s face contorted in anger. “(Y/N) left a reason behind and you didn’t tell us about it? Three years and not a single word?”

Bruce merely stared at her as he pulled the letter out of his coat pocket. “I was going to burn it when I found her again. Talk to her before anyone else could.”

Jason snatched the letter from his hands. It had faded a bit, softened around the hard edges, like someone had opened it and read it every day for three years.

His eyes scanned the paper, and he met her gaze, voice chock-full of hurt and she had to fight tooth and nail to keep herself from externally reacting. “You left because you thought we didn’t care about you?”

Dick reached over and took the letter. With furrowed brows and a frown, he started to read aloud, and Bruce gazed at (Y/N) as the memory came back to him.

***

Mornings at the manor were unusually quiet in comparison with the evenings. Everyone was typically too tired to argue so it accounted for a peaceful breakfast of soft words and chewing. Everyone had an assigned seat and every child had learned early on not to take the seat that belonged to another brother or their sister because there would be a fight about it.

Dick and Jason sat next to each other and (Y/N) took the seat at the end of that side; Tim and Damian took the other side—oldest to youngest, just the neat and even way Bruce liked it.

It was rare for any of the boys to be awake before him or Alfred and (Y/N) was usually the first kid to the table, the boys wandering in just minutes after her. Oddly enough, that morning she hadn’t come down for breakfast—which she always came to.

Bruce looked at Alfred. “Is (Y/N) coming down?”

Alfred hummed and gently maneuvered Tim’s arm to the side to he could set down the plate. “When I went to her door, it was locked, and I received no conversation from inside.”

Jason snorted and sipped his coffee. “Probably had a long night with her friends and is still out. I know I would be.”

“How would you know?” Tim interrupted. “You died before you got to the eleventh grade.”

“You’re one to talk, dropout,” Dick countered, and Damian sighed.

“Richard, you dropped out of college. The only son of Batman who has actually completed an entire bout of schooling is me.”

The three boys turned on him with scowls and retorted, “No one asked you, pipsqueak.” Damian glared back at them.

Bruce rolled his eyes, using the side of his fork to cut into his omelet. “Let’s try not to start a free-for-all here in the breakfast room, please.” He glanced at Alfred. “She’s probably tired from all the ceremonies. Let her sleep.”

Alfred nodded. “Of course, Master Bruce. She should be well rested this evening.”

But when the evening came, Alfred still hadn’t been able to get (Y/N) to unlock her bedroom nor speak to him. He certainly wasn’t worried, but it was off for her to be so reclusive. When Bruce and the boys came back from patrol, he mentioned it to him.

“Miss (Y/N) hasn’t come out from her bedroom, Master Bruce. Nor has she said a single word all day.”

Bruce’s brows furrowed and he tugged the cowl off, rising from the seat at the Batcomputer. “I’ll go check on her,” he replied. “You deal with…” his steel eyes drifted to Dick who had Tim in a headlock and Jason who was giving Damian a noogie. “Them,” he finalized, leaving the poor butler behind.

He knocked on the door to her room and pressed his ear to it. “(Y/N)? You haven’t come out all day. Is everything alright?”

Nothing. Not even a breath.

“(Y/N), are you in there?” he asked again and when he didn’t receive a confirmation, he raised his arm, running his fingers along the doorframe until he touched a small metal piece. He pulled it down and stuck it in the door, wiggling the knob for a second before it clicked, and he opened the door.

“Sweetheart, we’ve been trying to—” Bruce went silent when he saw the kempt room. Bed neatly made, everything organized and put away. Even her clothes hamper was empty.

He blinked and walked into the room, quickly heading to the bathroom to check for her there. It was empty as well, and just as clean, leaving him stunned as he exited the bath.

Wandering over to her desk, he saw an elegant envelope sitting on top of her laptop, his name written in beautiful penmanship. He picked it up and unfolded it, pulling out the multi-page letter. He drew his eyes along the golden lines, reading her words.

Dad,

I don’t really know how to start this letter. Truth be told I’ve written at least six before this one, and even then, I’m not entirely happy with it. But if you’re reading this, I’m not here anymore. I haven’t hurt myself in anyway, you don’t need to worry about Vicki Vale or Jack Ryder reporting the discovery of my body. I mean it in a literal sense—I’m not in Gotham anymore. Neither am I ever coming back.

Don’t think this is your fault. You’re a good father, the best I could’ve been given, and my brothers are good siblings. But the truth is that I’m not fit for this family of heroes. And I never have been. My best when trying to be what all of you are, was never good enough and I’ve spent eighteen years staring at your backs, waiting for you all to realize that I’m still here, that I still matter even if I’m not like you. And I don’t want to feel like a stranger in my own home any longer.

I don’t want you to look for me. I know you will, but I wish you wouldn’t. This isn’t some spur of the moment thing I decided to do the night after graduation. If you look at my bank records, I’ve been withdrawing cash from my savings since freshman year—this is four years of planning, so please understand that I’m doing this because I don’t want to be found—ever.

I’ll leave the story for the media up for you, though I doubt that they’ll care long enough to make a deal of it. It’ll pass like winter does spring and they’ll move on to the next bigger story.

Thank you for everything dad, and good luck with Gotham—keep it safe like you always have. And I hope that one day when you think of me, you won’t feel disappointment. I’ve only ever tried to be something that when you looked down on me, you’d only be proud, and I hope one day I’ll achieve what I always dreamed about. Eighteen is young to be on your own and I’m scared. But I’ll be okay—I always have been.

So do me a favor and don’t spend too much time over this. There are plenty more younger kids that need a parent’s hand on their backs to steady them like you once did for me. Find one and fill my spot. Let them shine brighter than I ever could. Let them be the one worthy to be a Wayne—I know I never was.

-(Y/N)

Bruce barely had time to grasp the back of her chair to keep himself from falling to his knees in shock. The letter was clenched in his hand and his lungs wouldn’t take in air like he wanted them to, his heart aching with each palpitation. He looked around the room to her dresser drawers, willing the strength into his legs to moved over to it. He opened every drawer and to his astonishment, they were empty. Hurrying to the bathroom, he noticed the drawers in there were empty as well. She was really gone. And he had no idea what to do.

***

Tears were in Dick’s eyes when he finished the letter and he looked up at her. “How could you ever think we didn’t care about you, (Y/N)?”

She didn’t want to have this conversation. She didn’t want to sit there and explain every time she asked her brothers if they wanted to do something with her and they conveniently had something else to do. Didn’t want to explain every school and extracurricular performance that went unattended and left a little girl standing in front of a crowd barely managing to stave off the tears as she bowed and thanked them for coming. She didn’t want to remember all the memories that chipped away at her heart with every disappointment that occurred. All she wanted to do was leave.

(Y/N) had earlier returned to her original position, hands in her lap and she clenched her fists until her nails bit into the skin of her palms, eyes directed anywhere but Dick’s.

“I think it’s time we call this little reunion done,” she said, standing to her feet. “We’re not going to get anywhere.”

“Not if you run again,” Jason muttered, unconsciously wiping a tear from his eye.

She pointed at him, hissing, “I didn’t run the first time, Jason. I left. On my own accord.”

“You ran instead of coming to us, (Y/N),” Tim said, and she threw her hands above her head in disbelief.

“What the fuck did you want me to do! Wander down into the cave and beg at your feet for someone to pay attention to me! To at least pretend like I was a sister! I did! Every day!”

(Y/N) picked up her purse and yanked it up her arm. “Cassandra seems to be fitting in better than I did. So go and dote on her as the younger sibling. I’m not interested in the position anymore.”

“It’s not a competition,” Dick explained. “We love you just as much as we love Cass.”

She paused and gazed at him, voice laced with disappointment as she disagreed, “Then you should make sure she’s content in the manor, because if you love her with any semblance of how you loved me? It’s not at all.”

Her eyes shifted to Wally’s. “Fix the elevator. Now.”

He stayed seated for a moment, the two of them staring each other down, then he nodded wordlessly and moved to the elevator, starting it again. Her family stayed seated, and she gave them one final look before she followed Wally, silently waiting for the doors to open.

When they did, she stepped inside and turned around, hitting the button. Just before the doors closed, Wally stopped them and murmured, “You’re making a mistake.”

“My worst mistake was becoming friends with you.” (Y/N) blinked at him, then reached up and shoved his hand away from the door and as it closed, she remarked coldly, “And you can go to hell for all I care.”

[mirohtron]

tw/cw: drinking, self destructive behaviour sorta

—

Ah. So this was how they would find their enemy's civilian identity.

The hero was like a child when they were drunk.

"Y...youuuuu." Their pointing finger was as wobbly as their feet on the ground. "Are very...f...fam...mmmiliar. How do you spell familiar...iar? Familiarar. Er." That finger folded too, until their hand was a fist with skin cut at the knuckles. They punched the villain's chest. Very weakly. "Pillow."

"Chest." The villain's brow rose. "Pillows aren't very hard, I presume."

"Oh!" The hero's brows furrowed. "You...fight me every other day." They giggled. "Oh my god. You fight me every day." They kept giggling. Then their expression turned sombre. "We should be fighting right now."

"No. Why are you out?"

"Vodka."

The villain tapped the hero's forehead experimentally and the hero didn't question it. Instead they swayed back and forth. If it hadn't been for the voice the villain would've never figured it out that this was the bane of their existence.

The hero began humming along to the song coming from the bar. The city was small. Maybe the villain had walked past the hero several times as a civilian and never noticed. They certainly weren't very special-looking, despite all the extraordinary power that was just below their skin. Flowing through their veins. Power strong enough that if there were any gods people would say one was the hero's patron.

The villain tapped the hero's forehead again, and again, nothing. Piss drunk, they were. Oddly quiet as a drunk too. The hero should apply that to their sober self.

The hero grinned stupidly when they swayed.

They should get home.

"Is anybody with you?"

"Nope!"

"Can you...go home?"

"Mhm. Drop me off."

The villain blinked. They weren't completely against the idea. God knew the number of villains who'd find a drunk civilian to take. No god from their place would know the things they would do if they found out the drunk civilian was the loathsome, righteous person jailing people of their resistance.

"How drunk are you?"

"What?"

"You're insane for asking me that."

The hero looked hurt.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"You are a...terrific...ally horrible neme—nemeses."

"Nemesis."

"Nemenesis."

The villain sighed.

"V...very mean. I don't recommend."

The villain shot them a look that hopefully communicated the 'are you serious?' that was floating around in their mind.

"Aren't you gonna...mm...kill me...?"

"Ate some chocolate. Decided I wouldn't pick violence today."

The hero frowned. If they had puppy ears they'd be drooping right now. "I want chocolate."

The villain nodded to at least make it look like they cared. They didn't, really. They cared more about why the hero was drinking out when they didn't even modify their voice in any way and this part of the city was crawling with crooks and copycats of dangerous villains. Villains the hero had jailed.

The hero somehow managed to fold their arms in the clumsiest way the villain had ever seen. "I tried buying. I think I should have...rrrobbed the guy. Who took the last bar."

"Oh?" The villain straightened. The hero's eyed widened like they shouldn't have said that.

"Not in front of a bar!" they whispered secretively. "What if they think I was wait—waiting to go rogue?"

Rogue? The villain considered prodding.

"What, did the agency turn on you?"

"S, s, sort...of?"

Something panged in the villain's chest immediately. Surprise. They were not expecting an answer...that quickly. Piss drunk. Right. Vulnerable.

...rogue.

Negotiable. The morning after.

"I should take you home."

"Nope!"

The villain glared. "You'd rather get killed?"

"Mhm."

The villain forced them to let them take the hero home either way.

"You don't seriously live in a motel."

"Don't. They pulled my place from me."

The villain hid a stupid, soft gasp as a small cough. Vulnerable. Piss drunk.

"You won't remember this?"

The hero started giggling again. "Nope." The giggles turned into chortling. The hero touched their cheek. "Oh my god, I won't remember."

What an idiotic drunk. The villain pat their head somewhat condescendingly. Not like they could help it. They got them some water and helped them into bed.

"...you went out alone on purpose, didn't you?"

"Toooooo get drunk. Yes."

The villain stared at the hero. Unkempt. Nearly homeless. Drunk at a shady bar.

"Lack of agency made you self destructive."

The hero didn't deny it. Instead the happy expression dropped and they pulled the tattered covers closer to their face. How fragile. It made their heart squeeze but they wouldn't let the voice inside their head point it out.

"You didn't try coming to me because...?"

"I didn't want to die last Tuesday."

Five days of no agency?

"God, hero."

"What's that? Go...dog? You mean that?"

Not the same place. The villain pat their head.

"Let's hope you remember just enough to call me."

"Mhm." The hero stayed quiet and stared up at the grimey ceiling. "Will you...still talk? With me?"

"I need you to shut up." Just the question made their heart squeeze again. They didn't even want to look at the sad look on the hero's face. Some reminder that they...cared. What a weird fucking concept. "I'd rather you don't start venting to me when you're not in the right mind."

The hero blinked. Processed what they said. They smiled. "That's nice. Thank you."

The hero asked them to stay until they fell asleep. The villain tapped their foot impatiently and left a card beside their bed. Just so they wouldn't spend another night in a dingy motel. Or try to get murdered in some alleyway.

[erimeows]

Intervention, Baby

Unlike many of his Autobot counterparts, Prowl adored organics- especially the ones on earth, whether that be the plants, animals, or humans.

His favorite, though? You. You by far. 

After arriving on earth, Prowl had become obsessed with people watching, usually taking long strolls around the city or going to public parks to watch how humans lived their daily lives. Something about the human species by itself was captivating, but when he’d seen you for the first time, (e/c) eyes and (h/l) (h/c) hair shining under the bright sun as you walked into the local flower shop, he had been completely and utterly enthralled. He’d known that he was supposed to avoid interactions with humans that weren’t necessary according to Prime, but he hadn’t been able to help himself that day. So, he’d gone into the flower shop and sparked a conversation with you to figure out exactly what it was that had him so interested; what it was about you that was so different than the other humans he watched.

You had just moved to Detroit from your hometown for a new job, which explained why he hadn’t seen you before that, and as he’d talked to you that day, he became more and more intrigued. You’d started renting a house nearby, with your very own flower garden, which you showed him that day. He hadn’t been able to tell you much at the time about Cybertron for security reasons, but what he did tell you about himself, you listened to intently. You were a great listener, with kind eyes and a bright smile that made his spark stop at times.

Prowl had been a cautious bot. Whatever caution he had maintained since being on earth had flown out the window with you, though, as he fell quickly, often sneaking away from the Autobots to spend time with you at your house or visit you at your job. A strong friendship was quickly formed, and with how much he was gone, his teammates quickly became suspicious.

It started with questions, the others asking where he was all the time and why he was suddenly so interested in stopping by flower and gardening shops whenever they were out. Naturally, Optimus was the first to figure it out, asking if he’d met someone and then leaving the subject alone when Prowl avoided the subject. However, Bumblebee was the next to catch on, and he had no sense of personal boundaries, so he dragged Bulkhead along to follow him to your house. While it wasn’t the best first impression, that was how you met Bumblebee and Bulkhead, and eventually Optimus and Ratchet as well- since the secret was out in the open now and no one seemed to disapprove of you, Prowl had started bringing you around the Autobot base.

The rest was history, but the more Prowl developed his relationship with you, the more fearful he became for the future. He was a wise and emotionally mature bot, he figured, but he didn’t know how to handle his feelings for you. He had fallen in love. He was cybertronian, you were human, and it wouldn’t be fair to you to initiate anything- not that he thought you returned the feelings anyways. No, you were too pure and sweet, kind and beautiful, fragile and soft. He feared hurting you most of the time. He feared falling deeper. He feared starting something he couldn’t finish and leaving you hurt in the end, but each day he spent with you only made it worse.

Why did he love you? Why couldn’t he have fallen for another Autobot? Why a human? The thoughts plagued his processor constantly, but when you reached over to grab one of his digits and pull him along to show him something in your garden or smiled up at him, he couldn’t help it. You were so soft and delicate, but you still treated him like you would anyone else. You weren’t scared of him, you always offered a listening ear when he needed it, and you opened up to him in return.

Warm, bright, radiant- Prowl felt like you were all of the things that he wasn’t, and as he returned to base and walked into the main room, he couldn’t help but let out a sigh of relief. Spending time with you seemed exhausting nowadays. He always left with a troubled processor and an uneasy feeling. Was it right to keep seeing you when he knew it wouldn’t go anywhere? Would his unresolved feelings get in the way of your friendship? What was he to do at this point? As much as he’d tried to simply make the feelings go away, he couldn’t; couldn’t develop an interest in anyone else, couldn’t think of anything he didn’t like about you to kill his attraction, couldn’t will it away. Nothing worked, so he drowned himself in it, and while he would have loved to sulk for a little bit, his attention was captured by his team.

He’d walked into... Something, though he wasn’t quite sure what that something was yet. His entire team was crowded onto the living room couch, silent, staring up at him. Seeing them all in one room at the same time was rare when they weren’t sharing energon or working against the Decepticons, but seeing them all in one room and quiet? Something was wrong. 

“Where did you just come from, Prowl?” Bumblebee, who was sitting in the middle of the couch with Bulkhead to his right, crossed his arms as he asked the oddly accusatory question and leaned forward.

“(y/n)’s, why?” Prowl answered. He was so uneasy that he found himself shifting his weight from one pede to the other and averting his gaze. While he wasn’t normally avoidant like that, when it came to you, he couldn’t help how nervous he got.

“Don’t worry about it, but-” Bulkhead started, letting out a nervous chuckle.

The atmosphere was tense and awkward. Optimus Prime, next to Bulkhead on the edge of the couch, wouldn’t even look at him. Meanwhile, Ratchet, who was on the other side of Bumblebee, appeared to be growing increasingly agitated with each second that passed. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Prowl finally demanded, which made Bumblebee stand up and point right at him with a huge grin.

“Intervention, baby!” The yellow bot cheered.

“Intervention? I’m not abusing substances if that’s what you’re-”

“No, no, that’s not what we’re getting at, you bucket of bolts!” Ratchet groaned and face-palmed. “We’re here to talk about you and (y/n)!”

There were two ways this could go, and Prowl wasn’t sure which one he hated more.

One, his team could be concerned about him spending so much time with a human who had nothing to do with their cause. It was a valid concern and he knew it- spending so much time with you put you in at risk of getting involved with the Decepticons like Sari, and unlike Sari, you had no key or Cyber-organic powers to protect you. You were simply human, and it wasn’t fair to you to put you in danger the way he was. But he was selfish.

Two, his team could be concerned about his feelings for you. Whether for the aforementioned reasons or because they had to watch the two of you interact all the time, he wasn’t sure, but it would make sense. He certainly hadn’t expected them to call an intervention over either issue, though, so all he could do was stand there.

They were staring at him. 

It was... Embarrassing, to say the least.

“I don’t see why this would be considered even remotely appropriate- And Optimus, Ratchet,” Prowl glared at the two older bots, knowing damn well that they knew better than to do this to him. “I expect it from these two, but you? I thought you were more mature than this, but I see I was mistaken.”

“Don’t come at us with your maturity spiel when you can’t even mech up enough to tell (y/n) your true feelings,” Ratchet spat.

“Ratchet, you could have phrased that with a bit more tact, but I do believe you are correct,” Optimus agreed with a small nod and offered a smile, glancing at Ratchet and then at Prowl. “While we don’t have the right to dictate what you do, Prowl, it’s become obvious to everybot what’s going on, and... We all support you. You should be honest with (y/n) and tell her the truth. Love is something that should be appreciated and cherished, not hidden away.”

“Yeah! Plus, it hurts to watch you two dance around each other when it’s so obvious what’s going on,” Bumblebee argued. “She likes you back-”

“No, she doesn’t, and even if she did, how would this work?” Prowl raised his voice without meaning to, and the moment he heard how loud his volume was, he paused to take a deep breath and reflect. His team had good intentions, they wanted him to be happy and enjoy a relationship for once, but he was so scared. Why couldn’t they leave him alone? With a sigh, he spoke again, not daring to look at any of his friends. “I’m Cybertronian and she’s organic, and we could have to go back to Cybertron any day now- or, even worse, the Decepticons could kill us. Would it not be selfish of me to confess my feelings for her, start a relationship, and then leave or die? Assuming that she wants anything to do with me, that is.”

“Listen, I get where you’re coming from, but you’ve heard the saying here on earth that it’s better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all, haven’t you? (y/n) would be more upset if you left or died without telling her the truth than she would be if you told her beforehand. No matter what happens in the end, at least she’d have some closure that way, because she does love you too,” Bulkhead insisted.

“No, she doesn’t,” Prowl mumbled, not having any other defense. Did he think you loved him like that? No, but did he have definite proof that you didn’t? Also no, so he was left without a solid defense, but too stubborn to concede to his friends’ (valid) points. “You’re wrong.”

“Yeah she does, dude, you’re just wrong,” Bumblebee walked over to him and put a servo on his shoulder, meeting his optics, uncharacteristically intense- borderline angry. “How can you even know if you haven’t talked to her about it?”

“How can you know?” Prowl defended and jabbed a digit into the younger bot’s chest plate. The two continued to stare each other down for a few moments before Bee finally sighed and looked away.

“Because I’ve talked to her about it.”

“...Oh. I see,” The black and gold bot took a step back and fidgeted with his servos. He had never expected for you to confide in Bumblebee about such a matter, but then again... Aside from Prowl himself, Bumblebee was your best friend and always had been since he’d started bringing you around. The two of you were similar; innocent, kindred souls with similar interests. Unlike Prowl, the yellow bot brought out your more energetic, fun side, making you laugh constantly, but... He hadn’t been aware of the fact that Bumblebee was a confidant for you, too. Part of him was jealous, but he tried to shove that down with a tense swallow. “I’m going to take my leave, then.”

“That’s what I thought,” The smaller bot smirked, earning a glare from Prowl in return.

“Get bent.”

~

That entire night and the day after were spent locked in his room reflecting upon everything; his feelings, you, the advice that his teammates had given him during their little “intervention”, the potential consequences of what he was about to do.

Whether he wanted to or not, he knew that he needed to confess. What if one of you died without ever saying anything? What if he went back to Cybertron without ever having the chance to tell you the truth and regretted it? What if you had to leave Detroit someday? It was too big of a problem to leave unresolved given how chaotic and unpredictable your lives were, even if he was scared of what could happen. Plus, half the battle was you loving him back, and if Bumblebee told the truth the day prior, you already did.

So, Prowl sat on your roof. Waiting. You were outside for whatever reason despite it being midnight on a Tuesday in human time, laying in your backyard and admiring your flowers. Since it was a warm fall, they were growing quite well, your pumpkin crop in particular thriving. He’d been watching you for a while; (s/c) skin glowing as the moonlight shone upon your body, (f/c) shorts and a black sleepshirt hugging your frame. Your (e/c) eyes were currently trained on your rosebush, though he was sure you had noticed his presence- even though he wasn’t visible behind your chimney, you had an amazing knack for being able to feel when he was there, visible or not. 

“(y/n)?” The Autobot finally spoke, emerging from his hiding place and jumping down into your backyard to stand next to where you lay. 

You sat up to look at him with a tired smile. It was late and you had work tomorrow... Something must’ve been on your mind, too. Perhaps the two of you were in sync with your recent concerns.

“Hey, Prowl, you’re up late. Why don’t you lay with me?” Unable to say no to you, Prowl did just that, joining you on the grass and laying with his back on the ground. The stars that littered the sky were fogged up by the city lights, but while he normally would’ve been agitated by it, you were better to stare at, so he didn’t mind too much. “You sat on my roof for a while and didn’t even talk to me. What’s keeping you?”

“Ah, it’s nothing, I just-” The ninjabot started, close to denying everything flat out and ignoring the subject of his feelings yet again before realizing that’s what the problem was. He couldn’t open up to you and it was making everything convoluted, so with a sharp breath, he gathered all of his willpower and spoke to you again. “No, you know what? I’m tired of this.”

“What?” You looked shocked at the sound of his agitated tone, eyebrows furrowing together as you sat up and glanced at him, making him sit up as well. Your (e/c) eyes burned into his ocean optics in that moment, and a brief silence washed over the two of you before he spoke again.

“I’m tired of us hiding from each other,” Unable to help himself, Prowl leaned closer to you and reached over to rest a servo on one of your hands. “Be honest, what are your feelings towards me?”

You stopped, your breath visibly catching in your throat. The black and gold bot could immediately tell you were nervous, terrible at hiding your negative emotions like you had been since he’d met you, but he let you have as much time as you needed.

“Prowl, it’s a bit sudden for you to ask something like that out of nowhere. You know we’re friends-” You started, but when you looked closer at his face, you gave him a defeated sigh that made him realize; you knew he knew. “Who told you?”

“So it’s true,” He stated, holding your hand tightly and giving a soft frown. Your face was painted with the same fear and anxiety that he’d felt over loving you for so long now. 

Part of him was happy that you loved him back. The other part almost wished you didn’t, wished you could live your life happy and blissfully unaware to avoid the risk of getting your heart broken.

“I’m sorry,” You apologized.

“What do you have to be sorry for, sweetspark?” Prowl asked, tone gentle as he used his spare hand to caress your cheek and leaned in to rest his helm against yours. “I’d be a fool not to reciprocate, but I want to hear it for myself before I do anything. Tell me how you feel.”

“I’m in love with you, Prowl,” You admitted. A couple of tears welled up in your eyes and flowed down your cheeks, those of which Prowl wiped away with his thumb. “I’ve been captivated since the moment I saw you, and I never planned on telling you. I’m afraid of you getting attached to me and not being able to handle it if we ever have to separate because I’m sure there will be a day when you have to go back to your home planet. You can’t stay forever, and I can’t go with you.”

“I feel the same way... I love you too, (y/n)- so much that I don’t think you understand. I held off because I fear having to leave you someday, but I realized that we should take advantage of what time we have left and try our best to make this work,” In between his words, you let out what he assumed was a sigh of relief, making him do the same. Prowl quickly felt the weight of his anxieties leaving his chest and shoulders. He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss against your plump, warm lips, then withdrew to press a few more against your cheeks and forehead. You giggled; a sound he would listen to for the rest of his life if he could. “I think we’ll be alright in the end.”

“I...” You grinned and leaned into him with another laugh. “I think so, too. But who told you?”

“That’s... Quite the story. You see, yesterday afternoon, I got back to the base after visiting you and...”

Prowl smiled as well as he started his story. Things were complicated, and he knew this was risky, but you wrapping an arm around one of his and gripping his hand made him realize just how worth it you were. 

Maybe that intervention hadn’t been too bad of an idea after all.

[deluluass]

misericordia

It's finally here T^T Here's to reaching 100+ followers! Thank you so much everyone!!

Content Warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; somnophilia; description of dead bodies; includes some elements of cosmic horror; dystopian-ish au; biblical references/imagery; angel! Ushijima

To name is a barren tree: fruitless and, ultimately, the workings of this kind.

  The earth will soon be without form, and void; and darkness shall remain the face of the deep. 

  The Spirit of God no longer moves in the face of the waters. 

  Names are for nothing.

  But, for any cause done here, to name is essential. As it was in the beginning, when there was still a beginning (but it has not ended yet, so the beginning shall still stay), to name had been the first task.

  So when asked for a name, the mouth was able to conjure:

  “Ushijima Wakatoshi,” the body said. 

  And as it is the way of the Created, the body became he.

  And as it is the way of the Created, proof was immediately demanded for the name. 

  And as it is the way of the Created, once found on the chest, Ushijima Wakatoshi was then welcomed. 

  You weren’t there when the world ended. 

  In fact, so, too, was your father's father. The sky had cracked open and the oceans had already split up the old lands for as long as anyone could remember. 

  Before the city became a city in truth, the people had just been strangers, seeking shelter after everything fell apart, only to be abandoned by those who’d promised protection.

  That didn't mean, however, that things got better for your lot once someone swept in and established order and peace and stability and whatever it is those at the top had to say to justify them being there. 

  If your father were to be believed, you had been sleeping in your mother’s womb, still a tiny beating heart, when the longest winter happened ("winter"; they still called it that when there had been minute differences between hot and cold).

  Supplies were short; food was scarce; so when you finally clawed your way into a world breathing its last, your mother couldn't help but bleed into the sheets until your cry outlived hers. 

  But your father barely recognized you  during his final days. That’s why when your neighbors call you a liar for saying “I was born on a Spring,” you shrug it off and think you might as well have been born on a Spring. 

  There’s no way of knowing. The story had always changed every time you asked him. 

  Sometimes he blamed you, sometimes he told you it’s not your fault. Nothing you could do about it. Spring it is, then; you told yourself. 

  Spring always looked so... different, in the drawings Granny made, anyway.

  No one here actually knows her age. Granny had always been Granny; as permanent to this place as the walls enclosing the city.

  She rarely left her quarters, that crone, and could barely stand on her own without your help. Worse, she could no longer see. What use is a blind artist, the others would laugh. 

  It’s their loss, you’d retort, mocking her like that. Because then they’d miss the way her gnarled and knobby hands would glide with unwavering purpose if you asked her to, strokes bold and not a space wasted.

  “You never learn,” she croaked once finished, jostling the wrinkled piece of paper to your lap. “Why throw away your rations for this piece of junk?”

  Granny retched, “Incurable fool.”

  At this point, she would grumble about suffering in the old pig’s (her words, not yours) kitchens for nothing, and always, without fail, you’d feel a smile break on your face. It hurt, honestly, but after an entire day of frowning over the dishes you had to wash and the floors that needed scrubbing and all the other orders yelled your way, it was worth it, anyway.

  “I know you’re laughing. My ears still work, mind you.”

  You felt your belly shake as you giggled, brushing the paper with worn fingers, staring open-mouthed at the piece before you.

  “This is amazing, Granny,” you sighed.

  “Idiot,” she repeated. “It’s the same thing as the one before. And the one before that.”

  And for good measure, Granny added, “Idiot. Not like you hadn’t seen that one.”

  When all you’d done was take her hand in yours and place a pack of food along with a thin roll of paper in her feeble grasp, Granny finally asked, “Why do you keep coming back here, girl? Asking for the same thing.”

  There wasn’t any of that surly frown now. 

  And looking at her like that, without the crabbiness that sharpens her features, that oddly makes her look younger and in control of herself, you find that you don’t have an answer this time. Arrested by the realization that her shoulders slumped lower than you’d thought. And that she’s getting thinner. 

  “Why?” you whispered back, feeling traces of charcoal stick to your palm.

  Maybe it’s because there’s no other way that she’d accept food, unless she does something in return. She kicked you out the first time you intended to give her the ration you’d earned.

  (Or maybe it's because you know what they'd do, once they find out she's no longer making trades.)

  Why, indeed. 

  Maybe it’s because you hadn’t really seen things grow before. 

  You might work at the Governor’s place, at the heart of the city and everything else that matters, but grunt workers like you are prohibited to get anywhere near the farm, let alone actually enter it. So, really, there's no other way of seeing what growth looks like.

  Maybe it’s because you can only do that when you witness her in her craft. You really don’t have anything to compare it with, but you’re sure life from soil works the same way. 

  Everything must come from something.  And that something must be quite the artist, if they're anything like Granny. 

  Birthing roots from the ground of what was once a blank piece of paper with a flick of the wrist; growing into large trunks, strong branches, then into an abundance of leaves and blossoms. 

  Trees drawn on both sides of the paper, always with a smattering of grass and flowers in the middle. She said they used to grow here, when she was just a girl. And if you begged hard enough, she’d add a stray butterfly fluttering around the corner. 

  You hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe I just love seeing you, Granny,” you grinned.

  “Crock of shit.”

  “Really!” You grabbed your knapsack as you stood from your seat, folding the paper with care. “Hey, Granny, guess what? Don’t give me that face— I’ve already saved just enough and you know what that means?”

  She snorted. 

  “Listen,” you pouted. “I’ll finally be able to get those pigments! I heard they don't cost that much and if I trade next-”

  “Don’t.”

  She tilted her head and faced your way, misty eyes pinning you. "How much does paper cost you?"

  You gulped. 

  Then, with a swiftness that surprised you, she grabbed you by your tattered sleeve and gritted, “I may be the blind one here, but I think I see a lot more clearly than you do. You can sweat and bleed for those pigments, but I will never paint.”

  You felt a sting in your eyes as she continued, “I know what you’re doing. And I’d be the greater fool if I let you work yourself to the bone for some pipe dream."

  "Content yourself with coal, girl. That’s all you’re gonna get from this place. Dirt and rust and smoke. Go sneak into that damned farm. Go steal some of those fuckers’ riches. In fact, while you’re at it,” she laughed dryly. “Steal them all and run away from here. If you really want to live.”

  “Only,” she said, too soft that you had to sit back down to hear her, “Only, stop hoping, my child.”

  Her chest wheezed as she breathed, like air passing through the holes of a rundown machine. 

  You kissed the back of her hand before you left. 

  The wind howled and threatened to topple you as you walked back to your building, hard rain slapping you across the face when you picked up into a run. They didn’t descend in small drops anymore. As you get older, thunderstorms are to be expected once evening falls, lingering for weeks only to suddenly bring about an irritatingly humid day. 

  But tonight, the large cavern above that parts the dark, heavy clouds into opposite streams seem to yawn wider, closing itself lower and lower into the earth that you swore someday it’ll devour the city whole.

  Mud water in your boots, you grabbed onto your soaked coat and climbed the steps of the decaying piece of slab you call home, mindful that you won’t slip and break your skull against the thick beams, twisted metal jutting out of the corners.

  A solitary lamp flickered through the window of the room next to yours. Little Soo-jin must be having nightmares again, you thought with a frown. 

  You were about to knock on their door when the sirens blared, echoing louder across the city than the boom of lightning, followed by a grating squeal that could only be an opening gate. 

  Your knuckle froze over the chipped wood.

  The last time the alarm rang, the people were greeted by the body of a young council member, brought by a small and wounded troop who’d accompanied him outside the city. 

  Soo-jin’s mom peered through the murky window, meeting your eyes after both of you stared into the direction of the gate closest to your zone, as if seeking you for an explanation. You only gave her a shrug.

  “Someone must have died,” you said.

    “No, he’s not dead. That’s why you’re bringing food to his room, aren’t you?”

  You stared at the girl stubbornly shaking her head. 

  “I- I know, but! Didn’t you hear? They said they found him full of bullet holes and I—”

  “Even if you’re serving a rotting corpse, as long as Cook orders it, you follow.”

  It was admirable that she’s refused for this long. If it were you, you’d have been sacked the moment you opened your mouth to say no. You wiped your hand with the towel next to the sink, having finished the work assigned to you, and watched the ongoing bout in the kitchen.

  “Why can’t you just ask the others? Marga’s not doing anything!”

  “Marga,” the older woman hissed, “is with the others. Almost everyone is in the meeting room. So if you don’t take your butt up there, I’m gonna have no other choice but to tell Cook.”

  You winced. This can’t be good.

  You cleared your throat. “I can do it,” you said.

  The tray was shoved to you faster than you can drop your raised hand. You would have found it amusing, considering that you’re sure they couldn’t even recognize you, but the idea of being in the same room with a half-alive man does make you feel uneasy. 

  Not that it’s anything new for you; you nursed your father until the fever took him, after all. You just haven’t lived long enough to get used to it yet. But you steeled yourself and did your job, because it’s not as if you had any choice. 

  You prepared yourself for anything as you entered one of the many guest chambers. Bullet holes, rotting corpse, entrails held together by stitches. 

  And when you announced your presence and gripped the tray tighter so as to not spill the soup on the sprawling carpet, it’s not really surprise that caused you to stumble upon your words when you saw the man sitting on the bed.

  It’s more of an embarrassment, of sorts. 

  You must’ve entered the wrong room, you thought. You immediately checked around  to make sure no one saw you talk and almost grovel to an actual sculpture. 

  Because that’s what he was. 

  The Governor’s estate houses floors and floors of rooms that you hadn't explored yet. But there was one that, if no one would bother to keep track of the workers, you had the habit of sneaking into. 

  Thinking about what it took for this family to have all those sculptures there hurt your head, so you stopped a long time ago. You chose, instead, to just admire the marble wonders in all their beauty, always looking back down at you with majesty and pride. 

  Just as he's doing right now. 

  Chiseled torso wrapped in bandages; sharp jaw that could cut; eyes the color of olives, gazing deep.

  "That is for me."

  You snapped your head down. 

  "Huh- uh, yes? Yes!" 

  His deep voice still rumbled through you. 

  "Yes, I'm sorry," you muttered, heat rushing to your face as you placed the tray on the table next to him, inflaming when you realized he didn't mean it as a question.

  That is for me. 

  Not a question. A question means you can answer. His words brooked no other response but obedience, reminding you of your place.

  Much like those sculptures, every time  you'd spent too much time inside the room and you'd get the feeling that you're not supposed to be there, too filthy to be anywhere near what you think is the closest thing to perfection. 

  And the truth would settle on you like a heavy weight: that no amount of beauty can ever breathe warmth if it cannot live and grow. 

  The same way that despite the sunshine filtering through the floor to ceiling windows, surrounding him in blinding light as he sat on the bed, you can't shake the impression that this is the coldest this room has ever been, with him here. 

  So you anticipated his orders; a single word or maybe a glance that would tell you he wants you gone. Just either one of those and you'd run out of this room in a heartbeat. 

  But neither came. The man (you still didn't know his name) remained silent, staring at the food like they've insulted him specifically, and now he's questioning the collective audacity of the soup, bread, and bowl of fruits laid before him. 

  Maybe they don't serve those where he came from. He's from the North, after all, made evident by the small eagle etched on his chest, just above a pectoral. The last visiting Northerner you served who also bore that mark threw a rag at you (she missed) for "mixing the bathing oils incorrectly."

  You stayed in your position and asked, "Is the food not to your liking?"

  He didn't say anything, but he did shift his attention to you.

  And what a mistake that was. How does this man go about life with such a severe presence?

  "Er..is something..wrong?" you sweated, suddenly fascinated by the vases behind him. 

  Glaring back at the food, he answered with a deep "no" and breathed out. His large arms rose and fell along with it, straining the bandages around the muscles.

  Oh, right. Right.

  You perked up. "Do you need help?"

  Stepping closer to the table, you gave him a tightlipped smile and a sheepish "excuse me" before taking the spoon in your hand. 

  You scooped a thick serving of soup, your palm hanging under it, and waited.

  And waited. 

  The man looked at you the same way he looked at the bowl of fruits earlier.

  "What are you doing?" he said,  gravel-voiced. 

  You're gonna lose this job.

  Why did you think you could feed him like he's an ailing, decrepit old man? Or a literal child? He's built like he commands an army (and he probably does).

  You are definitely gonna lose this job.

  "I- I'm sorry!" 

  You jerked away, your hip hitting the table, the impact shaking it and causing the plates and silverware to clatter against each other.

  "O-oh no, I'm-" The spoon in your hand fell as you attempted to set things properly, soup spilling to the carpet along with the utensils.

  You're gonna lose this job and you're gonna starve to death.

  "I'm sorry! I'm so so sorry!" 

  Dropping to your knee like your life depended on it, you picked up the myriad of similar looking spoons and forks and placed them back on the tray. 

  You kept your head downwards, bowing as you'd been repeatedly taught, and shut your eyes tightly. 

  "I thought that you hadn't healed yet and needed help and- and-" you huffed.

  "And I thought that I should feed you but- no-no!" You looked at him and flailed your hands in front of you. "No! I didn't mean feed- I meant- I meant no disrespect please forgive me!"

  Not a word was spoken in that second that spanned an entire year. But just as you'd accepted that the worst has come, he said:

  "Then, feed me."

  Wait.

  Wait, what?

  "I don't.. understand..?"

  "Then, feed me," was what he told you. And so matter-of-factly, at that. 

  So you did, desperate to keep the only thing keeping you alive. 

  Though your hand trembled and you wished to be anywhere but here— even the wasteland waiting outside the gates, with all its unimaginable threats, seemed like paradise —you took a loaf of bread from the basket and brought it closer to his mouth.

  Lines marred his forehead as he chewed. You were about to ask, self-destructive that you are, whether you should get the sweetened roll instead, thinking he found the one in your hand too bland. But you don't have the luxury to risk digging your grave any deeper. 

  You kept quiet and pointedly removed him from your line of sight, choosing to count the tassels hanging off the canopy instead.

  Once he's eaten all that's left of the pastries, you dipped your hand into the bowl of fruits and took a grape in-between your fingers and, as much as you can, you steadied your hand to avoid touching his lips.

  It didn't work. 

  You shuddered at the contact, curling your toes in your boots to avoid squirming. 

  This has got to be the weirdest day of your entire life.

  Not a hint of unease was shown. He continued to close his plump lips around the tip of your fingers and crushed the fruits with pointed canines, making the hair on your body stand on end. What if he bites you? Would you bleed?

  The man seemed to like them more than bread. A sense of urgency rose within you as he went through the berries and sliced mangoes like this is the first time he's had them.

  Can't say you blame him. The last time you ate something that resembled a fruit, a real fruit, was when Granny persuaded (coerced) a young boy in her complex to steal one from his employer. That boy has a child of his own now. 

  You felt your mouth water, your stomach growl and command that you take the bowl from him and shovel its contents to your mouth, as you watched him devour the sweet and tangy meat, the smell of it sickening as it is strangely compelling.

  He raised his head and met your eyes.

  Shit. 

  The apples, you thought as you looked back down to the tray. They're the only ones left soaking in the bowl, those apples. After this you'd be out of this stuffy room and you'd laugh about this later with Soo-jin and her mom and Granny too if she's not cranky.

  You could still feel him staring at you as you fed him a slice, the apple crisp when he took a bite. 

  Juice trickled down your hand, the sticky extract tickling your arm as it slid to the crook of your elbow, and you were about to wipe it with your other hand, when you felt a wet tongue probe the gap between your fingers.

  You gasped. "Sir..!" 

  You stepped away. Tried to, anyway, but with a firm hand, a hand that's not injured, after all, he gripped your wrist and continued to suck a digit. 

  "This is- sir!" struggling out of his hold, you pleaded with him to let go, please sir let me go, even as he only looked at you, his eyes dimming when he grabbed your waist to bring you closer. 

  He licked your hand, lapping at the trail the juice left behind, and when you thought he would release you, he took your hand to pluck another slice from the bowl. 

  Your legs gave up beneath you, forcing you to sit on his stretched lap, his hard body scorching you through the sheets, as he ate the apple from your palm, slurping the leftovers dripping from it. 

  "Don't cry," Granny told you once.

  "Especially when you feel like crying," she said. "Don't cry."

  You'd never really been good at listening, but now, you decided to suck in your breath and keep those tears at bay. You can cry and laugh about all this later.

  Because you might be jobless after this, but you will certainly have a damn good story to tell over the fire once you finished kneeing him in the nuts.

  So: one.

  Breathe.

  His teeth scraped your soaked hand.

  Two.

  You rested your hand on his shoulder.

  Three.

  You braced your leg, moving it between his thick thighs, and then, as you clutched his bandages, you—

  "Ushijima-sama."

  The door swung open.

  "Pardon the intrusion, but the Council members requested-”

  It was Secretary Hara.

  “Oh."

  Secretary Hara: a lanky, dark haired man with glasses who's always at the Governor's beck and call. He was here, carrying a small stack of papers, and gaping at the scene before him.

  You and the esteemed guest. Who's still suckling at your skin. On the bed. 

  He grinned, full of humor and disgusting. “Well,” he said. 

  At least you weren't crying.

  A question, shared only by the Heavens, began when the Lord fashioned the flesh out of the dust of the ground and said,"You are made in My image and likeness."

  It was not their way, before that: to question. (One of them did, once, but that is a different story). 

  They have no need for questions.

  They hold the highest seat, below only to the Creator, unencumbered by the trappings of the earth.

  They have no need for questions.

  So it remained unasked, lingering in fragments in the House of the Lord.

  The question comes to him now.

  For the flesh is a cage. It is ephemeral and prone to decay.

  It is fitting for this kind to have it, with all their qualities bound to the material world.

  You are the very epitome of these.

  Graceless. Stumbling like a newborn foal. Too many apologies. Too many questions.

  God is not here, he thinks as you insist on asking what does not matter.

  “Is the food not to your liking?” and “Is something wrong?” and “Do you need help?”

  Indecisive, too. Reneging on your promises. You said you’d feed him and then you said you wouldn’t.

  Ushijima Wakatoshi is a mere flesh, locking inside divinity your kind would never understand. Yet he felt its tedious demands gnaw at him when he saw you. Something so impermanent should have no right for constant sustenance. 

  But he knows, just for this time, that he needs it. That’s why he tells you to feed him, as you said you would. After all, it is your way to serve. And, for all your many inadequacies, God has granted you bread and water and fruit to sate your appetites. 

  Thus, for as long as he is flesh, he will do as it tells him to. 

  When it urged for the taste of fruit, for the cloying sweetness of its juice, it is only right that he heeded its call and had his fill. 

  How dare you object. His light is brighter than yours; God has granted it so (and yet you were given the will that they never had). And even in flesh you are beneath him. You are easily held and defeated.

  The ache in his belly did not cease, each gulp he took heightening his senses, shouting for more, more, more as he took you with his tongue. And he realizes that this is what the first of your kind may have felt like when they disobeyed. The first act of betrayal.

  (For what is the wrath of God to the cries of the flesh?)

  And with that, Ushijima Wakatoshi finds, since donning this useless flesh, that it is not at all easy to gratify. 

  Not in the least.

    There are so many rules in this mansion that even Cook’s effort to batter them on your head could sometimes be futile, given that their number is just as big as this place. But, there is one, among all the convoluted and at times nonsensical decrees, that you are not allowed to forget: 

  Unless you’re among the core staff, you can never enter the East Wing. 

  The East Wing is where all the important things happen, see. It goes without saying that someone as lowly as you cannot pollute that hallowed ground.

  Today seems to be an exception.

  When Cook barked that Secretary Hara wanted you in the East Wing first thing in the morning, you had a feeling that you just might not live to see the next day.

  You didn't speak unless spoken to. You didn't look unless told to. The things you should've done much earlier.

  "How are you liking the work here so far?" 

  Secretary Hara pushed the pen to the side and leaned back against the leather swivel chair. 

  "It's a job," you mumbled, to which he only replied with a breathless chuckle. You didn't see the point in bootlicking any further. Besides, Granny hated that the most; so you avoided doing it as much as you can.

  There's only one conclusion for you here, anyway. No matter how severe the punishment. And it's back in your room, with a uniform that needs sewing for a job that you no longer have.

  He tapped his fingers against the lacquered table. "You're right," he said. "Work is work. Despite your place in this society."

  You wanted to roll your eyes. Secretary Hara has never been any of the workers' favorites (not that any of you had your "favorites," but if you could, you avoided this guy). He had this astonishing effect, too, in which he can actually bring people together. All because everyone hated him.

  He's a slimeball, is what he is. If one needed lessons in kissing ass, he was your man. 

  "Do you know why you're here?"

  You're getting fired. End of story. Now can I please just go? is what you want to say. But losing your job doesn't usually take this much time and attention. Normally, it was Cook who'd grunt "You're out" and that was it.

  So you shake your head.

  "I'm promoting you," he said. "Congratulations."

  Somewhere, beneath that condescending smile of his, is a punchline that you're sure he's deliberately keeping from you. Just so he can be the only one who gets to laugh.

  "I-" You balled your hand to a fist. "Why?"

  He scoffed. "What are they teaching you in that rathole? Honestly."

  They taught me not to be rude to people I don't know, you little bitch.

  "Drop the coy act, it's okay," he sneered. "It's cheap and it won't work on me."

  Oh, now you really want to get fired. If only to kick his teeth in. "That man," Secretary Hara continued. "Ushijima Wakatoshi. You were all over him and you seriously don't know who he is?"

  You gritted. "Secretary Hara, what happened- it wasn't- I didn't want it."

  But he only gave you that look. As if to say, "Sure. Let's go with that." When it'd pass and the need to pummel him became stronger, he stood up and stepped towards the tapestry draped against the wall.

  It was a map, the city a pinprick on the corner. Secretary Hara faced it, dusting the spotless surface, his back to you.

  "Ever wonder what keeps us here?" he started, hand still on the map. "This city of ours?"

  "The," you licked your lips. Where was he going with this? "The river..?"

  Secretary Hara clapped his hands, his voice lilting like he's talking to a toddler as he said, "That's right. That's good. Excellent."

  "So you do know some things, after all." His fingers crawled towards the long line of blue stitched beside the city. "And do you wonder what would happen if, say, that river begins to dry?"

  You felt your eyes widen. You covered your mouth with a palm. 

  You're not supposed to know this. Why is he telling you this?

  He scratched the thick clump of blue thread and continued, "These great cities. They have their energy; their military." 

  Your eyes followed his hand, moving farther and farther away from the pallid brown surrounding your city, towards the bright yellow West, stopping at the bright green East. "Some of them are blessed enough to not be surrounded by a literal desert."

  Then, with a careful hand, he moved to the very top and said, "And the North…the North has it all."

  The North was a sprawling, intricate web of threads, eating away the entire tapestry. 

  "The Ushijima clan rules the North. Much longer than this city has existed. And they’re so engrossed in their wars that they’d never glance our way if we don't give them at least half of what we make,” he spat. “These great people haven’t had contact with us in years."

  Secretary Hara finally turned around, grin still in place. "But now one of them owes his life to us." He walked back to his desk, sitting on its edge. "Perhaps the heavens sent him here."

  When you remained silent and looked at him with eyes that you wished had the ability to kill, because you know now what they wanted from you, Secretary Hara only shrugged.

  "He asked for your name, actually," he said, tilting his head. "Lucky you. He didn't bother to learn ours."

  You stood your ground. "No, sir," you said. "I won't."

  He pulled a thin piece of paper from a pile sitting next to him. "You're not gonna do much," he said as he began to read. "Just show him around the city. Be his friend."

  Friend. 

  "But I- No. I can't." You stepped forward. "Please." 

  He looked away from the paper. "Zone 42. Room 0312."

  "What.."

  "Granny," he said. "That's what you call her, isn't it?"

  No.

  "They say that for a blind old lady she's still somehow miraculously trading to keep a roof over her head."

  Phantom touches crept to your arm, slick and nauseating like cold sweat.

  "You must take it from her. Though you're not related," he said.  "Apparently, you're so hardworking, you even work the night shift. When you don't have to."

  You released a shaky breath. "I'll..I'll start," you croaked. "I'll start right away, sir." 

  Secretary Hara folded his arms, victory plastered all over his gaunt face.

  "Thank you," he chimed. "I'm glad you understand. It's for your own good too, y'know." 

  The uniform they gave you chafed against your skin. Tugging at the sleeves did not help, the pristine fabric too coarse and stiff to budge. Your only comfort was the folded paper hidden in your pocket, fading at the edges every time you touched it.

  You have to admit, however, that you did look...well, you did look clean. Not as much as him, though. And not just in the sense that he's out of the bandages now. Last you checked, and that had been a few minutes ago, he was still sporting a couple of scars on his forehead.

  Despite that, you don't have to look behind you to know what's captured the people's attention as you strolled the capital. Or, who, to be exact.

  Some were outright ogling; some happened to glance once and then immediately looked away with a blush; some made the laudable effort to not look. 

  A mirror of what you're doing right now. 

  They gilded him with gold, which is a redundancy if you ever see one. He was wearing the most expensive pigment, something that only the Governor's family could own: a deep violet tunic emblazoned with golden vines, swirling from the middle to the collar; paired with dress pants that you could probably trade for a whole month's worth of food. 

  You kept your distance as you walked in front of him. "Just show him around the city," was what Secretary Hara told you. That didn't mean you had to talk.

  And it's not as if he had any complaints, either. He followed you through the rows of glass houses that adorned Governor's lane, not a word spoken about the sights. 

  Even when you'd attempted to speed through the dizzying streets, he kept his pace, long legs allowing him to stride close to you. By time you'd reached the plaza, you were already out of breath and in need of rest. 

  But you didn’t. 

  You remained standing a few feet away from him, the paper in your hand opened to reveal those great trees and thriving field, as he sat under the gazebo overlooking the square; a place reserved only for council members. 

  The smell of the sweetmeats and oranges in front of him reached your nose (Secretary Hara has a cruel sense of humor, you belatedly realized, when you were handed a bag of food that had a note saying “treat him well”). You fought the itch to cast out what little you’ve had for breakfast.

  Children were playing around the sandbox, the staff of whatever family they belonged to guarding them. In a way, their job wasn’t that different from what you have now. 

  Except, it’s not a child you were threatened to accompany. With the feeling of his gaze burning your nape, it seems like you’re not the one doing the guarding as well. 

  And you didn’t feel every bit like the adult you are when he called your name.

  You felt frighteningly small, as you yielded with a pathetic, “Ushijima-sama.”

  He only looked at you. Those green eyes telling you exactly what he wanted. 

  People are watching. You can’t mess this up.

  “Sir,” you said, hand still in your pocket, that frayed paper your anchor. “It is improper.”

  Irritation swept through him, his sharp features harsher when dissatisfied. But you can’t give up, even though it’s sending a chill down your spine and he seems like he’s about to throttle in broad daylight. (And he doesn’t have to do much, you know. He can crush you with one hand.)

  “Why- why are you here?” you hissed. “R-really?”

  You don’t shut your trap when you have to, girl. That’s your problem.

  “Because- because I’m not gonna be your..thing.” The paper was dampening in your grip. “While you do whatever it is you do, Ushijima,” you huffed. “...sama”

  Ushijima did not blink, his stare unwavering as he turned towards the small crowd strolling below. There’s a part of you that wishes to put yourself in his place, like a king on his throne. What does the view look like from up there? Are the people beneath just multicolored ants moving from afar? 

  “A few of my kind have suddenly sided with yours,” he said. Then, briefly returning his gaze to you, “I had to see what draws them here.” 

  He linked his fingers together. “Before I do what must be done.”

  You stifled a chortle. “Do what must be done” your ass. Does that include harassing people, too? “God only knows,” you whispered.

  “You believe in God.”

  You were the subject of his relentless attention again. You groaned, averting your eyes to a small girl, probably around Soo-jin’s age, who plopped down to create a heap of sand, much to the consternation of her nanny. 

  “No,” you replied in a thin voice. 

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know.” Where is this question coming from? “Always seemed like a lot of work,” you said. 

  The little girl was making a castle. It’s apparent to you now that she has little pail by her side, shovel in her grubby hand. The frill of her dress caught most of the sand as she stacked them atop each other.

  “And I’m pretty sure God has more fun things to do than worry about me,” you added, just because.

  The castle reached her knees when the girl stood up. 

  "God has left," Ushijima said. "A long time ago."

  And then she kicked it. The thing crumbled to a mound, the breeze scattering it back to the sand. 

  You did chuckle this time. The Northerners sure are strange. "Really? Where’d God go?" you hummed, looking up to the sky.

  The sun was blanketed by waves of clouds, as usual. "Somewhere nicer, I hope," you sighed. 

  You closed your eyes and thought of that nicer place. It would have to be far, far away from here. Maybe it would even have those trees that Granny loved.

  "Cherry trees."

  You opened your eyes and gawked at him. 

  He was still gazing at you. 

  "You are attached to it," he told you, like it's nothing; like your heart's not wreaking havoc against your ribs with each word he utters. "On that paper."

  Pulling it out of your pocket, you stumbled to him and unfolded it for him to see. "You-  you know what this is? A 'cherry tree.' That’s what you call it?"

  "Yes." Ushijima's eyes did not leave yours. "That is the name you people have bestowed upon them."

  "Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?"

  You didn't let him answer that because, just like the fool that Granny accused you to be, you took his hand in your trembling one and laughed, somehow managing to drag him out of the gazebo.

  It took a while before you finally let go.

  Much has changed along the way, he felt this as the air grew hotter; the sound of bustling people louder and less constrained with inutile mortal etiquette. You seemed less wary of him here. 

  The hand that held his tightly was still brushing against him, as you talked incessantly about the pieces of paper plastered across the wall. They all looked the same, yellowed and infested with mold at the edges, but you insisted otherwise.

  “See here?” You pointed to the one on the bottom. “Granny drew the leaves differently. They look like flowers don’t they? They are, aren’t they? I knew it! So they are flowers.” 

  There was a cot in the corner of the room. He sees you there in slumber, surrounded by rocks and scraps of metal and bits of gemstones held together by strings, each strand hanging on the crevices of the roof, gleaming every time they move. 

  You tapped his arm repeatedly. “Oh, oh. I put these two beside each other. Notice that the shades are different? This one is lighter while this one has more shadows to it.”

  "Do you get it now?" you asked him, expectant. 

  Humans are baffling creatures, Wakatoshi thought. Because when he said nothing, you only laughed (you seem to like doing that) and told him to “follow me; hurry.” You didn’t hold his hand this time (you should’ve, he preferred it when you did).

  “My bad. I hadn’t shown you yet,” you huffed as you grabbed a rag and set aside buckets of rainwater that obstructed his path. 

  Behind a curtain of sackcloth and ashes, draped at the furthest side of the wall, was a crack big enough to let a person through, corroding steel bars protruding along the broken concrete. 

  Wakatoshi ducked to enter the room next to yours. It was hollow, save for bits of gravel and a window obscured by dust. You paced to it then wiped the thick glass with the rag you brought with you.

  “That hill is always there in Granny’s drawings,” you said, taking the paper in your pocket and setting it parallel to the scene revealed by the window. 

  Your smile was wide, as if you were admiring a land lush with vegetation, or wildflowers at least. When it was far from that. It was a vast desolation, beyond the gates and the brown earth fractured. But, just as you said, there is a solitary hill sitting along the horizon.

  “Those trees- cherry trees,” you started, face radiating with mirth. “It’s the same but.. different each time.” Your breathless laugh makes him feel just as winded. “How is that even possible?”

  “I know they can’t be just...green.” A finger traced the outline of the leaves. “Because these are real and they actually grow and- and they change.” And, as if it’s a secret, “Unlike the ones at the capital.”.

  “If only Granny would paint them for me,” you whispered, the smile on those lips waning. 

  Wakatoshi couldn’t stand it. So, he grunted, “You are wrong. This one is green.”

  He took the paper from your hand. “They only change colors once they bloom. White, first. Then, pink.” 

  This knowledge is trivial; if it can be considered knowledge at all. It is a speck in the infinite matters that simply exist— have existed, in this world. Yet such a thing has put that look in your eyes. 

  Perhaps it is not inconsequential at all.

  “Pink?” you breathed, grinning incredulously at him. 

  You turned away and closed your eyes, your voice cracking as you murmured, “I see.”

  There's a blood pumping organ within his chest. A vital piece that keeps you humans alive. It beats constantly, never ceasing. If it does then it means you are dead. He is flesh, for now; it follows that if it halts, then he is fodder for the earth.

  How is it, then, that he is still here? He’s sure he felt it stop, the air knocked out of his lungs, as you looked back at him, eyes welling with tears when you said, “Thank you.”

  Thank you, you told him, smiling.

  Ah. 

  Wakatoshi gets it now.

  This is what God must have seen, when your kind looked up and sang, “I love you, my God; I love you; I love you.” And when you knelt and dared to turn those eyes for others that are not God, he suddenly understands why they were ordered to rain fire and brimstone upon your great kingdoms. 

  Because he, too, would smite anything, burn it to the ground and salt what is left, if it would so much as receive a whit of your sweet, soft words. 

  “They used to grow here,” you sniveled. “Granny said so.”

  “And I thought, maybe if Granny added a bit more color- maybe they'd feel more…I don't know..real..?” Laughter rings in his ears once again, pealing like bells. “Yeah..They'd feel more real...Though, she did get mad at me,” you winced.

  “I just thought,” you sighed, your shoulders touching him. “Wouldn't it be nice if I can wake up one day and find them growing again? Right here.”

  God created a garden for your kind once. It is gone now, but Wakatoshi wonders what you’d say, how you’d look at him, if he shows it to you. Your head against the grass, fingers laced with the lilies of the field, the taste of fruit on your lips, your thighs dripping with honey and dew—

  Wakatoshi felt his loins stir, but he didn't say anything, except, “The soil here is poisoned.”

  You snapped towards him, brows drawn together. “I know,” you said.

  “A sapling cannot grow on this wasteland.” 

  “Yes, I’m not stupid.”

  “That could have been any hill.”

  “I know.”

  His throat is parched; his hands a pair of useless things. He can hold galaxies in them, sink ships and level seas by the order of God had this body not trapped him. (He can free himself, but then you’d die). Now he doesn’t even know what to do with them as he rushes out a hoarse, “I have upset you.”

  He refused to let you take the paper from him. You didn’t seem to mind.

  “No,” you sighed. “No, of course not. Forgive me, Ushijima-sama.”

  You bowed again. An act of servitude.

  “Please, let me escort you back to the capital.”

  He does not understand. He only told you the truth. 

  But you turned your back to him and the light in your eyes has gone and he wants to chase it back the same way he wanted to run after God when the parting happened, leaving the Heavens mourning until their wails split the firmament open. 

  Wakatoshi yearns to have you closer. He yearns for that smile and laughter back on your face. 

  Wakatoshi yearns. 

  But, that cannot be. 

  After all, that is just much too human, is it not?

    The rain drenched Wakatoshi to the bone, droplets falling from his lashes to his cheeks, when he walked through the nighttime storm.

  He didn't bother to dry himself. 

  After he'd reached your room and shoved the door open, the clap of thunder covering the noise, Wakatoshi decided to undress himself, shedding all articles of clothing until he was naked as the day God created your kind.

  Wakatoshi felt the chill bite his skin. But that had nothing on the way you easily dismissed him earlier, by the time you'd reached the abode of this city's leader. 

  You left him and he could no longer see your face and yet that fierce longing in his chest stayed, creeping to every part of him, making a home in his belly.

  Until he recognized the feeling for what it was.

  Hunger. 

  Hunger, he could fathom. And when one feels it gnaw at one's flesh, what does one do, but eat?

  You were sleeping on the cot, just as he'd imagined you to be. It's enough to keep him warm: the sight of you, at peace under the glimmer of the trinkets dancing above as a lamp burned lowly. 

  The mattress sank under his weight when he sat next to you. His much larger hand took yours, locking your fingers together to rest his cheek against it, bringing it beneath his nose, and feeling his heart race as he breathed in your scent. 

  He remembers the first time he did this so vividly. You tasted like apples and sin; and though there's none of that now, his mouth still waters as he savors your skin, his tongue traveling to your arm, just as he did then, leaving bites along the way.

  You barely stirred when he lifted your shirt to reveal your tits, the sheen of sweat along the valley forcing a growl out of him.

  Do you feel it, too? When you drag him further down to earth, debasing him and bringing him so low that now he is nothing but a hungry flesh and a mouth made of obscenities. 

  "Fuck," he grunts, as he took his cock, heavy and hard to touch, and rubbed the head with his fingers.

  Perhaps he is lower than human now. Perhaps it does not matter. What is God to this hunger, anyway?

  (This hunger is bigger than God.)

  The cot was pitifully small as he straddled over your chest, breathing still shallow, and spat on his hand before wrapping it around the thick shaft. The tip of his cock touched your nipple as he fondled with the other one, thumb and forefinger pinching and pulling until you let out a tiny mewl.

  Hearing it had him falling to his knees. 

  Wakatoshi moved off the cot to kneel on the floor, the better to suckle on your tits, to lick and nibble on the skin below it, on your stomach, until he's seeing red and ripping your loose pants down to your thighs.

  He pumped his cock harder as he caressed the folds of your cunt. You groaned, arching your back and offering yourself to his mouth, when he started to lap on your clit, sticky liquid coating the swollen bud as he swirled his tongue to  spread the juices dripping from your hole.

  Your entire body was singing for him, even when all you'd managed were squirms and muted whimpers. He felt your skin twitch beneath his lips, as he cupped his balls and drove his hand faster around his throbbing cock, gripping his fist tighter.  

  Oh, he sees you on that garden, clinging onto him as he drives himself into you, pounding your cunt as you beg please, just as you did before, please, please, fuck me harder I am yours I am all yours.

  But, for now, he settles himself with the violent shudders of your body, flooding his mouth with cream, as he releases his seed on his palm. 

  Wakatoshi rubbed it against your leaking cunt, quivering still in his hand. 

  There is something that must be finished, first, before he takes you, in truth. He cannot have you conscious (for now.)

  He covered you back in your clothes, after. Then, Wakatoshi lingered on your face.

  "Fearfully and wonderfully made," he whispered, a mere guttural sound amidst the rain pouring outside. 

  Here lies salvation, he thought, as his fingers brushed your closed eyes. 

  And here, Wakatoshi thought as he brought his lips down to kiss you, here lies damnation. 

  He wiped his blood on the doorposts and lintel before he left.

    You woke up to silence.

  Your nether regions ached and, really, the temptation to not go to work today was insanely strong. But the sun was already bleeding through the window and there's a heavy feeling on your chest.

  And like wearing a shirt on backwards, you immediately knew that something was not right. 

  The sound of the door slamming open echoed through the building as you ran outside. 

  There was nothing. 

  Not the sound of people going about their day nor of children risking the wrath of their mothers with their games. The only thing you could hear was the buzzing noise of a fly circling around your ear.

  You didn't bother knocking on your neighbor's room, rushing inside to shout for Soo-jin and her mom, stopping only when you found them sitting around a small table.

  They didn't turn around to greet you.

  "There you are," you panted, putting your hands on your knees. "I'm so sorry for barging in like this."

  Even little Soo-jin, who never failed to jump into your arms given the opportunity, kept her back to you.  

  You stepped towards her. "Soo-jin," you whispered, placing a hand on her thin shoulder. 

  "Soo-jin, hey," you chuckled, your trembling fingers shaking her bit. "H-hey, what's wrong?"

  Her head nodded down, like a doll grabbed all too suddenly, then it lolled to the side, rolling until she bared her neck, until you saw her face.

  Her mouth hung open. 

  Inside the cavern were tiny black lumps that took you a second to realize were flies feasting on her molars. And when you lurched and sank to the floor, it was only then that you saw her staring back at you.

  Bleached eyes, wide and whitened to the core and pupils like spoiled milk. 

  "N-no." Your vision was cloudy, freezing dread settling at the pit of your stomach when you saw that the same happened to her mother. "Who- who did this?"

  Your voice strained out as you stood, mind moving faster than your legs.

  Granny. Go to Granny. 

  Though you already know, don't you? You don't have to see her to know her fate. Because as you sprinted out of the room, leaping down across the steps, out of the building and into sand and concrete, the smell of sulfur followed you, choking you along with the sight of bodies sprawled on the ground.

  Insects creeping out of nostrils and every other orifice, faces that you'll never have the chance of knowing and faces that you'd grown up with, hands reaching to the heaven as if at prayer.

  You are alone. You are alone in a city filled with rotting corpses. 

  There was an uncontrolled animal inside your body, fighting out of its cage in a fit of rage as you craned to look up, further up.

  The sky was on fire, the fissure in the middle gaping wider and wider and sucking in a mass of swirling clouds dipped with blood and orange.

  And there. There, look. Standing atop the towering walls.

  Beyond the heat wave was a figure, burning bright that you had to squint and you wanted to look away, you had to look away, but you can't go out like this, not without a scream and a curse at your lips.

  What did you do, you were shouting, Who are you, you were screeching, feeling the veins in your neck stretch and pop as you walked closer and closer. 

  Wings as far as the eye could see stood atop the fallen city.

  Spread out to span the horizon and folded at the middle to conceal whatever it is pointing a flaming sword towards the sun. 

  You tasted iron at the back of your mouth, but you did not stop. The earth beneath you swallowed your feet as it turned to mud with each step you took.

  And with the flap of its wings, the sound of metal banging against each other reverberated louder.

  There were children howling in pain, somewhere, behind you, in front of you, beside you. You staggered forward and for the life of you, you do not understand why you keep trying, because the ground below wasn't even soil anymore.

  It took another step before you fell.

  And it was like one of those dreams. 

  But this time you don't wake up. 

  You bawled out and thrashed your legs as water rose above you, slamming against your chest and filling up your mouth and burning your nose until it's all you could see, until you're floating in darkness and water is rushing to your lungs and you were flailing upwards, catching that spot of sunlight, but the more you kicked your feet and swung your arms, the more it tugged at your heavy legs and the less you could breathe and the further it got—  

You were sinking, the clanging of a giant bell everywhere still, as the water pulled you down, and in the deep, below the nothingness, was a massive cleft illuminated by the barest of light, slowly opening to reveal an eye, and no sound came out though you know, though you felt your throat release a shriek, horrifyingly small, so, so small compared to that glass green pupil that illuminated the darkness, rapidly contracting and dilating and then blinking as  salt and fire streamed deep in your skin, but they were looking at you from all sides, a thousand eyes flanking you and judging the weight of your soul with their unforgiving gaze as you tossed and turned in the waters. 

  I am going to die here, you thought. I will die here, you cried.

  But something was pulling at your waist and despite clawing and jabbing at it, desperate to keep it away from you as you wailed get off me get off me, it gripped you tight, hauling you upwards until you were gulping and breathing in cold air.

Through tears and the piercing cry that ripped out your throat, you felt strong, warm arms cradle you close.

  Along with a deep voice, familiar and conjuring a long lost memory. 

It lulled you into hiccups and dry sobs, gentle as it whispered. 

“Do not be afraid,” he said. “Do not be afraid. Do not be afraid.”

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

no grave can hold my body down – 2/2

Character: Jason Todd x Fem!Reader

Summary: It took time to get Jason Todd away from the darkness. Sometimes it felt like he was always standing at a tipping point, at risk of completely losing himself. But not when he was with her. She made him better and she would continue to make him better.

Word Count: 9,000

A/N: I know there are a lot of contradicting opinions on Jason Todd’s height. But for my own wish fulfillment, he is 6′3/6′4ish in this fic. 

Part 1

Y/N had fallen asleep after getting home from work. She had a long day and was so exhausted that she passed out as soon as she sat down on the couch. Jason had to take off her heels and drape a blanket over her.

Now he was dressed in his armored undershirt, cargo pants, leather jacket, and tactical boots. His red helmet was tucked under his arm, but he was already wearing a domino mask. If Bruce had taught him anything, it was to be prepared to a point of paranoia.

He crouched down to his knees.

Ever so gently, he brushed Y/N’s cheek.

“Y/N,” he whispered.

She stirred and winced a bit when she opened her eyes, the glare of the quiet television was suddenly harsh.

“What’s going on?” She asked, still half asleep.

“Nothing. Go back to sleep. I just wanted to tell you I’m leaving to go on patrol.”

“Mhmm. OK.” She hummed. “Be careful, J.”

If Y/N ever found out how un-careful the Red Hood was, she would never sleep and she’d probably beg Jason to quit his vigilantism.

“I love you,” he told her before kissing her on the forehead.

“Love you, too,” she said back so dreamily that it sounded like she was talking in her sleep.

Jason slipped out of the window. He purposely chose this apartment due to the direction the windows faced, the distance from approximate apartments, and the darkness that would prevent any wandering eyes from the neighbors.

He’d been patrolling for a few hours. It was oddly a quiet night. He assumed it had to do with how cold it was outside. Sometimes criminals were weak in the most obvious ways.

Jason was standing on a rooftop, taking a breather when he felt someone drop behind him. He knew his family all too well and could differentiate all of their footsteps. Which was why he didn’t immediately shoot Dick when he thought he’d try and surprise him.

“So, Y/N was quite the hit…” Dick said without giving Jason a proper greeting first.

“What are you still doing in town?” Jason answered.

Dick sighed. “B still needs a little help on the case.”

Jason nodded, not actually caring why Dick was still in Gotham. 

Then an awkward silence washed over them. Well, Dick thought it was awkward. Jason couldn’t care less. 

“Why won’t you talk about her with us?” Dick’s teasing was gone and his tone serious now.

Jason turned his head away from the city view and finally acknowledged his brother. “You don’t need to know anything about her,” his helmet distorted his words to make them sound even harsher than they already were.

“Doesn’t seem like she completely shares that view.”

Jason didn’t respond. He didn’t appreciate Dick speaking on Y/N’s behalf.

“Bruce seems to like her,” Dick added.

Jason’s head snapped to him. “As if I give a fuck,” he snapped.

Dick had the audacity to laugh. “How did the two of you meet anyway? She was living in New York City when the two of you first met, right?”

“Jesus,” Jason growled. “Did all of you run a background check on her?”

Dick shrugged. “What did you expect?”

————

Y/N didn’t have any idea where she was going. With the sun having already set, she couldn’t even figure out what direction she was headed.

But she had typed the address to her hotel into the Uber app and trusted it from there. She was also too preoccupied still answering the dozens of work emails on her phone.

“Hey lady, we’re here,” the driver said rudely after she didn’t realize they had stopped.

“Oh, sorry!” She said, writing the last few words of a sentence before pressing send.

She jumped out of the car and yelled a thanks before slamming the door shut.

To her surprise, the car raced off without a second’s hesitation.

But when Y/N turned around, she realized she was definitely not in the right place. And for the first time throughout the drive, she realized she was definitely in a bad area.

Y/N heard all of the terrible things about Gotham. Sometimes she wondered if the things about all of the crime were exaggerated by the news or if the city was really rotting from the inside like everyone said. What she definitely didn’t believe in was all the vigilantes that seemed to be protecting the city. No one could ever offer up any proof, even with every single human having a video camera in their hands at all times.

But now she wishing she’d taken people’s warnings a little bit more seriously.

This was definitely not Gotham Heights, where her nice hotel was located.

“Fuck,” she muttered as she whipped out her phone and instantly tried to call another Uber. But the app was being finicky and she was getting a loading screen for far too long.

Then she heard a group of men whistle at her. The streets were filled with literal dumpster fires. There were countless inoperable cars with broken windshields and without wheels. The only women she spotted looked like they were working the streets.

‘Walk, Y/N. Just walk. Act like you know where you’re going.’ Her brain was screaming at her.

So she did while remaining on high alert.

No matter how much she pretended to blend in, she was obviously out of place and sticking out like a sore thumb.

Her heart was racing and she tried to walk as fast as she could without fully running. She just hoped to get to a main street soon and try to catch a yellow cab, since apparently all her car-service apps decided not to work.

But suddenly, a man stepped onto the sidewalk, blocking Y/N’s path forward.

“You lost, sweetheart?” He cooed.

Y/N stopped and started backing away. But when she turned around, she saw that two men were waiting behind her.

“No need to be scared,” the same men said behind her, closer this time. “We just want to talk.”

‘Fuck this,’ Y/N thought before she decided to make a run for it.

But one of them grabbed her and shoved her to the side, pushing her into the alleyway she hadn’t realized they were right next to.

It was so dark that she could hardly make out the silhouettes of her attackers. But that wasn’t going to stop her from fighting. She immediately tried to shove past anyone in her vicinity and hit whoever was grabbing her.

“Get the fuck away from me!” She screamed, hoping that there was someone in this poisoned city that would try and help her.

Except she was outnumbered by three men, which ended in her getting shoved up the brick wall that lined the alley.

“I don’t have any money,” she gasped as a last ditch effort to save herself.

“Who said we wanted your money?” One of them chuckled darkly.

Before their words could hearten Y/N to try another defensive attack and escape, there was a strange zipping sound that echoed down into the alley.

Next thing Y/N knew, the man that was pressed up against her and pinning her to wall was flung off.

Y/N gasped and tried to get her eyes to adjust to the darkness enough so she could actually see what the hell was happening.

“It’s the hood!” One of the men yelled to his friends before making a run for it.

Then a gun was fired off – two shots.

Y/N yelped at the noise and covered her ears.

But when she looked back up, the man who had tried to escape was now on the ground, screaming in pain as he looked down at both of his knee caps that had been shot.

When Y/N turned her attention to the other two men, she finally saw who had interrupted their assault.

It was a man – if that was even what he was – dressed in military gear of some sort. But what really caught her attention was the red helmet that was reflecting the night light and allowing her to actually follow what was happening.

Y/N watched as he punched the daylights out of one of her attackers. She saw the man’s face get more and more covered with blood with each punch.

If Y/N was scared before, she was now terrified.

Without hesitating any longer, she too made a run for it, hoping she wouldn’t be shot like the other runaway.

She sprinted around the corner. But she only got a few yards before the same behemoth landed in front of her.

He was tall, and had to be at least 6’3. Men were confusingly short in New York, so Y/N was still trying to wrap her mind around having to tilt her head slightly up. But then she realized it wasn’t even his height that was jarring; it was how utterly hulking he was. His shoulders were so wide and his chest was massive. His thighs seemed to be the same width has her entire torso.

Everything about him was intimidating and imposing.

“I gotta give you credit for being that fast while wearing heels,” he said to her as he glanced down at her shoes.

It wasn’t exactly comforting that his voice seemed to also be distorted by the helmet.

Y/N was frozen in fear, truly not knowing what he was capable of or even what he wanted.

“You can relax. I’m not gonna hurt you,” he told her with his hands raised. His guns were no longer in his grip, but in their holsters at his thighs.

“You just killed three men,” Y/N told him with a shaky voice as she took a step back.

“I didn’t kill them. But if you want me to, I’d be happy to go back there and finish the job.”

“What? No!” Y/N cried out.

He had the audacity to chuckle at her reaction.

“Where exactly did you think you were going?” He asked her.

“This whole damsel-in-distress thing is new for me. But I thought it made sense to run away from the guy who was shooting people,” she told him quickly.

Jason was grateful that his mask hid all his emotions and facial expressions, because he was smiling at her sass.

He looked her up and down, taking in her outfit and just her overall look. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“What gave me away?”

He shrugged, ignoring the question. “What the hell are you doing in The Bowery? This is the most dangerous neighborhood in Gotham.”

“My Uber dropped me off here. I thought I was at my hotel and by the time I figured out I wasn’t, my driver had already sped away and left me for dead.”

He took a step toward her. “What’s a gal like you doing in Gotham?”

“I work for an art gallery in New York. But there was an event that I had to attend. I’ve been here all weekend.” 

Why was she telling him any of this?

Jason nodded in understanding. “Come on,” he told her.

“W-What?” She asked nervously.

“You’re not gonna get a car in this area. You should report the driver who brought you here in the first place. He knew better.”

He walked past her.

Y/N looked around her, trying to figure out if she even had any other option. She knew he was right about a car, which was probably why she’d gotten a loading screen for all of them when it realized her location.

Yes, he was technically a masked criminal. But he did just save her life, no matter how terrifying it was to watch.

Y/N decided she didn’t have much of a choice.

Before she could move, a motorcycle was being pulled up alongside her.

Y/N eyed it for a moment.

“What’s your name?” She asked him, as if it would make the situation any safer.

“Red Hood,” he told her.

Y/N nodded, not surprised that it didn’t make her feel any better. She realized she was in no position to ask for his real identity. She knew enough about vigilantes to understand that they only survived from hiding their true selves from the criminals they fought and the law enforcement who thought what they were doing was wrong.

“Where are you staying?” He asked her.

“Crest Hill Hotel,” she told him.

“Fancy,” he teased. “Hop on.”

Y/N hesitated before following his instructions. She sat awkwardly on the back of the motorcycle, unsure of what to do.

“You’re gonna want to hold on, beautiful.” He told her over his shoulder as he revved the engine.

Y/N tried to ignore the heat that rushed to her face as he called her ‘beautiful,’ and then she tried to ignore how wide and strong his torso felt as she reached to hold on.

It took 20 minutes to get to her hotel, proving that the Uber driver really hadn’t given a crap about how incorrect her original address had been.

Jason had decided to drop her off in the back entrance to avoid a scene of the infamous Red Hood dropping off an average citizen. He didn’t need that type of attention and Y/N shouldn’t be tied to him in any way.

Y/N got off the motorcycle with a surprising grace and turned to him.

“Thank you for…saving me,” she told him gently.

“It was nothing,” he told her.

Y/N just watched him for a moment, wondering what he looked like under that red helmet and without all the armor.

“What’s your name?” He surprised her by asking.

“Y/N. Y/F/N Y/L/N.” 

She didn’t know why she felt comfortable giving her surname. But it just came out.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. Though, I wish it had been under better circumstances.”

Y/N suddenly dug into her purse, making sure she still had her phone and even just the key to her hotel room.

“Fuck,” she muttered without realizing it.

“What is it?” Jason asked.

“Nothing. I just…it sounds stupid, but I have a little notebook to write down ideas for – well, for my artwork. But it must’ve fallen out back in that alleyway when those guys shoved me against the wall.”

When she looked up at him, it was impossible to know what he was thinking.

“Anyways, thank you again.” She turned to finally walk away.

“Y/N?”

She shouldn’t love how much she loved the sound of him saying her name.

Y/N turned around.

“Stay close to the hotel. Gotham is different than New York City.”

She nodded.

————————

“So, when did you see her again?” Dick questioned after he listened to Jason’s retelling.

“I was helping out a friend with a job in NYC. Things got ugly. I may or may not have been shot when I showed up at her window. Her apartment was in the area and I needed a place to lay low.”

Dick laughed. “Uh huh. Sure you did.”

Jason ignored him. “Anyways, I’d gone back to the alley that night and found that notebook she was talking about, and gave it to her to make up for bleeding all over her couch.”

“Always the romantic,” Dick teased.

Their conversation came to a halt. Instead of talking, they both listened to the city noises that Gotham brought.  

“Listen, Jason, I know I did a poor job of being there for you and actually acting like a brother. And I also know you haven’t always been my biggest fan.”

Jason stayed quiet.

“But you deserve to be happy. And we both know Y/N does that.” Dick sighed. “But you don’t talk about her with us and you kept her from even just meeting us after years of you two dating. If we weren’t all noisy and paranoid, we wouldn’t know a thing about her.”  

“What’s your point, Dick?” Jason asked roughly.

“No one ever wants to acknowledge this, especially you…but you’re more like Bruce than any of us. And you’ve seen how he pushes people away, keeping them at a distance. Y/N wants to be a part of your life, your whole life. And that includes all of us – whether you like it or not. So, what I’m saying is you don’t have to hide her from us.”

Dick knew not to expect a response from Jason. So he left him where he found him and gave him his space once again.

Jason didn’t have anything to say anyway. 

Dick’s words made him angry more than anything. Because he knew they were true. Yes, he saw how Bruce behaved with women. It was promiscuous and casual, because anything else was too close for comfort. Bruce’s priority would always be Batman. And Bruce knew that no significant other deserved his lack of commitment – no matter how much they might love each other.

—————

Y/N was doing her nightly routine and applying moisturizer to her face when she heard it. She could be acting paranoid, but her instincts were telling her something was off. 

No, someone was here.

Jason made a point of being loud and immediately announcing when he got home as to not scare her. So, it couldn’t be him.

As quietly as possible, Y/N tiptoed out of the bathroom and to her side of the bed where she kept a titanium baseball bat. Jason had offered her multiple times to teach her how to shoot a gun. But Y/N wanted nothing to do with them.

With the bat in hand, Y/N snuck her way to the living room where she heard the sound.

She had turned off all the lights, making it hard for her to see clearly.

But she did see a large mass standing in the middle of her living room. With just a bit of hesitation, Y/N swung the bat. But the intruder caught the bat, stopping her attack.

They stepped into the moonlight, finally allowing Y/N to see that it was Batman in his full uniform, cowl still on.

“What the fuck. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” Y/N snapped at him.

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to startle you,” Bruce defended.

But Y/N was still irritated. “Jason isn’t here.”

“I know. I came to talk to you.”

She froze. “Me?”

“I need a favor.”

Y/N narrowed her gaze. “I highly doubt I could do anything to help you.”

“You’re wrong. This has to do with your job. You work at The Drago House.”

Y/N tilted her head and crossed her arms. “Yes.”

“It’s owned by the Ibanescu family. They use it as a front for human trafficking.”

Y/N shook her head. “That can’t be possible…”

“Don’t underestimate the crime families of Gotham, Y/N.”

“So, why do you need me?”

“There are files and codecs that would decipher who their buyers are and where they hold auctions around the world. Nothings digital. They’re old school. With that information, we could shut done their operation forever.”

Y/N’s face was serious now. “What do you need me to do?”

“You have always had access to all the information. You just never knew it. All I need is for you to scan the files.”

She now looked at him suspiciously. “Don’t they say you're the world’s greatest detective? I find it hard to believe that you’d have problems breaking into the gallery after hours to get them for yourself…”

“It’s only completely lockdown as soon as it closes every night. Their security system is high-end and resets every 24 hours. Could we get into it eventually? Yes. But we’ve already been at it for weeks. And we’ve received word that there’s a big…” He hesitated. “…shipment happening any day. We don’t have time to waste.”

Y/N thought about what he was telling her.

“Why didn’t you go to Jason?” She finally asked.

“You said Jason doesn’t tell you what to do.”

Y/N glared at him for using her own words against her.

The apartment went quiet again.

Then Y/N nodded slowly. “There’s an opening tomorrow night. I can get them then.”

—————

Dick’s words haunted Jason for the rest of the night. He wanted to cut patrolling early and just get back to Y/N.

Now he swiftly moved into his apartment from the fire escape and immediately took off his helmet and domino mask underneath.

But Jason froze when he saw Y/N’s bat in the middle of the living room.

His heart raced at the immediate assumption that something happened to her. The furniture was untouched and there were no other signs of trouble, but he still rushed towards the bedroom anyway.

“Y/N?” He called out, despite it being nearly 4AM.

He let out a sigh of relief when he found Y/N slowly waking up from their bed.

“J?” She murmured, half asleep.

“Y/N, why is the bat in the living room?” Jason asked as he rubbed his face and then sat on the edge of the bed near her. Without even thinking, he cupped her cheek.

She rubbed her eyes, trying to wake up more. “I thought I heard something and freaked myself out. But it was nothing.”

“Y/N, how many times do I have to tell you? Call me when shit like that happens.”

“But it was nothing,” she repeated. “What?” She added with a sigh when he was giving her that disapproving look.

“I don’t care if it ends up being nothing. If you’re scared, then I’m going to be here. OK?” Then he finalized his point with a quick kiss to her lips.

She nodded. “OK.”

Then she looked him up and down, realizing that he was still completely in his Red Hood gear, only without his helmet.

“You OK?” She asked in a whisper. Her eyes already scanning his body for any obvious injuries.

“I’m fine,” Jason sighed. “I was just worried about you when I saw the bat. I thought something…”

Y/N quickly sat up in bed. “Hey, hey, hey. I’m fine. I’m OK. I was just being paranoid. I should’ve put the bat back. I’m sorry.”  

A comfortable and reassuring silence settled between them.

“Why don’t you take a shower and come to bed?” Y/N offered softly.

Jason nodded and kissed her again.

As soon as he was out of the room, Y/N ran a hand over her face. 

She hated lying to Jason. He didn’t deserve it. But she also knew he wouldn’t let her anywhere near an operation that Bruce was trying to pull off. This had to be the same thing that Tim had pulled Jason aside for at the gala.

But Bruce made one thing clear: he needed her help. And he wouldn’t do so if he wasn’t desperate.

———————-

The next night, Y/N couldn’t stop sweating and her heart rate was out of control. She tried to act like this was just another day of work, greeting customers, explaining the pieces, and answering questions.

But the need to get into the back offices when everyone else was gone would not stop nagging her.

With shaky hands, she tapped her ID on the scanner. Usually at this point in an event, all of her colleagues were either on the floor or had called it the end of their work day and headed home.

By some miracle, that was exactly the case.

Y/N locked the door behind her, never having seen a purpose for doing so any other day of working at the gallery.

“OK. OK. OK. Breathe,” she muttered to herself as her eyes scanned the room.

She knew where all the files were in the room. And Bruce had given her the keys to knowing what to look for. Now it was just a matter of putting the two together.

Y/N instantly went to work and started shuffling through papers, finding what was needed.

Bruce had given her a special pen that would scan every file within a second no matter what angle it was pointed at, so Y/N wouldn’t have any suspicious photos on her cellphone.

Y/N was almost done, covered in sweat and with shaking hands, when the door started jiggling.

She swore her heart was about to burst out of her chest.

With pure adrenaline, Y/N quickly put back the files that were in her hand.

But the person on the other side of the door was clearly getting impatient quickly and continued to mess with the doorknob.

Y/N jumped when it was finally kicked open. She whipped around to stare at a man who was nearly the size of Jason, but looked far deadlier. She’d never seen him at the gallery before, which meant he was definitely part of Ibanescu’s gang.

“Can I help you?” She snapped rudely, trying to use her authority to hide her fear.

“What are you doing in here?” He accused.

“I work here. Who the hell are you?”

He ignored her question. “Why was the door locked?”

“You still haven’t told me who you are,” Y/N shot back.

And with that, she straightened her posture and started walking past him. But this man wasn’t as stupid as he looked. Just as she thought she’d slipped away, the man grabbed her by the arm.

“Excuse me,” Y/N hissed.

But he ignored her and started dragging her into the back storage area of the gallery and further away from the crowd.

Y/N tried to rip her arm from his grasp but his grip was vice-like and didn’t even seem fazed by her efforts to escape.

This was not good.

While Y/N was still hopeful that she could possibly talk her way out, she was also realistic. 

Which is why she hit a button on her watch.

Jason had gifted it to her very early on in their relationship. It was a classic chronograph watch. But he had installed a panic button onto it.

“If something ever happens – even if you think you’re being overly cautious – you push this and it will send out a signal that I can track. I’ll be there before you know it.” That’s what he had told her when he gifted it, and she’d worn it every day since.

A few seconds later, Y/N was being shoved through the door that led to the back alley.

There was a group of men, just as large and intimidating as the one who still had a grip on her arm.

It was pouring rain and freezing outside. But the slight overhand of the building into the alley protected them slightly.

“What the fuck is this?” One of them asked.

“I found her snooping around in the offices,” he announced.

“I’m one of the directors of this gallery!” Y/N bit back. “I was checking the price points on pieces for a potential customer.”

“The door was locked,” the man added.

They all seemed to be looking at each other.

Y/N was frozen, trying to wait for the perfect moment to make a run for it.

But then she saw one of the men, who appeared to be in charge, eye the pen that was clipped to the pocket of her pants. She prayed that he was too stupid to think it was anything more than just a writing utensil.

But then he slowly walked up to her. He grabbed the pen from her pocket and inspected it.

Y/N swore time froze. She couldn’t hear anything. She couldn’t feel the tight grip on her arm that was surely going to bruise her.

Then the man’s gaze shifted from the pen to her eyes.

“Get her in the car,” he told the group.

Y/N’s heart dropped.

Without hesitating, she immediately started to fight the man holding her. With a swift motion, she kneed him hard in the groin, making him let out a growl and keel over. But he dropped his grip on her arm.

Despite wearing heels, she made a run for it. She didn’t get far, but she got far enough into the rain that she was already drenched.

Another man grabbed her, shoving her against the building and clenching her throat to a point of suffocation.

“You stupid bitch,” her original captor spat as he backhanded her across the face.

Y/N blinked as a ringing started in her ears and her face stung with pain.

“Get her in the car before you make a fuckin’ scene,” the leader warned.

But before they could respond to the command, the street lights went out, causing a surge of darkness to blind all of them.

Y/N tried to step away from her attackers as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. But she couldn’t see a damn thing. The pouring rain was only making it more impossible.

It wasn’t until one of the men cried out in pain and guns started firing that she could see anything. Except it was too fast for her to make out a clear picture. Every so often, a lightning strike or a muzzle flash would give her a short glimpse.

Lo and behold, Batman was taking out the men one by one. But every time Y/N’s eyes focused on his tall silhouette, he’d disappear. She couldn’t keep track of his movements. And apparently neither could any of Ibanescu’s men.

“Shoot the girl!” One of the men yelled.

Y/N’s eyes widened when two of the men turned their guns on her.

But just before they fired off their rounds, a small force tackled her to the side and behind the safety of a giant dumpster.

Y/N looked up to see a young boy shielding her with his own body.

Damian. 

Things were so chaotic that she hadn’t even registered he was there, too.

Before she could say anything to him, there was another presence that dropped down beside her. The next second, she was being grabbed and pulled into the sky.

From the feel of his arms alone, Y/N immediately recognized it as Jason.

His grappling gun had brought them to the roof of the building.

Once their feet were grounded onto the roof, Jason barely stepped away and grabbed her shoulders.

Y/N couldn’t read his face from his helmet. But the subtle movements of his head made it clear that he was scanning her body to see if she’d been hit. It only took a few seconds to be convinced that she was clear.

Then he was grasping her face. “Stay here,” he told her before he used his grappling gun to vault back down into the alleyway.

Y/N ran to the edge of the room to look down.

When Jason returned to the fight below, he was ruthless.

Damian had seen the Red Hood with a vengeance many a time. But this… this was something different.

No bone was left unbroken.

Jason wasn’t just neutralizing these men…he was out for blood and pain.

The leader of the little gang was on his knees, covered in his own blood, when he looked up at Jason, who had a gun pointed just centimeters from his head.

“Red Hood, no!” Bruce growled as he threw a batarang, knocking Jason’s gun away from its almost-victim.

Jason whipped his head around. “They were going to kill her!”

“I wasn’t going to let that happen,” Bruce countered.

While they talked, Damian knocked out the man Jason almost murdered. By now, all of them were knocked unconscious or so injured that they couldn’t even open their eyes.

Jason’s entire body froze, realizing what had really happened. Bruce and Damian didn’t just happen to be there to save his girlfriend. This was their doing. They were the ones who had put her in this dangerous situation to begin with.

“What the fuck did you do?” Jason thundered.

Just as a flash of lightening struck, he turned to face Bruce, finding his new prey.  

“She had an in and I asked her to use it,” Bruce explained evenly. “She agreed.”

“Of course she fucking agreed!” Jason yelled over the rain. “She’d never say no to helping! And you knew that, and you took advantage of it!”

Then he raised his gun, pointing it at Bruce.

“Put the gun down, Red Hood.”

“Fuck you,” Jason hissed.

The next thing Y/N knew, Jason shot a bullet towards Bruce, causing her to let out a yell from above. In her heart she knew he hadn’t aimed to kill, but Bruce dodged the shot anyway.

Now the two men were fully fighting each other. Bruce seemed to be pulling his punches and just trying to remain on the defense. But Jason wanted revenge. Yes, Bruce and him had a dark history. But putting Y/N in danger erupted something inside Jason that made him see red in a way he never had before.

Just as Y/N was going to call out for Jason to stop, she heard someone drop beside her on the roof.

Dick stood a few feet away, standing tall in his Nightwing uniform.

“Dick, do something!” She begged.

“I can stop Bats, but I can’t stop him,” he told her.

“Then get me the fuck down there! Use your zip-line thingy!”

“Zip-line thingy?” Dick repeated, clearly offended. “This is a grappling–”

“Dick!” Y/N cut him off.

“Right, sorry.” He grabbed her, held her body tight to him, and lowered them down back to the alley.

When Y/N looked up, Bruce was on his knees, trying to catch his breath.

But Jason wasn’t done with him.

“You made it clear that you don’t give a shit about me. But putting the one person I love in danger just for you to solve a case? You’ve reached a new low,” Jason yelled as he slowly started to walk towards Bruce.

But before Jason could reach him, Y/N blocked his path.

She was soaking wet and shivering from both the cold rain and the shock.

Jason could already see the bruises covering her neck and face. He also didn’t miss the small line of blood that had trickled down her nose.

“Jason,” she whimpered. “That’s enough.”

He froze.

Y/N walked to him. “Please, just take me home,” she whispered.

Just seeing her made Jason’s entire body relax. But he was also reminded that she was the priority, not Bruce.

Noticing her shivering, he took off his leather jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders.

Bruce, Dick, and Damian were barely able to see the short, loving moment before Jason flung a smoke capsule onto the ground, covering him and Y/N as he brought her into his arms.

By the time the smoke disappeared, Jason and Y/N were gone.

—————-

When Jason and Y/N got back to their apartment, Jason when into autopilot mode of nursing Y/N. He pulled her into their bathroom and immediately started helping her out of her wet clothes. Y/N couldn’t stop shaking, and he noticed.

Jason only left her side for the split moment when he turned to start the shower, making sure to make it extra hot.

Then he was right back at her side, taking off his uniform and matching her nudity.

When he gently tugged her into their abnormally large shower, there was nothing sexual about it.

Now that Y/N’s skin was bare to him, he looked at all the injuries she had.

There were a few scrapes that would heal in a week or so. But Jason’s gaze went dark every time they lingered on the bruises across her throat, face, and bicep. He should’ve killed all of those bastards.

Y/N leaned into Jason’s chest. “I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Because she knew that’s what this was. Jason wasn’t mad at her – at least, not yet. That could very much come later. But no, right now, he was scared. He put so much energy into keeping Y/N away from his other life, only for her to be thrown right into the center of it. And it wasn’t even his doing; it was Bruce’s.

“I know,” he bent down to whisper in her ear as he wrapped his arms around her.

Y/N didn’t know how long they stayed in the shower. But eventually Jason turned off the water and wrapped Y/N around in a fluffy white towel. She looked so young and innocent.

He moved her to their bedroom and sat her down on the edge of the bed.

Y/N watched him as he moved about the room, getting each of them clothes – all from his own closet.

“Are you hungry?” He asked her carefully as he handed her a pair of his sweatpants and one of his hoodies.

She shook her head.

Jason wasn’t surprised. One of the side effects of trauma and shock was a loss of appetite. But he made her drink a huge glass of water before he let her get in bed. And he made a mental note to make a big breakfast tomorrow when her body recovered and realized how starving it was.

When they were both finally under the covers, Jason didn’t hesitate to pull Y/N completely in his arms, smothering her with his giant frame. She welcomed his touch and warmth, burying her face into his chest.

Neither of them knew who needed this closeness more.

Tonight had been scary. Y/N knew Jason’s anger was bound to show up at some point. But right now, both of them were just grateful they were okay.

————————-

To Y/N’s surprise, she woke up in bed alone.

But her concern didn’t last long as she heard Jason moving around in the kitchen and she could hear soft music was playing if she listened hard enough.

When Y/N moved to get out of bed, she felt all the soreness that came from being grabbed and thrown around like she was last night. She winced, but it wasn’t anything she couldn’t handle. But she made a mental note to hide any signs that she was in pain from Jason.

Over their time together, Y/N and Jason got disturbingly good at reading one another. So, when Y/N walked into the kitchen to find Jason making breakfast, she immediately sensed things were not good. It wasn’t the cooking that tipped her off. His naked back was to her and she could somehow see the tension in his shoulders – in his whole body.

Y/N knows he heard her as soon as she walked into the kitchen.

“There’s coffee,” he says without turning around from the stove. He’s making pancakes. Chocolate chip pancakes, to be precise.

Y/N pours herself some coffee and sits at the table, watching him.

A few minutes pass before she’s had enough of the tension.

“If you’re gonna yell at me, then yell at me,” she told him.

Jason froze for a moment, but then quickly looked at her over his shoulder. “When have I ever yelled at you?”

He had a point.

Yes, Jason was once filled with only rage. There was a reason some feared Red Hood more than the Batman. He was ruthless. Fueled by vengeance, his temper, and his disappointment in the evil that plagued the world. He fought his enemies, but he also fought with his friends and family.

But Jason Todd was none of those things with Y/N. He never lost his temper with her. He never projected his rage and hardships from what he saw as Red Hood onto her. He’d never even raised his voice with her.

“I know,” Y/N admitted. “But I also know you’re still angry.”

Jason sighed, turning off the stove and bringing a giant plate of pancakes to the table.

But Y/N couldn’t eat while having this discussion.

Jason leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You wouldn’t have let me do it,” Y/N countered.

“Yeah, and for good reason.”

“He used you, Y/N.” Jason tried to explain. “You’re untrained… with no exposure to this world. He knew not to involve you and he went behind my back to do it anyway.”

Y/N lowered her head in shame. There was a part of her that felt useless. She couldn’t jump around rooftops and save those who needed it. She was just…normal.

“I just wanted to help,” she mumbled.

Jason leaned forward from seeing her upset. “Y/N, come here.” He reached for her hand and baited her towards him.

She took his offer and moved from her chair to straddle his lap.

Jason held her waist tightly as he pressed his forehead to her’s. “I don’t want to lose you,” he whispered.

“You’re not going to,” she reassured him.

“Please, I’m begging you, don’t ever do something like that again.”

Y/N’s heart hurt at how desperate he sounded. She had realized far too quickly that Jason wasn’t scared of death. He was only scared of her death.

“I promise,” she told him.

“You scared the fucking shit out of me, Y/N.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Jason accepted her apology with a kiss. But it didn’t end quickly. In fact, it got more heated and hungrier. His grip got firmer on her waist.

Y/N knew where this was going, especially as he thumbed the hem of her hoodie and sweatpants. But they both needed this.

“The pancakes, Jason.” She warned him.

Jason smiled as he pulled away from her lips. “Fuck the pancakes,” he told her in between kisses. “I’m takin’ you back to bed.”

—————————

A few weeks had passed since the incident. Y/N tried to get her relationship with Jason back to normal. He still insisted on keeping his vigilante life away from her. But there was more of an understanding for why now.

However, tension had risen again a couple days after the attack, when they received an interesting gift in the mail. They had opened a rather large envelope addressed to the both of them. 

Inside were two first-class plane tickets to Paris with their names on them and an open reservation at Hotel Le Royal Monceau.

Y/N had stared at them with more of an understanding than Jason.

She’d looked up at Jason. “I…I told him I’ve always wanted to go to Paris when I first met him at the gala.”

He’d glared at the gift. “Typical Bruce. If he can’t punch his way out of an issue, he’ll try and buy it.”

Neither of them had said anything about actually using tickets and reservation. It just collected dust on one of their end tables.

Now Y/N sat in their apartment alone, reading another one of Jason’s books, when her cell started ringing.

It was a number she didn’t know, but she decided to answer it anyway.

“Hello?”

“Ms. Y/L/N, it’s Alfred Pennyworth,” a charming voice answered back.

Y/N couldn’t help, but smile. As if she knew more than one Alfred in the world. “Hi, Alfred.”

“I thought it would be a good time to give you that lesson you asked for. Are you free today?”

Y/N looked around her apartment. All of her plans for today had consisted of laying around, drinking coffee, doing a bit of reading.

“Yes, today would be great.”

—————

Y/N wouldn’t make the same mistake twice and had given Jason the heads up on her change of plans.

Seeing as Jason had no issue with Alfred, he didn’t seem too bothered bit it all. But he did still tell her to be careful and ended the call with a sincere, “I love you.”

It was strange going back to Wayne Manor when there wasn’t a gala being held there.

Y/N thought it would seem more like a home this time around, but it still felt like a museum to her. And yet, she still had imposter syndrome as she walked through the threshold.

Alfred gave her a warm smile as he opened the door. “It is lovely to see you again, Ms. Y/L/N.”

“Alfred, please, it’s just Y/N.”

He nodded. Then he gestured for her to follow him. “Come. I have a station set up in the cave.”

Y/N stuttered to a stop. “Cave? As in the Bat Cave?”

Alfred seemed amused with her hesitation and concern. “Of course.”

“Should I be – Is that even OK?” Y/N fumbled through her question.

“Well, I don’t see the point of hiding it from you. It’s not like you don’t know all the family secrets already, dear.”

Y/N blinked at that and finally continued following him.

Alfred led her through the secret passage way as if he was taking her to the dining room. She tried to control her reactions and not come off too interested in the details of it all. But it was rather hard.

Just like Alfred told her, there was a little medical station set up in a brighter lit area of the dark and dingy cave.

Y/N half expected him to bring up the recent drama that she’d caused. But ever the gentleman, Alfred didn’t so much as mention it.

He also did as he promised, going through everything she could ever need to know while tending to Jason. He even had little models to practice sewing stitches on. He was a good teacher and Y/N was soaking it all up like a sponge.

She couldn’t imagine her going to med school at any point. But knowing these skills were going to be used to help Jason made it easier to retain.

After hours of teaching, the cave awoke as a carport opened and the batmobile sped in.

Y/N internally swore. She’d hoped not to run into Bruce with this visit. He never seemed to be home, so the odds had seemed low. But clearly she’d messed that up.

Bruce stepped out of the car, taking in the two of them.

“Any injuries, Master Wayne?” Alfred asked politely.

Bruce was about to lie, but he glanced down at his abdomen where it was quite obvious he was bleeding.

“Perfect. My pupil can practice on you,” Alfred announced. 

Y/N’s eyes widened in panic. “Oh! That’s definitely a bad idea…”

“Nonsense. Best way to learn is under pressure,” he winked. “I shall go off and start dinner. Let me know if you’re near death, Master Wayne.”

Y/N watched him leave, regretting ever having come here.

When she turned back around, Bruce was removing his cowl.

“He’s right,” Bruce admitted. “Best way to learn is under pressure.” Then he moved to sit in the medical chair.

Y/N swallowed, realizing how dry her mouth was. “Right.”

Her hands shook as she tried to remember everything Alfred had been through. But she knew in the back of her mind that Bruce was fully capable of stitching himself up. So, as much as this was a set up from Alfred, Bruce wasn’t running away from it like she had tried to.

Y/N hadn’t said a word as she cleaned his wound, only apologizing when she thought was necessary – even though he never made a sound of pain or even so much as winced.

Bruce seemed to be following her lead, not wanting to force her to talk if she didn’t want to.

But after 20 minutes or so of silence, Y/N couldn’t take it any longer.

“You know, you can’t buy his forgiveness,” she said as she focused on her stitches.

“I wasn’t only looking for his forgiveness…”

Her eyes flickered to meet his awaiting gaze. “You can’t buy mine either.”

“I owe you an apology,” Bruce began to her surprise. “I should have never involved you. It was dangerous, despite how in control of situation I thought I was.”

“I agreed to it,” Y/N offered. Then she looked at him again. “But I accept your apology.”

A moment passed before Y/N asked, “Are you going to say that to him, too?”

“I would if he would even consider talking to me.”

With that comment, Y/N put down her tools for a second and straightened her posture. “I may not know you very well, Bruce. But I do know that you and Jason are more alike than either of you care to admit.”

She hesitated on continuing. Did Bruce even deserve advice from her?

“He was hurt. And he showed all of you that hurt by being angry, because he didn’t know how else to tell you. He doesn’t feel heard and he doesn’t feel seen. He was lost. And it’s hard for him to just forget how you all handled it.” She took in a deep breath. “But I know he still sees all of you as his family. And you’re the closest thing he’s ever had to a real father.”

Then she quickly grabbed her tools again and cleared her throat. “So, get over yourself, and just talk to him. And I mean actually talk to him – not as Batman and Red Hood, but as Jason and Bruce.”

The cave went quiet.

Y/N couldn’t help herself and looked up at Bruce. Either she was losing her mind or he was giving her a very shy smirk.

“What?” She blurted out.

But before he could answer, a motorcycle sped into the cave.

Y/N would recognize Jason’s bike anywhere. But he wasn’t in uniform. Instead, opting for his black leather jacket and a normal tinted motorcycle helmet.

After he took it off, he eyed the two of them, trying to read the room.

“Hey,” Y/N said shyly.

“Figured I’d come and pick you up,” Jason answered her unasked question, ignoring Bruce.

Y/N looked down at Bruce’s injury. “Actually, I’m all done here.”

“Thank you,” Bruce said sincerely as Y/N covered the wound with a bandage. “You’ll be a better nurse than Alfred in no time.”

Y/N grinned and took off her gloves.

But then she met Jason’s unsure gaze. They had a silent conversation.

“I’m gonna go say goodbye to Alfred,” she quickly told Jason, but really she was telling both of them. “Meet me out front when you’re ready?”

Jason hesitated, but nodded.

Y/N walked to him and gave him a quick kiss for comfort and encouragement.

And then she was off, leaving the two men alone.

Jason shifted his weight, not knowing where to start.

“You’re lucky to have her,” Bruce finally spoke.

Jason winced even though it was a compliment. “I don’t deserve her.”

Bruce stood up. “That’s not true.”

“You of all people know I’m not a good man, Bruce.”

He shook his head. “We may have different views on how to save this city. But we both want the same thing. That doesn’t mean you’re not a good man, Jason.”

Jason blinked at his statement.

“I owe you an apology for... a lot,” Bruce began. “The first is putting that girl in danger.” He paused. “The second was not protecting you – before and after everything that happened.”

“You mean before and after I died?” Jason wasn’t going to make this easy for him.

Bruce’s jaw clenched at that.

“Anything else you want to apologize for?” Jason challenged.

“Yes,” Bruce confirmed. “But I get the feeling that you don’t want to hear it all right now.”

There was a pause.

“You’ll always be my son, Jason. Even if you no longer see me as your father.”

Jason’s eyes filled with tears at Bruce’s words. But he held them back. He couldn’t break down. He couldn’t be weak. Not here. Not now. Not like this. 

He couldn’t take any more of this discussion. But he knew this was what he’d been wanting to hear from Bruce for so long.

“I’ll see you around, Bruce.” He told him before putting his helmet back on.

But Bruce had one last thing to say. “Keep her close. Don’t be like me, Jason.”

‘Don’t push people who love you away and make this darkness be your only life,’ was what Bruce would never actually have the courage to say.

Jason now had the cover of his helmet to hide his expressions. But he gave Bruce one last glance before tearing out of the cave.

—————

As Jason pulled his motorcycle up to the front of the manor to pick of Y/N, Damian was playing out front with Titus on the gravel drive.

“Hey, Demon Spawn,” Jason greeted after taking off his helmet.

“Todd,” the boy replied coldly.

To his surprise, Jason got off his bike and walked to him with his hands in the pockets of his leather jacket.

Damian eyed him.

“I saw what you did that night. You saved her life,” Jason said.

Damian waited.

Jason held out his hand. “I just wanted to thank you.”

The boy hesitated before finally shaking it.

Jason didn’t expect Damian to say anything. But he did know talking to him like an adult, instead of a kid, was the only way to get through to him.

Then Y/N was walking out to them with Alfred lingering in the doorway.

“Hi, Damian,” she greeted sweetly before greeting his dog as well.

“Hi, Y/N.”

Jason was surprised he even remembered her name.  

“Ready to go?” He asked Y/N.

She nodded. But then reached up to touch the white in his hair. She seemed to have a fondness for it. And Jason didn’t seem to mind.

“You OK?” She asked.

He nodded. “Better.”

She gave him a shy but encouraging look. “I’m glad.”

“I love you, you know,” Jason breathed.

“I know,” she smiled.

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

Oh lordy. That took way longer than I was expecting. But kept my mind off of this dumpster fire of a country. And I hope reading it did the same for you ❤️

[keravnous]

- agent 14/agent steven haines; my drug is my baby (nsft, smut)

It's hot out and Steve's wide awake. His bedroom windows are opened and there's a soft breeze rolling in, toying with the curtains and leaving a soft trace on his warm skin. He sighs and rolls on his stomach, blindly reaching out with one hand, until he touches his phone. His hand clutches around it and pulls. The display blinds him for a split second and he curses under his breath. No new messages.

He's not really surprised. The only person messaging him these days is 14 but they aren't really talking right now, with both of them still being so goddamn angry, so that's that.

He mindlessly checks his social, a former frat getting married, another couple buying another dog and someone's new car. He doesn't care, he can't even bring himself to act, to convince at least himself, that he does. He's missing something. Someone.

His thumb hovers over the display.

No. Yes. No.

He can hear the city breathe. Cars honking, the tram and a slight wind rustling the few leaves this grey concrete hell hole still has to offer. He misses the sound Warren makes, when he's asleep, how soft his breath is.

Steve shakes his head, as if that would have him get rid of the thought more easily. He misses his warmth, how he sometimes hooks one leg around his, arms stretched out. When he's asleep they don't fight.

Steve knows that he can't blame it on 14, they both are to blame, they both are equally responsible. If one of their superiors ever were to find out what they had been doing these past months they'd both vanish from this earth, erradicated like they'd never exist, justified by their act of treason.

And yet there they are: fighting. Rather with their fists and teeth, than with words. His colleagues start to notice the bruises (and even though they don't say a word he is still paranoid about it). Not all of them are born out of aggression, most are a result of the lust that captures their fucked up minds once the violence starts to blossom between them. It turns them on, it turns Steve on, when Warren's hands connect with him in the worst ways possible. It makes his blood sing and his dick hard and he just wants. Wants to press the other man down and take take take until the taking becomes an act of giving, which always errupts the most beautiful sounds from Warren.

He hates himself for the thought, but everything could be just perfect, they could be perfect, like handmade pieces carved to only fit each other. But it's not like that, it's way more hurtful. Their opinions on work, on the government and secret agencies drift apart like Pangaea. It's hell really, one of them starts screaming at one point and then there's no going back. They are both too ambitious, willing to sacrifice everything for their jobs and sometimes Steve wonders not if there will be, but how huge of a blood bath they will go down in. The thought scares him and he knows it scares Warren too, but they don't talk about it, keep their fears far away from each other, locked behind thick vault doors.

They often try their hardest not to talk about work. But eventually, like most people who only really live for their jobs, they drift back to it. It's Steve, who hates that Warren himself is somewhat a criminal and it's Warren who hates, that Steve won't admit that he isn't far form it himself.

They blame and attack each other for failures or provocations of their respective employers and it either ends in slammed doors or sweaty bodies sticking together.

Steve misses it, the adrenaline that shoots through his veins in these moments, the way Warren's body responds to his, how the other feels under his fingers. He misses misses misses and it keeps him awake.

He thinks about the last time he's seen Warren, squirming beneath him, throwing his head back, arching into his touch while throwing slurs his way. Steve thinks about him, about his touch. It's torture and he rolls back onto his stomach, while his mind conjures up a truly beautiful, delicious image.

Steve's sitting down, legs spread wide, back straightend but relaxed nonetheless. Warren kneels in front of him, cheeks slightly reddend, his hands carefully resting on Steve's firm thighs. His eyes are trained on Steve's hard dick, obscenely standing against his abdomen. Warren's bleeding. His nose looks broken and blood slowly tickles over his plump lips, down his chin. His tongue darts out, licks it away, cleans his lips.

Steve groans quietly and rocks his hips into the mattress once, twice, his hands gripping into the sheets as he rocks against the surface, growing hotter and harder.

He had betrayed him, sold his secrets, endangered Steve's life and thus, he has to show him his place again. Warren's eyes are trained on his cock and Steve hums, gently places his hand on the back of 14's head, runs it down to his neck, around to the front and presses down. The noise that erupts from Warren's throat makes the hairs on Steve's body stand up, as he slowly tilts his head back, giving Steve better access to his throat. Blood runs down the delicate, pale skin, pools between Steve's fingers. He runs his hand up again, brushes across Warren's lower lip with his thumb, then forces three fingers in. He gags, his eyelids flutter, before he starts sucking.

Steve moans. The sound is deep in his throat and his boxers are groing tight fast. He impatiently pulls the front down and himself out, raises his hip and closes his hand around his dick.

"You want the real thing, don't you, pretty boy?" Warren's bloody chin now dripples with saliva and he nods, hums around Steve's fingers. He pulls them out and looks at Warren, hits him another time across the face for good measure.

"Come on then, right your wrongs", Steve leans back and Warren lashes forward, tongue darting out and licking a wet stripe from the base to the top.

Steve tucks at himself and moans. It doesn't replace Warren, his scent, his touch, how he feels around and underneath him, his voice but it'll do, if he keeps himself focussed enough. He hates him so much, it makes his stomach twist, he hates his arrogant smile, the edge to his voice when he feels superior and his strut, how he tilts his shoulders back. Steve wants to take one of his cigarettes and burn his delicate skin right there between his shoulder blades, so he won't act all high and mighty anymore. Steve also wants so put his hands on his skin, his body and worship it, every little mole, kiss it until the world ends, burning and crumbling by the wars they wage.

He spits into his hand, rubbing his own saliva around his dick.

Warren leans in, all wet lips, blood and saliva and throaty groans and closes his lips around the tip of Steve's cock. His tongue swirls around it in the warmth in his mouth, hot liquid dripping down the hard shaft.

Steve rolls around, thrusting into his fist, his head buried deep in his cushion, moaning from the back of his throat. His body feels lonely, oddly cold, even though it's warm out and in his bedroom as well, and he raises his free hand, runs it across his flushed chest in a manner Warren would. It makes his heart flutter and his dick twitch.

"You like that, huh?" Warren lets his dick go with an obscene sound and hums deep in his throat.

"Yeah, fuck, I do."

It's what sends Steve to do an insanely stupid thing. He reaches out and grabs his phone, unlocks it while cupping his balls with one hand, squeezing and tugging, while scrolling through his contacts.

The voice on the other end sounds tired, not angry at all. Steve would like to be it the other way around, he wants to be yelled at, hit and torn.

"Why the fuck are you calling, it's literally three in the morning", there's a little yawn and Steve wishes he'd be here, "You better be bleeding out somewhere to bother me now, Haines."

He wants to hit him back with something witty, smart, rude but there's nothing more leaving his mouth but a moan, as his hand wanders up his dick again. There's silence on the other end. It makes his blood race, boil.

"Haines?"

"Yeah fuck, who do you think it is?", his voice is deep and buried in his throat. He groans.

There's a low chuckle on the other end. He wishes he could see that smile, he wishes he could tear it off of Warrens face.

"You ain't really getting yourself off right now, are you?", and when there's no answer just a deep and low sigh, 14 tsks, "That's actually pathetic, Haines."

He sounds wide awake now. Good.

"Tell me", there's shuffling on the other end, "Tell me what you're doing, you moron."

Steve smiles and tugs at his dick, with Warren purring deep into his ear. "Fuck, I'm", he sighs, feels the tension running deep through his stomach, "Touching myself."

"And you're thinking of me? How cute. Ain't you ashamed of yourself, Haines?"

Usually it's Steve who has the upper hand in the little dangerous game they're playing, it comes naturally with him being the higher ranking one, but he will make an exception tonight. Warren's tone is spurring him on, how he talks down on him. He would love for Warren to be here, for Warren to look and talk down on him, to spit in his face and sneer at him.

The words leave his mouth quicker than he can act against them.

"Wish you were here, fuck, touching me."

_

The next morning Steve's late to work. He doesn't even remember the last time he hasn't been on time. Must've been years ago. His chest burns as his shirt rubs over the sore skin. Warren had told him to run his hands over his chest harder harder harder until his nails had scraped the skin. The stinging sensation feels good, it's a nice reminder of last night.

As he rushes towards the FIB building across the empty plaza, he sees a figure leaning against one of the chairs.

"Late, Haines?", it's Warren. He's smoking a cigarette.

Steve raises his hand and shows him his finger.

He knows he's fucked, they both are.

_

It's Wednesday when he gets the mail and Friday when he enters the meeting room. His boss is there and so is Mrs. Rackham, he's seen her once or twice, but this time she's not alone. There are other agents with her and, of course because his life's just gotta be like that, 14 is there too.

His gaze drops to Steve's take-away cup and his lips curl into a smug grin. "If I knew we were having a potluck, I would've brought something as well", his voice is deep and calm, collected, like velvet and Steve'-s pulse sings with it.

"14", Mrs. Rackham's voice cuts through the air, admonishing, like a mother scolding her child.

Now it's Steve's time to grin and he drops his free hand to his belt, hooks one thumb underneath it and cocks his hips forward, looks at Warren. It's the same look he shoots him when Warren sinks to his knees to obediently suck his dick and he eyes him up and down. 14 blushes, his gaze drops.

Steve bathes in his display of power, the feeling that erupts from it takes him flying high. To them, it looks like 14 is listening to his superior but only the two of them know that he isn't. Only the two of them know that he's bowing to Steve's will. They had a change in their power dynamic last night and Steve is not willing to accept that, maybe he's even afraid to do so.

As they take their seats they look at each other once more and Steve feels his stomach flutter.

_

They were at each others throats the second they found themselves to be alone on the floor. Now, only a few minutes later, Steve has Warren bend over the sink of the bathroom. The door is locked but the idea of them being caught, someone seeing how he toys with one of the leading IAA Field Agents, still excites him. He has one hand around Warrens throat, his thumb pressing his chin upward, their eyes meeting in the mirror.

14 is crying. Small, thick tears run down his cheeks, silent evidence of his denied orgasm. He's very pretty that way, Steve thinks, when his cheeks redden and his eyes turn dark, like the stormy sea and his hair's in a mess. He loves it when Warren cries, the sounds he makes and-

"Please."

Steve stops his slow and deep thrusts and blinks dumbfounded. One, two, three seconds pass until he moves again. Laughter spills out of his mouth, deep and satsified.

"What a pretty sound for a pretty boy, huh?", his hand strokes over Warren's ass cheek, gently kneading the flesh below the palm. It's soft and warm and it grounds him.

His voice drops in both, octave and volume, as he leans forward, shoving himself even deeper into 14, lips against his ear. "Say that again", he whispers, tongue darting out and toying with his earlobe.

"Please, Steve. For fucks sake, please fuck me", Warren moans and throws his head back, pressing his throat into Steve's palm more firmly. He presses down and Warren yelps, squirms and their gazes meet in the mirror once more.

Warren holds his own mouth shut with one hand, drowning his moans and screams, as Steve ruts into him like an animal gone wild, fucking them both senseless.

_

Steve's phone rings and he picks up, opening another bottle of wine.

"Hey."

"Hey."

"So, you're still alive then?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I am." Why wouldn't I be?

"Good. Just wanted to check."

"Warren?"

"Yeah?"

"Should I be worried?"

"No", and he trust him, because the word carries all the fear, all the thoughts that Steve grew so painfully familiar with.

_

The next time they see each other is a rather spontaneous thing. Well, at least Steve hasn't invited Warren over but there he is, standing in his doorway, hair a mess, his leather jacket on. He eyes Steve up and down, his gaze stops at the obvious bandage around his upper arm. Warren slowly raises his hand and gently touches it. Steve doesn't flinch.

"I saw the news", Warren says, his voice low and nearly inaudible.

"I'm fine."

"You got shot", he looks seriously upset now.

"I'm still alive, ain't I?"

And then he's on him, arms around his neck, lips pressed onto his own, hungrily devouring him. Steve feels Warren's warmth radiating against him and he slips his hands under his jacket, pulls his firm, muscular frame closer, flush against him. "I-, I was-", he doesn't have to say it, Steve knows anyway. Afraid, Worried, Scared, Frightened.

"I'm still here, pretty boy", he runs his good hand through Warren's dark hair and they look at each other and Steve knows, it hits him like a train, that they are both gone. Warren's gaze is soft and it's so beautiful, but somehow Steve wishes he'd yell at him again, lash out and throw hands at him. That was easier to handle than whatever they just turned into.

They are gentle with each other, for the first time. It's all slow kisses, soft touches and intertwined bodies, heat and whispered words. Steve holds Warren by his hips as he grinds down on his dick and gently brushes over his abdomen, his hip bones and chest with his hands, wants to feel and discover every inch of his body. Warren leans down and kisses him, soft and warm, plush lips that gently move against his own, a tongue darting out, making its way into his mouth. It makes his stomach flutter and fingertips tingle, so he hooks his good arm around his waist and helps 14 to rock onto him, the other hand gently resting on his leg.

They cum with their foreheads pressed together firmly, so close together that their eyelashes are nearly touching, gazes locked on each other. Steve pulls Warren close after that, hooks his good arm around him and it doesn't take long until they are at each other again, kissing gently, hands wandering, tongues touching.

_

Steve wakes up in the early hours of the next morning, Warren's back pressed against him. His breath is easy, he seems to be sleeping still. Steve buries his nose in his neck and breathes in. Out. In. Out. In - until he falls asleep again.

_

Ignoring each other at work and during the breaks becomes increasingly harder. Steve is getting itchy with the stress it puts onto him.

_

"The fuck did you do?", Warren slams his glas down. It doesn't break but Steve hears it shatter anyways. Of course they'd fight once again, once more. Maybe they never really stopped, maybe they were just on a break, an armistice.

He's talking about Michael and his associates kidnapping Mr. K.

"This is business, Warren. This has nothing to do with you."

"Are you completely nuts, Haines? She'll have your head for this, Daniels will kill you."

Steve looks at him and his gaze quickly turns into a stare. This is not about him, it never has been and it now dawns on him. He's not even yelling, his voice is firm and nearly a whisper.

"Me? Don't you dare act like you care about me when it comes to this. You're afraid what this will mean for you, aren't you? If they ever unveil that you fuck me, the one responsible for subject K gone missing? What will they think of you then, huh?"

Warren blinks. Once, twice. "Are you fucking deluded, Haines?"

Steve has missed how Warren beats and tears at his clothes and hurts so so so good. He relishes in the pain that 14 is exposing him to, until he can't hold back the gnarling animal in his chest anymore and lashes out as well, hits back and hits hits hits until they are covered in blood.

_

It hurts so good, his cuts and bruises hurt so good. Steve had missed this, missed the pain so much. Warren lies next to him, chest heaving, blood on his hands and his face, it's in his hair and on his legs as well. Steve wants to fuck him raw, until he screams and cries.

Steve wants to make Warren his, and only his. And he's ready to give himself up for it, too.

[tteokdoroki]

⤷ 𝐅𝐋𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐊𝐒 : WRITTEN CHAPTER

⤷ CHAPTER SUMMARY: a million unspoken words have built up between you and your best friend katsuki bakugou, there wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for you, even when you’re warn down and somewhat broken... he knows that sometimes even pro heroes need saving.

warning(s) for this chapter: please read ! this chapter contains lots and lots of angst yo :(, soft baku and some mentions of emotional distress.

author’s note(s): hey there my loves ! yes yes this is a third written chapter and it is the final one. its a little sad at the beginning but don’t worry. it gets a lot softer! please enjoy super soft bakugou :(

previous | part thirty two - love him more | next

word count: 2.4K.

pushing the door open, katsuki bakugou braces himself for what lies behind your unlocked door. your usually sun filled apartment on the eastern side of town where the pro had often spent hours admiring and cooking for you was now locked in a dark embrace, the curtains drawn to the point where every room had been smothered in a thick fog of black and katsuki could barely see.

but for him, making his way around your home was as easy as learning his ABCs. he practically lived here, on days where he was too tired to care, nights where you were both beaten up from patrol but you still find the energy to patch him up. there wasn’t a thing you wouldn’t do for katsuki, so he would do the same for you. 

vermillion eyes seek you out in the darkness, his trained ears picking up on the small whimpers that spread thinly through the apartment’s silence and with practiced ease the blonde finds the sofa which you’ve buried yourself in.

“there you are shitty girl,” bakugou mumbles into the still air, the harsh pet name coming out softly on his tongue. despite his hot headed nature, you’d always accepted him fully— never driven away by his terrible habit of using curse words every five seconds, or his natural aggressiveness— no. you loved every inch of him just as it were. you don’t shift from the safety of your blankets when he calls you, making him frown. so, as if not to scare you away , katsuki takes small and tentative steps towards you, until he’s resting on his knees in front of you.

“k-katsu...katsuki,” you heave, trembling with the sobs that wrack your body. the sight of the man alone is enough to set you off, not because he hurt you but because he came— he came when you needed him to. katsuki bakugou had never failed you, not yet. “it hurts, i can’t—“ heated arms wrap around you, warm enough that you can feel them through the mounds of blankets you’ve surrounded yourself in. 

pain burns in your chest, clawing up your rib cage and choking you from inside out, everything made you think of keigo, how he had loved you without words— only for it all to be a lie. the pain you felt washed over you like powerful waves, making you cling to katsuki tighter than ever before, your grip on him so tight that your nails dug into your  palms.

pulling you from your heap of blankets, the explosive pro hero brings you further into his arms, resting his cheek on top of your head. “stop it dumbass, you’ll hurt yourself even more.” bakugou takes your hands, rubbing your palms where your nails have indented as if to soothe you because like he had promised— he wasn’t here to hurt you.

as he rubs at your palms, you force your face into his firm chest— breathing in the familiar scent of burning sugar and sweet caramel, one that never fails to relax you. the smell of keigo is everywhere in your apartment, your bed, your clothes, your blankets. you’re suffocating in every trace of him and katsuki bakugou is like a breath of fresh air. “c-can i stay with you? everything smells like him...” your voice is barely above a whisper, muffled by the fabric of bakugou’s black shirt but you can tell that he’s heard you from the way he suddenly links your fingers.

bakugou kisses the top of your head, the light peck dressing your hair line as he stands and separates himself from you. the gesture is oddly soft for someone who looks angry by nature— but he’s only ever been this way with you. “shitty girl, you don’t even have to ask,” he mumbles, vermillion eyes looking everywhere but you. you give the blonde a watery smile before he disappears into your apartment, presumably to gather some belongings of yours to take with you. he knows where everything is so you don’t bother to move, curling in on yourself.

reality finally sets in, a paperweight of emotions crushing your heart into tiny pieces. everything you’d known for the last several months had turned out to be a lie, every look, every touch and every kiss had been staged. 

what did he gain? what did keigo win for breaking your heart? you suppose aizawa is partly to blame for setting this whole thing up behind your back but even he couldn’t be in control of your feelings. when katsuki returns, he’s locked all the doors and turned off all lights that are further into your home. on his left shoulder he carries an overnight bag but some how manages to scoop you up into his warm arms.

you find yourself on a quiet ride to his place a little while later, streetlights like stars in the night sky. bakugou’s house was a short drive from yours, somewhere he’d gotten shortly after his twentieth birthday. 

it was a big house with high ceilings and wide open windows— perfect to accommodate for any repercussions of his quirk. there was a beautiful view of the city too, something that katsuki had been proud of when he got the place. he’d spent most of his earnings from his time as a side kick on it, a risky move you wouldn’t put past him.

“i’m running you a bath and you’re fuckin’ taking it. you reek.” katsuki’s sharp words cut through the thick silence as you enter his home. he sets you up in the spare bedroom before heading off to the bathroom to do as he said. his words, despite harsh, have a hidden meaning behind them— either that you smell like hawks and he doesn’t want that infecting his home or that he’s genuinely worried for your health. 

you figure that it’s both. when the water’s just right, he helps you get in ( although his cheeks are stained bright red, matching his eyes ) and washes away the tears and snot that’s built up over the last few days.

there’s a spare change of clothes waiting for you when you get out, your favourite black shirt of his and pair of undies to wear underneath. bakugou always takes care of you, no questions asked. that’s why he says nothing when you slide into bed with him that night, nor the next day when you take food from his plate at breakfast. he’d always been that kind of friend, there for you to the end, no matter what.

the following night you’re curled in his lap, watching re-runs of an old allmight cartoon he was obsessed with back in high school. bakugou’s attention is mostly focused on the phone in his right hand, the left drawing absentminded patterns into your cheek. 

you figure that he’s probably warding away his managers since he’d dipped his hero duties to take care of you or updating your friends and aizawa on how you’re doing. nonetheless, you enjoy how he holds you and keeps you close— maybe it’s because you’re reminded of how things used to be be; when you were dating, when you were back in U.A.

yourself and katsuki bakugou had dated from your second year till your last at U.A. graduation had been hard, seeing as this would be the last time you were surrounded by all your friends on the hero course; tears drenched your cheeks as you said your goodbyes to not only them— but to katsuki as well. you’d both agreed that after sharing two years together, secret kisses outside the dorms at night, dates where your friends would tease the blasting hero until the tips of his ears were as red at his eyes; that it was time to part. 

romance and feelings would get in the way of being the best of the best and you couldn’t dream of stopping bakugou from reaching what he could practically touch.

you had to let go of him, you couldn’t hold him back.

back then; you were only eighteen with the world of colours ahead of you. you’d promised yourself from then that you would work twice as hard as your friends to rank the highest you could— because while katsuki was your first love, you wouldn’t let that stop you from aiming high as well. 

now, almost twenty-two, you could look back with a fond smile at the sweet memories you both had made together. so why did you feel bitter? why did it hurt to be in his arms like this?

was it because you thought, that if you hadn’t met keigo, none of this would have happened? would you be as happy with bakugou as you were with him? you don’t realise that you’re crying until katsuki wipes away your tears before they can hit your cheeks. there’s a knowing look swirling in his eyes as you abruptly sit up to wipe at your face. “s-sorry, i...” you huff frustration laced in your tone. you’re tired of crying, tired of being sad. “god, i must look so stupid!”

the blonde leans in, rolling his eyes as warm calloused hands come up to cup your cheeks. “let yourself cry shitty woman, you just got your heart broken. stop creating lame excuses to torture yourself with.” he chides, thumbs brushing away stray tears that somehow manage to escape. you find yourself nodding slowly, heart racing at the proximity of your best friend. 

he’s still the same boy he was when you were tucked away in the safety of your U.A bedroom; brazen, with sharp, chiselled features and hellish eyes that held the worlds jewels. he’s still your bakugou, the man you still hold so much love for.

if you could see yourself now you’d call yourself a fool— for your mouth moved before your mind and your lips end up pressed against against bakugou’s. he stiffens, because this would have been the first time you’ve kissed this way in four years, but he soon relaxes— the hands that cup your cheeks dropping to your waist to pull you closer to him, holding you as if you’re going to disappear at any moment. his lips slot against yours perfectly, like they were moulded for each other and he’s hot against you, tenderly moving in sync with you. 

your fingers make their way into his forest of blonde locks, curling in them tightly which makes the man before you groan quietly— you kiss him with unspoken words and hidden truths, all the while, fresh sets of tears burn in the corners of your closed eyes—stinging a path down your cheeks.

he must feel them too because he only pulls you closer, letting his lips do the talking as he kisses you like it’s the last time he’ll ever have the chance to. you whine into him brokenly and he flinches with every oncoming tear that paints your locked lips with a salty flavour. that’s what it feels like, your last kiss; as you pour every ounce of passion into the liplock as possible. 

you feel the world crumbling away. you love him, you have for years and always will be hopelessly in love with katsuki bakugou but there’s a hole in your heart that he can’t fill and he knows it. gripping his shirt now, you feel your lungs burn with the need to breathe in fresh air and regretfully pull away from your best friend.

when you open your eyes you’re met with the sight of a ruby gaze and flushed cheeks, swollen lips and a sorrowful smile that makes your heart ache. you try to back up, mind hazy with storm clouds of emotion but he doesn’t let you leave him. “i’m sorry, i shouldn’t have—“

“i’m not,” he says quietly, blunt as ever, gaze flickering to the hands of yours that he now holds.

you hum, watching as he plays with your fingers gently— your heart pounds and your body feels hot, but you find it in you to say your next words. “i love you katsu, you know that right?” he nods, still not looking up to meet your gaze. “i love you more than i should as a friend but—“

“you love the bird man more,” the blonde finishes for you, deep red eyes locking on you. it’s your turn to nod, squeezing his fingers in hopes that he doesn’t pull away or shut you out like he has done in the past. instead, a finger of his finds your chin to tilt your head up towards him— he brushes away the remanence of your tears from salt streaked skin and gives you a genuine, but small, smile. “we’re different to who we were back than, my feelings never changed and maybe i realised that too late. when you were with him i fucking wished he would fuck up so i could swoop in and take my shitty girl back...” bakugou pauses, pondering his next words. things like this were hard for him, he wasn’t necessarily the most open person in the world but for you; he often tried. “but i know now, that seeing you broken like this; because of him... it fucking hurts more than losing you to him.”

“katsuki,” you blubber, you don’t know what to say for now— but whatever comes to mind you know he’ll appreciate it. snuggling up to him, you shove your face into his chest once more and find yourself soothed by the scent of burning sugar that tickles your nose. “thank you.”

bakugou scoffs, rolling his eyes at you for what seems like the millionth time that night but doesn’t push you away. instead he pats your head, throwing his gaze to them he side. “whatever, now get off me so i can make us dinner.” a heavy blush dusts his cheeks once more, so you let up with a tiny smile as the pro hero heads over to his kitchen to cook for you both.

you watch him as he goes, shuffling around the kitchen— no one would have guessed that the pro hero ground zero was a phenomenal cook, but it was just one of those things. something special that you knew about katsuki bakugou, your little secret between two best friends. best friends who had been through the world and back, best friends who would do anything for each other.

and so you realised, as long as you had your best friend bakugo, everything would be just fine.

⤷ TAGLIST: ✈️CLOSED

@underratedmage @darlingstudies @iambashfulperson @jqnposts @ih8beefnoodles @miniatureland @ozzy-bozzy @someweirdshitman @bro-vocaine @air-wreckaaa @xxangelofpunkrockxx @hyperkaiperrose @sailor-moons-butt @montechristos  @semiathleticnerdykid @headfirst-halo @sasukelore @patricia-ceballos @jadenyukis-bodypillow @leel-lol @bokutosuwus @moonlightaangel @atsumumu @cathy8taffy @sya-arts-blog @rosa-gamer @yuesphere @ela-ena @d3ad-b3at-b1tch @starry-yui @cowward​ @actuallyazriel​ @bunny-on-crack​ @yourlocalbabybird​ @moon-spirit-yue​ @chaichai-the-weeb​ @tuddles-on-ice​ @gomezuwu​ @loser-keiji​ @witcherydotcom​ @s4kurajima​ @nishinoya-is-baby​ @astroninaaa​ @witches-brewe​ @skyrina​ @underoosjae​ @darlingely​  @mirukosyn​ @peachpetalhoney​ @kayisweird​  

[iclaimedtobethebetterbard]

if you’re going my way, i’ll go with you - chapter 3

Fandom: Sanders Sides Characters: All the sides, character!Thomas, minor/background OCs Rating: Teen & up (see Warnings) Relationships: Parental Virgil & Roman, Analogical, Dukeceit Warnings: Language, implied child abuse, non-graphic violence, one scene concludes with a fade to black Word count: 7864

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Chapter 3

Virgil connected the final pair of wires and stepped back, dusting his hands off. Some of his best work to date, if he did say so himself; when this went off, it should take out the entire building without a single casualty.

Speaking of which…. Virgil lifted off the ground and flew about the building, just to make sure it was properly abandoned. He had just satisfied himself that it was safe, and this crime would only cost the city in repair money and not lives or hospital bills, when he heard a noise behind him in the trees.

Virgil whirled, hand going to his blaster. “Who’s there?”

“Surrender!” shouted a by-now-familiar voice.

Virgil shook his head, relaxing at once and taking his hand off his weapon. “Come on out of there, Princey,” he said, fighting to wipe the smile off his face and trying to sound exasperated instead of amused.

“You’re scared right now,” the boy said, emerging from the trees with his arms crossed. “You’re very scared. Stop laughing and surrender!”

“Hey, I’m not laughing. I’m sure you’re very heroic. I’m absolutely trembling in my boots.” Virgil waved his hands placatingly and ignored the “surrender” part. “What are you doing out like this?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be in school?” It was barely two in the afternoon on a Thursday.

“No, we’re on a break, and you can’t tell me what to do! And I’m going to stop your….” The boy stared around the empty area, which Virgil had had his people clear out that morning. “...Evil plot,” he finished, when he clearly couldn’t figure out anything more specific. He raised his hands, taking aim at—oh shit, that was the bomb.

“Don’t shoot that—young man, what did I just say?” Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit—

Virgil launched himself across the space between them, caught Prince Creativity around the waist, and dragged the angrily shrieking child in the opposite direction, counting seconds. Five—four—not enough time—two—Virgil flung up a magic shield behind them and curled himself around the boy, and the world exploded into noise and heat and flying shrapnel.

Virgil felt the impact of a dozen objects slamming into the shield, then the much more real impact of something slicing against his side. For a minute his side only felt hot and oddly wet; then a burning pain set in. Virgil clenched his jaw and desperately tried to widen the shield. He always struggled to get them more than a couple of feet across.

The Prince had frozen and stopped struggling when the bomb went off, which was really good because Virgil was having a hard time forcing himself to keep hanging onto the child, shielding as much of the boy as he could, instead of following the overwhelming instinct to cover his own ears or grab his side or curl up in a ball or a million other things all at once. He waited until he was sure it was over and the dust had begun to settle before letting go of the Prince and slowly flying backwards from him, pushing his shield to lie on its side in midair so he could sit on it.

“That,” Virgil said, breathing deep and slow and clutching his side, “was supposed to go off when there were no people around. Not two people. None. Just for reference.” He glanced down at his injury, wincing at the blood soaking through his suit and into his gloves. That wasn’t going to be pleasant to clean up.

The Prince was staring at him. “You’re hurt,” he said, sounding surprised and maybe remorseful. Or maybe that latter was wishful thinking on Virgil’s part.

“Yeah. It happens.” Virgil shrugged, biting back the more caustic comments he wanted to make. The Prince was a kid. Kids did stupid things sometimes. Kids didn’t deserve the reaction Virgil would have given to an adult who’d pulled that kind of stunt.

“You… protected me?” the Prince went on. “Again?”

“Like, I get that you really want me to be the bad guy, but you don’t need to sound that shocked about it,” Virgil said dryly.

The Prince struggled for a moment. “Why?”

It had mostly been instinct, to be quite honest, but Virgil could still trace the motivation behind it. “I told you. I do ethical villainy. Nobody gets hurt on my watch. And you’re on my watch, kid.” Both because the bomb had been Virgil’s, and because apparently Virgil was the only person in this goddamn city who saw the superkid trying to take on adult hero work as an actual problem. (He had been unable to make any progress with Logan thus far; his boyfriend always was far too stubborn for anyone’s good. Something about “Reflection was only sixteen when they started hero work” and “it provided him with support she very much needed at the time, for all we know it will be the same for Prince Creativity” and “Virgil, are you certain you are not being overprotective?”)

“Are you hurt at all?” Virgil asked. He’d given the boy several visual once-overs already from the distance he was at, but he wanted to be sure.

The Prince shook his head. “I’m okay,” he said, somewhat subdued. Maybe Virgil hadn’t imagined his remorse.

Virgil let out a long breath. “Good. You need to leave now, before anyone arrives to check out what that blast was.”

“But I—”

“Go,” Virgil said firmly. “I won’t have you putting yourself in danger, you hear me? Go do something fun, you said you’re on a break. Make the most of it.”

He waited until the Prince was truly gone, casting many a hesitant backward glance, then flew to the center of the rubble. It didn’t take long to locate the safe he was after, which was undamaged by the blast. While being injured and bleeding had not been part of the plan, Virgil was still able to lift the heavy safe with ease. Thank the powers that be for superstrength, honestly.

“Hey, Thomas?” he said into his earpiece. “Yeah, change of plans. I think I shouldn’t fly right now, can you come pick me up? Take the supercar with the big trunk and be here fast, I’m on a bit of a time crunch. Uh, and bring the first aid kit if you can. I’ll send you my location.” He hung up and did just that with a few swipes of his fingers, then shouldered the safe and headed for the shelter of the little copse of trees to hunker down and wait until Thomas arrived.

***

“That is the stupidest idea I’ve ever heard,” Janus drawled.

“I’m sorry, Reflection, did you have a better one?” snapped the hero Vortex, slamming his hands down on the conference table where he was seated directly across from her. Logan had gathered a dozen or so of the city’s top heroes for the monthly committee meeting on procedures and standards; it was going poorly.

Janus rolled their eyes. “Reduce the budget of literally any other program to get the funding you need, for a start?” They examined their nails. “Or raid some lair and call it reclaiming stolen goods. We have plenty of supervillains about the place, surely one of them has some spare cash and valuables lying around for the taking. Just do something other than reducing the Academy’s safety budget. I personally don’t fancy the paperwork we’d all have to do the first time a hot-tempered teen sets the place ablaze.” He glanced up at Vortex with a tiny smirk. “Not that you’d know anything about that, of course.”

“You little—” Vortex snarled, half rising, tiny traces of smoke rising from where his fingertips gripped the table.

“Enough,” Logan snapped very sharply indeed from his place at the head of the table a few seats away.

Vortex shut his mouth with an audible snap and subsided, falling back into his seat and sending Janus a dirty look.

“No, no, Doc,” Janus said, a smile on his face that he didn’t feel at all, “let the man talk.” They shifted into a taller body, leaning forward over the table and continuing to elongate their torso until they were close enough that Vortex began to shift backwards uncomfortably. “What were you going to call me, hm, Vortex?” Janus rested his elbows on the table and grinned at Vortex. “Come on now, don’t be shy. I’m sure we’d all love to hear it.”

Vortex glared and did not respond.

Janus clucked their tongue. “Slipped your mind? Shame,” she said sweetly. “I’m sure you would never have been about to call me a—”

“Reflection,” Logan said quietly, “I said enough. I meant from all parties.”

Janus did some mental math on whether it was worth it to ignore him. The fact that Logan was the only hero in the Guild who was anything other than downright antagonistic towards Janus was just enough to win out. “Fine, fine,” Janus said, returning to her seat, and then because they couldn’t leave well enough alone, he added, “I’m just saying I’ve never slept with my nemesis.”

There was an immediate uproar from the entire table, in which nothing could be made out other than that nobody had taken Janus’s statement kindly.

“Enough!” Logan shouted, this time getting to his feet and glaring the entire room down until there was slow, shuffling silence and everyone was once more seated. “Thank you,” he said coldly, seating himself and steepling his fingers under his chin. “Reflection, that was… incredibly inappropriate, to say the least. Vortex,” he went on, much more sharply, “I would like to remind you that harassment and bullying are not tolerated in this guild under any circumstances, and your treatment of Reflection is veering dangerously close to crossing a line. Do I make myself clear?” He frowned at both of them.

Janus rolled their eyes. “Crystal,” she snapped.

“Apologies,” Vortex said venomously, and then added something under his breath about “Logic’s pet villain-wannabe.”

“What was that, Vortex?” Janus inquired. “Say it to my face. Come on. I dare you.”

“I didn’t say anything anyone at this table isn’t already thinking,” he snapped right back.

Janus looked around the table. Nobody would meet his eyes. He looked back to Vortex and grinned dangerously, which served the double purpose of allowing them to grit their teeth. “I’ve never broken a single item of the Heroes’ Code,” she said. “You know that. I have never put a single toe out of line. Look as close as you like. Not a single infraction.” They glared around the table. “Not. One.” Not like he had a choice. It wasn’t for his own sake that Janus put up with the sneers and jabs and endless cruelty. It certainly wasn’t for his own gain that he was so careful to stay within the letter (if not necessarily always the spirit) of every single code and guideline and rule. But Vortex didn’t need to know that. None of them did.

“Nobody is questioning your allegiance or your qualifications, Reflection,” Logan said. When met with looks of disbelief from about half the table, including Janus, he repeated firmly and with no small amount of irritation, “Nobody. Now. Can we please continue the meeting?”

Janus sat in her chair with her arms folded for the remainder of the meeting, deliberately zoning out and ignoring everyone. When it was over—and they did indeed reach the conclusion that Janus’s original idea had been correct, and the best way to fund the new project would be to reduce a different budget while leaving the super school’s security budget intact—Janus all too gladly stalked from the room, heading for the parking lot. It was nearly five, anyway. He had places to be.

Logan, despite having still been in his seat when Janus left, was waiting for them in the parking lot of the tall building that served as the headquarters for the Heroes’ Guild. His long labcoat flapped about his knees in the slight breeze. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly, falling into step beside them.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Janus dug in their pocket for their keys, speeding up to walk right past him, their shoulders set.

Logan followed him. “They shouldn’t treat you like that.”

“Yeah, well, hasn’t stopped anyone for the last decade,” Janus said bitterly. He still didn’t look at Logan. “I deal with it, Doc. I know what I’m doing.”

“You shouldn’t have to!” Logan sounded frustrated. “I just don’t understand why they refuse to look past your flaws—”

“Patton is not a flaw,” Janus interrupted, voice sharp.

Logan paused. “I apologize,” he said, “that was incredibly poor wording on my part.”

“It was, yes,” Janus agreed.  

“Why they refuse to look past what they view as your transgressions, I think is more what I meant to say,” Logan amended.

“Because they’re assholes. It’s not that complicated.” Janus shrugged. “I fucked with their ‘city of perfect little supers’ image. They don’t like it. So I don’t get second chances. It’s shit. I deal. Can we drop it?”

“It’s just so irrational! You are an accomplished hero deserving of—”

“Doc, shut up!” Janus shouted, coming to a stop in the middle of the parking lot.

There was silence for a moment. Janus’s chest heaved as she struggled to control her breathing. Logan waited, arms crossed, face unreadable as ever behind his goggles and mask.

“I’m not sorry for shouting,” Janus said at last.

“You do not need to be,” Logan said evenly. “You are not the one at fault.”

“Fine. I just—I know. I know they treat me like shit, I know it’s not right, and I want to go home and make my kid laugh and kiss my boyfriend instead of wasting my time here rehashing it all for no reason. Alright? I don’t want to talk about it!”

Logan sighed unhappily and put his hand on her shoulder. “Very well. Good evening, Reflection.” He squeezed their shoulder once. “Take care of yourself,” he said gently.

Janus watched Logan walk back to the building, waiting until he was out of sight. He sighed, shoulders slumping, and made his way the rest of the way to his car, glancing at the time as he pulled out of the lot.

Ten minutes later, Janus parked a very different-looking, startlingly ordinary car on the curbside near her destination and stepped out, wearing a different body than she’d left the headquarters in. Now Janus was tall and broad-shouldered and masculine and designed to look significantly older than her twenty-six years, wearing clothes that were professional and businesslike. A socially acceptable parent for her child; very little like the bodies she was most comfortable in. This body’s hair was short and dark with just the slightest curl to it, eyes hazel, face lightly freckled. The face was the only thing she truly liked about this body, specifically because it was modeled after their son’s, so nobody could doubt for a second that Janus belonged at his side.

Janus made their way to the gates, above which the words Brennan’s Academy for Young Supers were emblazoned. The Saturday evening sun cast long shadows.

Janus slid their parents’ pass into the scanner so that the power-proof energy shield around the school would let him through, pushed open the gate and stepped into the wide courtyard, currently filled with children. Most of them were in their teens, with a handful of middle schoolers here and there; the space bustled with noise and movement and the occasional flashy display of powers.

Janus stood where he was, scanning the crowd, searching for a specific head among the sea. Dark hair with a slight curl, smaller than most of the children here, with hazel eyes and freckles. Wearing pink overalls and a pale blue hoodie today.

“Daddy!” shouted a delighted voice, and there was Patton, all the way on the other side of the courtyard, struggling to pull his backpack on as he stumbled down the steps of the school building. The second it was securely on his shoulders, he took off running towards Janus. Halfway across the courtyard, the ten-year-old crouched, not slowing his pace, and pushed off, leaping high and long and clearing the heads of several children. Two bounds later, and he landed in a crouch before Janus, promptly straightening. “Hi!”

“Hello, little frog.” Janus bent to kiss his son’s forehead, and Patton wrapped his arms around Janus’s neck, clinging and kicking his feet until Janus lifted him under his armpits and allowed Patton to clamber fully into their arms.

“Did you have a good day?” Janus asked, running a hand through her son’s hair and giving him a quick once-over to ensure he had all his belongings with him. Janus didn’t know how the child did it, but he lost things on the school grounds left and right; once they had been nearly home before Patton realized he’d left one shoe behind. Today both shoes were in place, and all seemed to be in order.

“Yes!” Patton beamed, one front tooth still growing in and noticeably shorter than the other. “We’ve been doing so many flying lessons, because it’s important to be safe when you fly, and, um, and, and um, um they said I have to ask you if I’m allowed to use flying tools, cause I can’t fly, and there’s only a couple other kids too, um, Jenny and Michael can’t fly too, so they have to ask their grownups too, but I got to jump today while the other kids were flying and I can jump so high, Mr Pyrex measured and he said I jumped twelve feet high when I wasn’t trying to go anywhere, just trying to jump so tall, um and—” Patton broke off to suck in a tremendous breath of air.

“It sounds like you had quite the big day,” Janus said, lowering Patton to the ground and taking his hand, which was quite swallowed up in Janus’s own currently-large one.

Patton’s skin was starting to get clammy, his hand in Janus’s cool and damp, his fingers noticeably too long. Janus hummed thoughtfully. “Somebody’s a little overexcited,” they commented, gently lifting Patton’s chin to check his eyes. The stronger the boy’s emotions, the more frog traits he manifested. While it was mostly harmless, Janus did prefer to keep him at least calm enough that he could eat dinner instead of craving bugs.

“I’m just the right amount of excited!” Patton protested, bouncing on his heels.

Patton’s pupils were still round and circular, so Janus only smiled and bent to press a kiss to the top of his head. “I’m sure you are. Let’s get you signed out for the day, shall we?”

They made their way back into the school, to Patton’s classroom, which had a sign on the door reading, “Fifth Grade: 2nd Level Experience and Up.” Patton’s powers had manifested very early, right after he’d turned eight; he had been enrolled in the very earliest beginner programs the school had and was well past them by now. But children might manifest powers all the way up to the beginning of their teen years, and so the school had a few different age levels for their beginner classes. Non-beginner classes—”2nd level experience and up”—were simply separated by grade, with few exceptions. An exceptionally gifted teen might apprentice early with a working super—Janus had done that at sixteen, though they hadn’t really been qualified and had just been lucky Logan took a shine to them when they’d needed the support—but barring that, most children regardless of their experience level stayed in their grade once they had passed basic safety training.

Janus signed Patton out on the attendance sheet, scrawling a simplified version of Reflection’s logo beside her signature, and the pair of them left the school grounds, heading for the car. Patton kept running ahead, tugging at Janus’s hand when he reached the length of her arm, and then slowing down and waiting for the few seconds it took her to catch up before running ahead once again.

Patton climbed into the backseat of the car, where his booster car seat printed with blue and pink flowers waited, but climbed up on his knees instead of sitting down, leaning against the back of the driver’s seat and waiting for Janus.

“Mama,” he said the second Janus closed the car door behind themself, leaning around her seat to give them his sweetest smile, “um, can we have ice cream for dessert tonight, pleeeeease?”

“Get buckled,” Janus instructed him, stifling a smile. “I think Remus might be bringing a pie over,” they added after Patton had obeyed.

“Remus is coming for dinner?” Patton perked up.

“It’s Saturday, baby, I don’t know why you’re surprised.” Janus pulled away from the curb, heading for the neat, suburban part of town.

“Oh, I forgot.” Patton was quiet for about three seconds, which was a long time for him. “I like pie. What kind?”

“Cranberry pear, with a crumb top,” Janus said absently. “Did they give you a form about flight lessons for me to fill out?”

“Oh! Yeah, um, it’s in my backpack, I can—” There was a noise of zippers.

“No, wait until we’re home, please,” Janus instructed. “I don’t want that getting lost.”

“Mmkay.” The zippers closed back up. “Daddy?”

“Baby?”

“Can we have ice cream on the pie?”

Janus laughed. “I don’t know, you’ll have to see if you can talk Remus into it,” she said teasingly. “Might be a tough job.”

Patton contemplated this for a moment. “But Remus likes ice cream!”

Janus took advantage of the red light they were stopped at to glance over their shoulder and wink at their son. “I know.”

Patton lit up as he caught their drift. “Oh! Oh, okay.” There was another two seconds or so of silence. “Mama?”

“Yes, baby?” Janus inquired patiently, taking a left into a well-hidden little tunnel.

“What do kids with no powers do during super school?” Patton asked.

“Same kind of stuff you’d do after school before you got your powers, kiddo,” Janus responded. He considered for a moment. “I think they have extra homework, too.” Brennan Academy had classes for super children after regular school hours, from half past three to five on weekdays and ten to five on Saturdays, and had arrangements with all the local schools to reduce the homework load expected of super children so they had time to learn more about their powers.

“Ew,” Patton said. “Extra homework sounds bad.”

“Absolutely,” Janus agreed, pressing a button on the dashboard. The windows of the car went reflective and the vehicle took on the shimmery silver appearance that was Reflection’s signature, just as the car exited the tunnel and pulled up to a set of gates.

Janus shifted into their standard hero body—smaller, more androgynous, and more in line with their real age than the form they’d picked Patton up in, and bearing only a general resemblance to Patton instead of nearly copy-pasting his features—and leaned out the window to punch in their code.

The barely-visible shield blinked off, the gates opened, and Reflection drove into the government-protected neighborhood he unfortunately called home.

She didn’t enjoy living in the super neighborhood, for a whole host of reasons. She envied Remus his little apartment in the heart of downtown. But the super neighborhood was undeniably the safest place in the city for a little boy with developing powers, so Janus bit their tongue and smiled through gritted teeth at all the neighbors and lived with the sidelong looks and rumors.

Patton was out of the car like a shot almost before Janus had parked, leaping in short little hops—well, “short” for Patton covered about six feet of ground—up the driveway and then up the stairs, five at a time, to the front door of their home, on the second floor of the duplex. Janus followed him more slowly. “Put the form by my bed, please,” they said as they unlocked the door.

“Okay!” Patton zoomed into the house, kicking off his shoes into the corner as he went, feet slapping against the tiled floors as he made his way first to the bathroom to wash his hands, then to Janus’s bedroom, then a minute later (now carrying his backpack—which was bright sky blue with the smaller front pocket shaped like a smiling green frog’s head—hugged to his chest instead of on his back) to his own room, where there was the soft thud of a body slamming gleefully onto a bed.

Janus washed their hands and began pulling out dinner ingredients. Only a minute later, Patton poked his head out. “Mama?”

“Yes, baby?”

“What’s for dinner?”

“I’m making pasta and salad. I think Remus is bringing bread.”

���Mmkay!” Patton hopped from one foot to the other for a minute. “Um, can I help?” he added.

Janus nodded, putting water on the stove to boil. “Find the veggies you want in the salad and wash them. And a head of lettuce.”

Patton ran to the fridge and began rummaging about inside. Once he’d selected a bell pepper and some carrots, he dragged his stepstool out from under the counter so he could reach the sink to wash his prizes.

Janus set pasta sauce to heat on the back burner and pulled out a cutting board. He began dicing the vegetables when Patton was done, and allowed Patton to tear up the lettuce into large chunks so he had something to do as well.

Janus was just getting out the salad dressing and the packaged croutons as there was a knock on the door.

“It’s Remus!” Patton cried, straining to see through the living room window from all the way across the kitchen.

“Probably,” Janus agreed, making his way to the door. Even from the kitchen, it was only a few steps; the apartment was not large.

“Hi, Remus!” Patton yelled, shaking too many croutons into the salad as Janus opened the door.

“Hi, kid!” Remus greeted, then beamed at Janus. “Hey, gorgeous.” Though his arms were hung with bags, he wasted no time in wrapping an arm around Janus’s waist and kissing the breath thoroughly from their lungs, dipping them just until they had to put their arms around his neck to keep their balance.

“Yuck,” Patton commented as Remus set Janus back on their feet and peppered a few kisses on their cheeks.

“Yuck, yourself, kid,” Remus retorted without heat, releasing Janus and striding into the kitchen. He deposited his goods on the counter, then selected one item from the lot. “Say, Patty, you got an oven around here?”

Patton proudly pulled open the oven for Remus, who slid the round loaf of bread in his hands directly into it, crumpling up the brown paper bag it had come in. “Absolutely fantastic,” he praised Patton, turning the oven on to toast the bread and scooping Patton up to toss him in the air.

“Please do not damage my child or my ceiling,” Janus said dryly, taking a seat on the edge of the couch.

“He’ll be fine,” Remus assured him, flinging a wildly giggling Patton over his shoulder and half-jogging around the counter to crash on the couch.

Patton flopped on his back, grinning up at Janus. “That was awesome,” he announced, gasping for breath.

Remus’s evil grin was the only warning either Janus or Patton had before he pounced on Patton, tickling the boy mercilessly and laughing louder than the squirming child himself.

Janus smiled to themself, got up, and made their way to the kitchen to drain the pasta. “Do you boys want some dinner?”

Later that evening, when dinner had been eaten and dishes had been done and ice cream had been wiped off Patton’s round cheeks and Remus and Patton had tag-teamed each other to talk Janus into a movie night and Patton’s teeth had been brushed, Janus rested on the couch between Remus and Patton. Remus had one arm wrapped around Janus’s shoulders, allowing them to rest their head on his shoulder.

Remus’s free arm was dedicated to pecking out keys on his laptop, which sat on the arm of the couch—he was slowly working on a take-home lab report for one of his chemistry classes at the university he was enrolled in. While most of his attention was focused on the homework, he occasionally put in a funny comment on the movie to make Patton giggle, or turned his head to kiss Janus’s temple. His body was warm all down Janus’s side where they were pressed together; Remus was always warm, which was nice on all but the hottest summer nights, as Janus tended to run cold.

Patton was curled up on Janus’s other side, wrapped in the quilt off his bed, wearing pale blue pajamas with stars all over them, his head resting on Janus’s chest. While for the first half of the movie he had been engaged and eager, bouncing on the couch cushion and whispering along to his favorite lines, the sugar crash had hit at last and now he was sweet and sleepy—after several sidelong glances at Janus to satisfy himself that nobody was looking, he’d even tucked his thumb in his mouth. He was clearly drowsy, but kept giving himself little shakes of his head to stay awake.

Janus rested his hand on the top of Patton’s head and began stroking the little boy’s hair, running her fingers through the thick dark locks and gently coaxing out a few tangles.

Patton nestled closer against them with a soft sigh of content. His skin was warm and dry—he was almost completely relaxed, all his frog traits hidden away and replaced with flushed sleepy cheeks and drooping eyelids. He was, without exaggeration, the most precious thing Janus could imagine existing in the world.

That was just it, wasn’t it? Patton was little and soft and good, and Patton deserved not to be hurt. Deserved not to be met with vitriol from other heroes, not to deal with constant rumors and glares and side-eye and nasty comments and a hundred other things every day like Janus did. Patton deserved better. And so Janus had to be perfect, bright and shiny and following all the rules, until Patton was big and could be handed off to a hero community that would see his perfect record and welcome him into their ranks instead of spitting in his face.

And they had better welcome him, after all the work Janus was putting in. Hell, they had better venerate him. Treat him with all the support and camaraderie they denied Janus. If they didn’t, well—everyone always said Janus wanted to be a villain. For all their sakes, the heroes of Sandersville had better treat Patton right when the time came for him to step into his own.

“Hey,” Remus said softly, catching Janus’s chin in his hand and turning their face up towards his. “You good?” His voice was hardly more than a whisper, no doubt aware of the just-fallen-asleep child on Janus’s other side.

Janus dropped the scowl he hadn’t even realized was on his face until Remus spoke. “I’m alright,” he assured his boyfriend.

Remus watched Janus’s face attentively. “You sure?”

Janus nodded and leaned up to press a gentle kiss to Remus’s lips, his mustache scratching against their skin.

Remus kissed back languidly, one hand reaching to save his lab report and close his laptop with a click. “Too many thoughts?” he inquired, sounding understanding, cradling Janus’s face in his hand and rubbing his thumb along her cheekbone.

Janus nodded once. Both of them were far too familiar with getting caught up in their own heads, wrestling with different things that neither of them would like to voice aloud. He rarely had to explain his moods to Remus, something he was very grateful for.

Remus nodded back. “Me too,” he said with a sigh, shaking his head as if to shake whatever thoughts were plaguing him right out his ears. He met their eyes and grinned. “But I can fix that,” he breathed with just a hint of a growl, dragging Janus back in for another kiss that was decidedly more heated than the first.

When they parted, Janus gasping for breath, Remus looked over at Patton, whose face was slack with sleep and whose thumb had fallen out of his mouth, hand limp. “Can I tuck him in?” he inquired, the dark heated tone gone entirely from his voice and replaced with something surprisingly gentle.

Remus was good with children, and Remus was especially good with Janus’s child. Janus nodded, reaching for the remote to turn off the movie, which was just rolling the credits. “Go ahead.”

Remus grinned, climbing to his feet and lifting Patton into his arms. “Bedtime, little Patty-cake,” he murmured, resting the boy’s head on his shoulder and carrying him down the hall towards his bedroom.

Janus followed, picking up Patton’s quilt off the couch where it had fallen on his way. He spread it out over Patton’s sleeping form as Remus laid him down on the bed, and then waited in the doorway for Remus.

Remus sat for a minute on the side of the bed, head bowed, watching the steady rise and fall of Patton’s chest. He got up and moved to the window, checked that it was latched, glanced searchingly around the entire room, smoothed Patton’s covers to tuck him in a little more securely, and joined Janus outside.

Janus let Remus close the door and then immediately check that it was unlocked from the outside; they stood back, out of reach of the door, as he did so. If Remus had felt the need to check Patton’s window, it was one of his worse days, and letting Remus be sure he was the last one to check the door helped on worse days.

“He’s safe?” Janus said, not out of any actual concern but rather to allow Remus to reassure himself.

Remus closed his eyes and nodded. “He’s safe,” he whispered, reaching for Janus’s hand and squeezing gratefully.

“You’re safe, too,” Janus murmured, lacing his fingers through Remus’s.

Remus took a long breath and nodded. “I know,” he breathed. “Thanks.” He shook himself all over, opened his eyes, and reached for Janus, his smile turning mischievous. “Now, I believe my favorite milf is in need of some loving as tender and finger-licking good as the finest of chickens.“

Janus blinked several times. “You know, I think I would actually pay money to unhear that,” he deadpanned, allowing Remus to loop his arms around Janus’s waist and draw him towards his bedroom.

“My bad.” Remus grinned at her, closing the bedroom door and sweeping her feet right out from under her to carry her to the bed. “I’ll call you a dilf next time.”

“Oh my god.”

“You love me,” Remus said smugly.

Janus did not stifle their smile. “That I do,” they breathed, snaking their hand about the back of his neck and dragging him in for a kiss.

***

“Whatcha doing?” Prince Creativity inquired, appearing almost out of nowhere and trailing after Virgil as he continued to lazily fly through the air.

“Nothing. If I see you trying to fight villains one more time, you’re grounded,” Virgil grumbled, no heat behind his words. He was hardly even surprised at the boy’s presence anymore, he popped up so often. To be frank, it was almost a relief—the more time the Prince spent pestering Virgil, the less he could spend going after villains who might actually hurt him.

“No I’m not.” The little hero had the impertinence to take off his voice modulator long enough to stick his tongue out at Virgil. “You can’t ground me,” he added once the modulator was back in place, hands on his hips.

“Maybe I’ll get your parents to ground you,” Virgil said with a chuckle.

He hadn’t meant it seriously; he’d almost intended it as the lighthearted fight banter he was so used to, adjusted to an age-appropriate level.

But the Prince’s eyes widened, the whites of his eyes suddenly clearly visible from even behind his glittery mask. “No!” His voice was shrill and panicked, even when distorted like this. “No, no you can’t, you can’t do that, no no no no—”

Virgil raised his eyebrows and waited until the Prince’s protests trailed off into a distressed noise halfway between a whimper and a sob. “Okay,” he said, much more gently.

“Huh?” The hero stared at him.

“Okay, I won’t do that,” Virgil said with a shrug. “It’s clearly a bigger deal to you than it is to me.”

The boy watched him, body language tense and wary, arms crossed. After a minute he began to relax.

“Here,” Virgil, who had been thinking very hard in this pause, said. He reached to his utility belt and pulled out a scrap of paper, which he scribbled something on. “Take this.”

Prince Creativity narrowed his eyes. “Why? What is that? What does it do?”

“It’s just a regular paper, kid. It helps. I hope.” Virgil held it out invitingly, waiting for the boy to come to him.

Slowly, as if against his better judgement, the Prince did move closer, still wary, until he could take the paper and examine it. “...What is this for?” he asked, sounding confused, his eyes flicking up from the paper to search Virgil’s face.

“If you ever need help, or protection, or anything, call that number,” Virgil instructed. “And don’t share it with anyone else, I put in a lot of work to not get spam calls on my personal phone.”

“I don’t need help from you,” the boy spat, almost reflexively, but Virgil saw how he gripped the paper tight and held it close to himself so there was no chance of losing it.

“I mean, I sure hope not. But just in case.” Virgil gave the boy a two-fingered salute, kicked off of nothing, and flew away—backwards, on the off chance the kid tried to pick a fight and Virgil would need to shield himself.

But Prince Creativity only stared after him, expression unreadable behind his masks, clutching the paper with Virgil’s private number on it tightly against his chest.

Virgil hoped he was overthinking things and everything was actually fine and the little Prince would throw away the paper and forget about it. He hoped he was just being overprotective. Hoped he’d somehow misread the sheer terror in the child’s tone when Virgil joked about telling his parents. Hoped that the fact Thomas had been unable to find any information about a little boy with new superpowers didn’t carry some sinister meaning.

Yeah, he hoped all of that. But the larger, more cynical part of him was worried that none of it was right.

***

“Why do you wear that?” Prince Creativity’s voice piped up from behind Virgil.

“Jesus!” Virgil jumped like a startled cat, soaring another fifteen feet into the air. He turned on his heel to face the boy and crossed his arms, slowly sinking back to the hero’s level. “Okay, new rule: no sneaking up behind supervillains and then revealing yourself within hitting range! I would have thought that one was a no-brainer?”

“You don’t hit me, though,” the Prince said, seeming entirely too unworried.

“I—” Virgil didn’t quite know how to respond to that, since it was true. But something had been off about the boy’s phrasing. “Sorry—hang on—who hits you?”

The hero froze for a second. “Um—nobody,” he said nervously. “Just—just other villains. Um. When I fight them. Yeah. Like, for hero stuff.”

Virgil got the distinct impression that this statement was a fib at best. All the same, he offered at once, “I can make them stop. Who?”

“I don’t know! Nobody!” the Prince insisted, voice going higher. “And—and you didn’t answer my question.”

Virgil hesitated for a moment at the obvious change of subject, wanting to press further but not wanting to make the boy panic more. “What question?” he said at last.

“Why do you wear that?” the boy repeated, sounding less confident this time.

“Wear what?” Virgil inquired, careful to keep his tone light. “My supersuit?”

“No.” The Prince crossed his arms. “The thing on your belt.”

“...There are a lot of things on my belt, I’m going to need you to be more specific.”

“The…” The Prince hesitated. “The flag.”

“Oh.” Virgil felt a pang of habitual nerves, hand going to the pouch on his utility belt that had a trans flag patch sewn onto it. “Uh, because it’s my Pride flag.”

There was silence for a beat.

“No!” The Prince sounded furious. “No, you can’t be trans!”

Virgil was silent for a moment, trying to figure out how to handle that. “I dunno what to tell you, kid,” he said after a moment. “I mean, I clearly can.” He gestured at his entire self.

The Prince shook his head so hard his entire body shook with it, arms crossed tight across his chest. “No! Not you!”

Virgil took several slow, deep breaths, trying to calm his racing heart. “Why not?” He sat down cross-legged in the air and stared at the boy challengingly.

The Prince struggled with this one for a moment. “I—you—you can’t! You’re a villain!” He sounded—hold on, he didn’t sound hateful.

He sounded upset. And kind of afraid.

Virgil blinked. He thought about the Prince and the way his hair was always hidden under the hood of his cape, fastened in place by a gold crown-piece. The way his outfit was padded in the torso and shoulders, creating a masculine figure so exaggerated it was almost a caricature. The way he’d been so startled when Virgil asked his pronouns when they met, and said not like you’d care.

Several things clicked into place. No wonder Thomas hadn’t been able to find any information about the boy—nobody knew he was a boy.

“Me being trans doesn’t have anything to do with me being a villain,” Virgil said gently. “Don’t worry. Heroes can be trans. And they are, all the time. Loads of heroes are part of the community.”

The little hero stared at him. “Really?” he asked, hope plain to hear in his voice. He slowly sat down, too, facing Virgil, seeming wary but interested.

“Yeah, of course,” Virgil said gently. “I’m just a villain because I think it’s cool. Nothing to do with being trans.”

“Who are the heroes?” the boy asked eagerly.

“Mm, dunno that I have the right to tell you that.” Virgil hesitated. Were there any heroes he knew of who he could talk about? Logan was stealth at work, to further protect his real identity; Virgil certainly wasn’t about to out him. “I mean, I’m sure I don’t even know all of them. Like I said. Plenty of us.”

Prince Creativity was gazing at him with very big eyes, drinking in this information. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, kid. I promise.” Virgil cracked a grin. “Oh!” He snapped his fingers as a thought came to him—there was at least one hero who he knew was fine having their identity shared. “You know who you might know? Reflection. The shapeshifter, the one who was at that fight you picked with Viper a few weeks back. She’s genderfluid, uses he/she/they pronouns. They do, like, hero-sponsored presentations for schools about gender identity sometimes. Good luck finding him, though, I swear they have a different face on every time we fight.”

The Prince’s brow furrowed. “I think I know who you’re talking about. He has freckles on—on their face, right?”

“I wouldn’t know, I’ve never seen her default face with his mask off,” Virgil lied. The Prince was correct, but for… complicated reasons, Virgil couldn’t tell him so. “Sure could be. They like snakes, if that helps.”

The boy nodded. “Yeah, I know who that is! We haven’t talked, or anything, but I saw them.”

“Well, maybe he can help you out with getting to know some more folks over on your side.” Virgil felt his shoulders relax somewhat. “You should probably stop pestering me before someone sees us chatting.”

The Prince had drifted so close during the conversation, leaning forward eagerly and eating up every scrap of information that Virgil could give him, that Virgil saw his eyes widen as the realization that Virgil was correct hit him. “Oh! Oh, right.” He hopped to his feet at once, then hesitated, fidgeting back and forth on his toes. “Um—I—thank you,” he blurted.

Virgil nodded, his throat oddly tight. “Sure, kid.” He hesitated—they both did—and just as the boy was turning on his heel to scamper away, Virgil added, “Hey.”

The Prince looked back at him questioningly.

“It gets better,” Virgil told him. “I promise.”

The Prince froze, then darted back across the space between them and hugged Virgil, tight and quick.

It was the first time the Prince had voluntarily spent more than a few seconds within ten feet of Virgil, and Virgil’s gut dropped with a sudden realization. The proximity revealed what distance and the padded suit and the voice modulator had obscured until now: the Prince was tiny. He didn’t even quite come all the way up to Virgil’s shoulder, little arms wrapping tight around Virgil’s waist. How old was he? Virgil had thought—well, hoped—that the Prince was maybe at least a high schooler, but he was rapidly moving this estimation far lower.

Virgil cautiously returned the boy’s hug with a single hand gingerly placed on his shoulder, careful not to box him in or make him feel trapped. He patted the top of the Prince’s head. “It’ll be okay,” he murmured. “It’ll be okay.”

The boy sniffled once and pulled away. “Mmkay.”

“Go talk to J—the shapeshifter,” Virgil told him, and watched him fly away until he was out of sight.

***

Virgil didn’t see much of the Prince for a few weeks after that. Which was… fine. He could come up with a million reasons why the boy might not be around. Maybe he’d gone to Janus after all, and was connecting with a supportive network of heroes like Logan had wanted. Maybe he was focusing on school. Maybe his parents had finally wised up to the idea that they shouldn’t let a child do hero work. Maybe he’d been enrolled in the local super school like all the other kids his own age with powers.

There were endless reasons why the Prince was probably fine and there was probably nothing for Virgil to worry about. And Virgil wasn’t worried. Obviously. He was definitely relieved. It was good not to have the kid nosing about all the time, interfering with Virgil’s perfectly good villainy. The boy hadn’t been endearing at all and Virgil didn’t miss him one bit.

(And he didn’t even know where to go to check up on the kid, anyway. Which left him a little antsy, not that he’d admit it. But he was fine. It was fine! He was sure the kid was fine.)

***

Late in the night, Virgil awoke to the noise of his phone ringing.

--

Taglist (ask to be added/removed!): 

@theimprobabledreamersworld @remy-the-lemon-berry @midnightstorm-underthe-moon @crazydemigod666 @perplexed-kale @did-he-just-hiss-at-me @virgil-is-verge 

[tintinwrites]

dulce periculum | Demon!Max Phillips x Reader | Part One

A/N: I know this is a unique AU but that is what I must do!! Thanks so much to @wheresthewater for helping me brainstorm this fic as well as reading it for me!! Cori is always a gem to interact with. ‘Dulce periculum’ means ‘danger is sweet’ in Latin.

Rating: T

Warning: AFAB!Reader. Demon!Max. The big, big warning that I want you to pay attention to is that the beginning of this fic can be very frightening; Max kidnaps the reader, and though his intentions aren’t necessarily malicious, it’s from Reader’s POV and they have no idea what he’s doing, so they’re very scared and intimidated. Max makes a couple of threats. Naughty words. Max is a pervert, as always.

Word count: 4,556, apparently!!

Summary: You’re on your way home from work when you’re kidnapped by a mob boss who wants to hide out in your apartment. He turns out to be more annoying than he is frightening.

GIF credit: thewaythisis

Tags: @zombieaurora @strangelittlenobody @chattychell @dark-twisted-and-mechanical-mind @beesting77 @thefandomimagines @softly-sad​ @phoenixhalliwell @hopplessdreamer​ @buttercup--bee​ @honeymandos​ @artsymaddie​ and open!

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

It was late as you made your way home, the damp sidewalks lit by street lights and signs for late night establishments. There were still cars driving by seeing as it was a big city, though fewer than usual, the sounds of their tires splashing into puddles accompanying you on your walk.

Any other people you saw were going home as well or looking around to see if anyone was watching them as they stepped into the seedy strip club. The building sat between a questionable deli and an adult video store; the girls inside were as beautiful as any other strip club, but the owners were sketchy as hell.

These were all things you mused to yourself so you would be occupied.

You agreed to stay at work way later than usual — four hours later, to be exact — and your phone was on about ten percent battery by the time you left. Since your apartment building was only a few blocks away and you didn’t want your phone to die, you were just observing the city streets as you walked.

Everything was rather quiet aside from those puddles being driven through and the muffled, pumping music you could hear when passing by certain buildings.

And yet, you were almost uneasy. You always felt safe in the city, both where you lived and where you worked, but there was something about this particular quiet night that made you tense whenever someone walked by you.

You’d been overworking yourself, that was all it was, right? You needed a good nap and a drink because this was the fourth night you’d stayed later. That was bound to affect anyone’s mental wellbeing.

You kept trying to reason with yourself each time the people passing you didn't so much as spare a glance at you, but you just couldn’t.

You would’ve gotten an Uber or hailed a taxi just to sate your paranoia if it weren’t for the fact that you were only a block away from your apartment. You could see the building and you were just psyching yourself out, it would’ve been silly to have someone drive you the short distance.

There was no reason to be afraid; you were safe, you were capable. The apartment was within sight and you were about to be home.

Movement up ahead at the mouth of an alley made you stop in your tracks, breath hitching like you needed to hold it so no one would know you were there.

When a stray cat ran out of the alley and scampered across the street with some food in its mouth, your shoulders immediately dropped.

You were being paranoid.

It took a moment for you to gain your composure before you continued walking, almost amused at yourself for being scared by a scrawny cat just hunting for food.

Just as you were about to completely pass the alley, there was a tight grip on your arm and you were yanked between the buildings.

You didn’t even realize what happened until your back was against a brick wall and there was a hand completely covering your mouth; then all that paranoia seemed to be logical and you let out a not-very-intimidating squeak as you attempted to shove the person off.

They didn’t try to pin you down more than they were, but they didn’t even budge despite the way you were hitting and shoving at them. When you changed your tactic and grabbed onto their arm to pull their hand away, you couldn’t move it half an inch.

“You done?” a deep male voice asked boredly.

You were tired from working so much and from how hard you were trying to fight him off, your adrenaline quickly fading as you realized you couldn’t get him away. You went limp against the wall and looked at him with fearful eyes, figuring you could at least get a good description of him.

Unless he murdered you.

He was partly obscured by the darkness of the alley, but you could see half his face from what little bit of the streetlight reached him. His eyes and hair were dark, average height, slim, and...he was wearing a suit. Was this some business man who moonlighted as a mugger or something? Did you want to know what he did as a day job?

“Okay, good. Now, do everything I say and I won’t hurt you, okay?” He explained this to you with an oddly lighthearted tone like he was telling you about his hobbies, and you furrowed your brow as you reached for your wallet. “No, no, no. Not that. Do you live nearby? Tell me the truth, I will know if you’re lying.”

The man switched from jovial to threatening so quickly that it terrified you into quickly nodding; you didn’t want to know what he would do if you lied.

He flashed you a smile that might’ve been charming if he didn’t have you pinned against a wall at the moment. “Good, good. Now we’re gonna walk together and, uh...let’s say I’m your boyfriend and you’re taking me to your place, so you don’t have to ask anybody for help.”

What the fuck did he want? You closed your eyes, but opened them when he shook you lightly to get your attention.

“I’m gonna take my hand off now and you’re going to walk me to your apartment. Can you do that for me, slugger?” The name only made you more perplexed by this man, but you nodded in agreement to his instructions.

He pulled his hand from your mouth very slowly to be certain you weren’t going to scream. All you did was pant softly as you stared at him, knowing that no one would come quickly enough if you did try to scream.

Satisfied, he wrapped his arm around your middle and quickly pulled you against his side as he walked out of the alley. He paused to wait for you to take the lead, letting you take a moment to gather your bearings.

You were shaking as you slowly started walking him in the direction of your apartment, trying to think up a way out of this.

Your phone was underneath his hand in your jacket pocket so you couldn’t sneakily try to text anyone. Being at your own apartment would work in your favor because you knew where everything was, including anything you could use as a weapon.

Could you run into the kitchen and grab a chef’s knife? Maybe the vase on your windowsill in the living room could be used to hit him over the head?

A bit of hope sparked within you when you saw one of your neighbors was standing outside, smoking a cigarette; he knew you were single, he knew you didn’t have a boyfriend to bring home.

“Evening,” he drawled as he looked at you, before his gaze moved to the man who was tightening his grip on you.

“Hey,” you said levelly so the man wouldn’t think you were raising suspicion, but you did your best to show terror in your eyes.

Your neighbor regarded him for a long moment before chuckling and shooting him a wink, obviously assuming this was a hookup or something. “Guess I should keep my ear to the wall tonight, huh?”

You wanted to cry as the man at your side led you into the building, looking back desperately until he pulled you into the elevator.

“Which floor?” He shook you when you didn’t answer him, and you reached out to begrudgingly push the number for your floor.

The elevator ride seemed to take forever as you panicked about what he intended to do to you.

He expected you to lead him towards your apartment and you did, pulling out your key and unlocking the door with shaking hands. He shoved the door open and yanked you in as soon as it was unlocked, surveying the room before shoving you towards the couch.

“Sit down.” He walked away as you practically fell onto the couch from his manhandling.

You were supposed to be grabbing a weapon, but you seemed to be frozen in terror as you watched the man peer through the blinds out to the street. “Are you going to kill me?”

He lifted his head and looked at you over his shoulder, his eyebrows raised like you were insane. “Kill you? Oh, come on, don’t be dramatic.”

“—you kidnapped me.” You just stared at him as he turned to face you, putting his hands into the pockets of his pants as he shrugged.

“Is it really kidnapping if it’s in your own home?” He started walking around, pulling one of his hands out of his pocket to touch your knick knacks and things.

“Okay, you’re...holding me hostage then.” You watched him warily and with a hint of bemusement at his antics.

“Listen, pal.” He plopped down on the couch and, able to move now, you slid away from him. “I need a place to hide out. Sorry I scared you or whatever, but let’s be honest, would you have listened to me if I said I needed to stay with you?”

You would’ve brushed him off as someone looking for a hookup or a person to sponge off of if he asked to stay with you, but that didn’t mean he should’ve kidnapped you.

“I’m not letting you ‘hide out’ here.” You let out a gasp when he immediately grabbed onto your face and forced you to look at him, his eyes dark.

“I’m not going to kill you, but you should know that I can.” His voice was deeper when he was threatening you, but then he went right back to a beaming smile as he let you go like he hadn’t done a thing. “Anyway, I’m Max. What’s your name?”

Years of politeness had you stuttering out your name despite this ‘Max’ guy being an actual fucking madman. Now that you could see him in the light, you were almost certain that you’d seen him somewhere before…

He seemed to notice the curiosity in your eyes as he leaned back into the couch, looking rather smug. “Max Phillips.”

It took about seven seconds for you to connect his name and face with the articles you read and the stories you heard; you moved off the couch so quickly that you tripped over your own feet and fell to the floor.

You immediately turned onto your backside and scrambled away from him. He regarded you with a raised eyebrow.

“So you’ve heard of me.” He rolled his eyes as you backed yourself into a wall, not even moving to stop you.

“You’re the mob boss!” You were stating the obvious since he was him, but you were too horrified to be intelligent.

He was ruthless. You heard what he did to people who went against him or people who didn’t do what he wanted, read the articles of gruesome things that were suspected to be because of him.

Now he was in your apartment. And he wanted to stay with you.

“I know, I know. I am incredible.” He grabbed a book you’d been reading off the end table beside the couch, making a face at it before putting it back down. “You know something else about mob bosses, though?”

“That you’re fucking sadistic?” Your voice shook and you cowered slightly as he stood up.

He crouched down in front of you and just stared at you silently for a long moment before finally saying, “You only get hurt if you’re on their bad side. And being on their good side has...benefits.” His eyes roamed over you hungrily at the mention of the word ‘benefits’ before he looked at your face. “So what do you say? Are you gonna let me stay or do you really wanna kick me out?”

As you stared up at this man and understood the very meaningful look on his face, you supposed that you really had no other choice.

“—you’re not sleeping in my bed.”

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

Once you had a bit of time to calm down and think over what Max wanted, you figured you were just going to have to deal with it.

You couldn’t really retaliate against a mob boss, so it was best to just keep him happy until he was done hiding from whoever was after him.

This meant you were pretty much on autopilot as you set up a bed for him on the couch, thankful somewhere in the back of your mind that he didn’t insist on sleeping in your bed.

He plopped down on the couch the moment you fit a baggy sheet onto the cushions, bouncing a few times before he laid back and looked up at you. “Where’d you find this ancient thing anyway?”

“Thrift store,” you mumbled as you handed him a pillow.

“Oh.” Max made a face and sat up to remove his suit jacket, folding it and moving to put it on the coffee table, only to pause. “Everything here is from a thrift store, isn’t it? I bet you’re renting this closet of an apartment from a thrift store.”

That took you off autopilot for a second as you turned to glare at him. “Need I remind you that I’m letting you hide out in this closet?”

“Ooh, claws. I like it.” He looked you over like he hadn’t threatened you into letting him stay when you sassed him before. “I think we should have angry sex.”

“I think I should go to bed and lock the door.” You didn’t know whether to be afraid of him or annoyed by him.

He was incredibly intimidating when he would threaten you, but then he was mostly just an obnoxious pervert otherwise from what you could tell. He seemed to rely on a sexual, jovial sense of humor.

“Thanks for doing this,” he called after you as you walked to your bedroom, too loud like he wanted you to acknowledge and appreciate his gratefulness. “Sleep tight, and hey! If the mood strikes, I’d be happy to sleep in your tight—”

You slammed the door shut before you could hear the rest of his suggestion, deciding that you could be scared and annoyed.

Mostly, you were just tired from working so much and dealing with Max, so you fell into bed with the hopes that he would leave in the morning.

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

He didn’t.

As a matter of fact, you were woken up bright and early by the sound of music blasting from your living room.

You thought for a moment that everything that happened was a dream until you stumbled out of your bedroom, half dressed since you didn’t even take off all your clothes before falling asleep, and you saw Max flipping through a photo album.

You made your way over to the speaker where the overtly sexual music was blasting from, smacking at the buttons blindly in your attempts to turn the volume down.

When you finally found it and turned it down to barely a whisper, you sagged against the table in relief and closed your eyes. “Did you have to turn it up that loud?”

He didn’t answer you at first and you opened your eyes to find him taking a picture out of the album, looking it over with a whistle. “Did anyone ever tell you that your great grandma was sexy?”

“No,” you said flatly, walking back towards your bedroom. “Please keep the music down. I’m going back to bed.”

“Aren’t you going to make breakfast?” His question made you stop in your tracks and walk backwards to look at him.

“Why would I do that?”

“Because I don’t know my way around your kitchen or how to use things properly, and I’d hate to break anything.”

You could tell by his fake innocent smile that he was being a brat and vaguely threatening you again. You wanted to just go to bed anyway, but you also wouldn’t put it past him to actually go and start breaking things in your kitchen.

With a roll of your eyes and a grumbled insult towards him, you made your way into the kitchen to start making his breakfast.

“I like my eggs scrambled with a little salt and pepper!”

As you stood there in the kitchen with your head in your hands, you remembered what you’d been wondering the night before.

You were more annoyed by him than you were scared of him, and you weren’t certain if that was a good thing or not.

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

Max Phillips had been staying with you for nearly a month now and you had to admit that...it wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be.

In the beginning, you’d seen an intimidating mob boss who was forcing you to let him take residence in your home, and you had no idea what he was going to do to you during his stay.

Now you knew that, though he could be threatening and you had no doubt that he could do damage to you if he wanted to, he was mostly just an obnoxious, perky, lascivious frat boy who loved attention.

But he still let you go to your job and live your normal life, and though he liked to make a lot of perverted comments, he’d never once actually touched you or done anything to you.

So you guessed it wasn’t as bad as it could’ve been to have a mob boss staying at your apartment.

Even if he always asked for the same thing for breakfast and would complain if it was slightly wrong, and between that and every stupid, sexual joke he made, you wanted to serve him a fried egg covered in sugar just to annoy him.

There were also times where you were almost certain his eyes were red or he had horns or something, but you chalked that up to your dislike of him and how you’d been tired or on your second glass of wine when you saw that.

He never actually hurt you and your apparently very low standards were thankful for that.

You also would never admit it, but you’d been lonely and having someone to come home to who filled the silence was...nice. It could be annoying as all hell depending on what he was talking about, but sometimes he was funny.

Sometimes he’d ask about your day, make a comment about how he could ‘take care’ of someone for you or turn the way you phrased something into a sex joke.

Sometimes you would laugh at a joke or you would have a genuine conversation that made you forget he was who he was.

Then he would invite himself into your bed like he did every night and that would be the temporary end of your camaraderie, as well as your reminder that he was an annoying jerk.

But it was nice on occasion. To not be alone.

There were times you thought you could even like the man if it weren’t for the situation and the fact that he’d always ruin any pleasant conversations you had. Maybe there were times that you did like him, or at the very least tolerated him.

You guessed that was why you were almost disappointed when he told you that his men had settled everything and he could leave. You were going to be alone again.

You were going to miss when he would actually start helping you fold clothes and he would just be quiet for a minute as he listened to you talk about your day.

But you weren’t going to miss the way he would ask if you wanted him to eat you out to help you relax, so it was easy for you to focus on your relief that he was leaving.

You could deal with loneliness if it meant he wasn’t going to be there, staring at your ass and saying anything he could think of to rile up.

“Don’t look so sad about it, angel face.” That was a nickname he’d taken to calling you every time he pissed you off; you supposed a way to mock your angry expression or something.

“I’m not...sad.” You scoffed, though you knew that you were a little bit, way deep down. You hadn’t hid that in your eyes quickly enough before you were relieved at the idea of him leaving.

“Whatever you need to convince yourself that you don’t totally want me.” He straightened the jacket of yet another suit, and sometimes you wondered when he took the time to grab more of them. “I understand if you need a goodbye kiss. Maybe a good fuck.”

“And that’s why I’m glad you’re leaving. Let me get the door for you.” You turned to walk over to the door, but Max’s grip on your arm had you looking back at him questioningly.

His eyes were serious for once; no humor, no lust. He was looking at you like he did the times you would have a brief, real conversation. “I’m indebted to you. Let me do something for you.”

You were momentarily taken aback by his sincerity, but you gathered yourself after a moment and smiled at him. “Leaving me alone forever will suffice.”

“Seriously.” He pulled you back when you tried to walk away again, making you roll your eyes at him. “I have connections. I can give you anything you want.”

“Anything?” You raised an eyebrow, a little convinced considering he didn’t mention how he could even give you something sexual if you wanted it.

“Anything.”

“I want a million dollars.”

“Okay, done.”

“No, wait!”

He had started towards the door like he was genuinely going to go off to get you that million dollars, and now you were the one grabbing his arm and pulling him back. You looked at him for any hint of a joke, biting your lip.

“You’re serious?” you asked slowly.

“I’m serious. Name it, it’s done.”

You stared at him and before you could stop yourself, you said, “I want my dream job, but there are never any openings and everyone beats me to it when there are and— and what am I saying? You’re a mob boss, you’re just asking if there’s anyone you can kill for me.”

You supposed you mentioned it because you hoped he had connections in your industry and could pull strings, but…

Max took hold of your chin and tilted your head up from where you were looking at the floor, smirking at you. “Done.”

You just looked at him with your brow furrowed and your mouth in an O shape, torn between asking him if he could actually do it and thanking him. You were just about to do the latter when there was suddenly a piece of paper in front of your face.

“I just need you to sign this contract!” He was back to his normal obnoxious self, pulling the paper away before you could even blink and setting it down on your dining table.

“Where the hell were you keeping that?” You hadn’t seen him take it out of any pockets and even if he had, the paper would have had to have been folded up to fit.

It was perfectly pristine, not a single mark on it, so where…

He then procured a dip pen and an inkwell from a place you decided you didn’t want to know about, then he guided you over to the table and shoved you down in a chair. “Just sign your name on the line there, cursive or print.”

“What is this for?” you asked once you’d wrapped your head around what he was asking you to do. You picked up the contract to look at it, but he quickly plucked it out of your hands.

“Oh, you know, standard. I can’t be held liable if it doesn’t turn out exactly how you want it, blah, blah, blah.” He set it back down and dipped the pen into the ink, forcing it into your hand. “Sign it.”

“Give me a minute!” Your eyes scanned over the contract to find that it mostly was just about liability and binding the agreement, but you needed to get closer to read some fine print at the bottom.

“Can I have a glass of water?” Max’s face popped up between you and the paper, making you jump back.

You just blinked for a second before gently pushing his face away so you could read. “Be my guest.”

You just started to read the fine print again when Max started humming. The music was familiar and you realized it was a tango, but you tried not to let it distract you from reading.

Just when you managed to make some headway on reading the first line, you were yanked out of your chair and pulled up against Max’s body.

Before you could even ask what he was doing, he gripped your hand and thrust your arm straight out with his as he began a rhythmic stride across the room, humming the music all the way.

“What are you doing?!” You let out a yelp as he turned around jarringly and started to step the other way.

“You’ve never tangoed before?” He spun you out and made you crash into the chair you’d been sitting in, only saved by his hand in yours before he twirled you back into his chest.

“I’m trying to read your contract!”

“You sign it and I promise you, the job you want is yours. You just have to sign it!” He dipped you right by the table so the paper was in your peripheral vision, panting slightly. “Sign it.”

He pulled you back up and stepped away from you, as you stared at him in a daze because he actually just made you tango with him.

But then his promises that you would get the job sank in. You looked at the contract for a moment and, as your desire for your dream job won over your curiosity about the fine print, you grabbed the pen and signed it.

You stumbled back with a gasp when the contract immediately went up into flames and disappeared from the table. “What the fuck—”

Max grabbed you again, but this time he spun you around and slammed his lips against yours in a passionate kiss. You raised your hands to push him away at first, only to slowly grip onto his suit jacket when you found that he was a good kisser.

Your eyes closed as you kissed him back, forgetting about how annoying he was or the few threats he’d used on you, forgetting about his work, just letting yourself get lost in this.

For the briefest moment, you were mad at yourself for never giving in to any of his obnoxious offers to join you in bed.

He pulled away from you and you just stood there with your eyes closed for a moment, lips still parted like you wanted him to continue his work.

“Max,” you gasped out when he didn’t say anything or move to kiss you again, reaching out to pull him back.

But when you opened your eyes in search of him, he was gone.